In A Chinese Temple Garden.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 21, 25 January 1936, Page 26 (Supplement)

In A Chinese Temple Garden.

I By JOAN PAIN. 1 7iim i mmiiiimiii i iiiiiiiiiiii iiiii iii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii inn iiiiimhiiii^

He awoke early next morning, and in spite of his long, journey and tender years, or lack of them, pea-sant-born Little Frog found it- no great hardship. He could laugh now at his fears of the previous night, and eagerly he stretched his cramped limbs, filled his lungs with great appreciative breaths of the fresh air and started on a tour of exploration among the ruins. Years ago, tmdoubtedly, there had been a temple here, there was evidence of it everywhere, and of a carefully tended garden ablaze with flowers and a courtyard, and perhaps a fountain, too. There was a low, straggling hedge of white roses. Little Frog, who was a keen lover of beauty, vouched a perfumed thought to Kwan for them. The place was a wilderness—strange shrubs that he had never seen '* before, and long, rank grass, waist-high, and flowering thorn. Pushing his way through the tangle of colour and fragrance that must have once been a carefully tended garden, he' came updn a sunken lily pool that was now a play-ground for myriad ' insects and wild honey, bees. He found a waxen cone of honey—it fairly dripped sweetness in great golden globules like imprisoned sunshine. He also found the bee. It was rather annoyed. Little Frog fled. In his wild haste he collided with something which, on investigation, proved to be an old crumbling well, festooned with creepers and wild, clinging vines. An exotic flower flamed suddenly like a crimson star and then wilted before his very eyes. And then his gaze fell upon a bed of white violets and their heady perfume went to his head like white wine, and he was down on his knees on the damp earth. He did not think it strange that here the soil was wet, while all around the thirsty ground cried aloud for rain.. He only kne,w that here was beauty and life in a world of the deadj pitying the old temples whose Tuins seemed ever so pitiful, out here in the barren hills. Even the gods were dead. They peered vaguely from the shadows—their swollen eyes leering down at him— even the dragons at the gate seemed half asleep. One had no eye. It glared balefully with the other at Little Frog, and Little Frog laughed happily, his fingers burrowed into the moist earth. As the last echoes of his, laughter, died away, it was answered by a groan so near, that for a second or so he was more surprised than he had ever been before. It came again and he dropped the flowers, roots and all, and started to his feet. An. evil spirit—no —the voice rose to a frail, thin thread of

sound, that seemed as if it would break suddenly, shattering the clarity of the morning air. Little Frog was not afraid in broad daylight. He recognised the chanting: it was used at certain priestly ceremonials, his mother had told him long ago. After some searching he found a rather low gateway and beyond that a small courtyard and a broken door. It took a while to clear away the broken vines: when he broke his small, curved knife he used his strong teeth. There was a gap in the wall large enough for hirn to wriggle through, and after much scraping and squirming found himself in a low, dark passageway, at the end of which a lamp was burning, throwing feeble little tongues of flame into the surrounding darkness. Cautiously he felt his way along— his hand guiding him along the; wall, his noiseless bare feet treading the same pathway that perhaps the ancients trod—priests of the ancient blood, ghosts sealed in a living tomb, to die in holiness and fear. A bat swooped down out of the darkness and brushed its soft wings across his face. He trembled violently, but there must be no retreat. At the end of the passage was a small room, a kind of ante-chamber, bare, save for a small casket of soapstone, sealed with the signet of some Manchu emperor, a low table, on which a smoking oil lamp was burning, and a copper bowl for alms. Beyond this lay another door —it slid back quite easily; it seemed to have been used but recently Again, he found another room, much larger, haunted by bats and mice and covered with cobwebs. Interest drove away all fear, and when he saw a stone slab and a heavy iron ring he knew instinctively what to do. slab was not heavy. Here he got his first surprise. ' It was of light wood and lifted easily, opening on well-oiled hinges. There were only--15 steps, and at the bottom of these lay the most wonderful garden that he had ever seen. But his eyes were not for that alone, but for a low. narrow pallet and the man who lay upon it, fighting for his life. And Li Ho, the priest, saw Little Frog standing there, hesitant upon the lower step, and he gave thanks to Kwan that here was one who was infinitely more precious than gold. That Little Frog was a peasant and an "untouchable" he did not consider. He only saw life in the person of a little child, who smiled through his fears. The Chinese are an emotional people. Li Ho wept unashamedly because he was glad; the tears ran down his yellow cheeks. Little

