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Voyage of the Confucius Priest (Flash Historical Fiction)
An hour after dark, when the seven young men, no older than 19 years of age (including the young Confucius, temple priest, Yang, who was broad-shouldered, narrow-eyed, perhaps five feet eight inches in all, one – one hundred and forty pounds, short dark hair, dark dark eyes, flat stomach, and short neck, rounded chin, straight nose, his skin more bronze than light to pale) squatting down, each wearing a light blanket, Yang with an extra lit lantern. (It was Saturday evening. They only said their prayers in the temple, heard the steps of the night watchman passing by, and watched him from the window of the temple climb the ladder, while he checked the roofs of the houses, then he did not see him again, so the other six poured some rice wine, drank it hastily, to calm their nerves, Yang took out a coin from his pocket, the wooden floor under his feet made a cracking sound as he transmuted them, interrupting the other six youths, “Three minutes,” said a voice, “and the guard will take his ten minute break,” a break he was allowed to use for eat, “Let’s go then.” continued the voice.
As a result, all the sects were forced to wait, as silence, they rejected the property of China, then they went to a trap that led to the roof of the temple, climbed along its edge, and descended beyond the fortress walls, squatting against the wall and without a sound except for the steady movement of the feet, he made his way to the Yangtze River. There, in the boat called ‘Junk’, they boarded, and ten hours later – suddenly – the first appearance since the seven had disappeared, the captain of the boat, threw water on the stinking seven, to clean, many cold buckets. November water. The owner of the boat just looked at them, as he had never seen them before, it was more than that, and it was as if he never wanted to remember them once they were gone.
They had no money to speak of (especially for the passage), and so the payment would be, to allow the owner to sell them into slavery.
From the belly of the Junk below, the men themselves could not hear or feel what was happening on the upper level, the only other level of the vessel, so everything remained unchanged in the bowels of the Junk, more ugly than the pit of a fox. , and as dark, although not as demanding and punishing as his previous life would have seen. The cheap imitation of freedom, pocketed in the jackets of appointed men in charge of providence, the fortress, the temple, life could not be worse as a slave.
Squatting on the floor of the building, under the galley above (this was 1869, Yang now 19 years old, a strange year, all the young men had been defeated and forgotten, what would be the difference – so they feel – to belong to the lowest bidder in Argentina, Buenos Aires (via Ushuaia), where the next ship was taking them, only a candidate like a day for freedom, which was all they hoped for, a chance, except a country dotted with dictators, far from the fences they could not go behind, and the bridges they could not cross, and the sides were forbidden to approach, they were only faded leaves on tres-to be blamed at any time by the rich , empowered, warned: headless. to their prayers and cries.)
And here they were crouching (thinking of their servitude, of the journey, of what they had gone through, the escape itself came back to their minds, the legacy of freedom, Yang gave them, passed on to them, something chose qu’ils » they all forget in a moment of time for a long time, very long, but for some it resurfaces), without doing anything, not a thing but thinking, nobody disturbing them, until the ship stopped, and they embarked on the second ship, and then, they were near a month at sea, and another blessing: after they were awakened from their sleep, by the thick straw floor, used as their place, where they ate, and drank out of buckets of water, they each had a blanket. , and they had a lantern between them, it was Sunday morning-and all their dreams and all their thoughts faded.
To the Legates
(Remember while on the Ship, and about to disembark)
Before the night watchmen had finished with their evening meal, Yang and his followers, the comrades had gone, but soon when they left in the morning, so it affected the whole site of the temple, and also the nearby village, most of the mid-afternoon. known from the sunset-every town and village without money, the region knew that the young priest, the king-priest to be, disappeared, was out of sight.
The officers had only to wait (so they thought), and he would return, therefore, to wait until that moment of delivery, so they declared. He had escaped mainly to be 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 feared for his life.
He was asked among his followers: “What did he see, while he was watching so many nights outside the windows of his temple…?”
It was said that he had seen the future, the near future, that a vision appeared to him, of soldiers coming to destroy the temple, the idols, to tear the tapestry, he saw a new China rising, and he knew that he would have to escape, lest he be tortured and killed (so he dreamed again as he sat on the floor of the vessel, he dreamed on his journey down the Yangtze River, towards Shanghai, on board another boat, which would take them out of China, into the waters of the Pacific).
Looking out of that temple window, he heard a voice; He also seemed to smile as he cried: “Do not put your trust in man, but let him trust you, he is inconsistent, like the waves you will soon be a fugitive from God, stop, this is the course of most men, they cling to wealth, they squeeze the sap of life from the seeker – whether poet, priest, or philosopher – the soup of the soul, like a juicy plant , and they leave it once its life substance is gone.
