Avon Fantasy Reader/Issue 17/One-Man God
One-Man God
by Frank Owen
It is with pleasure that we present a new and hitherto unpublished Chinese fantasy by the author of The Wind That Tramps the World and The Purple Sea. Frank Owen has never been to China but somehow he has mastered the fragile dreamlike atmosphere of that nations legendary to perfection. China has passed through many periods of turbulence, but through it all has clung to the ideal of the ultimate desirability of peace and tranquillity. This is expressed very well in Owens story of the God of the Scented Pine Trees.
A fragrant ink stick, an engraved ink stone and a few brush strokes are all that are needed to tell the story of the God of Scented Pine Trees. Now it must be known that this god revelled in pompous ceremony and was a glorious dignified figure in his silk embroidered robes of sun gold, lush green and purple splendor. He had as many gaudy costumes as there are hours in the round of the year, emblazoned with dragons and unicorns, and exhaling a heady mixture of musk and myrrh and cinnamon, but he was not happy; for alas, only one poor coolie worshipped him. Small wonder then that he was vexed, for gods need worshippers even as men need gods to worship.
The coolie, whose name was Fo Wen, lived in a small mud hut and his most prized possession was a small blackened kettle in which he cooked his rice, and occasionally a bit of turnip to cement together the bones of his emaciated body. But he was unaware that he lacked so much of earth's riches, for each night as he slept on the bare earth his beloved wife returned to him from the realms of her ancestors. Once more they were young and happy because they were together. And so they talked and laughed and were abundantly rich until the moon met the dawn. Ofttimes, Fo Wen wondered whether the dream were the reality or reality the dream even as did Chuang Tzu who dreamed that he was a butterfly who dreamed that he was Chuang Tzu.
Near the hut of Fo Wen stood a stately pine tree. He joyed to sit before his door of an evening, drinking in the beauty of its graceful fronds against the sky. The odor of pine drifted to him and in the far distance he could hear the tinkle of temple bells. At such times abundant peace crept into his soul and he was rich.
But the God of Scented Pine Trees was not happy. Though he was almost barren of worshippers he wished to be kowtowed to in splendor. Therefore he determined to make Fo Wen, his last suppliant, a very wealthy man. One deep dark middle of the night, he caused a magnificent garden to appear around the small hut of Fo Wen, surrounded by a house of many rooms. The furnishings of these rooms which opened onto the garden were of fine lacquer, teakwood and ivory. The soft handwoven rugs of rich, lush colors, might have put flowers to shame. In one room was a collection of jewels—diamonds, pearls, jades and nephrites, wrought gold and carved silver, turquoise, amber, jasper and carnelian. On the walls were written pictures and landscapes dating back to the Tang dynasty. Every conceivable luxury was in that palace, besides four slender concubines, versed in the arts of music, dance and song.
Then the god touched Fo Wen gently on the shoulder until he awakened. "Blest are you among mortals," he intoned, "for I, the sole God of Scented Pine Trees, have decided to make you rich."
Fo Wen opened his eyes. He appeared slightly incredulous as he gazed about sleepily.
"Rich," he repeated, "rich, what need have I for more riches?"
"As a coolie, certainly your position was not lofty," observed the god, somewhat irritated.
"I was content."
"Is contentment enough? Gaze about you, this magnificent house and garden is all yours. And there are diamonds beyond price."
"What are diamonds?" asked the coolie.
"Next to jade, the most precious thing on earth."
"The most precious thing on earth is a good wife," said Fo Wen.
"Wives, faugh!" said the god. "What do they amount to? Millions of women in China. All chatter like monkeys. Even the worthy ones fade, shrivel and are gone. But diamonds live forever."
"Only a fool thinks a diamond lives!"
"They sparkle as though alive."
"But have they four souls?"
"No."
"Do they breathe?"
"Who said they did?"
"Can you use them for food when you are starving?"
"Our coolie is becoming a philosopher!"
"If toil makes a philosopher, then I am one."
"You read many books?" asked the god, who somehow felt slightly deflated. Why should not this miserable coolie be abject before him, at the power of his majesty?
"I like to read the graceful poems that are flung so frequently on the walls of buildings by enthusiasts of the brush. However, I cannot afford to buy books."
The god brightened perceptibly. "Now you are rich, you can buy all the books you want."
"Only one book do I need, the verses of Lao Tzu that I committed to memory as a youth."
The God of Scented Pine Trees felt as though his nose was out of joint. Why had he never thought to write a book? What was a book, anyway, but a mere jumble of words! He was worried almost into hysterics. It was bad enough to have only one worshipper, without having to share his devotion.
