Part 2
When he was alone, Sun reflected upon what the disciple had told him. The idea of seeing the sunlight again and of acquiring honor and wealth filled his very being with ecstasy. On the other hand, the obligation of furnishing three hundred sacks of rice considerably diminished his joy. A man, whose daughter was obliged to beg to keep him from starving, would never be able to fulfill the promise which he had signed. He regretted having given a promise which he could never hope to keep.
Sun was drawn from his reveries by the arrival of his daughter.
“Why so melancholy, father?” inquired the child. “Is it because I am late to-day that you seem sad? I must ask your pardon. I went to the cemetery and from there to gather some alms. They gave me some things to eat, as your hands can tell. Don’t you forgive me?”
“My dear child, it is not you who makes me so sad. Listen, and I will tell you what happened to me. When you did not come home I was a little worried and wanted to go and meet you. On the way, I fell into the lake and gave myself up for lost when I was rescued by a disciple of an anchorite. This man led me home and said to me, while we were walking along, ‘I predict to you that you will no longer be blind and that some day you will become the King’s Prime Minister.’ But I have to pay him three hundred sacks of rice and I can never do it. That is why I am sad.”
“Do not worry too much about that, father. We shall find a way that will enable you to keep your promise.”
After they had shared their meagre meal the young girl went to her room where she began to reflect upon her father’s story. Not succeeding in going to sleep, she went out to take a bath in the lake, after which she began to prepare the sacrifice table in the garden. She placed in the centre a vase filled with water, lighted the incense burner and two candles, one at each end, and began to pray to Heaven. Her prayers continued almost until daybreak.
Not until then did Cheng-Si go to her room. Exhausted with fatigue, she fell asleep almost immediately. She dreamed that an old man was saying to her, “Very shortly something is going to happen to you. Some one will cross your path who will make you an attractive proposal. Do not hesitate to accept, for it is an exceptional opportunity.”
On awakening, the child recalled her dream and was pensive and thoughtful for a long while. In reality her dream was soon to come true. Some dreams do.
In the days of our story, Korean merchants in search of business were accustomed to make one trip a year across the Yellow Sea, which lies between China and Korea. The crossing was very difficult and dangerous because of the rapidity of the current in certain spots. After each trip they were always sure to report the loss of some boat. Thinking to avoid this danger, the merchants had recourse to a very ancient and very barbarous practice. In each village where they traded they purchased a young girl. These victims were thrown into the sea and the perils of the voyage were thought to be in this way forestalled.
Now, this day, Cheng-Si, the fair, had scarcely left her home when she met one of these traders in search of a human victim. The merchant asked the young girl if she knew where he could find what he wanted. To this request Cheng-Si replied:
“You need not look any farther. If you want to take me, I will go, but what will you give me in exchange for my life?”
“Anything that you want.”
“Suppose I ask for three hundred bags of rice?”
“I’ll accept the offer, but I have some partners and must consult with them, so I will not be able to give you a positive answer for a few days.”
“I’ll wait, then.”
“Good-bye,” said the merchant.
Happy at having concluded this bargain which was to result so seriously for her, the young girl impatiently awaited the merchant’s return. One beautiful morning she saw him coming toward the house and immediately went to meet him.
“Has the affair been settled?” she asked him, without manifesting the least emotion.
“Yes, you shall have your three hundred bags of rice. Do you want them right away?”
“Yes, indeed, if I may. Please wait a moment, I must tell my father.”
Cheng-Si went into the house. She did not know how to tell her father about her fatal decision.
“To tell him the truth,” she said to herself “is to condemn him to a death from grief. I can remember his anxiety that day when I was a little late in coming home. Now suppose I should never come back--but it must be done.”
The young girl threw her arms about her father’s neck and cried in a joyful voice:
“Father, I have found a way to get you the three hundred bags of rice that you owe the disciple. Send for him at once.”
