Introduction
The story which follows is set in the city of Hangchow, capital of the Southern Sung Dynasty (1127-1279), shortly before it was invaded and conquered by the Mongols. The Southern Sung Dynasty was a period of general affluence, when a solid and well-to-do merchant class rose in the cities and the peasants in the country enjoyed a more secure lifestyle than for some centuries before or after.
Hangchow, built on the eastern edge of West Lake, was a cosmopolitan city of over a million inhabitants by the close of Sung. Houses were multi-storied to accommodate the ever-increasing population, markets were many and busy, heavily-used roads and canals were cleaned regularly. The streets, where an overwhelming variety of food vendors plied their wares around the clock, were lined with wine restaurants, tea houses, and noodle shops. Like New York or Rome or Paris today, Hangchow had an aura of glamour. It was a place of expensive and luxurious amusements which were enjoyed by the nouveau riche merchant class.
Details about the city, its layout, economy and even specific restaurants and their menus found in Feast of Dew are true. Information regarding the imperial palace is historically accurate, with the exception of the Hall of Everlasting Happiness which I invented. Social particulars as well as dishes served at imperial banquets are authentic, lifted directly from records of the time.
Finally, a word or two about Chinese names. As most people know, the Chinese place the family name first and the personal name second. In translations, it is common to translate women's names but not men's, so I have generally followed that custom here.
When a child is born in China, they are given a "milk" or nursery name which is later superseded by a personal name. It is not uncommon for adults to derive other personal names from the original, and often Chinese of stature have several individual names.
The Chinese language is extraordinarily rich in words which define family relationships. For instance, there are words in Chinese to denote "elder sister," "wife of the son of the house," "mother of the master of the house," and "uncle older than one's father."
In terms of language, the Chinese look at family relationships both broadly and generationally. Women of one's generation are all "sisters," just as women of one's mother's generation are all "mothers."
Suffixes which indicate the relation of the speaker to the addressed are often added to the personal name and occasionally to the family name. In this story I make use of the following:
Erh Diminutive when used as a suffix.
Hsiung-ti Younger brother; this is what Mu-lien affectionately calls Pao-yu, although they are not of the same generation.
Lao Old. Either prefixed to a family name or to itself Lao-lao. Lao-niane Old mother or maternal grandmother.
Lao-veh Old father, master of the house, "His Honor". Yeh Father or honorific for males.
Yi-ma Aunt.
Feast of Dew - Part I
It was in the bustling capital city of Hangchow some eight hundred years ago that Wang Pao-yu first met the Buddhist monk Mu-lien. Because of his circumstances, Pao-yu, who was about twelve, believed more in food and clothing and shelter than he did in his ancestors, and it was due to these rather dangerous beliefs that the adventure about to be described began.
Pao-yu labored daily in the noisy workshop of Hsia Lien, standing shoulder to shoulder with the other dumpling-makers from dawn until long after dark. He himself was a crimper, sealing hundreds and hundreds of dumplings made from pork, dried fish, bamboo shoots and shrimp.
This had been his lot, twenty-eight days of every month, since his mother, Pervading
Fragrance, died several years back of a weak spleen. Just before she left the Red Dust and went to the other world, Pervading Fragrance made Pao-yu promise to call on Hsia Lien and pay his respects to their distant kinsman. This Pao-yu did, and after he had explained about Pervading Fragrance's death, Hsia Lien offered to take him on as a bondsman in his dumpling workshop. Pao-yu never knew his father--Pervading Fragrance had always been rather secretive on that score--and there was no family on his mother's side. Without a better prospect, he accepted Hsia Lien's proposition. Pao-yu agreed to do Hsia Lien's bidding for ten years in return for his meals, a sleeping mat on the third floor above the workshop, and ten strings of cash every six months.
For the first nine years of his life, Pao-yu had lived and roamed freely in the rooms behind the House of Li's Blessing where his mother worked as a singing-girl. That untroubled life ill-prepared him for the rigid routine of the dumpling factory and at first he strained against the rules like a carp ensnared struggles against the net. He had hoped, without knowing quite what he hoped, that Hsai Lien would be a father to him, but he found none of the fulfillment Pao-yu imagined a father would bring. His gratitude for the security he found with old Hsia battled within him against his longing for things past. However, as children do when they must, he came to accept his life as it was and even began to notice his own happiness. Pao-yu liked the other dumpling makers and when he had learned to crimp faster than anyone else, he enjoyed the contests of skill and speed that held boredom at bay during the long days of repetitious work. He was pleased when he walked the crowded Imperial Way at night or on his occasional days free to see the vendors who sold "his" dumplings; proud when he heard them call out "finest Hangchow ping." It was even said that the Emperor himself had once eaten dumplings from the shop of Hsia Lien, and Pao-yu liked to think that it was dough he had sealed which passed the imperial lips.
