On the occasion of the 2018 London Book Fair (April 10-12), in which the Baltic countries are this year’s Market Focus, this week’s Translation Tuesday brings us an unusual literary pleasure from Lithuania.
Undinė Radzevičiūtė’s Fishes and Dragons entwines two separate stories. The first strand comprises an eighteenth-century encounter between East and West, in which the Jesuit father Castiglione attempts to impart Western art standards to a skeptical Chinese imperial court. The second part has a contemporary setting and involves the banter between three generations of women living in one apartment: Mama Nora, a writer of erotic novels, the old-fashioned Grandmother Amigorena, and two grandchildren. An altogether unpredictable masterpiece, Fishes and Dragons is a literary feast that we can’t wait to read in its entirety!
This showcase is made possible by the Lithuanian Culture Institute.
from Fishes and Dragons
Once again, the Commission is spending a long time voicing its doubts over his horses.
Some members of the Commission close one eye and then the other.
Some — stick out the tips of their tongues, as if to lick the horses. From afar.
Some — push out their bottom lips, some squint with their narrow eyes, some puff out their cheeks.
Like eunuchs on the stage of the Imperial Theatre.
It seems to the members of the Commission that the heads of the horses are too small, their hocks too thin. The explanation that they are Iberian horses, and that is how they should look, does not help.
The Commission, it seems, does not just doubt the existence of Iberian horses but of Iberia itself.
It is convinced that the only horse in the world is the Mongolian horse.
The wild Mongolian horse.
Modest, tenacious and quite cunning.
As cunning as a wild horse can be.
With short legs and patches of brown and white.
Like a cow.
And a horse’s tail has to be white. Absolutely. And it absolutely has to reach the ground, says the Commission, and its forelocks absolutely have to cover the eyes.
What use have they of horses that can see?
Besides which, the Commission says that his horses are not real because they are placid, whereas horses are never placid.
The repeated assertion that this is how Iberian horses look only increases the Commission’s mistrust.
They do not believe in the existence of Iberia or Iberian horses. And now they say it openly.
To the members of the Commission this is a brazen-faced out-and-out deception, one that may even offend the Emperor.
Of course, the Fifth Emperor would not himself come to see the horses.
The Commission says there is no reason for the Emperor to come since these horses have no bones.
He attempts to convince the experts that bones are not essential for horses but hears the doubt even in his own voice. It would be better if the Fifth Emperor were to come to see the horses for himself because Father Castiglione is beginning not to believe in his own horses, nor in Iberia, nor in his mission in this land.
The Commission expresses its doubts aloud, then in silence as to the horses’ bones, and then switch to the bones of the landscape.
As to the bones of the landscape, the Commission is in no doubt. They are not there.
The members of the Commission demand there should be ‘bones’ in the landscape and they should be seen as clearly as possible.
And they assert it would be best if the landscape around the horses were to be painted by a Chinese.
Perhaps by Leng Mei or some other Chinese.
There was no shortage of them.
At moments like these Father Castiglione suddenly begins not to understand Chinese and he is not quite clear as to what will happen next.
The members of the Commission have also decided, as if they had only just said it: they do not wish to entrust Father Castiglione not just with the trees behind the horses but also with those in front of them.
All they are asking is for him to draw a sketch of the perspective and then Leng Mei or another Chinese to paint a landscape with all the trees and its ‘bones’ using his sketch.
By ‘bones’ the Chinese mean the contours of things, animals and people.
For the Chinese, as opposed to Europeans, contours are more important than space.
And only emptiness more important than contours.
For the experts of the Imperial Commission no Italian perspective of any kind is necessary.
A Chinese mist coming down is enough for them. From the hills.
Or rising from a lake and covering all the deficiencies of the space in the landscape.
Perspective is important to the Emperor.
It is just not clear for how long.
But as to wanting perspective, the Emperor expresses his wish only through the Commission.
The Commission also says to Father Castiglione:
the trees and the hills in the landscape should not be similar to real trees and hills, seen elsewhere;
the Emperor has no need of representations of an actual tree or hill;
a tree or a hill should encapsulate all the trees and hills ever seen;
painting an actual tree — that is a pursuit for an amateur;
if a landscape has to be similar to something, then first and foremost it should be the work of the old Chinese masters of landscape.
In boring unison, the Commission goes through the whole list of demands.
Castiglione understands: the Chinese do not want a tree to be like a tree.
He thinks: the only thing more contemptible and demeaning than painting horses is painting still lifes.
A melon cut up with a knife, and lobsters.
And lemons.
In a spiral.
The skin peeled off.
Still lifes like that should not be painted but eaten.
Let the Dutch paint them.
Castiglione is listening to the Commission with his head bent slightly forward.
Castiglione is trying not to incline his head.
To the left or to the right.
He is trying to stand with his eyes down and not to look directly at the Commission. Only from an angle.
