TheMarch of the Trees
By Frank Owen
Trees give fantastic help to a gardener who is their friend. . . an Oriental romance of love and life in a Chinese garden
Lari Kim, one of the thousand slave girls
of the Mandarin, had enslaved him . . .
Now with the few bits of gold which he
still possessed, he built a small house. But
when the house was finished, there came a
mighty storm and a bolt of lightning struck
it. In a moment it was in flames.
Loo Siang stood before it and beat his
chest. He pleaded with the Fire Gods to
spare his house. He sang gay songs to
divert their interest. But they were absorbed
in the fire and so heeded him not.
When at last the house was consumed
and only charred ashes remained, Loo Siang
sat down by the ruins and wept.
At that moment, it so happened that the
Mandarin Zok Tsung was passing en route
to the baths and he paused to enjoy the grief of Loo Siang. He called to his carriers
to set down his sedan chair and then
amid a vast amount of puffs and grunts,
for he was very fat, he climbed from the
chair and walked over to converse with the
man of misery. He had recognized Loo
Siang as the famed gardener who had so
persistently been stalked by adversity.
Zok Tsung was interested. He owned
much land surrounding his palace and he
longed to have it made into a garden of
rare beauty. But so far he had been unable
to find a man capable of translating his
wishes. His workers in the soil were little
more than coolies. They flayed the soil,
rather than attempting to cultivate it with
reverence. And the soil was sullen. It
refused to respond.
Now Zok Tsung was a crafty individual
and when he beheld the gardener weeping
in the ruins, he licked his lips as though
in anticipation of a delectable meal.
He sought converse with Loo Siang who,
in his desolate state, was of a mind to pour
out his troubles.
“And now,” he finished brokenly, “the
gods must be laughing for they have
crushed me until I lack even a few grain
of rice for my evening meal.”
Zok Tsung was voluble in his sympathy
and he said, “Arise, and come with me.
In this world we are all brothers and I
should not enjoy my food were I to know
that you were hungry.”
As in a dream, Loo Siang walked beside
the sedan chair of the Mandarin. He could
not believe so distinguished a person was
honoring him. Perhaps the gods were no
longer laughing so loudly.
The Madarin’s house was of a splendor
to dazzle poor Loo Siang and he walked
as in a dream as he was led to a magnificent
room. His tom clothes were taken from
him. He was bathed and dressed in garments
of fine material. Then he was taken
to a large banquet hall where food had
been set the like of which he had never seen
in all his existence. The meal lasted three
hours and consisted of forty-seven courses.
And as they ate, slender girls danced for
them, girls as fragile as porcelain. On the
air was a warm fragrance. And among
these girls was Lari Kim, one of the thousand
slave girls of the Mandarin. She
smiled tenderly at Loo Siang and that moment
he became as much a slave as she, a
slave of the Mandarin, since to remain near
her he would be forced to stay under the
Mandarin’s rule.
Zok Tsung smiled as he noticed the
flames of passion kindle in the eyes of the
gardener’s heart. He was not angry, but
pleased Lari Kim gave him the hold
he needed on Loo Siang. She must be
dangled before him like a tasty bit of roast
pork.
When at last the feast was over and the
dancing girls had departed, Loo Siang was
in a pliable mood.
“I need a gardener,” the Mandarin said
slowly, “and I have come to the conclusion
that you are the gardener I need. Work for
me at good wages until you have accumulated
sufficient money to buy a place of your
own.”
Loo Siang, thinking of Lari Kim, readily
agreed to the proposal. Thanks to the generosity
of the Mandarin some day he would
again be a landowner, perhaps even wealthy
enough to purchase the exquisite Lari Kim.
So Loo Siang took up his new work and
at once a change came over the garden.
As he walked down the white marble paths
there was discernible a gentle murmuring
in the treetops. The trees were voicing
their satisfaction over the new master of
the flowers. And peace returned to the
heart of Loo Siang who no longer mourned
for the loss of his house. From the soil
he drew strength even as do the plants and
the trees. And now the earth became
abundantly fruitful.
Occasionally Lari Kim, slender, fragile, walked in the garden. Her eyebrows were
arched moon-bridges; her smile so enticing
that Loo Siang gazed upon her entranced.
One night under the silvery sweep of the
moon he took her into his arms. It was a
night of dreams and love. Unknown to
the Mandarin, they slept in the shadow of a
willow tree while all the fragrances of the
garden swirled madly about them.
Thereafter, life in that garden was more
beautiful than ever. Lari Kim blossomed
like an orchid, fed by the warmth of Loo
Siang’s love. And the years rolled on.