He decided that he would treat the book of Lao Tzu as though it of little importance.
"What did he write that is so memorable?"
Fo Wen reflected for a moment, then he quoted,
"Do not exalt wealth—
Avoid treasuring rare things."
The God of Scented Pine Trees broke into cold sweat. Did this simple coolie realize what he was saying? Surely he could not be so erudite as thus to berate him! Truly, these were difficult days in which to be a god.
He sighed so deeply that it stirred the garden like a breeze.
"Would you like to look through your new house?" he asked brusquely.
"My hut serves my simple needs. Why should I desert it?"
"Because I, thy god, command thee!"
Fo Wen rose wearily to his feet. It had not occurred to him to stand in the presence of the god. Perhaps it was because there was so little in his appearance to command respect. He seemed more worried than regal, he was too fat and gaudily overdressed.
"As you wish," he said without enthusiasm.
"Oh, for a few other worshippers," thought the god, "that I might put this ingrate in his place!" But he remained civil for he badly needed this lone worshipper even though he was so little devout.
"You shall drink from a jade cup," he said.
Fo Wen remained silent. What matter the vessel from which one slakes thirst?
"In your possession will be amber trinkets in which leaves and ferns, insects and lovely flowers are entombed; while all about your home will be gorgeous jade flowers growing, their petals of gems of rainbow colors. The rugs beneath your feet will be soft as moss and of a green sheen. You will bathe in a crystal bath, the like of which may not be found the world over. You will feast on viands of a piquance and delicacy to entice the appetite of a king."
"Rice alone is sufficient for my needs. Possessions mean nothing to me."
"But you will be rich!"
"Have I ever been poor?"
"You, a coolie, ask that?"
"My sleep is deep, my dreams are pleasant."
"Do you not thank me for this house?"
"I worship you, is not that enough?"
The god coughed. "That is very good," he said in an effort to be offhanded, for how good and necessary it was he did not want Fo Wen to know.
Fo Wen was very tired and somewhat distressed that the Scented Pine Tree God should be so persistent. He had labored hard and now in spite of himself his head slipped gently to the good earth and he slept. The god sighed and departed to those realms where only gods may go.
At sunrise, Fo Wen awakened, cooked a bowl of rice, and then departed for his back-breaking toil from dawn till dusk. Strange, he thought, that a god should build him a great house, he who was but one of the countless teaming millions of coolies of China. What did it mean? What was the reason? What need had he for so large a house now that his wife was no longer with him and he was childless?
To be childless, in China, is looked upon as a real calamity. Childless men usually take unto themselves a secondary wife, or a third until the need for progeny has been fulfilled. But not so Fo Wen. Mei Mei was his beloved wife; even death had not separated them, for she came to him in his dreams. He needed no other women, wanted no other woman, even as Emperor Ming Huang had eyes for no other woman after beholding Yang Kwei-fei.
Fo Wen was well educated though he had never attended school. His father had taught him to read and write. The beauty of his brush strokes might have brought envy to an artist. Nature, too, had been his teacher. From the wind in the willows he learned sweet songs which he longed to translate into words; from the sky at evening he drew inspiration and serenity; from the glory of scented pine trees he drew faith. So it was but natural he worshipped their god. That the god was all but bankrupt as far as worshippers were concerned, he did not know.
In the early evening, Fo Wen returned to the garden which was surrounded by the various rooms of the magnificent house. He was deeply troubled as he walked through the carved red gates, past the spirit screen, and on toward his crude hut that remained an incongruous blot on the beauty of the garden. He prepared his usual bowl of rice over a wood fire. He ate slowly, trying to fathom the mystery of the god's benevolence. Of what need had he for a palace? He was a coolie, had always been a coolie, and a coolie he would remain until his life ceased.
Had he been endowed with this great house while his wife, Mei Mei, had walked the earth, he would have been ten thousand times thankful for the blessing. It would have meant jewels and silken robes for her. Now, since she had joined her ancestors except during those glorious hours of sleep when she returned to him, wealth meant nothing to him.
As a majestic form stood beside him, he looked up to behold the disgruntled God of Scented Pine Trees.
"Why do you still live in this hovel?" he asked brusquely.
"Because it is my house," was the simple reply. "I belong here."
"I have built you a palace that even would have delighted Kubla Khan. He, too, loved scented pine trees."
"He was an emperor; I, a coolie."
"You are a coolie no longer. Heed my words, live in the house you deserve. I have spoken; it is the least you can do to obey."
