14

Mrs.　Fang　had　never　heard　of　anything　so　stupid　as　Lotus　Charm's　learning　to　read　and　write.　Her　ideas　about　girls　were　fixed:they　grew　up　and　went　wrong,　without　education;　educate　them,　and　they　would　go　wrong　more　quickly,　the　degree　of　their　shame　infinitely　worse.　“Every　girl　wants　a　man　without　knowing　how　to　read,"　she　stormed.　“Heaven　knows　what　she'll　do　knowing　all　that."

But　Meng　Liang　wasn't　worried　by　anything　she　said.　He　was　set　on　coming　to　South　Warm　Springs　to　teach　Lotus　Charm.　He　was　fragile　in　body,　but　he　had　the　will　of　a　lion.　You　could　easily　imagine　him　walking　right　through　a　mountain.

Lotus　Charm　was　anxious　to　start　learning.　The　experience　in　the　theater　when　the　audience　had　ignored　her　singing　had　hit　hard.　She　was　intelligent　enough　to　recognize　that　she　needed　experience　to　meet　situations　like　that.　And　she　had　a　deep　regard　for　the　young　actresses　she　had　seen.　To　her,　their　independence　was　a　thing　to　be　desired.　She　reflected,　too,　that　all　the　actresses　she　had　met　at　the　theater　had　been　students,　and　she　felt　that　even　if　she　was　an　entertainer,　were　she　educated　her　status　would　not　be　as　lowly　as　it　was　now.　She　was　determined　to　learn　all　she　could　from　Mr.　Meng.　She　might　never　have　the　chance　to　go　to　school,　but　if　she　were　able　to　read　and　write,　she　would　be　almost　the　same　as　other　students,　and　she　could　learn　in　her　spare　time.

Pao　Ching　and　his　brother　were　delighted　at　the　prospect　of　Lotus　Charm's　getting　an　education.　They　both　recognized　her　intelligence.　With　education　there　was　a　better　chance　of　her　talents　being　realized.

Nothing　would　convince　Mrs.　Fang.　She　was　worried　at　the　threat　to　her　own　superiority　over　the　girl.　Imagine　having　a　girl　who　could　read　and　write　in　the　house.　Such　horrible　things　might　happen.　Students　she　knew　believed　in　free　love.　It　was　all　right　to　sell　a　girl,　but　to　let　her　give　her　own　body　away　for　nothing...　Her　heart　shuddered　at　the　thought.　She　was　deeply　sincere　in　her　beliefs.　Sometimes　as　she　went　about　the　streets　of　the　little　town　and　came　upon　a　boy　and　girl　walking　together　hand　in　hand,　she　felt　sick　to　the　stomach.

The　first　day　Meng　Liang　arrived　for　the　lesson　the　Fang　household　welcomed　him　with　the　best　jasmine　tea　and　plenty　of　good　things　to　eat.　Pao　Ching　suggested　that　his　elder　brother　should　have　the　first　lesson,　but　Meng　wouldn't　hear　of　it.　He　wanted　to　teach　Lotus　Charm.　The　arrangement　was　that　he　would　teach　her　for　an　hour,　and　then　afterward　he　would　study　himself　with　Useless　Fang.　He　would　work　for　five　hours　or　more,　he　said.

Useless　Fang　was　pleased.　“All　my　time　is　yours,"　he　said.　“We　can　work　together　all　night　if　you　like."

Lotus　Charm　was　waiting　for　her　lesson.　She　had　tried　to　dress　as　much　like　a　student　as　possible,　with　a　white　cotton　jacket　and　no　make-up.　When　her　father　called　she　hurried　to　the　living　room.

But　her　mother　was　too　quick.　She　bounced　in　front　of　her　daughter　and　gave　her　a　sharp　shove　to　stop　her.　Her　face　was　pale　and　determined.　“I'll　go　first,"　she　said.　“You　wait　here！"　Lotus　Charm　had　to　obey.

