The Bones of Leon Chang

Manawatu Standard, Volume LVII, Issue 25, 30 December 1936, Page 9

The Bones of Leon Chang

Son X. £ drless

AUSTRALIA’S MOST POPULAR WRITER

THE gravedigger leaned on the cemetery lence, waiting. And something was coming now —a Mr Yuan Tai; though as yet the planter of clay did not know tin's. He was morose; economic conditions made him so. Lights were hustling and winches rattling on the distant wharf, where the Taiping was loading up wiih pearlsheil. Ali Thursday island slept, except the wharfics. They made hay while it was overtime, thought the grave-digger sorely. Mostly ablehuditd men, even the few toughened booze kings among them showed no signs of dying. And the one probability intended to beat it to Daiwin by tlie next boat.

The grave-digger lifted dejected eyes to the sky. It was a blaze of stars, that tinted the water a delicate blue. The dark hills of Prince of Wales and Horn islands hemmed in the water as a crescent lake before the town. .Still pearling-1 aggers dotted the waterway. The roofs below glinted to the palm-tops silhouetted above the waterfront. All nature and even the works of man hushed, quietly beautiful. But I the grave-digger’s pockets were empty and financial emptiness drains beauty from the soul of man.

He thought hopefully of the hospital, nestling away below the guns on the fort. But the few patients there were convalescent. With a fellow feeling at another’s difficulties, he wondered how the doctor was making a crust. Convention demanded that sawbones wear a white suit and pay bis bills, but then he could charge handful of guineas an operation, whereas the grave-digger only collected two pounds a knob on the failures —the crumbs from the rich man’s table. And mighty few crumbs this year. The island was beastly healthy. But hirtlis! Heavens, the doctor must be ..coining money through no effort of his own. The climate after all was on his side. Live and let live, the grave-digger gloomily told himself, did not apply to him. Yuan Tai walked quietly up the de-

serted road leading to the cemetery hill. He stepped daintily, as a eat steps, and s.ppetl to the dregs the expectation ol ms dreams ; lie was about ro desecrate the bones of Leon Chang, ins lileiong enemy. A ever would those hones rest in the land ol Chang’s fathers, for Yuan would substitute me bones of a thief. And Leon Chang until the stars should dim would wander homeless in the heavenly sphere. Gloatingly Yuan Tai Jived over the years. Their rivalry in youth, culminating in the love winch brought the Lotus Flower. But not to Yuan Tai! And his heart had withered, lor when a Chinaman loves, lie loves lor all time.

Leon Chang had triumphantly planted the Lotus Flower in the New Land and Yuan Tai followed, as the weed follows the flower. On Thursday Island they had grown with the years as buyers' of beche-de-mer and tor-toise-shell. But always it was Leon Chang who had forged just a little alieau; who had made bargains just a trifle shrewder; who gradually became the merchant. Perhaps the strength of Yuan Tai’s mind being concentrated on his grievance, had lost him the race against Leon Chang.

Not that he still desired the Lotus Flower. .By no means. She was ugly with the bearing of many children. Either of his two younger wives was more desirable now than she. But Yuan Tai knew that after death would come tlie spirit life in which the Lotus Flower would blossom again to beauty in a youth that would never lade. As such lie desired her lor ever. And time had made recompense. It had allowed him just enough: the spirit of his fathers had whispered him that his time was measured.

It was two years now since Leon Chang had died and his relatives were preparing by the law of the land to remove his bones to China. The Chinese (relieve implicitly in earth to earth. A mail’s hones have been breathed into life by liis native soil, and he must give them back to crumble in the Flowery Laud and regive life to others yet unborn. Without this disintegration of the bone into the native elements from which it sprang, the soul wanders for ages lost. So Yuan Tai planned that after deatli had touched tile brow of the Lotus Flower she would awake to find Yuan Tai waiting to greet her and not Leon Chang. “Good evening, Mr Bruce, greeted Yuan Tai suavely. “Evening, Mr Tai,” answered the grave-digger. “What if we get oil the job while the going’s good?” “Proceed,” nodded Yfuan Tai. The cemetery gate creaked as they turned forgetful backs on the town to walk down the hill upon a soitly protesting path of grass. The men halted a moment at the • small tin shed where the tools are i kept, then went on along the pathway where rest a group of Japanese beneath their cemented beds of stone and leaning white posts charactered with Chinese black. But the Japs weren’t much good. Some died in their diving-dress. (Even the sharks

