老漁渡澗 The Fisherman Ferries Them Over
三藏無奈，只得依言，跨了刬馬。行者挑著行囊。到了澗邊。只見那上流頭，有一個漁翁，撐著一個枯木的栰子，順流而下。行者見了，用手招呼道：「那老漁，你來，你來。我是東土取經去的，我師父到此難過，你來渡他一渡。」漁翁聞言，即忙撐攏。行者請師父下了馬，扶持左右。三藏上了栰子，揪上馬匹，安了行李。那老漁撐開栰子，如風似箭，不覺的過了鷹愁陡澗，上了西岸。三藏教行者解開包袱，取出大唐的幾文錢鈔，送與老漁。老漁把栰子一篙撐開道：「不要錢，不要錢。」向中流渺渺茫茫而去。三藏甚不過意，只管合掌稱謝。行者道：「師父休致意了，你不認得他？他是此澗裡的水神。不曾來接得我老孫，老孫還要打他哩。只如今免打就夠了他的，怎敢要錢！」那師父也似信不信，只得又跨著刬馬，隨著行者，徑投大路，奔西而去。這正是：三藏无奈，只得依言，跨了刬马。行者挑著行囊。到了涧边。只见那上流头，有一个渔翁，撑著一个枯木的栰子，顺流而下。行者见了，用手招呼道：「那老渔，你来，你来。我是东土取经去的，我师父到此难过，你来渡他一渡。」渔翁闻言，即忙撑拢。行者请师父下了马，扶持左右。三藏上了栰子，揪上马匹，安了行李。那老渔撑开栰子，如风似箭，不觉的过了鹰愁陡涧，上了西岸。三藏教行者解开包袱，取出大唐的几文钱钞，送与老渔。老渔把栰子一篙撑开道：「不要钱，不要钱。」向中流渺渺茫茫而去。三藏甚不过意，只管合掌称谢。行者道：「师父休致意了，你不认得他？他是此涧里的水神。不曾来接得我老孙，老孙还要打他哩。只如今免打就够了他的，怎敢要钱！」那师父也似信不信，只得又跨著刬马，随著行者，径投大路，奔西而去。这正是：
逐句解 Line by line
Sanzang, having no help for it, could only do as he was told and bestride the bare-backed horse.
無奈, "having no alternative"; 只得 takes the potential 得 (dé), "could only." 刬馬 (chǎn mǎ) is a horse ridden bare, without saddle or bridle — a word that makes the elder's indignity precise.
The Pilgrim shouldered the baggage, and they came to the brink of the gorge.
挑著 takes the durative 著 (zhe); 行囊, "the travelling pack." Both graphs 行 are read xíng.
There on the upper reach they saw an old fisherman poling a raft of dead wood, coming down with the current.
栰子 (fá zi) is a raft, here of 枯木, "withered wood"; 撐著 takes durative 著 (zhe). The fisherman appears exactly when he is wanted, which in this novel is never coincidence. 那上流頭 is demonstrative, nà.
Seeing him, the Pilgrim beckoned with his hand and called: "Old fisherman, here — come here.
招呼, "to hail, to beckon." 那老漁 is demonstrative (nà). Wukong summons a stranger on the water exactly as he summoned the earth-god from the ground.
I am bound from the Eastern Land to fetch the scriptures, and my master finds this a hard crossing. Come and ferry him over."
難過, "hard to get across," with 難 read nán; 渡他一渡, "ferry him a ferrying," the reduplicated verb of casual request. Observe that Wukong names his errand — the Eastern Land, the scriptures — before he asks for anything. It is the very lesson Guanyin gave him at the gorge, and he has taken it.
Hearing this, the fisherman at once poled in to the bank. The Pilgrim helped his master down from the horse and supported him on either side.
撐攏, "to pole a boat alongside"; 扶持左右, "to support him to left and right." The fisherman's compliance is instant, and nothing is asked in return.
Sanzang boarded the raft; they hauled the horse aboard and stowed the baggage.
