The call, p.68
The Call, page 68
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WITH HIS YOUNG ASSISTANT Shen Mo-ju, Treadup began to make plans for an agricultural fair at the grounds of the Seven Dragon Temple, to be held at harvest time.
It is my idea to have a ‘merry’ occasion. These people eat too much bitterness. The article in ‘Fundamentalist Faith’ scalds me. What is so bad about “take a peep”? Johnny Wu was telling me about the local ‘yang ke’—“planting songs,” really little plays, very suggestive, everyone fulfills a dream watching them, even the women and young girls come and laugh openly. We must stage some at the fair.
Treadup and Shen rode helter-skelter from village to village on the motorcycle, making arrangements. Shen said one day he hated the machine—the dust made his eyes fill with gum, he said. He said he would prefer to ride from village to village on a big donkey. “It is me he dislikes, not the dust,” Treadup wrote. A few days later Shen was galloping along a country road. His donkey was powerful and willing, but Shen was impatient, and whipped the animal to go even faster. Instead, the mulish side of the ass’s temperament took over, and the beast decided it had had enough and on stiffened legs made a sudden stop. Shen flew over the long ears and braying mouth and landed hard on his head. He was knocked unconscious and broke his jaw and lost six teeth. Treadup took him back to Paoting on a Peking cart. Dr. Cowley, saying, “This is my last act of mercy in the China field,” operated on Shen’s jaw. Even under anesthetic Shen continued to give peremptory orders to his peasant clients. “The worse he does it, the more the poor fellow cares about his work,” Treadup wrote.
It was something of a relief that the accident kept Shen out of action during the rest of the planning of the fair.
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TREADUP went to the station with Dr. Cowley. All the doctor chose to take with him to the United States were two steamer trunks and a valise. Dr. Cowley was extremely irritable. “I took this as a good sign. He is almost himself. His saintly humility was unnatural.” The murderer climbed into a third-class carriage of the train without saying a word of thanks or good-bye to Treadup, and without looking back at the place where he had lived and worked for three decades.
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STANTON and Swing were both back from Peitaiho. Charles Stanton was now the senior missionary for the American Board. The very evening of Cowley’s departure, he called on Treadup and invited him to move with Emily into Dr. Cowley’s house. He said it was clear, in view of economic conditions in the States, that the Board would not be able to send out a replacement for the doctor, even though his leaving was going to cause real hardship at the hospital. The Treadups might as well make use of the fine house the doctor had been living in. Of course Stanton would have to get authorization from Peiping, and eventually from Boston, for this; but he saw no reason why the couple couldn’t move right in, on a safe assumption that everyone would see that an occupied house would be better maintained than an empty one.
For his part, Treadup said he, too, would have to submit the question to higher authority—his wife Emily, still at Peitaiho. But he knew how she hated the cramped little bungalow that he had built on a principle of male common sense that left nothing out of account except a woman’s feeling of hominess. He was so sure she would want to move that he began packing before she returned.
American Board Mission Compound,
Paoting, Hopei,
September 14, 1932.
Dear Sisters:
This week finds us slightly more settled than a week ago. I finally achieved some curtains for the living room out of some coarse cheap Peking crash and outlined them with orange yarn fringe. The room has four bay windows, and we have kalsomined the walls in light cream, so the room is bright. Dr. Cowley’s Shansi chests, with their lovely colors, offset the stern frigidity of David’s favorite picture, which he insists on hanging in a prominent place: Moses holding the tablets. The doctor, in his hasty getaway, surely must have left behind by error an embroidered mountain scene done by Hunan artists who excel in that craft….
We have come to feel sorry for testy old Dr. Cowley—to think he shot a man in hot blood—but ’tween me and thee I can’t be sorry he’s gone. I love his wee hoose.
Your devoted,
Em
THE AGRICULTURAL FAIR
FARMERS arrived from all twelve villages. They came by cart, on donkey back, on foot. They brought their best produce. “Giant turnips”—the diary—“like huge white clouds; muskmelons as big as the moon; Chinese cabbages as hefty as grown children.” Pigs, chickens, ducks. Whole families. “I had had no idea there would be so many.”
The fair lasted three days. All went home to their villages in the evenings; they arrived back at the Sze-ko Lung Miao temple grounds early each morning, having arisen long before dawn to get there in time. Greater numbers came each day—many from villages outside the zone of David Treadup’s past reach.
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THE FIRST two mornings there were lectures and demonstrations. Treadup had borrowed several Chinese specialists from Menghsien, to talk to the farmers about the crossing of imported lines of plants and animals with local strains to produce strong and durable hybrids; about green manures and available fertilizers; new methods of well-digging and irrigation; efficient techniques of plowing and cultivation; and systems of rent, sources of credit. Treadup used many of the magician tricks of his lecture program to impress the audiences. Most dramatic were some one-to-one comparisons: a year-old Poland-China hybrid pig from Menghsien alongside a local yearling; two white Leghorn eggs overtipping three local hen’s eggs in a vendor’s balance scale.
