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Daoqing: Tales from Blind Men
by Ernie Diaz
The Yellow River is the Mother River, and her children fought endless battles in the western reaches, where She divides desert from loess. The harsh land soon destroyed all trace of their warfare, but daoqing, a special style of storytelling, developed to capture the many tales of glory and doom otherwise lost to the ages.
Like so much else authentically Chinese, the 20th century stripped daoqing down to threadbare remnants. Large and colorful daoqing troupes were gradually replaced by roving bands: three, four, at most five blind storytellers and their sighted guide. However, their arrival is still greeted with joy by the simple villages in Gansu and Shaanxi that they visit. Children light firecrackers to celebrate the occasion, and their parents come in early from the fields to make sure they get a good seat.
In the village square, or in the head family’s courtyard, all gather round the daoqing band. The blind men get their supper first, mutton and tea, then tune their erhu and sanxian. They aim to make the audience laugh and cry, to offer catharsis. But first they tell a few folktales.
Eat in the East, Sleep in the West
There once was a beautiful girl who lived in the Kingdom of Qi, who had reached marriageable age. Not a week passed for her family without a visit from different suitors. One day, two men arrived at her house to propose. The first man, ugly as a stuffed toad, was from a wealthy eastern family. The second man, handsome and charming, was from a poor western family.
The girl’s parents loved her enough to realize the dilemma, for more practical folk would have little trouble choosing. They even went so far as to ask for her opinion. After lecturing her on the vagaries of marriage, they brought her before her two suitors and bid her choose, saying, “If you are embarrassed to speak your mind you may point.”
Tentatively the girl raised her right hand, pointing to he of the eastern family. Before the ugly man could smile, she raised her left to indicate the western shuaige. Her chagrined parents upbraided her, “Silly girl! You can’t marry both of them.”
“No?” she queried, “I was going to eat at the eastern house and sleep at the western.”
The Fox Borrows the Tiger’s Ferocity
A tiger was hunting the forest, with little luck, until he chanced upon an unwary fox. The tiger soon had his prey trapped between his paws. Any other animal would have panicked and wished for a quick death, but the quick-witted fox hid his fear, fixed the tiger with a steely glare, and shouted “How dare you! Release me at once.”
Shocked out of kill-mode by such audacity, the tiger could only sputter, “What?”
The fox took what he hoped was an authoritative tone, “Do you know who you’re messing with? I am the fox, sharp-eyed leader, bushy-tailed suzerain, appointed by Mother Nature Herself Lord of the Forest and emperor of all its creatures! Kill me at your peril, for She sees all, and punishes the most mighty.”
Noting that the tiger was more amused than cowed, the fox went on. “A test, then. Follow me as I tour the forest. Stay close behind, witness how my sharp teeth and fearsome tread cause all in my path to flee in terror.” The tiger, wits dulled from hunger, agreed.
So the fox sauntered through the forest, the tiger close behind. Ape and ox, deer and boar, all crashed off into the bushes at first sight of them. Finally, after a great shaggy bear made herself scarce at their approach, the fox turned to the tiger and said, “Now do you doubt that I am rightful king of this forest and lord of all I survey?” The tiger crouched in deference to his new master and said, “My liege.”
The Fastest Horse in the World
In ancient times there was a king, besotted with his wealth, who wished to own the world’s fastest horse. He sent his men far and wide in search, authorized to pay up to a thousand gold pieces for a likely beast. Three years passed, and the men who had been sent to acquire the world’s fastest horse came back, all empty-handed. The king questioned them and learned that none had been confident enough in any one horse to pay out such a royal sum. A minor official finally gained the king’s ear and said, “Grant me leave, and I will find the fleetest horse alive.”
A year later the official returned, and was soon summoned to court. The king was puzzled when the official appeared holding only a large sack, then outraged when he produced from it a horse’s head.
“What is the meaning of this?” the king demanded.
“This horse was the fastest in Arabia. But when I arrived to buy it, he had just died. So I paid five hundred gold pieces for the head.”
The king was furious. “Five hundred gold pieces for a dead horse head! I wanted a live one! What is the use of the head of a dead horse? You’ve squandered my gold, and will contemplate your error in my dungeon.”
“Pray withhold sentence for one year, m’lord, and see if in that time you are not owner of the world’s fastest horse.” A minister friendly to the official persuaded the king. Within the year, the finest horses in the world began arriving at the castle, led by master breeders, all convinced that a king sincere enough to pay five hundred gold pieces for a dead horse would certainly pay a fair price for a live one.
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