TheMan Who Amazed Fish
By Frank Owen
Through the lattice-work screen,
Doctor Shen Fu watched the Japanese
officer enter “The Drug Shop
of a Thousand Years.” In his heart was
a sharp sword but his face was bland as he
walked out to meet the smug little man.
“I am the proprietor, Doctor Shen Fu,”
he said aloofly.
“And I, General Nishikori, in charge
of this district.”
The Doctor nodded but he did not bow.
He stood tall and straight as a bamboo
reed, despite his years. He was shrewd,
a Han-lin graduate, a famed alchemist
who had discovered the secret of immortality,
so he spoke without fear.
“The district needs no one to take charge
of it. It has been Chinese soil for countless
centuries and so forever shall it remain,
unless by some fantastic power you
are able to carry it back to Nippon.”
The stunted general wondered whether
he should be insulted and claim that he
had lost face. It was the usual trick of
his people but he turned from it. He
could make better use of the famed Doctor
by treating him with a modicum of respect.
Therefore, he ate bitterness and managed
a somewhat bilious-looking smile.
“I wish tea,” he said.
“This is a drug shop, not a tea house.”
“Nevertheless, I wish tea.”
The Doctor said gently, “I accept your
command. Tea shall it be.”
A clerk went to fetch the divine beverage,
and though he was overly long, the
General made no comment. He could
afford to be patient since he had caused
this noted Doctor of Hangchow to bend
to his will.
Finally the tea was ready and the clerk
brought a small table and one chair.
“Will you not join me?” asked General
Nishikori.
“Alas, I had seven cups before you
came. I can drink no more.”
“At least sit at the table with me,” said
the General. He was provoked beyond
reason but he did not show it. “I have
important matters to discuss with you.”
“I prefer to stand.”
“And if I command?”
“I will obey, but I will not listen. The
heart is without fear. If you have come
to me for help, choose your words well.
I was walking this earth, a free man even
before your grandfather was born. I refuse
to cringe before his grandson. Honor
should be bestowed upon age as well as
bombs, the firing squad and poison gas.”
The General’s education had been extensive.
He repeated maneuvers by rote.
But here was a set of circumstances that
had not been drilled into him. He tried to
sit straight and tall, drawing his back up
till it looked as though his neck was being
goose-stretched. He was a member of the
importance but he avoided looking in mirrors.
He resented the fact that Doctor
Shen Fu was so very tall, he hated to have
the Doctor towering over him as he sipped
his tea. He found it unpalatable.
“The tea is bitter,” he said fretfully.
“Unfortunately, for years we, of China,
have been drinking only bitter tea.”
“Our Japanese tea is fragrant.”
“Drink of it well, while you have the
opportunity.”
“It is ill-advised for the conquered to
threaten.”
“Why threaten? I might have poisoned
the tea had I so desired.”
Mr. Nishikori had a bad moment
but he did not show it. “I hope you
did not,” he said, “I am too important to
my nation to die.”
“That is debatable. However, you were
served naught but bitter tea. I cannot be
untrue to business tradition. It, is bad form
to murder one’s customers.”
“A customer, yes, and one who can pay
well.”
“With what?”
“Chinese money.”
“I cannot accept money that has blood
on it. Rather pay me in rice.”
“It would be unwise. You might feed
it to the poor. Starving people are more
easily overcome. They have little opposition
in them. Our new order in East Asia
must be established.”
“By undernourishment.”
“I am General Nishikori. I will not be
defied. My word is supreme law in Hangchow.
You can be of service to my soldiers.
And I repeat you will be well-paid.”
“For treachery.”
“No, for certain drugs that I need.”
“Then you must pay in rice.”
“Should I hand you over to a firing
squad?”
“It matters little. I have solved the riddle
of immortality. Your bullets could do
no more that wound me severely. But in
time I would recover. However, I do not
presume to decide such weighty problems
for you. Though if I am shot, your chances
of getting drugs are nil. Speak quickly, I
have other customers entering the shop.”
“Throw them out!” the general stormed.
