Hearing the 'Ai Nai' on a Rowing Boat

On the morning of October 5th, a bus departed from Shanghai. Just after 11 o'clock, it stopped at the 'Shi Wei Tian Restaurant' in Qintong Town, Jiangyan District, Taizhou City for lunch: a full fish banquet. Then we headed straight for Qintong Lake Wetland. By 3 p.m., we were already on a rowing boat. In an instant, we had traveled from Shanghai to 'poetry and distant places.'

I've taken a punt on the River Cam at Cambridge University, an electric painted boat on the Qinhuai River in Nanjing, an electric painted boat and a hand-rowed boat on West Lake in Hangzhou, and a rowing boat in Shajiabang—each with its own charm. But the most delightful of all is a rowing boat. Today, enjoying it again, the experience seems even better.

When I was young, I read Liu Zongyuan's 'The Old Fisherman,' and two lines have stayed with me all my life, making me long for them:

When mist clears at sunrise, no man is in sight,

But a creak of oars—green hills and waters bright.

The essence of these two lines is: the sun comes out, the clouds and mist disperse, yet no person is seen; the sound of oars comes from the emerald-green mountains and waters. What is poetic charm? These two lines are it! Liu Zongyuan uniquely used the onomatopoeia 'ai nai' to describe the sound of oars, and it is the only such description in classical Chinese poetry.

In 'The Sound of Oars and Lamplight on the Qinhuai River,' Zhu Ziqing wrote about the singing of boat girls and the sound of oars, but unfortunately, he did not use a specific onomatopoeia for the oar sound.

Qintong Lake Wetland has a crisscross network of waterways, with reeds lining the banks, quiet and desolate. Seven or eight of us sat on the rowing boat, facing each other, looking at the scenery and chatting. I pricked up my ears, hoping to hear the 'ai nai' sound of the rowing boat. And indeed, as the boat woman rowed, ripples spread on the water at the stern, and the little boat moved slowly forward. In the still reaches, the water sound was faint but audible—at last, I perceived the flavor of 'ai nai'! For the first time in my life. Last time on a rowing boat at Shajiabang, the wind was strong, and the reeds on the bank rustled, drowning out the 'ai nai' sound, so I missed it, leaving a regret. Today, that regret is made up!

The boat woman, a peasant woman, was 72 years old when I asked. She was fit, with her mask under her chin, wearing a bamboo hat, a floral-patterned homespun cloth dress, and a pair of cloth shoes. She was not talkative but could sing local folk songs. Director Wang gave her 10 yuan, and the old boat woman began to sing in a loud voice:

Osmanthus blooms at the autumn equinox,

Reed flowers later turn white, oh white,

Ai yo ai yo ai yo yo,

Qintong Lake, Qintong Lake, number one...

The old boat woman hummed in the local dialect. Because her enunciation was clear, one could roughly understand.

When the song ended, applause broke out on our boat, and also on the boat next to us! Oh, so they had heard it too!

People always crave encouragement and enjoy praise, young and old alike. The applause had not yet died down when the boat woman began to sing again, this time even louder, overpowering the 'ai nai' sound at the stern.