The Story of the Stone mlanto-2

by Barry Hughart

  Butterfly Dreams

  Chuang Tzu said, “Once I dreamed myself to be a butterfly, floating like petals in the air, happy to be doing as I pleased, no longer aware of myself. But soon enough I woke, and then, frantically clutching myself, Chuang Tzu I was. I wonder: Was Chuang Tzu dreaming himself to be the butterfly, or was the butterfly dreaming itself to be Chuang Tzu? Of course, if you take Chuang Tzu and the butterfly together, there is a difference between them, but is not the difference only the illusion of material form?”

  The silent priest reappeared with three cups of wine and three small bowls, and he gestured that we should eat and drink. Master Li ate the stuff in his bowl with the air of a connoisseur. “I don't know what they put in the wine, but this is Devil's Ears, the most powerful of hallucinatory mushrooms,” he said nonchalantly. Then he turned and pointed to the plaque.

  “Chuang Tzu once made a meal of Devil's Ears. Then he had a vision that explained all the perplexing problems of mankind, and he wrote it down. When he came to himself he eagerly grabbed the paper and this is what he read. ‘Sheep's Groom couples with bamboo that has not sprouted for a long while and produces Green Peace plants. Green Peace plants produce leopards, and leopards produce horses, and horses produce men. Men in time return to Sheep's Groom.’ Wraps it all up rather neatly, don't you think?”

  I choked on my mushroom. Moon Boy managed to eat his, so I followed suit, and then I clapped one hand to the top of my head and the other to my toes and waited for my hands to either spread apart or slam together. Nothing happened, and I began to breathe more easily. The silent priest came back in and gestured for us to follow, and walked through a door into a garden. I gazed with disbelieving eyes at the shadows.

  The angle of the sun told me that it was at least the double hour of the horse. It had been early morning when we entered. Somehow nearly four hours had vanished. What had happened to them? Master Li didn't seem to be perturbed. He was trotting toward a small round pool of water in the center of the garden, and there was a happy smile on his face. As I came closer I saw something white at the bottom, and then I realized that a human skull was grinning up at us.

  “Ling, dear old friend! My, you're certainly looking splendid today,” Master Li said.

  Moon Boy and I very nearly toppled over. There wasn't a breath of wind, yet a tall patch of reeds at the back of the pool suddenly sprang into motion: bending, arching, jabbing, thrusting—it was calligraphy; the reeds were writing in the air.

  “Li Kao, you were born to be hung!”

  “You mean ‘hanged,’ ” Master Li said sweetly.

  “I mean the gallows!”

  The reeds began moving so fast I had trouble keeping up, but I gathered that the late Liu Ling was saying that the flaw in Master Li's character couldn't be explained by loathsome percentage alone, and in a previous incarnation Master Li must have been a hyena or a scorpion or even the East Idiot Ruler of South Tsi. The reeds became quite agitated as they reviewed that gentleman's career.

  “— and cut off their hands and feet!”

  “No, I couldn't have been the East Idiot Ruler of South Tsi,” Master Li said thoughtfully. “I would have cut off their noses as well.”

  “… burned right down to the ground!”

  “If you must do something, do a thorough job,” Master Li said.

  “… every last man, woman, and child!”

  “Wasteful. Some of the girls must have been pretty. Ling, old friend, I hate to be overly critical, but was it wise to surround yourself with nothing but water?” said Master Li.

  He pulled out his flask and splashed wine into the pool, and Moon Boy and I clung together for support. The dark stain of wine had gathered itself into a spinning whirlpool, and the spout was reaching down through the water to the grinning mouth of the skull, the reeds were still. Then one moved.

  “Burp.”

  “This stuff is since your time,” Master Li said. “It's called Haining Mountain Dew. What do you think of it?”

  The reeds went into action again. “Haining? Those clodhoppers make this excellent wine? I suppose even dung beetles have their talents. Speaking of dung beetles, has Belly Draft finished drinking himself to death?”

  “He's still working at it,” said Master Li. “I tell his landlords that his liver is constructed from some kind of crystallized carbon, but they keep throwing him out because of the danger of spontaneous combustion.”

