Part 1

Chapter 13,334 wordsPublic domain

[Cover Illustration]

_This book was awarded the John Newbery Medal by the Children’s Librarians’ Section of the American Library Association, for the most distinguished contribution to American Children’s literature during the year 1925._

SHEN OF THE SEA _A Book for Children_ BY ARTHUR BOWIE CHRISMAN “_Author of The Wind That Wouldn’t Blow_”

Illustrated with over Fifty Silhouettes

ELSE HASSELRIIS

NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & CO., Inc.

————————

_Thirty-fifth Printing November 1966_

Printed in the U. S. A.

V. T. S.

This Book

Is Dedicated

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I have heard That the Plain of Fat Melons Is more than flat. It is hollowed like a bowl. And my purse Was quite as flat. Then the _Philadelphia North American_, And _What To Do_, of Elgin, Bought some of my stories— Paying good round money— Which the baker was quick to take from me. Furthermore, These papers Have given permission To put the stories in a Book. And the Book Is open before you. The _North American_, And _What To Do_, Have been as kind to me As Wu Ta Lang was To the red cherry tree. And I thank them— Not once—but twice— And twice that— More times than there are leaves In Hu Pei Forest.

CONTENTS

PAGE Ah Mee’s Invention...................... 1 Shen of The Sea......................... 16 How Wise were The Old Men............... 32 Chop-Sticks............................. 51 Buy A Father............................ 65 Four Generals........................... 79 The Rain King’s Daughter................ 100 Many Wives.............................. 115 That Lazy Ah Fun........................ 129 The Moon Maiden......................... 144 Ah Tcha The Sleeper..................... 159 I wish It would Rain.................... 173 High as Han Hsin........................ 189 Contrary Chueh Chun..................... 206 Pies of The Princess.................... 220 As Hai Low kept House................... 235

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE Oh, no, not at all. He was very careful not even to think of a dragon. He was a weighty elephant—amid the cabbages................. 5

Then he seized the plaques and flung them from him................................... 13

We are the Shen, demons of the sea........... 21

So the seventh demon sped away taking the sea with him................................... 30

It was the howl of a wolf.................... 36

Meng Hu could imagine a knife at his throat.. 42

The king crawled under his throne............ 62

The house of Weng Fu was luxurious in the extreme.................................... 69

He kept his forehead tight-pressed to the floor...................................... 77

The king and his generals gazed across the river...................................... 90

More and more sad came the music............. 95

At that same hour a basket was found in the garden..................................... 103

So Chai Mi sat beside the river and sewed and wept....................................... 107

Of course, they wore hideous false faces..... 111

The first portrait he painted was that of Ying Ning, a monstrous ugly maiden......... 123

“Broooomp”................................... 137

Doctor Chu Ping beamed upon him; “Ah Lun, my pearl, my jade, my orange tree, it is discovered”................................ 142

By look and action he was a maiden........... 148

A whanging of wings that lifted . . . Up . . . Higher . . . Swifter................. 151

When Ah Tcha had eaten his Evening Rice, he took lantern and entered the largest of his mills...................................... 162

How could she make beds when her hair needed burnishing?................................ 175

Tiao Fu snatched up her little-used embroidery scissors. Snip, Snip, Snip...... 178

“. . . And cut leaf-shaped pieces”........... 182

Han Hsin raised a bridge from island to mainland................................... 191

“I—I—I—am hungry,” stammered Han Hsin........ 198

Prince Chin Pa tried in vain to hold his followers.................................. 202

Therefore—upon his donkey—the contrary husband started for Tsun Pu................ 209

It was a well-plucked traveler who returned.. 213

This nice large one is for your dinner....... 225

He made a V of the bowstring................. 244

The royal generals . . . knelt before Hai Low and bumped their heads in the dust......... 251

SHEN OF THE SEA

Ching Chi, the fond parent, lived with his wife—her name is forgotten—and the son, Ah Mee, and a little daughter, in a neat house that stood in the Street of The Hill Where The Monkey Bit Mang. Ching Chi was a carver of wood, and ivory, and jade. His bachelor brother Ching Cha who lived next door, did scrivening—wrote things with a blackened brush upon parchment and paper—and the wall, when he had no paper. Some people said they were stories, but certainly they brought in no money. As for that, neither did Ching Chi’s carvings bring in any money. Yet Chi was a good carver. His designs were artistic, and his knife was obedient to the slightest touch. From an inch block of ivory he could carve seven balls—one inside the other. Howbeit, Chi was neither famous nor wealthy. Instead of carving pagodas and trinkets for sale in the bazaars, he spent most of his time in carving toys for Ah Mee—who promptly smote them with an axe, or threw them in the well, or treated them in some other manner equally grievous.

