The
Lung-ma’s Tests
by
Susan Murrie Macdonald
Theodore
Roosevelt looked out the airship window and whistled. “San Francisco.”
“Beautiful
city,” Sheriff James Wilmington agreed. The city lay spread out beneath
them, hills and houses, beaches and bays, roads and rooftops.
“Pity
cattle hate flying,” Roosevelt said. “Think how much faster we could get
them to market.” The rancher, a brown-haired man in his late twenties, gazed
transfixed out the window, his pale blue eyes staring at the city below.
“Sorry,
Ted, you’ll just have to rely on good, old-fashioned cattle drives.”
Wilmington, a dark-haired man a few years older than Roosevelt, had
participated in a few cattle drives in his younger days, before becoming first
a Texas Ranger and then a small-town sheriff. He and Roosevelt had met in
the airship’s saloon, and quickly become friends over some shared Mexican beer.
Roosevelt
nodded. It still amazed him that it had taken less time to fly from
Denver to California than it had to get from his ranch in North Dakota to the
air station in Denver. First he’d ridden from Elk Horn Ranch to the town
of Medora, then he’d taken the stagecoach to Bismarck, then taken the train to
Denver, before boarding the airship to San Francisco. Unfortunately, it
would take his ranch hands far longer to drive his cattle to market.
1885
was a wonderful time to be alive. With phlogiston-powered airships, he could go
to New York City to visit his family or his publisher, and the trip only took a
day and a half. He could even keep in touch with his political colleagues from
his time as a state assemblyman. Living in the Dakotas no longer meant
exile from the civilized world.
“Amazing
view,” Roosevelt said as he looked down on the city. He spied
something. “Good God, what is that?”
Something
red and shiny disappeared into the clouds.
Wilmington
swore softly. He rubbed his cookie-duster. “Looked like a flying horse.”
“A
pegasus?” Roosevelt turned his head, trying to find the whatever-it-was.
“Well,
Elphame does have a consulate in San Francisco. Anything’s possible where
they’re concerned.”
Roosevelt
nodded. There was an Elphame retreat on Long Island, and those who dared
to venture close reported seeing odd things.
“Lots
of scientists and engineers in San Francisco. Could be somebody
experimenting with a new invention,” Wilmington suggested.
Roosevelt
nodded again. San Francisco had grown over the years, going from a sleepy
colonial village with the obligatory Spanish mission to a gold rush town with a
bad reputation for shanghai-ing, cardcheats, and robbery, to a modern city, the
Athens of the West, as advanced as any city on the Atlantic Coast.
#
Lin
Yu-wei sat in the garden of the Buddhist temple, his eyes closed in meditation.
He heard an odd noise, like the flapping of a bird’s wings, only a
hundred times louder, like a flock of birds or an impossibly giant eagle.
He opened one eye to peek. Then
both eyes opened wide.
He
scrambled out of lotus position, amazingly quickly for a man approaching sixty
winters, and bowed deeply. “You are most welcome, Honored One.”
Before
him stood a lung-ma. Its scales were red, the color of good
fortune. Each dragon scale was the size of a child’s hand, and as hard
and shiny as the polished armor worn by the emperor’s bodyguard at the
Forbidden City. The lung-ma appeared in the shape of a winged
horse.
Lin
Yu-wei bowed again. The priest had no idea whether to offer it hay for
the horse’s shape it bore, meat for its draconic nature, or even a dish of
pearls. Who knew what a creature of magic ate? “You have travelled far, Honored One. May I bring you water? Wine?”
“Water,
with my thanks.” The lung-ma spoke in a woman’s voice.
If
Lin Yu-wei was surprised that the lung-ma was a mare rather than a
stallion, he said nothing. He did not summon an acolyte, but hurried
himself to fetch the water. He waited until she had finished drinking
before he dared to ask, “You have not come this far for me. How may I
serve you?”
“I
have come, but not for you.” Lin Yu-wei could almost hear the smile in
her voice as she spoke. “There is one I must test.”
The
priest nodded. Seeing a lung-ma was an omen of a sage-ruler, like
Huang Ti or the Roman Marcus Aurelius.
“I
must see if he is truly worthy,” she said.
#
“Not
even New York City has these trains through the streets,” Roosevelt remarked.
“Are they powered by phlogiston or steam or what?”
Wilmington
shrugged. “Don’t know. Much faster
than the cable cars they used to have, my sister says.”
“Clockwork,” one of the other passengers spoke up. “With all
the hills, the cable cars were hard on the horses. Wore ‘em to death in
just a few years, poor creatures.”
Another
passenger interrupted. “Saved the emperor’s life, these clockwork trains
did.”
Several
other passengers on the street-train nodded enthusiastically.