  He poured more wine into the pool and had some himself. The reeds went waving again.

  “Who's the raving beauty and the carnival wrestler?”

  “This is my esteemed former client and current assistant, Number Ten Ox,” Master Li said. This is Moon Boy, the world's foremost authority on sounds and bottoms like peaches.”

  We stepped forward and bowed to the skull. The reeds moved.

  “Moon Boy makes me wish I still had a bottom, but why bring young heroes to an old quack lying at the bottom of a pool?”

  Master Li took another sip of wine. “For one thing, I want Moon Boy to look into a mirror,” he said casually.

  Was it my imagination or were the reeds moving warily?

  “What kind of mirror did you have in mind?”

  “The only one that matters,” Master Li said.

  “Take care, Li Kao!”

  “Others have made the trip,” Master Li said. “I even hear that the emperor came to you for a passport, and he's still in one piece.”

  The reeds were quite agitated. “Tang needed both divine intervention and an enormous bribe to get out! Can you count on that kind of help? I can open the door, but once inside, you'd be on your own, and have the boys consented to such a journey?”

  Master Li glanced at us. I bowed to the skull. “Illustrious Sir, where Master Li goes, I go,” I said.

  “Most Noble Sage, the life of a girl named Grief of Dawn is involved, and I will go where I must,” Moon Boy said.

  The reeds were still, and when they moved, it was reluctantly.

  “So be it. Li Kao, give my love to Queen Feiyen if you see her—gods, her breath was like an orchid! — and thank Li Po for leaving me his loaded dice.”

  The water in the pool began to revolve. It swirled faster and faster, moving in concentric circles toward the center, and my eyes were drawn to the skull. A strange light was shining in the empty eye sockets, beckoning to me, and it seemed that the skull was growing larger and larger. White bones appeared to fill the sky, and the light pulled me forward, and I found myself walking through a huge eye socket. Master Li and Moon Boy walked through the other one, and we were standing on a rocky ledge high on a mountain. Cold wind whistled around my ears, and in the distance an eagle screamed.

  “Marvelous effects,” said Master Li.

  In front of us, set in the rock, was a bronze door. Master Li pushed it open and we walked through to a landing and placed our feet upon the first step of a long winding staircase that would take us down to Hell.

  17

  Barbarian readers, no matter how illustrious, will have but a rudimentary concept of Hell. This is not their fault but the fault of ignorant priests and sages who cling to two incredible fallacies: that Hell is reserved for the damned, and that the world is flat.

  The world is a cube measuring 233,575 paces across. The center of the cube is occupied by the Kingdom of Hell, and it is the judging place for all mortals, saint and sinner alike. That is why people on the wrong sides of the cube don't fall off: We are all drawn toward our ultimate destination so no matter where one stands, Hell is always “down” and Heaven is always “up,” and that's all there is to it.

  The kingdom is enormous. There are one hundred thirty-five lesser Hells and ten principal ones: one for judgment by the God of Walls and Ditches, one for the Great Wheel of Transmigrations, and eight for the punishment of sinners. The lesser Hells contain people waiting to be judged, other people awaiting transportation to the Land of Extreme Felicity in the West, where they will sit at the feet of Buddha, ex
tremely blessed people who await transportation to K'un-lun Mountain, where they will sit at the feet of the August Personage of Jade, and so many others that I will not try to list them.

  It is strictly illegal for the living to enter Hell, with rare exceptions involving official delegations from the Emperor of China. Outside of Emperor T'ang, I knew of only two others who had illegally entered Hell and managed to return. One was Chou the Rogue, who was a crook so audacious that he once blackmailed the sun, and the other was Crazy Ch'i, who has become a demigod and has many temples dedicated to him. I would back Master Li against either of them, which is why I wasn't totally paralyzed with fear as we descended to the Land of Shadows. Master Li, however, had a few doubts.

  “Our first task will be to evaluate the new regime,” he said worriedly. “It is said that the former First Lord of Hell, Yen-wang-yeh, has been judged to have been too lenient and has been demoted, but no signs have been received to indicate who's currently in charge. If Legalists have won out, we could be in real trouble.”

