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Voyage of the Confucius Priest (Flash Historical Fiction)
An hour after dark, when the seven young men, no more than 19-years of age (including the young Confucius, the temple priest, Yang, who was old in the shoulders, narrow eyes, maybe five -feet eight inches long, one-hundred and forty pounds, short black hair, deep-set dark eyes, flat stomach, and short neck, rounded chin, straight nose, skin more bronze than just pale) crouching down, each carrying a blanket of light, Yang and an additional lighted lantern. (It was Saturday night. They had just said their prayers in the temple, they heard the watchman’s footsteps passing by, they watched him from the temple window climbing the ladder, while he was checking the roofs of the houses, after that they were watching. did not see him again, so the other six poured themselves a little rice wine, drank it down hurriedly, they settled their nerves, Yang, pulled out a coin from his pocket, the floor the wood under his feet made a creaking sound as he moved, interrupting the other six young men, “Three minutes,” said a voice, “and the guard will take his ten minute break,” a break he allowed used to eat, “we will go then,” continued the voice.
As a result, all seven of them had to wait, while they were silent, they renounced that China owned them, then they went up some stairs, they went to a trap door that led from the roof of the temple , which went up on its edges, which went down beyond the past. The strong walls, squatting on the wall and without any sound save the steady movement of their feet, they made their way to the Yangtze River. Inside the boat called ‘Junk’, they sailed, and ten hours after-suddenly-the first appearance since the seven disappeared, the captain of the boat, threw water on the seven, to clean them, several cold buckets. November water. The owner of the boat just looked at them, like he had never seen them before, it was more than that, and it was like he never wanted to remember them once they were gone.
They had no money to speak of (especially for passage), and so payment would be, to allow the owner to sell them into slavery.
From the junk belly below, the men themselves could not hear or listen to what was happening on the upper level, only the other level of the vessel, so everything remained unchanged in the junk bowels, dirtier than a fox’s den. , and as dark, though not as demanding and punishing as previous lives would have been. The cheap imitation of freedom, bag up in the jackets of the men appointed in charge of the Providence, the fortress, the temple, life could not be worse as a slave.
Crouching on the floor of the ship, under the upper gallery (this was 1869, Yang is now 19-years old, an odd year, all the young men were beaten and forgotten, what would be the difference-so they felt-part of there? the lowest offer in Argentina, Buenos Aires (by way of Ushuaia), where the next ship would take them, just a similar candidate for freedom one day, which was all they expected, a luck, outside a dictator country, far. from the fences they could not go behind, and the bridges they could not cross, and the flanks were forbidden to go near, they were just faded leaves on tress-to be incriminated any when not the rich, powerful, give warning: headless. in their prayers and cries.)
There they were, just squatting (thinking about their slavery, the journey, what they went through, the escape itself came back to their minds, the legacy of freedom, Yang gave them, gave them back, something they’d all forgotten in a moment for a time, a very long time, but for some people it would resurface), do nothing, not a thing but think, no one disturbs them, until the ship stops, and they board the second ship, and When this, they were close to a month at sea, and another blessing: then they woke up from their sleep, in the thick straw floor, they used as their quarters, where they ate, and drank from buckets water, they had a blanket each. , and they had only one lantern between them, it was Sunday morning-and all their dreams and all their thoughts had faded.
To the Legatees
(Remember while on the Ship, and on disembarkation)
Before the night watchman finished his meal, Yang and his disciples, their comrades left, but as fast as they left this morning, so affected the entire temple site, as well as the nearby village , most knew by mid-afternoon, all knew by sunset-all inlets and penniless villages, the region knew the young priest, the king-priest was, disappeared, out of sight.
The officials only waited (so they thought), and he would return, hence, to wait until the moment of this delivery, so they claimed. He ran away mainly because he was revealed as a heretic, that what he preached was not the true side of the religion that his building was full of sacrilegious figures, and therefore he was afraid for his life.
It was asked among his disciples, “What did he see, as he stood watching many nights outside his temple windows…?”
He said that he saw the future, the near future, that a vision appeared in front of him, of soldiers who came to destroy the temple, the idols, tear the tapestry, he saw a new China on the rise, and he knew he would have. escape, lest they torture and kill him (so he re-dreamed while sitting on the floor of the vessel, dreaming of his journey down the Yangtze River, towards Shanghai, boarding another ship, which would take them out in China, in Pacific waters).
He was looking out of the window of the temple, he heard a voice; he himself seemed to be smiling while crying: “Don’t trust in people, but let him trust you, he is inconsistent, like the waves you will be over soon, an escape from God, he remains, this is the course of most people, clinging to riches, squeeze the sap of the life of the seeker-be he poet, priest, or philosopher-the sap of the soul, like a juicy plant, and let it rot once the substance of its life is gone .
