Chapter 10 No.10

My Dear One,

We have been to a great festival at the Temple of the Goddess of a

Thousand Hands. Thine Honourable Mother decided that we should go

by boat part of the way, so the chairs were told to meet us at the

Western Village Rest-house.

We hired from the city one of those great pleasure-boats, but it was

not too great for us all. There was the August One, and four of her

friends, then Li-ti, Mah-li and myself. We took the cook, the steward

and three amahs, and it was indeed a time of feasting. It was the first

time I had been upon the canal, and it was different from seeing it

from the terrace. As we passed slowly along we could watch the life

of the water people. On the banks were the great water-wheels turned

by the village buffalo. In the deserted districts women were gathering

reeds to make the sleeping mats and boat covers. The villages with

their blue-grey houses and thatched roofs nestling among the groves

of bamboos looked like chicklets sheltering under the outstretched

wings of the mother hen.

We pushed our way through the crowded water-ways of the cities,

where we could catch glimpses of the guests in the tea-houses or the

keepers of the shops, or could watch the children leaning over the

balconies. On the steps between the houses which led to the

waterside women were washing clothes, or the dyers were cleansing

the extra dye from the blue cotton which clothes all China's poor. We

caught small bits of gossip and heard the laughter of all these people,

who seemed happy at their work.

When we could again pass to the open canal we would watch the

boats. I did not know there were so many boats in all the world. They

floated slowly past us-- big boats, little boats, those that went by sail,

and those that went by oar. There were the boats of mandarins and

merchants, those for passengers, and great unwieldy boats for rice.

We saw the fishing-boats with their hungry, fierce-eyed cormorants

sitting quietly in their places, waiting for the master to send them

diving in the water for the fish they may not eat.

The canal was a great broad highway. Even the tow-paths had their

patrons. Travellers on wheelbarrows, rich men in sedan-chairs,

soldiers, coolies, chanting as they swung along with their burdens

swinging from the bamboo on their shoulders, all going to or coming

from the great city to which we drew nearer with each stroke.

At the rest-house the bearers were awaiting us, and we were carried

up the long paved roadway to the temple. It seemed as if all the world

had turned to praying-- all the women world, that is. They were here,

rich and poor, peasant and official's wife, but in the temple all of a

sisterhood. We descended from our chairs in the courtyard and put

our spirit money in the great burner, where it ascended in tiny flames

side by side with that of the beggar woman, to the great God in the

Heavens. We entered the temple, placed our candles, and lighted our

incense. We made our obeisance to the Many-handed Goddess and

asked her blessing on our household for the year to come. Then I

went to the Mother of Mercies, Kwan-yin, and made my deepest

reverence, because for her my heart is full of love and gratitude. The

other Gods I respect and make them all due worship, but, I feel they

are far away from me. Kwan-yin, is the woman's God, and I feel her

love for me. She shapes my way, and I know it is to her I owe it that

my life flows on as a gentle stream, and I know that she cares for me

and guards me now that thou art away and I have no one on whom to

lean. When I go before her all fire of passion is extinguished in my

heart, and my troubles and cares pass away and become small in the

distance, even as the light of the morning stars pales and wanes at

the coming of the sun. My heart is full of love for her, of a love that I

cannot express. She has heard my prayers and answered them. She

is my Kwan-yin, my Mother of Mercy, and each day I do some little

deed for her, some little thing to show remembrance, so she will know

the hours are not too full nor the days too short for me to place my

offering on an altar built of love.

As we turned to leave the temple I glanced back at the great dark

chamber and I saw the God of Light, the Buddha, sitting there so

calm upon his throne, with the light of many candles before him and

clouds of incense that floated to the roof. I thought, "He is all-powerful.

I only prayed to him from out my lips, not with my heart. Perhaps--"

So I returned. I prayed the mighty God with humble prayer to bring my

loved one swiftly home to me; and then we left the temple. We walked

slowly through the courtyards, looking at the great trees that stood

like tall, grim sentinels guarding the place of prayer. Then we were

taken by our bearers to the Goldfish Monastery in the hills. Dost thou

remember it? Thou and I were there once in the springtime.

We bought the small round cakes from the priests and fed the greedy

fish. They swarmed over the pool, pushing, nudging, fighting one

another to get the morsels we threw them. Tiring of that, we had tea

and sweetmeats served upon the terrace; then, after chatting for a

time, we left for the boat. We drifted slowly homeward. Thy Mother

and her friends discussed the earth, the moon, the sun and stars, as

well as smaller matters, such as children, husbands, servants,

schools-- and upon the last thy Mother waxed most eloquent; as thou

knowest, it is a sore subject with her, this matter of the new

education. I heard her say: "All my sons have book knowledge. Of

what use is it in the end? The cock crows and the dog barks. We

know that, but the wisest of my sons cannot say why one crows and

the other barks, nor why they crow or bark at all." Canst thou hear

her, and see her shake her head dolefully over the dismal fact that

thou hast left the narrow way of Confucius and the classics?

We came to the pathway just at sunset, and as I looked up at the old

palace a little hurt came to my heart that thou wert not close by my

side. It lay so peaceful there and quiet, the curving roofs like flights of

doves who had settled down with their wings not yet quite folded. It

brought remembrance that for me it was an empty palace. I will see

no one-- as Li-ti will-- within the archway.

Thy Wife Who Loves Thee.