The Four Symbols

The story

The boy realised he was lost when he could no longer hear the river.

He had climbed the mountain that morning with a basket for gathering herbs, and his mistake had been to turn round for a moment to watch a bird. When he turned back, the path was gone. He started down, but every slope looked the same, and the sun, which should have told him where to go, had slipped behind the ridges without warning. He walked until it was dark.

Then he saw the light.

It was a small lamp, burning on top of a hut with a flat roof. On the roof, sitting on a mat, was an old man with his head tipped back and his chin raised to the sky.

“Excuse me,” said the boy. “I'm lost. Do you know the way to the village?”

The old man did not lower his eyes.

“The way to the village, no,” he answered. “The way of the sky, yes. Come up. I'll teach you something, and then you'll find the way yourself.”

The boy climbed the ladder. The old man made room for him on the mat and pointed to the sky that opened above them, black and full of stars right to the brim.

“See all this? It isn't chaos. It's a house. Every star has its place, and the house has four guardians. One for each side. You never see them all on the same night, but it's as if they were always there.”

“Which ones?”

“Sit facing south,” said the old man. “The south is the warmest side, where the sun climbs highest. There is the Vermilion Bird. Red as fire, with its wings spread. It is the guardian of summer.”

The boy looked. He saw a cluster of bright stars, low on the horizon, which with a little imagination could be two great wings.

“Now raise your left hand. That's where the sun rises. It is the east, and there is the Azure Dragon, long and winding, with claws and horns. It is the guardian of spring, when the buds open and the rivers thaw. Its colour is the colour of the sky just before dawn.”

The boy raised his left hand and followed the stars, and for a moment he really seemed to see a long body moving slowly among the constellations.

“Raise your right hand. The west. Here is the White Tiger, who walks into the sunset every autumn, silent, with teeth white as frost. It is the guardian of autumn, when the grain is gathered and the leaves fall.”

“And behind us?”

The old man smiled.

“Behind, to the north, where the sky is coldest and darkest. There is the Black Tortoise. It has a snake wrapped around its body, and the two have been together for ever, like the shell and the breath. It is the guardian of winter, when everything rests. Its colour is deep black, the black of still water.”

For a while they were silent. The wind carried the smell of pines and, far away, the cry of an animal.

“They're fine guardians,” said the boy.

“And they are useful down here too,” said the old man. “When an army sets out, it carries four banners. The Bird in front, the Tortoise behind, the Dragon on the left, the Tiger on the right. That way, even in the dark, even among a thousand soldiers, everyone knows where he is and where his companions are. You only have to look at who is beside you.”

“Could I...”

“You too. Tell me: which way is your village?”

The boy thought about it. That morning, as he left home, the sun had risen right behind him, over the roof of the village. Then he had walked towards the mountains all day, with the light on the back of his neck.

“East,” he said. “Where the sun rises. Where the Dragon is.”

“You've answered by yourself,” said the old man. “You must have learned more than you thought. Then it's easy. When you go down, keep the Tiger at your back and walk towards the Dragon. The path doesn't matter. The direction does.”

The old man gave him a bowl of hot water with herbs and a piece of flatbread, and the boy ate them on the roof, looking at the stars one by one. Now that he knew where to look, the sky no longer frightened him. It was full of creatures that did not know him, but had been there before him and would stay after him, and somehow that comforted him.

He slept a little. Just before dawn he got up, said thank you, and went down, with the basket on his back.

In the dark he walked as he had been told, with the Tiger behind him and the Dragon in front. The forest was cold, the ground slippery, and more than once the path disappeared and he had to go back a few steps. But all he had to do was look up through the branches and find his guardian. At last the valley opened out. In the eastern sky the black turned blue, a pale, deep azure that seemed to come from very far away. The boy stopped, and understood that the Dragon was not only something to look at: it was something you could follow.

Soon afterwards he saw the roofs of the village.

The years passed. The boy grew into a man, and became neither an astronomer nor a soldier. He was a painter. When he was asked to decorate the walls of a tomb, he painted four animals, one on each side, each with its own colour: azure in the east, red in the south, white in the west, black in the north. That way the dead, who had a long night ahead of them, would have the guardians beside them.

Many painters after him did the same. In China they painted them on the walls of tombs and embroidered them on banners. In Japan, about thirteen hundred years ago, in a tomb called Kitora, the four are still there, on the walls, each in its place, and on the ceiling the starry sky.

And if one night you happen to get lost, walking without a path in a place you do not know, look up and find your guardian. Then keep the last one at your back, and walk towards the first.