Weird Tales/Volume 36/Issue 4/The March of the Trees
TheMarch of the Trees
By Frank Owen
Trees give fantastic help to a gardener who is their friend. . . an Oriental romance of love and life in a Chinese garden
Lari Kim, one of the thousand slave girls of the Mandarin, had enslaved him . . .
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Now with the few bits of gold which he still possessed, he built a small house. But when the house was finished, there came a mighty storm and a bolt of lightning struck it. In a moment it was in flames.
Loo Siang stood before it and beat his chest. He pleaded with the Fire Gods to spare his house. He sang gay songs to divert their interest. But they were absorbed in the fire and so heeded him not.
When at last the house was consumed and only charred ashes remained, Loo Siang sat down by the ruins and wept.
At that moment, it so happened that the Mandarin Zok Tsung was passing en route to the baths and he paused to enjoy the grief of Loo Siang. He called to his carriers to set down his sedan chair and then amid a vast amount of puffs and grunts, for he was very fat, he climbed from the chair and walked over to converse with the man of misery. He had recognized Loo Siang as the famed gardener who had so persistently been stalked by adversity.
Zok Tsung was interested. He owned much land surrounding his palace and he longed to have it made into a garden of rare beauty. But so far he had been unable to find a man capable of translating his wishes. His workers in the soil were little more than coolies. They flayed the soil, rather than attempting to cultivate it with reverence. And the soil was sullen. It refused to respond.
Now Zok Tsung was a crafty individual and when he beheld the gardener weeping in the ruins, he licked his lips as though in anticipation of a delectable meal. He sought converse with Loo Siang who, in his desolate state, was of a mind to pour out his troubles.
"And now," he finished brokenly, "the gods must be laughing for they have crushed me until I lack even a few grain of rice for my evening meal."
Zok Tsung was voluble in his sympathy and he said, "Arise, and come with me. In this world we are all brothers and I should not enjoy my food were I to know that you were hungry."
As in a dream, Loo Siang walked beside the sedan chair of the Mandarin. He could not believe so distinguished a person was honoring him. Perhaps the gods were no longer laughing so loudly.
The Madarin's house was of a splendor to dazzle poor Loo Siang and he walked as in a dream as he was led to a magnificent room. His tom clothes were taken from him. He was bathed and dressed in garments of fine material. Then he was taken to a large banquet hall where food had been set the like of which he had never seen in all his existence. The meal lasted three hours and consisted of forty-seven courses. And as they ate, slender girls danced for them, girls as fragile as porcelain. On the air was a warm fragrance. And among these girls was Lari Kim, one of the thousand slave girls of the Mandarin. She smiled tenderly at Loo Siang and that moment he became as much a slave as she, a slave of the Mandarin, since to remain near her he would be forced to stay under the Mandarin's rule.
Zok Tsung smiled as he noticed the flames of passion kindle in the eyes of the gardener's heart. He was not angry, but pleased Lari Kim gave him the hold he needed on Loo Siang. She must be dangled before him like a tasty bit of roast pork.
When at last the feast was over and the dancing girls had departed, Loo Siang was in a pliable mood.
"I need a gardener," the Mandarin said slowly, "and I have come to the conclusion that you are the gardener I need. Work for me at good wages until you have accumulated sufficient money to buy a place of your own."
Loo Siang, thinking of Lari Kim, readily agreed to the proposal. Thanks to the generosity of the Mandarin some day he would again be a landowner, perhaps even wealthy enough to purchase the exquisite Lari Kim.
So Loo Siang took up his new work and at once a change came over the garden. As he walked down the white marble paths there was discernible a gentle murmuring in the treetops. The trees were voicing their satisfaction over the new master of the flowers. And peace returned to the heart of Loo Siang who no longer mourned for the loss of his house. From the soil he drew strength even as do the plants and the trees. And now the earth became abundantly fruitful.
Occasionally Lari Kim, slender, fragile, walked in the garden. Her eyebrows were arched moon-bridges; her smile so enticing that Loo Siang gazed upon her entranced. One night under the silvery sweep of the moon he took her into his arms. It was a night of dreams and love. Unknown to the Mandarin, they slept in the shadow of a willow tree while all the fragrances of the garden swirled madly about them.
