TUN-HUANG

by Yasushi Inoue

  While he was out, Hsing-te went to see Yen-hui, and there, too, he found that Kuang had preceded him. In Yen-hui’s case, Kuang had not asked for arms, but had requested fifty camels instead, “for official business.”

  Yen-hui had agreed and had gone through the proper channels to provide them. Yen-hui also spoke in the same vein as Wang-li. “You should be able to travel in comfort and take a back seat to no one. Kuang has fifty camels of his own, and since he has got an additional fifty for nothing, he should take very good care of you.”

  But Hsing-te remembered Kuang’s belligerent look. No matter how much anyone paid Kuang, no one could erase the sharpness from his eyes.

  That night Hsing-te, followed by two soldiers carrying his baggage, went to the appointed place. In a few moments Kuang appeared, took the baggage from the two men, and handed it to the camel drivers. He said curtly to Hsing-te, “Follow me,” and started to walk away. Hsing-te dismissed the two soldiers and followed Kuang, his shoes sinking into the desert sand as he walked. Although it was May, the bitter cold of the night air was piercing.

  As he walked, Hsing-te wondered just where Kuang came from. His facial structure was different from the Chinese, the Uighurs, the Turfans, and other westerners whom Hsing-te had come across. Kuang spoke the local Chinese dialect. As they walked down the dark road along the city wall, Hsing-te could not check his curiosity and asked, “Where were you born?”

  Kuang stopped, looked back and replied, “I am Wei-ch’ih Kuang.” He pronounced each word distinctly as though he were warning Hsing-te.

  “I know your name. I just asked you what country you were born in.”

  Kuang shouted harshly, “Fool! Don’t you understand when I say Wei-ch’ih? No one outside the Wei-ch’ih royal house of Khotan has that name. My father was a member of royalty!” He resumed walking. “The Wei-ch’ih dynasty lost their struggle for power with Li. Right now, Li is king of Khotan, but my family is different from that plebian family.”

  If he were telling the truth, it meant his father was Khotanese, but Kuang did not resemble any other Khotanese Hsing-te had known.

  “What country did your mother come from?” asked Hsing-te.

  “My mother? My mother was from the famous Fan family of Sha-chou. My mother’s father had several Buddhist caves dug in the Ming-sha mountains.”

  “What do you mean, ‘had Buddhist caves dug’?”

  Kuang stopped walking, turned around, and suddenly grabbed Hsing-te’s collar. Slowly tightening his grasp, he shouted, “To have Buddhist caves dug in the Ming-sha mountains is not easy. Only a very prominent man or a very wealthy one could undertake such a project. Remember this!”

  Hsing-te felt he was being choked. As he gasped for air, he was also roughly shaken. Hsing-te tried to cry out, but he could not speak. Then he was pulled off his feet and lifted into the air; the next instant he fell to the ground, landing on his back. It was a soft fall, just as if he had been thrown on straw, and he was not hurt at all.

  Hsing-te brushed off the sand and slowly got up. Perhaps it was because he felt no pain, but Hsing-te felt no antagonism toward Kuang.

  Hsing-te said nothing and quietly followed Kuang. According to what he had just said, Kuang had Khotan and Chinese blood. Hsing-te thought that since the western Chinese had intermarried with many native tribes, Kuang was probably a mixture of various nationalities through his mother, aside from his father’s background. If so, it was not strange that his features and physique were unique.

  The road running along the city wall seemed unending. As he plodded on in the dark, Hsing-te began to wonder whether it would ever end. Finally, however, the two men reached an area with more light. It was not really lit up, but at least Hsing-te could make out forms in the dim light.

  Before him a narrow path stretched ahead, and on both sides were rows of low-roofed buildings, shaped differently from the civilian houses and surrounded by walls. Here and there in front of these buildings he could see a large number of animals moving. Hsing-te just stood there looking at the animals, and then gradually became aware of his surroundings. Kuang had disappeared, and Hsing-te realized he, too, must get out of the way; the number of animals coming out of the buildings was increasing every minute, and the enormous herd was moving slowly toward him.

  Hsing-te was gradually pushed out into a large square beside the city wall by the herd of animals. He had not known until then that such a large square existed within the town. A large number of camels had been led there, and Hsing-te could now see ten or more strangely dressed men moving among the animals and loading them.

