Robbie Taggart

by Michael Phillips

  “He took away your student?”

  “It is so, and I admit it with humility.” The priest bowed his scarred head a moment. “When the doctor was about to leave here,” he went on, “I thanked him for coming to my aid and for helping the boy, for I cared about the child deeply no matter that he rejected my teachings. The doctor looked upon me in a manner I will not soon forget.”

  Robbie nodded that he was fully acquainted with that look of Wallace’s eyes.

  “He said to me,” Hui K’o continued, “he said I was amiss in thanking him, when I should have known well that it was not his own skills but those of the Almighty God that had given life back to my pupil. He said that I should be giving thanks to the Lord God instead, and turning my heart over to Him, as had the young man, Ying.”

  “Ying Nien?” interrupted Robbie.

  “Yes,” answered Hui K’o. “The doctor said to me, ‘Your pupil has ended his search for perfection in Him who alone is perfect. Is the pupil wiser than the teacher?’ I answered that I had been a seeker all my life, and bore the scars of my search—”

  Here Hui K’o raised his arms as he must have done with Wallace, and as his wide sleeves fell away, Robbie saw scars in various shapes branded into each of his forearms. In the same action he also bowed his disfigured head.

  “But it is not easy to give up a quest on which you have spent your life,” he continued. “Should I forsake my journey to Nirvana even in light of the Christian God, who heals and claims the hearts of Buddha’s pupils? He said to me, ‘Has the seeking after enlightenment become more important than the enlightenment itself?’” Hui K’o sighed. “It is so, perhaps. The man is wiser than many of my religion would give him credit for being.”

  “It hardly seems appropriate for him to come here, take your student, and then preach at you like that. He can be so unreasonable!”

  “I did not see him as unreasonable,” said the priest. “I have taken the Bodhisattva’s vow, and by it have sworn to forego entering Nirvana until every other being has come to the place of realizing it for himself. The unity of humankind is important in my religion. I think it is similar for Dr. Wallace, so in his mind he is being expedient rather than unreasonable.”

  “Well, I question if he’s going about it in the right way,” parried Robbie.

  “What is the right way? For every person the methods will vary. But as it is essentially his mission, he has to proceed in his own manner, whether it would perhaps be different than what you or I might do. But you seem hostile to the mission,” added Hui K’o. “I have seldom seen even the Chinese react so.”

  “It’s not hostility so much as—” Robbie stopped, searching for an answer he knew would not be there. “Well, I don’t know. Wallace’s methods just don’t appeal to me.”

  “You make me think of two great potters, Chia-tao and Shang-yin, who set out each to create a gift for the Emperor. Now when Chia-tao removed his bowl from the kiln, it was lopsided and spoiled. In a fit of rage, the great artist kicked at the oven, cursing it as the cause of his failure. But his friend who was nearby said, ‘But the kiln has never spoiled your work before.’ Then Chia-tao struck out at his wheel, blaming it for the imperfections of his work. His friend said again, ‘That wheel is the finest in the land, my friend, and with it you have made a name for yourself as a renowned potter!’ Then Chia-tao cursed the inferior quality of his clay. At that his friend merely sat and silently shook his head.

  “Shang-yin also made his bowl, and it too came from the oven flawed. But he displayed the true greatness of his spirit, which in the end made of him a better potter than Chia-tao, by sitting down to study his bowl. For long hours he meditated on the imperfections that had shown themselves in his first attempt, turning it every way so that he could see all that he had neglected to take into account before. At length, when he was ready to begin again, he set a new lump of clay on the wheel. And this time when the bowl was completed, it was perfect, and delighted the Emperor.

  “It is a wise man, my young sailing friend, who contemplates failures and imperfections and flaws, and looks for the cause within himself rather than trying to pass blame elsewhere. For looking inside oneself is the beginning of the road to wisdom.”

  Robbie remained silent at the conclusion of Hui K’o’s parable. The words had perhaps struck even more deeply than the priest intended.

  From the moment he had set foot in the mission, he had been laying the blame for his turmoil on them—their intolerance, their fanaticism, their unreasonableness. Before fate had landed him at the mission he had laid blame on Pike, the Vicar, and old Barclay.

  Now he wondered—were all these people and circumstances present in his life in order to point out some weakness, some flaw within himself? Had he always run away in order to avoid seeing what he was supposed to see?

  What about the times recently when hints, and sometimes more than hints, of fear had come over him? What had kept him from going with the child and the lady in Calcutta? And when he had been struggling for life in the water, what frightened him most of all had been the fear itself. And that very morning when the thought of returning to the mission had come to him, had he truly been afraid? It was unthinkable!

  His fears had always been vague and undefined. Had he all along been afraid—like the potter Chia-tao—of having to face up to his own weaknesses, or even admitting he had them? Yet how should that surprise him? To admit weakness, one had also to admit helplessness. And what man wanted to do that?

  Weak . . . helpless—could that really be the person he was? Men were strong! Men could take care of themselves! Men were not religious weaklings propped up on all sides by crutches of dogma!

  Yet . . . yet he could no longer deny that he had indeed known fear, he had known the isolation of being alone, he had known the emptiness that he had always denied to Jamie. He bowed his head, rubbing his face with his hands.