“The
emperor?” Roosevelt asked.
“Four
or five years ago, Emperor Norton collapsed in the middle of the street.
Likely would’ve died where he fell if he’d had to wait for a cable car or
a taxi carriage. He was rushed to the hospital – the engineer skipped all
the other stops – and they were able to save him.”
Roosevelt
chuckled. “Ah, I’ve read about your Emperor Norton. The town
lunatic.”
“My
sister says he eats in the best restaurants in town, and never pays a penny,”
Wilmington said.
“Show
some respect when you speak of His Majesty,” an old lady warned.
“Yes,
ma’am.” Wilmington touched his hat to her politely. Then he
whispered to his travelling companion, “He may be a lunatic, but he’s their
lunatic. Whole town loves the man.”
Roosevelt
discreetly changed the subject and chatted of other matters until the train
stopped in front of his hotel. He and Wilmington parted company
cordially, Roosevelt to lodge in a hotel where a few night’s stay would have
cost the sheriff a month’s wages, and Wilmington on to his sister’s. They
would not meet again for several years.
#
Roosevelt
strolled down the street, enjoying the sight of the Pacific Ocean, if not the
smell of the fishing boats. Between the ocean to the west and the hills
of the city – far more than Rome’s mere seven – San Francisco was quite a
picturesque city.
“My
wallet! My wallet’s gone!” a passerby called out. He looked around
for the thief, then pointed to a brown-skinned boy of eight or ten. “That
Mexican boy! He took it.”
“No,
no, señor. I not steal,” the boy protested.
“Lying
Mex. These Mexicans all steal, iffen they get the chance,” he retorted.
“I
have no idea who stole your wallet, sir, but this child is innocent,” Roosevelt
spoke up. “He has not been within twenty feet of you.”
“Mind
yer own business, mister. He took it, and he’s gonna give it back.”
He stepped toward the frightened child.
Roosevelt
stepped in front of the boy to shield him. “The lad was nowhere near
you. He couldn’t have taken your wallet;
he never touched you.”
“I’m
gonna make him gimme back my money.”
“Pick
on someone your own size.” Roosevelt raised his hands and assumed a
boxing position, in the best Marquess of Queensberry fashion.
The
man hesitated. Roosevelt was 5’10, easily three inches taller than he
was, and riding the Dakota range had given him a wiry strength.
A
whistle blew. A policeman hurried up to see what the commotion was.
As Roosevelt and the wallet-less man attempted to speak over each other,
the Mexican boy took advantage of the distraction and ran off. In the
crowd, an old man in a tattered red coat nodded, giving the least little hint
of a smile.
“He
could have minded his own business, a virtue amongst these Americans. He
could have said nothing. He spoke up for
one falsely accused.” The old man in the
red coat stepped into a nearby alley, away from all the commotion. “He
passes the test of honesty.”
The
old man faded into transparency, and then invisibility.
#
“Ladies
and gentlemen, I am grateful and honored that you invited me here.”
Roosevelt told the audience at the Academy of Natural Sciences, “I am
flattered that you wish to hear from my latest book.”
The
audience clapped politely, and Roosevelt began reading aloud.
“Far different from the low-scudding, brush-loving white-tail, is
the black-tail deer, the deer of the ravines and the rocky uplands. In general
shape and form, both are much alike; but the black-tail is the larger of the
two, with heavier antlers.”
Roosevelt read excerpts from Hunting Trips of a
Ranchman for forty minutes, reading about the difference between
white-tail deer, black-tail deer, and pronghorn antelope, their habits and
habitats, and the different techniques used to hunt them. The floor was
then opened to questions.
An older man, queerly dressed, sat in the front row.
He wore an army officer’s coat, somewhat the worse for a few stains, but
embellished with gold epaulets and a wilting rosebud tucked into the label.
A tall beaver hat sat on his lap, adorned with a white ostrich
plume. The feather must have been new,
for it was the cleanest thing the man wore.
A cavalry saber hung from his hip. “Mr. Roosevelt, you called the
extermination of the buffalo a ‘veritable tragedy’ of the animal world. Do you
truly think this beast, the ‘lordly buffalo,’ as you called it, is in danger of
extinction?”
“I do, sir. Indeed, I regard it merely a question
of time, and more likely to be measured in years than decades,” Roosevelt
replied.
“I must see to that,” the oddly dressed man said.
“I must issue a proclamation.”
Roosevelt raised an eyebrow at that announcement.
Someone else asked a question about the bone hunters, who collected
buffalo bones for the phosphate, and Roosevelt explained. The man in the
unusual garb asked several questions, all well-thought out, and showing he had
paid close attention to the reading.
Afterwards, Professor Jenkins introduced them.
