Long Short Story Bride for the House of Tsang

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 35, 11 February 1939, Page 6 (Supplement)

Long Short Story Bride for the House of Tsang

TSANG HO drooped his head as he walked along the river path. His heart was sore. The

dainty lilies in the water were no

longer beautiful

The butterflies

seemed to have taken leaden

wings for their flight,

Even the crickets that usually chirped so merrily for him by the river hank, failed to cheer liim. Slowly he walked, deep in his own thoughts. So deep that he (lid not hear footfalls behind him, nor know he was being followed until a small voice at his side whispered, "The sun shines brightly in the heavens." He turned. There was sadness in liis eyes. "Tsang's sunshine must be forever dead, my Beautiful Butterfly," he said. "And even my Precious Pearl may have darkness cast about her heart when she learns that Tsang must leave her forever more. He looks for the last time upon Yangehow and for the last time upon his beloved 'Mei Dai." For a moment fear crept into the girl's eves and then she smiled. "Must Tsang leave his Beautiful Butterfly if it brings such sorrow to his brow? Cannot he leave his cares behind or takf her at his side?" His Bride Not to Be

Slowly lie shook his head, and taking the girl's hand in his own said: "Tsang is his father's son and must obey his honourable commands. Only now a messenger has come from Canton saying that a bride has been chosen and this Humble One must hurry to her side.'' Slowly the eyes of Mei Dai filled with tears. Her whole world had collapsed Her pride was humbled. For a moment she was silent, then anger drove out the dull ache of her grief, and when she spoke there was bitterness in her voice. "Is the Beautiful Butterfly a candle to be placed aside when no longer needed?" she demanded. "There are many who would take Mei Dai and keep her forever in their hearts. Did her honoured and long dead father fail to leave her blankets enough or precious jewels in her dowry to please old eyes gone hungry with the passing years?" She stamped her foot and turned away. Tsang sighed 'and gently placed a hand upon :her shoulder. "Has my Beautiful Butterfly forgotten our ancient customs?" he asked. "Should Tsang be so base born as to cast aside the wishes of his venerable father, as" the green snake shed its long tliin coat ? Oh, my Precious Pearl 1 Even ' though the blood drips from Tsang's heart, he sails with the coming of-the tide." ?,,y % He hid his-face behind his fan;. ' A stifled sob shook Mei Dai and when next she spoke there- was sadness in her voice. "Oh, Tsang,"; shie murjhured. "Red is the face of your Beautiful; Butterfly, that her tongue should be .as that of other women, running on and on when it : . should hold- its peace. Mei Dai is lwjt so base that, she would have you'r take as some light jest your honoured father's word. • But she bears a woman's heart, soft, warm, and like old china, easilybroken never to be"repaired. There, is

but one can wipe the sorrow from her heart. To Her who guards new mothers in their hour of need and gives the happy moments which drive warm teardrops from the eyes, Mei Dai must pray." Without another word she slipped her hand from Tsang's and turning walked back along the river bank, while Tsang, afraid to speak lest he give away to his emotions, stood silently watching her retreat. Dejectedly he stood, then slowly continued on his way. It was a tear stained Mei Dai that knelt in the temple before the Manyhanded Goddess. She had brought candles. Bright red candles to burn at the deity's feet and bright red caps to place on the heads of the lesser gods. A black-robed priest, his shaved head scarred where burning candles had eaten into the flesh as he chanted his prayers, was at her side.- He took the caps and stepping before each little golden god recited a prayer and then covered its head. When the last cap had been adjusted, Mei Dai' began to light her candies and-slowly place them one by one about the feet of Kwangsi. Carefully she set each in its place, then, lifting tear-dimmed -eyes to gaze into the golden, : face, murmured, "Oh; Kwangsi! Most Merciful One who puts the man child ; in the mother's womb and eases women in their plains. Look down with sadness on Mei Dai and give some balm to soothe her aching-heart. What has Mei Dai done that she should offend thee? - Has she not'.burned- candles at thy feet and truly cared for all the little gbds that- serve thy will?- Grant

that Tsang may rest forever his weary head upon this breast and give thy daughter wisdom in her hour of need."

She began to chant, rocking back and forth and touching her forehead to the ground. On and on went her prayer until the last candle had burned away, and, worn out, she sank unconscious to the ground. It was here she lay in a pitiful little heap as night began to cast its long grey shadows across the temple floor.

Meanwhile, Tsang had returned to the village and wag packing for his journey home. "Why," he asked, "did the gods ever guide his footsteps to Yangchow? Had he not married brothers who could have carried on his father's trade and cared for all his junks that came up the river for their cargoes of rice and soya ? Could they not have left him in Canton, where nothing had disturbed the tranquillity of his days and where his heart would have been free to welcome: a bride selected by his ancient father?"

All these things he asked, but the gods made no reply. Time and time again he thought of going to Mei Dai. Going to her and taking her in his arms., Telling her he would keep her always. Keep her in spite of all. Take her and' disappear. But each time tradition played its part. He thought of his father and his father's father before him. He was a Tsang. A Tsang born to honour his father's name even after death. And so he went on with his packing till the room was bleak and bare. Summoning his coolies he ordered them to carry his

By - - Theo. L. ]. Greenslade

goods aboard the junk and, after once more gazing about the room, left for the river, c There arc times when to be jno<st kind one seem to be most cruel, and as Tsang sat aboard his father's massive junk he wondered if he had done the right tiling. His heart cried out for Mei Dai, but his wisdom 6aid; "There is no pain like that of parting. A quick blow may be the kindest." And so he Rat in the huge stern watching the setting of the sun and waiting for the rising tide.

