The Story of the Stone mlanto-2

by Barry Hughart

  “Goo-goo-goo-goo-goo!”

  The lock snapped open and we slipped through the gate and closed it behind us. The noise faded as the line shuffled on toward the palace. We saw that there was a series of small gardens, each secured by a locked gate, and we would have to get through seven of them to reach the side of the palace. Master Li swore under his breath as he tackled the next lock. None of the picks was the right size, and he had to work with infinite care and patience. At last it opened and we raced through the next garden. The lock on the second gate was easier, but the third one was almost impossible. Master Li broke two picks and was trying to get leverage with a third when we heard footsteps crunching over gray gravel. It sounded like the approach of an elephant, and Moon Boy slipped back through the shrubbery to take a look.

  “Got it,” Master Li whispered.

  The gate swung open. We left it ajar for Moon Boy and ran through the next garden to the fourth gate. The crunching footsteps had stopped. Then I heard a noise that made the hair lift on my head.

  A demon was angrily sniffing the scent of living flesh. The sound indicated something huge and horrible, and we heard a growl like muffled thunder. Master Li worked furiously on the lock, but it was another difficult one and when the footsteps started toward us I knew we'd never make it through in time. I picked up a large gray rock as a weapon and slipped back through the bushes, and when I parted some branches and peered out I had to stifle a howl of horror.

  This demon was enough to terrify the great Ehr-lang. It stood at least ten feet tall. Its muscles looked like rolls of steel piled together, and its talons could rip tigers apart, and its fangs might have come from one of those creatures found frozen in Mongolian glaciers, and its nostrils were sniffing furiously, and its red eyes were blazing with blood lust. I was paralyzed. As I stood there like a statue, I suddenly realized I wasn't alone. Moon Boy stood across from me, mostly hidden by gray leaves, and he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. In ten more steps the monster would reach a clearing where it could see the gate and Master Li, but Moon Boy was sauntering out to the path. The demon stared. Fangs glittered; talons lifted to strike.

  Moon Boy smiled—the gray sky blurred and produced a patch of blue. Moon Boy smiled wider—two gray flowers strained to produce pink blossoms. Moon Boy reached high up and tickled the terrible creature beneath its chin.

  “Come here, sugar,” Moon Boy purred, and he led the demon back into the bushes.

  20

  Master Li had to spend a great deal of time on the fourth and fifth locks. He was working on the sixth when we heard a sound behind us and a handsome young man came limping up the path. He was pale and weak and shaky, but he managed an elegant wave of a hand.

  “Hell,” he said, “Is grossly maligned. I must come here often.”

  I honored him with the three obeisances and nine kowtows.

  “Buddha, the thing on that divine creature reminded me of the imperial flagpole at the funeral of General Ching!” Moon Boy said happily. “Better hurry. Any moment now the darling boy will catch his second wind and come looking for an encore.”

  “Moon Boy, designing your medal will be one of the great challenges of the millennium,” said Master Li. “We'll have to acquire the services of Deng the Debauched, and even Deng will be hard put to do you justice without landing all of us in jail.”

  The lock snapped open and we hurried through the garden to the seventh and last gate. Fortunately, it had an easy lock. We slipped through just as heavy crunching footsteps approached, and we reached the palace wall as a huge hoarse voice cooed, “Yoo-hoo?” I found a likely window and a moment later we were inside.

  Down a corridor ahead of us was a huge room where endless rows of clerks scribbled in enormous ledgers, and above the doorway was the inscription “Tribunal of the Ninth Realm of Darkness.” We straightened our clothing and brushed off gray leaves and dirt. I raised the state umbrella proudly, and Master Li marched beneath it into the anteroom. Bureaucrats were dashing in and out of a doorway, and I actually got a glimpse of a Yama King: a dark crowned shape seated upon a throne, surrounded by clerks and courtiers. In all great bureaucracies the clerks are too busy and important to look up, so Master Li simply marched past rows of doors until he came to one with the title “Treasurer of the Ninth Realm of Darkness.” He shoved the door open and we walked inside. We marched past more busy clerks to a great desk where a spirit who resembled a shark was clicking like mad on two abacuses at once, and the nine buttons on his gauze cap indicated that we had reached the treasurer himself. Cold shark eyes lifted to Master Li's emblems and state umbrella “No inspection has been scheduled,” he snapped.