“Your Majesty, by your leave, I should like to present Mr. Theodore
Roosevelt of Elk Horn Ranch. Mr. Roosevelt, His Majesty, Emperor Norton.”
Roosevelt gave a half-bow, unsure of the correct protocol
in addressing self-appointed royalty.
“You are most welcome to Our capital city, Mr.
Roosevelt,” Emperor Norton told him.
Professor Jenkins winked. “Emperor Norton is the
Emperor of the United States and the Protector of Mexico.”
“Jenkins, you have not honored Us with a game of chess
recently. We must play some afternoon.”
Emperor Norton glanced across the room. “Excuse Us, We must go
greet Mrs. Barkley.”
“So that’s the infamous Emperor Norton,” Roosevelt said
once he was out of earshot. “I must admit he took me by surprise. For a lunatic, he asked intelligent
questions.”
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with his wits for ordinary
matters,” Jenkins assured him. “Before his bankruptcy he was considered
one of the cleverest men in California.
It’s just this delusion that he’s the imperial master of North America.
He’s otherwise quite harmless, and very much the darling of the town.”
#
Roosevelt
was surprised at the crowd at the Golden Palace Theater. He hadn’t
expected so many people to be interested in musical theater in California.
Certainly his ranch hands back in the Dakota badlands had no interest in
Gilbert and Sullivan. He was looking forward to seeing The Pirates of
Penzance again, although he feared the local cast would not be up to the
standards of the performance he had seen in New York a few years ago.
“Dogs
and Chinese shouldn’t be allowed in public buildings,” a middle-aged woman
complained to the man beside her. Her dulcet voice bore traces of
magnolia blossoms and mint julips, and she was neatly dressed in last year’s
fashion.
Next
to the middle-aged white man and woman were two Chinese people. The man
was bald, and wore the saffron robes of a Buddhist priest. The woman beside him was hardly more than a
girl. She wore a long crimson silk tunic, elaborately embroidered with
flowers, over a yellow underskirt, also decorated with embroidery.
“Bad
enough to have them in the theater,” the white man sniffed, “but for this old
heathen to bring his concubine out in public amongst decent people is going too
far.”
“I
regret that our presence disturbs you, good sir,” the Buddhist priest said,
“but I have paid for my tickets, just as you have, and my granddaughter and I
have as much right to see the play as anyone else.”
The
white woman harrumphed. “Granddaughter, a likely story.”
“I
beg your pardon,” Roosevelt interrupted. “I’ve taken a box for the
evening, and I wonder if you would be my guests in the balcony?”
“That
is kind of you, suh, but I don’t believe we are acquainted,” the southern
gentleman replied stiffly.
“Excuse
me, sir. I was addressing this gentleman and his granddaughter.” As
the other couple frowned at the snub, he continued, “My name is Theodore
Roosevelt, and it would give me great pleasure to be your host this evening.”
“I
am Lin Yu-wei.” He bowed. “This is
my granddaughter, Lin Feng-ju. We accept your kind offer with pleasure.”
“Do
you speak English, Miss Lin?” Roosevelt asked as they left the shocked couple
behind.
The beautiful
maiden shook her head. “Parlez-vous français, Monsieur Roosevelt?”
“Mais oui,
mademoiselle.”
“Are you not the
author of The Naval War of 1812?” she asked in fluent, if oddly accented
French.
“I am. Have
you read it?”
They chatted congenially in French as he
escorted her and her grandfather to the balcony. The two of them enjoyed
the play, conversing in French during the intermission, sitting silently during
the performance. Lin Yu-wei endured the play; he did not care for
European music.
Afterwards,
Roosevelt insisted on walking them to the street-train, and offered to escort
them back to Chinatown.
“It is not
necessary,” Lin Yu-wei politely informed him. “We shall be perfectly safe
on the way home.”
“Good night to
you then, sir. Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle Lin.”
“Bonne nuit,
Monsieur Roosevelt.” She smiled at him.
Lin Yu-wei and
his “granddaughter” rode the street-train all the way back to Chinatown, as the
novelty of the device amused her. When they reached their destination,
she announced, “He would not permit those people to be rude to us, and invited
us to share his box, although we were strangers and not of his kind. He
passes the test of courtesy.”
#
The next morning was a busy one. Roosevelt had business
meetings with Californian cattle ranchers, and a high-stakes poker game at
lunch. That afternoon, he decided to go to Chinatown. Meeting the Lins the night before had given
him the idea of purchasing a doll dressed in Chinese robes for his daughter Alice.
Such a thing would amuse her.
It only took him a few shops to find what he was looking for, as
well as a jade necklace for his sister Anna.
