門首問答 The Old Man at the Gate
那長老才摘了斗笠,光著頭,抖抖褊衫,拖著錫杖,徑來到人家門外。見那門半開半掩,三藏不敢擅入。聊站片時,只見裡面走出一個老者,項下掛著數珠,口念阿彌陀佛,徑自來關門。慌得這長老合掌高叫:「老施主,貧僧問訊了。」那老者還禮道:「你這和尚,卻來遲了。」三藏道:「怎麼說?」老者道:「來遲無物了。早來啊,我舍下齋僧,盡飽吃飯,熟米三升,白布一段,銅錢十文。你怎麼這時候才來?」三藏躬身道:「老施主,貧僧不是趕齋的。」老者道:「既不趕齋,來此何幹?」三藏道:「我是東土大唐欽差往西天取經者,今到貴處,天色已晚。聽得府上鼓鈸之聲,特來告借一宿,天明就行也。」那老者搖手道:「和尚,出家人休打誑語。東土大唐,到我這裡,有五萬四千里路。你這等單身,如何來得?」三藏道:「老施主見得最是。但我還有三個小徒,逢山開路,遇水疊橋,保護貧僧,方得到此。」老者道:「既有徒弟,何不同來?」教:「請,請,我舍下有處安歇。」三藏回頭,叫聲:「徒弟,這裡來。」那长老才摘了斗笠,光着头,抖抖褊衫,拖着锡杖,径来到人家门外。见那门半开半掩,三藏不敢擅入。聊站片时,只见里面走出一个老者,项下挂着数珠,口念阿弥陀佛,径自来关门。慌得这长老合掌高叫:「老施主,贫僧问讯了。」那老者还礼道:「你这和尚,却来迟了。」三藏道:「怎么说?」老者道:「来迟无物了。早来啊,我舍下斋僧,尽饱吃饭,熟米三升,白布一段,铜钱十文。你怎么这时候才来?」三藏躬身道:「老施主,贫僧不是赶斋的。」老者道:「既不赶斋,来此何干?」三藏道:「我是东土大唐钦差往西天取经者,今到贵处,天色已晚。听得府上鼓钹之声,特来告借一宿,天明就行也。」那老者摇手道:「和尚,出家人休打诳语。东土大唐,到我这里,有五万四千里路。你这等单身,如何来得?」三藏道:「老施主见得最是。但我还有三个小徒,逢山开路,遇水叠桥,保护贫僧,方得到此。」老者道:「既有徒弟,何不同来?」教:「请,请,我舍下有处安歇。」三藏回头,叫声:「徒弟,这里来。」
逐句解 Line by line
The elder had just doffed his bamboo rain-hat, and bare-headed, shaking out his cassock and trailing his ringed staff, came straight to the household's gate.
The whole line is a monk making himself presentable at a stranger's door. 斗笠 is the broad bamboo rain-hat, 斗 read dǒu; 褊衫 the plain robe, shaken out; 錫杖 the ringed staff whose loose metal rings jingle as it moves — the sound was the point, warning small creatures off the path so a monk would not tread on them. 那 points — nà; 長 in 長老 is zhǎng; 光著頭 and 拖著錫杖 both take 著 as zhe.
Seeing the gate half-open and half-shut, Tripitaka dared not enter unbidden.
擅入 is entering without leave. A half-open gate is not an invitation, and Tripitaka knows it. 那 points — nà.
He stood a little while, when out from within came an old man, a string of prayer-beads at his throat, reciting "Amitābha Buddha" as he went straight to close the gate.
數珠 is the string of prayer-beads, 數 read shù, counted through as the name of the Buddha is repeated; 掛著 takes 著 as zhe, hanging there as he walks. 阿彌陀佛 is Amitābha, and 佛 is fó throughout this project, not the fú a dictionary lookup often gives. The old man is not praying so much as muttering, the way one does while shutting up for the night.
In a fluster the elder pressed his palms together and called aloud: "Old patron, this poor monk gives you greeting."
問訊 is a monk's formal greeting — palms together, a set phrase, closer to a salute than a hello. 慌得 takes 得 as de, flustered to the point of calling out; 長 in 長老 is zhǎng.
The old man returned the courtesy and said: "You monk — you have come too late."
還禮 takes 還 as huán, to give back — he returns the salute before he says anything discouraging. 那 points — nà.
Tripitaka said: "How do you mean?"