  We were floating downward rather than walking—a blessing, since it is a terrible task to climb down 116,787½ steps—and a small circle of pale cold light was appearing before us. We came to rest in front of a doorway and cautiously peered out across a flat gray plain toward the walls of the principal city of Feng-tu. There was no sun, only a pearly glow in the gray sky. Even the trees and flowers were gray, and sounds seemed to be muted.

  The demons weren't gray. Some had bright blue faces and fiery red eyes and long yellow tusks, and others had green fangs and crimson noses and black ears. They were every bit as horrible as the demons one sees in dreams, and they were herding the dead into long lines that slowly shuffled toward the city gates. The social hierarchy was absolute. Aristocrats formed one line, tradesmen another, scholars another—bureaucrats and soldiers and farmers all had their assigned line and priority of entrance, with the nobility taking precedence and actors bringing up the rear. The ceremony was formal and painstaking. Demons bowed to trolls, who bowed to ogres, who bowed to devils, and Master Li drew his head back and spat disgustedly.

  “Bat shit,” he growled. “The Neo-Confucians have taken over.” He thought about it and cheered up. “Actually, this makes our task much easier,” he said. “Moon Boy, put on your best jewels and costliest clothes. Ox, you want the garb and facial expression of an ideal peasant, and I'll take a few liberties with current reality.”

  We opened our packs. I put on a pair of sandals that were falling apart and a hat that resembled a rat's nest, and ripped an old tunic in the back to resemble lash strokes. When I had plastered an expression of meek animal resignation across my homely face, I was a peasant to warm the heart of the most demanding mandarin. Moon Boy dazzled the eyes. It would take four pages to do his clothes justice, and his jewels would have bankrupted some kingdoms.

  Master Li was awesome. Never before had I seen him in full academic regalia, and it was magnificent. He had finished his examinations as chuang yuan, the number one scholar in all China, and he proudly wore the emblem of the rose. In addition, he had a breast emblem of imperial axes and dragons: chien-kuan, the dreaded censor who is empowered to promote or decapitate on the spot. (Years ago he had been entitled to wear it.) His lacquered cap bore all nine buttons of rank, and he handed me his state umbrella. I put it together and raised it above the heads of the scholar and the handsome peacock.

  “Arrogance, lads!” said Master Li. “Never forget that the flames of Hell exist for the privilege of brewing tea for noble Neo-Confucians like us.”

  We took deep breaths and marched out into the cold gray landscape of Hell. Demon nostrils twitched in disgust at the aroma of living flesh, and fiery eyes turned toward us.

  “Make a note of that fat fellow with the purple eyes and lumps of flesh hanging from his fangs! Ten lashes for slovenliness,” said Master Li, and Moon Boy scribbled in a ledger. “Look at these lines! Mired in molasses and not even straight! Isn't that the corpse of the fellow who called himself Duke of Chou? Since when does a pimp take a place in the aristocrats’ line? A good housecleaning is what this place needs, along with a few hundred decapitations.”

  The fierce old fellow appeared to be the type of person one passes on to superiors, and fangs and talons hovered but did not strike. We marched rapidly toward the gates. Moon Boy had the natural assurance of beautiful people. He graciously inclined his head right and left as though acknowledging applause, and a faint frown indicated that the least the ogres could do was line his path with incense and flower petals. Meanwhile, I was discovering why so many of my humble class take pride in their servility and lash marks.

  I held a state umbrella on high, which meant that I too was marching beneath the yellowish-black gauze cover, red raw silk linings, three tiers and silver spires that signified an official of the highest rank. I belonged. What is a great official without a peasant to lash? A sense of power passed from the handle to my hand, and I discovered that the most natural expression in the world was a lofty sneer. Slavery is a marvelous refuge from uncertainty.

  The fiends who guarded the gates held up their claws: halt! “Look at those filthy nails! Twenty lashes!” Master Li screamed furiously, and he marched right between them. I clutched the umbrella for dear life, and the next thing I knew we were through the gates and inside the city. Master Li marched past the vast basilica of the God of Walls and Ditches toward the palace of the First Yama King, and as we approached the doors, I knew we were in trouble. None could pass without the permission of a very senior devil who had a black face, crimson eyes, steel fangs, iron wings, and a head covered with writhing vipers instead of hair. Puffs of smoke came from its ears and nostrils. I wondered if the knocking sound came from my knees or Moon Boy's, and decided we were playing a duet.

