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Rated: E · Short Story · Children's · #993498
Fable of a Chinese sage who lives humbly, teaches wisdom, and subtly puts down the proud.
Tales of Hsaio-tze

(Note: This is a sequel to
Tales 1: A Birthday Feast for Hsiao-tse  (E)
A fable. A Confucius-like elder teaches values to his grandson.
#982631 by revdbob


and may eventually become a book of collected tales.)

How Hsaio-tse’s Village Got a Town Hall

Shortly after Mr. Hsaio returned home, the village elders came to Hsaio-tse’s hovel, wringing their hands.

“Oh, Mr. Hsaio” they cried, “What shall we do? You have not taken Mr. Chang’s gift with you, and his eyes shoot fire. We cannot afford to offend Mr. Chang, for he owns all the businesses where our people work.”

“Indeed,” replied Hsaio-tse, who you remember had treated Mr. Chang with the deepest and most formal respect, “there is no reason why anyone should be offended. All persons should be treated as honorably as they have treated others. Tell him I send my deepest apologies, but I am an old man and could not carry his wondrous and rather heavy gift with me. Let him know that it is my belief that such a wonderful gift must not be hidden in a mere hovel. It must hang in a public place, that all may see it.”

“Yes, indeed, that will surely satisfy Mr. Chang,” answered one.

“And please his vanity as well,” muttered another, but under his breath, for he had been rebuked more than once by Mr. Hsaio for lack of respect for others.

“But where is there such a place?” asked another.

“We shall hang it in the Town Hall,” beamed Hsaio-tse, triumphantly.

“What a wonderful idea!” cried one.

“But,” ventured another, timidly, “We do not have a Town Hall,” for the village was very small and very poor and had never felt a need for such a thing.

“Then,” said Hsaio-tse, “we must build one.”

Again the elders nodded wisely to each other. That would be a fine idea, they said. Mr. Chang would be honored to have his gift placed in such an honorable location as a town hall, where everyone could see it. Bowing low and thanking Hsaio-tse for his wisdom, they left to tell Mr. Chang of their plans.

“Honorable Mr. Chang,” they said, almost in chorus, “Mr. Hsaio wishes us to convey his regrets at not staying longer, but he is an old man and cannot be gone too long from his home.” They all nodded, knowingly, and Mr. Chang acknowledged the truth of that with a scowl.

“He also send his regrets that, because he is an old man, he was not strong enough to carry your gift with him,” said another. Again they all nodded, and Mr. Chang, seeing how reasonable that was, frowned a little less fiercely.

“Also, most Honorable Mr. Chang, Mr. Hsaio wishes to convey his belief that such a fine gift ought not to be hidden but placed in honor where all can see it.” Once more, heads bobbed vigorously, and Mr. Chang’s frown turned to a smile. After all, he thought, his name was prominently placed on the gift, and this would put it before these villagers’ eyes so that they should know well in which wok their rice was cooked!

“But where would this be? It cannot hang here in the open, for the weather would destroy it.”

“It will hang, Mr. Chang, in our Town Hall.”

“Ah, so,” thought Mr. Chang. “This is very well indeed. This is a place of honor such as was given to my worthy ancestors and will ensure I am long remembered.”

“Very well,” he said, with a gracious bow, “I accede to your wishes. Let it be as you have said.” And he gathered his retinue and left for his big home some distance away from the village.

And so it came to pass that Mr. Hsaio’s village began to gather straw and wattle and bamboo with which to build a new town hall. It was a small village, and poor, as I have said, and so the town hall they erected was not very big. Indeed, it was no larger or grander than any of the other hovels in the village. In fact, it looked rather like the small buildings placed on the edges of the village, rather than the great town halls of the cities.

“No one will live there,” they said. “No one will work there,” they added. “It does not need to be very grand. Mr. Chang’s gift will not care, so long as it is sheltered and dry.” And so a hovel was built around Mr. Chang’s gift, and a sign, carefully lettered by a young boy who had just started to learn his characters from Mr. Hsaio, was placed over the entry saying, had it been written in English, something like “Townn Hull.”

Hsaio-tse’s grandson, Hsaio Bo, found himself worrying about what they had done, and one day got up the courage to speak to his grandfather about it.

“Grandfather,” he said with a bow, “Have we done right with Mr. Chang’s gift?”

“What do you mean, Grandson?” asked Mr. Hsaio.

“It is an expensive gift, and Mr. Chang thought he would be honored, and that everyone would see his gift. But no one ever goes inside our town hall. It is too small to do anything in it. What reason has anyone to go there?”

“I see. Grandson, observe my home. Is it not grand?”

“Honorable Grandfather, it is no larger than any of the others in our village.”

“Is it so? But look around you, and what do you see?”

“I see a litter on the floor, upon which you sleep. I see your wok and utensils, your tools and your mats, your books and papers, your table and tea set, your lantern and cane, your shrine to the ancestors, your remembrances of your parents and grandparents and children and grandchildren, and the drawing of the young girl from your birthday party, and that is all. There is nothing of great value here.”

“Oh, Grandson, is it truly so? Can a man be wealthy with nowhere to lay his head, or poor when he is well sheltered and warm? Can a man be wealthy who cannot prepare his food, or poor when he cooks and has enough to eat? Can one be wealthy who cannot learn the thoughts of the wise, whether from reading or hearing, or can one be poor who is able to communicate his own thoughts, whether by speaking or writing? Are not the gods and ancestors our guarantee of continuity and security and our hope for the future? Who can be poor upon whom the favor of the gods rests? And most of all, who can be wealthy who is alone, without family or friends, and who, surrounded by those who love him, can be poor?

“Mr. Chang gave me a gift to honor me on his birthday. It is placed with all the honor I need, because that comes not from things, but from hearts. It is true that he also placed his name upon the gift, and we should give him the honor he deserves. Our people have given him exactly what he asked.”

“But Grandfather,” expostulated Hsaio Bo, “our Town Hall lacks but flies of being a…”

Hsaio-tse’s cane flashed smartly against his grandson’s shins. Hsaio Bo cried out in pain and confusion. His grandfather’s voice was gentle, but his eyes were narrowed.

“One must always speak of others with respect and treat others with respect as if they were your own ancestors. One who fails to respect the lowliest of others deserves none himself and will not receive it.”

“But Mr. Chang is not lowly!”

“Perhaps, hasty Grandson, it is wise not to place others in ranks, as if they were soldiers, but together, as if they were family.”

Somehow Hsaio-tse’s eyes and sly smile seemed to betoken another thought, perhaps about flies.

NOTE: A sequel to this, about Mr. Chang's second thoughts, will be following.

Reviewers, especially new reviewers, may find the following very helpful as it is how I will interpret your review.
 Reviewing and Rating at Writing.com  (E)
What experienced reviewers and raters really mean. How to rate when you review.
#984755 by revdbob

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