Wu Cheng-en - Journey to the West (vol. 1)

“We have enough servants,” the old man said, and by bringing together servants of all ages he produced thirty or forty of them.

As the monks talked to the old man the servants lost their fear and set a table in front of the Tang Priest, inviting him to take the place of honour. They then put three more tables on both sides of him, at which they asked the three disciples to sit, and another in front of these for the two old men. On the tables were neatly arranged some fruit, vegetables, pasta, rice, refreshments and pea-noodle soup. Sanzang raised his chopsticks and started to say a grace over the food, but the idiot, who was impatient and hungry to boot, did not wait for him to finish before grabbing a red lacquered wooden bowl of white rice that he scooped up and gulped down in a single mouthful.

“Sir,” said the servant standing beside him, “you didn't think very carefully. If you are going to keep food in your sleeves shouldn't you take steamed bread instead of rice that will get your clothes duty?”

“I didn't put it in my sleeve,” chuckled Pig, “I ate it.”

“But you didn't even open your mouth,” they said, “so how could you have eaten it?”

“Who is lying then?” said Pig. “I definitely ate it. If you don't believe me I'll eat another to show you.” The servants carried the rice over, filled a bowlful, and passed it to Pig, who had it down his throat in a flash.

“Sir,” said the astonished servants, “you must have a throat built of whetstones, it's so smooth and slippery.” Pig had downed five or six bowls before the master could finish the short grace; only then did he pick up his chopsticks and start eating with them. The idiot grabbed whatever he could and bolted it, not caring whether it was rice or pasta, fruit or refreshments.

“More food, more food,” he shouted, until it gradually began to run out, “Brother,” said Monkey, “don't eat so much. Make do with being half full. Anyhow, it's better than starving in a mountain hollow.”

“What a horrible face you're making,” said Pig. “As the saying goes,

The monk at a banquet who can't eat his fill

Would rather be buried alive on the hill.”

“Clear the things away and pay no more attention to him,” said Monkey.

“We will be frank with you, reverend sirs,” said the two old men with bows. “We would have no problem in feeding a hundred or more reverend gentlemen with big bellies like him in the daytime, but it is late now and the remains of the maigre-feast have been put away. We only cooked a bushel of noodles, five bushels of rice and a few tables of vegetarian food to feed our neighbors and the clergy at the end of the service. We never imagined that you reverend gentlemen would turn up and put the monks to flight. We have not even been able to offer any food to our relations and neighbors as we have given it all to you. If you are still hungry we can have some more cooked.”

“Yes,” said Pig, “cook some more.”

After this exchange the tables and other things used for the banquet were tidied away. Sanzang bowed to his hosts to thank them for the meal, then asked them their surname. “We are called Chen,” they replied.

“Then you are kinsmen of mine,” said Sanzang, putting his hands together in front of his chest.

“Is your surname Chen as Well?” the old men asked.

“Yes,” Sanzang replied, “Chen was my surname before I became a monk. May I ask why you were holding that religious feast just now?”

“Why brother to ask, Master?” said Pig with a laugh. “Anyone could tell you that it's bound to have been a feast for the new crops, or for safety, or for the end of funeral ceremonies.”

“No, it was not,” the old men said.

“Then what was it for?” Sanzang asked.

“It was a feast to prepare for death,” the old men replied.

“You don't know who you're talking to,” said Pig, falling about with laughter. “We could build a bridge out of lies. We're kings of deception. Don't try to fool us. As monks we know all about maigre-feasts. There are only preparatory maigre-feasts for transferring money to the underworld and for fulfilling vows. Nobody's died here, so why have a funeral feast?”

“This idiot's learning a bit of sense,” chuckled Monkey to himself.

“Old man,” he said aloud, “what you said must be wrong. How can you have a feast to prepare for death?”

At this the two old men bowed and replied, “And if you were going to fetch the scriptures why did you come here instead of taking the main route?”

“We were on the main route,” replied Monkey, “but a river was in our way and we weren't able to cross it. We came to your distinguished residence to ask for a night's shelter because we heard the drums and cymbals.”

“What did you see by the side of the river?” one of the old men asked.

“Nothing but a stone tablet on which was written 'River of Heaven' above and ' 250 miles across; few travelers have ever been here' underneath,” Monkey replied.

“Less than half a mile along the bank from the stone tablet is the Temple of the Great King of Miraculous Response,” the old man said. “Did you not see it?”

“No,” Monkey replied. “Would you old gentlemen tell me why he's called 'Miraculous Response?'”

The two old men burst into tears as they replied, “My lord, as for the Great King,

Because he responded a temple we built;

His miracles greatly the common folk helped.

He sends timely rain to the farms all about;

His clouds give their moisture to keep us from drought.”

“But if he sends timely rain and clouds he's being kind to you,” said Brother Monkey, “so why are you so upset and miserable?” At this the old man stamped on the ground, beat his chest and wailed, “Master,

Great is our gratitude, greater our anger:

Although he is kind he is also a danger.

He is not one of the gods true and right-

To eat boys and girls is his evil delight.”

“He likes eating boys and girls?” Brother Monkey exclaimed.

“Yes,” replied the old man.

“I suppose it's your family's turn now,” said Monkey.

“Yes, this year it is our turn,” the old man said. “There are a hundred households living here. This place is called Chen Village, and it is in Yuanhui County of the Kingdom of Tarrycart. There is a sacrifice to the Great King every year at which a boy, a girl, pigs, sheep, oxen and wine have to be offered. If he gets his meal he gives us wind and rain at the right time; but if there is no sacrifice he sends disaster.”

“How many sons are there in your household?” Monkey asked.

The old man beat his breast and said, “Alas, alas, we die of shame when you speak of sons. This is my brother, Chen Qing, who is fifty-seven. I am Chen Cheng and am sixty-two. We have both found great difficulty in having children. As I had no son my friends and relations persuaded me to take a concubine when I was nearly fifty. I had no option but to find one and we had a daughter. She is just seven this year, and we call her Pan of Gold.”

“That's a very grand name,” said Pig. “But why Pan of Gold?”

“Because we were childless we built bridges, repaired roads, contributed to putting up monasteries and pagodas, gave donations and fed monks. We kept an account of all this, and what with three ounces spent here and five spent there it added up to thirty pounds of gold by the time the girl was born. Thirty pounds is a pan of gold, and hence the name.”

“What about sons?” Monkey asked.

“My brother has a son who was also by a concubine. He is six this year, and we call him Chen Guan-given.”

“Why did you call him that?” Monkey asked. “In our family we worship Lord Guan Yu, and we called him Guan-given as it was from the statue of Lord Guan that we begged and obtained this son. My brother and I are 120 between us if you add our ages together, and these are our only two offspring. We never imagined that it would fall to us to provide the sacrificial offerings this year, and this is a duty we cannot escape. It is because as fathers we cannot bear to part from our children that we held this service to bring about rebirth, this maigre-feast to prepare for death.”