“Good rulers do not make war against or punish the people of his country, as if they were common enemies, who are punished for lack of opportunity: he himself, the bad ruler is responsible and thus, sets a trap for his people.”
(So many things he thought in those hours and days at sea.) It was in those days in China, he saw tourists who came to his country from India and Europe, Buddhist monks came to many, and they had part of the missionaries preaching Zoroastrianism. , Christianity, again, Yang remains as a Confucian. And together with his disciples, Li, Ming, Ho, and others, looked out the windows of the temple, looked at the Great White Star (Venus), and in the evening, under candlelight, read the books of Confucius .
He then wrote on the wall of the temple before leaving, “How many times must China die and be reborn before it finds order and peace, for now all it offers is chaos and self-balancing and dictatorship.”
Count the price
Argentina and the farm
(In 1870, Yang was sold to the Peñaloza Family, Buenos Aires, then he inherited their name, and was given a first name, according to Latin American probes, now called Manuel Peñaloza – the year is 1870. Due problems and disputes, with the Peñaloza family, they were in politics, and their son was killed for his belief, the head of the Peñaloza family, they were superstitious, and feeling that Manuel gave them bad luck, he was released, in 1888: after that he married Nieves. , in 1889)
The two people, Yang (now Manuel Peñaloza) and Nieves, his wife, could hardly support themselves, working on a farm outside the city, likely not getting more than their food and housing, the family that was trying to live on the farm. There were also poor, so, a couple without children, one in middle age, two in misfortune, drawn together as if by a mutual last resort, here they lived in a one-room cabin, more like a kind of shed, stuck on life, on a farm with a hundred acres of corn, unbelievable to say the least, and his heart-breaking work, this he came to recognize that this life would not reward his sweat he was giving, but only his meat , a man who at one time was called the young king-priest, in the temple, a hero to his disciples who for a long time, walked in solitude and alone, but still sheds a shadow of a magnificent giant.
But here they lived anyway, for almost two years, splitting firewood, digging the hard and sloping ground, planting the corn to rest on Sunday afternoon, in his clean but faded pants; and they gave thanks for the strong heart God had given them. This is the time he learned about Christianity, he checked the doctrine out, read the gospels, memorized the ten commandments, he learned during his slavery, the Spanish language, maybe better than the average college bound Argentina. And consequently, watch the people preach the word of God, and then violate them, then he left, it was 1891.
Kill human flesh
(Manuel’s wife gave birth to a boy in 1891, she named him Fidel) (The boy was shorter than his father, and he made a small village at a young age. He took up carpentry, and in 1915, they all moved to Lima, Peru, after which he married Juana, in 1919 (whom he met in Huancayo, Peru, where he bought land and would stay for a period of time before returning to Lima ).
So Manuel and his wife, brought their old boy, Fidel, in 1915, Lima, Peru, made a prayer for them the night before, and said to Nieves: this was the last trip, now it was , sixty-five years, because every journey was a battle of its own.
“What,” said his wife, once in Lima, he mumbled something in his head,
“It took me one hundred and five years to get to where I could find freedom, I still have my Confucius roots, and now Christianity, it will be Christmas soon, we have walked a long way, time to stop and find a job ,” but what he did not say and perhaps meant was: I really do not know anything but how to preach, although he did many other things in his life’s journey, he ended up making no trade, and there was no trade. money except just what he needed to feed his family, to save the meat from rotting, he went after ideals, found words, and only one coin in his pocket at the end, but he fed the family . When he was young he thought differently, his goals were different, but not long after the trip that all changed, now in Lima, a long trip he learned only what is good and what is bad, what was sin, things those he knew before. he left China, the things he taught his son, the same things he went over again and again, how people kill their own meat.
(In 1921, Augusto Peñaloza was born to Fidel, and in 1923, a daughter, Christina. Fidel died in 1971. In 1957, Augusto’s wife, Maria, gave birth to Minerva and Rosa (Maria died in 2001 ); in 1959; Minerva, gave birth to Ximena, in 1993, and in 2007, the family found, they were partly ChineseJ)
Notes: Taken from current events. The names and dates are as near the truth as the author can arrange; some historical fiction; written in the notes taken on a conversation between the author and Augusto Peñaloza, 10-4-2008, at the cafe ‘Mia Mamma,’ in El Tambo, Huancayo, Peru. Copyright © 2008, by Dennis L. Siluk
The journey, and history of Proceedings, written, 10-4-2008; Save, Vision, Interlude, written 10-6-2008; Farming, Farming II, and Christ, Killing Man’s Meet, written on the morning of October 8, 2008.
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