TUN-HUANG

by Yasushi Inoue

  In the fall of 1029 the dictionary was finally completed. Almost a year and a half had slipped by since Hsing-te had come to Hsing-ch’ing in June of the previous year. It wasn’t that he had forgotten the Uighur princess and Wang-li, but after his arrival in Hsing-ch’ing, their existence had taken on a remote quality.

  The fierce battles he had fought under Wang-li, and the hard life of the frontier—all these memories now appeared part of a nightmare. And he thought he would never again return to Liang-chou and Kan-chou, where he had once lived; they now seemed unreal and insubstantial. After living in Hsing-ch’ing, he decided he couldn’t possibly return to the frontier unit. His memories of the Uighur princess had also faded. At first Hsing-te had been very sad whenever he thought of her, and could almost feel the icy hands he held when they parted. As time passed, however, his memories of her grew weaker. He began to wonder whether he really had made love to her. Had it been a dream? Hsing-te no longer had any desire to return to Kan-chou for the girl.

  After he had completed the dictionary, Hsing-te became confused as to what to do. Originally he had come to this distant frontier to explore that peculiar quality of the Hsi-hsia, but the years had flown by almost without him being aware of it. Now he had lost the incentive to learn about the Hsi-hsia, which had started him on his travels. He could find nothing in Hsing-ch’ing to give him that emotion he had felt from the naked woman at the K’ai-feng marketplace. Formerly, the Hsi-hsia might have had that fierceness which lent them a primitive appeal, but they now lacked this quality. They were subjects of a new country and were becoming nationalistic, united by such outstanding leaders as Te-ming and Yüan-hao. The men were courageous and had no fear of death, and the women had a hard life and did without many things, waiting for years for their absent husbands to return. Their patriotism had made them somber, completely devoid of fun and laughter.

  In his dream of long ago, Hsing-te had defended Ho Liang’s frontier policy to the emperor, but he would certainly express a slightly different point of view now. Hsi-hsia was a much more powerful nation and its people superior to what any Sung leader might have imagined. The Hsi-hsia were now preoccupied with warfare and had no time for culture, but after they had conquered their neighbors and begun to develop their own culture, it would probably be too late for China to do anything. If China wanted to be rid of this great threat to her future, it should attack Hsi-hsia at once with its whole force. Now was the time to act. It had already been a grave error for China to have stood idle while Hsi-hsia captured Liang-chou and Kan-chou.

  Hsing-te no longer had reason to stay in Hsi-hsia. He had learned to read and write Hsi-hsia and had lived in the largest of the Hsi-hsia cities, Hsing-ch’ing, for a year and a half.

  If he wanted to return to China there were ways in which it could be achieved. China and Hsi-hsia had not severed diplomatic relations, but it was not possible now to travel openly between the two countries, as he had done when he first came to the city. The delicate balance of power among Hsi-hsia, China, and Khitan barely kept the two countries from open hostility. However, Hsing-te had learned, after he lived awhile in Hsing-ch’ing, that civilians did travel secretly between Hsi-hsia and China regardless of these conditions. Thus, if he decided to return to China, it was still possible. But he did not really want to go back. Even though he had no desire to return to Kan-chou, the thought of Wang-li and the Uighur woman somehow troubled him.

  If he were to return to Kan-chou, it would mean wasting his life in the Hsi-hsia vanguard; and he could never hope to leave again. He could not possibly consider going to such a remote spot unless he were willing to throw his life away. And he had no idea of what might have befallen the Uighur girl he had rescued. Whether she had met with misfortune, or whether she had been fortunate enough to join her family in the west, was beyond Hsing-te’s conjecture. In his present state of mind, he wanted neither to return to Kan-chou nor to China.

  Hsing-te greeted another year: 1030. When spring came to Hsing-ch’ing, the town gradually began to bustle. Troop movements to and from the garrison increased noticeably. It was persistently rumored that new military operations were to start against the Turfans. Chüeh-ssu-lo, the Turfan leader, had rallied the former Liang-chou troops routed by the Hsi-hsia, had gained tens of thousands of Uighurs who had fled from Kan-chou, and was steadily gathering the necessary strength to oppose Hsi-hsia. In order to invade Kua-chou and Sha-chou, Hsi-hsia had to dispose of the Turfans in the area between Hsi-hsia and the two garrisons.

