When they reached the perimeter of the village, they turned northward along the bank of the smaller of the two streams, which Hsi-chen called Chai-chiang, or simply Narrow River. The other was K’uan-chiang, Broad River. The two rivers provided the chief thoroughfares within the village, and at this time of day several small junks were traveling upon the muddy water.
In about ten minutes at their hurried pace, the three came to a second bridge similar to the one located near the mission. It was congested with mid-morning bustle, largely as a result of the shopping and market activity that congregated about both ends of it.
As they stepped upon the bridge to cross, several of the passing villagers seemed to Robbie to give Chang, who was several paces ahead, noticeable looks of derision. These same abusive stares were directed at Hsi-chen when she and Robbie passed.
“T’i-mien!” said several, in tones clearly derogatory.
Robbie turned to Hsi-chen to ask what it meant. He had somehow imagined that this girl would have been held in high regard among the villagers. But as he opened his mouth to speak he could see on her face such a taut, solemn expression that he thought better of it. He sensed that to intrude at that moment would likely cause her measured grace to crumble.
He had been to the village but once previously, but had not before noticed such open hostility. What could be the cause? And Hsi-chen’s reaction was particularly puzzling, for he had not seen such a tension on her face since the first day they had met.
Stepping off the bridge, they again turned north. Passing three houses, which in fact were more like hovels or shacks, they came to the home of Chang Hsu-yu.
The poverty about the place was evident, though perhaps no more so than in many of the surrounding huts, and was made to look even more dismal by the dank, hard-packed earth that fronted the house, without foliage of any kind, and comprised the entire floor of the inside of it. As they came nearer they saw that several baskets and tools were strewn haphazardly about, laundry hung on a line to the side, and an even poorer shack stood behind the house which Robbie later learned contained the family’s meager silk farm. There was no glass in the windows, only shutters, which now hung wide open to let what breeze there was into the house. Two of these hung askew, partially broken or wrenched off their hinges. The front door also stood open, and a young boy in the doorway, standing silently with a finger in his mouth, gazed with childish puzzlement at the urgently approaching trio.
Chang rushed past the child into the house, followed by Hsi-chen, and then by Robbie. He gaped at what he saw. The inside had been made a shambles by something clearly other than mere poverty. The scene reminded him of the morning after a brawl in a dockside pub. Two homemade chairs lay in pieces beside a coarse table. Cooking utensils were scattered all about the floor; rice and flour had been strewn about, and Robbie felt the grains crushing beneath his shoes. A chest had been turned on its side, and its contents spilled out from the open lid onto the ground. Robbie stepped forward to help the young girl who was struggling to right the heavy wooden box. She started, then shyly stepped back while he turned it back to an upright position, then she took up a broom and quietly began attempting to clean the mess on the floor.
In the meantime Hsi-chen had hastened to a large brick bed, perhaps the most prominent feature in the one-room house. Here, in the k’ang, the entire family slept at night, often ate, and might spend many cold winter days, warmed by the stove nestled under the bed structure. There was but one figure on the bed now, slight and feeble in appearance, nearly swallowed up in the huge expanse on which she lay. Chang knelt at her side, grasping a thin, gnarled hand in his, while his silent lips showed obvious anxiety. Hsi-chen sat down on the edge of the bed and began wiping a cloth across the woman’s damp brow. She spoke softly to the woman in Chinese. Chang’s wife replied weakly but with a faint smile. Hsi-chen proceeded to dress the two or three cuts and abrasions on the woman’s face, then laid her hand on the clasped hands of husband and wife, bowed her head, and murmured a few words.
Robbie shuffled awkwardly, realizing they were praying together, feeling rather like an intruder, as if he had unknowingly stumbled into a holy place. He understood not a word of what Hsi-chen spoke, but could sense its deep reverence; there was a fervor of conviction in the words no matter how softly spoken.
After only a minute or two, she rose to her feet, gave the patient a parting affectionate pat on the shoulder, though the poor woman seemed to have dozed off by this time, then drew Chang aside and spoke in low tones with him for a moment before turning her attention once again to Robbie.