揪上馬匹 — 揪, "to haul by main force," is the same verb Wukong used on the dragon-horse's forelock. He handles a divine mount as he handles everything.
The old fisherman poled the raft away, swift as wind and arrow, and before they knew it they were across Eagle-Grief Steep Gorge and up on the western bank.
如風似箭 — 似 read sì, "like." 不覺的, "before they were aware of it." The gorge that could not be fought across is crossed in a single sentence.
Sanzang bade the Pilgrim open the bundle, take out a few of the Great Tang's copper coins, and give them to the old fisherman.
錢鈔, "cash and paper notes"; 教 is causative (jiào). Tang coin is worthless on this bank of the frontier, and the courtesy is the whole of the payment.
The old fisherman thrust the raft off with one stroke of his pole, saying: "I want no money, I want no money" — and went away into midstream, vague and far and vanishing.
一篙, "one thrust of the pole." 渺渺茫茫, "vast and indistinct," is a reduplicative pair for a thing dissolving into distance; the diction belongs to a departing immortal rather than to a boatman, and prepares the disclosure that follows.
Sanzang was much abashed, and could only press his palms together and give thanks.
甚不過意 — 甚 is here the adverb shèn, "exceedingly," not the interrogative shén of 甚麼; 不過意, "to feel one has taken more than is due." 合掌 is the añjali, palms joined.
Said the Pilgrim: "Master, leave off your civilities. Do you not know him? He is the water-god of this very gorge.
休致意, "leave off making acknowledgements"; 認得 takes the resultative 得 (de). The revelation is tossed away in a single clause — which is precisely how this novel likes to deliver its marvels.
He never once came out to receive old Sun, and old Sun owes him a beating still. That he is let off the beating is enough for him — how should he dare ask for money!"
接得 takes the resultative 得 (de), as with the mountain and earth gods earlier; 還要打他 takes 還 as hái, "still." Wukong's grievance is unaltered — and the water-god's refusal of payment now looks less like courtesy than prudence.
The master, half believing and half not, could only bestride the bare-backed horse again and follow the Pilgrim, striking for the high road and hastening away westward. And this is what is meant by the lines:
似信不信 — 似 read sì, "as if"; 只得 again potential 得 (dé). 跨著 and 隨著 both take durative 著 (zhe). 這正是 is the storyteller's tag ushering in the closing couplet.
Broad and vast, True Thusness ascends the farther shore; the heart made sincere, the nature comprehended, one climbs to Vulture Peak.
真如 (zhēnrú) renders Sanskrit tathatā, "suchness," reality as it is; 彼岸, "the farther shore," is the destination of the pāramitā named in the poem at the Southern Sea. 了性 takes 了 as liǎo, "to comprehend fully," not the aspect particle le. The couplet reads the fisherman's raft as an allegory of crossing over — which is what the ferrying has quietly been all along.
A single sentence carries the pilgrims over the water that has cost them the whole chapter, and the manner of it is the point. Wukong does not fight, threaten or churn; he hails a stranger and says who he is: 我是東土取經去的, "I am bound from the Eastern Land to fetch the scriptures." Not two hundred characters earlier, Guanyin had told the dragon that on the road ahead he should speak first of the scripture-seeking and enemies would submit of themselves. The lesson is applied within a page, and the novel makes no fuss about it whatever. The fisherman poles them across as swift as wind and arrow, and will take no money.
Then the disclosure, thrown away in a clause: he was the water-god of the gorge. Wukong's response is to complain that the god never came out to be beaten. The comedy is exact — the Great Sage cannot register a courtesy except as an unpaid debt — but the passage closes on something graver. The couplet that ends it, 廣大真如登彼岸, turns the raft into pāramitā itself, the crossing to the farther shore. The gorge in which a dragon devoured a horse, in which eagles are said to grieve and birds drown reaching for their own reflections, is crossed at last by a man who simply asked, and by a boatman who wanted nothing.