  Spring came and went in these unsettled conditions, and summer was approaching. One day Hsing-te was strolling in a shopping area near the South Gate. As he walked his whole body suddenly became wet with perspiration. Just as he left the main shopping area and was about to enter the corner marketplace, he saw a woman approaching, and before he could stop himself, he cried out, “It’s that woman!” He was sure it was the Hsi-hsia woman he rescued at the marketplace in K’ai-feng: her appearance and expression were identical. Without thinking, he went up to her.

  “Do you remember me?” he asked. The woman stared hard at him with a strange expression on her face, and then replied, “No, I don’t.”

  “You’ve been to K’ai-feng, haven’t you?”

  “No.” The woman shook her head forcefully, then broke out into peals of laughter. As soon as Hsing-te saw her face as she laughed, he knew he had made a mistake. She looked very much like the other woman, but it was not her.

  Hsing-te walked away. It was then he noticed that many women around him resembled that Hsi-hsia woman. They all had thick eyebrows, dark eyes, and lustrous skin.

  For the first time in ages, he thought of the woman at the K’ai-feng marketplace who had been instrumental in bringing him to his present fate. The figure of the completely naked, sullen woman lying on the board came to his mind’s eye. The emotional impact he had felt on that long-gone day had not faded; it still had the power to move him. Deeply affected by the idea that he had possibly forgotten something very vital, he continued his walk through the streets of Hsing-ch’ing.

  By chance Hsing-te heard about Wang-li when he returned to his lodgings that day. He learned of Wang-li’s recent activities from a Hsi-hsia soldier transferred from Kan-chou. According to this man, Wang-li had been appointed to guard a valley fortress eighty miles west of Kan-chou, and he had already been stationed there with three thousand troops for half a year. When Hsing-te heard this, he recalled Wang-li’s blazing eyes. As commander of three thousand men, Wang-li must be eagerly looking forward to an all-out battle. No doubt he had volunteered to defend this frontier base in search of a savage fight. Considering the man’s past, of which he had heard rumors some time before, Hsing-te felt he could somehow understand why this Chinese warrior, now assigned to the vanguard in a foreign country, sought such violence.

  Unexpectedly, a desire to return to the front line awoke in Hsing-te. He had not once felt so strongly about it before. He remembered his promise to Wang-li, and his vow to the girl. The year’s limit had already passed, yet he felt obliged to keep his word. Wang-li and the Uighur girl might be waiting for him. For the first time since his arrival in Hsing-ch’ing, Hsing-te’s eyes shone with life.

  Ten days later Hsing-te joined some troops on their way to the front and set off for Kan-chou for the second time. He had traveled on this road before; this time he was going the other way.

  When they entered Liang-chou, the troops stopped for five days. Hsing-te also spent those days in the city, which had changed completely in the past three years. Before it had the look of a frontier outpost, but now there were rows of shops and tree-lined streets neatly laid out. Here, too, Hsi-hsia signs were everywhere. As it was the rainy season, the men had to stay indoors the whole time.

  Ten days after leaving Liang-chou, the troops reached Kan-chou. Here they were not allowed to enter the walled city. From outside it was hard to tell what was going on within, but numerous troops constantly came and went, and Kan-chou seemed to have b
ecome a special military head-quarters, completely changed since Hsing-te had lived there.

  After a night outside the garrison, Hsing-te left the following morning for the outpost in the west where Wang-li was stationed. If he could not enter the city, that was that, and he felt there was no point in remaining. Hsing-te joined a small transport unit traveling west. The area west of Kan-chou was completely new to him. On the first day they traveled over streams and rivers which alternated with sand bars. On the second day they crossed similar terrain, and toward evening neared the banks of the stream called Hsi-wei; about five miles away, southwest along the stream, was Wang-li’s base. Here Hsing-te left the unit. He reached the stream banks and rested a while. Night had fallen, but it was as light as day in the bright moonlight. He walked his horse slowly along the stream, which flowed like a white sash in the wind.