“Do you wonder what happened here?” she asked.
“Perhaps it is none of my business,” Robbie replied.
“Only if you wish it not to be. But you are already, in the eyes of the villagers, associated with the mission, and it may be that you ought to know.”
“Have they been burglarized?” he asked. “It’s hard to believe they could have anything worth stealing.”
“That is true,” she said. “And they have not been robbed. This was an act of vandalism, done by the villagers, their own neighbors.”
“But why?”
“It is soon time for the transplanting of the young rice plants from the nurseries to the fields. And there is a local observance that has been traditional for years which is thought to bless this process. The villagers are expected to pay a tithe to the temple during this festival. But Chang Hsu-yu and his family are Christians and have refused to do so.”
She paused and swept a hand around the room. “This is what has become of their courageous stand. You see, however much the gospel has come to China, the cultural and religious barriers are still enormous.”
“Their own neighbors would do this to them!”
“The sense of belonging is deeply woven into the Chinese nature and culture. It is seen in strong family bonds, in the worship of ancestors, and it extends to the entire village life. If one thread of this fine fabric breaks, it is not surprising that the others would fear for the stability of the whole piece of cloth. That fear drives these people—honest, hard-working people—to do whatever they perceive must be done to protect the old ways.”
“What harm would it do for him just to pay the tithe?” asked Robbie. “It hardly seems worth . . . well, that,” he said, nodding toward the bed where the sick woman lay.
“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s?” mused Hsi-chen thoughtfully.
“Exactly!”
“It is a difficult question,” she replied, not evasively, but forthrightly. “We must speak of it again. Until then, you might simply consider the second part of that verse. But now there is work to be done.”
While they had been talking, the old man had gone outside the house and had begun attempting to set the shutters back in place. Because of his small stature, he was having difficulty with the top hinge. Therefore, while Hsi-chen helped the girl restore order inside, Robbie offered his assistance to Chang, who smiled gratefully.
Chang handed an old hammer to Robbie, then shouldered the heavy shutter, pressing it against the wall with tough, work-worn hands, while Robbie reached up and hammered it back into place. When it was finished they moved to the next, and on around the house, working harmoniously together, mostly in silence, with occasionally Chang giving some kind of direction in Chinese, which he accompanied with sufficient gestures to make Robbie grasp his meaning. Robbie found an elemental form of exhilaration in the physical labor that seemed altogether oblivious to nationality or language. They worked for about three quarters of an hour on the shutters, and then moved to several other tasks about the place; Chang seemed extremely grateful for Robbie’s help.
Normally Chang would have been out in the rice fields with his sons, but since his wife’s injury he had limited himself to the house. This was his only outward sign of concern for her. Displaying the seemingly typical Oriental stoicism, Chang did not appear excessively anxious about the morning’s turmoil, nor did he display any taste for retribution against his neighbors. Robbie found himself admiring the man’s control and pleasant disposition. What effect Chang’s time of prayer with Hsi-chen might have had in this he did not stop to inquire of himself.
It was well into the afternoon when Robbie and Hsi-chen took their leave. Before they departed, Chang Hsu bowed deeply to Robbie.
“Tō hsieh!” he said. “Ch’ing wen, hsien-sheng kuei hsing?”
“He says, many thanks,” interpreted Hsi-chen, “and he would like to know your honorable name.”
“I am Robbie Taggart, Mr. Hsu-yu,” Robbie replied respectfully, holding out his hand. Then, thinking better of himself, he bowed instead, in the same way as Chang had done, though perhaps a bit more stiffly.
At Robbie’s introduction, Hsi-chen and Chang smiled at one another as if responding to some private joke. Robbie frowned, puzzled.
“I’ve said something wrong?” he asked.
“I am sorry,” said Hsi-chen. “I did not mean to make light of you. But even with the very little English Chang has, even he has detected your error.”
“What have I done?” said Robbie with an apologetic grin. He did not mind joining in the humor, even if it was at his own expense.