“No, their wishes shall be attended to
while you finish your tea.” As he spoke,
Doctor Shen Fu turned and walked over to
greet tine newcomers. Usually he left the
tending of shop to clerks well-versed in the
intricacies of the pharmacopia, but not
now, for he wanted to.throw Nishikori’s
pomp in his face. For a thousand years
Shen Fu’s ancestors had ruled over this
drug shop with its large areas of ground
that were used for warehouses, clerk’s
homes and gardens, besides a considerable
reserve for the herd of deer whose horns
were ground up to make important and
popular medicines.
A rich man was desirous of purchasing
ginseng tonic, one of the most expensive
preparations in all the world for ginseng
is the medicine par excellence, the dernier
resort when all drugs fail. A few drops
of ginseng will raise the dead to life. And
it is even whispered that after three centuries
the ginseng root changes into a man
with white blood.
Doctor Shen Fu measured out the lifegiving
fluid with reverence though he knew
that as a restorative it was somewhat overrated.
The drug was about forty percent
tonic and sixty percent folklore and legend,
still it was worth ten times its weight in
pure gold and so not to be handled carelessly.
A coolie wanted some powdered dragon’s
bones to reduce his child’s fever. Dr.
Shen Fu made no charge to the poor man
but added the cost to the sum for the ginseng,
since the rich man was better able to
pay.
Before returning to General Nishikori, he surveyed the familiar scenes about him,
the black enameled boards with golden
characters, containing suitable proverbs.
The shelves filled with rows of blue and
white procelain jars with square pewter
covers containing various liquids of an array
of colors. Vermilion medicines were
those eagerly sought for by the sick. Above,
on the upper shelves were smaller octagonal-based
jars containing sundry expensive
seeds, or ready-mixed powders. It was
the custom of Doctor Shen Fu to give
advice free to those too poor to afford a
doctor.
Intense hatred gnawed at the Doctor’s
heart. All this might be swept away, lost
forever, if something were not done to
stem the vicious Jap flood. He stood for an
instant before the tiny alcove that sheltered
the altar to Shen Nung, the God of Healing.
The smoke of burning incense spiraled
languidly upward as though to foretell that
some day China would sweep out her invaders
with the broom of circumstances.
But could the old Drug Shop be saved?
That was a moot question.
Shen Fu’s face was a mask as leisurely
he returned to General Nishikori who
appeared as puffed up with venom as an
adder. Nevertheless, he swallowed his
pride though it was harder than gulping
a live toad.
“Take me to a room where we may
speak without interruption,” he said and
there was silk in his tone. But he could
not help adding, “If we remain here I may
be forced to order your execution.”
“That is hardly a prelude for a satisfactory
conversation,” the doctor said gently.
“However, your command shall be obeyed,
come.” As he spoke, he led the way
through a steep, winding hall of unusual
length, until they entered a windowless
room, at the far end of which a single
candle burned feebly.
“See,” said Shen Fu, “the candle weeps,
it weeps for China.” As he spoke, a heavy,
brass-studded teakwood door swung closed
and they were wrapped in silence.
The sudden change from daylight to a
room that was almost in darkness was more
than Nishikori’s myopic eyes could stand.
“Light!” he cried. “I demand light!”
Instantly a lantern blazed forth so
brightly that it dazzled Nishikori.
But Doctor Shen Fu ignored the general’s
discomfiture, as he said, “Be seated.
Here we can converse secure from interruption.
The room is soundproof and below
the level of the earth. In this hidden
room it would be well for you not to be too
arrogant. Here, I alone, am master. This
shop has never been invaded by the Japanese,
nor will it ever be. Rather would
I turn it into a monstrous bomb that would
annihilate Hangchow. Rest assured that
in my warehouses are the ingredients and
facilities for doing so. It is pleasant to
mull over the extraordinary proposition
that I could order your destruction, and
dispose of your body by using an acid bath
to eat it away, and no one would ever know
what had become of so illustrious a general.
However, I hesitate to do anything
distressing to your person, since you have
already said you have come as a customer.