An actual happening as described by the grave-digger of Thursday Island, Torres Strait in the Coral Sea. Jhe atmosphere of this story is accurate, for it was actually written in the tiny Thursday Island Cemetery.

did a man out of a job!) And the live Japs went home to Japan. 'l’he cemetery was all quiet beauty. Isolated from the town by small bills green with grass and trees, it sloped gently down to the grass-grown road by the dark mangroves lapped by the waters of Alpin Pass. A dear rest-ing-place for the wearied bodies of men. God’s one spot where white and brown, black and yellow, may dream in peace together.

But Yuan Tai was not wasting thought over peace to the dead. His philosophy knew no dead. The peace of the cross-strewn hillside had sweetened a little the economically embittered soul of the gravedigger. His mind felt rested. There was a tenner in this night’s work; it was worth five plantings, and with no hard holes to dig. He merely had tu keep his mouth shut. Which came naturally, for lie lived amongst silent people. They crossed over the deep drain that carries the rain-water to the sea. Here in a friendly group lay the “white” English and the “black” English, and farther on amongst the creeperod trees, rested the “white” Catholics and the “black” Catholics and the “browns” and “yellows.” The grave-digger had a warm spot in his heart for them, for the converted people were the only ones who died on Sundays. That meant an extra ten hob.

Soon they were rustling among the pagans and the grave-digger wished them peace, for the devil claimed his own frequently. Of no particular religion or quite irreligious, just pure pagan or clinging to some grandfatherly cannibalistic rite, these cosmopolitan sleepers were the sheep without the fold that brought grist to the gravedigger’s mill. Unobtrusively poked into a protecting clump of grass was a stick, which marked the forlorn restingplace of Lo Ping, a thief. Here the grave-digger set to work. In shocked surprise the silence hushed to the sac-

rilegious ring of the pick. He grunted between lugs at the grass-roots, luxuriating amongst the stone mound. The shovel tingled as he swept aside those clods of regret and the cluttering was music to the fruiting passions ol Yuan Tai. Soon the mound was levelled and the toiler settled to work. An old hole is easy lo dig out. At five feet lie thumped wood. His grunt rumbled as hollow as the sound. He wo ked cautiously then, for lie was afraid of dead men’s bones. He had known live ones who had lost their lives from a scratch.

“We’d better clear the other one,” he growled, “ail’ swap ’em in the blanket. Leon Chang’s got a good wooden box. Ibis feller only sports packingcases an’ they're rotten.”

A good plan,” agreed Yuan Tai

“J want ‘Leon Chang’ to appear exactly as his friends expect to find him*”

"This hole is as slippery as Hi’ road to hell,” grumbled the grave-digger as lie scraped the wet clay from his hands. Just in time, lie checked himself from remarking that one Chink, dead or alive, was much like another. Yuan Tai knew better. His countrymen would detect the fraud at any little mistake. But Lo Ping was the same build as Leon Chang; and no living mail could identify either man’s hones. Lo Ping’s bones would return to China in the collin of Leon Chang. A fish breached from the water below; the sound echoed from island to island.

They trailed through the grass to the English-Chinese section. Here Leon Chang’s cross of white stood startingly plain beneath a broad-leaf-ed frangipani. The Christianised headstone loomed coldly impressive. An iron rail protected it. Shells and I artificial flowers glinted steelily beneath the lI.LP. In an unobtrusive corner peeped a little Chinese vase mothering half-burnt joss-sticks to scare away evil spirits. Tribute from the doubting soul of the Lotus Flower. 'l’lie grave-digger stepped over the rail and systematically laid the ornaments on one side. Time was short. He was sweating before his heaving shoulders worked below the surface level. Yuan Tai leaned over above and sweated also, but inwardly. His lace gleamed sickly by the headstone, expressionless like most of the suave, well-educated Chinese, except that now his eyes betrayed the vengeance lust burning his mind and liearl. to him, tiiis was no sanctuary of the dead. There were no dead here. All was life. Death was a transition lasting minutes only. These graves were empty except ior bones. But of life — spirit life—there was a fair abundance. Most had sped to other distant worlds. But there were laggards; those but recently horn into the next life, curious and fearful over the transition and as yet not educated to their new en- . viroiinient. Loon Cluing would certainly be here, anchored by the relics of his past. And his fear would be beyond measure at this inhuman desecration.