When
he stepped out of the shop, he saw twenty men heading down the road. Some
carried clubs. Some carried torches,
despite it being broad daylight. A few held guns. Roosevelt swore softly.
A
mob had many arms, but no brain.
“Burn
their houses down.”
“Smoke
‘em out.”
“Chase
‘em out of San Francisco.”
“Chase
‘em clear back to China.”
Roosevelt
took a deep breath and stepped into the middle of the street. “What’s
going on here?”
“We’re
gonna get these Chinee.”
“You’re
very brave in a bunch. Are any of you brave enough to fight man to man?”
“Got
nothing against you, mister. Get out of the way and you won’t get hurt.”
“What
have these people done to you?” Roosevelt demanded.
“They
stole and ate my dog,” the mob leader accused.
“First
they eat our dogs and cats, then they’ll eat our children next,” another man
yelled.
“But
not if we stop ‘em first, the yellow blackguards,” shouted a third man.
“What
evidence have you that your dog was stolen and eaten?” Roosevelt asked.
“What makes you think these people had anything to do with it?”
“They’re
Chinee. Can’t put anything past ‘em.”
“Sam
Shoemaker, you know perfectly well that the police shoot stray dogs,” a voice
came from the left.
Shoemaker
turned to see who had called his name.
“Like
as not the police mistook your dog for a stray,” Emperor Norton walked into the
street, a few feet away from Roosevelt. “Or it might have simply run
away.”
“Emperor
Norton.”
“It’s
the emperor.”
The
crowd began murmuring. They were riled up, but not drunk enough to attack
their city’s favorite citizen.
“And
I say them Chinee ate him!” Shoemaker insisted. He stepped forward, a
club in his hand.
“If
you dare lay a hand on a man old enough to be your father, Mr. Shoemaker, I
shall make you regret it.” Roosevelt balled his hands into fists.
“White
or yellow, we are all children of the Lord.” Norton bowed his head. “Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be
Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done –“
Roosevelt
lowered his fists. He began reciting along with the emperor. “ – on
earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this
day our daily bread….”
A
few of the mob automatically began reciting along with them. Some said
“Forgive us our trespasses,” others said, “forgive us our debts.” A few
sheepishly backed away, unwilling to assault an old man praying. From the shop
windows, the inhabitants of Chinatown peeked out, but did not dare face the mob
in the street.
When
Emperor Norton said “Amen,” he did not hesitate, but began the prayer over
again. One by one, the mob drifted off.
By the time he and Roosevelt had recited the Lord’s Prayer four times,
the mob was down to three people.
“Go
home, Sam,” Emperor Norton ordered. “We doubt anyone here ate your
dog. And if they did, have a little
Christian charity on those who are worse off than you are, that they needed to
stoop to that level to survive.”
Before
Shoemaker could reply, a fog rolled in. That was not unusual for San
Francisco. This fog was warm, not cool
and clammy. That was unusual.
Shoemaker and his friends looked around.
They screamed and ran.
A
red winged-horse trotted up to them, breathing smoke. It had scales like
a dragon, hard and red and shiny.
Excited chatter could be heard from the nearby shops and houses.
As Sam Shoemaker ran, and Roosevelt and Norton stared, the inhabitants of
Chinatown rushed out to see the lung-ma.
The lung-ma bowed toward Norton and Roosevelt. “You have
acted with courage and honor. It is easy to be brave with a sword or a pistol.
To face an angry mob armed with naught but prayer takes true
courage.” Too low to be heard, the mare
whispered to herself, “He knows when not to fight. He passes the tests of
bravery, discretion, and discrimination.”
The people of Chinatown shouted and rejoiced at the honor paid to
Emperor Norton by the lung-ma. They loved the imperial lunatic as
much an any other denizens of San Francisco.
#
In
1901, when Vice-President Theodore Roosevelt succeeded the late President
McKinley, only an elderly priest in San Francisco’s Chinatown remembered the
stranger who had stood beside Emperor Norton years before.
The
End
About the Author: Susan Murrie Macdonald is a stroke survivor and a wordsmith. She is a staff writer for Krypton Radio, Sci-Fi for your Wi-fi.. She is also a freelance writer and proofreader, with over a dozen short stories published (mostly fantasy). Before her stroke she was a substitute teacher. She was a volunteer at the Mid-South Renaissance Faire for five years, and is the author of a children's book, R is for Renaissance Faire. She lives in western Tennessee with her husband and two teenagers. She is attempting to write a fantasy novel. Her stories can be found in Alternative Truths, The Caterpillar, Cat Tails: War Zone, Bumple, Wee Tales, Itty Bitty writing Space, Paper Butterfly, Medium, and Heroic Fantasy.
Photo Credit: Laura Murrie
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