Fo Wen found the conversation distasteful. He was amazed that he felt so little awe in the presence of this god whom he had worshipped for so many years. He thought of the words of Lao Tzu:
Supreme virtue is like pure water.
It is beneficial to all and harmful to none.
It seeks the lowly places abhorred by men.
He, too, had dwelt in the lowly places yet the God of Scented Pine Trees wished to lift him up to the cold lonely heights of grandeur. Possession of earthly treasures is not enough. If the mind be not fed, what use a fat sleek body! Again he thought of Lao Tzu:
The wise man retires quietly from the outer world.
It is then that he experiences the Divine Tao.
When soul and spirit are harmoniously united
They will ever remain one.
So was it with Fo Wen and his wife, Mei Mei. She had dwelt with him happily for years in the mud and bamboo hut. To him it sang gently of her presence. Here she was near him. Fie wished no other abode.
But the God of Scented Pine Trees was urgent. Why should the welfare of one poor coolie mean so much to him?
"Tell me," he asked abruptly, "were you once, long ages ago, a member of the Fo clan?"
The god shuddered at the mere thought of such a thing.
"I am an immortal," he said haughtily. "Immortals belong to no clan."
"Then why do you bestow gifts upon me?"
"I am your god. You worship me. You are indeed a worthy man."
"And do you bestow gifts on all who worship you?"
That was a poser. The god might have answered yes with more than a modicum of truth, for Fo Wen was his only worshipper, the slender thread that guarded his divinity.
The God of Scented Pine Trees spoke slowly. "I have come to you because none other is more worthy. You live righteously."
"So do multitudes of coolies in China. He who bears gifts without reason is surely subject to much doubt."
"Wealth means nothing to me. See, I put out my hand and there are gold pieces in it, at my will they appear."
"A magician!"
"In a way," the god conceded. "However, could men live without magic—the magic of flowers, the magic of the little rain of China gently falling, the magic of the night sky, the magic of the caress of a beloved woman, the magic of sleep when day's work is over?"
To Wen added, "And greatest of all, the magic of dreams."
"Through all the years you have worshipped me, I have heeded your prayers with compassion. When you burnt incense sticks they were pleasant to my nostrils. I have watched over you diligently that no harm might befall you."
"Yet the greatest disaster struck me."
"I know nothing of disaster."
"My wife has gone from me to her ancestors."
"Was that such a calamity? Why, in yonder house I have placed concubines for your enjoyment so beautiful they put flowers to shame. They belong to you. They are a hundred times more beautiful than your wife. Go to them."
"I want them not. My wife was the most gracious of women. She was attuned to my every wish. Her passing was sorrow beyond words."
The god noticed tears in the eyes of Fo Wen.
"Weeping is for women," he said scornfully.
"The loss of such a woman is occasion enough for weeping."
"Bah!" spat out the god. "Was she such a good wife; did she bear you children?"
"She was the best of wives. That she was childless she could not help. Even though you are a god, say no more against her, else I may curse you."
The God of Scented Pine Trees was in a panic. There was nothing godlike in the manner in which he fawned over Fo Wen. He repeated over and over again that all he wished to do was to show how great was his benevolence. He wanted Fo Wen to be a rich man since his character was so strong and noble.
Fo Wen felt ill at ease. He disliked the god to debase himself before him. In an effort to get out of an untenable position, he promised that that night he would sleep in the palace. At that the god departed triumphantly, hollow triumph though it was, for he had been very close to ignominy.
Fo Wen walked across the garden reluctantly, to the sleeping quarters of the master of the house, but he felt little like a master, more like a slave, the slave of the God of Scented Pine Trees. What kind of a god was this who insisted on controlling the actions of his worshippers? Far better was old Lao Tzu who wrote for all within the Four Seas:
The Infinite Tao produces and sustains all things.
It claims nothing of what it has produced.
It acts with loving wisdom, without desiring reward,
It possesses all power
Yet it does not seek to control. . . .
No wonder throughout China so many people were Taoists, regarding Lao Tzu with complete devotion. Truly, Lao Tzu was a philosopher worth revering. He gave so much food for reflection and asked nothing in return.
To please the God of Scented Pine Trees, though with considerable reluctance, he entered the room for sleeping. It was of an elegance that quite captured his breath. A pale lantern hung from the azure blue ceiling like a summer moon. The green rug was as thick and soft as dew-drenched grass at daybreak.
On the walls were written pictures. One in exquisite brush strokes: "How cool moonbeams drip from bamboo leaves." Another, "The color of distant hills—oh, those chrysanthemums!" He meditated a moment before them. Their eloquence he could appreciate. Like all Chinese he had the profoundest respect for the written character.