  Master Li tapped his imperial censor's emblem and regarded the terrible creature with the scientific detachment of a butcher examining a chunk of meat. “Lord Li of Kao, emissary of the Son of Heaven, to see the Recorder of Past Existences. Immediately!” Master Li snapped.

  The demon glared. Flames spurted from its mouth.

  “Do I detect insolence?” Master Li said coldly. He plucked an emerald brooch from Moon Boy's tunic and tossed it into the river of molten iron that ran beside the walls of the palace. “It would be regrettable should I be forced to report that an insolent doorkeeper stole a valuable brooch and attempted to conceal the crime by swallowing it.” His cold eyes moved to the creature's belly. “Although it might be entertaining to watch your superiors recover the evidence,” he added.

  Without another word he turned and marched straight toward the great steel doors. I hastened to catch up, and I was so blinded by sweat and terror that I didn't realize the doors had opened until my sandals began to slap across a marble floor.

  Even Master Li had a thin line of perspiration on his forehead. Moon Boy alone seemed unperturbed. He continued to acknowledge imaginary applause, although he appeared to be slightly annoyed at the lack of welcoming trumpets, and I stiffened my spine and raised the state umbrella a bit higher. We walked down a long hallway to a large room where an army of clerks shuffled papers.

  Hell is staffed by ordinary spirits as well as demons. (Demons aren't evil, incidentally. To be reborn as a servant of Hell is one of the incarnations of the Great Wheel, and blood lust is simply part of the process, like becoming a tiger.) The head clerk must surely have been a banker in his last incarnation. He had thin straight hair, thin straight eyebrows, thin straight eyes, thin straight nostrils, thin straight lips, thin straight shoulders, thin straight hands placed precisely parallel upon the desk, thin straight knees pressed primly together, and thin straight feet planted firmly on the floor. Moon Boy regarded him thoughtfully.

  “Mine,” he said.

  “You have him,” said Master Li. “We need to get into the Recorder's office.”

  It was like one of those dances in opera that tell more than words are capable of. My cheeks burned as Moon Boy undul
ated gracefully toward the desk—I had never seen him do that before—and the clerk's eyes glazed. Moon Boy smiled. The clerk's eyes bulged, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Moon Boy cooed soft words. The thin knees jerked beneath the desk. Moon Boy cooed some more. The thin hands twisted together and the thin feet pawed the floor. The poor fellow managed to say something, and Moon Boy's hand behind his back pointed a finger at one of the side doors. Master Li and I moved unobtrusively over to it. Moon Boy gestured and accidentally brushed the clerk's hand, and the clerk shot to his feet and wobbled shakily to the door and deferentially knocked and opened it.

  We were through the door before the clerk knew what was happening, and Moon Boy rewarded him with a pat on the cheek before slamming the door in his face.

  I expected another army of clerks, but the Recorder of Past Existences was seated alone at a huge desk almost buried beneath ledgers. The face that lifted to us reminded me of paintings of Heng-chiang, the Sniffing General. His eyebrows were vertical and his eyes bulged like a frog's and his nose was wrinkled as though he permanently sniffed something unpleasant. Master Li bowed as to a social equal, and Moon Boy's bow perfectly matched courtesy and condescension.

  “Eh?” said the Recorder.

  “Lord Li of Kao, emissary of the Son of Heaven, and the Son of Heaven is furious,” said Master Li.

  “Eh?” said the Recorder.

  “Such an unseemly intrusion would be intolerable were not serious matters involved, and what could be more serious than failure to adequately apply the Broth of Oblivion?” Master Li said gravely.

  “Eh?” said the Recorder.

  Master Li whirled around and glared at me. “Look at this witless and lice-ridden representative of the lower classes!” he said angrily. “By rights his knowledge should be limited to fields, fealty, and flatulence, yet he claims to recall every detail of a previous existence in which he was the great-greatgrandfather of this jewel of the current court!”