More than skin deep (page 86)
Where are you?
Tang Lili, Wilhelmina Wang, and Wang Xiaolong are on the northeast corner, as they were geographically as well. Emil Hering, his Onkel Otto, father Kapitän Friedrich are on the northwest corner. See where there´s a gap due north? That mystery? That unkown? That´s where the Little Meermaid, Emil´s mother Undine, and the gods old and new are.
Emil´s a bit into the unkown. He´s on the liminal line, between his father´s deep blue line and his mother´s deep blue sea, with something of the North, deep within.
And Cathay´s line? Something of the unknown as well, though it´s so buried, so hidden, so overgrown after civilizational generations, the rises and falls of numberless kingships and houses, of clans and warfare, of erudition and traditions, of tongues and characters, that the Unknown exists in the consciousness only as an emblem on a flag, a relief on a tile, a snatch of song and dance. But it´s there underneath it all, the contribution, undiluted though hidden, lost to knowledge but blood true: The Cathayans are descendants of dragons.
And you see it on Tang Lili´s face, in the silhouette of Great-Grandmother Dowager Li´s dagger arm, in the shadow cast by the dagger as it flies. You hear in the sound of the guqin, the sound of the dragon, the sonification of his thoughts, his wishes, his commands for his descendants. You see it in the inkbrush and ink cakes of black mo, coming out in shades of water on rice paper. And you perceive it in the movements of arts martial and literary, musical and scientific, political and agricultural, of the kitchen and the great hall, of the school room and the scholar´s study, of the poor and the rich, for they are all, all, descended from dragons.
And the gap between Wilhelmina Wang and Emil Hering is so wide, so deep, across the unknowns and the known-knowns, across the deserts and the lakes, past Issyk-Kul and the Ordos, clashing of the descendants of the monsters and gods of different corners of the turtle-upheld world, of Kopernikus´s celestial sphere, of deep history and deeper mythology.
The Little Meermaid and her Danish prince couldn´t bridge the gap. Undine and Kapitän Friedrich Hering could, but only for a time. There is something different, between oil and vinegar. You can shake it for a while, and cause an emulsion. But let it sit, on the counter, give it time, and they separate. There´s still touching, at the liminal place, but one is so different from the other. That it´s, and it´s, more than skin deep. Normally immiscible.
Normally…
And are we normal?
Was für eine Frage!
Discursive Aside page 21 my language mistakes (a small selection, because of Email limits)