The Zodiac Schmodiac Story Cycle

Laoshu, A.K.A., You Dirty Rat

"Dear animals," he said, "Excuse me for a moment as I remove this gristle from my teeth. Your dear friend the duck was tougher than I had bargained for. There, that's better. I have decided that you will all be eaten. That is all." 

We protested as loudly as we could, raising a great strain of whinnies, grunts, bellows and moos. The farmer turned and surveyed us. "What? I'm the farmer and I will starve if I don't eat you. Stop complaining." 

That night we sat in dread, wondering which of us would be consumed next. The next morning the farmer's second wife came to us and told us our fate. "The master has decided that a race will be held to see what order you shall be eaten in. Those who are slowest will be eaten first. Since there are only twelve of you left the results will not matter much, but at least if you are fast you may still enjoy your life for a few days." 

I looked around the pens at the animals. There were the work animals-- the big, stupid water buffalo and the horse so thin it couldn't hold a rider, the exotic pets-- the baby tiger, that big old lizard, the egg snake, and the annoying little monkey, and the farm animals-- the sheep, the rooster, and the pig. And myself, the scholar Laoshu. We were a motley crew, not good for much, but none of us thought we were much fit for eating either. 

Now you may wonder why I was at the farm at all. What good is master Laoshu to a farmer? I'll tell you--I'm lucky. You may not believe it, but I am the symbol of money and good luck. The farmer loved having me around because he saw me as a good omen. (Well, love may be too strong a word, but he never tried to kill me directly.) I decided that the only way I could survive the whole affair would be to prove my luck to him by winning the race. For a decorated scholar such as myself this would prove to be no more than the effort of turning over a paw, a piece of cake if you will.

The master went to the local fortune teller to find out which day would be most auspicious for a great feast. The fortune teller was a hungry woman as well, and she hemmed and hawwed for three hours (and gold coins) before she finally told the master that the following Thursday should be the day, beginning at 10 in the morning. We animals were fed only what we needed to keep from starving, and by the time race day arrived we were all weak with hunger. It was a lucky thing for most of us that the tiger was still a cub or the master's great race would have only had one animal in it!

We were placed in cages and led to the far side of the river. Our cages were placed facing the bank, as it was thought that we were afraid of water and so would not leave the cages before the race began. When the master had made his way to the other side of the river he gave the signal for one of his servants to light the opposite bank on fire. We had only one choice, burn or swim. 

Now this is an important time to correct a widespread misconception. In the story normally told to children, the animals are told to race by the yellow emperor, or by the lord of the heavens, or even by the great master Buddha himself. Hogwash. Perhaps the reason this has spread was because my master later became an advisor to the local officials and his long, drawn-out tales of the lean days flowed particularly well when drinking the official's wine. He must have been thought excentric enough to have his stories passed up the line to other officials who embellished them until they mutated into some form of great folk tale. The master wasn't anyone important, just a backsliding Buddhist who wanted to make his animals suffer to appease his hunger-induced insanity. 

The fire began to lick up the dried grass by the bank in an instant. It had been so long since we had had rain that everything was dried and shrivelled. We burst from our cages when we sensed the fire close behind us and ran to the edge of the river. It ran slowly because of the long draught, but it was still a huge obstacle for one as small as myself. 

I looked across the line of animals contemplating death by fire and by fork. The monkey forgot where he was and stated to fling mud at all of the other animals, the lizard started to slither into the water (it turned out he was a natural swimmer), and the pig fell asleep. I ran to the water buffalo and leaped onto his back. 

"Dear friend, let me guide you across the water so that we aren't eaten tonight. If we work together then perhaps we will survive for another day," I said.

"As long as you don't scratch my ears, ratty, you know I hate that," he replied. I bit back my angry reply at being called 'ratty' and decided to let it slide this time.

Off we went into the water, making our way steadily across. The lizard was making swift progress but seemed to get distracted when it saw a fish. It disappeared under the water and came up with a sickly little river fish in its paws and began to chew on it. 

The tiger was flailing her way into the water. Any normal tiger would have made short work of swimming across a river, but our tiger had always been a pampered little pet and hadn't the first idea of how to swim. Her instincts started to show through soon, though, and she began to swim after us. 

The rabbit had been startled by the fire, and kicked out at its cage to get away from the flames. It ended up with much of the wooden frame in the water and the rabbit hopped on top to paddle across. The rest of the animals were swimming as fast as they could to get away from the fire except for the pig who was still blissfully oblivious to the fire raging around him on the bank. The water buffalo and I had just made the bank when we heard the pig squeel and jump into the river, singed out of his stupor.

On the upper bank the master stood watching us, thinking of all the good ways to cook a pig for dinner. (There are at least 100 different dishes you can make from one pig alone, if you are a barbarian who eats animals. Pig face soup, chilled pig ear with vinegar and peppers, glazed pig tongue, pig eye jelly on toast, fried pig snout, sweet brains with tapioca, pig cheek stirfry, jawbone marrow soup, and on and on. And that's only with the head!) He was rubbing his hands together in anticipation as the buffalo and I made our way to him. 

"Fine, fine, we won't eat the water buffalo yet. If it ever rains we can still use him to plow the fields. Or we could use him for beef noodles!" As the master started to drool I began to feel rage bubbling up inside of me. How could this chartalan we called master really find joy in the though of eating us? I leaped off the water buffalo's back and onto the master's shirt. 

"You are a terrible excuse for a Buddhist!" I screached as I reached his face and began to claw at him. May master Buddha forgive me for harming another living being, but in that moment he had gone too far. As he reached out to grab and crush me, a mirracle occured. The hand of Buddha appeared in the clouds, shining forth like a beacon to all who wanted to avoid bad karma and reincarnation as dung beetles. The master's second wife cried out when she saw it, and he stopped himself from strangling me. 

"This is a sign from the heavens!" he cried out. "We must not eat these animals!"

About this time the other animals were dragging themselves up the bank towards us. The tiger, rabbit, and lizard came up first, followed by the snake and horse, the goat, monkey, and sheep, the dog, and finally the pig, smelling of singed bristles. 

"Come to me, dear animals that I have wronged. You have my word that you will not be eaten by me or any others in my house." At that moment the sky crackled and rain fell from the hand of Buddha in a torrent. We were saved.

~~~

Now, you may be asking how I can still be alive to tell you this story. Excellent question, my dear friend. Laoshu are the most unique of all animals in the world because we carry with us a collective memory that stretches back to the dawn of time. How else do you think we can multiply so fast? We know where all the good nightspots are. 

Now you know the truth of the matter. Just as your George Washington never really cut down the cherry tree, so the animals of ancient China did not run a race to determine places for the zodiac. The truth is much less glamorous, but then the truth never is.