For six months Ching Chi worked to carve a dragon. When finished, the _loong_ was a thing of beauty. In the bazaar it would, perhaps, have fetched a bar of silver from some rich mandarin. But fond Ching Chi gave it to Ah Mee. And Ah Mee, tiring of it after five minutes of play, hurled it through the paper-covered window.

Are windows made to be broken? Are toys fashioned only to be thrown away? Certainly not. Papa Chi wagged a finger at Ah Mee and he spoke thus, “Ah Mee, most wonderful son in the world, you must not throw your dragon through the window into the back yard again. What I say, that I mean. Don’t throw your dragon into the yard any more.” Having said, he proceeded with his work, carving beautiful designs upon teak-wood blocks . . . for Ah Mee’s pleasure.

And Ah Mee said, “Very well then, _Tieh tieh_ (Daddy), I won’t.” He proceeded with his work—which was to pile carven teak-wood blocks high as his not-so-long arms could reach. There was one block covered with so much exquisite carving that it gave little support to the blocks above. For that reason the tower wavered and fell. Ah Mee promptly lost his temper. Made furious beyond endurance, he seized the offending block and hurled it through a paper-paneled door.

Who will say that Ah Mee was disobedient? He had been told not to throw his toy dragon through the window. But had his father, Ching Chi, told him not to heave a _block_ through the _door_? Not at all. Ching Chi had said nothing about blocks, and he had pointed his finger at the window. Nevertheless, Mr. Ching felt almost inclined to scold his son. He said, very sternly, “Ah Mee. . . .”

“Whang. Bang. Bang,” came the sound of sticks on the door frame. Crash—the door flew open. In rushed stalwart men, dressed in the King’s livery, and bearing heavy staves. “Oh, you vile _tung hsi_ (east west—very abusive talk), you murderer,” screamed the men. “Are you trying to assassinate your King? What do you mean by hurling missiles into the King’s sedan as he is carried through the street? Answer, before your head falls.”

But Ching Chi was unable to answer. He could only press his forehead to the floor, and tremble, and wait for the quick death he expected. Meantime, Ah Mee pelted the King’s men with various large and small toys—including a hatchet.

King Tan Ki, seated comfortably in a sedan chair, was being carried through the Street of The Hill Where The Monkey Bit Mang. He had no thought of danger. Peril had no place in his mind. The street seemed a street of peace. When lo—from a paper-covered door there came a large missile, striking a slave and falling into the King’s lap. Instantly the body-guard rushed to the terrible house and battered in the door. But King Tan Ki felt more curiosity than alarm. He examined the object that had so unceremoniously been hurled into the sedan. At once his interest was quickened. The King knew good carvings—whether they came from old masters, or from hands unknown. Here was a block carved with superlative art. Tan Ki wished to know more of the artist who carved it.

Ching Chi was still kneeling, still expecting instant death, when the King’s chamberlain rushed in. The Chamberlain uttered a sharp order. The body-guards grasped Ching Chi and hastened him out of the house, to kneel at the King’s sedan. Ah Mee fired a last volley of broken toys at the retreating chamberlain. . . . Not especially nice of him, perhaps, but then, no one had forbidden it.

Fortune had smiled her prettiest upon the house of Ching Chi. King Tan Ki was immensely pleased with the old engraver’s work. The odds and ends of toys that had been fashioned for Ah Mee, now graced the palace. There they were appreciated. Every day Ching Chi worked faithfully, carving plaques and panels and medallions for the King. He was wealthy. Upon his little skull-cap was a red button. He was a mandarin, if you please. Only mandarins of the highest class may wear ruby buttons on their caps. . . . And Ah Mee was worse than ever.

