"For many days Simple Seng lay lost in slumber. He did not open his eyes. He seemed to hear nothing. When his mother tried to rouse him for his meals he would murmur, 'Pray go away. I am with the lovely Yen Chun.' For it seemed to him that, instead of returning home on the Day of Climbing High Places, he had followed Yen Chun. With her he had entered the mandarin's gate and had been received in her apartment.
"Indeed, so it seemed also to Yen Chun, my little ones. Each night dreams came to the maiden, and in them she met a handsome young man with a serious face who told her his name was Seng. But she said nothing to anyone, for it was not seemly for a young maiden like her to think so much about a young man.
"As the days went on and Seng did not rouse himself from his sleep his parents grew worried. 'Our son's life is in danger,' his mother said to his father. 'His soul drifts halfway between the earth and the heavens. We must send for a priest to call it back to his body.'
"From the name of the maiden, which the young man kept muttering his father knew where Seng's spirit might be, and he asked the mandarin for permission to send the priests into his courts to call it forth. 'How can your son's spirit be inside our wall?' the mandarin said. 'We do not have the pleasure of the young gentleman's acquaintance. We have not even seen him.' You see, my dear ones, he knew nothing of the meetings of Yen Chun and Simple Seng in the world of dreams.
"But the mandarin gave his permission, and the priest wrote out his prayers and placed them inside a round metal box which was set on the end of a stick like a wheel on its axle. He twirled the prayer wheel around and around. It made a clattering noise which the gods could not fail to notice, and as it spun the priest called the name of the youth again and again. Yen Chun who had heard of the priest's coming, had no doubt but that the young man for whom his prayer wheel was turning was the one she had been meeting in the land of dreams, and her heart was moved.
"At the priest's call, the spirit of Seng returned to his body. He awoke. He rose from his bed and went on about his duties and pleasures. But he took little interest in anything save his thoughts of Yen Chun. His only wish was to see the fair maiden again.
"The youth finally bribed the mandarin's gateman to tell him when Yen Chun would go abroad in the city, and one day when she was on her way to pray in the temple he stood by the highway to see her pass. Through the peephole in the side of her sedan chair the young maiden's eyes fell upon him, and she even dared to lift the corner of its curtain the better to see him. When she found that this handsome youth was the Seng of her dreams, her heart beat with joy.
"Again and again Seng tried to send his spirit to visit Yen Chun as before. But the dreams did not come. Then one day, as he lay on his couch thinking of her, his small brother brought into his room the body of a parrot which had only just died. At once the young man thought to himself, 'If my spirit could enter the body of this bird, how easily I could fly to the court of Yen Chun.'
"And, quick as the thought had flashed through his mind, he fell back on his bed and the parrot moved its wings. The bird rose from the floor and flew out of the window. Straight as the string of a kite borne on a strong wind, my children, that parrot flew to the window of the lovely Yen Chun. It lit on her wrist and caressed her hand with its beak. The girl was delighted with the tame bird, and she was about to fasten a little chain round its leg when it began to speak.
"'There is no need to chain me, Spring Flower,' said the parrot. 'I am Seng, whose only wish is to stay here with you. It was I who sent the go-between to ask you to marry me. It was I who stood by the roadside to see your chair pass.'
"'Your devotion has touched my heart, O Elder Brother,' the maid said politely. 'But since you are now a bird, how can we be wed?'
"It would be enough for me to spend my days by your side,' the parrot replied. 'I do not ask for more.'
"Yen Chun fed the parrot from her own hand. He perched on her shoulder and he slept at her feet. The maiden became so fond of the bird that she was unhappy away from him. Indeed, she loved him so dearly that she wished that he was not a parrot at all. She greatly desired that he should become once more the handsome young man she had seen from her chair on the way to the temple.
"The girl sent one of the servants to the house of his father to ask whether Seng was living or dead. The man brought back word that Seng was sleeping as though in a deep trance. His life, the servant reported still hung between heaven and earth. Then Yen Chun lifted the parrot up on her finger and she rubbed its smooth feathers.