  “Of course not,” Master Li said with equal coldness. “One who raids an illegal cricket-fighting parlor does not announce his plans in advance.”

  The treasurer shot to his feet. “You dare to compare this office to a cricket-fighting parlor?” he said furiously.

  Master Li shrugged “In such establishments peculiar things happen to the odds, and it has come to the attention of the Son of Heaven that peculiar things have happened to the odds in this office.”

  “Explain yourself, sir!”

  “The emperor,” Master Li said, “has been informed that the fee which purchased his own release from Hell has been unaccountably increased, which makes it virtually impossible for those unfairly imprisoned to be saved.”

  “A lie! A vicious and unfounded slander!” the treasurer yelled. “Emperor T'ang purchased his passage for thirteen casks of silver and gold, and thirteen casks remains the price!”

  “I sincerely hope so. We are here to ensure that the system works smoothly and equitably, and there is but one way of doing so,” said Master Li. The Son of Heaven, you will recall, had no funds with him but was able to borrow on the credit account of the saintly Hsiang Liang.”

  The treasurer sat down. A smile was on his face and malice was in his eyes.

  “The emperor indeed did so, but only on the authority of Minister Ts'ui,” he said softly. “It so happens that I currently occupy the ministerial position, and do you have my authority to borrow on the account of Hsiane Lianc?”

  Master Li wrinkled his nose. “Who said anything about using the same account? Since there are three of us we shall require three times the amount, and I doubt that even Hsiang Liang's good deeds have deposited that much.”

  “Less than twenty mortals in all history have amassed thirty-nine casks of silver and gold in their credit accounts,” the treasurer said with a malicious laugh. “I sincerely hope for your sake that you are in a position to borrow from T'su T'sin, the priest of the Temple of Lepers,”

  “Nothing so grand,” said Master Li, bowing reverently at the name. One hand was behind his back and the fingers were tightly crossed. “We request you to check the credit balance of—”

  Moon Boy and I stared at each other. Who could possibly have that much virtue on deposit?

  “— a common singsong girl and prostitute named Grief of Dawn,” Master Li said calmly.

  We smothered yelps of astonishment. The treasurer grabbed ledgers and ran his finger down rows of names and numbers, and when the finger stopped I thought he had suffered a stroke. “You have proof of permission to borrow on this account?” he said in a choked whisper.

  Master Li took the interlocking phoenix/dragon headband from Moon Boy and handed it across the desk. The treasurer's finger moved to the fine print, and his voice took on a weak whine. “Well, why didn't you say it was a joint account? Of course you can borrow the money. As much as you like! Sign here, here, and here.”

  Moon Boy signed there, there, and there, and in about as much time as it takes to tell it, I was hauling a cart upon which were piled thirty-nine casks of silver and gold. Master Li and Moon Boy sat on a couple of the casks, and the state umbrella rose grandly above them. The treasurer led the way to a side door and clapped a perfumed handkerchief to his nose.

  “Get out quickly,” he hissed.

/>   The door opened, I pulled the cart through, and the treasurer hastily slammed the door shut behind us. We were in the Ninth Hell, and I hope I may be allowed to pause for a brief tirade.

  The Ninth Hell is the delight of theologians and the despair of everyone else. Technically it houses wang-ssu-ch'eng, those who died in accidents, but it is also the destination for suicides, those who died without proper prayers and ceremonies, and all who died before the official date set down in the Register of Life and Death—like the toad and his goo-goo friends. In the Ninth Hell there are no torments, which is the worst torment of all. Without punishment there can be no repentance and purification and rebirth, and the poor lost souls of the Ninth Hell must serve the sentence of imprisonment for all eternity.

  Mind you, no crime is involved. Many of the damned are innocent children. After three years the damned are allowed to occasionally return to earth in ghost form (which is the reason for the Feast of Hungry Ghosts), and it is theoretically possible for a ghost to be saved by finding someone to take his place. That is why it is so dangerous to linger where a child has drowned or a man has hanged himself. The spirit will try to seize you and drag you down to the Ninth Hell, and only by doing so can it earn a place on the Great Wheel of Transmigrations. In practical terms the chances of reaching the Wheel are almost nonexistent.