There were still times, mostly at night, when Pao-yu thought about Pervading Fragrance and would have succumbed to the tears he thought of as childish had the sleeping room been his alone. But the other dumpling makers who shared his sleeping space could be merciless in their teasing, so Pau-yu kept his tears inside, and more and more he thought about the future instead of the past. Pao-yu had a plan growing in his mind for the day when his commitment to Hsia Lien was fulfilled and his life was his own. He saved every cash coin he could, sparing only that which he needed to clothe himself respectably. When his ten years of servitude were at an end, Pao-yu would have enough to purchase the poles and pots of a ping vendor. He would, he thought, make the dumplings himself and sell them along the city streets where rich and poor alike would buy, and perhaps one day there would be profit enough to open a real noodle shop.
He would work hard in memory of his mother, bringing merit to his name and honor to his parents, but most importantly, he would be secure and comfortable. Although Hsia Lien had given him a place soon after his mother's death, the boy had nowhere to go for a week or two, and the experience made him afraid. When he thought of himself as the proprietor of a noodle shop, he loved to let his imagination run wild. In addition to the clean and well-run store where he would sell dumplings, noodles and steamed buns, he would have two rooms, maybe on the second floor above the shop, furnished with a luxurious wooden bed for sleeping and a charcoal brazier to ward off winter's chill. He would have two gowns--one for everyday made of hemp and another sewn from silk for special occasions. Pao-yu would eat well, with his friends and his wife, at his own noodle shop or at the cold-food shops of his competitors. When Pao-yu had made his success, he was resolved that he would never have to worry about being alone or hungry or cold again. It was in many ways a modest dream, but it was realistic, just possibly within the reach of a hard-working boy born to a low station in life.
Thoughts of this future of his were much in Pao-yu's mind on the afternoon when a Buddhist monk came rapping on the workshop door with his bamboo staff. Hsia Lien had gone out on some errand, and Pao-yu, anxious for a break from crimping, offered to see to the visitor.
"Lao-yeh,” Pao-yu greeted the grizzled and dusty old monk, using the title meaning Honored Father, in recognition of his age and vocation. “How can I assist you this afternoon?"
"I have come a long way, Hsiung-ti,” the monk replied, calling Pao-yu Little Brother, “and it is good that you have answered my rapping." His eyes shone from deep in his wrinkled face, betraying a mischievousness unbecoming in someone of his venerable age. "I had hoped that you and Old Hsia would change your karma and offer a tired and unworthy old man some food.”
Pao-yu was well aware that Hsia Lien never gave anything to beggars. Many times he had watched Hsia Lien chase them from the workshop doorway, cursing and calling down the wrath of his ancestors on every lazy no-good who ducked an honest day's work. Hsia Lien had made his success without help from any but his family, and now in turn, he didn't see why he should help any but his family. As he remarked often enough to make Pao-yu squirm and blush the dark angry red of a ripe lychee, giving the fatherless son of his distant relative Pervading Fragrance a place in his dumpling workshop more than satisfied any debts he might have incurred on his climb up.
In his master's absence, Pao-yu knew he ought to turn the monk away, but in the end, he did not do that. He was thinking of his fine future, of the rooms and the furniture and the clothing he would someday have, and he was certain that when that day arrived, he would never stint when it came to alms. With such riches all his own, how could he begrudge the hungry and the needy?
Family could come to him and ask for assistance and he would provide it. Buddhist monks or Taoist priests, it wouldn't matter, he would feed them all generously. Honor would come to him for his kindness, and happiness would flow from his own sacrifice. Suddenly it seemed foolish to wait so long to change his karma, and what was more, this monk had called him by name.
"Come in old man, and I will see what I can do for you." Pao-yu showed the monk to the chair where Hsia Lien sat to do his accounts and went to find him some food.