To say it again, for emphasis, Ah Mee was worse than ever—if possible. He dabbled in all the hundred-and-one varieties of mischief. All day long it was “Ah Mee, don’t do that.” “Ah Mee, don’t do the other.” “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.” Papa Ching was so tired of saying “Don’t” that his tongue hurt every time he used the word. Occasionally he changed his talk and said the opposite of what he really meant. Thus he would say, “That’s right, little darling, fill papa’s boots with hop toads and muddy terrapins, and that will make papa happy.” Or, “Pray take another jar, my precious. Eat all the jam you possibly can. Six jars is not at all too much.” For Ah Mee doted on jam. It was a passion with him. He started the day on jam, finished the day on jam. Every time a back was turned, his fingers sought the jam pot. Indeed, rather frequently he ate so much jam that there were pains . . . and the doctor.

Ching Chi took a bird cage from the wall and hung it on his arm. (In that land when gentlemen go for a stroll they usually carry their pet larks, instead of their pet _chous_.) At the door he paused and said to Ah Mee: “Little pearl in the palm, please refrain from too much mischief. Don’t [there it was again] be any worse than you are really compelled to be. Of course, it’s quite proper for you to put arsenic in Mother’s tea, and to hit baby sister with the axe again. And you may burn the house if you feel so inclined. . . . I want you to have plenty of innocent fun. But don’t [again] be bad. For instance, don’t, I beg of you, don’t get in those jars of jam any more.”

Off went Ching Chi with his lark singing blithely.

Ah Mee was quite puzzled. “Don’t get in the jars of jam.” How in the world _could_ he get in the little jars? It was silly. He was much larger than any one of the jars. But perhaps _Tieh tieh_ meant not put a hand in the jars. That must be it. Ah Mee made a stern resolve to keep his hands out. Not so much as a finger should go in those jars. . . .

Obedient Ah Mee arranged several of his father’s carven plaques on the floor, and tilted a jar. The plaques were beautifully decorated flat pieces of wood, somewhat larger than dinner plates. They made reasonably good dishes for the stiff jam. Surrounded by little mountains of jam, Ah Mee sat on the floor and . . . how the mountains disappeared. Really, it was fairish tasting jam.

When Ching Chi came home and discovered his carvings smeared with black and sticky jam, that good soul fell into a passion. First he screamed. Next he howled. _Then he seized the plaques and flung them from him_, flung them with all his strength. Flinging seems to have been a family failing.

Ching Chi was weeping for sorrow, and howling with rage when his brother Cha entered the room. The quick eyes of Brother Cha soon saw that something was amiss. He gazed at the wall where the plaques had struck. He gazed at the jam-coated plaques. Then he too howled, but with joy. “Oh, Brother Chi,” he shouted. “You have chanced upon a wonderful invention. It is a quick way for making books. What huge luck.” He led Brother Chi to the wall and pointed. “See. For reason of its jam, each plaque has made a black impression on the wall. Every line of the carving is reproduced upon the wall. Now do you understand? You will carve my thoroughly miserable stories upon blocks of wood. Ah Mee will spread black jam upon the carven blocks. Then I will press the blocks upon paper, sheet after sheet, perhaps a hundred in one day. . . . With the laborious brush I can make only one story a month. With the blocks—I can make thousands. Oh, what a wonderful invention.”

Ching Chi carved his brother’s stories upon wooden blocks. Ah Mee spread the jam thickly—only pausing now and then for a taste. Ching Cha pressed the blocks upon paper, sheet after sheet. . . . There were the stories upon paper—all done in a twinkling, and with little expense. The poorest people in the land could afford to buy Ching Cha’s most excellent stories.

Thus was invented _Yin Shu_ (Make Books) or, as the very odd foreign demons call it in their so peculiar language—“Printing.” Ching Chi, his brother Ching Cha, and Ah Mee, all had a hand in the invention. As a matter of exact truth, Ah Mee had two hands in the invention (or in the jam), so he is generally given all the credit. His monument reads, “Ah Mee, the Inventor of Printing.”

SHEN OF THE SEA

Kua Hai City stands on a plain in northern China. The plain is called Wa Tien, and it is very smooth and fertile, giving many large melons. . . . Life there is good. The plain is likewise extremely low. Any reliable geography will tell you that Kua Hai is below sea level. And that, I know, is a fact, for I, lazily seated in my garden, have often gazed at sailing ships, large-eyed—wide-staring-eyed junks as they fetched into the Bay of The Sharp-Horned Moon, and to view them I had to raise my eyes. It is very true. I had to look up, as one looks up to behold the sky-hung eagles of Lo Fan.