Pao　Ching　was　disturbed　when　he　saw　his　wife.　What　would　she　say　to　Mr.　Meng？He　and　his　brother　revered　the　scholar.　How　terrible　it　would　be　if　Mrs.　Fang　insulted　their　guest.　His　face　was　set　in　serious　lines,　as　he　saw　his　wife　walking　determinedly　toward　them.

All　his　life　he　had　needed　education.　When　he　had　wanted　new　ballads　before,　he　had　always　had　to　pay　heavily,　and　dine　and　wine　the　writer.　And　now　here　was　a　man　who　was　willing　to　teach　his　daughter　and　to　write　new　ballads　for　nothing.　But　if　his　wife　insulted　the　poet.　.　.

He　managed　to　introduce　Mrs.　Fang　and　he　added　quickly,　“Where　is　Lotus　Charm？Mr.　Meng　is　waiting　for　her."　Mrs.　Fang　ignored　him.　She　looked　straight　at　Mr.　Meng　and　made　a　little　speech.　“We　are　just　entertainers,　sir,"　she　said.　“And　as　such　we　don't　need　to　learn　to　read　and　write.　We'll　be　better　off　without　it.　This　girl　is　intelligent　enough,　but　if　she　is　educated,　we'll　have　trouble　with　her.　She's　willful　now.　I　can　see　you　are　an　understanding　man,　so　please　look　at　our　side　of　the　question."

Useless　Fang's　face　was　white.　He　wanted　to　thrash　his　sister-in-law,　but　in　the　presence　of　the　distinguished　scholar　he　dared　not　start　a　family　quarrel.　Pao　Ching　was　scared.

But　Mr.　Meng　was　master　of　any　situation.　He　gave　Mrs.　Fang　a　broad　smile　and　addressed　her　familiarly.　“My　dear　sister　Fang,"　he　purred,　“please　sit　down."

Mrs.　Fang　was　flattered　and　surprised.　She　sat　down.　Deep　inside　her　she　was　frightened　of　educated　people.　To　her　they　were　of　a　different　world.　Because　they　knew　more　than　she　did,　she　always　took　pains　to　avoid　them.　Here　was　one　addressing　her　in　familiar　terms　and　smiling　at　her.　How　did　a　writer　know　how　to　call　a　woman　“sister."

Meng　Liang　was　all　charm.　“My　dear　sister,　you　like　to　drink,　I　know,　and　why　shouldn't　you.　Now　this　is　an　occasion　for　a　drink　—　you　and　I　are　meeting　for　the　first　time,　so　I'll　drink　with　you.　There　is　an　old　saying.　`The　more　drink　the　closer　friends　you　become,　the　more　you　gamble　the　thinner　you　are.'　So　let　us　drink."　He　looked　at　Pao　Ching.　“Elder　brother,　pray　get　us　a　bottle　of　good　wine,　and　let　us　all　drink."

Pao　Ching's　admiration　for　Mr.　Meng　mounted.　He　was　not　only　a　famous　playwright,　but　he　was　a　diplomat　and　a　charmer.　He　had　sensed　that　it　was　useless　to　argue　with　Mrs.　Fang,　but　could　win　her　support　by　giving　her　liquor.

Meng　poured　three　cups　of　wine,　one　for　Mrs.　Fang,　one　for　Useless　Fang,　one　for　himself.　He　didn't　offer　Pao　Ching　any,　knowing　he　had　to　take　care　of　his　throat.　“Bottoms　up！"　he　cried,　raising　his　cup　to　Mrs.　Fang.　“Bottoms　up！"

He　drank　his　own　cup　at　one　gulp.　Useless　Fang　did　likewise,　not　wanting　to　be　outdone　by　Mr.　Meng.　Mrs.　Fang　protested　coyly,　“I　have　to　drink　slowly,　I　can't　keep　up　with　you　men."

