Lu Xun, your hands

But as you look up and inhale the intoxicating smoke from your tobacco, can you spare a thought for those scrambling to find a way out of this nest of scorpions?

-Xu Guangping, in her first letter to Lu Xun, 1925¹

Lu Xun, your hands
are clasped behind your back,
across the black silk
of your scholar’s dress. My eyes trace the length
of your fingers encircling your wrist. Tonight,
Lu Xun, your hands will drag
their heavy, eloquent path across
my milk-soft skin. Your mouth will cease
to form words like liberty, ideology,
and compassion, but will instead silently
enclose the peach blossoms
of my breasts.

Lu Xun, your hands are the instruments
through which you conduct
desire. In the morning, your fingers are pale
and controlled; your brush hovers
then descends upon the sheets
of rice paper. My eyes follow only
each stroke. Your thoughts
unfold before me, beginning
at the moss-green rocks. They linger
in the shade of the toothpick pavilion, beneath
its heavy jade tiles. They form a deep red,
half-moon bridge

across the rush of river
fed by the waterfall whose origin lies
in the death-grey mountains. Lu Xun,
your hands warm the wood of the pipe
that I fill. My fingers, deft as birds
in flight, strike a match-soldier. Provoked,
it flares orange and ash. Dragon,
you exhale whole curlicues of cloud. Words
as yet unformed in my mind
now go up in smoke. They too know
that I am in heaven, Lu Xun,
for your hands.

鲁迅先生，你的双手

然而，你在仰首吸那醉人的一丝丝的烟叶的时候，
可也想到在虿盆中展转待拔的人们么
许广平，1925年，致鲁迅的第一封信

先生，你的双手
背在那黑色丝绸长衫之后。
我的目光丈量着
你握住手腕的
修长手指。今晚，
先生，你的双手
将在我雪白的肌肤上
时而沉着 时而游走。
你不再满口
自由、主义和同情，
而是沉默地
轻吻我
桃花欲放的胸口。

先生，你的双手是乐器
把欲望演奏。
白日，你的手指苍白克制，
你的笔尖悬停
进而挥毫落纸。
我的目光紧紧跟随着
你的笔划。你的思绪
在我眼前徐徐铺展。
始于青苔石，
于微亭的阴凉处，
在墨绿的玉檐下，
徘徊逗留。
汇成一座
朱红的半月桥，

穿过瀑布下的
湍急河流
深灰色的山脉藏着它的源头。
先生，
你的双手温暖了
我刚刚填满烟叶的烟斗。
我的手指，像飞翔的鸟儿一样娴熟，
把火柴划亮，
燃起火光和灰烬。
飞龙，
呼出整片云朵。
我心中尚未形成的话语
已袅袅升起。
它们也知道
我在天堂，
先生，
因为
你的双手。

翻译：何文慧, 张可 (Translated by Wenhui He, Ke Zhang and Grace Feng)