The members of the Commission are talking amongst themselves.
Castiglione is trying not to frown.
And not to wrinkle his nose.
And to maintain his inner calm.
And not to appear downcast.
Although he is most probably not successful in trying to appear pleasant.
Castiglione wants to yawn but he is trying.
Not to yawn.
And not to bite his lip.
He crosses his studio twice.
Composed.
Dignified and solid in his bearing.
Castiglione does everything exactly as commanded by Ignatius Loyola.
It is said that Ignatius Loyola thought long and hard before formulating these rules of behaviour.
He even wept.
And seven times in prayer he addressed…
Putting the sketches of the horses together to form one picture, it is obvious that there is no master, says the Commission.
The hundred horses and the six horse herders in the picture – they are only guests.
Castiglione suggests the Commission choose one horse.
And he will paint that horse larger than the others.
The Chinese laugh.
Castiglione asks if the Commission would like him to paint the Emperor.
The Chinese do not laugh.
Castiglione had not yet seen laughter so quickly replaced by silence.
The silence is broken by the chairman of the Commission Syma Cao. He adjusts the blue silk bag hanging from his belt. The bag is embroidered with sharp triangular, golden mountains and undulating rivers.
Syma Cao, the chairman of the Commission, is taller than most Chinese and is dressed more ornately than the other members.
He can be picked out from afar by his leopard skin cap.
If you did not know his history and had not heard him talking, you might think: he is too pompous, too vain and too highly regarded. And most probably — without any basis.
Syma Cao is a eunuch.
The only eunuch in the Commission.
The other members of the Commission of Experts are high ranking mandarins.
Syma Cao, the Chairman of the Commission, is different to other eunuchs not only because he does not smell of urine but also because of his exceptional brain.
Most of the eunuchs Castiglione has met in the Forbidden City are only fit to open doors, to dress the Emperor’s wives in silk clothes, and to puff out their cheeks in plays.
Or to play women.
Castiglione’s pupil Leng Mei — it may be that due to the wish of the Commission he will be entrusted with painting the landscape beyond the horses — is telling Father Castiglione—and how a person’s history heard by chance can change one’s opinion of that person and even lead one to respect and love him — so, Leng Mei was telling Castiglione: Syma Cao, the chairman of the Commission, became a eunuch through no wish of his own or that of his family but by the decision of the Old Fourth Emperor.
And he is descended not from the lowest class of society, like other eunuchs, but from the highest.
His father was, in the opinion of the Old Fourth Emperor, a disobedient and dangerous general. The Emperor ordered the influential general to be arrested, and for the genitals of his ten-year-old son to be cut off.
There was no great tragedy.
Later it became clear: The Old Emperor may have been mistaken.
As regards the general’s faithlessness.
The Emperor had believed in the intrigues.
When the truth became clear, the Emperor ordered that the boy be brought to the Forbidden City.
It was there that he grew up and made a career for himself.
He is one of the few eunuchs allowed to adorn himself in dark blue clothes: embroidered with rivers and triangular mountains.
Besides that, he has direct access to the Emperor.
The other members of the Commission of Experts, the mandarins, cannot allow themselves such familiarity.
Syma Cao really does occupy a unique place in the palace.
Even despite the fact that the Qing dynasty views eunuchs completely differently than the previous rulers.
‘Than the Ming’, says Leng Mei very quietly.
‘What does that mean – completely differently?’ asks Castiglione.
‘The Emperors of the Qing dynasty no longer consider eunuchs people of any importance,’ says Leng Mei.
Syma Cao, the chairman of the Commission, interrupts the laughter of the members of the Commission and explains to Castiglione: ‘It is not the Emperor that the Chinese call ‘the master’ but a large mountain. Painted most often on the right-hand side of a picture.
Everything else in the landscape is called a ‘guest’.
***
In China, it is like in Europe, thinks Castiglione.
Every person has his place.
His rank.
But in China everyone is evaluated not individually but only in relation to someone else.
In every situation, a person is either a teacher or a pupil, a father or a son, the master of the house or a guest.
In China, even the elements in a landscape have their rank, thinks Castiglione.
***
‘Perhaps you’d like me to answer the question why at the end of 2001 I wrote on erotic themes using Messenger? With a writer from Malta?’ asked Mama Nora on TV.
‘Yes. Why?’ asked the woman journalist on TV.
Miki turned up the volume because Grandmother Amigorena had asked her to do so using the language of gestures, and said indignantly:
‘Why-why? Why-why? Why don’t journalists have any other questions? Only that “Why?”. You did what you wanted to do in 2001. So now what, you’re supposed to get on your knees in front of the whole nation with tears in your eyes and beg for forgiveness? And then perhaps go and kiss the flag? It’s not as if you’re the President,’ fumed an angry Miki.
Miki still had the energy to be angry but no one had the strength to listen to her, everyone was interested in the conversation on TV.