“I have been amiss in explaining the complexities of Chinese names to you,” answered Hsi-chen. “You see, in China the names are backwards from your way. Chang is the surname and Hsu-yu is the given name, even though Chang comes first. So the full name is Chang Hsu-yu. The surname is usually one syllable and the given name two. To address him, you would say Mr. Chang, or in Chinese, Chang hsien-sheng.”
“That’s simple enough,” replied Robbie enthusiastically. “I’m sure I’ll remember it next time.”
“No one will mind if you do not. I’m sure if the tables were reversed, you would not mind being called Mr. Robbie.”
Robbie laughed and Hsi-chen joined him. After a questioning pause, Chang laughed also, though he knew not why, other than that it felt good to release some of the tensions of the day.
Robbie and Hsi-chen were crossing the bridge to the mission when he tried to phrase what had been puzzling him for the last couple of hours.
“Chang Hsu-yu is a good man,” he said. “Why do such things happen to him?”
“It is too bad,” replied Hsi-chen. “And I do not have an easy answer for you, Mr. Taggart. Life is not always easy or pleasant for those who choose God’s way. But his faith sustains him. Could you not see?”
“Yes. I suppose I did see a strength in him.”
“That was Christ’s strength. Mr. Taggart. I am sure Chang would want you to know that.”
“And that is why he stands and takes the treatment from the other villagers without any thought of—”
“Reprisals, Mr. Taggart?” she queried with just the slightest edge in her lovely voice.
“Well, it seems that the incident ought to at least be reported to the authorities.”
“These sorts of things are common, Mr. Taggart, among Chinese converts. It is one of the things they have to accept about the life of faith. My father strongly encourages his converts to avoid involving the law in these matters. Besides, the law, so to speak, in these rural regions, is almost nonexistent. This is all just one more factor in what is involved in bringing Christianity to my people, as is conflict between the missions and local Buddhist priests, and even sometimes with vengeful tribal leaders.”
“But what are the poor people your father’s converts supposed to do, just stand idly by while poor, sick, old women are struck down?” His tone again revealed his annoyance with the stern mission director.
They were now on the bridge, and Robbie paused a moment and gazed out on the water as if the peaceful sight might calm him. But he couldn’t help but feel that men such as Wallace were doing a disservice to poor people like Chang. When he moved again, it was at an accelerated pace. Hsi-chen hurried to keep up with him.
“I know this must be difficult to comprehend,” she replied after a few moments, a bit breathlessly. “But there are many reasons for it. There are some missionaries who see their efforts as political and social. The gospel they preach is less a gospel of Jesus than it is a gospel of conformity to Western ways. These will even use the might of their foreign powers, whether it be Britain or America or the Netherlands or Germany, to intercede on behalf of their converts and to bolster the power of their missions. But this just increases hostility toward the foreigners in my country and especially toward missionaries because they are the most visible foreigners. But that has never been my father’s way. He does not see his calling as a legal or a political or a social or even a cultural one.”
“What then?”
“My father’s mission is a spiritual calling. There is something greater, deeper here at work to him than the surface events, be they bad or good.”
“But how can he turn his back when things like this happen?”
“He will not turn his back, Mr. Taggart, I assure you. Would you like to know what he will do?”
Robbie nodded, but not without a hint of skepticism in his look.
“After he learns what has happened, he will no doubt spend several hours in prayer—”
She paused a moment to note Robbie’s reaction, which was merely facial, but seemed to say, I thought as much! She began again with her own emphasis.
“Then he will go to the homes of each of those involved—both the victims and the antagonists, if they will receive him, and minister the love of Jesus to them.”
“And no doubt get himself roughed up also!”
“Do you think that matters to him, Mr. Taggart?”
But before Robbie could answer, Hsi-chen stopped, grasping the wooden rail on her left, her face suddenly pale.
“Hsi-chen, what is it?” exclaimed Robbie, reaching out to steady her.
She brought a trembling hand to her face, tried to smile, and then said, “Nothing . . . only too much excitement, I think.”
She pushed away from the rail, determined to continue on by herself. Then her knees buckled and she would surely have fallen had not Robbie’s strong arms been ready to catch her. He lifted her slight body and carried her quickly the rest of the way back to the mission.