家私難捨 Wealth That Cannot Buy a Child
三藏聞言,止不住腮邊淚下道:「這正是古人云:『黃梅不落青梅落,老天偏害沒兒人。』」行者笑道:「等我再問他。老公公,你府上有多大家當?」二老道:「頗有些兒:水田有四五十頃,旱田有六七十頃,草場有八九十處;水黃牛有二三百頭,驢馬有三二十匹,豬羊雞鵝無數。舍下也有吃不著的陳糧,穿不了的衣服。家財產業,也盡得數。」行者道:「你這等家業,也虧你省將起來的。」老者道:「怎見我省?」行者道:「既有這家私,怎麼捨得親生兒女祭賽?拚了五十兩銀子,可買一個童男;拚了一百兩銀子,可買一個童女。連絞纏不過二百兩之數,可就留下自己兒女後代,卻不是好?」二老滴淚道:「老爺,你不知道。那大王甚是靈感,常來我們人家行走。」行者道:「他來行走,你們看見他是甚麼嘴臉?有幾多長短?」二老道:「不見其形,只聞得一陣香風,就知是大王爺爺來了,即忙滿斗焚香,老少望風下拜。他把我們這人家匙大碗小之事,他都知道;老幼生時年月,他都記得。只要親生兒女,他方受用。不要說二三百兩沒處買,就是幾千萬兩,也沒處買這般一模一樣同年同月的兒女。」三藏闻言,止不住腮边泪下道:「这正是古人云:『黄梅不落青梅落,老天偏害没儿人。』」行者笑道:「等我再问他。老公公,你府上有多大家当?」二老道:「颇有些儿:水田有四五十顷,旱田有六七十顷,草场有八九十处;水黄牛有二三百头,驴马有三二十匹,猪羊鸡鹅无数。舍下也有吃不着的陈粮,穿不了的衣服。家财产业,也尽得数。」行者道:「你这等家业,也亏你省将起来的。」老者道:「怎见我省?」行者道:「既有这家私,怎么舍得亲生儿女祭赛?拚了五十两银子,可买一个童男;拚了一百两银子,可买一个童女。连绞缠不过二百两之数,可就留下自己儿女后代,却不是好?」二老滴泪道:「老爷,你不知道。那大王甚是灵感,常来我们人家行走。」行者道:「他来行走,你们看见他是甚么嘴脸?有几多长短?」二老道:「不见其形,只闻得一阵香风,就知是大王爷爷来了,即忙满斗焚香,老少望风下拜。他把我们这人家匙大碗小之事,他都知道;老幼生时年月,他都记得。只要亲生儿女,他方受用。不要说二三百两没处买,就是几千万两,也没处买这般一模一样同年同月的儿女。」
逐句解 Line by line
Tripitaka, hearing this, could not stanch the tears at his cheeks: "This is just what the ancients meant: 'The yellow plum falls not, the green plum falls; Heaven wrongs of all men the sonless most.'"
Tripitaka weeps, and reaches for a proverb: 黃梅不落青梅落,老天偏害沒兒人. The yellow plum is ripe and ready to drop; the green one is not. Fate takes the green. And 老天偏害 — heaven goes out of its way — puts the blame squarely: of all people it could pick on, it picks the childless. 沒兒人 takes 兒 as ér, son. 藏 in 三藏 is zàng.
Pilgrim laughed: "Let me question him further.
行者笑道 — Wukong *laughs*, one line after that. It is not callousness. He has stopped listening for sorrow and started listening for a way out, and the questions that follow are him looking for one.
Old sir, how large is your household's estate?"
家當 is what a household is worth, goods and land together. An odd question to ask a weeping man, and it has a purpose.
The two elders said: "We have a fair bit: forty or fifty qǐng of paddy-field, sixty or seventy of dry field, eighty or ninety plots of grazing-ground;
The inventory, and it is enormous. 水田 is irrigated paddy, 旱田 unirrigated field, 草場 grazing ground — and 場 is chǎng here, a real place you could walk across, against the cháng it takes in 道場, a rite. A qǐng is a hundred of the smaller land unit English borrowed as *mu*, so forty or fifty of them is a great estate by any Ming reckoning. In 些兒 the 兒 is the little -r ending, er, not the ér that stands on its own meaning child. And note the modesty of the phrase it hangs on: 頗有些兒, "we have a fair bit."
two or three hundred head of water-buffalo and ox, twenty or thirty donkeys and horses, and pigs, sheep, fowl, and geese past counting.
Two or three hundred head of cattle, twenty or thirty donkeys and horses, and poultry 無數, past counting — 數 read shù. Every figure is given as a range, which is how a man talks about property he has never had to count.
At home too we have old grain we cannot eat through, and clothes we cannot wear out.
吃不著的陳糧 is old grain they cannot eat their way through — 著 read zháo, the reading for reaching or attaining a thing, and because zháo rises, the 不 before it stays bù. 穿不了的衣服, clothes they cannot wear out, takes 了 as liǎo. Grain going stale and cloth going unworn: the picture is not luxury but surplus with nobody to leave it to.
Our wealth and holdings, too, can all be reckoned."
盡得數 takes 得 as dé and 數 as shù — it can all be reckoned up. Which is exactly the point Wukong is about to make, and exactly the point they are about to demolish.
