by Dan Swanson and Drivtaan
San Francisco, Saturday, April 21, 1962:
“Ah, Alex, what a pleasant surprise. It is indeed wonderful to see you. Please come in!” A short, stout Chinese woman with a formal air and a very British accent greeted Alex Silverstone and her friend, Tammi Paige, as they entered the Far Eastern Treasures curio store in San Francisco’s Chinatown. “It has been far too long since your last visit.”
Alex laughed. “Liling, you always say that, even when I saw you last week. But I love to hear it. I’ve missed you, too.” She turned to Tammi. “Tammi Paige, I’d like to introduce Liling Kam, one of the sharpest traders you’ll ever meet. Everything you see here, she bought on one of her many trips to the Orient. Liling, this is my roommate, Tammi.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Tammi said with a smile as she curtsied like a schoolgirl. Liling bowed in return, smiling back. It was almost impossible not to smile at Tammi, who continued, “Alex has told me so much about you, your travels, your wonderful shop, and all the fantastic treasures here. I just can’t wait to see everything!” She was bursting with energy and zest, her head swiveling from side to side as she spotted a silk painting here, an idol of glittering obsidian there, and across the room, a rack of necklaces with jade pendants dangling from gold chains.
Liling chuckled at Tammi’s enthusiasm. “As you are no doubt aware, Alex has a tendency to exaggerate. In my youth, I did indeed travel frequently and traded everywhere I went, but age has inevitably slowed me. I no longer do most of the traveling — or the buying — myself. Instead, I trust my manager, Lei Chiu.” She changed the subject, not comfortable talking about herself.
“Has Alex told you that she was the artist who painted the stunning mural on the outside wall of this store?” Liling asked politely. “That mural by itself is likely responsible for at least half of our business. Many times a day, tourists stop to praise it, and we almost always manage to sell them some small trinket or other.”
Alex rolled her eyes at this — the valuable, tasteful, and expensive items for sale in this shop could hardly be classified as trinkets. If she hadn’t been a friend of the owner, she would never come in here, as there was nothing on display that a struggling artist could afford.
“No, she’s never once mentioned that mural… after the first million times or so. You know how modest she is,” Tammi answered emphatically, teasing her friend. “So, show us what you got, gal!” If Alex or Liling frowned at Tammi’s informality with someone she’d only just met, Tammi herself never noticed. She wasn’t big on formality.
They were a striking trio, browsing the very cluttered shop, which featured small statues and statuettes, figurines, pottery, jewelry, paintings, oriental fans, and other curios, all purchased in the Far East by Lei Chiu, who seemed to have superb taste. Liling Kam, the owner, was very formal, dressed in a brightly printed silk cheongsam, and short. She was also nicely matched in height with Tammi Paige, whose dark hair was woven into twin schoolgirl braids that fell to her waist, and who today had chosen to dress in a girl’s school uniform, a kilt in green and red plaid that covered her knees, white knee-high socks and saddle shoes, and a starched white blouse with a men’s tie in the same plaid as the kilt, knotted in her collar and reaching to her waist. In contrast, Alex was more than half a foot taller than either of the other two women, her blonde hair cut short and flat on top, and very casually dressed in men’s blue jeans and T-shirt.
And Tammi was acting very much like a schoolgirl today as well, jabbering excitedly over some of the more exotic pieces on display, touching everything, directing Alex’s attention to this and that. Her energy was almost enough to wear out anyone just watching them.
“Hey!” Tammi almost shouted, pointing at a ceramic statuette of a sand-colored cat, with a head that seemed to be a size smaller than its body, short legs, tufted ears that flared out to the sides instead of pointing upward, and a banded tail that looked as if it belonged on a raccoon. “That’s the same cat that’s on the mural outside! It is so neat-looking, I wish we had one!”
“It’s a little-known species from Tibet called the Chinese desert cat,” Alex replied with a wry smile of amusement. “A real one is about the size of a collie. They are efficient and deadly predators, and I don’t think we’d want one for a pet. Might be good as a guard dog, though, but I doubt if they can be trained.”
“The mural outside represents the parable of the Jade Emperor, the Monkey King, and the Desert Cat,” Liling added. “It’s a wonderful story, recounted to me by my great-grandfather.” She paused, and when she saw that both women were listening attentively, she continued. “According to my great-grandfather,” Liling began, “my family is descended from the most venerable sage, Chan Kong-sang.”
Alex’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “I’ve heard of him,” she said. “A friend of mine saw a movie about him in Chinatown a couple weeks ago. He said the movie was way out there.” Both she and Liling knew that she had already heard several stories concerning the woman’s ancestor.
Liling raised an eyebrow and gave her head a slight tilt, but made no comment concerning the movie.
“Sorry,” Alex said sheepishly.
The older woman continued to stare at her for a moment, then smiled. “Shall I continue?”
Both Alex and Tammi stifled grins like the mischievous schoolgirl the latter appeared to be.
