“Very good,” said Sanzang, “very good. But don't you go making a fool of him.” Monkey assented, and as he hurried up the mountainside he turned himself into the tiniest of insects with a shake of his body. He now looked very neat and smalclass="underline"
On his delicate wings he could lightly dance in the breeze;
His slim waist was as fine as a needle.
As he darted through the reeds or passed under flowers
He was faster than a shooting star.
Bright were his eyes,
Delicate his voice.
Of all insects he was the smallest,
Slim and elegant, but deeply clever.
If he were resting in the woods on a day off,
You would never see him,
And a thousand eyes could never find him.
He flew off, soon caught up with Pig, and perched on a bristle behind his ear; but Pig walked on, unaware that he was carrying a passenger. After two or three miles Pig dropped his rake, turned back to look at the Tang Priest, and began to curse at him, gesticulating widely.
“Soft-headed old monk,” he said, “vicious Monkey, and weak-minded Friar Sand. They're all enjoying themselves back there while they fool me into walking off here. We're all going to fetch the scriptures and we all want our reward, so why should I be the one to reconnoiter these mountains? Hm! If they know there are monsters around we should hide up for a while. But that's not even half good enough for them. They have to send me off by myself to find them. What lousy luck. I'll go and have a sleep somewhere. When I go back I can give him some kind of vague answer and say I've reconnoitered the mountains. That'll pay them back.”
Feeling pleased with himself for the moment Pig grasped his rake and set off. When he saw a reddish grassy slope in a mountain hollow he went straight to it, made himself a bed with the help of his rake, and lay down to sleep, saying as he stretched himself out, “This is the life. Not even Monkey can be as comfortable as I am.” Monkey, of course, had heard every word form behind his ear, and he could not resist the temptation to fly round and tease him. He shook himself and turned into a woodpecker.
His sharp iron beak was coloured red,
His green-blue feathers were glistening bright.
His steel claws were as sharp as nails,
And when hungry he broke the forest silence.
Dry and rotten timber was what he loved;
He hated lone and sturdy old trees.
His round eyes and flicking tail made him a lively creature,
And pleasant was the sound of his tapping.
This bird was neither too big nor too small, and would have weighed only two or three ounces. Its beak was copper-red, its legs were iron-black, and it came flying down with a swish of its wings.
When it pecked at the lip of Pig, who was sleeping with his head down, the idiot scrambled to his feet and shouted, “A monster, a monster! It jabbed me with its spear. My mouth's hurting terribly.” As he felt it with his hand he made the blood flow.
“Dammit,” he said, “nothing especially good has happened to me, so what's this lucky red doing on my lips?” At the sight of his bloody hand he started to look wildly about himself, muttering on the while, and when he saw nothing he said, “There's no monster here, so how did I get jabbed?” Then he looked up and saw a woodpecker flying above him.
“The wretch,” he said, gnashing his teeth, “it's bad enough being put upon by Monkey, but now you're getting at me. I suppose you didn't realize I was human and thought my snout was a black, rotten old tree full of insects. You pecked me to find yourself some. I'll have to tuck my snout into my clothes.” With that the idiot went back to sleep.
Monkey flew down again and pecked him behind the ear, at which the idiot leapt up again and said, “This damned bird is really going for me. It must have a nest full of eggs or chicks here and be attacking me to stop me taking it. Very well then, I won't sleep here.” He picked up his rake and left the red grassy slope to continue on his way.
Monkey, beside himself with delight, thought, “Even with his eyes wide open the blockhead can't recognize one of his own people.”
With a shake the splendid Great Sage turned himself back into a tiny insect and perched himself behind Pig's ear. Another mile or so deeper into the mountains there were three square granite boulders the size of tables in a hollow. Pig put down his rake and chanted a “re-e-er” to them.
“The idiot,” grinned Monkey to himself, “those boulders aren't human. They can't talk or return his greeting. He's wasting his time being polite to them.” In fact the idiot was pretending that they were Sanzang, Friar Sand and Monkey, and practicing his speech to them.
“When I go back,” he said, “if the master asks me about monsters, I'll say that there are some here. When he asks what sort of mountain this is he'll think I'm talking nonsense if I say it's made of mud or earth or tin or copper or flour or paper or simply painted. I'll say it's a mountain made of rock, and if he asks about the caves I'll say there is a stone cave. What about the gates? I'll say they're iron-plated and studded. When he asks how deep the cave is I'll say it has three sections, one behind another. If he really interrogates me and wants to know how many studs there are in the gates I'll say I was too excited to notice. Now I've got my story off pat I'll be able to make a fool of Monkey.”
His story now concocted, he headed back along the path, dragging his rake behind him, little knowing that Monkey had heard everything behind his ear and flown off ahead when he started back. Monkey resumed his real form to see his master, who said, “Ah, here you are. Why hasn't Pig come back?”
“He's still cooking up his story,” said Monkey, “he'll be here soon.”
“How could that stupid fool, whose ears cover his eyes, ever make up a story?” said Sanzang. “You must be the one who is lying.”
“You're covering up for him, master,” replied Monkey. “I heard it all from his own mouth.” He told Sanzang how Pig had been sleeping in the grass when he was woken up with a woodpeckers' peck, how he had expressed his homage to the boulders, and how he had concocted a story about the mountains being made of rock with a stone cave that had iron-plated gates and monsters living in it. It was not long before the idiot approached. He was going through his story again, his head bowed low, to make sure that he did not forget it when Monkey shouted, “Hey, idiot, what are you reciting?”
Pig pricked up his ears, looked around, and said, “I'm back.”
He fell to his knees and was picked up by Sanzang, who said, “You look exhausted, disciple.”
“I am,” replied Pig. “With all that walking and climbing I'm completely whacked.”
“Are there monsters?” Sanzang asked.
“Yes,” said Pig, “there certainly are. There's a whole pile of them.”
“What sort of send-off did they give you?”
“They called me Ancestor Pig and Grandfather Pig, gave me noodle soup and vegetarian dishes, talked to me, and sent me back over the mountain with drums and banners,” Pig replied.
“This must be some dream you had while you were asleep in the grass,” said Monkey, so frightening the idiot that he shrank two inches.
“Lord Monkey,” he said, “however did you know I had a sleep?”
Monkey went up to him, grabbed hold of him, and said, “Come here, I've something to ask you.”
“Ask me if you must,” said the idiot, now shaking with fright, “but why do you have to grab me like that?”
“What sort of mountain was it?” asked Monkey.
“A mountain of rock,” replied Pig.
“What sort of cave?”