  “I sense, Robbie Taggart, that you also are a seeker,” said the priest.

  “I’ve always been pretty content,” said Robbie in automatic response. He did not feel compelled to add that recently just the opposite had been the case.

  “That is indeed a sad thing,” answered Hui K’o to Robbie’s surprise. “Only those who seek have hope of finding enlightenment. Those who seek nothing . . . find nothing in the end.”

  44

  Man of Faith

  Robbie had never run away from a fight before in his life. He had always stood up to his foes.

  Of course, his foes had always been easily identifiable. Now it seemed the enemies were inside his own self.

  How could he run from these? And if he did so, how would he be any better than the Vicar, forever running, never facing up to himself?

  Such were the thoughts that had plagued his mind in the simple monk’s chamber where he had passed the night. It was morning now, and he must decide what to do.

  But he already knew the answer.

  It was as clear as Hui K’o’s story about the two potters. He had to confront these gnawing fears, and he knew instinctively that he must do so at the mission. There he must do battle. The fight might be with himself, or it might be with Wallace. That hardly mattered. He had to face those fears that had forced him from the mission—face them like a man.

  If Hui K’o was disappointed at losing another potential convert to the mission, he did not show it. He gladly arranged a river conveyance for Robbie and bade him a fond farewell. Perhaps he sensed that what this young man was looking for would not be found in a Buddhist temple. Perhaps, too, he was recalling the expression of joy and contentment in young Ying Nien’s face as he left the temple to join the mission. Such joy was not often found in this world of sorrows. So how could he, a seeker after enlightenment, stand against him?

  Robbie’s return trip to the mission proved not nearly so arduous as had been his departure. Though the river voyage took longer than the half day the priest had predicted, and required another night on the water due to their afternoo
n start, Robbie arrived the next day several hours before sunset. He left the junk a mile or two north of Wukiang. He had had the entire boat trip to reason out his actions and intentions, but now that he had actually arrived, he was suddenly unsure of himself all over again.

  Perhaps this had been a foolish notion after all. He was no philosopher like the priest Hui K’o, content to spend his energies searching the mysteries of life. He had always been a doer, not a thinker. He did not relish the idea of having to battle with inner conflicts. Searching heart and soul was something he had always left to people like Jamie, the Vicar, Wallace. And he especially did not relish a battle of wills and emotions and ideas with Wallace. He could never match wits with the intense, fanatical missionary.

  He could not deny that the thought of seeing Hsi-chen again quickened his pace. Yet the dread of having to confront her father overpowered even that. Perhaps what he dreaded most was that unrelenting gaze, with a righteous finger pointed out in front of it, and his penetrating voice shouting, “I was right about you, sinner that you are! The time has come for you to repent!”

  But was he merely hoping Wallace would react in such a manner in order to give him further fuel for his own indignation? When had he actually seen the doctor treat anyone so? Vaguely he recalled the man’s reaction to his errant young disciple. He could have been vindictive and self-righteous. But that had not been his response. He had been unyielding. But there had been something else in his demeanor at the moment too, something Robbie had not allowed himself to see until now—almost a kind of tenderness toward the young man!

  Robbie walked along the dirt road, casting a gaze out toward the rice fields that lay to his left and right. He absently observed the workers until his attention was suddenly arrested by the activities in a particular field just ahead of him. On first glance the workers appeared no different than any of the other Chinese villagers. Each wore a wide, round straw hat to keep off the beating sun. But all at once Robbie realized that one of the two workers he was looking at was none other than Isaiah Wallace himself. The doctor’s pant legs were rolled up to his knees as he waded ankle-deep in the muddy field. From the back, he was hardly distinguishable from the Chinese, except for his height, and he was wielding the hoe like an expert.

  The scene was enough to give Robbie a severe jolt. He had certainly never before pictured Wallace as the type to sweat for hours in a hot rice field. Though now he recalled noting the doctor’s calloused hands on the first occasion they had met. But Robbie was equally taken aback when he at last realized that the second man in the field was the same who had accosted Wallace after the church service.

  How could it be—the two men working side by side together? Such a short time ago the Chinese villager had been filled with such hate and threats against the mission, and even now his face appeared etched with hard lines that came from more than his present toil. Was he accepting the help of this “wai-chu” in his field out of necessity, but despising himself for having to stoop so low? What had transpired, wondered Robbie, to have forced this unlikely pair together in common cause in this muddy rice field?

  As Robbie continued on, he could not avoid approaching the spot where the two were hard at work. As he drew alongside the man’s field, Wallace paused in his work to remove a handkerchief from his pocket and blot it across his sweaty brow. Glancing around at nothing in particular as he did, he saw Robbie walking toward them on the path.

  Immediately his lips turned up in a smile, almost as if he had been expecting to see him on the road at that very moment. Yet along with it came a brightening of his face that Robbie could take no other way than as the cheerful and heartfelt greeting Wallace intended.