When the disciple had come, Cheng-Si took him to the merchant’s place of business and turned over to him the three hundred bags of rice. She then demanded, in exchange, the paper bearing her father’s signature, thanked him for having saved Sun-Yen’s life, and asked him to continue his prayers for the blind man. The disciple promised to do so and left the young girl.
Very happy because of her sacrifice, she hastened to her father and handed him the paper which he had signed.
“Where did you get this?” demanded the surprised Sun.
“From the disciple, to whom I gave the three hundred sacks of rice.”
“But, how in the world did you get all that rice, my daughter?”
“In a very simple way. I sold myself the other day.”
“What are you saying! Ah, unhappy girl, do you want to kill me?”
“Now do not worry about this, father. Let me finish what I have to tell you. It is true that I have sold myself but I am not going very far away and perhaps I shall see you every day. There isn’t anything to be troubled about. I am sacrificing my liberty with the best of good will so as to insure your happiness. When we have saved up enough money I will pay back the price of the rice and then, once I am free, nothing can prevent me from remaining with you forever.”
The young girl, having calmed somewhat her father’s fears, went to the merchant’s to learn the date of her departure.
The merchant told her that they were not going to set sail for three months. Meanwhile, Cheng-Si was thinking constantly of the solitude in which her father would be after she had gone. What would become of the poor blind man, alone and without resources? This thought haunted her day and night. She sought to accumulate a little money and some food which would be enough for him to live on decently for some little time.
The three months soon came to an end and the merchant returned to remind her of her promise. She asked permission to speak to her father for the last time. She had not yet revealed to him the entire truth. The merchant, of course, consented and even went into the house with her.
“Father,” she said, “I must leave you.”
“My daughter, leave me? And where are you going?”
“Father, I deceived you the other day. It was not my liberty but my life which I gave in exchange for the three hundred sacks of rice which you promised the disciple. Yes, I was purchased, body and soul. I have to plunge to the bottom of the Yellow Sea to pray for a favorable passage for our sailors.”
Cheng-Si had tenderly placed her arms about her father to support him while she was making this fatal confession. Nevertheless, the blind man could not bear the shock and he fell into a swoon.
When he regained consciousness, he said in a voice that was scarcely audible, “Unhappy child, is it indeed true that you are going to abandon me in this way? After having seen your mother die, must I see you, too, leave the world before me? Oh, tell me that it is a dream! Consider your poor blind father and think what will become of him when he no longer has you with him. No, it cannot be, you are not going to die.”
Sun-Yen burst into tears. His daughter tried vainly to keep from weeping herself for she felt that her heart was broken. The merchant, a witness of the scene, was very much moved, too. He beckoned the girl to him and said:
“I will give you another hundred bags of rice and we will not set sail for three days. Would you like that?”
Cheng-Si thanked the man profusely and went with him to the door. The following day, after she had obtained the hundred sacks of rice, she sought an audience with the leading magistrate of the town. He consented to take charge of the maintenance of the old gentleman in consideration of the one hundred bags of rice which he took as a sort of deposit.
The young girl did not leave her father until the merchant came for her. She endeavored to console the old gentleman as best she could. When the time for the separation came, it was heart-rending. Sun-Yen threw his arms about his daughter’s neck while his frame was shaken with sobs.
“I want to die with you. I will not let you go alone.”
The cries of the poor blind man attracted a number of the neighbors, who were also moved to tears at the pathetic sight. Finally the trader grasped the girl by the arm and said in a trembling, gentle voice, “We must go now.”
Paralyzed by grief, Sun fainted and his arms slipped from about his daughter’s form.
“Good-bye, father,” she called back as she walked away. “Don’t worry, we shall meet again in a better place where we shall be happy forever.”
Cheng-Si renewed her requests to the magistrate, who, shortly after, visited the unfortunate father and tried to console him a bit, without succeeding to the slightest extent.
For Cheng-Si had gone.