Yuan Tai gloried in the knowledge of the power he, a mortal, had over the spirit world. Through the mate-

rial bones of Leon Chang he could torture a spirit member tor ever; and it could not retaliate in this material world. Ho shivered over the grave, eager to gaze upon the bones oi his enemy.

The hole grunted hollowly and the grave-digger leaned back and wiped a moist brow.

“Struck th’ box; the job’s about done,” ho murmured —then stared up aghast. YYian Tai stared also and leit his stomach chill.

From the tombstone head glared eyes of liquid lire, round and unblinking, ullaine with an awful vindictiveness.

With sobbing breath the gravedigger pulled himself together and threw a clod of earth, but the owl stared until the third clod, and then it only flapped to the frangipani tree directly overhead. Yuan Tai thrashed tlie branch with tlie clay-daubed shovel, raining hysterical curses against all evil spirits in screeching Chinese.

Agitatedly tlie grave-digger scraped eiean tlie coliin-iid. He was in n cold sweat.

“It's Boll's own job,” he muttered. “Don't know what s crawling over me. Here, Mr Tai,” he wnispered, “hand me that screw-driver. I lecl as it someone’s walkin’ over me grave!” luan Tai handed down the tool and listened to tlie clumsy efforts below. Presently the toiler handed up the lid.

Now Hi’ blanket,” lie whispered

“And you d better bop down and give me a hand to bundle nini into it. It

will be a damn awkward job if you don't, because I’ve got the blooming creeps.” Without a word Y’uan Tai lowered the blanket, then peered into the dark where lay his enemy. It was shrouded; but Yuan Tai gazed as il seeing beyond the Veil.

"For Gawds sake!” stuttered the grave-digger. “What in heaven is b-hitin’ you! Do you see a g-ghost s’" Yuan lai sighed. Like a mail overwhelmed he lowered his legs into the Bale, lie was sore airaid for lie had seen the sockets below gleam with the eyes of the owl. "Be caruiul!” cautioned the gravedigger. "this is a narrow grave. If you slip an' break your neck you’ll be giving me another two quid,” he joked ieeblv.

Y’uan Tai did slip, quite suddenly. And a rib ol Leon Chang sharply snapped beneath his falling weight, tie wailed as he sprang Ironi out the grave. The grave-digger was instantly beside him with his hair on end, ins legs quivering, iiis mouth hesitating wnether to howl or curse. Yuan Tai examined his thumb. A bead of blood welled upon it. Tic gazed as if seeing a vision within a crystal. Satisfied, lie said calmly: "Leave him alone, exactly as lie is. Replace every tiling; also Lo Ring. Then dig a grave—for me.” He smiled at the grave-digger’s face.

"But,” burst out the man, “what silly rot* A tiny prick like that! The night’s job got on your nerves.” "It is a prick from the l'ib of Leon Chang,” said Yuan Tai quietly. “I will die of blood-poisoning. All ! Y'oll understand! Now listen! I will have time to set my affairs in order. I will give you an extra £lO ior tonight's work, and another £5 to keep an eye oil my grave, and when the time conies for my friends to lilt my bones, you he answerable that they have never been tampered with Swear fidelity by Leon Chang down there.” “I swear.” “Then that is all,” nooded Yuan Tai. “I shall expect you in auom three hours’ time.” He turned and walked away. The grave-digger found his voice:

“Go straight to the doc., and get a serum injected against tetanus,” he called.

“Y’ou remember to come to my shop and collect your money before it is too late,” came back softly—“and bring your measuring tape.”. The grave-digger grunted, then turned to his job. His nerve had come hack. The economical barometer had risen to normal. Copyright.