Some carry shrouded bamboo cages, each with a song bird inside. The trees are soon festooned with these captive larks, warbling throatily in the growing light.  Now the scattered crowd begins to collect over well-worn patches of bare earth or on paved assembly points, each around a guru of their choosing.

 

For some it is the slow-motion ballet of Tai Chi Chuan, Chinese shadow boxing.  Others follow a middle-aged woman in Bermuda shorts, shuffling and clapping in unison to disco music at a tempo which is only marginally aerobic. Matrons couple up for social dance class with an Asian beat, and a knot of young men practice karate and guttural grunting.

 

Object manipulation is my mania, so I gravitate toward a group brandishing swords of wood and metal, and snapping large and colorful fans open and closed. Although there is some preliminary attempt at practice, it is apparent that their Master has not yet arrived. I look past the disciples and see him up on a central stage conducting a private class and warming up with two advanced pupils.

 

Traditional court music plays on the modern tape recorder in the background as Master Yeng-Chuen Chang leads these special students through the time honored steps, first with a tasseled sword, then with one and two fans, and finally with a Ching Ku Ban, "Strong Golden Bar," a 10-foot rope with weights on each end which is twirled and thrown, never losing the appearance of a long, stout staff. Movements are so graceful and precise that even in the growing heat of the August morning, Master Chang seems cool.

 

Completing his private lesson, he joins the larger group. The art they practice is highly structured and literally hundreds of steps, postures and movements of hand and arm follow one another in a ballet learned by rote.

 

How do you describe perfection? Master Chang and his tasseled sword are one entity composed of three parts. "Man-with­sword-and-tassel" points, postures, twirls, balances, advances, retreats, swings, thrusts and pauses. Hand held just so, eyes looking, first here, then .there, foot pointed, then flexed, body deeply bending, strongly extending - here is a living cultural treasure in action, passing on his legacy.

 

Then on to the fans. What can you do with a fan? What indeed!? Closed it can point dramatically, describe a shape in the air, or threaten like a dagger. It can open suddenly with a noisy and dramatic ripping sound, revealing color and form. Opened it can gesture, flutter, serve as a mask, a headdress or a shield. It can be thrown, swung, floated, flipped and twirled. With the flick of a wrist it snaps closed and seems to disappear.

 

Two fans can be juggled, crossing in high arcs behind the back to be caught in front or behind. Sword, or fan, the object is transformed in function from a weapon or a tool.

Practice is over and Master Chang gives special help to star pupils and beginners alike. His more advanced followers assist in this phase of the discipline, each with one to three students clustered around. Finally he is free. I approach and find that he speaks fine English.

 

Enrico Rastelli adorns the back of my t­shirt, and I turn to introduce these Masters to one another. "Show me your art" is Master Chang's immediate response, and I pull out 3, 4, 5, and finally 6 gold lame beanbags. He is so fascinated that he calls the class together, puts on a classical Chinese tape, and insists on an impromptu performance. I oblige, and - drops aside - do a credible job. We are now good friends, united by our mutual fascination with the play of people and objects.