He returned shortly with five bamboo shoot dumplings, perfectly cooked, like sumptuous little clouds for the mouth. "Please go quickly now, Lao-yeh, before my master returns and finds that I have broken with his rule." Guiding the monk to the door, he added, " Travel well, Lao-yeh." The mod, who was by no means at the dumpling workshop by chance, heeded Pao-yu's request, shuffling through the doorway on feet that seemed as weary as those of an ancient tortoise. With his dumplings tucked safely in his sleeve, he turned and took Pao-yu's hands warmly in thanks. After he had gone, Pao-yu realized that the monk had left him a square of paper, slipped
into the farewell handgrasp, on which he read the following verse: Futures are foretold by wise men and fools--
But neither of these will speak for you.
When High is Low and low is high—
Then will pine trees start to flourish and grow.
Pao-yu could make nothing of it, but he stuck the paper into the wide homespun sash he used to tie his gown to read again later when he had more time. At present, he needed to work quickly to make up for the time lost in attending to the old monk.
Later that evening, as Pao-yu and the other workers prepared dumplings for the nighttime ping-sellers, Hsia Lien called Pao-yu away from his task.
"I have heard a very strange thing today, Pao-yu," the master began. "I have heard that a filthy old monk came to my door begging for alms, and that you, son of my own dear sister Pervading Fragrance, gave away the fruits of my labors."
Pao-yu stood silently and listened while Hsia Lien's voice rose in indignation. "I have heard that you want only made a gift of the profits of my business, the very business which took you in, fed you and kept you well all these years. I have heard that you acted like the first son of my house instead of the lowly bondsman you are. Is it possible that you have forgotten your debt to me? Is it possible that your arrogance is so great that it makes you neglect your obligations and duties? Tell me, Pao-yu, could this be true?"
Pao-yu saw that there was no defense against Hsia Lien's rage, so he answered humbly but truthfully, "Oh, Honorable Hsia, I know now that I have erred terribly, and I regret it most sincerely. Honestly, I meant no disrespect. I only wanted to change your karma and mine."
By the time Pao-yu had finished saying his piece, Hsia Lien's face had turned the high crimson of royal lacquerware. Pao-yu could tell that his luck was up, and that he was in for quite a beating. So Hsia Lien's next words took Pao-yu completely by surprise. "You intended no disrespect when you stole from me? Hatt! Little thief, you have indeed changed your karma. Your contract is null and void. Leave here now and never dare to cross my threshold again! If you do, I promise I'll see you into the next world. Go! Go!" And with that, Hsia Lien pushed Pao-yu roughly out onto the street.
***
Alone, desolate and growing colder by the minute, Pao-yu wandered the torch-lit streets and dark alleys without direction. Things had happened so quickly that he was having difficulty making sense of them, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to think of what to do next. He had no friends outside of the dumpling workshop to appeal to, for when would he have had the time to make and cultivate acquaintances? With nowhere to go, he walked just to keep warm.
It was several hours before he remembered the strings of cash he had saved, the warm floss silk lined jacket he had from his mother, both rolled in his bamboo mat and still on the third floor over Hsia Lien's dumpling workshop. For a moment, Pao-yu considered going back to fetch his things, but the memory of Hsia Lien's face and his final promise quickly quashed that notion. No, those things were lost to him just as surely as Hsia Lien's protection and good will.
As the first light of dawn filtered between the tall houses and the nightsoil collectors came calling for their reeking goods, an exhausted Pao-yu curled himself up near the city wall, and despite the fear in his heart and the cold in his bones, he fell directly to sleep.
He had hardly closed his eyes when the monk, whose name Pao-yu somehow knew to be Mu-lien, approached him. Mu-lien's step was lighter and his face smoother than it had been the previous afternoon and he smiled affectionately as he settled himself on the ground next to Pao-yu.
"My what a night it's been, Hsiung-ti," he said. "You've had a lot of trouble on my account, little one."
Pao-yu, who was happy to see a familiar face after hours of being alone, nodded, hopeful that some good was foretold by the Mu-lien's appearance.
"Are you hungry, Hsiung-ti? Would you like some food?" Assuming that Pao-yu would, he continued, "I owe you that much at very least. Come with me, little brother, and I will see to your stomach's song." So saying, he stood up, took Pao-yu's hand firmly in his and led Pao-yu into the morning mist.
When he stepped out of the fog and into waning sunlight, Pao-yu discovered that he was alone in a strange and foreign place, outside of Hangchow, somewhere in the countryside. The sun was setting red over a stretch of rice paddy and an old man with bare feet, stooping heavily from long years of labor in the fields, was walking toward him.
