Chinese Literature

“That Japan allspice is probably in bloom now,” he said to himself. He shot a glance at the student nearest to him as though he were afraid that they might guess what was on his mind. Then, his arms crossed, he tried to put himself into the proper frame of mind, telling himself coolly that in a great era like the present one when there was so much suffering, nobody should long for the comforts he had enjoyed

before, and nobody could lead a leisurely life behind closed doors any —

longer. :

But here, the circumstances were so completely different from those he had been used to before. .

Quietly, he heaved a deep sigh. He didn’t quite know what, but he felt that these new circumstances definitely lacked something. He suffered from a kind of oppression that prevented him from being active, both physically and mentally. Even his righteous indignation was not a fiery wrath. It had become something very sombre, deeply mixed with melancholy.

In order to divert these unpleasant feelings, he turned his thoughts to something else intentionally.

‘Really, why should these four lessons be put all together on Wednesday afternoons?”

A hissing sound issued suddenly from the end of the room. It was not clear whether a student had laughed or just blown his nose. Mr. Li was startled and turned around slowly. On his face there was an embarrassed expression such as a sensitive child would put on before strangers after crying. Mr. Li asked the students rather too casually:

“Are you... éh, do you paint anything outside class?”

Several of the students exchanged glances with a smile.

“Those of you who are in the second and third year take art as an optional course,’ Mr. Li said with some displeasure. “Since you have chosen this course, you must have some interest in art. But I do hope you will do more propaganda pictures to be shown outside the school, in order to rouse the general public. So long as you can make your meaning clear in your pictures, it doesn’t matter even if your technique is rather childish. Anyway, this is . . . this is not the time for us to talk about art. Art is useless now.”

The students again looked at one another, obviously exchanging meaningful glances. Then a student, with hair closely cropped like that of a Buddhist monk, lifted himself up only a little from his seat instead of standing up and asked:

“And what about propaganda pictures, Mr. Li? Aren’t they also supposed to be works of art?”

“No, they definitely are not!’ Mr. Li answered, with some agitation.

“You mean that no propaganda pictures can be considered as works of art?”

As a teacher, Mr. Li pitied that student somewhat. What ignorance!

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