Only a fool turns away business. But what
you buy, I repeat, must be paid for in rice—Japanese
rice. I will deal with you on no
other terms.”
“I admire your spirit,” said Nishikori,
and there was surprisingly little bombast in
his tone. “Of the situation you are now
master. Naturally I agree to your terms.
I am confronted by a curious perplexity
and I have decided you are the one best
fitted to solve it.”
Not by as much as the flickering of an
eyelid did Doctor Shen Fu acknowledge
the compliment. His face was a grim mask
in a play that was certainly not for children.
But Nishikori, drilled in a military
school of automatons, was unable to distinguish the signs of peril that were all
about him, for they were written in water.
So he went on speaking, “Our conquest of
your country has gone on well. For the
most part, we have met with little opposition.”
“And so you were forced to drop poison
gas and disease germ infected cotton on unprotected
people so that plagues might
break out. Relinquish your filthy untruths
or I shall close my ears against your words,
and if you leave this room alive it will only
be by a miracle. Let us both speak bluntly.
Your slogan is not ‘Asia for the Asiatics’
but Asia for the Japanese. Your war lords
are vile! Proceed.”
“That is an affront to the Bushido!”
“Here, let us put aside our heroic robes.
My patience is wearing thin. If you have
a purpose in your visit, expound it, otherwise
I must turn to my own affairs. Like
a frog in a well is a man of small thoughts.”
At that moment General Nishikori had
the feeling that he was wearing a hair
shirt.
But to argue farther with this ancient
doctor, who was without fear, was as futile
as catching a fish and throwing away the
net. So he continued speaking as though
there had been no interruption.
“My visit to you is not concerned with
war,” he said in a honeyed tone. “I am
here to help save lives, not to expend them.
We have found, as we march peacefully
through your vast cultivated river provinces,
the farmers have an unpleasant habit of
opening the dikes and spreading havoc
among our soldiers. Recently, after we
had taken the city of Hankow and were
marching forward toward further conquests,
the dikes of the river were suddenly
opened and fifty-five thousand Japanese
soldiers, carrying full pack, were drowned,
while the Chinese lost three times that
many, stamped into the earth by roaring
floods to make fertilizer for next year’s
crops. What manner of people are the
Chinese who would throw their own lives
away in such stupid fashion?”
“Our men died that China might live.
Perhaps the spirits of Confucius, Mencius
and Lao Tzu walked among them to welcome
them among the immortals. Our
sages are great because they never look for
ivory in a rat’s teeth.”
“Nevertheless, this problem of losing
almost as many soldiers by drowning as are
killed in battle is a serious problem that I
have set myself to solve. Knowing that
your Drug Shop is renowned throughout
all the Eighteen Provinces, I lay my problem
at your feet. I have heard that you are
a hundred and fifty years old.”
“Age is elastic. A boy with a sore foot
is an old man. An ancient with firm step
and good teeth is young. Some say I have
drugs to cure all sicknesses, but alas I have
none to cure China’s present acute distress.
Unless, unless—but I hesitate to express
the knowledge that recently my eyes have
given unto me as I walk through the countryside.
Once more the che plant is growing
in profusion in our farms and hillsides.”
“The che plant, the che plant,” repeated
Nishikori. “What is that?”
“It is a plant of supernatural growth and
auspicious omen. It is only to be found
when virtuous leaders are leading our government.
It augurs well for the future of
Chiang Kai-shek.”
“But China is beaten!” protested Nishikori.
“She is on her knees!”
“Beaten? Beaten? What is the meaning
of that word? We know it not in the
Eighteen Provinces. But let us proceed.
You have come to me for help because you
are concerned over the loss by drowning of
so many men.”
Mr. Nishikori smiled. Now they
were on firmer ground. “Perhaps
you can prepare an elixir for me so that my
men will be able to live beneath the water, to survive floods without undo fatigue. In
short a drug that will bestow upon them
the province of living under water indefinitely.”