  Wang-li’s base was in a small village at the foot of the Ch’i-lien mountains. Hsing-te spotted the fortress; in the moonlight it seemed like a huge cemetery. As he approached it, two cavalrymen rode out from the gate to question him. Both were Chinese.

  Led by these two, Hsing-te entered a narrow passage flanked on either side by stone and mud walls, turned many corners in the maze-like streets, and suddenly came upon a large open space. The mountains behind them shone in the moonlight. There were many houses, but they all seemed to have been converted into military quarters. In the past it had apparently been a small farming settlement in the valley, but it had lost the peacefulness of a village and the distinctly regimented atmosphere of a military base prevailed.

  Wang-li occupied what appeared to be the largest house in town. Hsing-te was led to it by the cavalrymen. They were kept waiting in the front yard for a short while. Then Wang-li appeared and approached him slowly. Standing in front of Hsing-te with legs spread apart, he peered into the young man’s face, as if to make certain it was really Hsing-te.

  “Hmmm, so you’re alive.” He seemed to say this to himself. Then he turned his flashing eyes on Hsing-te. In the two years since Hsing-te had last seen him, Wang-li had aged. His skin had lost its luster, and there were small blemishes on his forehead. His beard appeared white in the moonlight.

  “You didn’t come back when the year was up, so I thought you died somewhere.” Then Wang-li suddenly said, “She died!” He spat the words out.

  “Died?” Hsing-te did not understand, so he asked, “Who died?”

  “She died,” Wang-li said, then started to walk slowly away.

  “Who died?”

  “Don’t ask me!” Wang-li sounded angry.

  “Do you mean the girl?” Hsing-te disregarded Wang-li’s anger.

  “She’s dead. A dead person will not come back. Don’t ask any more questions.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She was sick.”

  “What kind of illness did she have?” Wang-li almost stopped, but continued walking.

  “In any case, she was sick. It was a great loss,” said Wang-li.

  “You regret her death?”

  “As much as if I lost a city.”

  “Did she leave any message?”

  “None at all. I’m not the type of person to visit death-beds.”

  “Why do you feel her loss as much as if you’ve lost a city?” Hsing-te could not understand why Wang-li should feel this way about the girl’s death.

  “If the world were at peace, she would have been a princess.” Wang-li shook his head vigorously. “When I tell you not to ask questions, I mean it. I only kept my promise to you. That’s all there was to it.” He left Hsing-te and went inside.

  A little later, Hsing-te was called into the building. Wine had been prepared and many officers had gathered. Wang-li was now very cheerful, completely different from before. He praised Hsing-te, apparently pleased that Hsing-te had returned as he had promised. Wang-li had aged, but his dignity and stature as commander had increased.

  By the time Hsing-te woke up the next day in his new quarters, Wang-li and more than half the troops at the base had already left. He learned that many arrows had been shot into the garrison at dawn, and Wang-li had immediately led his men out.

  Hsing-te was aghast when a soldier told him of the way of life there. Battles were a daily occurrence. Since the Uighur girl was dead, Hsing-te felt that it had been a mistake to come to this remote spot. Yet, oddly, he did not actually regret his return. He felt that destiny had led him there.

  In the daylight, Hsing-te saw that the garrison was surrounded on the north, west, and east sides by walls, and was protected to the rear by steep cliffs. On the slopes of the mountains behind the garrison were numerous mounds where war casualties lay buried.

  Hsing-te spent three months there. He joined in the battles every other day. Strangely, he had no qualms about dying. Since the Uighur girl was dead, his only justification for having come back was to take part in the fighting. Despite this, Hsing-te was still curious about how she had died. He knew he would never learn about it from Wang-li. Whenever he asked about the girl, Wang-li would suddenly get very angry and become violent.

  It was toward the end of October, when signs of winter were already evident in the surrounding mountains and fields, that a messenger came from Kan-chou with orders that the whole garrison was needed there immediately. Hsing-te read the Hsi-hsia orders to his illiterate commander.

  That night Wang-li gathered all his troops in the square and addressed them. “Until now we’ve had only minor brushes with the enemy, but at last an all-out war with the Turfans is about to start. Our unit will take part in the battle. As soldiers of the Chinese vanguard, fight bravely so that you won’t stain our honor. Those surviving must dig graves for those who die.”