  All one hundred thirty-five lesser Hells and all but one of the major ones are dedicated to justice. The Ninth Hell alone is unjust. None but a theologian could love it. How can I forget a little girl I saw weeping beside the road, damned for eternity because she slipped and fell into a stream? It is my sincere belief that priests could deal a death blow to atheism by destroying the Ninth Hell, and the proper petitions should be submitted to Heaven at once.

  The moment we stepped outside we were assaulted by the stench of unwashed bodies. Venality is rampant in the Ninth Hell, where the lowest of demons sell food and drink at ruinous prices, and an army of lost souls besieged us, screaming for coins. We would surely have been crushed had not Master Li and Moon Boy been able to scoop handfuls of gold and silver from the casks and hurl them into the mob. The poor souls fought for coins like animals, and the weak and the young had no chance at all.

  Each chest was nicely calculated to get us so far across the long gray plain. Master Li and Moon Boy hurled coins until their arms were falling from the sockets, and as the cart grew lighter, I was able to pull it faster. Ahead was the great gray wall of the Tenth Hell, rising at the top of a hill. I puffed and panted as I hauled the cart up the steep slope. The howling wretches began to dwindle behind us. One determined band kept up, but Moon Boy had one last cask, and he tilted it and a shower of silver fell down the hill. At last we were rid of the mob and could start worrying about reaching the Great Wheel.

  A demon army patrols the walls of the Tenth Hell. Master Li wasted little time. By ripping the canopy from the state umbrella he was able to fashion an acceptable ceremonial wreath, and the handle passed for a wand, and Moon Boy's jewels produced a pearl that could pass for the sacred one. Moon Boy and I were naturally suited to be the Disciples of Wealth and Poverty, and Master Li's venerable wrinkles formed a passport of their own. He started toward the walls waving blessings right and left, and the cry went up: Ti-tsang Wang-p'u-sa! The God of Mercy arrives for his annual inspection!”

  The wall was not difficult. There were many foot and hand holds, and Master Li hopped up on my back and Moon Boy grabbed my belt. I was halfway up the side before the soldiers began to wonder why the God of Mercy simply didn't fly over the thing, and the alarm wasn't sounded until I was almost at the top. Arrows flew harmlessly over our heads as I started down the other side, but I almost fell nonetheless. I simply wasn't prepared for my first view of the Great Wheel of Transmigrations.

  The immensity of it cannot be described. Some phenomenon made the lower spokes move slowly even while higher ones were lifting with blinding speed. The wheel lifted up and up and up, and it wasn't even halfway visible. It vanished in gray clouds, and I realized that it had to reach the surface of the earth and then keep lifting until it could deposit newborn yaks upon the highest mountains of Tibet.

  Endless lines of the dead were converging upon a humble cottage where Lady Meng brewed and served the Broth of Oblivion. When the dead were herded back into lines their minds were as empty as the eyes of politicians, and demons tossed the trappings of their next existences over their heads: animal skins, bird feathers, and so on. It took a little while for the soldiers inside the wall to be alerted to our presence, and by that time we were shuffling in a line with sheepskins over our heads. Master Li's nimble fingers had snatched them so quickly the attendant didn't know they were gone, and the soldiers passed us by.

  We were getting very close to the Great Wheel. The dead were climbing inside to swinging platforms. “Ox, if we get inside we'll never be able to get out,” Master Li whispered. I nodded and he prepared to hop on my back, and Moon Boy prepared to grab my belt.

  “Now,” I whispered.

  Master Li hopped and Moon Boy grabbed and I jumped and caught a spoke. I managed to get my feet on the outer edge of the rim just as the soldiers spotted us. Demons screamed with rage, and arrows and spears flew, but we were rising with great speed. An arrow missed Moon Boy's nose by half an inch and a spear grazed my arm, and then we were too high for missiles to reach, and a moment later we were shooting up into the clouds. We rose with incredible speed that made tears blur my eyes, and Master Li began to swear quite foully.