怎麼說: how do you mean?
The old man said: "Come late, and there is nothing left.
無物了: nothing left. The old man has entirely the wrong idea about his visitor, and it takes a dozen more lines to shift it.
Had you come early, at my house we feasted the monks — a full meal to satiety, three shēng of cooked rice, a bolt of white cloth, and ten copper cash.
This is what a merit-feast paid out, itemised. A full meal, then 熟米三升 — three shēng of cooked rice — plus a length of white cloth and ten copper coins. The 升 is a Chinese dry measure of about a litre, one rung of the ladder that runs 升, 斗, 石, each ten times the one below; the chapter uses all three before it is done. 齋僧 is feeding monks for merit, and the going rate was evidently known to the character.
Why do you come only now?"
這時候才來: turning up only now.
Tripitaka bowed and said: "Old patron, this poor monk is not here to cadge the feast."
躬身 is bending from the waist. 趕齋 is the free-meal circuit — Tripitaka is at pains to say he is not on it.
The old man said: "If not for the feast, then what do you come here for?"
來此何幹: then what are you here for? Blunt, and fair enough.
Tripitaka said: "I am one sent by imperial commission from the Land of the East, Great Tang, to fetch scriptures from the Western Heaven; coming now to your honored place, the day has grown dark.
欽差 is an imperial commissioner, a man travelling under the emperor's own warrant; 差 is chāi, dispatch, not the chà of falling short. 東土大唐, the Land of the East, Great Tang, is how Tripitaka introduces himself in every kingdom, and it never once fails to sound implausible.
Hearing the drums and cymbals at your house, I have come expressly to beg one night's lodging, and shall be on my way at daybreak."
一宿 takes 宿 as xiǔ, the measure for a night's stay. 聽得 takes 得 as dé. He asks for a bed and no food, which is exactly the opposite of what the old man expected.
The old man waved his hand and said: "Monk, a man who has left the household should not tell lies.
打誑語 is telling lies, and for a monk it is one of the five basic breaches — so the old man is not merely calling him a liar, he is telling him off in his own professional vocabulary. 那 points — nà.
From the Land of the East, Great Tang, to this place of mine is fifty-four thousand lǐ of road.
五萬四千里, fifty-four thousand lǐ. The novel's round figure for the whole road west is a hundred and eight thousand, so the old man's number is exactly half of it — which is about where the pilgrims have got to.
How could you, all alone like this, have come so far?"
如何來得 takes 得 as dé: how could you possibly have managed it?
Tripitaka said: "Old patron, you see it most rightly.
見得最是 takes 得 as dé — you see it quite rightly. Tripitaka concedes the point before turning it.
But I have three young disciples besides, who open a road where there are mountains and lay a bridge where there is water, guarding this poor monk, so that only thus have I come this far."
逢山開路,遇水疊橋 — open a road where there are mountains, throw a bridge where there is water — is a set phrase, and one of the oldest ways in Chinese of saying that nothing will stop you. The book uses it as shorthand for what the three disciples are for. 還 is hái, "besides"; 方得到此 takes 得 as dé.
The old man said: "Since you have disciples, why did they not come with you?"
何不同來: why did they not come with you? The question that undoes everything.
And he said: "Come in, come in — at my house there is room to lodge."
教 is jiào here, simply "said." 安歇: room to lodge.
Tripitaka turned his head and called out: "Disciples, come here."
And Tripitaka turns round and calls them in — the one thing he had carefully arranged not to happen this way.
The scene at the gate is a small comedy of crossed purposes, and it rests on how ordinary Ming lay Buddhism actually worked. A householder holds a merit-feast; monks come, eat their fill, and leave with gifts. This one is closing up afterwards, takes the monk on his doorstep for a straggler after leftovers, and recites the day's outlay with the faintly aggrieved precision of a man who has already given: a full meal, three shēng of cooked rice, a length of white cloth, ten copper coins. Tripitaka's correction — he wants a bed, not a dinner — only makes the misunderstanding worse.
The old man's flat disbelief then does the narrative's work for it. The Land of the East is fifty-four thousand lǐ away; no man walks that alone. Out of the objection comes the standing description of the three disciples — those who 逢山開路,遇水疊橋, open a road through mountains and bridge whatever water they meet. The formula restates the pilgrimage's premise for a fresh audience, and the old man's grudging "well, why didn't they come too?" sets the trap the next passage springs.