Lu Xun Complete Works/en/Changming deng
The Eternal Lamp
On a cloudy spring afternoon, the air in the sole teahouse of Jiguang Village was tense once more. In people's ears there seemed to linger a faint, weighted sound: "Blow it out!"
But of course not everyone in the village felt this way. The inhabitants here seldom ventured out; the slightest movement required consulting the almanac to see if it read "Inadvisable to travel." And if nothing of the sort was written, one still had to walk first toward the God of Fortune to court good luck. The only ones who sat in the teahouse without regard for such taboos were a few young men who fancied themselves broad-minded — though in the eyes of the stay-at-homes, every one of them was a good-for-nothing.
So it was merely the air in this teahouse that was somewhat tense.
"Still at it?" asked Triangle Face, lifting his tea bowl.
"So I hear," said Squarehead. "Still going on about 'blow it out, blow it out.' And his eyes are getting wilder. Damn it! He's a menace to our whole village — don't take it lightly. We ought to find a way to get rid of him!"
"Get rid of him — as if that were any great matter. He's nothing but a... what sort of creature! When the temple was built, his grandfather donated money, and now he wants to blow out the Eternal Lamp. Isn't that the mark of a degenerate? We should haul him before the county magistrate for filial impiety!" Kuoting clenched his fist and struck the table, speaking with great indignation. The tilted lid of a tea bowl went "clink" and flipped over.
"That won't work. To file charges of filial impiety, you'd need his parents or maternal uncle to bring the case..." said Squarehead.
"Unfortunately he only has a paternal uncle..." Kuoting deflated at once.
"Kuoting!" Squarehead called out suddenly. "How was your luck at cards yesterday?"
Kuoting stared at him for a moment without answering. The fat-faced Zhuang Qiguang had already raised his voice and begun to bluster:
"If the lamp goes out, what's left of our Jiguang Village? It'll be the end of us, won't it? Don't all the old folk say: this lamp was lit by Emperor Wu of Liang and has burned ever since, never once going out — not even during the Taiping Rebellion...? Just look — tsk — doesn't that flame glow a luminous green? Even travelers passing through stop to admire it... Tsk, how fine... And now he makes this kind of trouble — what does he mean by it...?"
"He's gone mad, hasn't he? You didn't know?" said Squarehead with a somewhat contemptuous air.
"Hmph, aren't you clever!" Zhuang Qiguang's face went greasy.
"I think we should try the old trick again and fool him," said Auntie Gray, proprietress and sole worker of the establishment. She had been listening from the side, but seeing the conversation drift from her topic of concern, she hurried to cut short the bickering and steer things back to the matter at hand.
"What old trick?" Zhuang Qiguang asked in surprise.
"He had a fit once before, exactly like this one. His father was still alive then, and he tricked him — cured him just like that."
"Tricked him how? I never heard of it!" Zhuang Qiguang asked with even greater surprise.
"How would you have? You were all little brats then, good for nothing but sucking milk and filling your pants. Even I was different in those days. You should have seen my hands — so soft and rosy..."
"You're still soft and rosy..." said Squarehead.
"Shut your mouth!" Auntie Gray laughed with furious eyes. "Stop talking rubbish. Let's be serious. He was young then too. His old man had a touch of the madness himself. The story goes: One day his grandfather took him into the village temple and told him to bow to the Earth God, the Plague General, and the Spirit Officer Wang. But he got frightened and refused to kneel and ran out — and from then on he was a bit strange. Then it was just like now: he'd talk to everyone he met about blowing out the Eternal Lamp in the main hall. He said that once it was out, there would be no more locusts, no more disease — as though it were the most momentous undertaking in the world. Probably some evil spirit had got into him and was afraid of the righteous deities. If it were us, would we be afraid of the Earth God? Isn't your tea getting cold? Add some hot water. — Right. So then he charged in himself to blow it out. But his father loved him too dearly to lock him up. And then, didn't the whole village rise up in indignation and go make a row at his father's door? But nothing worked — fortunately my late husband was still alive then, and he thought of something: he wrapped the Eternal Lamp in a thick cotton quilt, pitch dark, and led him to look, saying it had already been blown out."