“Certainly,　sister,"　laughed　Mr.　Meng.　“You　drink　as　you　like　—　we'll　carry　on."　He　filled　his　cup　and　drank　again.　Then　he　made　a　wry　face,　as　he　slipped　his　hand　in　his　pocket.　“Oh,　sister,　there's　a　hole　in　my　pocket.　Will　you　be　so　kind　as　to　mend　it　for　me　—　a　poor　man　without　a　wife."

Mrs.　Fang　drained　her　cup　and　took　the　coat.　“Mr.　Meng,"　she　gurgled,　“you　are　a　good　friend."　She　felt　motherly　toward　the　writer,　but　she　did　not　call　Lotus　Charm　for　her　lesson,　and　Mr.　Meng　decided　to　wait　for　another　day,　to　save　the　lady's　face.　Before　he　left　he　promised　Mrs.　Fang　that　he　would　come　to　play　poker　with　her,　or　mah-jongg　if　she　wished,　but　he　begged　her　not　to　ask　him　to　play　for　too　high　stakes.　All　this　pleased　her　immensely.

The　next　day　Lotus　Charm　had　her　lesson.　She　was　a　good　student.　She　managed　to　remember　about　twenty　words　a　day,　and　her　calligraphy,　though　not　expert,　was　small　and　neat.　Mr.　Meng　was　pleased　with　his　pupil.　He　enjoyed　learning　drum　singing,　too.　Useless　Fang　taught　him　not　only　how　to　sing,　but　told　him　endless　tales　about　th　history　of　drum　singing,　which　Mr.　Meng　found　entrancingly　interesting.

After　a　few　lessons　Mr.　Meng　was　singing　to　Useless　Fang's　accompaniment.　But　his　voice　was　far　from　developed.　Useless　Fang　made　no　comment　on　that.　His　pupil　was　making　progress.

One　day　while　Mr.　Meng　was　singing　the　hotel　manager　burst　in　the　door.　He　was　furious.　He　shook　his　hand　at　Useless　Fang　and　screamed　at　the　top　of　his　voice.　“You　get　out　of　here,　you.　That　terrible　noise　is　disturbing　my　guests.　I　won't　have　it　any　longer."

Meng　Liang　smiled　innocently.　“Why,　you　are　the　very　man　we　want　to　see.　You　know,　I　admire　your　beautiful　Szechwan　accent.　Why　don't　you　come　and　sing　some　local　ballads　for　us？I'll　wager　with　a　voice　like　yours　you　can　sing　like　a　bird."

The　manager　liked　the　flattery.　He　knew　he　couldn't　sing　a　note,　but　Mr.　Meng　insisted.　“Come,　my　friend,　sing　for　us,　please."

The　manager　smiled;　then　he　turned　his　face　to　the　wall,　as　he　had　seen　professional　singers　do,　and　made　a　great　show　of　loosening　his　throat　muscles　with　his　fingers.

Then　came　the　song　—　something　between　a　scream　and　a　squeal.　After　a　few　lines　the　manager　stopped,　his　face　red.　Meng　Liang　and　Useless　Fang　gave　him　no　chance　to　be　humble.　They　both　applauded.　Meng　Liang　slapped　him　on　the　back.　Useless　Fang　greeted　him　in　the　courteous　old-fashioned　way,　bowing　with　his　hands　clasped.

When　the　manager　had　gone　the　two　friends　sat　for　a　while　smiling　at　each　other　and　then　began　to　work　again.　Afterward　Meng　Liang　played　cards　with　Mrs.　Fang.　The　two　of　them　got　along　very　well.　Mrs.　Fang　didn't　understand　most　of　what　he　said,　and　he　had　no　reason　to　argue　with　her.　She　just　listened,　and　he　talked,　and　he　listened　to　everything　she　had　to　say,　sometimes　adding　a　deft　compliment　to　her　intelligence.

And　when　she　lost　her　temper　he　did　not　get　up　and　walk　out.　Instead,　he　diverted　her　attention　to　something　else,　as　if　he　were　handling　a　pampered　baby.