  After some time, Hsing-te heard Kuang’s voice. His shouting could be heard off and on as he went among the men and animals. Hsing-te walked in the direction of the voice. As he didn’t want to lose sight of Kuang again, Hsing-te stayed beside him. Kuang spoke many languages. When he spoke in Uighur, Turfan, or Hsi-hsia, Hsing-te could understand, but he had no idea what the other tongues were. Whenever he heard a strange tongue, Hsing-te asked what language he was speaking. At first Kuang told him that it was the language of Khotan, or Lung, or Asha, but finally he seemed to lose patience and shouted, “Keep quiet, will you?” and grabbed Hsing-te by the collar again. As before, Hsing-te was lifted off the ground and thrown unceremoniously on the sand.

  The moon had risen and lighted up the area. The hundred camels and the ten or so men, casting black shadows on the gray sand, continued loading throughout the long night.

  There was nothing for Hsing-te to do. Leaving Kuang, he slowly walked among the camels and men to watch them work. He wondered what was in the packs. At times he was readily understood, but at other times the men could not understand him even after he had exhausted all the languages at his command. Even so, he did learn that these traders were going to transport jewels and Persian rugs, animal skins, cloth, spices from various western countries, seeds, and other things to the east.

  When the hustle and bustle finally subsided and the loading seemed finished, Kuang’s booming voice, announcing their departure, resounded among the animals. The caravan opened the South Gate, which was normally bolted, and left the city. The hundred camels got into a single long line, and armed men on horseback were posted here and there. Hsing-te rode on a camel near the tail of the caravan.

  “Where are my things?” he asked Kuang, who rode just in front of him.

  “They’re loaded on the camel you’re on. If you ask me any more questions about your goods, you’re in for it!” Kuang yelled at him.

  It was still some time before dawn, and the dim moon still cast its light on the vast plains.

  It took fifty days for Kuang’s caravan to travel from Kua-chou to Hsing-ch’ing. While he had been living in Kua-chou, Hsing-te hadn’t known it, but throughout the western territories minor skirmishes were being fought between the Hsi-hsia and the Turfans. Whenever the caravan came upon fighting, the men either waited until the battle was over or detoured around it. Many days were thus wasted.

  What surprised Hsing-te most about Kuang was that he had influence with both the Hsi-hsia and Turfan armies. As might be expected, Kuang avoided the battlefields when fighting was in progress, but when the two armies were facing each other without having begun the battle, Kuang would calmly ride through both army camps. Or he would travel between the two camps, his brightly dyed banner carried high, with the letter “Vai” on it, symbolizing Vaisravana, the guardian god of the Wei-ch’ih family, and signaling to everyone that he and his caravan were passing through. At such times, both armies would wait until the caravan had gone by and would then commence fighting.

  Kuang was not particularly concerned with the skirmishes between the Hsi-hsia and the Turfans that blocked his way, but he was irritated when he had to pass through the various walled cities. At Su-chou, Kan-chou, and Liang-chou, Hsing-te noticed Kuang was in a very bad temper, ranting and raving. In each case, the caravan was kept waiting for two or three days until their traveling tax was cleared. Before the Hsi-hsia in
vasion, Kuang had paid Uighur officials only, but now not only did he have to pay the Hsi-hsia who had taken over but also the Uighur officials who still held real control. For that reason, the fifty cases of jewelry on the camels decreased by one-fifth.

  During this long trip, Hsing-te became thoroughly familiar with the young caravan leader’s temperament, although they had been complete strangers at the beginning. Kuang was a man who would do anything for money. His profession was that of a trader, but in reality he was hardly less than a pirate or a blackmailer.

  Whenever he found a small caravan, he would approach it with two or three of his men and, after some negotiation, return with all of the caravan’s goods. Hsing-te had a good view of these operations. Kuang always kept with him a few men from the Lung tribe, who lived in the mountains south of Sha-chou, and from the Asha tribe, who had settled west of Sha-chou; both were known as highwaymen.

  Furthermore, Kuang seemed to fear nothing. There were things which angered him or annoyed him, but nothing seemed to arouse his fear. There was an arrogance about him which until the moment he died would not allow him to acknowledge the fact that death could come to him.

