Chapter XV
Hung Long Tom read the book to Scobee and many of the pages they almost committed to memory. Never had Scobee run across a travel book that was more alluring. Here are a few sentences from it chosen at random: "It will hardly be credited by those who have never visited a hill country in the tropics, that soon after sunrise the noise of awakening beetles and tree-loving insects is so great as to drown the bellowing of a bull, or the roar of a tiger a few paces off. The sound resembles most nearly the metallic whirr of a hundred Bradford looms. . . . Even in China we find red a token of rejoicing (the bridal costume), while over India and China, and all Buddhist countries, the sacred priestly robes are yellow; and with a number of the races of India and Indo-China the yellow golden skin is esteemed the highest attribute of female beauty. . . . Should any warm-hearted bachelor wish, he might furnish himself with a pretty and attractive-looking wife from among the daughters of that sunny clime; but let him make no long stay there if indisposed to marry, unless he can defy the witchery of soft dark eyes, of raven tresses, and of sylph-like forms. It is a spot where leisure seems to sit at every man's doorway; drowsy as the placid sea, and idle as the huge palms, whose broad leaves nod above the old weather-beaten smug-looking houses."
The book contained 546 pages but even so Scobee and Hung Long Tom found it too short. Henry Lansdell's book, although not so picturesque in description, was interesting because it told about inland China.
"We may never get far into the interior of China," said Hung Long Tom, "but it is well that you familiarize yourself with the country and its people. The Gobi Desert is one of the dreariest and most interesting regions in the world. According to legend which present-day exploration is proving true, notably that of Roy Chapman Andrews, huge monsters once lived in this region with such enormous appetites that they denuded the country of all vegetation. It is the cradle of life for if man were created from dust and must return to dust when life is finished, then how much of finished life must be in that swirling desert dust."
He recounted all sorts of odd things about China, that land of four thousand years of culture. How the Chinaman loves birds. How he makes pets of almost every conceivable type of bird although the most well-bred are fondest of canaries. Doves, too, are raised in abundance. The magpie is liked because it is such a rogue. But the owl is not popular. It is a wicked bird, known for its treachery. It brings illness, often death.
Hung Long Tom told Scobee the story of embroidery which was invented in the early ages of China by the Empress Hsi Ling-shih. She it was who first raised silkworms commercially and invented the loom. It is said that some of her embroideries were so beautiful the very blossoms she embroidered gave forth perfume; the buds unfolded and at the approach of frost the petals fell to the earth. It is no wonder that the Chinese consider her a goddess and worship her yearly at a colorful festival.
But best of all the customs which Hung Long Tom told about was the Chinese love of gardens. There is no house too small to have a bit of a garden or at least a potted plant. Although when famine grips the land as happens only too frequently there are some who cannot even afford a single blossom. When one is too poor to purchase even a few parched grains of rice, miserable indeed is one's lot. Yet probably a million people die every year in China of starvation. There have been millions of people who in the course of a lifetime never were without the gnawing pangs of hunger. Think of it! Not once in a lifetime to have a square meal. There is no nation in the world that depends more abjectly upon the soil for life. Yet year after year, in many provinces, the crops fail. China has been built up on poetry, starvation, dreams, suffering. No wonder all Chinamen are fatalists.
"A Chinaman," said Hung Long Tom, "is never straightforward in his manner. He tries to hide the real motive for his visit and gets to the point in a devious roundabout way. But he is trustworthy in his dealings with men. An oral contract with him is binding. He never tries to escape from it because it is not in written form. You see so long have I been away from China, I can view my countrymen in a detached way, almost through western eyes. Much has the Chinaman learned on his long trek through history. He knows that it is well to keep one's face blank and expressionless so that no man may fathom what is in one's thoughts. He hides a shrewd mind behind liquid eyes. Often his manner is almost infantile. You must infer most of his meanings for he will not explain them to you. Only those with keen imagination ever grow to understand a Chinaman. Pomp and ceremony are attractive to him. He is a discerning observer, a lover of poetry and old classics. Therefore his descriptive powers are vivid. He is slow to grasp an idea. A coolie must be given the same instruction a dozen times before he understands it But once learned it is not soon forgotten. He is hazy in thought, often the result of over-indulgence in samshu or opium. It has been said that no matter how well you know a Chinaman he is still surprising, due perhaps to his complex, credulous nature. Although he is of strong character, he believes everything. Truthfulness is not considered by him to be a virtue, nor should it be since truth does not exist in the Orient. As a matter of fact he looks on lying as clever. The most proficient liars are the noblest men. But he never defaults in payment at a bank. If he dies possessed of debts his son or brother will assume them. His mind works in a veiled fascinating way. He is not thorough. His enthusiasm seldom lasts until a task is done. Always slovenly, he finishes good work in a slipshod manner. From infancy his existence remains languid. He never bothers about time. There is always tomorrow. He is sober, measured, totally lacking in nerves and seems to think he has all eternity to finish what he is doing. He stands pain wonderfully, toils endlessly, accomplishes little but always a placid look remains upon his face like a dozing Buddha. In his philosophy he leads the world. Some of his proverbs have never been equalled. 'Tens of years,' he has written, 'are required to raise a harvest of trees, but hundreds of years are required to raise a crop of men.'"