"My son," called the man to Pao-yu, "it is good to see you."
Pao-yu's mind was working many /i a minute, trying to understand where he was and what was going on. "It is good to see you also, Honored Father," he said somewhat tentatively.
The old man reached Pao-yu and embraced him gently. The mingled smell of sweat and earth enveloped Pao-yu, the smell of a hard-working farmer at harvest time.
"Come, my son, come to the house and join us for our meal." The old man led Pao-yu nearby to a small wooden shack with a thatched roof made from rice straw. Outside, close by a smoldering iron brazier, an old woman had laid a large rush mat on the ground for the meal.
She turned as Pao-yu and the old man approached, her expression one of great joy. "Ah, here you are at last Dear Little One! We have been awaiting your visit with such excitement. You do us great honor by sharing our evening meal. Mu-lien told us recently of our good fortune and I have not slept since. Come, come. Sit down, make yourself comfortable," she said gesturing to the one place at the mat set with a pillow. Turning to her husband, her voice grew sharp, "Get our young man some water with which to wash. Can't you see that he has come a long way and is dusty? Quick, quick!" At this point, Pao-yu was as baffled as you may be, but he decided to accept the old couple's hospitality without reservation. It was clear that Mu-lien had something to do with the turn of events, and no matter where they led, it surely wouldn't be any worse than destitution and beggary on Hangchow streets.
Perched on the pillow, Pao-yu watched the old woman, who hummed quietly to herself while she fussed over an earthenware cauldron on the brazier. He watched her hands tremble as she stirred the pot and brushed stray hairs from her cheek, and he wondered why she seemed so nervous. After all, it was he, Pao-yu, who had suddenly found himself transported to this strange place in the company of these odd people. From what the old folks said, Mu-lien had forewarned them of Pao-yu's visit, and it certainly looked as if they were expecting him. So why was she so jittery? When he looked up, the old man was standing beside him holding a wooden bowl of cool water. Pao-yu dipped his hands, splashed his face and offered the customary thanks.
Having set out the dishes and washed their hands carefully in the water already used by Pao-yu, the old man and woman joined him on the ground.
"Please forgive the very humble nature of our meal," said the old man earnestly, gesturing to the two lonely bowls of food on the mat. "We are just poor farmers without children to aid us in our old age, and this is the very best we have to offer, but we offer it with all due respect."
Pao-yu responded with ct gratitude for their great generosity, conscious both of proper form as a guest and the reality of his own circumstance, which did indeed make this rather pathetic meal welcome.
Lao-niang, as Pao-yu began to think of the woman, served him grain he had never seen before, something called sorghum, and a thin but tasty stew made from dried fish, mustard greens, soy sauce and vinegar. It was a poor meal by any standards he knew: even on the worst days at the dumpling workshop, there had been soup and the cheapest champa rice to go with the stew.
They ate from wooden bowls without speaking, absorbed in their eating. Pao-yu was shocked when he discovered that the drink served alongside was water. Even the most wretched paupers in Hangchow drank tea with their food. These grandparents, he saw, lived more rustically than he had imagined possible. But although the food was poor, there was plenty of it and Lao-niang filled Pao-yu's bowl again and again.
As the sun slipped into the next world, the old couple and Pao-yu sat in twilight, full and contented. Smoke from the dying brazier fire drifted around them, keeping off the mosquitoes as they talked. They asked Pao-yu about himself and his mother, about the father he had never known, about his life in the dumpling factory and the terrible tragedy which had befallen him there just yesterday. They told him about their only child, a daughter, and the grief that still felt like a saber thrust to the heart at having sold her into bondage some twenty years back. Lao-niang's tears flowed as she told Pao-yu that it had been a time of terrible famine, and their daughter, Purple Cuckoo, was then quite pretty and wanted by a wealthy house. It was the only way that they could be sure she would have food to eat, they said. At this, Lao-niang shrugged and sighed, the old man squeezed his eyes tight. Pao-yu sat silently, thinking of Pervading Fragrance and how hard it is to lose someone you love.