  At dawn the next day, all the men began to demolish the garrison. The work was completed at dusk, and as night fell, they set off toward Kan-chou. The entire force of three thousand cavalrymen pushed on without rest across rivers and sand dunes and through villages, arriving outside Kan-chou the next evening. Hsing-te alone could not keep up with this hard march. A day later, with the two men Wang-li had assigned to look after him, he caught up with the unit, stationed in a clearing outside Kan-chou. Swarms of Hsi-hsia troops gathered there.

  The customary review of his troops by Li Yüan-hao before the battle was scheduled to take place two days after Hsing-te’s arrival.

  The day before, Hsing-te got a pass and entered Kan-chou. He wanted to see this memory-filled garrison once more. Just as Liang-chou had changed completely, so too had Kan-chou. He stood below the city wall near the beacon, but found it hard to believe that this was the same wall he had stood on with the Uighur girl. Barracks lined the square below it, and the wall had been made even higher with additional stones and mortar. On the wall stood many sentries on duty.

  Hsing-te searched for the house he had hidden the girl in, but the area had changed so much that he could not find it at all.

  When he had given up looking, he went to the town center. He was almost ready to leave by the East Gate when he heard someone call out Li Yüan-hao’s name. He turned with the crowd and saw in the distance a man slowly riding toward them in the center of the road. There was no doubt that the dignified, stately figure on the horse was Li Yüan-hao, whom Hsing-te had previously seen outside Liang-chou. Hsing-te stopped and waited for him to pass. Li Yüan-hao went by, and just as the next person was about to pass him, Hsing-te felt a shock. He saw a girl, and not only that, but she was identical to the Uighur girl who had supposedly died.

  Hsing-te ran up to her horse. Surprised by the sudden intruder, the horse reared. Simultaneously, the girl gave a soft gasp, and an emotion crossed her face, which Hsing-te did not miss. She looked at Hsing-te for an instant; the next moment she tightened her reins, sat upright and looked straight ahead as she rode away. She closed up the distance between herself and Yüan-hao, then passed him. Yüan-hao urged his horse forward as if to pursue her.

  Hsing-te stood there astounded at what he had just seen. He was s
ure that the woman was the Uighur princess; there could be no mistake. The fact that her horse had reared would never have brought such an expression to her face. She was alive. Not only that, she was serving at Yüan-hao’s side as his concubine. Wang-li had lied to him about her death. The woman was alive!

  Hsing-te never knew how he returned to his unit after the incident. He vaguely recalled pushing through crowds of soldiers and walking along a straight road with no one in sight. Before he knew it, night had fallen, and the numerous units that filled the open space were building campfires.

  He went straight to Wang-li without so much as a glance at the soldiers. He shouted, “I saw her. I saw her with my own eyes. Now tell me all about it!” In Hsing-te’s state of mind, Wang-li was not his respected commander.

  Wang-li slowly turned his flushed face from the campfire toward Hsing-te and yelled just as loudly, “Don’t you understand when I tell you that she’s dead?” He had sensed immediately that Hsing-te was speaking of the Uighur woman.

  “Don’t lie to me. She’s alive. I saw for myself.”

  “Stupid! A dead person is dead!” Wang-li stood up and glared down at Hsing-te. “Just try to say it once more. You won’t get away with it again!” He spoke with such violence that it seemed as if he might really raise his sword against Hsing-te. But Hsing-te felt that he must insist. No matter what Wang-li said, she was alive.

  “I saw her. With Yüan-hao…” he began, and then instinctively jumped back. Wang-li had drawn his sword and was slashing about wildly. As he swung it downward, the tip of the sword cut into a log in the campfire and sparks scattered.

  “I saw her. I saw her on horseback…” Hsing-te spoke out in desperation and then ran for his life. Looking back, he saw Wang-li pursuing him with his sword. He raced through several units and jumped over many campfires. The fires stretched ahead endlessly and seemed to be waiting for him. He was blind to the tens of thousands of soldiers, to the herds of horses, and to the mountainous piles of supplies. He only felt that the campfires were drawing toward him. Just as he had seen only the campfires which filled the plain and nothing in between on the night two years before when he had climbed the city wall to help the Uighur girl, he now saw nothing but the flames.