The Journey to the West, Revised Edition, Volume 2 (59 page)

    
Tiers of dense billows;

    
Layers of turbid waves;

    
Tiers of dense billows like dark sap spilling;

    
Layers of turbid waves like black oil rolling.

    
No reflection appears when you walk near;

    
No trees or woods you can see from afar.

    
Boiling, an earth full of ink!

    
Rippling, a thousand miles of ashes!

    
Like piles of charcoal water bubbles float;

    
Like o’erturned coals the breakers undulate.

    
Cattle and sheep will not drink here;

    
Crows and magpies cannot fly over.

    
Cattle and sheep won’t drink, disdaining the black;

    
Crows and magpies can’t fly, fearing the opaque.

    
Only the shore’s reeds and rushes know the seasons,

    
And the bank’s flowers and grass display their green.

    
There are lakes, streams, and rivers in all the world,

    
And many brooks and lagoons both great and small,

    
Which one in one’s life may come upon.

    
But who has seen the Black River of the West?

Dismounting, the Tang Monk said, “Disciples, why is the water so black?” Eight Rules said, “Some families must have overturned their dye barrels!” “If not,” said Sha Monk, “it has to be someone washing his brushes and ink-stones.” Pilgrim said, “Stop speculating and babbling, both of you! We have to find a way to get Master across.” “If old Hog wants to cross this river,” said Eight Rules, “it’s not difficult: all I need to do is to mount the clouds or tread the waters, and I shall cross it in the time of a meal.” “If you ask old Sand,” said Sha Monk, “I, too, need only to mount the clouds or ride the waters, and I’ll cross it in no time.” Pilgrim said, “Of course, it’s easy for us, but it’ll be difficult for Master.” “Disciples,” said Tripitaka, “how wide is the river?” “Approximately ten miles,” said Eight Rules. Tripitaka said, “You three had better determine which of you will carry me across.” Pilgrim said, “Eight Rules can do it.” “No, I can’t,” said Eight Rules. “For if I carry him on my back and try to mount the clouds, I can’t even rise three feet from the ground. As the proverb says, ‘A mortal is heavier than a mountain!’ If I carry him and tread water, he will push me down below with him.”

While master and disciples were having this discussion by the river, they suddenly saw a man approaching from the upper reach of the river
and
rowing a small boat. Delighted, the Tang Monk said, “Disciples, we have a boat. Ask him to take us across.” Shouting loudly, Sha Monk called, “Boatman, come and ferry us across this river.” The man in the boat said, “I don’t have a ferry boat. How could I take you across?” Sha Monk said, “In Heaven or on Earth, the most important thing is to perform deeds of kindness to others. Though yours may not be a ferry boat, we are not people who will often bother you. We are the sons of Buddha sent by imperial command in the land of the East to acquire scriptures. Please be kind to us and take us across the river. You will have our gratitude.” When the man heard these words, he rowed the boat near the shore and, holding his oar, he said, “Master, my boat is small and there are many of you. How could I take you all across?”

When Tripitaka walked closer and took a look, he saw that the boat was actually a canoe dug out of a log, and its hull could at most seat only two persons besides the boatman. “What shall we do?” said Tripitaka. “With this boat,” said Sha Monk, “we will have to take two trips.” Always sly and slothful, Eight Rules immediately said, “Wujing, you and Big Brother can remain here to watch the luggage and the horse. Let me escort Master and cross over first. Then the boat can return to take you and the horse. Big Brother can simply leap across.” Nodding, Pilgrim said, “You are right.”

After Idiot had helped the Tang Monk into the boat, the boatman punted the boat away from shore and began rowing it forward. As they approached the middle of the river, a violent gust of wind suddenly arose with a roar, whipping up the waves to darken the sky and the sun. Marvelous wind!

    
In midair a band of dark clouds rises up;

    
In midstream black waves surge a thousand tiers tall.

    
At both banks flying sand blots out the sun;

    
On all sides trees fall to this Heav’n-shaking howl.

    
Seas and rivers o’erturned, dragon gods take fright;

    
Mud and dirt flown up, plants and flowers fade.

    
The wind roars like thunder in times of spring,

    
And growls like a famished tiger on and on!

    
Crabs, turtles, shrimps, and fishes bow their heads;

    
Fowl and beast have all lost their nests and lairs.

    
The sailors of Five Lakes are victims all;

    
The households of Four Seas all fear for their lives.

    
If fishers in the stream can’t lower their hooks;

    
How could the river’s boatmen punt their poles?

    
With tiles and bricks upturned the houses fall;

    
With Heaven and Earth shaken, Mount Tai quakes.

This
wind, you see, was called up by the man rowing the boat, who happened to be a fiendish creature in this Black River. The disciples saw with their own eyes that the Tang Monk and Zhu Eight Rules, along with the boat, were sinking into the water. In no time at all, they vanished without a trace.

