LEACH

I was concerned about the world.

My brothers mocked me. They of the streams, of the soil and of the mountains.

Their charges endured eternities; but I was locked to fragile life. This small ape who scratched their earth, coaxed fruits from their stony ground, died in their floods and storms. This was my charge, my ward, my interest. For a half of a million years I had looked over them, and seen all they were.

And all they were not.

I saw how they formed clans, castes, societies. Some rose to be great, and in doing so, did not lift up their brothers, but instead sucked from them the very juice of life, to keep them in exaltation. They of thrones, of castles and of the sword. They knew nothing of equality, less of kindness. They called me Tu Di Gong and Fude Zhengshen. They cried to me to send them wealth. They had no idea what wealth was.

Their children suffered the most. So much, so much. Why did they give them life, when their fate was neglect? Their children sighed in bondage, were parched soil to the rain of blows given them by their elders.

So many toiled in ancient loneliness. Longing for something, for peace, for rest, for the touch of earth, the warmth and laughing joy of sunlight, air, running water and sweet, sweet fruits. Many longed for anything…

Leach was such a child. I want to tell you…

He was born Feng Li-Chieng but so unimportant that pronouncing his full name was not thought worth the effort, so they just called him Leach. He was a farm boy. Born close to the earth.

His parents were of the earth. They knew the tragedy of want; the shriveled ambitions of the poor. Until one day they saw something more. More than these few decades of toil followed by the release of death. They journeyed to the city. Left Leach behind in their sad straw cottage with their thin chickens, their wilted carrots, their despair.

So they went to the city. Found work with chemicals and medicines. Dangerous work. But Leach’s parents had lived in the clean air and yellow soil of the country. For two million years, I had cleaned their garden, my earth, and avoided the filth of their cities. The signs where they worked in the City read: “Hospital Waste” but this was alien to them and regardless, they could not read.

They neglected to wear the thin rubber gloves, when they were available, and thought the facemasks foolish and cumbersome. The supervisor approved. There were small cuts from broken glass vials, scratches from old, used needles. There was a little bleeding. Nothing.

They worked hard, sent a little money home to Leach, looked to the future. And then, that spring, they became ill. It was not much, an enduring cold, a persistent fever. Now and again a virus had spread unchecked among the workers. Many fell ill. Many recovered. But they of the farm did not. They grew thin, hollow-eyed, sunken-cheeked. The supervisor was displeased. He demanded faster work. They of the farm struggled to stay upright, to do their jobs - but their eyes turned hard, then hopeless. They took to their beds, husband and wife, lying close but growing always colder. Their chests heaved trying to find air. Finding none, alone, they died.

Gossips carried word back to the village. Whispered words.

Leach was alone.

Villagers stood in groups, looked at him as he passed, leaned away as he passed, murmured a strange word: “AIDS”.

Leach was not welcome.

Auntie stopped coming to stay with him. She told her friends: “An 8-year old boy should be able to care for himself!” Her friends agreed. But also looked hard at Auntie, once and then twice, and some started avoiding her too.

Leach went to school, but he got only as far as the front door.

“School is closed!” the guard said.

“But I can see children inside, laughing and learning” said Leach.

“They are normal children” said the guard. “Now go away” and he raised his club to make sure Leach saw it.

So Leach went home.

“Hello Letao!” he said to his favorite cow. “I will stay with you today since I cannot go to school.” And Letao was very happy, for the boy was good to her and she loved him. I know my children of all species

Later, Leach went out to play. But alas, he could find no playmates. The kids drew back, looked at him strangely, murmured that odd word again, “AIDS” and told him he was not needed on their teams. Some laughed, one boy picked up a rock and threw it, missing Leach by inches.

I wept then, for I knew Leach was a good boy, healthy, sincere and capable. But he was no longer welcome in the village, among his former neighbors, his former friends, his former relatives.

So I decided, as I do once every thousand years, that Leach would be My Child, My Relative, My Orphan. I would watch over him and keep him safe.

---

Months passed. Leach milked the cows, fed the chickens and ate a gruel of rice, vegetables and millet. He grew strong and healthy, but the road to his farm grew grass and there were no visitors.

…And then it was his birthday! Leach would be 9 years old. He shouted to the kids he could see playing that he would have a party, that they were invited. But they laughed and kept far away.

Leach would not let them hurt him. He had other friends. There was his cow, Letao, the curly-tailed pigs, Jianwei and Pei-hwa, and his chickens, Baobao, Wushi, and Bing. Leach WOULD have a birthday party and he WOULD invite his friends. He was a good boy. I would help him.

That night, the people of the village became worried. Auntie Meimei tried to beat and scold her children for running through the house, but found all she could say was a strange “cluck, cluck cluck” sound. Frightened, she decided there was no need to speak further.

Nearby, in the Village Hall, old chairman Mu, the mayor, was angry. He was used to being obeyed, but found that the village tax records had been filed improperly. He called his subordinate in. He made him stand still for a long moment. He pointed a long trembling finger at the misfiled reports and said: “Oink! Oink oink oink, OINK!” The mayor covered his mouth with his hand and ordered the subordinate out of the room. The subordinate bowed and ran, but could not help giggling.

In other parts of the village, people were having much the same problem. Some mooed when they wanted to curse. Some bleated when they wanted to gossip, some could manage nothing more than “chirp, chirp, chirp”.

Yes, you are right. It was Me who did this. Leach must have a proper birthday with friends he could talk to, so I borrowed some voices for a while.

Letao entered the kitchen where Leach was busy baking a cake. She nuzzled his leg with her wet nose. “You know I love you”, she said in a sweet, kind voice. “You take very good care of me. You always milk me on time and give me plenty to eat. Will you get the bucket so I can give you some delicious milk for your birthday?” Leach turned and cradled her large head. He had always known this, hadn’t he...but she had never said this before.

Just then, Baobao and Bing strutted into the kitchen, each holding a sprig of sweet ginger in their beaks. They laid it down in front of Leach and said in unison: “Happy birthday dear Leach! You are so good to us! Please enjoy this sweet ginger in your cereal” they said.

And then it was Pei-Hwa’s turn. He and Wushi entered the kitchen, pushing something with their wet noses.

It was a small wagon; a honey cake rode atop it. 9 tiny candles burned atop the honey cake! “Happy Birthday Dear Leach!” they sang together. “Happy birthday to our kind boy who takes care of us!”

Outside the small house another small crowd had gathered, drawn by rumors of talking animals. Mayor Mu was there, Auntie was there too, even the kids who had thrown rocks were there. “Moo!” they said. “Cluck Cluck?” they implored. “Meow!” they suggested.

But Leach could not hear them, he was enjoying a lovely slice of honey cake with fresh milk inside. He was having a wonderful birthday.

---

Leach lived for many years after his 9th birthday. In fact, he lived for 90 more years before I took him home. And after Mayor Mu he himself became mayor; and old Mu would always hold the door for him. And Auntie would always brag about him, and he always had friends.

Why? Perhaps because the next morning after his birthday, when all the people found their voices again, they knew that I had been involved, and that cruelty was even beneath the ways of farm animals. And, to their credit, in that village, they always had something good to say about everyone, no matter what language it was said in.
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