"Ah, what an idea — you'd have to hand it to him," sighed Triangle Face, in deepest admiration.
"Why all this fuss?" said Kuoting furiously. "This sort of creature — beat him to death and have done with it, pah!"
"You can't do that!" She looked at him in alarm and hastily waved her hands. "You can't do that! Wasn't his grandfather an official who held the seal of office?"
Kuoting and the others exchanged dismayed glances and had to admit that, apart from the "late husband's" brilliant scheme, they truly could think of nothing.
"And after that he was cured!" she continued, wiping some white foam from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and spoke even faster. "After that he was perfectly fine! From then on he never set foot in the temple again and never brought up any of it, for many years. I don't know why, just a few days after seeing the procession this time, he's gone mad again. Exactly the same as before. This afternoon he passed by here — he must have gone to the temple again. Go talk it over with the Fourth Master and trick him once more. Wasn't the lamp lit by Liang Wudi? Don't they say that if the lamp goes out, this whole place will turn into a sea, and we'll all turn into loaches? Go quickly and talk to the Fourth Master, otherwise..."
"Let's go have a look at the temple first," said Squarehead, and strode grandly out the door.
Kuoting and Zhuang Qiguang followed. Triangle Face went last, and when he reached the door, he turned back and said:
"Put it on my tab this time! Son of a..."
Auntie Gray assented, walked to the east wall, picked up a piece of charcoal, and beneath a small triangle and a row of short thin lines already drawn on the wall, added two more strokes.
When they caught sight of the village temple, they did indeed see several people: one was him, two were idle onlookers, and three were children.
But the temple gate was shut tight.
"Good! The gate's still closed," said Kuoting happily.
As they drew near, the children seemed to take heart as well and pressed closer. He, who had been standing facing the temple gate, turned around to look at them.
He looked the same as ever: a yellow, square face and a tattered blue cotton gown. Only beneath his thick brows, in his large, elongated eyes, there was a strange glint. When he looked at someone, he did not blink for a long time, and his gaze was always filled with indignation, sorrow, suspicion, and dread. On his short hair stuck two pieces of straw — the children must have secretly placed them there from behind, for after glancing at his head, they all hunched their shoulders, laughed, and stuck out their tongues with lightning speed.
They stood still, each looking at the others' faces.
"What are you doing here?" But Triangle Face finally stepped forward and challenged him.
"I'm asking Old Hei to open the door," he said in a low, gentle voice. "Because that lamp must be blown out. Look — the three-headed, six-armed blue faces, the three-eyed ones, the ones with the tall hats, the half-heads, the ox-heads and the ones with pig's teeth — they should all be blown out... blown out. If we blow them out, we'll have no more locusts, no more swine-snout plague..."
"Haha, nonsense!" Kuoting laughed contemptuously. "If you blow out the lamp, the locusts will be even worse, and you yourself will catch the swine-snout plague!"
"Haha!" Zhuang Qiguang laughed along.
A bare-chested boy raised the reed he had been playing with, took aim at him, opened his cherry-like little mouth, and cried:
"Bang!"
"Just go home! Otherwise your uncle will break every bone in your body! The lamp — I'll blow it out for you. Come back in a few days and see for yourself." Kuoting spoke loudly.
His eyes blazed even brighter, and he fixed Kuoting's eyes like nails, forcing Kuoting's gaze to retreat in haste.
"You'll blow it out?" He smiled as if in mockery, but then said firmly: "No! I don't need you. I'll put it out myself, right now!"
Kuoting went limp at once, as feeble as after sobering up from a binge. But Squarehead had already stepped forward and said slowly:
"You've always been a sensible man, but this time you're really too muddled. Let me explain things to you — perhaps you'll understand. Even if you blow out the lamp, won't those things still be there? Don't be so thickheaded — go home! Go to sleep!"
"I know they'll still be there, even if I put it out," he said, and suddenly a dark smile flickered across his face, but he immediately composed himself and spoke gravely: "But for the time being, this is all I can do. I'll start with this — it's easier. I'm going to blow it out — blow it out myself!" As he spoke, he turned and pushed against the temple gate with all his might.