About him all was activity as sailors rushed to got the vessel ready for the long voyage, but Tsang saw nothing. His mind was travelling through wooded paths, seeing his Beautiful Butterfly again as when first he knew her. Living over again those moments when liis father's messenger had arrived with the fateful news. Twice he arose and walked to the ship's rail, but each time some inner voice murmured and he returned to his seat without going ashore.

The sun was getting low now. Two hours more at the most and he would sail. He wondered what it would be like to go on living without Mei Dai. He wondered what she was doing, and wondering felt a little hurt that she had made no attempt to see him.

If he had only known, no power could have kept him from going ashore, for Mei Dai was preparing for her wedding. Wedding Garments

A crashing prong in the temple had awakened her from her stupor and with the awakening had come a mingled feeling of hope, contentment and resignation. Not really conscious of her actions she had gone home and now she stood in her bedroom before the huge trunk that held her wedding gown.

It was a beautiful thing, this wedding gown of Mei Dai's. Made of the finest red silk, her mother had first worn it when she had become a bride. Reverently Beautiful Butterfly lifted it from the great box and gazed upon it in rapture. Then, listening for a moment to make Bure she was not going to be interrupted, she placed it on her bed-and began to undress.

Quickly her fingers raced, the garments coming off in rapid succession until the last one fell to the floor. Slowly she lifted up the dainty wedding things and carefully slipped them on. Dressed, she stole across the room, and reaching inside another box pulled forth her red bridal veil. Then, peeking around the door to make her path was clear, she stepped from the room, tiptoed down the corridor, and out into the night. Meanwhile, Tsang was almost ready to sail. Tired of his own company, he had gone forward to where old Yang Nee, his father's trusted Yiho man, sat smoking his bamboo pipe. Silence

reigned. Then, more to break the monotony than for information, Tsang asked, "How long before the tide, O, aged one?"

The old man lowered his pipe. "It will not be long, my young master. Does impatience to carry out a father's wish make the moon walk slowly?"

Tsang smiled. "It is many years since first I sailed with thee. Tsang goes toil iglit with earth upon liis heart."

Yang flicked the ashes from his pipe. "There are sweet dreams in Canton to make the son of Tsang forget the pure glow of the Little Pearl of Yangchow. Those humble eyes have gazed on Tse that is thy father's choice, and no flower in the City of Rams does grow more fair. She brings an honoured name and gifts to add to the security of thy home. Beside all this, her seven brothers speak promise of thee having a son to stand and worship at his father's tomb."

Tsang slowly shook his head. "The passing"of the years has loosened up thy tongue if not thy wisdom," he replied. "I would this night you were my father's son and I the broken-toothed old Yang." The seaman smiled and was about to answer when the ship began to rock. "The time has come, my master," he said. "We turn and soon move swiftly towards the sea."

He arose and, going towards the high stern that stood out like the turret of a castle, began giving orders. "Hi! Ho! Hi! Ho!" he chanted, and the sweating coolies, taking up the rhythm, put new energy into their work as they finished loading the tossing craft. In another half-hour she was ready to sail, and as the last plank was placed across the hold, the chattering crew, huge bamboo poles in their hands, ran forward to swing the vessel's nose with the stream. As they swung about, Tsang turned to watch the shore. All was still. Save where a tiny boat, a lantern swinging from its stern, was slowly making its way across the water. A feeling of

hopelessness chilled Tsail's heart. Hi* Beautiful Butterfly had «Hot eTeai tried to detain him.

Anxious to change his line of thought, he fixed his gaze upon the small craft. It was drawing nearer now. He could make out its lines quite distinctly in the enshrouding darkness.

The running up of his own: sail transfixed his attention. .

"Almost ready," he murmured to himself

His gaze went to the little boat. In the light thrown by the lantern he could discern a figure seated in the stern working at the oar. It was a. woman. Her back was towards him, but he was certain he had seen her before. He peered harder. Only 20ft or so separated the two craft now. The oarswoman stopped working and reaching out took the flickering lantern from its rack. She walked to the bow of the bobbing boat and suddenly Tsang knew. "Mei Dai! Mei Dai!" he cried. The figure made no answer, but moved closer to the bow.

In a glance he recognised the bridal dress and his heart stood still. He opened his inouth to cry out once more, but his shout died in his throat as the girl lifted the lantern high above her head ard stood with pleading eyes gazing silently into his own. A moment she paused, then, still watching him, stepped into the water and, without a murmur, disappeared. Spellbound, he watched her slip from sight. Waited hopelessly for her to come to the surface. Strained to catch a glimpse of her in the cold black water. There was nothing. Nothing but the empty darkness of the night, with the small boat, a ghostly 6hape, bobbing up and down. A full minute he stood tensed. It seemed an age. Like one in a trance he gazed at the water, then, quietly and quickly, he stepped over the ship's side to join his loved one in the Land Bevond.

River craft still ply their trade to Yangchow, though the once mighty House of Tsang has crumbled and decayed, but even now, when crickets have ceased their song, and massive jlinks rock gently with the tide, the shadows of the two lovers are sometimes to be seen side by 6ide, passing quietly over the shimmering water, and maidens still go forth at night to pray their love may be a« true as that of the Beautiful Butterfly.