“An interesting proposition,” said Doctor
Shen Fu gently. “And I am glad that
you have consulted me for my library is
bulging with ancient manuscripts, some
that have been recopied from bamboo
books, on the ‘lien tan’, the drug of trans-mutation
and of the powdered pearl medicine
which is the concrete essence of the
moon. Let me ponder over my manuscripts
for a few days. I am sure that the results
will be worth your trouble.”
So General Nishikori departed and returned
again in three days. Doctor Shen
Fu greeted him in a manner that was almost
affable.
“A book is only a man talking,” he said,
“and since your departure I have been listening
to the voices of the ancients. But
it was not until this early morning, that my
efforts were rewarded. All through the
night I loitered in my garden, entranced by
the countless whispering voices about me.
When the dawn crimsoned the sky with
peony splendor, I drank the dew that had
fallen from the magnolia trees, for I had
solved the riddle that so perplexed you. I
walked with padded footsteps into my
mixing room. No one was about, no one
was stirring. The accumulated mass of
knowledge I had absorbed so hurriedly, became
simplified. I worked fast and with
sure hand. I mixed the ingredients well.
The resultant pills are perhaps the most
expensive to be found in all the world, and,
for their purpose, the most powerful.”
From his sleeve, he drew an elegant jade
bottle with a legend in red grass characters
upon it: “May Chiang Kai-shek have ten
thousand lives.” But Mr. Nishikori paid
not the slightest attention to the inscription
for he did not understand Chinese,
but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had
been versed in the language of the Four
Seas. So intent was he on his purpose,
cold perspiration stood out upon his forehead
in beads and even his narrow, close
cropped head was damp. He took off his
glasses and polished them carefully that he
might the better see, for Doctor Shen Fu
was pouring small vermilion pills into the
palm of his hand. Nishikori liked the
color. The doctor had staked much on its
psychological effect.
“One pill and one pill only, that is all
that is necessary,” he explained. “Your
men will find little difficulty swimming for
sustained periods under water. Nor will
the effects of the drug wear off, rather will
the power of it intensify with each day that
passes. My idea for this great boon to
humanity was motivated by the writings of
renowned Lieh Tzu who ages and ages ago
conquered the laws of gravitation. Accounts
of his adventures are written history
for all who care to read.”
While the doctor was speaking, General
Nishikori gulped two of the pills, believing
he was unobserved. Shen Fu smiled
and the eyes of his heart grew merry but
his face mirrored not his thoughts. Perhaps,
ere long, the ghost of chaos would be
halted and the ruined sky swept clean of
enemy planes.
“The elixir has been delivered,” he said.
“Now your payment shall begin. Set out
at various street intersections of the city,
huge tubs of cooked rice that the poor may
eat till their stomachs groan. My clerks
will designate the positions where the tubs
are to be placed and they will go along with
you to see that instructions are carried out
and to insure the good quality of the rice.
It is fitting that I have put into those tiny
pellets certain ingredients that, for want of
a better word, I shall call harmonious elements.
With discord they will evaporate
as surely as the clouds are a dragon and
the wind a tiger. The slightest chicanery
might spoil the experiment.”
General Nishikori was a man of action. He lived by the sword and had little respect
for words, nor did he know that many an
unhappy culprit has been impaled on a
sentence. He liked not the idea of wasting
rice when so many of his own people, back
in Japan, were starving; true it was only
the peasant whose stomachs were being
gnawed constantly by hunger. The Bushido
and the war lords were well fed. The
Emperor feasted well in his golden prison
and wondered what evil was abroad in the
land. But he was too weak to lift his hand
to stem it if he had wanted to. Nishikori
was more than half-tempted to destroy this
vile doctor who had flaunted his power and
insulted the Bushido, now that his use was
at an end. But suppose the pills did not
work, suppose the doctor had anticipated
just such treachery and acted accordingly.
What good would be a dead Shen Fu? Better
keep him alive so that he could be tortured
fittingly in the Japanese manner if
the pills failed. But there was another
factor also to be considered. The doctor,
living, might be a safeguard for him if sickness
or distress flittered about his person.
