# Rare Earth/Chapter 9

Chapter IX
Hung Long Tom rose to his feet and gazed in awe at the dawn. Old man though he was, each new sunrise was a pageant to him. Oh, the joy of it, the hope, the courage. What fools men were to remain in bed while the most glorious spectacle of the ages was taking place. His withered old face glowed with ecstasy. A bit of color surged into his faded parchment cheeks.
Hung Long Tom was sitting patiently beside Scobee when at last he awakened though that is hardly the word to use when speaking of Scobee. He always protested to Hung Long Tom when he used it.
“I never awaken,” he used to say petulantly. ​"I merely grow conscious of the moving world about me of which I have ceased to be a part. I live in perpetual sleep."
"How do you feel?" asked Hung Long Tom.
"Pretty fair," was the reply. "Of course you would be with me. I can never be lost with you about. If I did not hear your voice I would be in a quaint dilemma. Have I been sleeping in the field all night? I remember coming out"
"Yes," replied Hung Long Tom, "you have but after all what does it matter? There is no sweeter place to sleep than in the open on a mild night."
Scobee drew his hand wearily across his eyes. "I had to come outdoors," he said. "My head was bursting. I was stifling. What is there to live for? The future is barren, bleak. Better to have remained in France than this."
Hung Long Tom gravely shook his head despite the fact that Scobee could not see him.
"No," he declared, "there is still much of life before you."
​"There is nothing," moaned Scobee, "nothing but blackness."
"When God created the earth," mused Hung Long Tom, "he made soft skies, rare perfumes and the green-splashed turbulent sea. All of beauty did he make. Joy, laughter and song. But he did not make any ugly or sordid thing. Unpleasant things are all manmade. War, treachery, hatred. The world at its birth was drenched in beauty and because men can only appreciate that for which they must struggle, they squandered it. They invented wines wherefrom to grow intoxicated, not knowing that there is more real intoxication in the blue wide path of the sky than in a Bacchanalian feast. Broadly speaking most of the troubles of life never exist. Most worries are without foundation. If there is one thing that proves man thinks on a higher plane than the lesser animals it is his capacity for worry. Which is the most perfect existence, that of a wild beast of the forest who lives and sleeps in the open, without care or thought except for the immediate present, or ​of a man whose very existence is beset by doubt, jealousies, false gods and forbidden iniquities?"
Hung Long Tom was talking verbosely with the set purpose of deflecting Scobee's thoughts into other channels.
"I have been pondering deeply," he went on, "and at last the thought has come to me that even as I turned to your country in my darkest hour, so you must turn to mine in like manner. Come with me to China. It is a curious, unusual country. In China anything and everything may happen. It is the one land that does not go forward in a cut and dried manner. If aught of fantasy exists in the world today it must exist in China. Someone has said that China is not real, that it is only an imagined country. Perhaps that is what makes it a Mecca for world-weary travelers. China is a bizarre country of legend and song, of poetry and mystery, of moon-bridges and carved jade. There you may find your sight again. For in China there are many singular characters, wizards, soothsayers, tea-masters. When one's ​soul is sick something more than drugs is needed. My people have an age-old proverb; 'You cannot prevent the birds of sadness from flying over your head but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair.' That is the type of philosophy that you need. Come with me to China. I have plenty of money, more money than I shall ever need. I have never been a poor man."
"Yet you chose to come and work as a servant for my father!" cried Scobee in astonishment.
"Have I been treated like a servant?" asked Hung Long Tom.
"That you could never be," was the fervent reply. "You've been the most patient friend and counsellor a lonely boy ever had. I shudder to think what my life would have been without you. Whenever I took your advice things worked out perfectly."
"And now I am suggesting that you go with me to China."
"What would be the use? I couldn't see anything."
​"You could at least hear the low murmur, the discordant, jambering, wailing, clashing voice that is China. Is there no beauty in the voice of an erratic city? Besides I will interpret China for you. You can visualize China through my eyes. Undoubtedly a sea voyage would do you good. It would help to make you forget. There is no country in the world in which it is so easy to lose oneself. Perhaps eventually in China you may cease to be blind. China is far more spiritual than real. There the supernatural is never scoffed at. How illogical are the beliefs of Occidental men. They accept as gospel the miracles related in the Bible and at the same time ridicule the proposition that even today miracles are possible. Despite the fact that there are three distinct miracles ever before our eyes—the miracle of life, the miracle of love, the miracle of death."
Scobee smiled. "You have a most convincing way of talking," he said. "Your logic is so clear-cut no one could resist it. You would make an elegant politician though perhaps it ​is as well for the United States that you never went in for politics because undoubtedly you'd get to be president. And that would be very annoying and embarrassing. A Chinese president, you know, would never do." He paused for a moment, then he went on seriously, "I don't know where you get your power but you've actually managed to get me back again out of the deepest pit of despair. Last night I felt as though I did not wish to live. I wanted to race on and on into the wind, into forgetfulness, into oblivion, into death. And now I am actually joking with you. How account for this veering of mood? You are a queer old fellow, Hung Long Tom, and it's fortunate for me that you are. I think I'd rather like to go with you to China, to visit all the preposterous towns you told me about in my childhood. Pao Chan where lived the Yellow Nose Cat with green eyes. Foochow where the West Wind often went to spend its summers. Hongkong where for centuries they have been manufacturing beautiful hongs but are still trying unsuccessfully to make kongs. And I'd ​like to view that funny lake so intriguingly told about in the rhyme:
'Once twenty coolies went to swim And also twenty kings. A playful wizard mixed their things And made the coolies into kings. The clothing fitted all so well, Alas! thereafter none could tell The coolies from the kings?'
Yes, a trip to China would be, I am sure, helpful to me. Perhaps while I am gone Dallis may cease to worry about me. It'd tear me all to pieces if she fell in love with some other fellow but for her own sake I wish she would. I owe it to her to go away for awhile. Besides it would be very interesting to visit your country. I'd like to find out at first hand whether you are so charming a chap as you have led me to believe."