Old Town

by Lin Zhe

  The West Gate church had been gone for many years by the time I left Old Town. One day in Lompoc, as I was walking along a little road on my way to work at the restaurant, I looked up suddenly and saw a small church right in front of me. How familiar that wooden fence was, and inside it the yard with all the flowers in full bloom! They clustered thickly around the plain wooden building. It was as if I had already known every tiny thing about this place. In my distraction, I thought I was walking by the West Gate street corner of my childhood and if I turned around, I would see Grandma, standing in the doorway under the oleander tree, waiting for me to return from school. At the church door stood a wooden placard that said this church had been built in a certain year at the end of the nineteenth century. One hundred years. Anything in America with a one-hundred-year history would be exceedingly valuable. My West Gate church certainly also had a one-hundred-year history. But when the bulldozers flattened it, they did so without the slightest sentimentality or hesitation. Our history is too long and heavy. We don’t need to commemorate it. Now West Gate is all tall buildings. The church has become a chunk of concrete ground called West Gate Square. Who would now link West Gate Square with a church?

  Joseph, what will your Old Town trip get you? I haven’t the slightest bit of confidence in all this.

  You say you have already begun to get results…that from my narrative, Old Town is slowly emerging from faded photographs into something with three dimensions.

  I suddenly feel like a white-haired old lady relating long-forgotten events. I am not really old. American women say that life begins at forty. But what monumental and earthshaking changes this forty-year-old China has gone through! I am lucky to have witnessed all of these. Awhile back, my daughter asked me, “Mom, if you could, would you be willing to trade your age with mine?” I said no, there had never been a generation that has gone through more than my own has. Furthermore, I am still not old. There’s still more of life to come.

  You know that Old Town has a two-thousand-year history. You have collected a lot of information about the place. These ice-cold words are saved in your computer, just like lifeless props placed on a stage that lacks an actor to play the leading role.

  Let me tell you an Old Town story pieced together from several generations of one of its families. Not one of its members ever left any earthshaking deed in the green bamboo strips of historical record. They came into the world as plain folk and went out just the same. In the billion worlds of the endless universe, they were as inconsequential as drops of water in a vast ocean. Generation after generation of ordinary lives are just the cycle of comings and goings, but it is such people who keep ancient Old Town fresh and alive.

  CHAPTER TWO – NINE LIVES

  1.

  CATS HAVE NINE lives. That’s what we always said in Old Town. One day at twilight, Rongmei, the daughter of Grandma’s mute neighbor, went out back to throw what looked like a dead cat onto the side of the city moat. Rongmei told me that cats have nine lives and that when this dead cat received the earth’s breath it would come back to life. And as it turned out, early the next day when, school book pack on my back, I went to invite Rongmei to join me on my way to school, I saw the dead cat casually padding about under the sky well.

  My grandpa also had nine lives. By chance, he was the ninth child born into his family, hence his childhood name: “Ninth Brother.” Ninth Brother’s mother bled to death after giving birth to him. One hundred years ago, there was nothing unusual about women dying as they gave birth. Perhaps this was why men in Old China wanted the proverbial “three wives and four concubines.” The more wives you had, the greater your sense of security. Ninth Brother’s mother was his father’s fourth wife. For three days after he was born, Ninth Brother neither ate nor drank nor moved. He was just like Rongmei’s dead cat. The family elders decided to place him in the coffin with his mother and bury both of them together. The story goes that the very instant the coffin was covered, Ninth Brother let out a weak cry. This cry from the coffin saved a tiny life.

  One summer, when he was eight years old, Ninth Brother fell ill with a strange disease that infested his whole body with scabies and burned him with a high fever that just wouldn’t come down. By this time, his father had already died and all the affairs of the household were in the hands of Eldest Brother and his wife, “Big Sister-in-Law.” With three generations of a family of several dozen members all living under one roof, the little boy who would be my grandpa counted for about as much as a cat. He was nothing more than another bowl and another set of chopsticks on the dinner table. Although he had numerous stepbrothers and stepsisters, both older and younger than he was, Ninth Brother’s mother had given birth to him only. Within the household, there were also Second Mother and Third Mother, but with their “dim eyesight,” they could see only the children that they themselves had borne.

