บทที่ บทที่ 7 · THE WINE WORM

. THE WINE WORM

I

It was the hottest it had been for years. On every hand the roof tiles

of the stone-floored houses reflected the sunlight dully like lead, and

it seemed that, if this kept up, the little swallows and eggs in the

nests under them must be steamed to death. In addition, in every field,

the hemp and millet plants all hung their heads limply in the radiation

from the soil, and there was not one, though they were still green,

that did not droop. And the sky above the fields, probably because of

the hot weather, seemed dull, although the sun was shining bright, and

cloud masses floated here and there like bits of rice cake puffed up in

an earthen pan. This story of the wine worm begins with three men out

deliberately on a blistering flailing floor under the burning sun.

Strange to say, one of them not only was lying naked on his back on the

ground, but, for some reason or other, had his hands and his feet bound

up in a long cord. However, he seemed not to be greatly troubled about

it. He was a short and sanguine man, fat as a pig, who somehow gave an

impression of dullness. An unglazed jar of moderate size stood by his

head, but it was impossible to say what was in it.

The second was a man in a yellow robe with little rings of bronze in

his ears, who at a glance was recognizable as an eccentric Buddhist

priest. From his exceptionally dark skin and his frizzled hair and

beard, he seemed certainly to be from west of T’sung-ling. He had for

some time been moving a whip of long white hairs with a red handle

patiently back and forth to drive away the horse-flies and common

house-flies that swarmed about the naked man, but now seeming naturally

to have grown a little tired, he had come to the unglazed jar and was

squatting solemnly beside it like a turkey cock.

The remaining man was standing under the eaves of a thatched house in a

corner of the flailing floor far from the other two. He had on the tip

of his chin a mere excuse for a beard like a rat’s tail and was dressed

in a long black gown reaching to the ground, tied with an untidily

knotted brown sash. Since he now and then fanned himself importantly

with a fan of white feathers, he was, of course, a Confucian scholar or

something of the kind.

All three held their tongues as if by agreement. Moreover they did not

even move freely, and it seemed as if, deeply interested in something

that was about to happen, they were all holding their breath.

It seemed to be just noon. Not a dog’s bark was to be heard, doubtless

because the dogs were all taking their midday naps. The hemp and millet

plants around the flailing floor stood still and motionless, with their

green leaves shining in the sunlight. In all the sky beyond them, a

sultry mist floated stiflingly hot, and it seemed that even the cloud

masses were gasping for breath in this drought. As far as eye could

see, the only things that seemed to be alive were these three men. And

they kept silent like the clay figures in the shrines of Kwanti.

Of course this is not a Japanese story. It is an account of what

happened one summer’s day on the flailing floor of a man named Liu at

Changshan in China.

II

The man who lay naked under the blazing sun was the owner of the

flailing floor, Liu Tai-cheng, one of the prominent rich men of

Changshan. His only pleasure was drinking, and all day long he and his

cup were practically inseparable. And since “he drank up a jar of wine

every time he helped himself,” he was no ordinary drinker. But as has

already been intimated, he owned “three hundred acres of rich suburban

fields, of which one half was planted to millet,” there was no fear

whatever of his drinking playing havoc with his fortune.

And the reason he was lying naked in the hot sun was this: That day as

Liu leaned on a Dutch wife of bamboo in an airy room playing checkers

with Master Sun, one of his fellow tipplers (the Confucian scholar with

the white fan), a little girl servant had come to him and said,

“A priest who says he’s from Pao Chang S’su or some such temple has

just come and says he must see you. What shall I do?”

“What? Pao Chang S’su?” said Liu, and he blinked his little eyes as

if dazzled; then raising his hot-looking fat body, he said, “Well,

then, show him in here.” Then glancing at Master Sun, he added, “It’s

probably that priest.”

The priest of Pao Chang S’su was a mountain priest from Hsisu. He

was famous in the neighborhood for his healing ability and the

administering of aphrodisiacs. For instance, there were afloat many all

but miraculous rumors of the sudden change for the better of this man’s

amaurosis or of the immediate recovery of that man from sterility. Both

Liu and Sun had heard these rumors. On what errand could this mountain

priest have deliberately called at Liu’s? Of course Liu himself had not

the least recollection of ever having sent for him.

You should know that Liu was not at all such a man as to be pleased

at the arrival of a caller. But if, when he had one guest, another

came, he usually received him quite gladly. This was because he had a

childish vanity that we may even say made him proud to have one visitor

in the presence of another. Moreover, this mountain priest was highly

spoken of everywhere at that time. He was by no means a visitor to be

ashamed of. The motives that moved Liu to say he would see him lay for

the greater part in such considerations.

“I wonder what he wants.”

“Well, he’s a beggar. He’ll probably ask for alms.”

