Story 51

Phileas has now arrived in Hong Kong, and what a beautiful country it is! While Phileas goes around in search of new adventures to tell you, he has left an old Chinese story which is told in verse for you...

The Golden Finger

by Edward Korel

Down to a muddy shore there came

One hot September day,

A beggar. wretched, starving, lame,

A man called Wang - the local name

For king, or so they say.

It must have been a cruel joke

To call him such a thing;

You wouldn't find a poorer bloke

So ill, unhappy and so broke,

And nothing like a King.

I doubt if he was any more

Than six or seven stones;

He dragged himself along, footsore,

Weak, hungry, shelter less and poor;

A walking bag of bones.

He stopped beside a river track,

Distressed in the extreme,

And, taking from his aching back

His dirty, ragged, haversack

He flung it in the stream.

And watching as it floated by,

Lifted his eyes to pray,

And with a deep, unhappy sigh,

He begged the lame, Immortal Li

To take his life away.

"Immortal Master of the Sky,

Look on the earth below!

Is it not better, Lord, that I

Should drown myself, and when I die

With you to heaven go?"

Great was the power of his prayer,

His terrible request,

That Li decided then and there

Down by the river to appear

And put him to the test.

"You are not fit for heaven yet,"

Declared the Immortal One.

"Your sins are many, I regret,

And you have not repaid the debt

"You owe to heaven, my son."

He handed him a melon leaf,

That glowed a brilliant red.

"There is a liquid underneath

The cover of the yellow sheaf,"

The wise Immortal said.

"Now dip your finger in it, please,"

Came the next quiet command.

"The smallest drops," Li said, "Of these

Will cure the very worst disease

Existing in the land."

The beggar did as he was told,

And much to his surprise,

His finger turned to purest gold,

And his lame leg, a wound of old,

Grew to its normal size.

"Your touch," Li added, "Furthermore,

Is not for gain or greed.

Help all those coming to your door,

However old, however poor,

Who come to you in need."

Thanking the God, he carried on

His new, exciting way,

Curing the miserable throng

Of sick and maimed he met along

The busy road that day.

Throughout the land the beggar's name

Soon spread by word of mouth,

From Tiensin in the North, his fame,

His reputation and acclaim

Reached Kowloon in the South.

Then came a plague throughout the land;

The wealthy and the poor,

Suffered alike at death's command,

And those who sought his healing hand

Came flocking to his door.

But all those folks with cash to pay

Soon turned the fellow's head.

"Why bother with the poor today

They'll soon be dying anyway?"

The greedy person said.

And so despite the vow he made

Upon the river bank,

He treated those with gold and jade,

The ermine and the silk brigade,

The wealthy men of rank.

And Wang, not only King by name,

Now as a monarch strode,

And daily grew his wealth and fame,

And people from around all came

Unto his grand abode.

One day, outside his marble door

There, standing in the queue,

A beggar, starving, lame he saw,

Whose wounds were gaping, red and raw

And terrible to view.

"Cure me, O Lord," declared the man,

Taking a step inside.

"Master, I've nothing much to give,

Oh touch me sir, and let me live,"

The wretched beggar cried.

"My skills are not for you," Wang said.

"I do not treat the poor.

If you have not the means to pay,

Die in the gutter then, I say,"

And slammed the marble door.

What happened next was never clear,

Or easy to explain,

The weather, good that time of year,

Warm, sunny, bright and crystal clear

Changed to a hurricane.

And up above great thunderbolts

Exploded all around,

And lightning with ferocious jolts,

At least a hundred thousand volts,

Came streaking to the ground.

But then there was a change of scene,

A very different mood:

A silence, splendid and serene,

And where the beggar once had been

Immortal Li now stood.

His face, a lovely Summer's day,

Shone in the sunlit sky,

He gave, however, by the way,

At seeing all that rich display

A deep, unhappy sigh.

No animal or creature stirred,

Or petal dared to fall.

"Vanish!" he said, the single word,

Quite soft, through clearly to be heard

And pointed to it all.

A stillness settled on the land,

Now like a sheet of ice,

The gorgeous clothes, the carriage and

The golden finger on Wang's hand

All vanished in a trice.

And with it all the world's acclaim

And everything of worth.

It was as if his very name,

And all the benefits of fame

Had vanished from the earth.

He woke beside the little stream

In cold and driving rain.

And rising, slowly in a dream,

And shocked and sad in the extreme,

Limped on is way again.