Page 15 - eMuse Vol.9 No.10_Neat

Work boldly, lad, and never fear the ills,
For never yet was there a doctor that could keep the blob in sight,
If once it gains protection in those spills.”

The Man So XinPing moved to wheel it — he was gaining on the thing
Where the best and boldest take their place,
And he raced his scalpel past it and he made the theatre ring
From With his dialect, as met it face to face.
Then he halted for a moment, while he made a deadly slash,
Yangtze River But it saw the well-loved markets full in view,
And it charged beneath the scalpel with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the market midst it flew.
Then fast the doctors followed, where the gore runs deep and black
Resounded to the squishing of their tread,
And the scalpels woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From the walls and rooves that beetled overhead.
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed And upward, ever upward, the wild virus held its way,
around Where the monkey meat and smelly offal hide,
That a virus from Wuhan had got away, And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day,
And joined the wild meat market — it weighed a pico gram, No man can hold it over the other side.”
So all the quacks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted doctors from their stations near and far On reaching the dump summit, even XinPing took a pull,
Had mustered at their quarters overnight, It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
For these medics love hard talking where the wild meat markets are, The wild meat mould grew quickly, and the hidden ground was full
And a good nurse snuffs the battle with delight. Of fruit-bat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Yangtze river let his blade have its head,
There was Johnny Wong, who got his stripes while in the KGB, And he raced it down the market rows like a torrent down its bed,
The old man with his hair as white as snow; While the others stood and watched in very fear.
But few could keep beside him when his blood was fairly up —
He would go wherever “Intel men” could go. He sent the gall stones flying, but the doctor held his feet,
And old mate Dr XinPing came down to lend a hand, He cleared the fallen awnings in his stride,
No better doctor ever wracked his brains; And the man from Yangtze River never altered in his gait —
It was grand to see that market doctor glide.
For never a virus could throw him while a microscope would stand,
He learned his craft while on Mongolian Plains. Through the goat entrails and duck wings, on the rough and broken
ground,
And one was there, a stripling at a small and weedy desk, Down the dockside at a racing pace he went;
He was something like XinPing, but undersized, And he never drew a breath till he landed safe and sound,
With a touch of Cantonese — three parts thoroughbred at least — At the bottom, on a slab of slick cement.
And such as are by medic circles prized. He was right among the virus as it climbed the further rill,
He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that won’t say
die — And the watchers in the market standing mute,
There was courage in his quick impatient tried; Saw him ply the scalpel fiercely, he was right up on it still,
And he bore the badge of courage in his bright and fiery eye, As he raced across an opening in pursuit.
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head. Then they lost him for a moment, where two market places met
In the distance, but a final glimpse reveals
But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay, On a dim and distant hillside the wild virus racing yet,
And the old man said, “That man will never do With the man from Yangtze River on its wheel.
For a long and tiring mission — Lad, you’d better stop away, And he ran it single-handed till its spikes were white with foam.
The meat market scene’s too rough for such as you.”
So he waited sad and wistful — only XinP stood his friend — He followed like a bloodhound on its track,
“I think we ought to let him come,” he said; Till it halted cowed and beaten, then he turned the blob for home,
And alone and unassisted brought it back,
“I’ll warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
For both his scalpel blade and he are market bred. But his hardy little scalpel it could scarcely cut a knot,
It was blood from tip to shoulder from the gore;
“He hails from Yangtze River, up by Mount Zhenzhu’s side, But its edge was still undaunted, and its handle fiery hot,
Where the virus is twice as small and thrice as tough, For never yet was a market blade a cur.
Where their medicines and potions need skills to make them work,
The man that hold his own is good enough. And down by Mt Zhenhu, where the pine-clad ridges raise
And the Yangtze River doctors in the markets make their home, Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the river runs those giant walls between; Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
I have seen full many doctors since I first commenced to roam, At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
But nowhere yet such doctors have I seen.” And where around The Gorges Dam the reed beds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling clouds loom wide,
So he went — they found the virus by the big market dump — The man from Yangtze River is a household word today,
It raced away towards the cold meat row, And all the medics tell the story with great pride.
And the old man gave his orders, “Boys, go at it from the jump,
No use for a consensus meeting now. Contributed by Dale van
And, XinPing, you must wheel it, try and wheel it to the right.

October 2020 eMuse 15