Deeply dismayed on the shore, Sha Monk and Pilgrim cried, “What shall we do? The old master faces adversity every step of the way. He just escaped from one demonic ordeal and journeyed safely for a little while before he is in the clutches again of these black waters.” Then Sha Monk said, “Could it be that the boat has capsized? Perhaps we should search for them downstream.” “No,” said Pilgrim, “it couldn’t be, for if the boat had capsized, Eight Rules with his aquatic skills could easily have picked up Master and trod water to carry him out. Just now I thought I saw something perverse about that boatman. I suppose that fellow must have called up the wind and dragged Master beneath the water.” When Sha Monk heard these words, he said, “Elder Brother, why didn’t you speak up earlier? You watch the luggage and the horse. Let me go into the water to search for them.” Pilgrim said, “The color of this water is hardly normal. I don’t think you should go in there.” “You think this water’s more formidable than my Flowing-Sand River?” asked Sha Monk. “I can go! I can go!”

Dear monk! Taking off his shirt and his socks, he lifted up his fiend-routing treasure staff and dove into the waves with a splash. Opening up the water before him, he went forward in big strides. Just as he was walking, he heard the sound of someone speaking. Sha Monk stepped to one side to sneak a glance around and he discovered ahead of him a pavilion; across its front door were written these large characters: “Hengyang Ravine, Residence of the Black River God.” Then he heard the fiendish creature, sitting in the pavilion, say, “I have gone through some hard times and only now have I found something nice. This monk is a good man who has practiced self-cultivation for ten incarnations. If I manage to eat a piece of his flesh, I’ll be a man of longevity who never grows old. I have waited for him long enough, and today I have realized my hopes. Little ones, bring out the iron cages quickly. Steam these two monks whole, while I prepare an invitation card to be sent to our second uncle. We want to celebrate his birthday for him.”

When Sha Monk heard these words, he could not restrain the fire leaping up in his heart. Lifting his treasure staff, he banged madly at the door, crying, “Brazen creature! Send out quickly my master, the Tang Monk, and my brother Eight Rules.” The little demons standing guard at the door were so frightened that they dashed inside to report, “Disaster!” “What sort of disaster?” asked the old fiend. The little fiends said, “There’s a monk with
gloomy
complexion outside. He’s banging on our door and demanding the return of some monks.”

When the fiend heard these words, he at once asked for his armor, which was brought out by the little fiends. After the old fiend suited himself up properly, he took up in his hands a steel riding crop with bamboo-like joints.
⁵
As he walked out the door, he looked mean and vicious indeed! You see

    
A square face and round eyes flashing colors bright;

    
Curled lips and a mouth like a bloody bowl.

    
A few sparse whiskers wave like iron wires;

    
His temple’s flanked by hair like cinnabar.

    
He has the form of Jupiter revealed

    
And the face of a thunder god in rage.

    
He wears a suit of iron flower-adorned,

    
A gold helmet with jewels thickly set.

    
He holds the steel crop with bamboo-like joints,

    
And violent wind churns as he walks along.

    
At birth he was a creature of the waves;

    
He shed his origin. What fearsome change!

    
You ask for this fiend’s true identity:

    
Small iguana-dragon is his former name.

“Who is beating on my door?” bellowed the fiend. Sha Monk said, “You ignorant brazen fiend! How dare you use your paltry magic and change into a ferryman to abduct my master here with your boat? Return him at once, and I’ll spare your life.” The fiend roared with laughter and said, “This monk doesn’t care about his life! Your master has been caught by me, all right, and now I’m about to have him steamed to be served to my invited guests. You come up here and match strength with me. If you can withstand me for three rounds, I will return your master. If you can’t withstand me, I’ll have you steamed and eaten also. Don’t bother to dream about your going to the Western Heaven!” Maddened by what he heard, Sha Monk brought the treasure staff down on the fiend’s head, but the latter raised his steel crop to parry the blow. The two of them thus began a fierce battle at the bottom of the river.

    
With fiend-routing staff and crop of bamboo joints

    
Two men, growing enraged, both strove to win.

    
One, the Black River’s thousand-year-old fiend;

    
One, a former immortal of Divine Mists.

    
This one longed to eat Tripitaka’s flesh;

    
That one would guard the Tang Monk’s piteous life;

    
At
the river’s bottom they met to fight,

    
Each craving success and nothing else.

    
They fought till pairs of shrimp and fish concealed themselves,

    
Till crabs and turtles in twos withdrew their heads.

    
Hear the water-home’s fiends all beat their drums

    
And monsters shouting madly before their gate.

    
This dear Wujing—what a true Buddhist priest—

    
Did show all alone his prowess and strength!

    
Waves tossed and churned and they fought to a draw

    
As the crop met and tangled with the staff.

    
Think of it! It was all for the monk of Tang

    
Who’d seek scriptures and bow in Buddha’s Heav’n.

The two of them fought for some thirty rounds and neither proved to be the stronger. Sha Monk thought to himself, “This fiendish creature is indeed my match. Since I cannot prevail, I may as well entice him out of the waters so that my elder brother can beat him.” Making one final feeble blow, Sha Monk turned quickly and ran with the staff trailing behind him. The monster-spirit, however, did not give chase and said instead, “You may go! I’m not going to fight with you anymore, for I have to prepare a card to invite a guest.” Panting heavily, Sha Monk leaped out of the water and said to Pilgrim, “Elder Brother, this creature is unruly!” “Since you were down there for quite awhile, did you find out what sort of monster he is?” asked Pilgrim. “Have you seen Master?”