八戒守擔，山凹避風 Bajie Waits Out the Wind in the Hollow
卻說豬八戒見那黃風大作，天地無光，牽著馬，守著擔，伏在山凹之間，也不敢睜眼，不敢擡頭，口裡不住的念佛許願；又不知行者勝負何如，師父死活何如。正在那疑思之時，卻早風定天晴。忽擡頭往那洞門前看處，卻也不見兵戈，不聞鑼鼓。獃子又不敢上他門，又沒人看守馬匹、行李，果是進退兩難，愴惶不已。憂慮間，只聽得孫大聖從西邊吆喝而來，他才欠身迎著道：「哥哥，好大風啊！你從那裡走來？」行者擺手道：「利害，利害！我老孫自為人，不曾見這大風。那老妖使一柄三股鋼叉，來與老孫交戰。戰到有三十餘合，是老孫使一個『身外身』的本事。把他圍打，他甚著急，故弄出這陣風來。果是兇惡，刮得我站立不住，收了本事，冒風而逃。──哏，好風！哏，好風！老孫也會呼風，也會喚雨，不曾似這個妖精的風惡。」却说猪八戒见那黄风大作，天地无光，牵着马，守着担，伏在山凹之间，也不敢睁眼，不敢抬头，口里不住的念佛许愿；又不知行者胜负何如，师父死活何如。正在那疑思之时，却早风定天晴。忽抬头往那洞门前看处，却也不见兵戈，不闻锣鼓。呆子又不敢上他门，又没人看守马匹、行李，果是进退两难，怆惶不已。忧虑间，只听得孙大圣从西边吆喝而来，他才欠身迎着道：「哥哥，好大风啊！你从那里走来？」行者摆手道：「利害，利害！我老孙自为人，不曾见这大风。那老妖使一柄三股钢叉，来与老孙交战。战到有三十余合，是老孙使一个『身外身』的本事。把他围打，他甚着急，故弄出这阵风来。果是凶恶，刮得我站立不住，收了本事，冒风而逃。──哏，好风！哏，好风！老孙也会呼风，也会唤雨，不曾似这个妖精的风恶。」
逐句解 Line by line
We tell now how Zhu Bajie, seeing the yellow wind rise and heaven and earth go dark, held the horse, guarded the luggage-pole, and crouched down in a hollow of the hills,
Both 著 are zhe, conditions held while something else goes on: he keeps hold of the horse and keeps guard on the load throughout. 擔 reads dàn as a noun — the carrying-pole with a bundle at each end, which is Bajie's standing job in this company and will be handed back to him twice more before the chapter is out.
not daring to open his eyes, not daring to lift his head, muttering the Buddha's name and making vows under his breath;
不住的念佛許願: reciting the Buddha's name without a pause and promising offerings in exchange — bargaining, essentially, and doing it at speed. The ； is the author's, and it separates what Bajie is doing from what he has no idea about.
nor did he know how the Pilgrim fared, whether he won or lost, or whether his master were alive or dead.
The doubled 何如 is a storyteller's figure: two unanswerable questions cut to the same shape. Note the order of them. He asks how his brother fared, then whether his master is alive, and never once about himself. Bajie's cowardice and his loyalty are the same sentence here, which is the joke this novel keeps making about him.
Just as he was at this anxious reckoning, the wind fell of a sudden and the sky cleared. He raised his head and looked toward the cave gate, but there was no glint of weapons there, and no sound of gong or drum.
看處 takes 處 as chù, which turns the verb into a moment — "at the looking." 兵戈 and 鑼鼓 are the two things you would see and hear from a battle, weapons and the gongs and drums, and both are missing. It is the silence that frightens him.
The Idiot dared not go up to the door; nor was there anyone to keep the horse and the baggage. It was hard to go forward and hard to go back, and he was in a wretched fright.
獃子, "the Idiot," is what the narrator calls Bajie, with 子 as a toneless tail. 進退兩難 is one of those four-character idioms still in daily use — both going forward and going back are hard, which is exactly what English means by being caught between a rock and a hard place. 愴惶 is a literary word for panic, several sizes too grand for a fat man hiding in a ditch.
In the midst of his worrying he heard the Great Sage come hallooing from the west, and he rose to meet him, saying, "Brother! What a great wind that was!
喝 takes hè, "to shout," not the hē of drinking. In 迎著道 the 著 is zhe, a movement kept up toward something — compare 迎著風 in chapter 18 — and not the zháo of arriving.
Where have you come from?" The Pilgrim waved his hands. "Terrible, terrible!
那 here is the questioning nǎ, "from where?" It is the only one of the five 那 in this passage read that way; the other four are all the pointing nà. The doubled 利害 is as close as the Pilgrim comes to praising an enemy.
In all my time as a living being I never saw such a wind. That old fiend took up a three-pronged steel trident and came to fight with me.
自為人 — 為 is wéi, the linking verb: "since I became a being." He is careful not to say "a man," which he never was. 柄 is third tone, so the 一 in front of it takes yì.
We had fought some thirty-odd bouts when I used old Monkey's trick of the body-beyond-the-body. We had him ringed and beaten, and he grew so desperate that he raised this wind.
Two corrections inside four characters of each other. 甚 is shèn ("very"), and 著急 takes 著 as zháo — a state arrived at rather than one kept up. The fiend did not choose the wind; he was driven to it.
It was truly ferocious. It scoured me until I could not keep my feet, so I gathered in my art and fled before it.
刮得 hangs its result off de again. And then 冒風而逃: the Pilgrim says outright that he ran away, which is something he almost never admits to.
— Hen! What a wind! Hen! What a wind! Old Monkey can call up winds himself, and rains as well, and never a wind of mine was as ill as that fiend's."
哏 (gén) is a grunt of disgust, fixed at chapter 19. Doubling an exclamation like this is rare outside dialogue and marks him as still rattled. The last clause is the hinge of the whole chapter: he calls up winds himself, and this one is beyond him.
One long paragraph of the source has been divided between this passage and the next — the first of two such divisions in this chapter — and the cut falls where the Pilgrim finishes his account of the wind and Bajie changes the subject. The division is editorial, and it is noted in both halves.
Bajie in a hole in the ground with his eyes shut, promising things to the Buddha, is the pilgrimage seen from underneath. He is not brave. But he does hold on to the horse and the luggage through a wind that has just flattened Mount Potalaka, and he asks after his master before he asks after himself. The novel hands him his cowardice and his loyalty in the same clause and never separates the two.