  Ninth Brother lived in a small room on one of the sides of the back courtyard. He had already lain sick on his bed for several days before someone discovered that a little one was missing from the dinner table. That night, Big Sister-in-Law found Ninth Brother unconscious and in convulsions. She told the family’s hired hand, Ah Mu, to move him to the little alley outside the back door to “receive the earth’s breath.” She said that if Ninth Brother couldn’t survive this night, that was just his fate. Big Sister-in-Law was very much a skinflint by nature. In her Economic Plan, there were no medical fees and she used all sorts of bizarre methods to deal with the family’s illnesses and pains. The most she was willing to do was provide a cheap, “thin” coffin. She said that when one’s fate arrived, the most skilled doctor with the most marvelous medicines would be of no use. Ah Mu placed Ninth Brother on the ice-cold steps of the back alley. He probably didn’t feel altogether comfortable doing this, so he also put out the household’s tawny dog, Big Yellow, to keep Ninth Brother company.

  That back alley ran between the residences on two thoroughfares of high repute in Old Town. In local parlance, these were called “lanes.” Hence, Stipend Lane and Officials Lane. These were where the wealthy people of that time lived. There were no big gates onto this back alley where the back walls of one after another of the “imposing dwellings and spacious courtyards” of Stipend Lane and Officials Lane faced each other. Normally only servants went through narrow back doors into and out of this alley.

  Big Yellow lay down on his stomach by the side of Ninth Brother and began licking his little master with a soft and warmly moist tongue. The dog licked him over and over, from the top of his head right down to the soles of his feet. Big Yellow was one year older than Ninth Brother. They had played together from their earliest years. Out of the entire household it seemed only Big Yellow was excited to see Ninth Brother every morning. It was as if they had been separated for months, not just one night. A few days earlier, Ninth Brother had gotten a scolding from Big Sister-in-Law for eating an extra half bowl of rice. When the boy went back to his little wing room, Big Yellow seemed to sense this unfair treatment, and he followed in and gazed mournfully at Ninth Brother. The boy hugged the dog, and said, “Big Yellow, Big Yellow, you’re an orphan, just like me. Every day I never get enough to eat. Do you?”

  Ninth Brother saw his mother come through the mirror on his wall. She opened her arms wide to hold him. In her embrace he gradually grew smaller and smaller, as small as an infant in swaddling. He reached out his little hand to feel his mother’s smooth hair and cheek. Oh, Mother, you didn’t die, and I didn’t get big. He fell into an untroubled sleep. In his mother’s embrace, he would never open his eyes again.

  It was midnight. Far off, from deep in the alley approached a man bearing a lantern on a pole. The lantern was just a pale yellow glow by the man’s foot. The man passed the back door of Ninth Brother’s home but never saw the little boy curled up at the foot of the wall. Big Yellow knew all about humans. He seemed to sense in this passerby a ray of hope for saving his young master. Getting up, the dog stretched out his neck and let forth a mou
rnful howl. At this, the man couldn’t help turning about in midstep, and raising his lantern, saw the dog and the child.

  In those days, Chinese men wore their hair in a long braid, and this fellow was no exception. But he was a foreigner. He was a preacher, come from some Western country. Old Town folk called him Mr. Qiao. From his braid, you could deduce that he had been in China for a fairly long time. Old Town was such a small backwater of a place that the arrival of this blond, blue-eyed foreigner several years before had caused quite a commotion. And for a rather long time the front of the place where he stayed was even livelier than what you’d find today at the panda house in the zoo. People crowded around on tiptoes and craned their necks as they gazed at him. Every step, every move he made, became for the townspeople the stuff of laughter and comment over a cup of tea or after a meal.

