Читать книгу Little Almond Blossoms: A Book of Chinese Stories for Children - Jessie Juliet Knox - Страница 7

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IT was the one desire of little Sing Lee to be a highbinder. It must be a fine thing, for his father was one, and so it must be good. It was true he did not have a very definite idea of just what it meant to be one, but he knew this: his father belonged to the Hip Sing Tongs, an order of highbinders in San Francisco, and they were men who kept their promises. At night as he lay on his hard bamboo couch, with the fumes of opium thick around him, he could hear ho chun talking in a low tone to a crowd of men, who were all of the same order of highbinders as his father. “There is Chong Sing,” they were saying; “he has told some of our secrets to a white devil, and he must die; the joss frowns upon him.”

This sounded very discouraging for Chong Sing, and little Sing Lee felt sorry for a moment, for he remembered that one day this same Chong Sing had spoken kindly, and had given him a three-cornered package of lichee (nuts) and candy. He could even yet taste the delicious strips of candied cocoanut, and the dainty citron. Chong Sing had said he would bring him some more another time, and now—he was to die. If he died, perhaps no one else would bring candy or speak a kind word.

Little Sing Lee lay trembling in his bed as they planned the murder of his friend. What could he do? He was only a little boy, and—he had thought to be a highbinder when he was a big man like ho chun; and if he was going to be one, he must conquer all tenderness of heart,—and yet, this man had been kind to him, and it might be that he had little boys of his own at home.

“If I was a highbinder,” he said to himself, “I no kill nice men who bling children candy; I kill bad men.”

Next day he confided his thoughts to mo chun, but she replied: “No! no! my little boy. No use—Hip Sing Tongs heap big—heap stlong (strong). They no care if Chong Sing give lichee; they kill him, allee samee.” But little Sing Lee did not forget. He still thought, however, that it must be a fine thing to be a highbinder, if only one just killed the bad men—men who did not give candy to lonely little children and speak kind words to them. So that very day he went around through Chinatown and organized a society of highbinders among his boy friends.

He succeeded in getting four other boys to join, and they all took their oaths very solemnly. Now that they were really highbinders they must begin to kill somebody. Not ever having killed anybody, they did not know how to go about it, or on whom to begin.

Mo chun noticed the boys carrying on a great deal of private conversation, and she wondered what it could be; so that night, after Sing Lee had burned his punks before the god, and had eaten his bowl of rice with chopsticks, she said to him: “What for you allee time whisper? You no eat—you no sleep; tell me! what you think?”

Mo chun was such a dear little brown mother, and he loved her so, that when she looked at him with her slanting velvet eyes, and asked him to tell her, he just had to, that was all. He was not afraid of her, for Chinese mothers do not punish their children, and anyway—the secret was too good to keep, so why not tell her? She never laughed at him like ho chun. So he crept close up against the warmth of her silken blouse—he could feel her tender mother heart beating beneath it—and he gazed at the polished hair and the pretty mouth as he talked.

“Mo chun—I likee be like big man—like ho chun. I get boys togeddeh; we be highbinders, allee samee ho chun.

“Ho chun velly fine man; he kill heap of people; I likee do that, but, mo chun, my beautiful blossom, I no likee ho chun to kill Chong Sing; he heap good—he bling me candy.”

“What you mean, little boy? How you sabe (know) ho chun kill Chong Sing? Speak!—tell me!”

“Oh, mo chun of mine, I no sleep at night; I no can help—I hear ho chun say Chong Sing must die. I velly solly; he heap good man—I likee.”

Mo chun was sorry too, for she knew him to be a good man, but she knew there was no use to say anything. If they had decided upon his death there was nothing to be said.

The next day Sing Lee set forth with his little band of highbinders to find some one to kill. Mo chun had said: “You must not really kill them, you sabe, just pletend kill.”

Suddenly, as they marched on, a bright thought struck little Sing Lee. “Suppose I tell Chong Sing?—he live near—I know the way, and—he was kind to me.”

He then confided his secret to his trusty men, and they marched on, through the narrow streets, till they came to the home of the good Chong Sing—the man who was to be killed.

It was dark and gloomy where Chong Sing lived, and his two little children, trudging homeward through the narrow alley-way, arrived at the door just before the little highbinders. Sing Lee could see their ho chun as he greeted them, and they clasped their little arms about his neck, while he gazed at them with love in his eyes—and yet—he must die.

Sing Lee’s mind was made up. He marched boldly to the door, and stood under the big Chinese letters which meant happiness to all who should enter there, and he could even smell the incense ever kept burning for the god,—the god who had given no warning to Chong Sing. With a soft sound of sandalled feet the doomed man appeared at the door. His face was beaming with good nature. He carried his little girl in his arms, and by his side stood his son, a manly little fellow.

With his heart throbbing as if it would burst, Sing Lee advanced in front of his men, saying, “I am Sing Lee! You were kind to me once; these are my men—highbinders—” (at this Chong Sing smiled in a very amused way, but the smile was changed to something else when the boy went on) “I no forget you; I velly lonely—you bling me candy; you say good word to me, and now—I pay you back.

“No one know I come to tell you; the Hip Sing Tongs they say you must die. They say you tell seclets to white devil: I no know, I no care, but you good man; I likee save you. I want you to go ’way, acloss the water. You go quick!—I velly solly—good-by.”

The little highbinder did not kill any one that day; he was thinking of a pale, set face, and two little brown arms clasped about a father’s neck. Never mind! he would kill some one next week, or “to-mollow.” Some one who was bad—who did not bring candy.

There was great surprise among the Hip Sing Tongs when their victim was not to be found. Such a thing had never happened before, and they could account for it in no way.

Of course they did not think to ask the little mother or the embryo highbinder. And while they were wondering and searching, away over across the blue sea were the Chinese father and mother, and brown, happy children—safe.