"'Go back to your own body, O Splendid Spirit,' she said. 'Become a young man again and I vow I will wed you.' The parrot cocked its head first on one side, then on the other, as if it were thinking. Then it swooped down upon one of Yen Chun's tiny red shoes that lay on a chair. Holding the bit of embroidered satin in his beak, it flew out of the window. The maiden called to the bird to bring her shoe back to her, but it did not listen.
"In the house of Seng, his mother and father, his brothers and sisters were all gathered about the young man's body as it lay on the bed. They were weeping because Seng did not move and because he would not speak to them. Suddenly, to their surprise, a parrot flew in through the window, lit on the bed, and fell over dead. And a tiny red shoe which the bird had held in its beak dropped to the floor. At the same moment the body of the young man stirred. To his family's great joy, he sat up and spoke.
The maiden called to the bird to bring her shoe back to her, but it did not listen
"Just then there came a knocking at the gate. It was the maid of Yen Chun, come to ask if her mistress's red shoe was there. 'Go back to your mistress,' Seng said to the servant. 'Tell her that the red shoe stands for a promise. When that promise is kept she shall have her shoe back.'
"The lovely Yen Chun told her parents of the strange dreams and of the enchanted parrot, and she vowed she would wed no husband but Seng. Her father, the mandarin, did not want to give his daughter to a young man who had so few coins in his money box. 'But that is not the worst, my daughter,' he said. 'This young man is not only poor. He is simple besides.'
"'Simple he may be, but he is the one I will wed,' the maiden declared. 'If you refuse I will throw myself in the lake and you will see me no more.'
"There was nothing for her father to do then but consent. The lucky day was chosen by the fortune teller and the wedding took place. So happy was Seng, with Yen Chun for his bride, that he learned how to laugh. He could jest with the merriest, and from his wedding day on no one thought of calling him Simple Seng. So clever and wise did he become that they spoke of him instead as Seng the Sage."
XXX
THE OLD OLD ONE'S BIRTHDAY
LAO LAO'S BIRTHDAY is as exciting as the New Year," Ah Shung said to his sister, Yu Lang. They were watching visitors laden with parcels step in through the Moon Gate and walk across the Courtyard of Politeness to the guest hall.
"It is even better," Yu Lang replied. "For today there will be not only feasting and firecrackers and guests bringing presents, but plays on the stage which they have set up here in the courtyard."
Many days had been spent in making ready for this great occasion, when the head of the Ling household should reach the age of seventy years. As much care had been taken to clean each crack and corner of every low house inside the gray walls as at the time of the New Year. The very stones of the courtyards shone with the scouring they had received, and chrysanthemums bloomed in the Garden of Sweet Smells as though the flowers, too, wished to please the Old Old One on her birthday.
Like everyone else, Ah Shung and Yu Lang had on new suits of soft silk. The Old Old One herself was splendid in a long gown of silver-gray satin lined with soft squirrel fur. She was wearing her best carved jade earrings and bracelets, and in her coil of gray hair was a pin of pure gold, set with precious pearls. To look at her calm face one would never guess how much the old woman was enjoying this day when all the members of her family, from near and from far, had come to do her honor. Even her daughters, who now
lived inside the walls of their husband's families, once more passed through the bright red gate of the Lings.
The two children, Ah Shung and Yu Lang, had gone early to give Lao Lao birthday greetings. While she was still having her breakfast in her room, Yu Lang bowed before her and handed her a gift which she had made with her own hands. It was a square of red silk upon which, with her older sister to guide her, the little girl had embroidered a peach-of-long-life. Lao Lao declared she would prize it more highly than the finest roll of shining satin which she might receive during the day.
Ah Shung also bowed before his grandmother. With both hands outstretched he handed her a scroll. Upon its narrow white paper the boy himself had made with his brush and his ink paste perfect black word pictures which stood for "Long Life and Happiness." The children were proud indeed when Grandmother Ling ordered her maids to take their gifts to the guest hall where visitors might see them.