Then they spoke to him about the harvest and their concerns for its success, about the many bushels of rice they owed in interest and the usurious rates of money lenders. Before long, dark had fallen, and with it came a comfortable worn-out weariness that made Pao-yu's head nod. Lao-niang, seeing this, said, "Oh dear. We have wom out our honored guest with talk of sadness and gloom. What bad manners we have! Pao-yu, come inside and lie down for the night. In the morning, we will speak of brighter things." So saying, she took Pao-yu, who was feeling more like a little grandson than a young man on his own, inside the hut and settled him on a mat. She fetched the pillow that had so recently served him as a chair and placed it beneath his head. Sinking down into sleep, Pao-yu thought kind thoughts about grandmothers, and wished that he had one of his
* * *
Pao-yu awoke to a racket. At first, he had no idea where he was, and couldn't identify the source of the noise. Rubbing sleep-dulled eyes, he began to recall the rather shabby meal he had eaten with the old couple, the mat in the hut where he had fallen asleep. But no, he wasn't in that humble hut. As his vision cleared, Pao-yu saw that he sat cross-legged on the side of a busy street. It was midday, and swift-footed men pulled carts laden with fruit and bolts of silk and rice and jars of wine past him in either direction, shouting warnings to one another and the pedestrians who braved the busy thoroughfare. Then it began to come back to him: he remembered settling down to sleep right here, against the earthen city wall in Hangchow, alone and cold and without work. Was it this morning or yesterday that he had come here? He had no sense of how long he had been sleeping on the edge of the street, but he doubted that the Watch would have let him loiter a day and a night in the same place. Thinking back he remembered clearly the last person he had seen before he fell asleep--Mu-lien.
"Ah, yes, it was me, Hsiung-ti," came the reply to Pao-yu's thoughts. The voice was at once soothing and vexing, and Pao-yu looked up, half hopeful and half annoyed, to find Mu-lien standing beside him, sunlight gleaming off his bald pate. His eyes smiled, but his face was arranged in solemnity.
"What in the world is going on? Why are you shadowing me? I don't understand anything since you came to the dumpling factory. Please either help me or go away and leave me to whatever fate I can find!" Pao-yu entreated. He felt frustrated and frightened, near tears, like a child. He wanted solidity and certainty, and although he was not presently well-situated to secure these things, he had an adolescent's confidence in his own good fortune. The monk trailed chaos and confusion, interfering and toying with Pao-yu's life. He was not entirely of this world, and that too, made Pao-yu anxious. Pervading Fragrance had always warned him to steer clear of ghosts and others with ghostly powers. It seemed like good advice.
"Hsiung-ti, it is only good that I bring you. This you must trust." Squatting down next to Pao-yu, he pulled five dumplings kom his sleeve. They were warm and redolent of brown pepper and vinegar. Mu-lien held them out to Pao-yu, who took them in his cupped hands and began to eat.
When he had finished, Mu-lien asked Pao-yu about his meal of the preceding evening. "How did you get on, Hsiung-ti, with my friends the Lis? Did they offer you proper hospitality? Did they care for you well?"
"They were nice enough, but old. So old. Funny--you looked as old as they when you came to Hsia Lien's, but not so much today. Anyway, they went on and on about a daughter they once had but sold, and I felt badly for them, but of course they did it, not I. Oh, and Mu-lien, thank you for the ping. Last night's meal was filling but weak. I was hungry so I ate, but I didn't know people had to eat like that. Even you, wandering the streets, eat better than the Lis. No tea, no rice, can you imagine? Lao-niang was sweet and kind with what she had, though, so it was good to know her. I never had a grandmother, you know, and now I am sure I wish I had one." To his surprise, Pao-yu found that it was good to tell Mu-lien about his visit to the old couple, about how it felt to be there with them. So much so that he forgot to demand an explanation as to how he had gotten to the countryside and back in his sleep.
"You have done well Hsiung-ti. Sometimes it is very difficult to see the seed inside the fruit, but you have done well. I must be off now--I have things I need to see to--but if you will meet me right here by the wall, tonight at two hours past dusk, I will find you some food to eat." As was his habit, Mu-lien grasped Pao-yu's hands in his own as a gesture of parting and stepped into the street where he was narrowly missed by a pig-butcher's cart.
Pao-yu stretched his legs and stood up; as he did, a slip of paper fluttered to the ground. What is this? he wondered, stooping to pick it up. Recognizing another verse from Mu-lien, he leant against the wall and read:
Honor your parents in Winter and Spring--
But treasure the chrysanthemum only Autumn can bring.
When High is Low and low is high--
Then will pine trees begin to flourish and grow.
Part I - Next and final Part next Sunday February 1st
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