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THE AFTERNOONS were given over entirely to pleasure. Besides intervillage contests of shuttlecock kicking and Chinese boxing, Treadup introduced something the villagers had never seen before: tugs of war. Children played Hawk Chasing Sparrow and Beating the Sticks. Bird kites and dragon kites flew in the sky. Costumed clowns staggered around on stilts.
But best of all were the yang ke. According to tradition of the region, a poet named Su Tung-p’o (A.D. 1036-1101) became a district magistrate and during his administration wrote yang ke, “green-sprout” or planting songs, for farmers to sing while they were planting in rice fields watered by the Black-and-White Dragon Springs, at some distance to the southeast of Paoting. No one could say how these plain narrative gang songs had been transformed into plays for the stage, generally sung in the falsetto voices used by Chinese actors, with instrumental accompaniment. No one knew, either, why the yang ke of this region differed so markedly from those of Shanghai, which had become street dances, or of Peiping, where they had become parades of actors on stilts, or of many areas where they were still just simple folk songs. The Communists had already begun to use them as danced political songs—powerful instruments for indoctrination.
In his work in the villages, David had come across a couple of yang ke troupes. All the parts were taken by males; until Treadup had come along, the players had all been illiterate and had handed on the texts to young apprentices by memorization.
Treadup had supervised the building of a suitable stage near the front of the temple, where the greatest open space was available.
The diary, later:
The acting in the local ‘yang ke’ has become very broad and suggestive, so that the most delicate words take on wildly licentious meanings. How they roar! The women, too! How poor old Dr. Cowley would have disapproved! I could not help thinking of the teasing advertisements at the Peking Y.M.C.A. movie theater. I am Mr. May shine Treadup! Ah well. These people only have one mean life to live.
MEETING AT THE WATER WELL
Evening, in the Schoolroom
MAN (enters and sings) I am Wei Kuei-yan.
Before me the Four Books and the Five Classics.
I cannot study, on every page I read her name.
In my garden at home is a wu-tung tree
Waiting for the phoenix to build her nest.
Behind the embroidered screen sit beautiful girls.
How can I pass my examinations? (Exit.)
Morning
WOMAN (enters and sings) My mother-in-law
commands me to fetch water.
My shoulder pole is made of boxwood.
In fear I hang a pail on each end of it,
And on my back I carry a well rope twelve feet long.
In sorrow I walk out of the kitchen, out of the gate.
The road leads toward the hill, toward the well.
My husband’s name is Chou Yu-tzu, mine is Lan Jui-lien.
He is fifty-three while I am only eighteen.
He is ugly as a carbuncle;
His nose is flat as a monkey’s;
His mouth like that of a donkey;
One ear is half rotted away;
He has only one leg, and that one festers;
His short queue smells like sheep wool.
Standing he is like a ghost;
Squatting he is like a millstone.
I climb toward the well.
One step, two steps—lotus steps;
Three steps, four—chrysanthemum steps;
Five, six—the tyrant’s lash;
Seven, eight—Pa Wang’s whip;
Nine, ten—ten-colored flowers.
Forward nine steps, backward three.
I walk like a pearl-hanging-on-the-rolled-up-screen;
I walk like the spread-of-the-bottle-gourd-vine.
I walk now to the north of the path,
I walk now to the south of the path.
Around the well grow poplars and willows;
Around it stands a white stone railing.
The WOMAN lets one pail down into the well and draws it up full of water; lets the other down, and draws it up. She thinks of the weight of the water, and rests, and rests. The MAN enters and sings:
I think of the dream I had last night:
I stood on the Blue Bridge and saw a ravishing woman.
He looks in front, he looks behind; he looks to right and left. On the bank an old man of eighty is fishing; below an awkward girl of sixteen is washing clothes. But these are old scenes, last year’s scenes. He searches for the scene of his dream. He catches sight of the woman at the well.
Who, who is that?
Her hair is smooth as a cocoon and black as ink,
Braided with red silk threads;
Above each ear she wears a fresh flower,
And a hairpin inlaid with kingfisher feathers.
She is dressed in flowered cloth and a crisp black skirt.
She is the one who was in my dream!
He goes near. He bows. He speaks. She bows in return and asks:
Have you lost your way, young gentleman? Or forgotten
your home,
Under a spell of the beauty of the grove at the well?
MAN I have not lost my way or forgotten my home.
Beauty has charmed me and made me thirsty.
He asks for a cup of her water. She dips out a ladleful. He pretends to drink, but he stealthily gazes at her lotus feet.
WOMAN Mean-hearted young man—you talk of your
thirst
And look at my feet!
MAN My thirst is not of the usual kind.
Will you tell me—your family? Your home village?
WOMAN Go away! Go away! Mean-hearted young man;
You have stolen a close look at my feet,
And now you dare ask where my home is!