Theirs were only two of the hundred or more presents that were spread out upon the red-covered table in the great reception room in the Courtyard of Politeness. There the Old Old One sat to receive the members of her family, who kowtowed before her as they wished her well. There she welcomed the stream of guests who poured in and out of the red gate. Tables spread with good things to eat and to drink were there for their pleasure, and all the day through the sound of pleasant chatter filled the huge room and rose to the high rafters under its curving roof.
In the afternoon actors from the city, dressed in gay-colored costumes, strutted back and forth across the little stage which had been built out of doors for the birthday plays. How the children enjoyed the music of the players, who beat their drums and clashed their cymbals and played on their flutes! They listened spellbound to the chanting voices of the men who took the parts of princesses and queens, as well as of mandarins, soldiers, and beggars in the short one-act plays.
The day passed all too quickly. At the birthday table in the family hall Ah Shung and Yu Lang, like the other members of the family and guests, emptied one bowl after another. Chicken and duck, pork dumplings and rice, spicy salt vegetables, and thin long-life noodles were set down before them. There were fruits of many kinds and sweet cakes on whose tops, done in red sugar, were the word pictures that stood for "long life," "riches," and "joy. " Everyone ate until he could no longer swallow. Then the chopsticks were laid neatly across each empty bowl and the maid servants passed around hot steaming towels so that all the crumbs might be wiped from faces and hands.
"Now that the guests have departed," Lao Lao said in the evening after the feast and the fireworks, "I must give thanks once again to the God of Long Life. " The family followed her to the guest hall where a small table, covered with red silk, had been set like an altar before a painting that hung on the wall. The picture showed an old man riding upon a stag, with a bat flying above his head. The stag and the bat, the Old Old One had often explained to the children, stood for good luck and happiness. The peach which the old man held in one hand and the gourd and the scroll which hung from his staff were the symbols for long life.
A kneeling-cushion had been placed before the red altar table, upon which red candles burned. Ah Shung and Yu Lang were much interested in little images of two old men, about six inches high, which had been placed on either side of the small bronze incense urn in the center of the table.
The Old Old One lighted fresh incense sticks and knelt down on the cushion to give thanks for the seventy years she had been permitted to dwell upon earth. Her eldest son followed. He prayed to the god to give her many years more with which to brighten the lives of all in this household. His wife and the other members of the family, according to age, took their turn on the kneeling-cushion, the children kowtowing as well as the grownups and praying for long life for their beloved grandmother.
When all honor had been paid to the God of Long Life, the Old Old One opened the last of her gifts. There were rolls of silk, thick enough to make several new gowns. There was a tiny white metal hand-warmer in which bits of charcoal could be burned and which Grandmother Ling could cuddle in her cold hands or thrust inside her robe when the time of the "Big Cold" should bring bitter winds in through the cracks. Pieces of jewelry, candies and cakes in bright red lacquer boxes, books, fans, and porcelain bowls, and other gifts of many kinds covered the red satin top of the long birthday table. Most of the fruits that had been sent to the Old Old One on this day were peaches, both fresh and preserved, which reminded the children of the long-life fruit from the tree in the mountains of Kun Lun.
As the family sat about the guest hall, talking of the events of the day, Ah Shung found a chance to ask his grandmother about the two little old men upon the red altar before which they had kowtowed.
"Those, Little Bear," the old woman replied, "are the Old Man of the North whose nickname is 'Age-As-Great-As-the-Mountains,' and his brother, the Old Man of the South, whom men sometimes call 'Happiness-Deep-As-the-Sea.' We put them on the altar of the God of Long Life and we say prayers to them, too, in the hope that they may lengthen our years as they did those of young Tong.
"Who was Tong, Lao Lao?" Yu Lang asked eagerly.