* * * * *
_Here cometh to a close the second step of our legend._
III
III
San-Houni, the scholar and intimate friend of Sun-Yen, was likewise condemned to exile on account of his friendship for the disgraced. He was obliged to leave the Korean Capital, a circumstance which he regretted exceedingly just at this time because his wife, Yeng-Si, who was soon to become a mother, would not have the comforts and advantages of the city. But of what avail are innocence and regret when a Prime Minister has rendered one undesirable in the eyes of the Monarch? It was decreed that San-Houni be banished and that he be forced to live on the island of Ko-Kum-To, a desolate, sparsely populated rock in the Yellow Sea.
It was a long journey. The trip would consume several days. San-Houni’s few servants took care of the details of the packing but he himself went in quest of a boatman who would agree to take him and his wife across the waters to the island. His choice was not a happy one but he was unaware of it.
The most violent contrast existed between the characters of Su-Rung and Su-Yeng, the two brothers, whom San-Houni engaged for the trip. From this difference in temperament great misfortunes were to come.
As long as they were in sight of the coast, things went well, but when the party was on the open sea, Su-Rung the wicked, revealed his designs.
“I am somewhat taken with the wife of our passenger,” he whispered to his brother, “I want her and I’m going to get her. Her husband grates on my nerves. I must get him out of the way.”
“You are mad,” replied Su-Yeng. “Do you think for a minute that I will ever allow you to do anything like that?”
“Bah! You are jealous of me,” cried Su-Rung, in a fury.
“Not at all, but your intentions disgust me.”
Su-Rung said nothing further but it could readily be seen that he had not given up his project.
The terrible thing about all this was that San-Houni and his wife had overheard the brothers. Their anxiety grew and soon merged into real fear. They discussed in low tones the peril which threatened them and how it would be possible to escape.
There was not much time left to them for reflection. Su-Rung called the oarsmen and whispered aside to them, “Men, I want you to grab that fellow and his servant. Take and keep what money they have on them and kill them. The woman alone must live. Make a good job of it.”
Su-Yeng here interposed, “I think you should be content with taking their money, but at least spare their lives.”
“Mind your own business,” shouted Su-Rung in a rage. “I am master here. Get out of my way and let me alone!”
Su-Yeng was forced to obey his brother’s injunction. As soon as he had turned his back, San-Houni and his servant were put to death. The murder was committed under the very eyes of the scholar’s wife. She was dazed with anger and sorrow. Having no desire to survive her husband, she plunged into the sea, crying, “In spite of you, I shall die with my husband.”
Su-Rung, however, ordered his sailors to turn about and rescue the unhappy woman. A few minutes more and Yeng-Si was pulled into the boat alive and safe.
Then the assassin, judging it indiscreet to continue in the direction of Ko-Kum-To, changed the course of his vessel to a spot he was well acquainted with. The boat made a landing shortly after. Su-Rung jumped ashore and approached an old woman on the beach, to whom he said:
“Go aboard my boat, you will find a woman there. I want you to take her home with you. Be very gentle and kind to her, encourage her, and console her, for she has been deeply afflicted.”
The old lady at once set about doing what Su-Rung had requested.
Meanwhile, Su-Rung had anchored his boat and as a sign of self-satisfaction he invited his men to a feast, where they made merry and drank freely. Shortly all the guests were drunk except Su-Yeng. He was broken up at the turn of events and his inability to avert Su-Rung’s crime. Therefore, he resolved to profit by the present situation by assisting, if it were possible, his brother’s unfortunate captive. He left the revelers without being noticed and, setting out at a rapid gait, soon reached the home of the old lady. He paused before entering at the sound of voices and in the midst of the lamentations of Yeng-Si, he could make out these words:
“Where do you come from?”
“The Capital.”
“Is that so? I lived at Yeng-Yang.”
“Then how is it that you are in these parts?”
The old lady, for it was she who was talking with Yeng-Si, uttered a deep sigh.
“Alas, I have lived here for ten years, much against my will. Like you, I am a victim of Su-Rung, who murdered my husband. I am awaiting the hour of vengeance, but it is slow in coming. Will this monster remain unpunished forever?”