The visitor who was shown in by the little girl servant while the two

were talking was a grotesque Buddhist priest, tall and with eyes like

amethysts. He was in a yellow robe, and his frizzly hair hung down over

his shoulders troublesomely. With his red-handled fly-whisk in his

hand, he stood ungainly in the center of the room. He neither made any

sign of greeting nor opened his mouth.

Liu waited for a little, but meanwhile somehow becoming uneasy, he

asked,

“Is there something you want with me?”

Then the mountain priest said, “You’re the man, aren’t you? The one

that’s fond of wine?”

“Uh,” said Liu vaguely, the question being so sudden, and he looked at

Master Sun as if asking help. That worthy was coolly placing men on the

checker board all by himself. He showed no signs of taking any notice.

“You’re suffering from a strange disease. Do you know that?” said the

mountain priest emphatically.

At the word “disease,” Liu looked dubious and, stroking his Dutch wife

of bamboo, said,

“Disease, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“No, not since my infancy--,” Liu began, when the bonze interrupted him.

“You never get drunk when you drink, do you?”

Staring at the priest’s face, Liu closed his mouth. In truth, however

much he drank, this man had never been drunk.

“That proves it’s a disease,” said the mountain priest, and then,

smiling a little, he added, “There’s a wine worm in your belly. Unless

you get rid of it, you’ll never get well. I’ve come to cure you.”

“Can you?” asked Liu involuntarily in an uncertain voice. Then he was

ashamed of it himself.

“That’s just why I’ve come.”

Then Sun, who up till now had sat silently listening to the dialogue,

put in a word.

“Will you use some sort of medicine?”

“No, there’s no need to use medicine,” answered the mountain priest

curtly.

Master Sun had always despised both Buddhism and Taoism almost beyond

reason. So when he was with Taoist or Buddhist priests he seldom

talked. The reason he now suddenly spoke was that his interest was

aroused by the name, “wine worm,” for when he heard it, being fond of

wine himself, he grew a little uneasy lest there might be such a worm

in his own belly. But when he heard the mountain priest’s grudging

answer, he felt as if he had been made a fool of and, frowning, began

to place the men silently on the board again. And at the same time, he

began to feel in his own mind that his host Liu was a fool ever to have

seen such an arrogant priest.

Of course Liu payed no attention.

“Then will you use a needle?”

“No, it’s easier than that.”

“Then is it magic?”

“No, it’s not magic either.”

After this little colloquy, the mountain priest briefly explained the

treatment. According to his explanation, the only thing necessary was

to strip naked and remain motionless in the sunshine. This seemed to

Liu very easy. If he could be cured that easily, nothing could be

better than to have himself cured. Moreover, though unconsciously, he

had a little curiosity to see how it would feel to be cured by this

mountain priest.

So at last, making a little bow with his head, he said,

“Then please just cure me once.”

Thus Liu came to be lying naked in the broiling sun on the flailing

floor.

And as the mountain priest said that he must not move, he was all wound

round with a cord. Then one of Liu’s servants was ordered to bring an

unglazed jar with wine in it and put it near Liu’s head. Of course,

since he happened to be present, it was decided that Master Sun, his

good drinking companion, should remain in attendance at this curious

cure.

No one except the mountain priest knew what a wine worm was, or what

would happen when it was no longer in the stomach, or what the jar

by Liu’s head was for. Then you may think that Liu lying out in the

burning heat naked without knowing what he was doing was a stupid

fellow, but ordinary people receiving a school education are really

doing very much the same sort of thing.

III

It was hot. Sweat came out on his forehead little by little, and no

sooner would it form into beads than they would suddenly run warmly

into his eyes. Unfortunately, being tied up with the cord, he of course

could not wipe them away with his hands. Then he tried to change their

course by moving his head, but the effort made him feel as if he was

going to be violently dizzy, so he regretfully gave up this plan, too.

Meanwhile the sweat, without the least ceremony, wet his eyelids, and

going around his nose and mouth, ran down under his chin. It was

extremely disagreeable.

Until then, he had kept his eyes open blinking at the scorching white

sky and the field of hemp with its drooping leaves, but after the sweat

began to run profusely, he was obliged to give up even that. Then Liu

became aware for the first time that when sweat gets into the eyes, it

smarts. So closing his eyes meekly with the expression of a sheep about

to be slaughtered, he steadfastly let himself be burned by the sun, and

now all over his face and body, every inch of skin on the side that was

up began little by little to pain. Over the whole surface of his skin,

a force was at work trying to move in every direction, but the skin

itself had not an iota of elasticity. So to say that he was one big

smart probably best describes his pain. The sweat was nothing compared

to this pain. Liu regretted a little that he had submitted himself to

the mountain priest’s treatment.

