"Don't forget to mention the dry mouth and pounding headache the next day," said Pocapetl. "Does Wu's poem do that as well?"
"Sarcasm is a civilized rhetorical device," Wen said. "You barbarians aren't supposed to be acquainted with it. So your question is simply in bad taste."
"Then I'll ask another. Why didn't Scholar Wu's poem work?"
"Oh, it works," Wen said.
"It just doesn't work for very long," said Wu. "And the spell that works for a long time works entirely too well, apparently, for either of us to be comfortable using it."
"Oh," said Pocapetl. "I see." After a second he shook his head. "No, I don't. Please explain."
"Family," said Wu. "It's a lot harder than it ought to be."
"It should have been easy to send them to the hells," Wen added. "After all, they've been making my life a misery since they showed up. And they've really made horrible since my father's death. And they've been very clear that they'll make my life a hell, not just a misery, if I don't do as they say."
"They drove me out of my job," said Wu. "And there are so many of them. Why don't I have the courage to condemn them to everlasting torment?"
"You at least have an excuse," Wen said. "You are a scholar and a man of obvious refinement. Whereas I am a blood-thirshty man of action. Not afraid to murder. Done it hundreds of times. Well, a couple anyway. This should've been easy." He drained his cup. "Wasn't."
Pocapetl nodded, his amazing proboscis slicing the air. "Family is forever."
"And speaking of forever," Wen said, lifting his cup, "please bring another of your wonderful—your—" His day suddenly brightened. "Excuse me," he said. "I'll be right back." In the doorway, he turned. "Pocapetl, would you happen to have a couple of large pottery jars? Bigger than the one you showed me yesterday."
"Of course; out in the back. I don't have to use them anymore, because of the jar I showed you yesterday."
"Bring a couple in here, then," Wen said, stepping through the door.
It was easy to find a grilling shop. The locals called it a bao-ba-kua, after a style of cooking from some legendary eastern sea, but however foreign the cooking method, it seemed to have been invented for pork. Wen bought two huge mounds of meat and had them wrapped in broad leaves. On his way back to Pocapetl's he bought two small sticks of incense.
"What are you doing?" Wu asked when Wen stepped into the dark, gloomy drink-house. "Oh, that smells good."
"Let's hope spirits can smell it as well," Wen said. He held the incense sticks to the candle on their table; once both were smoldering properly he dropped one in each of the jars Pocapetl had wrestled into the room. Each jar was half the height of a man. "Those probably held a lot of liquor," he said to the barbarian. "I wouldn't want to have to lift a full one."
"You probably couldn't." Pocapetl sat down and poured the three of them a drink. "Now: what are you doing?"
"At the moment, I'm eating pork. It's supposed to be for them, but honestly, I can't resist. Even above the incense I can smell it." He unwrapped one of the mounds and picked out a piece, making sure to get one that still had crispy skin attached. It crackled happily when he put his teeth to it. "Wu, you should have some before we offer it to our ancestors." He opened the second package of pork, lifted out a piece with a spoon and handed it to the scholar.
"Thank you," said Wu. He stuffed the pork into his mouth; a dribble of liquid fat and juices appeared at one corner of his mouth and ran down into his beard. "But what do you mean," he said, chewing, "about making an offering?"
"The boy has finally seen the light!" Number One Grandfather shouted. The other grandfathers cheered a ghostly cheer; Wen guessed that Wu was hearing something similar now.
"I will be the first to confess," Wen said, "that I have not behaved properly. I haven't been thinking."
He picked up a package of pork and dropped it into one of
the giant jars. "I intend to
correct my error this very instant."
He dropped the other package of pork into the second jar and walked over
to Pocapetl's store-room. "I know
how to find what I need here," he said, reaching for a small jar of baijiu.
"I think we should use a good Chinese wine," he said. Opening the jar and sniffing, he added, "Well, a traditional Chinese wine, anyway." He took a sip, grimaced, and passed the jar to Wu. After that worthy had made the appropriate faces and spat onto the floor, Wen divided the remainder of the baijiu between the two jars.
"That's going on your bill," Pocapetl said.
"Of course," Wen said, laughing. It would be worth it, if this worked. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out the scroll containing Wu's poem of suppression, then walked back to the table at which Wu and Pocapetl sat.
He read the poem, banishing the ancestors into one of the jars. Then he passed the scroll to Wu, who dutifully read the poem in the same fashion, though clearly not understanding why he was doing so.
"Excellent," Wen said. "How much time do you think we have now?"
"Ordinarily I'd say a quarter of an hour," Wu said. "With the baijiu and the pork, if they're happy enough, we might get an hour."
"We won't need it." Wu turned to Pocapetl. "That spell you use to put large amounts in a small place, and keep them safe there? Please recite it over these jars for us. Now."
Wu was laughing, applauding, even before Pocapetl had finished his recitation.
No comments:
Post a Comment