“Good rulers do not make war nor punish their countrymen, as if they were the common enemy, who punishes for lack of opportunity: he, the bad governor is responsible and thus, sets the trap for his people”.
(So many things he thought in those hours and days at the sea.) He was in China in those days, he saw tourists flocking to his country from India and Europe, Buddhist monks arrived in large numbers , and had their share of Missionaries preaching Zoroastrianism. , Christianity, also, Yang remained as Confucians. And together with his followers, Li, Ming, Ho and the others, they looked out of the windows of the temple, looked at the Great White Star (Venus), and in the evening, under the light of candles, read the books of Confucius.
And he wrote on the wall of the temple before leaving: “How many times must China die and be reborn before it finds order and peace, because now all it offers is chaos and balances itself with dictators.”
Counting the cost
Argentina is the farm
(In 1870, Yang was sold to the Peñaloza Family, Buenos Aires, after which he inherited his name, and was given a first name, according to Latin American sounds, now called Manuel Peñaloza – the year being 1870. Because of problems and clashes, and the Peñaloza family, being in politics, and the son was killed for his beliefs, the head of the family of the Peñaloza family, being superstitious, and feeling that Manuel was giving him bad luck, he was released in 1888: then he married Nieves. , in 1889)
The two people, Yang (now Manuel Peñaloza) and his wife Nieves, could not support themselves, working on a farm outside the city, probably not receiving much more than their pension and housing, the family trying to live in the farm. It was also poor, therefore, a couple without children, one of middle age, two of misfortune, gathered as if for a last mutual resource, here they lived in a one-room hut, more like a kind of shed, hung to life, in a farm with a hundred hectares of corn, incredible to say the least, with his heartbreaking work, this came to recognize that this life did not reward his sweat that gives, but only eats his flesh , a man who at one time was called the young king-priest, of the temple, a hero to his followers who for a long time, walked alone and alone, yet he still cast a magnificent giant shadow.
But here they lived anyway, for almost two years, spreading firewood, hoeing the hard and sloping ground, planting the rest of the corn on Sunday afternoon, in their clean but faded breeches; and to this they gave thanks for the strong heart that was given to them by God. This is the time he learned about Christianity, after checking the doctrine, reading the Gospels, memorizing the ten commandments, he had learned during his service, the Spanish language, perhaps better than the average university linked to Argentina. And as a result, he looked at the people preaching the word of God, and then violated them, then he was gone, it was 1891.
Killing the flesh of man
(Manuel’s wife gave birth to a boy in 1891, named Fidel) (The boy grew several centimeters shorter than his father, and grew a thin boy at a young age. He took up carpentry, and in the 1915, all moved). in Lima, Peru later he married Juana, in 1919 (whom he met in Huancayo, Peru, where he bought land and stayed for a long period before returning to Lima).
And so it was, Manuel and his wife, brought their eldest child, Fidel, in the year 1915, in Lima, Peru, he had made a prayer for them the night before, and told Nieves: this was the last trip, now being. , sixty-five years, because every journey was in itself a battle.
“What,” said his wife, once in Lima, he had muttered something to himself,
“It took me sixty-five years to get to where I could find freedom, I still have my roots of Confucius, and now Christianity, it will be Christmas soon, we have walked a lot, time to stop and find a job”, but. what he didn’t say and wanted to say, maybe it was: I really don’t know anything, but how to preach, even though he had done many other things in the journey of his life, he ended up doing a job, and there was nothing. money, save only what he needed to feed his family, to save those meat from rotting, he went after ideals, and found words, and only a single coin in his pocket at the end of it, but he fed the family. When he was young he thought differently, his goal was different, but soon after the trip that everything changed, now in Lima, a long trip he had only learned what was right and wrong, what was sin, things that he knew before. he left China, the things he taught his son, the things he went more and more, how man kills his flesh.
(In 1921, Augusto Peñaloza was born to Fidel, and in 1923, he had 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, who gave birth to Ximena, in 1993, and in 2007, the family learned, they are partially ChineseJ)
Notes: Taken from real events. The names and dates are as near to the truth as the author can fix; some parts of historical fiction; Written from notes taken in a conversation between the author and Augusto Peñaloza, on 4-10-2008, at the cafe ‘Mia Mamma’, in El Tambo, Huancayo, Peru. Copyright ©2008, by Dennis L. Siluk
The Journey, and History Process, written, 10-4-2008; The Escape, The Vision, The Interlude, written on 10-6-2008; Farming, Farming II, and Christ, Killing Man’s Meet, written on the morning of October 8, 2008.
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