With a sigh, Nishikori reluctantly agreed
to put out the tubs of rice, reluctance that
was seasoned with fear. He shuddered to
think of what might happen if all the hungry
were fed. Famine was the best Ally
Japan had, next to disease. What a pity
it was that the plague germs dropped from
airplanes, in carefully prepared cotton batting,
had not caused the anticipated havoc.
Asia for the Asiatics but for the Chinese
bubonic plague—the Imperial Japanese
“New Order.”
During the next few days, General
Nishikori was much pleased with the
effects of the drug. A few of his men had
experimented. They had stayed under
water for over an hour. The experiment
had been conducted at West Lake not far
from The New Hotel where Mr. Nishikori
was living in luxurious quarters. So
long did his men remain below water, he
imagined they had been drowned and was
about to return to his hotel for tiffin when
they re-appeared, laughing and jabbering
excitedly. The only casualty was that one
of them had lost his glasses. The general
was overjoyed. Now he was indeed the
leader of an army of supermen, but there
was one oddity that was of little importance.
He himself, scarcely aware of his
own actions, plunged into the lake, all
clothed as he was, and swam about, all forgetful
of the war and of the officers that
were waiting to have tiffin with him at the
hotel. When at last he came out of the lake
he was jubilant though his uniform was a
sorry spectacle and he looked as bedraggled
as the lowliest soldier. But what matter,
his head was in the clouds. Now indeed
would he be a conqueror and his fame
would go down in history among the greatest
warriors the world has ever known.
Perhaps it would be better to kill Shen Fu
after all so that no other person might learn
this amazing secret.
Back at the hotel, after he had bathed
and put on dry clothes, he swallowed two
more pills before joining the officers who
were waiting for him. The doctor had said
that one pellet was sufficient; sufficient, perhaps,
for a private soldier but he was a
noble general, a member of the Bushido
and his father had been an aristocrat with
special privileges.
Late that evening, when he had been
able to shake off the leech-like petty officers,
he returned to West Lake, cast off his
clothes and plunged into the cool refreshing
water. His throat had felt parched.
Though the day had been cool, he had
suffered intensely. There must have been
much humidity in the air. Another thing
that troubled him was that red marks had
appeared on either side of his throat just
below the ears, odd straight marks, half as
long as his thumb. They looked like old
knife wounds that had only recently healed. He had an unaccountable feeling, a wish
that they would break open. Then it would
not be so difficult to breathe. But now as he
glided through the waters of West Lake,
among the lotuses, all was right once more.
No longer was it difficult to breathe. The
night was full of spring even though it was
early autumn. A yellow moon hung low
in the sky, or was it “the Rising Sun of
Japan” glistening on the wide domains it
would soon encompass. He laughed gut-terally.
Some day Japan would control the
world.
General Nishikori remained in the water
until the first silver fingers of morning
lifted to gently push aside the veil of night.
Then with great reluctance, he came ashore,
put on his clothes and became an important
personage once more, the commandant of
all the armies in Chekiang Province. However,
he could not refrain from casting a
glance over his shoulder at the enticing
water of the lake. Never had he passed so
glorious a night. Nor was he.aware that
after ten long desolate years of constant defeat,
the scales of fortune were tipping
slowly in China’s favor. In Szechwan and
Hunan Provinces especially, old China, revitalized
by supplies from the Allied Nations
was slowly pushing back her enemies,
topped by an especially brilliant victory at
Changsha. Once more the tea of the Middle
Kingdom was fragrant, free of its bitter,
bitter taste.
General Nishikori walked about
as though in a dream, little concerned
with what was happening about him. He
even ceased to deplore the necessity of putting
out tubs of rice for the poor in accordance
with the directions of Dr. Shen
Fu. His officers tended to this for him,
obeying like automatons. The red marks
at the sides of his neck caused him almost
constant discomfiture. Occasionally they
bled slightly.
Every day he stopped at the Drug Shop
of a Thousand Years to talk with the
learned doctor.
He asked the doctor to examine the
marks on his neck.
Shen Fu smiled as he gazed upon them.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he
said.