  Robbie waved a hand in reply—unable for the moment to conjure up a return smile. If he’d had the chance, he probably would have run for cover in order to avoid the awkward interview he had been dreading. But instead, he walked to the boundary of the field, a small irrigation ditch, and there paused, silent, not knowing what to say.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Taggart,” said Wallace, approaching him with outstretched hand. “It is good to see you again!”

  The words were spoken with such true sincerity that Robbie remained speechless. Wallace’s words had always been sincere. That was one thing Robbie had never denied. But now all at once a new dimension had been added to his tone, which his previously blind eyes had failed to see, but which he could no longer avoid. There was a sincerity to the man that went deeper than his words. As much as Robbie had argued to the contrary before, here was a man standing before him who did more than merely talk about his faith. And how many other fields had he thus labored in? It was obvious he did not handle that hoe like a novice. How many other sick pupils of pagan religions did he travel a day to visit? How many other helpless sailors had he harbored beneath his roof? The man’s actions did indeed back up his words.

  “I hope—” Robbie began, but his voice was dry and he had to swallow before he could continue. “That is . . . I’m sorry to have left like I did. I was wrong.” He hadn’t intended to apologize. He had not even realized until the moment the words were out of his mouth that he had any need to apologize.

  Wallace laid his tool in the dirt and walked over to Robbie. He placed a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “I must help Li,” he said. “His father fell ill yesterday and he is alone to work his field. But I accept your words as I know you mean them. Though I want you to know that on my part you have no need to require my forgiveness. My heart has always been open to you. Go on to the mission, and we’ll talk later if you wish. Your room is waiting for you, just as you left it.”

  Robbie nodded, and turned to go. He was unable to say anything further.

  “Lad,” added Wallace gently, “do not be afraid for having come back. Perfect love casts out all fear, and you have nothing to fear from any of us.”

  Robbie did not recoil at the words as he once might have. He hesitated, half turned toward Wallace and glanced at him momentarily, nodded again in acknowledgment of his words, then continued on toward the mission.

  45

  Questions and Answers

  Robbie crossed the bridge and saw Hsi-chen sweeping the church steps in the distance. He paused, unnoticed, and watched her motions, as he had her father. How could he not have seen through into Wallace’s true nature, just from beholding the kind of person she was? His eyes had been closed to so many things!

  At last he continued on, almost involuntarily breaking into a run.

  “Hsi-chen!” he called, and suddenly it seemed easy to smile.

  Her head jerked up and turned toward him at the sound of his voice. Gladness quickly replaced the initial expression of surprise on her face. She dropped the broom from her hands and lightly descended the steps running to him. Before either realized what had happened he had lifted her light frame off the ground, planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

  Suddenly they both seemed to come to themselves. She colored slightly. Robbie set her down and stepped awkwardly back. Then without warning Hsi-chen broke into a musical laugh.

  “Robbie Taggart!” she said. “I have prayed for you, but I did not think my prayers would be answered with your return!”

  “You can never tell about Feng-huang!” he said, laughing now himself. But quickly he sobered. He knew he could not leave the explanation for his return at that. “I had to come back,” he said, his own blue eyes now filling with intensity. “I left because I was running away, and I finally realized I could not do that and continue to respect myself. There’s a lot I need to explain.”

  “Only as you wish, Robbie,” Hsi-chen replied. “Come, we can walk and talk, if you would like.”

  “Yes. I would like to do that more than anything.”

  As they walked along the stream in the quiet afternoon, Robbie began by telling her of his encounter with her father in the rice field a short time earlier. “I could hardly believe what I saw,” he said, “and yet at the same time it should have come as no surpris
e to me. But I still wonder what could have happened to bring two men, seemingly bitter enemies, together in that way.”

  “Bitter enemies, not really,” answered Hsi-chen. “On Li’s part, perhaps that has been true. But my father has long prayed earnestly for that man, and for an opportunity to serve him. Poor Li! He has had a difficult time lately. Several months ago his two oldest sons became Christians, here at the mission. Li blamed my father for tearing his family apart—his bitterness has been simmering since then. Last month both sons were drowned in a boating accident on the Yangtze, and this only intensified his hatred. Finally, the evening of your departure, Li’s father became seriously ill. Even then it was a neighbor who sought my father, for Li himself would have let his own father die before his pride would have allowed him to come to the mission asking for help. My father did what he could for the old man, and old Li still lives, but he is past his good years and will soon die, I am afraid. The work was hard enough for Li with just his father to help, but left alone in the midst of transplanting the young rice, it was overwhelming. So yesterday morning my father took up his own hoe and went to Li’s field. The poor man screamed and yelled to my father to get out. But my father climbed over the irrigation ditch and walked to the far end of the field and began to work. Li could do nothing to stop him short of striking him down. So he merely took up his labor on the opposite side.”

  “They were bound to meet eventually,” observed Robbie, feeling not altogether unlike this Li fellow.

  Hsi-chen smiled. “It was so. When they drew near to one another yesterday afternoon, no words were spoken, but at least Li allowed my father to continue to work in peace. Today they have been working side-by-side, though Li has still said nothing. My father is most anxious to be able to speak to him. Poor Li dreads it. He is in a most awkward position of seeing my father’s compassion toward him, but being too proud to acknowledge it.”