Barry Hughart - The Story of the Stone

I wandered off again and talked with an old man who had a very interesting story to tell, because he had once urinated over the statue of a local Place God when he was drunk, and apparently the God of Walls and Ditches had been passing by, because the next thing he knew, he was encased in bronze and standing on a pedestal as a T'u-ti himself, and there was a terrible drought and the peasants demanded that he bring rain to the fields, and when no rain came, they brought out the ceremonial cudgels and beat him black and blue. He still had some very impressive welts to display. I was pressing him for more details when I heard the drawbridge lower, and then a courier came galloping across it and jumped from his horse and dashed into the palace to report to the king.

Master Li was nodding at me. Grief of Dawn was buried in admirers and couldn't get away, so I made hasty apologies to the former T'u-ti and ran for the stairs. I arrived at my lookout spot just as the king and his Golden Girls came from a side door into a courtyard and entered the stables. I knew that Master Li had been right when I heard the drawbridge raise and slam shut, and several minutes later I blinked at the sight of Shih Hu outside the walls. He was riding on a revolving couch on a great war chariot. He had racks of bows and mountains of arrows within easy reach, and Master Li had told me that he was one of the great archers of the world and would whirl around and around on his couch firing arrows so fast they looked like a waterfall. The Golden Girls rode on horses, and they were followed by foot soldiers jogging in disciplined ranks.

I went back down to report that the king had some kind of exit through the stables. Master Li was delighted.

The afternoon festivities continued with the chamberlain playing host. There were actors and acrobats and Sogdian spin-dance girls who wore crimson pantaloons and performed on top of huge rolling balls. Great mounds of food were brought out. It was half-civilized and half-barbarian. A perfectly traditional dish of ducks’ feet and ham steamed with Peking dates and black tree fungus was followed by an exotic Mongolian stew: venison, rabbit, chicken, fish, figs, apples, peaches, curds, butter, spices, and herbs, all boiled together with mounds of sugar candy. I thought it was quite good, but I noticed that both Master Li and Grief of Dawn spat out the sugar candy.

The king and his bodyguards and soldiers returned just as the sun was setting. They were in high spirits, and the soldiers were carrying a new collection of severed heads mounted upon pikes. When the king and the Golden Girls had bathed and changed, it was time for the high point of the festivities: Moon Boy.

I will admit I was skeptical. A person who looked like Moon Boy could announce, “The song of the lark,” and then go “quack-quack-quack” and get a standing ovation.

We entered a great stone hall. The chamberlain made a great show of rapping walls and floors to show that there was no trickery involved, and then some servants placed a simple wooden table at one corner of the room. More servants brought in two paper fans, a small jar of water, and four cups, which they placed upon the table. Then Moon Boy appeared. He was carrying a simple sounding board like the ones used by girls in my village, and his eyes searched the audience until he found Grief of Dawn. He gave her a wink, and I assumed he was going to perform something especially for her. The servants unfolded a large screen, blocking out the table, and the lanterns were extinguished until the room was almost dark. There was a buzz of conversation while Moon Boy warmed up, and then there were three sharp raps from behind the screen and the room was hushed.

All I know about sound-masters is that the greatest produce sounds that don't actually exist. Somehow they manage to suggest a sound to the ears of the audience, and the minds of the listeners fill in the rest. Master Li, who had heard the great ones for nearly a century, later said that Moon Boy would become a legend that would live ten thousand years, and I had no inclination to argue with him.

I remember hearing a small soft wind blow and looking around to see who had opened a window, and then flushing because I realized it was Moon Boy behind the screen, waving the paper fans. After that I listened with growing wonder and awe as Moon Boy performed a peasant song for Grief of Dawn. I cannot possibly describe something that must be heard, but I made quick notes later on, and I might as well include them here.

Soft breeze carrying night sounds, village sounds… Dog barks loudly, sound seems to be coming in through a window… Man grunts right at my ear, rolls over in bed… Barking fades away, two pairs of sandals passing by window, a laugh and a hiccup… In distance a wine seller calls goodnight and closes his doors… Wind is shifting, blowing from a river… Water sounds, barge poles splashing… Faint laughter, a man begins a bawdy song, words carried away on shifting breeze… Dog begins barking again, right in ears, deafening… Man swears, gets out of bed, stumbles toward window… Sharp yelp and sound of wood scraping across floor as he bangs his knee against a table… Dog even louder… Man fumbling for something, grunts as he throws, barks change into yelps and howls, echoing from cottage walls as dog races away, sound fades… Man yelps as hits table again, crawls back into bed.

Woman sighs and rolls over, whispers to man… Man laughs softly, woman giggles… Find myself blushing as soft lovemaking sounds come from bed… Lovemaking louder, rhythmic… Baby wakes up and begins to cry, man curses, woman groans… Woman gets up and begins nursing baby, man gets up and relieves self in chamber pot… Boy wakes up and says something sleepily, man curses and tells boy to get up and relieve self if needs to… Mixture of sounds: man and boy relieving selves, woman singing softly to baby, baby sucking and cooing, crickets, hoot of owl, breeze through leaves… Boy back to bed, baby back to sleep, man and woman back to bed, woman whispers, man begins to snore.

Fire! Voice shouts outside window, other voices join in, everybody out of bed, baby crying… Man yelps as hits table, shouts out window… Voices say something about a barn… Feet milling around outside, sounds of doors opening and closing, clank of buckets, creak of windlass, man yelps as hits table again… Sandals on, runs outside… Clanks and splashes from bucket brigade, flames hissing and roaring… Incredible confusion of sounds: people shouting, horses neighing, donkeys braying, cattle and oxen lowing, chickens squawking… Gates open and thunder of hooves as animals gallop out… Old man shouting, “My hay! My grain!”… Woman screams about sparks on her roof.

Something very strange. All sounds of the village seem to be lifting slowly into the air… Twisting, turning… As though August Personage of Jade has reached down to China and picked up the village and is turning it this way and that in his hand… A slow, quiet, vast puff of breath as though blowing the fire out… Animal sounds die down, bucket and water and fire sounds die down, shouting and screaming die down… Village settling back down to earth, one sound after another fading away… Boy's sounds fade away, woman's sounds fade away, man's sounds fade away… Baby cooing happily… Baby gradually fades away… Silence.

Three sharp raps. The lanterns are lit, the screen is pulled away. There is nothing but a table and a sounding board and two fans and a jar of water and four cups, and Moon Boy, who clasps his hands together and bows.

Grief of Dawn and I slipped away easily while the audience besieged Moon Boy. I had the sacks and sticks and lanterns ready, and while we caught toads and lanternflies she told me that it was a good thing we were getting Moon Boy out of there because the soft life was causing him to lose his voice, particularly in the high registers, and unless he could find some pretty boys who would give him a good run across the hills he was going to be nothing but the best, as opposed to being supernatural.