  Hsing-te knew the attitude of this ruthless young man stemmed from pride in his family name. The brilliance of the Wei-ch’ih dynasty had now disappeared from the earth. The man could be either very courageous, or very cruel. There was no doubt that his pride in his royal background made him willful, even to the point of attacking other caravans in the desert. In deference to the power and glory of his ancestors, he could not be satisfied unless he took every last item from his victims.

  Hsing-ch’ing had completely changed in the three years since Hsing-te had been there. The population of the city had increased tremendously. The shopping area was bustling—large new shops were continually being built—but the city had completely lost that ancient walled town tranquility it had possessed even three years before. This vitality had flowed beyond the walls, too, and a new settlement was being established near the eleven-storied North Pagoda. The area near the West Pagoda was no different, nor was the north-western sector, where Hsing-te had once lived in the temple.

  In step with Hsi-hsia’s expansion, Hsing-ch’ing, too, was developing into a large city. Hsing-te noticed, however, that the clothing of the people had become shabbier and plainer. He presumed this was due to heavy taxation caused by the war with the Turfans. Three years before, Hsing-te had often heard that many temples were to be built at the foot of the Ho-lan mountains thirty miles west of the city, but by now such rumors had subsided. Funds for the temples had been appropriated by the military.

  As before, Hsing-te lodged in a large Buddhist temple with a sizeable dormitory in the northwest sector of the town. This building looked more like a school than his former residence, and there were many teachers and students. The number of Chinese instructors had also increased. He also met many of the Chinese he had known before while studying Hsi-hsia writing. What surprised him most since his arrival at the temple was that the Hsi-hsia-Chinese dictionary he had compiled had been bound into a book and many copies had been made of it. An elderly person of almost sixty named So, who had lived for years at this temple and had worked on the Hsi-hsia writing, brought one of the books to Hsing-te and asked him to write the title for it. He himself was a better bureaucrat than scholar, and he now had the longest tenure and highest position in this department. He had learned of Hsing-te’s return by chance. They were to use the name of a Hsi-hsia man who worked in the department as author, but since Hsing-te had contributed the most work, So wanted at least to give him the right to title the book.

  Hsing-te opened it. Several words he had selected leapt to his eye: thunder, sunlight, sweet dew, whirlwind—words for natural phenomena were written in one line. To the right of these were the Hsi-hsia terms, with Chinese pronunciation given for Hsi-hsia writing and Hsi-hsia pronunciation noted for Chinese words. The writing was very poor, as if some student had copied it, but despite everything this small book held fond memories for Hsing-te.

  On another page he saw the words: cats, dogs, pigs, camels, horses, oxen, and other such animals, and on the next page: eyes, head, nose, teeth, mouth—and others for the parts of the body had been selected.

  For some time, Hsing-te looked over several pages of the booklets, then he picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and wrote “The Pearl in the Palm Hsi-hsia—Chinese Handbook” on the long, narrow white paper pasted onto the cover. Laying down his brush and pointing to the book, Hsing-te asked the elder So, “Will this do?” The old man nodded, and Hsing-te wrote the same words on several pieces of paper. These were to be pasted on other copies of the book.

  As soon as Hsing-te had arrived at Hsing-ch’ing, with help from So, he had started work on the mission that had brought him from distant Kua-chou. Government permission was granted after about a month. The six Chinese Hsing-te chose were to be sent to Kua-chou as Yen-hui’s guests. Of the group, two were Buddhist priests. Both were learned in Chinese and Hsi-hsia and steeped in Buddhist culture. They were in their fifties, but the others were around forty. All had previously worked with Hsing-te. His request was granted quickly because no Buddhist sutras were being translated in Hsing-ch’ing; indeed, they had hardly any sutras to work with. Hsing-te had even heard rumors that in the near future an envoy would be sent to China to obtain all the necessary sutras.

  When negotiations were concluded, Hsing-te decided to return to Kua-chou before the others. It would have been more convenient to travel together, but his companions had to make preparations for the trip and did not wish to leave Hsing-ch’ing until the beginning of autumn.