Pao　Ching　was　always　worried　about　his　wife's　losing　her　temper　when　friends　were　around.　He　felt　that　it　lowered　him,　so　whenever　they　had　company　he　was　the　model　of　conciliation;　even　when　he　said　something　wrong　which　he　knew　would　annoy　her,　he　would　say　it　with　an　endearing　smile.

Meng　Liang's　method　was　more　successful.　He　saved　Pao　Ching　hours　of　embarrassment　by　handling　Mrs.　Fang　so　expertly.　Pao　Ching　warmed　to　him　for　that.　Here　was　a　true　friend　and　a　learned　man.

But　Pao　Ching　was　troubled.　By　nature　he　was　suspicious.　Why　was　Meng　Liang　so　helpful　and　kind？Did　he　want　something？In　his　experience,　most　people　who　went　out　of　their　way　to　be　polite　and　helpful　were　looking　for　something　in　return.　What　did　Meng　Liang　want？Pao　Ching　couldn't　decide,　and　at　the　same　time　he　was　angry　with　himself　for　being　suspicious　of　such　a　good　friend.

In　spite　of　all　his　doubts　he　never　quite　forgot　that　Meng　Liang　was　his　lucky　star.　Those　new　ballads　the　poet　was　writing　for　him,　for　the　great　drum　singer,　Pao　Ching.　With　them　he　and　Lotus　Charm　could　rise　far　above　all　other　drum　singers.　In　that　alone,　he　was　lucky　to　have　met　Meng　Liang.　But　his　doubts　were　always　with　him.

And　why　didn't　Meng　Liang　produce　the　lyrics？Two　months　had　gone,　and　not　a　word　had　been　said　about　them.　He　had　made　up　his　mind　to　mention　the　matter　one　morning,　when　Meng　Liang　arrived.　His　eyes　were　gleaming　with　excitement,　his　pallid　face　damp　with　sweat.　He　waved　his　long　arms　like　the　sails　of　a　windmill.　“Come,　brother,"　he　cried,　snatching　at　Pao　Ching's　sleeve,　“we　must　have　a　quiet　place　to　talk."

They　set　off　at　a　rapid　pace.　Pao　Ching　had　difficulty　keeping　up　with　the　poet.　At　best,　he　was　always　a　few　steps　behind.　Finally　they　came　to　a　tall　tree　with　yellowing　leaves　set　on　the　top　of　a　grassy　mound.　Meng　Liang　flung　himself　down,　and　sat　with　his　back　against　the　trunk.

Then　from　his　pocket　he　took　a　sheaf　of　papers　of　different　sizes.　“There,"　he　said,　“three　new　ballads,　written　for　you."

Pao　Ching　took　them.　His　hands　were　trembling.　He　wanted　to　say　something,　but　his　tongue　swelled　in　his　throat.　He　felt　as　if　the　sun　had　suddenly　risen　in　the　west　instead　of　the　east.　Three　new　ballads.　Three　ballads　written　for　him.　In　the　old　days　when　he　asked　a　writer　to　produce　something　he　had　had　to　pay　in　advance,　and　had　sometimes　waited　a　year.　The　writer　would　always　promise,　would　eat　a　hundred　meals　at　his　expense,　and　then　forget　to　write.　And　this　man　had　actually　done　what　he　had　promised.　Not　one　ballad,　but　three　ballads.　Here　was　a　true　friend,　a　genius,　a　great　man.

“Now　please　understand,　second　brother,"　said　Meng　Liang　in　a　humble　modest　tone　of　voice,　“I　have　never　written　any　ballads　before,　so　I　don't　know　how　good　they　are　or　how　bad.　But　that　is　no　problem.　If　you　don't　like　them　I　can　throw　them　away　and　we　can　start　over　again.　If　you　can　use　any　part　of　them,　why,　we　can　change　what　you　don't　like.　The　most　important　thing　is　whether　you　care　to　sing　this　particular　kind　of　ballad."