Pilgrim said: "With an estate like this, you have done well to save it up.
虧你省將起來的 — you have done well to save it up, 將 read jiāng. It sounds like a compliment. It is bait.
The old man said: "How do you see me as thrifty?"
怎見我省: how do you make me out to be thrifty? The old man walks into it.
Pilgrim said: "Having such means, how can you bear to sacrifice your own flesh-and-blood children?
And the hook: 捨得, to be able to bring yourself to give a thing up — 得 read de, linking the verb to whether it can be done. Wukong is calling them stingy with their children, which is monstrous and, as a debating move, effective. 兒女 takes 兒 as ér.
For fifty taels of silver you could buy a boy;
拚了 is to lay out money and not count the cost. Fifty taels buys a boy.
for a hundred taels you could buy a girl.
A hundred buys a girl — twice the price, and the text lets that sit there without a word of explanation. It is a market Wukong evidently knows the rates in.
All told, with incidentals, no more than two hundred taels — and you could keep your own children and your line's posterity. Is that not the better course?"
絞纏 is the incidental costs around a transaction, the wrapping and the middlemen. Two hundred taels all told, against a fortune in land and cattle, and you keep your own children and your line after them. 之數 takes 數 as shù; 兒女 takes 兒 as ér. The arithmetic is unanswerable, and the answer comes anyway.
The two elders wept: "Reverend, you do not understand.
你不知道: you don't understand. Said through tears, and it is the turn of the whole passage.
That Great King is exceedingly numinous, and comes often to walk among our households."
甚是靈感 takes 甚 as shèn, "extremely" — the god is very good indeed at answering. 行走 takes 行 as xíng, and the verb is domestic: he comes *calling*, the way a neighbour drops in. That is worse than any amount of thunder. 那 points — nà.
Pilgrim said: "When he comes walking, what sort of face do you see him wear?
嘴臉 is the face, features, look of a thing. Wukong asks the two questions a fighter asks: what does he look like, and how big is he? 甚 is shén.
And how tall or short is he?"
長短 takes 長 as cháng, the dimension reading — how long or short, meaning how tall. He is sizing up an opponent.
The two elders said: "We see no shape of him; only we smell a gust of fragrant wind, and know the Great King has come, and hasten to burn a full dǒu of incense, young and old bowing toward the wind.
And gets nothing to fight. 不見其形, no shape is ever seen; only 一陣香風, a gust of fragrant wind — which in this book is the standard warning that something supernatural has arrived, and here it is the whole of what anyone knows. 滿斗焚香 is burning a full dǒu measure of incense, 斗 read dǒu; 望風下拜, bowing toward the wind, is worship aimed at a direction because there is no figure to aim it at. 聞得 takes 得 as dé.
The petty affairs of our households, down to the size of a spoon or a bowl, he knows them all;
匙大碗小之事 — matters the size of a spoon or a bowl — is a homely way of saying he knows everything, down to the crockery. The god has been in their kitchens. 都 is dōu.
the birth-times of young and old, the year and month, he remembers them all.
And he keeps the register: 老幼生時年月, the birth year and month of every soul in the village, young and old. 記得 takes 得 as de; 都 is dōu. He is not a monster in the hills. He is an administrator with a census.
Only flesh-and-blood children will he accept for his enjoyment.
親生 is your own, born of your body; 受用 is to take enjoyment of a thing. Only true-born children will do — which closes the loophole and, without anyone noticing, opens a different one.
Not to speak of two or three hundred taels, with no place to buy them — even for tens of millions there is nowhere to buy children so exactly alike, of the same year and month."
一模一樣, cut from the same mould, is still the everyday Chinese for identical; 同年同月 matches them by birth year and month. Not two or three hundred taels, not tens of millions — there is nowhere to buy children who match. The reply is meant to close the argument. What it actually does is write the specification for a forgery, and the one creature in the room who can meet it is listening. 兒女 takes 兒 as ér.
Wukong's first instinct is entirely practical, and the passage lets him run the whole way with it before knocking it down. Learning that the Chens are in fact rich — paddy and dry field by the qǐng, cattle by the hundred, grain going stale and cloth going unworn — he proposes the obvious remedy: fifty taels buys a boy, a hundred buys a girl, two hundred covers the lot with incidentals, and you keep your own children. It is humane in intent and completely worldly in logic, and Tripitaka has already set something truer against it, weeping over the proverb of the green plum taken while the ripe one hangs on.
The elders' answer closes the escape and makes the demon far worse than a big animal in the water. He cannot be cheated with bought substitutes, because he is not a stranger. He calls at their houses. Nobody ever sees a shape — only a gust of scented wind, and then the whole village burning incense and bowing toward a direction. He knows every household's affairs down to the size of a spoon; he knows every villager's birth year and month; and he will take none but the true-born, matched by age to the month. It is the portrait of a god as an administrator with a complete census, and the villagers' helplessness is total.
And then the reply does something its speakers cannot see. In specifying exactly what the god will accept — this child, this age, this month, indistinguishable — the old men have written a set of requirements. Money cannot meet them. But there is somebody in the room who has spent the whole book being other people, and he has been listening very carefully.