Frog paused no longer, he knelt beside the priest and the bright sunlight shone over the high walls, shone down upon them both, making everything golden and beautiful and Kwan laughed behind her veil. • * • • • • So did Little Frog, the peasant one come to Li Ho to bring him life, and life he brought him in his two yellow, peasant hands. And the days passed swiftly as they always will until the end of Time, and there was much that Li had to teach peasant Little Frog. Little Frog was a man one now. He had learned to love the old monastery with its hiding places, and because he was quick to obey and had brought him the sacred herbs that gave him back his health, Li Ho learned to love him and taught him much knowledge and wisdom that would serve him in the years to come. Li Ho had been the priest of an old order that had been carefully suppressed by his enemies. He had found refuge and a home in the deserted temple, from which the weaker priests had fled. One thing he had suffered, an injury which would numb his senses and leave him weak and helpless for days at-a time. The only cure lay in a certain herb, and on the day of Little Frog's exploration he had neglected to gather some. "Had it not been for you, oh! light of my declining years." said the priest solemnly, "I would have been gathered to my ancestors an J not yet do I desire tg die." "Why, honourable-born-before-me Li Ho?',' said Little Frog gently. "Another time, my son, another time," and the old one would hobble off to his secret garden, or to his books. But-Frog was persistent and there came a day when he could put him off no longer. Li Ho took him out into the bright sunshine and told him earnestly, and when he had finished speaking, Little Frog's face was bright with the wonder of it. And then the priest took him and showed him where the treasure lay, for that was the secret that he had guarded for so many years. Li Ho showed Frog all of it—it was staggering. It lay at the bottpm of a well, the same well that he had bumped into years ago. And Li trusted the boy. He gave of his ail freely, embroidered sandals for his feet, a robe of soft coloured silks, a finger ring. He changed his milk name, and as Little Frog had never known any other, he cast it aside with his tatte-e<l garments and became Ho Nan. There is a province named after him in China this very day. Ho Nan said not a word, his peasant-bred brain, which had lain dormant for so 'long, reasserted itself. He said nothing. Gentle Li Ho leaning on his arm as they went slowly back to the monastery, searched his face and wondered if h" had done wrong in trusting him. Ho Nan bid the old man good-night. He went to his own room, a bare cell, yet quite comfortable withal. Next morning he was gone. Li Ho cursed him bitterly. He foamed at the mouth. The baseness of ingratitude. He hurried to the treasure, has'tily he examined it. Yes—a ruby the size of a pigeon's egg—worth a king's ransom—it was gone. Li Ho tore

his beard. His whole body trembled with rage. And then his quavering voice broke and he wept bitter tears of frustration and old age. A moon passed, and yet another, two moons, three —three years, and Ho Nan came home. He wore the rags of a beggar, and his sandals were gone. His feet were blistered and his fingers torn and bleeding. He came at Bight and slept outside the old dragon-guarded gate that had frightened him when he was a child. In the morning he sought out Li Ho. He might be dead. Li Ho was still alive. He found him amidst his flowers, talking t& a dog-rose and was not amused. His bare feet made no sound upon the paved floor, but his shadow fell across the flower bed. Li Ho looked up with a pleasant smile and saw—Ho Nan. Hi* lip faltered. Ho Nan stood silent. His heart leapt. Would he recognise, and forgive? "My Son 1" Afterwards when they had supped well Li Ho studied his pupil. Hera in beggar's robes and peasant bred, he looked a very prince. His beautiful dark face was suffused with pleasure, his fine eyes liquid and slanting under well-arched brows— his hand that lay clenched before him slender and well shaped. He was anxious to talk about the past, but Li would not listen. One question only did he ask. "The jewel —you—stole" (in a mere whisper). Ho Nan rose to his slim full height. His eyes were scornful. "Honourable Li Ho, you yourself placed it within the stone casket within the first anteroom. Wait —" as the other would have spoken. "I ran away to find my mother, and to-day, with your leave, I shall go back to her. I sold my jewels and clothes to buy her food. "Then, my father he found us both. The tale is long, but this you must know. I am no peasant. My father is high in the favour of the Emperor. Come with me, Born-before Li Ho. T shall buikl you a thousand temples." The priest shook his head. Ho Nan turned and there was something of the glory of the sunset on his young face. "Good-bye"—but Li Ho was silent and ashamed, ashamed because he had doubted his friend. But when Ho Nan had gone for ever and the ruins seemed ever so pitiful, even out there in the barren hills, he hurried back to the first anteroom and knelt beside the casket. They found him there the other day, a Chinese boy and girl who wore the garments of a nation of the West. They did not find the treasure, but a shrivelled, mummied form whose parchment hand was closed upon something that looked like an old pebble. It was coated with the grime of centuries, but they passed on again and into the fresh air. An ominous rumble filled the air and the ground trembled beneath their feet. In a second or so the earthquake had passed by — but where the temple had once stood there lay a crumbling pile of stones, a fitting monument to its guardian and the treasure it contained. (THE END.)