As I was saying…” Liling began.
***
The Parable of the Jade Emperor, the Monkey, and the Desert Cat, as recounted by Liling Kam:
Chan Kong-sang paused, drew a deep breath — not an easy feat this high up the great mountain Chomolungma — then wiped the blood from his rock-sliced hands on one of the rare tufts of grass. Gazing farther up the mountain, the weary sage saw that he still had a ways to go before reaching his cloudy destination. As if offering him one final chance to turn back, a stiff, snow-laden wind blew down from the heights and pushed his robes in the direction he had just come. Without so much as a sigh of discomfort, Kong-sang started climbing again.
The persistent wise man stopped thrice more before becoming engulfed in Chomolungma’s billowy crown. Taking a moment to look back the way he came, he could still see the mountain falling far below him, so he continued upward, stopping finally when he could no longer see out of the cloud.
Perched precariously on an ice-covered ledge, Chan Kong-sang sat himself down in the lotus position and began to chant into the wind. The words were as ancient as the Chinese people, calling first to the Jade Emperor, then to the ancestors, and finally to the ta-jen who dwelt on top of the cloud. He sat thus until seven days and nights had passed, not once stopping to eat, drink, or sleep. The chant was continuous. On the morning of the eighth day, a ray of sun broke through the cloud to reveal a golden stairway.
The mound of snow that covered the sage began to shift and fall away as Kong-sang slowly climbed to his feet. The moment his sandals touched the bottom step, the light of the sun embraced him, and all signs of cold fled from his body. By the second step, his robes were dry, and all signs of his travels to reach this place were gone. As he continued to mount the steps, his chant continued to rise before him.
After reaching the one-hundredth step, Chan Kong-sang felt his need to chant was ended. Spread out before him was a great castle. Although he was certain that it in no way compared to the glory of the Jade Emperor’s home, the sage was nevertheless amazed at the sight before him. With no hesitation, he placed his foot firmly on the cloud and walked toward the building. Reaching the doors, which were easily seventy feet tall, the sage extended his right hand and grasped a green silk rope that was connected to a brass bell above the door. Tugging the rope twice, he stepped back onto the now-visible path he had trod upon and sat down, once again in the lotus position. He sat thusly for seven more days.
On the morning of the eighth day, he was again brought to his feet by holy activity. The towering doors swung open, and Chan Kong-sang fell to his knees and lowered his eyes before the great armored giant facing him. He knew immediately that this was the ta-jen he sought.
The ta-jen, a massive ancient warrior with long white hair and an equally long beard that constantly danced in the wind, stared down at the human. They remained thus for another day.
At last, the ta-jen spoke. “I was thirty-six years in the womb of my mother. I trust your wait was not an inconvenience.”
Chan Kong-sang spoke clearly, but did not raise his head. “To sit at your feet, a thousand years would not be too long to wait.”
The ta-jen nodded. “Arise, blessed mortal, and enter my home.”
Doing as he was bid, the sage rose to his feet and followed the master of this place through the doors. As they closed behind him, Kong-sang found himself crossing a vast, open courtyard. Around the perimeter, massive lions of gold rested on great pedestals. Occasionally, one would raise its head and watch the mortal follow in their lord’s wake.
The ta-jen led his guest to a long porch, where two chairs, each perfectly sized for their intended occupant, sat on either side of a three-legged jade table. Bowls of fruit and bread, and a jug of wine had been set, ready to be tasted. Although his chair was much lower than the table, the sage sat himself down. Once he was seated, the chair’s legs began to grow until Kong-sang’s chest was level with the tabletop.
“Eat,” the giant said as he tilted the jug and poured his guest a drink. Although his cup fit easily in his hands, Kong-sang couldn’t help but be amazed at the amount of wine it received. If one-fourth of the jug’s contents were not in his cup, the sage would swear himself to be a fool.
Reaching out his tiny hand, the mortal pinched off a small piece of bread. “Thank you for this sumptuous fare,” Kong-sang said to his host, speaking with a reverence that made his words a prayer to the ta-jen’s ears. Despite his gnawing hunger, the sage slowly opened his mouth and placed what amounted to a crumb of the giant loaf within. He chewed longer than he expected, and when he swallowed, his belly felt as full as if he had eaten a complete meal.
The ta-jen did not eat.
Once the short but very satisfying meal was ended, the ta-jen spoke. “You have come a long way, showing a patience that is uncommon among your kind, to listen to my words of wisdom.”
“I have traveled far,” Chan Kong-sang agreed, saying nothing of the patience he had shown. “Your wisdom is a flawless pearl, greatly to be treasured.”
“I see your patience is tempered with wisdom,” the ta-jen said. “You are truly a rare mortal to have acquired both at such a young age.”
Despite being in his early sixties, the sage knew that his years were indeed few compared to the giant’s own.
“Listen, then, as I speak of the time when the Jade Emperor accused Monkey of stealing his most favored pet, his Chinese desert cat.”