My mother’s home is on the far side of Hua mountain;
My mother-in-law’s on the near side.
MAN Will you tell me, young lady,
How old your husband is, and how old you are?
WOMAN My husband, fifty-three; and I, eighteen.
MAN A wife so young and a husband so old!
How you must have suffered, beautiful girl!
WOMAN I do not dislike my husband, though he is old.
The MAN looks all around and sees no one nearby. He sings:
Do not be angry, beautiful girl.
May I tell you what is on my heart?
WOMAN Say whatever you want: I take no offense at
honest talk.
MAN I want to ask you, I want to ask you
To give yourself to me.
Yes or no; do not be angry.
WOMAN Your impertinence makes me angry.
Go ask your sister to give herself to you!
The MAN asks her to listen to a story.
WOMAN If it is any good I will listen.
MAN Once long ago Fan Li-hua the Beautiful
Was given in marriage by her bad uncle to Ugly Yang.
On the battlefield she fought a young and handsome
general;
She fell so desperately in love with him that
She killed her ugly husband and married her beloved.
WOMAN (aside) Wicked! A good woman does not
marry twice.
I am not made of stone. My heart hurts.
What should I think? What should I do?
MAN I am a gentleman’s son, from east of the river.
My name is Wei Kuei-yuan.
I will inherit grounds of thousands of mou
And a mansion with ten tens of rooms.
In winter there are furs; in summer, gauze.
If I would smoke, a servant lights my pipe;
If you would drink, a servant brings you hot water.
Why would you not be mine?
Why waste your beauty on a disgusting old man?
WOMAN (aside) East of the river! How handsome
he is!
Though married by my parents to the ugly Chou,
I have fought on the battlefield; I am in love.
(to him) Young sir, I will give myself to you.
MAN Come with me to the Blue Bridge!
There we will swear our love before Heaven.
The WOMAN follows him.
MAN Here on the Blue Bridge
I, Wei Kuei-yuan, kneel down before Heaven.
I will always love you, beautiful girl.
WOMAN I, Lan Jui-lien, kneel with my lover…
I must go!
My mother-in-law will beat me.
MAN Wait! Give me a token to remember you by.
WOMAN I came out to fetch water and brought nothing
worthwhile.
But take this hairpin.
If you come to the Blue Bridge with this token,
Even though you are a beggar I will not refuse you.
MAN I must go back to my studies.
WOMAN Wait! What will you give me to remember
you by?
MAN I came out to enjoy the beauty of nature, I have
nothing.
Ah, let me tear a piece from my blue gown to give you.
If you come to the Blue Bridge with this token,
Even though you are a servant-maid,
I will open my arms to you.
The MAN leaves.
WOMAN (left alone by the well)
I must carry the two pails of water back.
Have I had a dream?
What is this torn piece of cloth in my hand?
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IN A CEREMONY on the third morning Treadup himself awarded prizes. A fine cloisonné vase went to a seventy-three-year-old farmer who had raised a monstrous cabbage weighing thirty-four catties—about forty-five pounds. The most valued prize of all, a Poland-China hybrid piglet, a sow, was awarded to a “demonstration farmer”—a man who had a literacy degree, taught school himself, had introduced Inventor Wang’s water-drawing machine and plows and harrows to his village, and had by various means increased the yield of his own land in two years by sixty percent. Treadup called him to the platform, where he received the applause of nearly three hundred of his fellow farmers. He carried the pig under his arm from the platform. Treadup launched into some concluding remarks. The pig became excited, squirmed out of the winner’s arms, and ran away out of the temple grounds and across the fields at an astonishingly high speed. Treadup’s entire audience dashed off to catch it. “Upstaged by an oinker!” he wrote in a letter to Farrow Blackton in New York, reporting on the fair. “But after a while they drifted back. They’d caught the critter and were willing to hear me out.”
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FROM THE SAME LETTER to Blackton:
On the third afternoon there were three special attractions: free smallpox vaccinations; an irrigation demonstration—a beautiful miniature farm some of us had set up in a kind of diorama, with real water ect.; and a flea circus. Yes, a flea circus. It was the biggest hit of the whole fair. I had found it in town one day. About 200 were vaccinated; 275 saw the irrigation exhibit; and nearly 600 saw the fleas. I charged five cash a head—about one-tenth of a cent Gold—for admission, and just about paid for a bunch of the prizes. Lots of men went through two and three times! The sign at the circus entrance said “Adult Education.” You see, all the fleas were adults—flealy speaking. They had to be to qualify for the circus. They were truly intellectual fleas, trained by a scholar—a member of the Y.M.C.A.! His little pets jumped into tiny doors and through hoops and around in circles. Wonderful! The fleas are the talk of the whole district. A great boon to my literacy schools, because one couldn’t help saying: If a man can teach a flea, what cannot be done with a human—no matter how stupid? Think of this, Blackie, and there will be a song in your heart today. There is hope even for you.
