To a Merchant Retiring

To a Merchant Retiring


Just a face on the wall, you were, in youth,
Too small to lift the standard stone blocks.
So, for a smile, you served the masons
Cold green tea in little china cups.

In adolescence you drove donkeys hauling
Cut stone for the wall at Yinchuan.
Captured in the Ordos by the Kyrgyz,
You survived by talking to their horses.

You seldom talk about that. Who ever asked?
As for the land beyond, we know nothing -
Only that the steppe is littered with bones
And stretches all the way to Mount Kunlun.

But records show that, in the year of the dragon,
The emperor ransomed you for a bolt of silk;
And that, when you came through Jiaquan Gate,
You brought seven horses and a camel.

The army grabbed you. You knew too much.
So they made you a scout and sent you out
Over the horizon. You were gone so long
They said you had died or had deserted.

But eventually you'd show up, leading horses
And camels laden with priceless treasure:
Carpets, dried fruits, lapis lazuli,
And brief messages of confidence.

Such men do not escape imperial notice.
Court officials wanted you for their own ends,
But the Jade Ruler saw through their plots and,
Esteeming a wise enemy over foolish friends,

Sent you out again, laden with gifts,
And goods, and messages of peace,
Meticulously loaded and addressed
To the barbarian chiefs, those proud kagans.

All this was too much for the palace guard,
Who banished you from Chang-an. So you returned
To you ancestral village where, it seemed,
At every moment caravans depart and arrive.

Your walled garden never got enough rain.
So you turned it into a brisk emporium:
Jade baubles, knic-knaks, bric-a-brac -
And a furnace to melt down Roman coins.

As times changed, you moved to meet demand,
Importing exotic elixirs and rare herbs.
And later, sacred icons and wisdom texts.
As values changed, so did the currency.

You, hoarding nothing but investing all,
Set up way-stations in the middle of nowhere.
You helped build temples to the Goddess of Mercy
And stocked their pools with golden fish.

Now rumor has it that you hang with the monks,
Doing nothing for weeks on end.
Could it be that you have finally arrived?
Or have you gone crazy staring at the wall?

Last we checked, you were sitting under the eaves,
Spine straight as an arrow. But who would notice?
You sit so still that passing shoppers take you
For the grain in the wall's woodwork.