Quickly he slipped out of his clothes, stretched out on the kong and drew the silk coverlets over him, nor did he pay any attention to the large golden dragon that was embroidered upon it. Sleep should have come to him at once, for he was very tired, but his eyes did not close. First it was the pale light of the lantern that annoyed him. He was used to sleeping in darkness. The silk coverlets made him uncomfortable. The soft slinkiness was repulsive, almost like a slimy snake's skin. And he wondered why he had permitted himself to be flayed with words into this pretense of grandeur. He was but a coolie, a coolie who loved poetry, flowers, sunsets, the natural loveliness of life. What kind of a god was this God of Scented Pine Trees who forced him into doing that which was abhorrent to him?
He rose from the kong, put on his simple blue clothes and returned to hut. He stretched out on the bare earth and sighed contentedly. Sleep came to him at once. And now, in his dreams, his wife was beside him and the night was tender with perfume and sweet music.
The joy of peace and morning was on the land when he awakened. He walked to the door of the hut and breathed deeply of the clear, cool air. What need had any man for greater riches? He thought ruefully of the God of Scented Pine Trees whom he had worshipped for so many years. Now all that was ended. He would worship him no more, for he was an advocate of false doctrines. He knew nothing of the greatness of simple things, the joy of humility. What need had he for a false god, when there was so much in nature that was fine and true?
Coming toward him was a familiar fat figure, though not wearing his elaborate robes. Now he was arrayed in rags. He prostrated himself before Fo Wen and touched his forehead to the ground.
"Permit me to worship you, O Mighty Sage," he said fervently. "You were the sole remaining worshipper I had. That was why I erected this house for you. I was not satisfied with humble devotion. I wanted to be kowtowed to by a man of prominence. But now all this is over, and I have been flung down from the high places of the gods and reduced to the status of mere mortal. Nor am I dismayed, for I shall follow your guidance and your teachings. You have shown me the meaning of devotion. And so I prostrate myself before you in adoration."
Fo Wen felt strangely uplifted as though he could climb to the sky and walk endlessly among the stars without fatigue. But he checked the impulse. Better far to keep his feet deep-rooted in the earth, even as do scented pine trees. Nevertheless, inexplicably, a sudden change had come over the face of the morning.
His vision was more acute, he could see far distances. Far into the deep blue sky could he see unto realms of eternal solitude and peace. Though the sun was well up, he could behold the moon and the stars, too, shining with breathtaking brilliance. The air was filled with music and voices softly singing. A hand, slim and tender touched his cheek and he knew that his wife was near him. This was as it should be, for death is as real as life and occasionally more comforting.
That day, Fo Wen did not depart for the docks to take up his usual backbreaking toil. The ex-god went in his place. He wished as far as possible to walk in the footsteps of the coolie who had been the last of his worshippers. Perhaps on that path he would find that which he sought, the way back again to the eternal mountains of the gods.
Fo Wen repaired to the pine tree that stood a short distance outside the walls of the palace. It was a perfect morning to give over to quiet reflection. The sun was warm, the sky a rapturous blue. The pine trees had never been sweeter scented. And he thought of the Emperor Ming Miang of the Tang Dynasty; how he had fed the poor by having tubs of rice set out in the market-places for distribution among the hungry. That is what he would like to do. At once there was a large tub of rice standing near him, and a beggar was approaching for alms. Unto this man Fo Wen gave a half sheng measure of rice, sufficient to keep him fed for some time. And the beggar bent low before him, murmuring a prayer. "Thank you, noble god, for this great gift."
Fo Wen was warmed by his words. This was the thing he had always longed to do, had he been able to afford it. That day he bestowed rice on many people, thereby giving them the gift of life, for rice is the life blood of China. It is more precious than gold, ivory or carved jade.
All through the day, Fo Wen distributed rice to the poor, and people came to him in ever-increasing throngs, nor did the tub ever become empty. And all who came kowtowed before him in gratitude and prayer, for surely this must be a god who showed such great generosity and compassion. Occasionally Fo Wen uttered bits of verse which the people snatched at eagerly. Thus were they doubly fed.
Day after day, Fo Wen distributed rice under the scented pine tree, and more and more people came to worship at his shrine—a single pine tree. Though he knew his magical powers were increasing daily, he made no effort to disport himself on the mountains of the gods, neither did he wear fine raiment. He still wore the blue clothes that were worn by uncounted millions of Chinese, for he preferred to walk among men that his gifts might be used to ease poverty. And beside him always was a slender woman whose smile was wonderfully sweet.