Nine Dragons. George Herman

mistook them for wicked creatures

      because they were different from them.

      So now only these nine remained,

      comfortable but aging,

      in the hundred arms of a great cave,

      feeding on wild goats and bears that dared to wander too near them.

      Now it happened that one year the Goddess of Rain did not weep

      as she usually did at the passing of the springtime,

      and the mountain streams that would feed the valley rice fields

      instead slipped quietly into the thirsting earth or drifted away into the clouded sky.

      The rhythm of life was broken like the surface of a pond

      when the soft winds skip lightly over it.

      The fields of the Wongsu and the fruit trees of the Makai produced nothing.

      It was worse for the Wongsu.

      Their field crops withered.

      The wild game, thirsty and pained with hunger,

      scampered higher into the mountains

      in search of small pools or green bushes and berries.

      The Wongsu hunters, on whom the village now depended,

      did not pursue the game at first, fearful of encountering the dragons

      or becoming lost in the deep ravines where the shadows

      were as dark as the thoughts of jealous men.

      But one day a Wongsu hunter, made bold by hunger

      and pity for his starving wife and children,

      tracked a small goat to the very crest of the mountains,

      but he did not go near the dragon caves.

      Now, and for the first time, a man of Wongsu looked down upon the village of the Makai.

      Crawling closer so he could see but not be seen —

      for this is the first rule of good hunters —

      he watched the Makai tug their great nets from the sea, heavy with hundreds of silvery fish.

      He watched them scale and clean them and leave some to dry, and he wondered.

      Later,

      wrapped in the mantle of the moonless night,

      he slipped quietly into the sleeping village

      and stole some of the drying fish.

      He tasted it and found it enjoyable, though a little salty.

      He quickly filled his game bag with them.

      He also took some cooked flesh

      of the many shelled creatures

      in the great iron pot over the village’s common fire.

      And then he slipped away.

      When he returned to Wongsu,

      he shared everything with Grandfather Elder,

      the old ones, his family, and his friends.

      He told Grandfather Elder what he had seen.

      “Beyond the mountains,” he said, “there is another village

      where strange people are given food by the Wide Water.”

      “What is their secret for enticing the Wide Water to feed them?”

      asked Grandfather Elder.

      “I do not know,” said the hunter.

      “Some throw blankets into the sea.

      Perhaps these are gifts for the Wide Water, and so it feeds them.”

      “Blankets?” frowned the Elder.

      “Is the Wide Water so cold?”

      “I do not know,” replied the hunter.

      “The blankets were full of holes. If I were the Wide Water,

      I would not think it such a fine present.”

      “The blankets were full of holes?”

      “Like the webs of spiders. And some of the men stabbed at the sea

      with a split wand with sharp points.

      Perhaps they threaten the Wide Water.”

      “Is the Wide Water frightened by a split wand?

      I would think it would swallow it without resisting.

      Is that not the lesson taught us by the Wide Water?

      To win by yielding?”

      Confused, Grandfather Elder turned to his people.

      “One here has climbed the high mountains,

      and he says there is a village on the other side of this island

      where they are fed by the Wide Water.

      I am told they are a strange people

      who snare their food with blankets made of holes,

      and they stab the Wide Water with pointed spears as if it angered them.”

      “What kind of people would threaten the Wide Water that feeds them?”