  We had left the demons below, but we would be lost if we couldn't see where to get off, and the clouds obscured everything. Long minutes passed as we whirled into infinity, and still the clouds billowed around us. Then I began to see pinpricks of light like tiny stars, and Master Li scanned the sky.

  “There! The perfectly round one. See it?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Don't miss.”

  “No, sir,” I said.

  The small round spot of light appeared to be zooming toward us at an unbelievable speed. I crouched, trying to judge the trajectory. “Ready,” I said. My heart stopped when a thick cloud blinded me, but then we shot through it. “Set,” I said. The light was crossing my imaginary target point and I jumped with all the strength I had. We shot across the sky like a projectile from a catapult, and the light grew brighter and brighter, and then we plunged straight into the center of it and hit a wall of water.

  The breath was knocked out of me and I almost choked to death as I floated upward, and then my head broke through the surface and I gasped and gulped fresh air. I hauled Master Li and Moon Boy to a bank and dragged them up. We were lying on green grass, and a yellow sun was shining, and bright birds were chirping, and a white skull was grinning up at us from the bottom of a pool.

  Master Li crawled over and tilted his wine flask over the pool, and Moon Boy and I watched the wine whirl in a spout that disappeared into the grinning jaws.

  “Ling, old friend, you are a truly great artist,” Master Li said admiringly.

  The reeds moved. “Burp.” They moved again. “No, but I am not a bad quack.”

  Moon Boy was probing sensitive areas that might or might not have come into contact with an oversize demon. I stared at a long bleeding scratch where a spear might or might not have grazed my arm. Master Li grinned at us.

  “Moon Boy, have you forgotten your teacher and the bandit he deafened? Ox, have you forgotten Granny Ho and her son-in-law? If Moon Boy hadn't handled that demon we would have been killed, and if Ox had missed the target just now we would also have been killed. We have been treated to the artistry of the great Liu Ling, which makes questions of literal truth immaterial, if not absurd. Was Chuang Tzu imagining himself to be the butterfly, or was the butterfly imagining itself to be Chuang Tzu?”

  He turned back to the pool and poured more wine in, and the old man and the skull drank in comfortable silence like old friends.

  “Ling,” Master Li finally said, “your pries
ts did a marvelous job of probing our minds while we lay in mushroom stupors, and they were not blinded—as I am—by subjective experience. Is it permissible to ask for an opinion?”

  The reeds remained still.

  “Let's put it this way. If you were to entertain somebody with the story of Li Kao and Number Ten Ox and Grief of Dawn and Moon Boy and Prince Liu Pao and so on, what would you call it?”

  The reeds remained quiet, but then, slowly, they moved.

  “Shi tou chi.”

  “The Story of the Stone?” Master Li nodded. “Yes, I vaguely perceive what you mean. It's a question of priorities, of course, and I haven't quite sorted them out. But I'm almost there, I think.”

  He got to his feet. Moon Boy and I followed his example, and we bowed to the skull.

  “Ling,” Master Li said, “I still say you're a very great artist.”

  The reeds moved for the last time. “Kao, I still say you were born to be hung.”

  A priest was holding a gate open for us. We walked out to a green hillside, and the last I saw of the Temple of Illusion was a window in a small tower with shutters half-closed. A winking eye.

  21

  A few miles past the White Cloud Convent we turned off the path and climbed shale and granite and black rock and crossed a clearing. We burrowed through brush to another clearing at the side of a cliff, and Master Li gazed happily at a strange and rather unimpressive plant.

  “The mind is a miser,” he said. “Nothing is ever thrown away, and it's amazing what you can find if you dig deep enough.” He began stripping thorny little seed like things. “Don't play with thorn apples unless you know what you're doing,” he cautioned. They're of the nightshade family, like mandrake and henbane and belladonna, and their principal product is poison. From the Bombay thorn apple comes the legendary potion of India, dhatura, which can stupefy, paralyze, or kill, depending upon the dosage, but which can also produce a medicine with remarkable effect upon internal bleeding and fever. With any luck we'll have Grief of Dawn on her feet in no time.”