  In the hottest part of July, Hsing-te finished his work in Hsing-ch’ing and joined Kuang’s party, now heading west toward Kua-chou. Kuang had several times the amount of goods he had come with. Thus another thirty camels had been added, and some of the camel men were handling ten camels each. The major portion of the load was silk, but there were also small quantities of brushes, paper, inksticks, ink-stones, scrolls, paintings, and antiques.

  Since Hsing-te was well-acquainted with Kuang’s temperament, he tried to stay away from him. Kuang’s pride displayed itself in strange ways, so it was extremely difficult to avoid annoying him. Hsing-te thought it best to keep out of his way, but Kuang would find reasons to seek him out. He had decided that Hsing-te alone among the ignorant, uncouth people in the caravan and the camel men could converse on a fairly equal level with him.

  The journey with Kuang was not peaceful. The first incident occurred on the second day after the caravan had left Liang-chou and had camped along the banks of a stream in the grasslands. Hsing-te was in a tent with five camel men when Kuang appeared. As always, as soon as he appeared, the atmosphere in the tent became tense, and the camel men huddled in one corner and turned their backs on the two.

  Kuang ignored them, approached Hsing-te, and for some reason blurted out, “In any case, all Uighur women, highborn and low-born, are prostitutes.”

  In most instances, Hsing-te disregarded anything Kuang said, but he could not ignore these words. “That’s not true,” he said rather strongly. “Some Uighur women are chaste.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “I can’t speak for the lower classes, but I know of a respectable royal girl who has given up her life to prove her chastity.”

  In answer to Hsing-te, Kuang roared, “Shut up! What do you mean by ‘respectable royalty’? You can’t tell what the background of any royal Uighur family is!” He glared at Hsing-te as he spoke. Kuang seemed to imply that the term “respectable royalty” should be applied only to the Wei-ch’ih family of Khotan. Hsing-te was well aware of this, but he would not yield. Until then, Hsing-te had given in to this brash young man in all respects, but he would not concede this point.

  “What do you mean, you can’t tell where they came from? By royalty, I mean a clan which has passed down nobility of spirit through several generations.”

  “Be quiet!
” Kuang suddenly grabbed Hsing-te’s collar and began to shake him. “Just try to repeat that nonsense!”

  Kuang pulled Hsing-te up from the straw on the ground. “Now, let’s hear you say it again.”

  Hsing-te wanted to speak, but his voice would not come out. The grip around his neck loosened and he was thrown to the ground, and before he could run he was picked up and thrown down again. He had had such rough treatment from Kuang several times before, but this time he would not give in. Each time as he rolled on the ground, he sputtered out broken phrases or words, “royalty is,” “noble,” “spirit.”

  “All right then!” Kuang finally seemed to have given up on Hsing-te, who continued to resist him, and stopped beating him. He looked pensive. Then he said, “Follow me,” and left the tent.

  Hsing-te followed. The night air was as cold as in winter. The ground, scorched by the sun during the day was now completely chilled. In the dim light, Hsing-te saw many tents neatly lined in such straight rows that they seemed to have been marked off with a ruler.

  Kuang walked silently away from the tent toward the the plains. Then he stopped and said, “Now, say the only ones worthy of being called royalty are the Wei-ch’ih family of Khotan. If you do, I shall let you go back without cutting your arms and legs to pieces. Now, say it!”

  “I won’t,” Hsing-te replied.

  Kuang seemed to ponder for a minute. “Why can’t you say it? All right, if you can’t say that, you good-for-nothing, just say that all Uighur women are prostitutes. You can say that much, can’t you? Say it!”

  “I won’t.”

  “Won’t! Why won’t you?”

  “Because a Uighur princess jumped off a city wall to prove her chastity, and I refuse to yield on that point.”

  “All right then!” With these words, Kuang jumped on Hsing-te. At that moment, Hsing-te became a mere stick as he was whirled around.

  After a bit, Hsing-te felt himself thrown into the darkness, where he landed on the damp grass. Hsing-te looked up toward the starry heavens and saw the sky tilting. The row of words “dew, thunder, and hailstones, lightning, rainbow, Milky Way” flitted through his mind as he lay stretched out on the bare earth. They were terms relating to celestial phenomena on one of the pages of the “The Pearl in the Palm Hsi-hsia—Chinese Handbook” which he had titled.