"Hey!" Kuoting was furious. "Don't you belong to this village? Do you want us all to turn into loaches? Go back! You can't open it — you've got no way of opening it! You can't blow it out! Just go home!"
"I won't go back! I want to blow it out!"
"You can't! You've got no way to open it!"
"..."
"You've got no way to open it!"
"Then I'll use other means," he said, turning to glance at them, and spoke calmly.
"Hmph, let's see what other means you've got."
"..."
"Let's see what other means you've got!"
"I'll set fire to it."
"What?" Kuoting thought he had misheard.
"I'll set fire to it!"
The silence was like the toll of a temple bell, trembling with its dying echoes — every living thing around them froze within it. But before long, several people put their heads together, and before long, they had all drawn back; two or three stopped again at some distance. From behind the rear wall of the temple came the voice of Zhuang Qiguang:
"Old Hei! Listen! You must keep the temple gate locked tight! Old Hei, do you hear? Locked tight! We'll think of something and come back!"
But he seemed to pay no attention to anything else; with feverishly glittering eyes he searched the ground, the air, the people's bodies — as though looking for tinder.
After Squarehead and Kuoting had shuttled in and out of several front doors, the whole of Jiguang Village was thrown into commotion. In many ears and hearts there now lived a terrifying word: "Fire!" But naturally there were still quite a few deeper stay-at-homes whose ears and hearts were wholly untouched. And yet the air over the entire village had grown taut, and all who felt the tension were deeply uneasy, as though they themselves were about to turn into loaches and the world was coming to an end. They knew vaguely, of course, that only Jiguang would be destroyed, but Jiguang felt to them like the whole world.
The nerve center of this affair soon converged in Fourth Master's sitting room. On the seat of honor sat the venerable Guo Laowa, whose face was as wrinkled as a dried orange. He stroked the white beard on his chin with one hand, as though trying to pull it out.
"This morning," he released his beard and spoke slowly, "over on the west side — Old Fu had a stroke — and his son says it's because — the Earth God — is disturbed. If this goes on — and in the future — should there be any — unrest among chickens and dogs — people will inevitably come to — your door... Yes, everything will come back to your door. Trouble."
"I see," said Fourth Master, stroking the salt-and-pepper catfish whiskers on his upper lip, looking perfectly unperturbed, as though none of this concerned him. "That's the retribution for his father, isn't it. Didn't his father himself refuse to believe in the gods when he was alive? I never got along with him, but there was nothing I could do about him. And now — what can I possibly do?"
"I think — there is only — one way. Yes, one way. Tomorrow — tie him up and take him to the city — and put him in the — the City God Temple — for the night. Yes, one night. To drive out — the evil spirits."
Kuoting and Squarehead, on the merit of having guarded the whole village, not only entered this rarely glimpsed sitting room for the first time but were seated below Laowa and above Fourth Master, and were even served tea. They had followed Laowa in, given their report, and then simply drunk tea. When their cups were drained, they said nothing. But now Kuoting suddenly spoke up:
"That's too slow! Those two are still watching over him. The urgent thing is what to do right now. If he really sets fire to it..."
Guo Laowa started, his jaw trembling.
"If he really sets fire to it..." Squarehead chimed in.
"Then," Kuoting said loudly, "we're done for!"
A yellow-haired girl came in and poured fresh tea. Kuoting fell silent, immediately picked up his bowl and drank. His whole body gave a shudder; he set it down, licked his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, removed the lid, and blew on it with a hiss.
"What a burden he is!" Fourth Master tapped the table lightly with his hand. "A descendant like that — he deserves to die! Alas!"
"Indeed he does," said Kuoting, raising his head. "Last year, in the neighboring hamlets, they beat one to death — that kind of descendant. Everyone swore with one voice that they had all struck simultaneously, at the same moment, and no one could tell who dealt the first blow — and afterward, nothing came of it."
"That was a different matter," said Squarehead. "This time — those two are watching over him. We need to think of something fast. I think..."
Laowa and Fourth Master both looked solemnly at his face.
"I think: we'd best lock him up for the time being."
"That would indeed be a sound plan," said Fourth Master with a slight nod.
"Sound!" said Kuoting.
