Shen of the Sea/Contrary Chueh Chun

by Arthur Bowie Chrisman

CONTRARY CHUEH CHUN

The most contrary man that ever drew a full dozen breaths was Chueh Chun, living in Tien Ting Village, thirty minutes by donkey, by up and down very bad road, north of the Great Wall, the far-famed Chinese Wall.

Queer Chueh Chun had been named Ma Tzu by his honorable parents. He had been named Ma Tzu, which means Face Rather Ugly. He, himself, changed his name to Chueh Chun, which means Absolutely Beautiful.

The good people of Tien Ting Village lived tidily in made houses, above ground. Chueh Chun lived in a cave, a deep and winding fox den, below ground. Such of the neighbors as were permitted by law to wear hats, wore little round hats, on their heads. Chueh Chun wore hats on his feet. Moreover, he wore straw hats in winter, fur in summer. On his head perched an ancient sandal. He pretended that the arrangement was excellent. The sandal shaded his eyes, yet permitted his head to remain cool.

The neighbors when going upon long journeys commonly rode their shaggy mountain ponies. Chueh Chun when setting forth on an arduous trip—say fifty miles—was most likely to walk. But to go from his fox lair home to the nest of his speckled hen, he invariably rode a little donkey.

Yu Yuch Ying, aunt to Chueh Chun, willed her obstinate nephew thirty thousand cash, just when his purse was at its flattest. The neighbors gathered round Chueh Chun to congratulate and envy him. Said they: "What a fortunate person are you, dear Chueh Chun. The thirty thousand cash that your late lamented Aunt Yu Yuch Ying left will set you up in noble style. A most opportune windfall was that. Plenty of luck you have."

But Chueh Chun nodded his head. He always nodded his head to show that he differed. "Quite the contrary," said Chueh Chun, "I fear me, honorable neighbors, that my aunt's bequest is an ill thing altogether. It is luck the worst. Thirty thousand cash are so heavy that I shall be compelled to make at least two trips to fetch them. Besides, the beggars will be annoying me without let-up from break of day till I break their heads. And think of thieves. The money will bring me ill, I am sure." And Chueh Chun laughed heartily, for that was his way of expressing sorrow.

However, Chueh Chun's excellent wife knew how to manage him. She said: "Quite right. If I were you, I wouldn't dream of going for the fortune. And I wouldn't once think of riding the donkey, not once." And she spoke as if she meant her words.

Therefore—upon his donkey—the contrary husband started for Tsun Pu, where his beloved aunt had lived and left riches. Immediately outside Tien Ting Village the traveler was forced to cross a river. The current was swift and it washed the hat-shoes from Chueh Chun's feet. Down the stream swirled the hats, with their owner in splashy pursuit. The neighbors, who had gathered to bid old Contrary a fine journey, were loud in lamentation over his loss.

Therefore—upon his donkey—the contrary husband started for
Tsun Pu.

They exclaimed, beating their breasts: "Oh, Chueh Chun, we are so sorry that you have lost your hat-shoes, so utterly sorry. With our eyes we weep for you and cry 'alas.' What terrible luck. It is demon-sent luck in truth."

But Chueh Chun paused in his splashing and answered them: "Why, no. I dare say it it is not bad luck at all. Quite the opposite, my esteemed neighbors, it may be very fortunate indeed." He wept to show that he was well pleased.

Meanwhile, the onward swept hat-shoes disappeared from view. Chueh Chun raced along the bank, calling, and anxiously scanning the water for a trace of his lost property. The neighbors, too, hurried after, one leading the donkey. Rounding a willow-draped elbow of the river, Chueh Chun stumbled over a boat that had drifted ashore. He fell headlong and heavily, his chin plowing a prodigious furrow in the sand. Up panted the neighbors, shouting: "Alas, likewise alack. What woe. Such woe. Poor Chueh Chun, how we ache for you. Our own bones pain out of sympathy. What a horrible calamity."

Chueh Chun stretched out a hand to pick up his two hat-shoes, drifted against a willow bough. Said he, rather indistinctly because of the sand in his mouth: "Nothing of the kind, greatly respected neighbors. My fall was most beneficial, for it placed me nearly a-top my lost shoes. Otherwise I might never have found them." He sobbed to prove his joy.

It is doubtful if the others heard. They, inquisitive fellows that they were, had hands and eyes and tongues busy as they investigated the boat that had caused Chueh Chun's downfall. Lifting a drab and unpromising rain-cloth, they discovered underneath a cargo of precious tribute silks—only the best—stuffs such as are sent in tribute to His Majesty, The Emperor. There, were bales of silk and sewn garments of (silk. There were reds and greens and purples, brown and black and gold. Orange, blue, and pink, they surpassed the rainbow in vivid hue. "How marvelous," gasped the neighbors. "Your fortune is made, Chueh Chun. What stupendous good luck. We who have always been your truest friends, aiding you with turnips and money in time of need, now rejoice with you."

Chueh Chun nodded. "I must beg leave to disagree on that," was his contradiction. "It is no very good luck. I would sooner have stepped on a fretful tiger. Really, it is terrible—finding this boat."

The neighbors squinted eyes at each other and spoke. "A pity that you won't take of the find. Howbeit—good for us. We can make profitable use of these things." They were silly to say that.