Thereafter, life in that garden was more beautiful than ever. Lari Kim blossomed like an orchid, fed by the warmth of Loo Siang's love. And the years rolled on. Sometimes, reflecting over his lot, Loo Siang became philosophical. The gods had ceased laughing. He was no longer an object for derision.
So five years passed during which time Loo Siang drew not a copper coin for himself, letting his money accumulate until there should be sufficient for him to purchase a garden of his own.
But Zok Tsung, the Mandarin, was a conniving individual. He had no intention of permitting his gardener to leave him and so he summoned Loo Siang. He awaited him in the Room of Porcelain and he had arranged it so that as Loo Siang passed into the room he would cause a supposedly expensive porcelain vase to fall and shatter to pieces. The vase was really of trifling value but the Mandarin was loud in his grief. He bellowed and spat curses at the dazed gardener.
Loo Siang was without guile. It grieved him that anyone should lose a treasure through his carelessness, so he offered to pay for the vase out of his accumulated earnings. At once the Mandarin ceased his lamentations.
"It is but right that you should," he sighed. "Though even that will not reimburse me for my vase, the like of which does not exist in all the world. It is a priceless porcelain, worth many times the wages that are due to you. Nevertheless, I shall accept your offer. Now we are even. You owe me nothing; nor I, you."
And so Loo Siang was again penniless. Five years' savings had vanished with the shattering of a vase. In despair he returned to the garden. The flowers, aware of his grief, glowed more beauteously to distract his attention. The trees held out their branches to shield him from the heat of the sun. That day the voices of the birds were hushed. But in the night, Lari Kim came to him and slept in his arms. And all care slipped from him. When they awakened it was dawn and birds were singing.
Time wore on until twenty years had piled up like a mountain and always the Mandarin saw to it that Loo Siang remained in his debt. But now there were certain orchids developed by Loo Siang that had attained world renown. Merchants came from far and near to purchase them and money flowed into the garden in a golden river. It was then that Loo Siang rebelled. He declared he would produce no more orchids unless he shared in the profits. Reluctantly the Mandarin bowed to his wishes.
"Ten li from the city," he said, "is a large tract of land which I will turn over to you in lieu of wages. It is worth many times what I owe you, but I feel that you should be rewarded for your faithfulness."
Loo Siang accepted the offer with alacrity and said, "I have one last request to make of you."
"Do not hesitate to speak," said the Mandarin, "for I am your friend."
"I wish you would make me a present of the slave, Lari Kim."
The Mandarin meditated. "After all, why not? She is but a broken flower and fast growing old."
"She is magnificent," breathed Loo Siang.
The Mandarin eyed him shrewdly. "You are right," he said. "She has a lovely body. Broadly speaking, age does not exist except in a bewitched mirror that causes snow to appear in the hair. Take her, and welcome, but I feel that I should be reimbursed for so great a loss. Would it be too much to ask you to grant me one day of your time each week to care for my garden in exchange for a girl of such perfection?"
And Loo Siang said, "Gladly do I agree."
Early the next morning, Loo Siang and Lari Kim set out afoot for the garden which was to be their home. They were accompanied by a representative of the Mandarin to show them the way. It was a distance of twelve li but neither Loo Siang nor his lady minded that. The sun stilled its heat so they might not suffer. A gentle breeze accompanied them and on the breeze floated the breath of flowers.
At last they arrived at the site of the new garden, a barren desolate wasteland. There was not a tree anywhere in sight. Once more Loo Siang had been tricked. This parched strip of desolation which would take a century to cultivate, was his. For this worthless heritage, he had given the best years of his life. Lari Kim put her soft arms about his shoulders.
"After all," she murmured, "I am still with you."
That afternoon they sat alone in the squalid hut which was the only habitation within miles. They had eaten the food which the servants of the Mandarin had packed for them. Until it was night they wandered over their domains. There was plenty of land, plenty of dead earth. It was a graveyard of hope.
"Something might be made of it," he mused, "if only there was a spring of fresh running water."