Touched by her story, Yeng-Si forgot for the time her own misfortunes to sympathize with her companion. It was just at this moment that Su-Yeng entered the room where the two women were and said in a troubled voice:
“Do not take things too hard. Perhaps you will be rescued very soon. There is some one who is looking out for you. I have a profound horror of my brother’s evil deeds. Listen, if you wish to escape you will never have an easier time than now.”
“How so, your brother....”
“Don’t be afraid. For the time being, he is not capable of following you for he is asleep and dead drunk, but there is not a minute to be lost. You know the country for you have lived here a long while. You must show the way to this lady who is a stranger. Here, take this money, it will not do to wait any longer.”
The two women, weeping and sobbing, threw themselves at the feet of their rescuer in gratitude.
Su-Yeng helped them to their feet and urged them again to leave. It would be advisable, he insisted, to make haste for the rage of Su-Rung, if he captured them, would be terrible.
Yielding to the entreaties of Su-Yeng, the two women set out. Their friend accompanied them for a short distance. When they were alone, they walked as rapidly as their strength would permit. At the end of two hours Yeng-Si, thoroughly fatigued, requested that they rest for a few moments. Her companion consented quite willingly. So the two fugitives sat down to rest their weary bodies. Suddenly the elder of the two said to the other:
“I’m going to ask you something.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Well, I would consider it a great favor if you would let me have your sandals in exchange for mine.”
This request puzzled Yeng-Si a great deal as she did not understand the purpose of the elder woman’s intentions. However, the old lady gave her little time for reflection.
“You are,” she said, “like me, very tired, but you are still young, consequently you are capable of enduring greater hardships than I. I am very old. You go on. If Su-Rung catches up--and he will not wait long--I will tell him that I do not know in what direction you went. Now, hurry on, but leave your sandals here with me if you wish to be real kind.”
Yeng-Si arose at once. She thanked her friend for her excellent advice and handed her sandals to her without understanding in the least what motive she had in this request. As she was leaving, the old lady continued:
“Just a moment. I am going to show you the road which you should take to escape from Su-Rung. Keep straight ahead until you come to a grove of bamboo where you might rest a few moments if you like, then keep on walking in the same direction until you come upon the temple of Buddha. When you arrive at this spot, you will be out of danger but be careful to follow my directions explicitly.”
“I will do so, thank you.”
“Good, now, good-bye.”
When Yeng-Si had gone a short way, the old woman arose, and taking the sandals, she turned toward a lake which was a short distance away. Placing them at the water’s edge, she uttered a brief prayer and jumped into the water.
Yeng-Si, however, heard her cries. She immediately retraced her steps, hastening to the lake where she noticed the sandals beside the water and the body of the old lady floating on the surface. This sight almost overbore her.
“Why did this poor woman drown herself?” she muttered. “Can it be--yes, I imagine--her persistency in asking for my sandals--oh, blessed one! She had the idea of dying before saying good-bye. She did not wish her death to be fruitless, so she placed my sandals on the shore, that it would appear as if I had committed suicide. Poor woman, how devoted she was! May she have her reward in the Hereafter.”
If she had listened to the promptings of her heart, Yeng-Si would have remained there mourning for her unfortunate companion. Remembering the entreaties of the latter, however, she hurried her steps and shortly came to the forest of bamboo. Suddenly she experienced the most agonizing pains. She trembled, shivered, broke out into a cold perspiration and suffered terribly. She understood that she was about to become a mother. What a terrible situation she was in! Here alone, away from everybody, what was to become of her?
* * * * *
Yes, it was a little boy. She seized the poor, little being and covered it with tears and kisses.
“Poor child,” she said, “what can I do with you? You have no father and your mother does not know what is going to become of you.”
Fortunately for Yeng-Si, some one had heard her shrieks and cries. It was a nun from the temple that the old lady had told her about. This nun ran to the spot whence the cries came and was somewhat surprised to find there the mother and child.