Sometimes, reflecting over his lot, Loo
Siang became philosophical. The gods had
ceased laughing. He was no longer an
object for derision.
So five years passed during which time
Loo Siang drew not a copper coin for himself,
letting his money accumulate until
there should be sufficient for him to purchase
a garden of his own.
But Zok Tsung, the Mandarin, was a
conniving individual. He had no intention
of permitting his gardener to leave him
and so he summoned Loo Siang. He
awaited him in the Room of Porcelain and
he had arranged it so that as Loo Siang
passed into the room he would cause a
supposedly expensive porcelain vase to fall
and shatter to pieces. The vase was really
of trifling value but the Mandarin was
loud in his grief. He bellowed and spat
curses at the dazed gardener.
Loo Siang was without guile. It grieved
him that anyone should lose a treasure
through his carelessness, so he offered to
pay for the vase out of his accumulated
earnings. At once the Mandarin ceased
his lamentations.
“It is but right that you should,” he
sighed. “Though even that will not reimburse
me for my vase, the like of which
does not exist in all the world. It is a
priceless porcelain, worth many times the
wages that are due to you. Nevertheless,
I shall accept your offer. Now we are
even. You owe me nothing; nor I, you.”
And so Loo Siang was again penniless.
Five years’ savings had vanished with the
shattering of a vase. In despair he returned
to the garden. The flowers, aware
of his grief, glowed more beauteously to
distract his attention. The trees held out
their branches to shield him from the
heat of the sun. That day the voices of the
birds were hushed. But in the night, Lari
Kim came to him and slept in his arms.
And all care slipped from him. When they
awakened it was dawn and birds were singing.
Time wore on until twenty years had
piled up like a mountain and always the
Mandarin saw to it that Loo Siang remained
in his debt. But now there were
certain orchids developed by Loo Siang
that had attained world renown. Merchants
came from far and near to purchase
them and money flowed into the garden in
a golden river. It was then that Loo Siang
rebelled. He declared he would produce
no more orchids unless he shared in the
profits. Reluctantly the Mandarin bowed
to his wishes.
“Ten li from the city,” he said, “is a
large tract of land which I will turn over
to you in lieu of wages. It is worth many
times what I owe you, but I feel that you
should be rewarded for your faithfulness.”
Loo Siang accepted the offer with alacrity
and said, “I have one last request to make
of you.”
“Do not hesitate to speak,” said the
Mandarin, “for I am your friend.”
“I wish you would make me a present of
the slave, Lari Kim.”
The Mandarin meditated. “After all,
why not? She is but a broken flower and
fast growing old.”
“She is magnificent,” breathed Loo
Siang.
The Mandarin eyed him shrewdly. “You
are right,” he said. “She has a lovely
body. Broadly speaking, age does not exist except in a bewitched mirror that causes
snow to appear in the hair. Take her, and
welcome, but I feel that I should be reimbursed
for so great a loss. Would it be too
much to ask you to grant me one day of
your time each week to care for my garden
in exchange for a girl of such perfection?”
And Loo Siang said, “Gladly do I
agree.”
Early the next morning, Loo Siang and
Lari Kim set out afoot for the garden
which was to be their home. They were
accompanied by a representative of the
Mandarin to show them the way. It was a
distance of twelve li but neither Loo Siang
nor his lady minded that. The sun stilled
its heat so they might not suffer. A gentle
breeze accompanied them and on the breeze
floated the breath of flowers.
At last they arrived at the site of the
new garden, a barren desolate wasteland.
There was not a tree anywhere in sight.
Once more Loo Siang had been tricked.
This parched strip of desolation which
would take a century to cultivate, was his.
For this worthless heritage, he had given
the best years of his life.
Lari Kim put her soft arms about his
shoulders.
“After all,” she murmured, “I am still
with you.”
That afternoon they sat alone in the
squalid hut which was the only habitation
within miles. They had eaten the
food which the servants of the Mandarin
had packed for them. Until it was night
they wandered over their domains. There
was plenty of land, plenty of dead earth.
It was a graveyard of hope.
“Something might be made of it,” he
mused, “if only there was a spring of fresh
running water.”
Even as he spoke, he noticed a small
trickle of water breaking through the hard
soil at his feet. With a cry of surprise,
he fell upon his knees. With his bare
hands he dug and pushed the soil away until
the spring widened. For years Loo
Siang had spoken to the earth as though it
were his friend. Now as a wedding gift
this spring was given unto him by the soil.