Even as he spoke, he noticed a small trickle of water breaking through the hard soil at his feet. With a cry of surprise, he fell upon his knees. With his bare hands he dug and pushed the soil away until the spring widened. For years Loo Siang had spoken to the earth as though it were his friend. Now as a wedding gift this spring was given unto him by the soil. Perhaps the spring had always been there and it needed but the help of human hands to break through. To Loo Siang there was nothing supernatural about its appearance. He prayed to many gods so it was not odd that one among them should answer his prayers.
That night the moon rose in a blaze of glory. It painted the hut with its silvery light until it seemed like a palace. And Loo Siang sat by the door of his house, holding Lari Kim in his arms, chanting love songs to the moon.
Hours later when the moon had set and blackness once more held the countryside in its grip, strange things began happening. It was the Black Night of Terror that has been told about in Chinese legend for a thousand years. The earth trembled as though it were spewing up poisons which it had swallowed and could not digest. Monstrous forms appeared upon the highways near Soochow. Men who beheld these frightful forms uttered shrieks and fled to their homes. All the terrors conceivable had broken loose that night. Merchants closed their shops and went to hidden places to pray to the gods for mercy. The wine taverns were deserted. Terror gripped the land. And all night long the highways were crowded by these silent, monstrous forms. It was not true as some believed that they were dragons. It was not true that they breathed forth fire. It was not true that they snatched up tiny men and women and devoured them as they strode along. All these things were partly imaginative. For all those dark, grim forms were really trees. That queer night of terror was caused by the march of the trees. They were marching from the garden of the Mandarin to the barren desolation which was the domain of Loo Siang. The trees refused to remain any longer in the garden of the Mandarin after their beloved gardener had gone. And as they strode along, in their branch arms they carried the flowers—orchids, roses, chrysanthemums and peonies—which were too fragile to make the journey afoot.
In the morning when Loo Siang and Lari Kim awakened, they were awed by the spectacle that met their vision. During the night their slumbers had been undisturbed because the wind blew all noise away from them. The wind guarded their sleep.
Loo Siang walked along the flower paths. He recognized every tree, every flower that nodded to him as he approached. He knew that all these flowers and trees had come from the garden of the Mandarin, nor was he surprised, for to him every flower, every tree was a vital, living, breathing friend.
And he took Lari Kim in his arms and said, "The gods have been good to us."
But in the palace of the Mandarin utter consternation reigned. All night he had lain in terror, surrounded by his women, pleading to unknown forces that his life might be spared. But now it was morning and he was still unharmed. His cringing courage returned to him. He stalked into the garden.
It was a frightful sight. Not a tree, not a bush, not a flower remained. He could not believe his eyes. He summoned every one of his thousand women. Not till each of them had corroborated the fact that the garden was empty was he willing to give credence to it. But where had the trees gone?
Then from one of his spies came word that all the trees now flourished in the desert garden of Loo Siang. The Mandarin did not stop to consider how they had gotten there. He was engulfed by fury. His face was purple. He summoned his carriers and climbed into his sedan chair.
When he reached the garden of Loo Siang, the gardner met him, bowing profusely. His face bore a bland expression.
"Where are my trees?" cried Zok Tsung.
Loo Siang extended his arms. The trees were all in the same relative positions that they had held in the Mandarin's garden. When the march of the trees had ended, each tree had dug its feet once more into the soil for a long, long period of rest.
"I shall have your life for this!" cried the Mandarin. "In this land my power is absolute. You shall be destroyed."
Loo Siang gazed at the choleric Mandarin and smiled. The gods were on his side. His friends were the trees, the flowers, the sun, the soil and the wind. With these as allies in the approaching fight, what had he to fear? All the Mandarin had was pomp, the power of position, men and money. It would be an unequal battle.
And Loo Siang said slowly, "For twenty years I was your slave, taking your orders, a victim of your treachery and trickery. Now things are slightly changed. Here, I am the master. It is now my turn to give orders. Get out of my garden!"
The Mandarin was speechless. He was fat and flabby. He was not a match for Loo Siang in personal combat. He regretted that he had left his four carriers outside on the road.
"Remember," he thundered, "though I go now, I shall return."
It was a vain boast for even as he left the garden, a tree fell upon him and he was killed.
Throughout Soochow there was little sorrowing for the Mandarin, Zok Tsung. And among all his thousand slave girls, not one wept.