But considered afterwards, this was still one of the less painful

parts. While it was going on, he began to feel thirsty. He knew that

Tsao Mêng-tê or somebody had once quenched his soldiers’ thirst by

telling them that there was a plum orchard ahead of them. But no matter

how hard he thought of the sweet sourness of plums, he felt just as

thirsty as ever. He tried moving his chin and biting his tongue, but

his mouth remained as feverish as ever. And it would certainly have

been somewhat easier for him to bear had the unglazed jar not been

sitting by his head. But from the mouth of the jar, the sweet fragrance

of the wine assaulted his nose incessantly. Moreover, perhaps because

of his state of mind, he even felt the fragrance of the wine growing

stronger and stronger every minute. Thinking that at least he would

have a look at the jar, he raised his eyes. Rolling them up, he saw the

mouth of the jar and the upper half of its generously bulging side.

This was all he saw with his eyes, but at the same time there floated

into his imagination the brimming golden wine in its shadowy interior.

Unconsciously he licked his chapped lips once around with his parched

tongue, but there was not the least indication of any saliva. Even the

sweat, dried up by the sun, now ceased to flow.

Then followed in succession two or three severe attacks of dizziness.

His head had ached incessantly for some time. In his heart, he

gradually came to hate the mountain priest. He wondered why he, in his

position, had ever allowed himself to be taken in by such a man’s fair

speeches and made to suffer such fool’s pain. Meanwhile his throat

became drier and drier. His chest became strangely queasy. He could

bear to lie still no longer. So at last he boldly determined to ask the

priest to stop operations and, panting, opened his mouth.

Then the thing happened. Liu began to feel an indescribable mass

creeping up little by little from his breast into his throat. Sometimes

it seemed to be wriggling like an earthworm and sometimes to be

crawling step by step like a gecko. Anyhow some soft thing, in all its

softness, was slowly making its way up along his gullet. At last, just

as he felt that it had forced its way past his Adam’s apple, something

like a loach suddenly slipped out of the dark interior and sprang

energetically into the outer world.

At that instant from the jar was heard a sound like something dropping

with a flop into the wine.

Then the mountain priest suddenly got up from where he had been calmly

squatting and began to untie the cord wound round Liu’s body. Now that

the wine worm was out, they might feel easy.

“Did it come out?” said Liu in a voice like a groan, and raising his

dizzy head and in the greatness of his curiosity forgetting even his

thirst, he crawled naked as he was to the jar. When Master Sun saw

this, he hurried to the others protecting himself against the sun with

his fan of white feathers. There, when the three peeped into the jar

together, they saw something like a small salamander, flesh-colored

like cinnabar, swimming about in the wine. It was some three inches

long. It had both mouth and eyes. As it swam, it seemed to be drinking

the wine. When Liu saw this, he suddenly felt sick.

IV

The effect of the mountain priest’s treatment was immediately evident.

From that day, Liu Tai-cheng never drank another drop of wine. Now

he hates even the smell of it. But, strange to say, his health has

declined little by little ever since. This is the third year since he

vomited the wine worm, and there is left no shadow of his former plump

round form. His sallow greasy skin is stretched over his bony face and

only a little grizzled hair remains above his temples, and it is said

that he takes to his bed innumerable times during the year.

But it is not only Liu’s health that has declined ever since that time.

His fortune also has declined rapidly, and his three hundred acres

of rich suburban fields have almost all passed into other hands. He

himself has been compelled to take the spade in his own unaccustomed

hands and lead a miserable day-to-day existence.

Why has Liu’s health declined ever since he vomited the wine worm? Why

has his fortune declined? Such questions are likely to occur to any

one who considers his ruin in the light of cause and effect. In truth

these questions are considered and reconsidered by people in all sorts

of occupations in Changshan and are given all sorts of answers by them.

The three answers I now give here are only those I have chosen as the

most representative among them.

First. The wine worm was Liu’s blessing and not his affliction. Because

he chanced to meet the idiotic mountain priest, he had deliberately

lost this heaven-sent blessing.

Second. The wine worm was Liu’s affliction and not his blessing. For it

is quite beyond the understanding of any ordinary man that Liu should

be able to drink a jar of wine at a time. If, therefore, he had not

got rid of the wine worm, he would certainly have died before long.

Consequently that he fell into poverty and illness one after the other

should be called his good fortune.

Third. The wine worm was neither Liu’s affliction nor his good fortune.

He had always been a heavy drinker. When wine was taken from his life,

there was nothing left. So Liu was himself the wine worm, and the wine

worm was Liu. Therefore, getting rid of the wine worm was quite the

same as killing himself. In short, the day Liu stopped drinking wine,

he was Liu without being Liu. If Liu himself was already dead, it was

most natural that the health and fortune of the Liu of other days

should have been lost.

Which of these answers is most nearly right, I do not know. I have only

set down such moral judgments at the end of this story in imitation of

the didacticism of Chinese novelists.