“Strangely enough some of the officers
of my staff are similarly marked.”
“You are blood brothers. It is a good
omen.” He did not bother adding, that he
meant a good omen for China. After a
moment, he continued, “When the flesh
separates, you will be able to swim even
better.”
Nishikori was little perturbed at the
prospect, on the contrary he seemed well
satisfied. He walked out into the garden
to the large artificial fish pond. The water
was like clear turquoise. The gold fish reflected
the sun. How clear and cool the
water was with here and there a pond lily
or a lotus.
His throat was dry. Slowly he walked
around the pool, gazing at the shimmering
fish. He was so fascinated, that hours
passed without his knowledge.
Meanwhile his men were acting in a
peculiar fashion. All seemed keenly elated.
They cast aside their guns, their interest
in war had evaporated. Many of their
necks were bleeding slightly from small
slits below the ears. As though they were
fleeing from a plague infested city, they
rushed down to the river’s edge. Some
were running. But it was a joyous rout,
many were laughing. A few tried to sing
but their throats were too dry for that.
And in their wake, walked many of the
people of Hangchow, uninterested in their
actions, but still bent on one of the great
occasions of the year, to watch the Hangchow
Bore at the autumnal equinox, that
strangest and most startling phenomenon
of nature along the entire Asiatic coast.
The estuary at the mouth of the Ch’ien
T’ang River from Yangtze Cape on the North to the opposite point of land on the
South is about sixty-five miles in width.
And from the Yangtze Cape to where the
Bore begins to form is about eighty miles.
Throughout this distance the estuary narrows
down to about eight miles, producing
a broad funnel shaped channel. The roar
of the tidal wave can be heard for forty-five
minutes before it comes into view. Instead
of the banks of this channel being
straight and regular, they are very crooked,
the right or Southern bank being pushed
in upon the land a great distance. This
concavity of the channel bank deflects the
tidal currents, throwing them against the
river currents which together with the piling
up of the water as it crowds into the
apex of this funnel-shaped channel produces
the phenomenon known as the Bore.
On this particular occasion thousands of
Chinese, quiet and orderly, were crowding
the great stone embankment, throngs
which permitted the free movement of the
Japanese troops who ran pell mell down
the dikes to await the coming Bore. Many,
over-zealous, sprang into the river and
swam toward the onrushing flood. But
none of them spoke, none of them said anything,
nor did they utter a sound though
their lips moved. It was the supreme hour
of their existence. On, on they came like
beetles, swarming over one another, forcing
the front ranks into the water, but none
cared. The cool water closed over them
willingly.
Onward the monstruous wave plunged
as an ancient poet has written, “muttering,
hurrying, seething and surging; confused
and troubled, vast, unbridled, immensely
deep and wide, a chaos unlimited;
it hopes to seize the southern hills, it
reaches up to the azure sky, confident it
will leap over the steep banks.” The poet
wrote long before Ch’ien Ch’iu built the
first dike walls in A.D. 910. Since that
time many superb engineers have added to
this great work, so that now the thousands
of Chinese spectators were enabled to stand
at the summit of the dikes and watch the
water carnival with considerable safety.
They ate cumquats, mellon seeds and dried
almonds. The children chanted verses and
laughter was plentiful. But the elders were
silent. The few venturesome river boats
were tied fast to the shore, but the water
lifted them so high that they strained at
their chains and ropes. They rocked madly
at the impact of the water which rose to a
height of twenty-five feet, carrying all the
Japanese soldiers along with it. Certainly,
for the Chinese it was a time for eating
cumquats. Within forty-five minutes, the
flood subsided but the invading soldiers returned
no more to Hangchow, preferring
to go out to sea on the ebb tide, but none
were drowned, all were content. Doctor
Shen Fu’s experiment had been eminently
successful. Truly he had created Thousand
Blessings Pills. But he was unable
to visit the ramparts of the river, it would
not have been in good taste, for he still had
a guest in his establishment. In the lotus
pond General Nishikori was swimming
around joyously. The fish were amazed.
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