"That would — indeed — be a sound — plan," said Laowa. "Let us — now — drag him over to your house. And you — must quickly — prepare — a room. And — get — a lock."
"A room?" Fourth Master tilted his head back, thought for a moment, and said: "In my humble house there is no such spare room. And who knows when he might recover..."
"Use — his — own..." said Laowa.
"My Sixth Shun," said Fourth Master, suddenly solemn and sorrowful, his voice trembling slightly. "Is to marry in the autumn... You see, he's already this old, and all he can do is act insane — he won't settle down and make a life. My younger brother lived out his whole life, and even if he wasn't always the most proper man — the family line must never be allowed to die out..."
"Of course not!" the three said in unison.
"When Sixth Shun has a son, I was thinking the second one could be adopted to him. But — can you simply take another person's child for nothing?"
"Of course you can't!" the three said in unison.
"That tumbledown room has nothing to do with me; Sixth Shun doesn't care about it either. But to give away one's own flesh and blood for nothing — would a mother really agree so easily?"
"Of course not!" the three said in unison.
Fourth Master fell silent. The three men glanced at each other's faces.
"I hope every day that he'll get better," said Fourth Master after the brief silence, speaking slowly, "but he never does. Or rather — it's not that he can't get better, it's that he refuses to. There's nothing to be done. Then we'll just lock him up, as this gentleman suggested — to keep him from causing harm and disgracing his father — perhaps that would actually be right, perhaps it would honor his father..."
"Of course," said Kuoting, moved. "But the room..."
"Isn't there a spare room in the temple?" Fourth Master asked unhurriedly.
"Yes!" Kuoting exclaimed, suddenly enlightened. "Yes! The room to the left just inside the main gate is empty, and it has only a small square window with thick wooden bars — there's no way to pry them open. Perfect!"
Laowa and Squarehead also brightened at once; Kuoting breathed a sigh of relief, pursed his lips, and drank his tea.
Before dusk had fully fallen, all was well with the world — or rather, everything had already been forgotten. People's faces showed not only no tension but had already shed every trace of their earlier elation. Before the temple there were naturally more footprints than on an ordinary day, but these too soon grew scarce. Only because the gate had been shut for several days and the children had been unable to go inside to play, they found playing in the yard particularly entertaining that day. Even after supper, several of them ran to the temple to play and guess riddles.
"Guess," said the biggest one. "I'll say it once more: White-sailed boat, red oar, row to the other shore and rest a spell, eat a few treats, sing a scene of opera."
"What could that be? 'Red oar'?" said a girl.
"Let me tell you — it's..."
"Wait!" said the boy with the scabby head. "I've got it — a ferry."
"A ferry," echoed the bare-chested one.
"Ha, a ferry?" said the biggest. "Ferries are rowed with sculls. Can a ferry sing opera? You can't guess it. Let me tell you..."
"Wait," the scabby-headed boy persisted.
"Hmph, you can't get it. Let me tell you — it's: a goose."
"A goose!" the girl said, laughing. "'Red oar'..."
"But then why 'white-sailed boat'?" asked the bare-chested one.
"I'll set fire to it!"
The children all started, instantly remembered him, and stared as one at the west chamber. There they saw a hand gripping the wooden bars, another hand tearing at the bark of the wood; between them, two eyes gleaming and flashing.
The silence lasted only an instant. The scabby-headed boy let out a cry and bolted. The rest ran after him, laughing and shouting. The bare-chested one pointed his reed backward, and from his panting, cherry-like little mouth came a clear, crisp cry:
"Bang!"
After that, all was utterly still. Dusk descended, and the luminous green Eternal Lamp shone ever more distinctly upon the gods' hall and the shrine, its light falling into the courtyard and into the darkness behind the wooden bars.
The children stopped outside the temple and stood still, took each other by the hand, and walked slowly homeward. All were smiling, singing together a song they made up on the spot:
"White-sailed boat, rest on the other shore. Blow it out now, blow it out yourself. Sing a scene of opera. I'll set fire to it! Ha ha ha! Fire, fire, fire — eat a few treats. Sing a scene of opera. ... ... ..."
March 1, 1925