Chueh Chun promptly loaded his donkey with silks, a burden worth, even in a beggars' market, double or more the thirty thousand cash left by his aunt. He donned a most sightly lilac-colored coat and departed.

Thus with his donkey laden and his own back resplendent, Chueh Chun fared onward toward Tsun Pu. Scarce had he gone two li when a band of brigands espied him. "There goes old Chueh Chun," said a brigand. "He is too poor to rob. That donkey of his is older than my own dear great-grandfather, and possesses a most deplorable temper." But the robber chief spoke. "Nonsense, you shallow pate. Look at his lilac robe. Look at the silks upon his beast. We could scarcely have better fortune though we opened sacks within our noble Emperor's treasury." So the robbers fell upon Chueh Chun and stripped him of his stuffs. His donkey, his robe, his purse, all they took.

It was a well-plucked traveler who returned to Tien Ting Village and related his misadventure. The villagers, to a man, sympathized greatly. "Our hearts go out to you, most excellent Chueh Chun," they condoled. "Undoubtedly, you have suffered. How you must grieve. And we also grieve. It is all pleasure swept away."

Stubborn Chueh Chun could not agree. Said he: "Who knows but that it was good luck? Had I continued through the mountains I might have been killed by falling rocks. Think of that. Beyond doubt the robbers saved my life. Yet you, my supposed friends, say it was bad luck."

Early next morning, Chueh Chun's ancient donkey returned to the village. She had broken loose from the brigands and ambled home with all her load of silks intact. How the neighbors rejoiced. A person might easily have thought that the little donkey belonged
It was a well-plucked traveler who returned.

to them, so jubilant were they. "Oh, Chueh Chun, awake," they screamed. "Here is your donkey, all hearty and hale—with not so much as a yard of silk missing. What wonderful, wonderful luck."

Chueh Chun said: "I'm afraid, good gracious yes, it's very bad luck. No good can come of this. It's unfortunate as can be. Alas. Alas." Nor was he far wrong. That very morning, while ministering to a wound upon the donkey, that sinful little beast kicked with such violence as to break her master's leg. The somewhat inquisitive neighbors gathered, as bees gather to the blossoming beans. "Oh. Oh. Oh," they screamed. "What is the matter? Did the shameless donkey kick our handsome neighbor?"

"Truly, she did," laughed Chueh Chun. "So hard that I think my leg has come apart." And as he thought, so it was. He could not walk.

The neighbors redoubled their wails, asking each other, "Is not that the extreme height of ill fortune?"

"Not at all," denied old Chueh Chun, perhaps a trifle grumpily. "In my opinion it may be a blessing. It, no doubt, will save me from something worse. Besides, it convinces me that my donkey is very strong, despite her age."

By darkest midnight the Khan of the warlike Tartars, with fifty thousand men, swooped down to raid such villages as had, rather foolishly, been built outside the Great Wall. Tien Ting suffered. Every able-bodied man was taken prisoner. Only the very young, the extremely ancient, the lame, the blind, and the bedridden were left in their homes. Chueh Chun was one of those thus spared. Lameness and age were in his favor. By torchlight a toothless, grinning old neighbor dropped into Chueh Chun's cave to say that the danger was no more. "The Tartars are gone, my admirable friend, Chueh Chun—and so are all of our young men, and our goods, even to house chimneys. I think you and I are about the only ones spared. How fortunate we are."

"It may be all very fortunate for you," put in Chueh Chun, "but as for me, I have a feeling that things could be much better, and still be not so good. I wish the Tartars had carried me into captivity astride my own poor lost donkey." For, of course, his donkey was gone again.

With the dawning, His Majesty, The Emperor Ching Tang, entered the village to learn of its losses. He was told that all of the men, save half a dozen, Chueh Chun among them, had been carried off. "Why wasn't such a one taken?" asked the Emperor. He was told: "A cripple for ninety years and a day." "Why wasn't Chueh Chun taken?" asked the Emperor. "Because, Noble Majesty," answered a villager, kneeling three times and knocking his head on the ground thrice with each kneeling, "because, most gracious light of the sun and beauty of the moon, lord of the earth and sea and sky, Chueh Chun was kicked by his own donkey, and I well remember his saying at the time that it was extremely fortunate his leg was broken—a blessing—those were his words. And they were true."

"What say you?" thundered the Emperor. "A blessing—to be crippled? Why then this Chueh Chun must have known beforehand that the Tartars were coming to carry away my people. He must have known it, and knowing, gave us no warning. Bid this traitorous fellow appear. Soldiers—go. Headsman—draw your sword."

Fortunately, Chueh Chun's wife heard the Emperor's command. Swiftly she ran home. As she entered the cave Chueh Chun sneezed. "Kou Chu." The sneeze led to an excellent idea. Said the wife: "Aha. Aha," with much emphasis. "You were out in your boat on the river last week, and now you have a cold." Adding with proper severity, "Don't you dare go near the river again. Do you hear?" She knew very well what would happen. "My husband—come back."

Lame as he was, Chueh Chun promptly left the cave and got into his boat. The good wife smiled and screamed, "Don't row with such vigor."

Soldiers ran to the bank of the stream and called, "Come back." And louder they shouted, "Come back." That was extremely foolish of them. They should have said, "Go on."

Contrary to the last, Chueh Chun sat the wrong way in his boat and rowed for dear life.

 

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