street.
By the wall.
“But where is that wall?”
He was impelled to the little whitewashed wall. Su-ko had only wanted to run an errand. His house was not yet sold; the priest had to be consulted; there was the question of his new domicile to consult the priest on. So he had to go along by the wall. Why had they prevented his brother Su-ko from going along by the wall. Oh, he felt so hot, and he was freezing.
He stumbled trembling into the room where T’o Chin was expecting him.
When he saw Wang so pale he grasped him about the waist and pulled him, passive, groaning bitterly, twisting his hands, into the temple. There beside the music god’s statue he opened a handleless door; they emerged into an area full of rubble and bricks, sat facing the street in a wayside shrine for homeless spirits, a square stone structure in the interior of which a hollow had been excavated large enough for two men to squat crouching in. On the street side stood a wide offering bowl for donations. They climbed in from the building site through a hole covered over with boards.
In the dark, in the stale air they sat for a long while until T’o Chin’s flint had taken and the little oil lamp glowed. The bonze was more agitated than Wang, who responded passively, embraced T’o, laid his head on his shoulder. The distraught man then told how Su had been butchered, cried like a refractory child, spoke of the five sabres, and Su-ko was hacked to death. Under T’o Chin’s voice he calmed down, breathed deeper and more slowly, and was silently contemplative for a considerable while.
Where could they find a remedy that would let Su-ko his brother stand up again and walk around and get everything ready for his departure? It was all the fault of the flashing that there could be no remedy, that the grave man who had only folded his armswas flung to the ground and dragged along like a dead cat. They were probably killing his sons now. Why had they laid hands on Su-ko? If he had read aloud from the old book like his nephew, it would have been no crime; but no one had ever heard anything from him. And for that they cast down his brother, left his soul no repose. The T’ouszu had wronged him. The T’ouszu had struck him down with his sabre.
Wang half turned away from the bonze’s side, whispered that he would flee now; he would come sometimes at night, knock six times on his door. T’o Chin was happy.
Wang’s face, when outside he saw the daylight again, streamed with tears. He wept despairing in the space between the broken bricks and the shrine for homeless spirits; he unwound his queue, tore his thin green smock, gnawed mindlessly at the knuckles of his icy hands. The purse of copper cash that T’o gave him he refused; he clambered round the edge of the shrine, swung himself over the palings, ran off without drying his face.
Wang wandered for six days in the plain, over the hills around the city. On the night of the sixth day he appeared beside the bonze, asked for his stag mask. T’o Chin searched it out, was glad to see his former assistant, rejoiced at his grave determination. Wang held the mask in his hands, stroked it, placed it over his face; the bonze saw how greatly his pupil had changed. Beneath the low, resolute forehead were eyes that mostly looked out sad and full of pain, but sometimes quite intemperately raged wild and blind. And the wide peasant mouth with its upthrust lower lip was no different: often open in a ravening hunger, mostly slack, resigned. The lines of cunning at the corners of the mouth floated there empty and disconnected.
The priest, this mendacious, deceitful creature, became gentle and pious before his pupil and was surprised at the feeling of submissionthat Wang produced in him.
For the rest of the night T’o sat awake in his room and thought about Wang, who had long since stowed himself with the stag mask in the wayside shrine without saying what he intended to do.
The night faded. Clumps of
By the wall.
“But where is that wall?”
He was impelled to the little whitewashed wall. Su-ko had only wanted to run an errand. His house was not yet sold; the priest had to be consulted; there was the question of his new domicile to consult the priest on. So he had to go along by the wall. Why had they prevented his brother Su-ko from going along by the wall. Oh, he felt so hot, and he was freezing.
He stumbled trembling into the room where T’o Chin was expecting him.
When he saw Wang so pale he grasped him about the waist and pulled him, passive, groaning bitterly, twisting his hands, into the temple. There beside the music god’s statue he opened a handleless door; they emerged into an area full of rubble and bricks, sat facing the street in a wayside shrine for homeless spirits, a square stone structure in the interior of which a hollow had been excavated large enough for two men to squat crouching in. On the street side stood a wide offering bowl for donations. They climbed in from the building site through a hole covered over with boards.
In the dark, in the stale air they sat for a long while until T’o Chin’s flint had taken and the little oil lamp glowed. The bonze was more agitated than Wang, who responded passively, embraced T’o, laid his head on his shoulder. The distraught man then told how Su had been butchered, cried like a refractory child, spoke of the five sabres, and Su-ko was hacked to death. Under T’o Chin’s voice he calmed down, breathed deeper and more slowly, and was silently contemplative for a considerable while.
Where could they find a remedy that would let Su-ko his brother stand up again and walk around and get everything ready for his departure? It was all the fault of the flashing that there could be no remedy, that the grave man who had only folded his armswas flung to the ground and dragged along like a dead cat. They were probably killing his sons now. Why had they laid hands on Su-ko? If he had read aloud from the old book like his nephew, it would have been no crime; but no one had ever heard anything from him. And for that they cast down his brother, left his soul no repose. The T’ouszu had wronged him. The T’ouszu had struck him down with his sabre.
Wang half turned away from the bonze’s side, whispered that he would flee now; he would come sometimes at night, knock six times on his door. T’o Chin was happy.
Wang’s face, when outside he saw the daylight again, streamed with tears. He wept despairing in the space between the broken bricks and the shrine for homeless spirits; he unwound his queue, tore his thin green smock, gnawed mindlessly at the knuckles of his icy hands. The purse of copper cash that T’o gave him he refused; he clambered round the edge of the shrine, swung himself over the palings, ran off without drying his face.
Wang wandered for six days in the plain, over the hills around the city. On the night of the sixth day he appeared beside the bonze, asked for his stag mask. T’o Chin searched it out, was glad to see his former assistant, rejoiced at his grave determination. Wang held the mask in his hands, stroked it, placed it over his face; the bonze saw how greatly his pupil had changed. Beneath the low, resolute forehead were eyes that mostly looked out sad and full of pain, but sometimes quite intemperately raged wild and blind. And the wide peasant mouth with its upthrust lower lip was no different: often open in a ravening hunger, mostly slack, resigned. The lines of cunning at the corners of the mouth floated there empty and disconnected.
The priest, this mendacious, deceitful creature, became gentle and pious before his pupil and was surprised at the feeling of submissionthat Wang produced in him.
For the rest of the night T’o sat awake in his room and thought about Wang, who had long since stowed himself with the stag mask in the wayside shrine without saying what he intended to do.
The night faded. Clumps of
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