Wan's Sacrifice

The great Chinese emperor Ch'in-Shih-Huang-Ti, upon being advised that his Great Wall would not be finished until 10,000 more men were buried in it, found a man whose surname was Wan, meaning 10,000, and buried him in it. Or so the story goes. Even tyrants can have a sense of humor.

I spent my afternoon looking for whirligig beetles. If you can catch one you'll find a dollar in it. I waded out into the river with a plastic bag to put the beetles in. The bottom was mucky and there were some weeds but the fortune I was going to make more than made up for my discomfort. I squatted in the water and submerged myself up to my nose, thinking that if I was smaller the beetles wouldn't be frightened by me and would careen across the water to do their crazy dance literally under my nose. The minutes passed like hours and not a single whirligig came anywhere near me. In fact I wasn't even sure if I had ever seen one here before. I can remember thinking that I had great patience to sit like that for what might have been ten minutes, but also thinking that great patience would be rewarded with great riches. To tell you the truth nothing much has changed since then.

I used to imagine that patience and faith were two very beautiful girls. Imagine. Now I believe that patience and faith are two very old women who travel from town to town looking for redemption for a life ill-spent. In the arms of a man to whom life has been cruel, they seek solace and grace, distant cousins I'm sure. He who receives there embrace is sure to be rewarded and can die a happy man, leaving the sisters (for they go hand in hand) alone and back out on the highway, thumbing across the prairies.

I didn't make a single dollar that day. Maybe it was too hot for the beetles to be out on the water. Maybe they knew I was only looking for the dollars they withheld, trying to teach me a lesson. I pulled myself out of the water only to discover that my legs and feet were covered with leeches. Hysterical and certain the blood I was losing to the leeches was gone forever, I ran screaming to the cottage. The salt skin I wore saved my life.

That night when we were headed home we passed them, Patience and Faith, but we didn't slow down. I don't think my father even saw them, although I like to imagine that years later, driving down that same road he stopped and picked them up. They would have been good to him, although I'm not certain he deserved it. As for me, I haven't seen them since that day I tried to outsmart the whirligigs.