Pao　Ching　found　his　voice.　“Of　course　I　do.　Too　long　have　I　been　waiting　for　a　person　like　you.　I　want　to　serve　China.　Others　have　died　at　the　front,　what　little　I　can　do　I　shall　do　gladly.　Certainly　I　shall　sing　patriotic　ballads　to　further　the　war　of　resistance."　His　heart　swelled　as　the　tears　shone　in　his　eyes.

“I　understand　all　that,"　commented　Meng　Liang　quite　unmoved　by　his　friend's　emotion.　“But　what　you　have　to　remember　is　that　when　you　and　Lotus　Charm　sing　these　new　ballads　everyone　will　want　you　to　sing　them　free.　People　will　enjoy　them,　but　you　won't　make　any　money.　It's　the　same　with　me.　The　theaters　are　crowded　these　days.　More　people　have　seen　my　plays　than　ever　before,　but　we　are　losing　money.　We　give　more　free　shows　than　paying　ones.　Of　course　we　are　glad　to　give　our　services,　but　patriotic　sentiment　doesn't　pay　our　debts.　Much　less　fill　our　stomachs."

Pao　Ching　wouldn't　listen.　“We'll　only　have　to　pay　our　carfare.　The　expenses　won't　be　high　—　not　like　with　a　theatrical　company."

“Fine,　I　admire　your　determination.　Now　here's　another　point.　People　are　conservative.　They　like　to　hear　the　old　ballads.　When　they　hear　something　they　already　know　they　feel　they　are　not　wasting　their　money.　If　you　sing　these　ballads　in　the　tea　houses,　you　might　lose　customers."

“One　has　to　have　courage　to　do　something　new,"　replied　Pao　Ching　firmly.

Meng　Liang　laughed.　“I　feel　better,　knowing　that　you　can　take　care　of　yourself.　You're　not　going　into　this　blind.　Now　I'll　read　these　to　you.　The　first　is　a　short　number,　very　short.　It's　in　praise　of　Chungking,　the　provisional　capital.　This　is　for　Lotus　Charm.　The　other　two　are　longer.　They'll　be　for　you.　They　are　not　only　long,　but　they　call　for　considerable　emotion　and　dramatic　timing.　Only　a　seasoned　artist　can　do　them.　That　is　you,　my　second　brother　—　you　will　sing　the　ballads　of　the　war　of　resistance,　which　I　have　written　specially　for　your　talent."

Meng　Liang　then　read　the　ballads　almost　in　one　breath.　“What　do　you　think　of　them？"　he　asked　anxiously.

“Wonderful！I　may　want　to　change　a　few　words,　but　that's　all.　I　am　overwhelmed.　Now　I　can　show　the　whole　world　that　the　drum　singers　of　New　China　have　as　much　patriotism　as　the　rest."

“Splendid.　Take　them　and　sing　them　over　with　your　brother.　But　consult　me　when　it　comes　to　making　changes.　No　one　but　I　can　change　my　work.　Be　sure　to　tell　me,　and　don't　make　a　single　change　without　me."

“Naturally,"　agreed　Pao　Ching,　picking　up　the　sheets　of　paper　that　Meng　Liang　had　strewn　on　the　grass.　“Now　let's　go　home　and　have　a　drink."　He　folded　the　papers　and　put　them　in　his　pocket　carefully　as　if　they　were　deeds　to　precious　real　estate.

Meng　Liang　shook　his　head.　“Not　today.　I　am　sleepy.　I　worked　all　night."　Meng　Liang　nodded.　“When　the　fire　burns　it　must　be　fed.　I　shall　sleep　here.　Leave　me,　please."

Pao　Ching　bade　him　farewell.　He　walked　home,　his　head　high,　his　eyes　shining.　If　Meng　Liang　could　work　all　night,　so　could　he.　Useless　Fang　too.　They　would　practice　their　new　songs　all　night.