  On this night, Mr. Qiao had been preaching in someone’s home in Stipend Lane. The master of the house would in no way allow such an honored guest to slip out the back door. All the old buildings of Old Town were made of wood planking, so even a rat moving through them made scritching and scratching sounds. Mr. Qiao worried that in crossing through three layers of courtyards, he would disturb the old folks and children who were now soundly asleep, and so he insisted on leaving by the back way. Had Mr. Qiao gone by way of the Stipend Lane Main Gate, Ninth Brother’s sleep would have been the eternal one this time. Mr. Qiao never thought that the door over there led into the child’s home, but supposed that this was some little vagabond, fallen sick while begging on the streets. He gathered up the unconscious boy in his arms and rushed to the home of a doctor by Drum Tower. Several years before, under Mr. Qiao’s direction, this doctor had dismantled the Buddhist altar in his home and converted to Christianity.

  Early the next morning, Ah Mu opened the back door. The only one there under the wall was Big Yellow. Panic-stricken, Ah Mu dashed out to search every corner of the alley, but nowhere was there even a trace of Ninth Brother. It was raining that day, and, his whole body soaking wet, Ah Mu dashed back home and rapped on Big Sister-in-Law’s door. She opened the door with an angry shout, her hair hanging lankly. “Whose death tidings have you brought?”

  “Ninth…Ninth Brother’s…gone,” Ah Mu stammered.

  Big Sister-in-Law went on casually combing her hair. “Ai! That was his fate. Go to the coffin shop on West Street and order one. Something made of fir planks will be good enough.”

  “Big Sister-in-Law, there’s no one there! Ninth Brother’s disappeared!”

  “No! It can’t be! Where could he have gone to? Go look in his room.”

  With a great rattle and clatter, Ah Mu crossed through the parlor and ran to the back courtyard. The door to the little wing was wide open and the little bed empty. Ah Mu turned around then and ran clatteringly back to Big Sister-in-Law. “He’s not there. Last night I was the one to shut the back door and I also shut Big Yellow outside. This morning the only one there was Big Yellow.”

  Eldest Brother and Big Sister-in-Law sat at opposite ends of the tea table in the parlor, looking each other straight in the eyes. Then Eldest Brother’s temper exploded, “This was all because of your devilish idea. A cat may have nine lives, but where has a person got that many?”

  “How can there be somebody dead if there’s no corpse! He’s pulled through for sure. I’ve saved his life, but that ingrate left without so much as a by-your-leave!” his wife shrieked at him.

  Afraid of more henpecking, eldest brother made no retort but just went quietly out the back door and, taking Ah Mu with him, braved the rain in search of Ninth Brother in all of the lanes and alleyways in the neighborhood. In Stipend Lane, the Lins were a big and prestigious family. For three generations back, they had all been literati and officials. Eldest Brother ordered the family members and servants to say only that the household dog was lost in case they ran into any of their neighbors. However, reports of how the Lins’ Big Sister-in-Law tormented “the little uncle” still spread widely throughout the small town. People said that Little Uncle could no longer bear to live and so killed himself.

  Ninth Brother suckled at his mother’s breast. Once again, he stretched out his little hand to feel her hair and cheeks. He wanted to tell her that he had a scary dream in which he was an orphan child with no father or mother.

  All of a sudden, Mother pushed him away with a cold look on her face. An instant later, she was nowhere to be seen. As he ran back and forth from the front of his home to the back in search of her, he heard the banging sound of the wooden floorboards beneath someone’s steps. Abruptly raising his head, he bumped straight into Big Sister-in-Law. She berated him ferociously, “Have you lost your soul?” Ninth Brother replied, “I want to find my Ma.” “Your ma’s long dead. She died because you were bad luck for her!” “No! Ma didn’t die! You’re tricking me! You’re all tricking me!” Ninth Brother’s heart just tore within him, and with a loud cry, he broke into bitter weeping.

  The next thing Ninth Brother saw, mistily and through tears, were two pairs of jewel-like, bright blue eyes. Where am I? He had heard of heaven and hell…that good people went up to heaven after they died and bad ones to hell after they died. I haven’t done anything bad, so I must be in heaven now, and in heaven the celestial immortals grow a pair of nice-looking blue eyes. He wanted to find a mirror to see if his own eyes had now changed color.

