by
TAJ
Just as the workers began the journey west from the tea hills to their village, Ngong Ping, a welcome little breeze moved gently up the slope to greet them. Eight men and four women, they walked single file, bent under the weight of a dozen over-filled sacks. It had been yet another hot summer day.
At the end of the line, one worker had been shuffling along out of step, and now he paused for moment to put down his load. Salty rivulets had run from his forehead to his eyes until he could hardly see the old woman ahead. Taking the soiled toweling from around his neck, the man dabbed at the sweat on his sun-browned face and summoned the leader at the head of the line.
"Po Tsai!" he called hoarsely. "Keep a moderate pace. There is no need to hurry so. Why, even the sun does not set as quickly these days."
The foreman halted the tiny procession, then turned to the rear where the worker was wiping his glistening brow. "Grumbler," he replied. "Unlike the sun, we return to our homes. She does not have dinner and a family awaiting her return."
"Hasn't a family," mumbled the straggler. "Nor have I, wicked sun, nor have I." And exhaling a tired sigh, he replaced the burlap sack on his shoulders and began the descent once again.
For the better part of his forty years, Lim Liang Ku had lived a solitary life, silently picking tea leaves with the work crew by day and spending quiet evenings alone in a wooden hut just north of the hamlet. For years, his life had been simple and easily ordered. Caring little for the pleasures and responsibilities of community, Lim had accepted solitude as a way of life, and the loneliness seldom seemed to bother him. More often, he had found that detachment meant safety from the annoying jests and prying manner of the villagers, while time and again he recalled the words of his father, "Alone, a man may seem human enough, but once in a group, see the beast rise from his breast. In numbers lies evil and danger aplenty. Beware the village, my son Liang Ku."
A few listless cloud drifted idly overhead as Lim followed the other workers down the hillside. When the little troop reached the collecting station a short time later, the leader approached Lim with a smile and asked, "What will you do tonight, Lim Liang Ku?"
Lim dropped his head and said nothing, but busied himself with unloading the sacks. Throughout the years of their acquaintance, they had taken very few opportunities to talk, and even then had referred to each other only with taunts, "Laggard" or "Grumbler" and "Po Tsai," the pirate. How strange, he thought, that the leader should call him by his full name. They had never had much to say.
"I treat you so hard," the leader continued, "only because you work so well when we quarrel. Won't you follow me home this evening and eat with my family in the village tonight? Hours pass quickly in the company of neighbors."
The invitation was as flattering as it was unexpected, for Lim had never considered himself a neighbor, and certainly he had no place in the village. Slowly, Lim said that he had to refuse. "It is the first night of the eighth month and the anniversary of my father's death. I must honor his spirit tonight at my home."
The foreman stopped smiling and lightly shook his head. "I knew something of your father, Lim Liang Ku. It is true that he strongly disliked the village and would have nothing to do with our affairs. Yet I believe he was a good man at heart. You do well to remember him with such devotion. We may eat together another time, perhaps."
Lim only nodded and silently started unloading the withering leaves once again, as the leader turned to go. But while he was walking away, the worker whispered "thank you," just loud enough to be heard on the mounting breeze.