"He was a lad who lived long, long ago, Little Precious," Lao Lao answered. "One day as he walked along the city street he came upon a crowd gathered about the table of a famous fortune teller whose name was Kwan Lo. Some fortune tellers have trained little birds to pick out one card from among many in order to answer a question which has been put to them. Others use slender sticks, with the answers written upon them, which they shake up in a bamboo cup and from which they choose one. But this man was no ordinary fortune teller, my children. He had no such things to help him. He read the future himself in the faces of those who came to him for guidance.
"Tong watched Kwan Lo examine the noses and the eyes, the mouths and the ears, of his curious customers. He saw him peer at their cheekbones, their teeth, and their eyebrows. And he heard the wise words that came from the man's Hps. He was so impressed that he could not forbear to ask questions himself.
"'Drop into my ear the pearls of your wisdom, Honored Sir,' Tong said when his turn had come and when he had laid down his coins on the table. The fortune teller examined the lad's face with great earnestness. Then he shook his head and a sad look came into his eyes.
"'Ai-yah, young gentleman,' he said with a note of sorrow in his voice. 'It is too bad that a fine fellow like you should die so soon.'
"'What do you say, sir?' Tong cried. 'Am I going to die?'
"'When the sun sets on the night of your nineteenth birthday, my son, the gods will have plucked the flower of your life,' Kwan Lo said to the youth.
"'And I am eighteen even now,' poor Tong wailed, as he hurried away to his home to tell his parents of his misfortune. His father and mother were greatly distressed, and they went with the lad to consult Kwan Lo again.
"'There is no help for it,' the fortune teller declared. 'In the great Book of Life it is written that you shall die when you reach the age of nineteen. I see the page clearly. The only advice I can give you would be to go in search of the Old Man of the North who guards that Book. I can tell you where you may find him and what you should do. But the outcome will depend on how you yourself please the Old Man of the North.
"'Heap two plates with fresh deer-meat, well cooked and well seasoned, and take with you two bottles of wine,' Kwan Lo told the youth. 'Climb to the top of yonder mountain, and there you will find two very old men playing chess. Do not disturb them, but set the plates and the bottles within reach of their hands. Then wait till they speak to you before you ask for their help.'
"Tong did as the fortune teller directed. With his basket on his arm, he climbed the high mountain. And when he reached the top he came upon the two very old men whom Kwan Lo had described. They were bent over their chessboard, Ah Shung, just as you and I when we play on rainy days. Their eyes were fixed upon their black and white armies. They did not look up, for each one was intent on surrounding his ene
my and winning the game.
"Those two chess players, my dear ones, were the Old Man of the South, who keeps a record of births and who brings so much happiness, and the Old Man of the North in whose great Book of Life the time of everyone's death is written down. Tong remembered the words of Kwan Lo, the fortune teller, and even though he was impatient, he stood very still until the game was finished. He did not forget, however, to set the plate of deer-meat and the bottles of wine where the old men could reach them.
"But even a chess game comes to an end sometime. When this one was finished the old men seemed hungry. They reached out and took the deer-meat from the plates and they drained the wine from the bottles. It was only when they leaned back with the sighs of content that come from a full stomach that they noticed poor Tong.
"'Who is this?' demanded the Old Man of the North as he caught sight of the lad.
"It is an unworthy youth, Heavenly Sage,' said Tong, 'who has come to beg your help. Kwan Lo, the fortune teller, declares that my years are numbered to only nineteen. I am even now eighteen. If you cannot aid me, I shall die before the New Year.'
"'Let me see! Let me see!' the Old Man of the North said, setting his spectacles on his nose and opening his great Book of Life. He turned over the leaves until he came to Tong's name. 'Yes,' he said, pointing with his old wrinkled finger, 'so it is written. Look, here it says 'Tong' and there it says 'nineteen.' Too bad, too bad! But I will have pity upon you, good youth, since you brought us such a fine feast. Beside your name I will change one of the figures, so that you shall have many more birthdays on which you may offer me thanks.'
Tales of a Chinese Grandmother Page 17