After rendering what assistance she could, she asked her how it came about that she gave birth to the child in that place.
Yeng-Si told briefly her sad story. The nun was deeply touched at the tale--so fraught with sorrow.
“What do you count upon doing?” she asked her.
“Alas, I do not know. Here I am alone and without resources. How can I bring up my little one? I shall have to abandon him, but I shall not live long anyway, I am sure of that, so perhaps I shall make way with myself.”
“That would not be doing exactly right. Suppose you try to follow my advice. Give your child to some charitable person and come live with me.”
“I could not ask for anything better, but why can’t I take my little one along with me?”
“Because it is against the rules of our order to receive children. I know it is hard for you to give up your little one, but since you scarcely have any choice in the matter, you must resign yourself. If you were to continue on your way with your little son you would unquestionably fall into the hands of the brigands. Besides, it is possible that you may be able to reclaim your child some day in the future. When he becomes a man he will aid you in getting retribution for his father’s death.”
Yeng-Si followed the advice of the nun. She wrapped the little fellow as well as she could, tearing bandages from her own clothes. Since she wished to have some sign which would enable her to recognize her son, she took his arm and with a needle traced on the pink flesh the characters forming the name of San-Syeng. Then she went over these letters with India ink which the nun gave her. Finally, slipping off the ring which she wore, she placed it in the wrappings of the child. This finished, she started out accompanied by the nun. They were going to the neighboring village to place the child at a street corner and then return to the temple.
Very soon, Yeng-Si could sight the roofs of the little village where she was to say “good-bye” to her son. Alas, the child, whom she and her husband had been looking forward to with such great joy, would be abandoned just as if she were an unnatural mother. Her cup was filled to the brim with sorrow, for her husband had been murdered before her eyes and now her son was to be left on a street corner. More dead than alive, she gently placed the child on the ground after giving him a last fond kiss. With a supreme effort she regained her courage and walked slowly away, shedding tears of sorrow, while the hunger-cries of the baby grew louder and louder.
She tottered along very, very feebly, she was so torn with emotion and anguish. The nun, familiar with sad scenes, was nevertheless deeply moved.
“Pray, pray to Heaven,” she said to Yeng-Si, “some day you will find your son. He will come to you when he grows up. Something within me gives me confidence in what I am telling you, but prepare yourself for a long separation--take courage.”
* * * * *
_Here endeth our third chapter._
IV
IV
When the vapors of intoxication had cleared from Su-Rung’s brain, his first thought was of his captive. He ran to the old woman’s hut where the widow of San-Houni was confined. Great was his astonishment on finding the house empty. In vain did he burst into anger, and shout. No one answered. Breathless from rage, he went to his brother.
“Have you seen these two women?”
“No. I have not seen them since I was here last.”
“They have disappeared, but I know how to find them.”
Su-Rung set out in pursuit accompanied by his brother. The latter feared that Su-Rung in his fury would do harm if he succeeded in coming upon the fugitives and Su-Yeng wished to be present to protect them should the worst come to the worst.
Traveling speedily, the two brothers very soon reached the shores of the lake, of which we have spoken before. Here they saw Yeng-Si’s sandals by the water’s edge and a body floating in the middle of the lake.
Even Su-Rung was moved by the sight and cried:
“The poor woman is drowned.”
“Brother,” replied Su-Yeng, “you would not listen to me and you have been punished. You wished to make this woman your slave and she has escaped from your clutches in spite of your efforts. What a great misfortune for us.”
“You mean to say that it is my fault,” took up Su-Rung, angrily, “You are to blame yourself. Why did you let my prisoner escape?”
The dispute between the two brothers lasted in this manner until Su-Rung’s rage had cooled. Instead of retracing their steps at once they continued on their way to the neighboring village and were the first ones to find the baby which Yeng-Si had left there a half hour or so before. Quite pleased at his unusual discovery Su-Rung took the little being and carried it home with him where he confided it to a nurse, instructing her to take the greatest care of the little boy.