examinations.
Wang and his companions meanwhile had removed their disguises in one of the mountain gorges. Su-ko and his sons, already resigned to death, declared brotherhood with Wang. For all their fearful gladness there was no loud rejoicing in the gorge: the three of them had grown frail under torture.
Wang returned to the town next day and took T’o Chin into his confidence.
The Nieh-t’ai stayed five more days in Chinan to investigate. After his departure at nightfall the priest of the Patron of Music was woken by a light knocking at the door of his room. Su-ko’s legitimate wife slipped into the room, covered her weeping face with a thick white veil and sat on the floor unable to speak. Su-ko and his sons had returned to the house armed, refused to conceal themselves; Su declared that if anyone tried to force entry into the house to arrest him, he would strike him down with the help of his sons and his clansmen. On her knees she implored the bonze and Wang Lun to join her in urging her husband and sons back to the mountains.
The woman stayed with the bonze, Wang ran to Su’s house. He found the father restored, calm, as dignified as ever but with an unyielding bitterness. Su-ko explained that he would leave the town and the province, but first he would take time to sell his possessions, settle his debts, and consult his priest on a choice of domicile. Wang, head hunched between his shoulders, offered to take charge of the sale and the clearing of obligations, also to arrange the business with the Mohammedan priest. Su declined on all counts.
So Wang Lun decided to shadow him and help him.
Su-ko went early in the morning from house to horrified house, desired to pay his debts and those his wife had contracted in his absence. He asked if anyone knew where he could sell his house at a reasonable price. In the throng that followed close behind him leapt the public jester, the assistant of T’o Chin the bonze, the giant Wang Lun, garrulous and excited.
It was not long before the police came running up. But Wang and his helpers managed to arrange it so that the crowd pressed menacingly with its women and children close about Su-ko. The old man had completed his business, returned unruffled by theshouts from the crowd and from urgent acquaintances to his little house. There followed a drumming and trumpeting. Blue-jacketed soldiers blockaded the street leaving only a narrow passageway, drove bystanders into houses. A lean T’ouszu, a captain, commanded them.
Su-ko came bareheaded from his house, bowed politely to the officer and, not glancing at the soldiers and showing no surprise at his surroundings, proceeded along the house wall on an errand a couple of doors away. The bony T’ouszu sprang behind the slow, portly man, hit him in the small of the back with the pommel of his sabre, pulled him round by the shoulder shouting: Was he Su-ko, the absconded wick manufacturer. Su folded his arms and said: Indeed he was; but who was the T’ouszu? Was he a footpad and a robber? And why did he carry his impudence so far as to hit an innocent man in broad daylight with his sabre pommel and waylay him?
Su had not even finished speaking, when with several sabre blows the officer and two soldiers who sprang to his aid cut him down by the wall.
Wang cried out sharply, as did the others who watched this from the street corners. He wanted to leap forward, but he was trembling, rooted to the spot, his limbs had fallen sudden victim to weakness and paralysis. He swept with the flood of bodies in a zigzag through the squares, not quite conscious. His gaze ran helplessly over faces, over shop signs painted in gold. He could not discern colours. An ever growing anxiety drove him on. Five sabres swept side by side through the air, ten paces from him, in front of his eyes. And then a grey jumble, turmoil.
Su-ko, his grave brother, lay unrescued in the street.
Su-ko was his brother.
Su-ko had not been rescued.
Su-ko lay in the
Wang and his companions meanwhile had removed their disguises in one of the mountain gorges. Su-ko and his sons, already resigned to death, declared brotherhood with Wang. For all their fearful gladness there was no loud rejoicing in the gorge: the three of them had grown frail under torture.
Wang returned to the town next day and took T’o Chin into his confidence.
The Nieh-t’ai stayed five more days in Chinan to investigate. After his departure at nightfall the priest of the Patron of Music was woken by a light knocking at the door of his room. Su-ko’s legitimate wife slipped into the room, covered her weeping face with a thick white veil and sat on the floor unable to speak. Su-ko and his sons had returned to the house armed, refused to conceal themselves; Su declared that if anyone tried to force entry into the house to arrest him, he would strike him down with the help of his sons and his clansmen. On her knees she implored the bonze and Wang Lun to join her in urging her husband and sons back to the mountains.
The woman stayed with the bonze, Wang ran to Su’s house. He found the father restored, calm, as dignified as ever but with an unyielding bitterness. Su-ko explained that he would leave the town and the province, but first he would take time to sell his possessions, settle his debts, and consult his priest on a choice of domicile. Wang, head hunched between his shoulders, offered to take charge of the sale and the clearing of obligations, also to arrange the business with the Mohammedan priest. Su declined on all counts.
So Wang Lun decided to shadow him and help him.
Su-ko went early in the morning from house to horrified house, desired to pay his debts and those his wife had contracted in his absence. He asked if anyone knew where he could sell his house at a reasonable price. In the throng that followed close behind him leapt the public jester, the assistant of T’o Chin the bonze, the giant Wang Lun, garrulous and excited.
It was not long before the police came running up. But Wang and his helpers managed to arrange it so that the crowd pressed menacingly with its women and children close about Su-ko. The old man had completed his business, returned unruffled by theshouts from the crowd and from urgent acquaintances to his little house. There followed a drumming and trumpeting. Blue-jacketed soldiers blockaded the street leaving only a narrow passageway, drove bystanders into houses. A lean T’ouszu, a captain, commanded them.
Su-ko came bareheaded from his house, bowed politely to the officer and, not glancing at the soldiers and showing no surprise at his surroundings, proceeded along the house wall on an errand a couple of doors away. The bony T’ouszu sprang behind the slow, portly man, hit him in the small of the back with the pommel of his sabre, pulled him round by the shoulder shouting: Was he Su-ko, the absconded wick manufacturer. Su folded his arms and said: Indeed he was; but who was the T’ouszu? Was he a footpad and a robber? And why did he carry his impudence so far as to hit an innocent man in broad daylight with his sabre pommel and waylay him?
Su had not even finished speaking, when with several sabre blows the officer and two soldiers who sprang to his aid cut him down by the wall.
Wang cried out sharply, as did the others who watched this from the street corners. He wanted to leap forward, but he was trembling, rooted to the spot, his limbs had fallen sudden victim to weakness and paralysis. He swept with the flood of bodies in a zigzag through the squares, not quite conscious. His gaze ran helplessly over faces, over shop signs painted in gold. He could not discern colours. An ever growing anxiety drove him on. Five sabres swept side by side through the air, ten paces from him, in front of his eyes. And then a grey jumble, turmoil.
Su-ko, his grave brother, lay unrescued in the street.
Su-ko was his brother.
Su-ko had not been rescued.
Su-ko lay in the
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