It was afternoon before evening, and the fog was rolling in from the
sea. Quietness reigned in the plot of ground sacred to San Francisco’s
Chinese dead when Fou Wang deposited a bundle at the foot of his
mother’s grave and prepared for the ceremony of ministering to her three
souls.
The fragrance from a wall of fir trees near by stole to his nostrils as
he cleared the weeds and withered leaves from his parent’s resting
place. As he placed the bowls of rice and chicken and the vase of
incense where he was accustomed to place it, he became dimly conscious
of a presence or presences behind the fir wall.
He sighed deeply. No doubt the shade of his parent was restless,
because—
“Fou Wang,” spake a voice, low but distinct.
The young man fell upon his knees.
“Honored Mother!” he cried.
“Fou Wang,” repeated the voice, “though my name is on thy lips, O’Yam’s
is in thy heart.”
Conscience-stricken, Fou Wang yet retained spirit enough to gasp:
“Have I not been a dutiful son? Have I not sacrificed all for thee, O
Mother! Why, then, dost thou reproach me?”
“I do not reproach thee,” chanted three voices, and Fou Wang, lifting
his head, saw three figures emerge from behind the fir wall. “I do not
reproach thee. Thou hast been a most dutiful son, and thy offerings at
my grave and in the temple have been fully appreciated. Far from
reproaching thee, I am here to say to thee that the dead have regard for
the living who faithfully mourn and minister to them, and to bid thee
sacrifice no more until thou hast satisfied thine own heart by taking to
wife the daughter of Kien Lung and given to thy sister and thy sister’s
husband an elder brother’s blessing. Thy departed mother requires not
the sacrifice of a broken heart. The fallen leaf grieves not because the
green leaf still clings to the bough.”
Saying this, the three figures flapped the loose sleeves of the
well-known garments of Ah So Nan and faded from his vision.
For a moment Fou Wang gazed after them as if spellbound. Then he arose
and rushed towards the fir wall, behind which they seemed to have
vanished.
“Mother, honored parent! Come back and tell me of the new birth!” he
cried.
But there was no response.
Fou Wang returned to the grave and lighted the incense. But he did not
wait to see its smoke ascend. Instead he hastened to the house of Kien
Lung and said to the girl who met him at the door:
“No more shall my longing for thee take the fragrance from the flowers
and the light from the sun and moon.”