It had been in the family for years. An age yellowed parchment surrounded by a bamboo frame. The frame was painted glossy black and the joints gilt in gold. There was a faded red silk cord coming off the top to hang it, and another off the bottom with a red tassel dangling down in the middle. It was long and narrow, being about four inches wide and over ten inches long. The parchment contained some Chinese calligraphy. A number of characters done in black ink tumbled down the parchment like so many twigs dumped out of a basket and frozen in time before piling up on the ground. Well, to my western eye, so they appeared. At the bottom left corner, the artist signed it with a couple more characters and below the last, he drew a small black bird.
I had seen it hanging in my Grandparent’s house for as long as I can remember. It always hung just inside the front door. I asked my Grandpa about it when I was twelve or thirteen years old. It was a school assignment to find out something you didn’t know about someone in your family.
As he looked at the frame, a soft smile came over his face and a twinkle to his eye.
“You want to know about this here old thing do ya? Well, let’s sit down and I’ll tell ya where your Grandma and me got it.”
He took his favorite chair and I sat on a small footstool in front of him.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, a twinkle in his eye as he recalled the past, and began his tale, “When your Grandma and me got married, we went to Hong Kong, China!”
“Wow! Really? You’ve been to China?” I asked. As far as I was concerned, my assignment was complete!
“Yep,” he said, “Your Grandma drug me all over the place looking for bargains. I wandered off to a small shop where an old man was writing on long strips of paper. He spoke English, so we started talking. I told him my wife and I were here on our honeymoon. He asked if I wanted an old Chinese proverb for new couples. ‘Bring good luck!!’ He told me. I watched as he drew that strip of Chinese writing. He was slow, and every stroke was just so. At the end, he signed it and drew the bird underneath. He told me I would never remember his name in Chinese, it means the Raven. When I got back to your Grandma, she showed me her finds, and I showed her mine. It has had a special place in our home since,” he concluded.
“Do you know what it says?” I wondered out loud.
“Yep,” he just smiled.
“Don’t you go telling him what it says,” called Grandma from the kitchen, “he’s too young to understand”.
“Remember this anyway,” said Grandpa, “if the first part goes well, you’ll never need the second part."
Time passed along with Grandpa and Grandma. The narrow passage, came to me. I knew the story behind it, but not what it said. It had hung on my wall for years when the chance to have it translated came for dinner one night. My Sister brought her new Chinese boyfriend over and he stood reading the narrow passage. Then he chuckled.
“What does it say?” I asked?
He smiled at my sister, “It says,” he began, “Bringing a new bride into the family is like breaking a wild horse, you should mount her often and beat her repeatedly.”