‘Did you really in 2001 discuss erotic themes using Messenger with a writer from Malta?’ asked Miki.
‘He had absolutely no sense of humour at all, nor was he capable of any kind of analytical thinking,’ answered Mama Nora. ‘So, there wasn’t anything else to talk about.’
‘So, was 2001 special in some way?’ asked Grandmother Amigorena.
‘Only that it was a long time ago,’ said Mama Nora.
‘You look better on TV,’ said Grandmother Amigorena and explained: ‘Fatter.’
Grandmother Amigorena is sitting in front of the TV in a violet knitted top, embroidered with pansies back in her youth.
She was so dressed up it was as if she were not on this side of the screen but on the other.
But one could not say that to her.
Grandmother Amigorena is already eighty years old and she really does not like the expression ‘on the other side’.
On the other hand, she really likes the expression ‘to kick out’.
She is sitting now in front of the TV in her best ensemble. On less important occasions, Grandmother Amigorena also favours the Gypsy style.
‘Chanel?’ asks Grandmother Amigorena, pointing to Mama Nora’s black knitted top on the screen.
‘Almost,’ replies Mama Nora.
‘Almost “Chanel”?’ asks Grandmother Amigorena.
It is very good that at home there is at least one distinctive first name like that.
It is perfectly fine that everyone else in the house has some kind of more ordinary name.
Everyone here for a long time thought that ‘Amigorena’ meant – everyone’s friend, but, later, on consulting a Spanish dictionary, it became clear that amigo-reno in Spanish means friend-male reindeer.
This is a secret that will never become public enough for Grandmother Amigorena to find out about it.
Grandmother Amigorena was born in Argentina.
Her parents emigrated there during World War I and then returned after it was over.
Holding her in their arms.
And they did a foolish thing.
Grandmother Amigorena remembers only a few Spanish words from her time in Argentina but uses them only for swearing.
Grandmother Amigorena does not like to speak about Argentina.
She only begins to feel oppressed by it.
Her parents were to blame.
‘Listen, why did everything between you break down?’ asks Miki, looking at Mama Nora closely during an ad break.
‘Between whom – between us?’ asked Mama Nora.
It is doubtful if Grandmother had ever read Ibsen.
She had come across the name Nora somewhere or heard it.
‘Between you and the writer from Malta,’ says Miki.
‘The writer Fromalta?’ asked Grandmother Amigorena.
‘From Malta,’ said Mama Nora.
‘You don’t have to repeat things for me, I have very good hearing and can still understand everything,’ said Grandmother Amigorena. ‘I’m very smart.’
‘We passed each other by,’ said Mama Nora.
‘Where?’ asked Miki.
‘In our thoughts,’ said Mama Nora.
‘What thoughts?’ asked Miki.
‘Well, I wanted to escape to an island.’
‘And he?’
‘He wanted to escape from an island,’ replied Mama Nora.
‘Escape?’ asked Grandmother Amigorena very interested. But no one paid any attention to her question.
‘So, when you came to an understanding – you split up?’ asked Miki.
‘Not straight away,’ replied Mama Nora. ‘I still sent him two Christmas cards after that.’
‘Well done,’ said Grandmother Amigorena.
Translated from the Lithuanian by Romas Kinka
© Undinė Radzevičiūtė and Romas Kinka
Undinė Radzevičiūtė (b. 1967) is an internationally acclaimed writer, the author of five novels and a collection of short stories. She graduated from the Vilnius Arts Academy, where she studied art history, theory and criticism. She subsequently worked for ten years in international advertising agencies including Saachi & Saatchi and Leo Burnett. She has published two novellas, Strekaza and Frankburgas (Frankburg), a book of short stories, Baden Badeno nebus (There will be no Baden-Baden) and three novels, a “literary chinoiserie”, Žuvys ir drakonai (Fishes and Dragons), an intellectual thriller, 180, and a historical novel Kraujas mėlynas (Blue Blood). Her books have on four occasions been shortlisted for the most creative book of the year, and three times for best Lithuanian book of the year. In 2015, Fishes and Dragons was awarded the European Union Prize for Literature and is cited as one of the best books of the decade. It was published in Germany in 2017, it is currently being translated into English, and there are plans to translate it into Polish, Bulgaria, Italian, Latvian, Estonian, Hungarian and Spanish by 2019.
Romas Kinka works as a forensic linguist and a literary translator and finds that both disciplines complement one another. In the first case, a person’s liberty may be at stake due to a mistake in translation, in the second—an inadequate translation may undeservedly harm a writer’s reputation outside of his or her own country. Apart from a translated collection of Kristina Sabaliauskaitė’s short stories, Vilnius Wilno Vilna (2015), the prestigious annual anthology Best European Fiction has published excerpts he has translated from novels by Lithuanian writers for two years running (BEF 2016 and 2017).
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