The Elder asked, Are you awake?
Then he added, You’re blind, yet you are sleeping so soundly. Meanwhile, I can see, yet I can’t fall asleep.
The dog crawled over to lick the Elder’s hand, and the Elder caressed its head, running his fingers through its fur. As he was smoothing the dog’s fur, he noticed that a pair of bright tears had appeared in the animal’s empty eye sockets. The Elder wiped away the tears, and said, This sun, which refuses to die, truly has a black heart. It even burned this dog’s eyes. Upon remembering how the dog’s eyes had been seared by the sun, the Elder felt something tugging at his heart. He pulled the dog over and caressed its eyes, as the animal’s tears drenched his hand like a pair of mountain springs. This is something no one could possibly have expected, the Elder thought. Every time there was a drought, people would always erect an altar at the front of the village and would leave three plates of offerings and two jugs. The jugs would always be full of water, and would have two dragons painted on the side. Then, the villagers would leave a dog tied between the two jugs, and have the dog look up at the sky. When the dog was thirsty they would give it water, and when it was hungry they would give it food, but when it was neither hungry or thirsty they would simply let it bark furiously at the sun. In the past, they would have let this continue for at least three and at most seven days, until the sun eventually retreated in the face of the dog’s barks, and there would be wind, rain, or cloudy skies. But this year, they brought in a wild dog from outside the village and tied it in front of the altar, and although the dog barked for half a month, the sun continued to burn bright, rising and setting every day on schedule. Finally, at noon on the sixteenth day, the Elder walked past the altar and noticed that one of the jugs was bone-dry and the bottom of the other was smoldering. The Elder looked at the dog, and saw that its fur was matted together, and when it opened its mouth no sound came out.
The Elder released the dog, and said, You can leave. It’s not going to rain.
The dog came down from the altar. It took a few steps, then ran into a wall. It turned around, then ran into a tree. The Elder went and grabbed the dog’s ear to take a look, and his heart skipped a beat as he realized the dog’s eyes had gotten scorched by the sun, and all that was left was a pair of sockets as empty as dry wells.
**
The dog’s well-like eyes stared at the coin in the Elder’s hand, as murky blackish-red tears welled up in its eye sockets and dripped down into the newly dug grave.
There’s no need to cry, the Elder said. If after my death I am reincarnated as an animal, I want to be reincarnated as you. And if you are to be reincarnated as a human, you may be reincarnated as my child. That way, we can continue living together.
