Being a man of few words, and due to the lack of knowledge, locally, in matters of geography, the exact origins of Hans, with his fair hair and clear complexion, was never very clear in the minds of the inhabitants of Carson City. Between Denmark, Iceland, and Poland, they were never sure which one to go for. Russ Stevenson, who worked the same saw as Hans at Medley & Sons, once said that what he was was a Redskin, a real savage. But he wasn’t savage, just precise. Without any assistance, in a 10-hour shift he could wield the cattle prod and skin and chop up 6 cows. He came in at 5 a.m. and left at 4 p.m., with an hour for lunch. At the time of year when the sun was up by 5, the red early rays reflecting off the desert floor and entering through the wide windows, tracing large grids on the ground, that was when Hans would think of the cathedral in Copenhagen, and then they’d fire up the saws, and the noise frightened away all the animals that had come out to hunt at dawn. At lunch, Hans, set in his ways, after devouring the bovine hamburger he cooked on an improvised grill, always took out the same book, from the same pocket in his overalls, before settling down to read:
Cook Ting was cutting up an ox for Lord Wen-hui. At every touch of his hand, every heave of his shoulder, every move of his feet, every thrust of his knee—zip! zoop! He slithered the knife along with a zing, and all was in perfect rhythm, as though he were performing the dance of the Mulberry Grove or keeping time to Ching-shou music.
“Ah, this is marvellous!” said Lord Wen-hui. “Imagine skill reaching such heights!”
Cook Ting laid down his knife and replied, “What I care about is the Way, which goes beyond skill. When I first began cutting up oxen, all I could see was the ox itself. After three years I no longer saw the whole ox. And now—now I go at it by spirit and don’t look with my eyes. Perception and understanding have come to a stop and spirit moves where it wants. I go along with the natural makeup, strike in the big hollows, guide the knife through the big openings, and follow things as they are. So I never touch the smallest ligament or tendon, much less a main joint … I stand there holding the knife and look all around me, completely satisfied and reluctant to move on, and then I wipe off the knife and put it away. The activity has transformed and has moved onto a higher plane. This is the concentration one must follow in every activity, however mundane it may be, in life.”
THE BOOK OF ZEN BY CHUANG TZU