I had as often wondered if the sea ever broke through its restraining walls and flooded Kua Hai. A storm coming down from the northeast would most likely thrust billows to overtop the wall. So I said to my gardener, Wu Chang: “Wu Chang, did fishes ever swim up the Street of A Thousand Singing Dragons? Did the sea ever come into Kua Hai?” Wu Chang paused in his scratching among the _hung lo po_ (the radishes). Since thinking it over, I am inclined to believe that he welcomed an opportunity to change from the working of his fingers to the working of his tongue. “Once, and once only, Honorable One, has the sea invaded Kua Hai. But it can never do so again. Chieh Chung was fooled once, but he was far too clever to be fooled twice. He buried the bottle, perhaps in this very garden, for who knows? He buried it so deep that no ordinary digging shall discover it. And so, the sea may look over the walls of Kua Hai, but it may not enter.”

“Indeed?” said I. “And pray, who _was_ this Chieh Chung? And what was in the bottle?”

Such astounding ignorance gained me a look of compassion from old Wu Chang. “The Honorable One is surely jesting. He, of course, knows that Chieh Chung was the first King of Wa Tien.”

“Oh, to be sure,” I interrupted. “It was Chieh Chung who invented—hum—er radishes.” That was a guess, and a miss.

Wu Chang corrected me. “Not radishes, but writing. A mistaken thing to do, in my opinion. But beyond doubt he did a great service when he bottled the water demons. Ho. Ho. Ho. He bottled the demons as if they were melon pickles. Ho. Ho. Ho.”

“Sit here in the shade, Wu Chang,” said I. “So Chieh Chung pickled the water demons—and then what?”

“Not pickled, Honorable One, bottled. Chieh Chung bottled the demons. Ho. Ho. Ho. . . . You must understand that in those days the plain hereabouts was much lower than it is now. It had not been built up. And the sea was much higher in those days, for then there were no heavy ships to weigh it down, and flatten it. The sea was very high then-a-days, far too high for its breadth. On every side the land held it back, and it was retarded and had no freedom of motion. So the Shen, the demons of the sea, got them together and took thought. They said: ‘Our sea is far too small. We must have more room. We are mighty, are we not? Then let us take some land and occupy it, so that our sea may expand.’

“Accordingly, the water demons swam along the coast, seeking land to conquer. They passed the shores of Fu Sang without stopping, for that region is high and mountainous. They passed the region of San Shen Shan, for in that place lives the powerful land demon named Hu Kung. The water demons were in no great haste to gain Hu Kung’s hatred. They passed without a second glance. But when the Shen swam up to Kua Hai, it was to rejoice. The demons looked over the wall; they smiled down upon Kua Hai and said, ‘This land we shall take for our beloved sea. It is low, and suited to our purpose. Rightfully it is ours. Yes, we shall take Kua Hai, and all the vast plain hereabout.’ But the ocean demons were possessed of decency. They did not dash over the walls, calling on their sea to follow, and so drown all the people of Kua Hai. Demons though they be, the Shen that time had mercy in their hearts. While the night dew lay upon the fields of Wa Tien, those demons, to the number of seven, made their way into Kua Hai. There they waited in the garden of the palace.

“When King Chieh Chung, who ruled over Wa Tien, took him to the garden for an early morning stroll, he discovered the demons waiting. He knew at once they were no ordinary men. Not once did they _kou tou_ (knock their heads on the ground) as men should do. Nor did they look like the men of Wa Tien. Their mouths were wide mouths, like those of codfishes. Their bodies were covered with iridescent scales. Nevertheless, Chieh Chung permitted the Shen to approach. ‘What manner of men are you?’ asked the King. ‘And what is your pleasure?’

“‘We are the Shen, demons of the sea,’ answered the seven. ‘We are Shen of the ocean, and we come to claim our own.’ ‘And what is that?’ asked the King, smiling tolerantly upon them, though in truth he felt more like weeping, for he knew what would be the answer.

“‘We have come to possess ourselves of the city and all the low plain that surrounds it. It is our right, and our might—we mean to have it.’ Then Chieh Chung’s heart dropped down to a level with his sandals. His heart was weighted as if with millstones, as if weighted with Mount Tai. Long he stroked his beard, pondering, grieving, praying. And the water demons danced in the dew. Jubilant were they, flinging their toes high, spattering dewdrops upon the palace roof, and singing the terrible song of the ocean.