Chinese Literature

“Grandfather, if something’s bothering you, we can talk it over eradually. We only have a market here every fifth day. Think of how much “business you lost this morning.”

The old man sat with his back against a table, his legs spread, his hands resting listlessly on his knees. Every bone in his body ached. He felt ready to collapse. But this was only for a brief instant. Suddenly, he stood up.

“A loss of face for the whole clan!”

Muttering, the Elder left the wine and grocery shop. Outside, he shouted to his fifteen-year-old grandson, “Pack up the stall, we're not selling today! I’m going to fd someone to write notices. We'll call a clan meeting and settle this thing!”

Contrary to his usual practice, he went to the rice mart without bringing his hookah. The Bigot set up his fortune-telling stand in an open space in the rice mart on market days, and there Yang the Elder was sure to find his cronies.

The ceremony of “Sweeping the Ancestral Temple and Convening a Grand Meeting of the Clan,” according to custom, could only be performed on the annual Ching Ming Festival, when everywhere graves were tidied and sacrifices made to the spirits of the departed. Only in the event of some happening of momentous importance could the temple be given a real cleaning and a big meeting be called at any other time. But in the past few years since liberation, even at Ching Ming this had not been done. Many had simply forgotten about these rites. Though Yang the Elder and his intimates had not forgotten, they found the matter difficult to put across. Funds which formerly had been set aside for the purpose, as well as all the clan dues, had long since been gobbled up by the “Big Mouthed Old Crowds’—the local landlords. There had been no way to get a clear accounting out of them. The temple’s income-producing paddy fields had been distributed during land reform. You couldn’t call on individuals to put up funds every time the temple had to spend a little money to conduct a meeting.

Of all his cronies, Yang the Elder was the most distressed about this. As clan leader, he felt he was letting their common ancestors down. Again raise a special fund? He had spoken to a few people about that at New Year’s time. It was hopeless. Some said they would help in other ways, but not with money. Several kept quiet, obviously not very interested. A few came out flatly against conducting the ceremony at all. ‘No two members think alike,” he had sighed. “The clan has lost its clannishness!” The affair of Chun-mei and her mother, and especially the saucy way Chun-mei had talked back to him, made him feel that their traditional clan “Customs” and “Laws” were being ground to a pulp. What’s more, his prestige as “Venerable Leader of the Clan” was becoming quite worthless. He could see no difference between Chun-mei’s treatment of him

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