Perhaps the spring had always been there
and it needed but the help of human hands
to break through. To Loo Siang there was
nothing supernatural about its appearance.
He prayed to many gods so it was not odd
that one among them should answer his
prayers.
That night the moon rose in a blaze of
glory. It painted the hut with its silvery
light until it seemed like a palace. And
Loo Siang sat by the door of his house,
holding Lari Kim in his arms, chanting
love songs to the moon.
Hours later when the moon had set and
blackness once more held the countryside in
its grip, strange things began happening.
It was the Black Night of Terror that has
been told about in Chinese legend for a
thousand years. The earth trembled as
though it were spewing up poisons which
it had swallowed and could not digest.
Monstrous forms appeared upon the highways
near Soochow. Men who beheld
these frightful forms uttered shrieks and
fled to their homes. All the terrors conceivable
had broken loose that night. Merchants
closed their shops and went to hidden
places to pray to the gods for mercy.
The wine taverns were deserted. Terror
gripped the land. And all night long the
highways were crowded by these silent,
monstrous forms. It was not true as some
believed that they were dragons. It was
not true that they breathed forth fire. It
was not true that they snatched up tiny
men and women and devoured them as they
strode along. All these things were partly
imaginative. For all those dark, grim
forms were really trees. That queer night
of terror was caused by the march of the
trees. They were marching from the garden
of the Mandarin to the barren desolation which was the domain of Loo Siang.
The trees refused to remain any longer in
the garden of the Mandarin after their beloved
gardener had gone. And as they
strode along, in their branch arms they
carried the flowers—orchids, roses, chrysanthemums
and peonies—which were too
fragile to make the journey afoot.
In the morning when Loo Siang and
Lari Kim awakened, they were awed by the
spectacle that met their vision. During the
night their slumbers had been undisturbed
because the wind blew all noise away from
them. The wind guarded their sleep.
Loo Siang walked along the flower
paths. He recognized every tree, every
flower that nodded to him as he approached.
He knew that all these flowers
and trees had come from the garden of the
Mandarin, nor was he surprised, for to him
every flower, every tree was a vital, living,
breathing friend.
And he took Lari Kim in his arms and
said, “The gods have been good to us.”
But in the palace of the Mandarin utter
consternation reigned. All night he had
lain in terror, surrounded by his women,
pleading to unknown forces that his life
might be spared. But now it was morning
and he was still unharmed. His cringing
courage returned to him. He stalked into
the garden.
It was a frightful sight. Not a tree,
not a bush, not a flower remained. He
could not believe his eyes. He summoned
every one of his thousand women. Not
till each of them had corroborated the
fact that the garden was empty was he
willing to give credence to it. But where
had the trees gone?
Then from one of his spies came word
that all the trees now flourished in the
desert garden of Loo Siang. The Mandarin
did not stop to consider how they
had gotten there. He was engulfed by fury.
His face was purple. He summoned his
carriers and climbed into his sedan chair.
When he reached the garden of Loo
Siang, the gardner met him, bowing profusely.
His face bore a bland expression.
“Where are my trees?” cried Zok Tsung.
Loo Siang extended his arms. The trees
were all in the same relative positions that
they had held in the Mandarin’s garden.
When the march of the trees had ended,
each tree had dug its feet once more into
the soil for a long, long period of rest.
“I shall have your life for this!” cried
the Mandarin. “In this land my power is
absolute. You shall be destroyed.”
Loo Siang gazed at the choleric Mandarin
and smiled. The gods were on his
side. His friends were the trees, the flowers,
the sun, the soil and the wind. With
these as allies in the approaching fight,
what had he to fear? All the Mandarin
had was pomp, the power of position, men
and money. It would be an unequal battle.
And Loo Siang said slowly, “For twenty
years I was your slave, taking your orders,
a victim of your treachery and trickery.
Now things are slightly changed. Here,
I am the master. It is now my turn to
give orders. Get out of my garden!”
The Mandarin was speechless. He was
fat and flabby. He was not a match for
Loo Siang in personal combat. He regretted
that he had left his four carriers outside
on the road.
“Remember,” he thundered, “though I
go now, I shall return.”
It was a vain boast for even as he left the
garden, a tree fell upon him and he was
killed.
Throughout Soochow there was little
sorrowing for the Mandarin, Zok Tsung.
And among all his thousand slave girls, not
one wept.
Nguồn: Wikisource English — Weird Tales/Volume 36/Issue 4/The March of the Trees. Văn bản được nhập và định dạng lại; CC BY-SA 4.0, có thể áp dụng điều khoản bổ sung của tác phẩm.