  Mrs. Qiao was just giving Ninth Brother some cow’s milk to drink when she saw him open his eyes. “Thank God, you’ve finally come to!” she exclaimed in surprise.

  Is this celestial immortal what my mother has turned into? Ninth Brother just stared at her, not daring to move or speak, ever so fearful that in the blink of an eye he would tumble back down to earth and land right in front of Big Sister-in–Law.

  Mr. Qiao stroked Ninth Brother’s forehead. “You’re much better now, child. You’ll soon become as strong as a young colt. Tell me, where is your family?”

  Ninth Brother just kept staring wide-eyed. “Maybe he doesn’t understand what we’re saying,” Mrs. Qiao suggested.

  Actually, their Old Town speech was pretty hard to follow. Next, they both conferred for a bit in some kind of language Ninth Brother couldn’t understand at all. Surely that’s heaven-talk, Ninth Brother thought.

  Mrs. Qiao bent over and continued to feed him the milk while Mr. Qiao, with much “dancing hands and stomping feet,” as we say, finally got it across to him. “Child, you’re going to get better and we’ll help you find your daddy and ma.”

  For a long time, this foreign couple took Ninth Brother to be a deaf and dumb child.

  Two months later, the Lin family had more or less forgotten the ninth brother they once had. One day Ah Mu went to the West Gate Rice Shop. This shop sold old rice. In those years, only poor people lived in the neighborhood of the West Gate’s city moat. Such people were willing to buy old rice. It was cheap, and when you cooked it, twelve liang of old rice could make as much as one jin of the fresh kind. Ever since Big Sister-in-Law had been managing the household, nobody ate fresh rice. So Ah Mu would always pass up the nearby places when going out to buy rice.

  Mr. Qiao’s residence was next to the West Gate Rice Shop. Ah Mu lowered a bag of rice from his shoulder, and, pretending to wipe away some sweat, looked in through the gate. Even after several years, his curiosity about this foreign couple continued unabated. Once he had bumped right into Mrs. Qiao, and saw that pair of crystal-blue eyes. When Mrs. Qiao greeted him with a smile, he beat a panicky retreat. Back home, he conveyed to the other servants his expert position on the subject. “Foreigners are werecats, but they still keep their cat eyes.” This time, when Ah Mu looked through the gate, he saw a little boy sitting in the sunlight of the sky well. Heh! There are even little foreigners here! But how come this child doesn’t look like a cat? Taking a closer look, Ah Mu almost fainted dead away. He thought he had bumped into a devil. That child is Ninth Brother, clear as paint!

  After Ninth Brother’s “death,” the Lin resi
dence had become ghost-ridden. The servant girl, Ah Hua, saw something with Ninth Brother’s shape floating about in the cooking area one midnight, amid a din of banging pans, bowls, ladles, and spoons. They said ever since he was little he had never eaten a full meal, so that after death he had become a “hungry ghost.” Big Sister-in-Law became extremely frightened when she heard this and ordered Ah Hua to put a bowl of cooked rice on the top of the stove every night.

  Ah Mu stooped and shouldered the bag of rice. He wanted to get away but couldn’t resist turning around for one more look. Ninth Brother was still there, leisurely eating a banana.

  “Ninth Brother! Ninth Brother!” Ah Mu stepped boldly toward him.

  Ninth Brother was transfixed in amazement. The banana he was eating looked like it would fall right out of his mouth.

  “Ninth Brother, you never died, right?”

  Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Qiao walked in from the street. They warmly greeted Ah Mu and invited him to rest for a bit and drink a cup of tea. Ah Mu just stood there stock-still, the bag of rice on his shoulder.

  Mr. Qiao could see there was something peculiar going on and signed to Ninth Brother, “Do you know this gentleman?”

  For weeks on end, day and night, Ninth Brother had never opened his mouth to speak in the presence of his saviors and benefactors, for he feared being sent back home to Big Sister-in-Law. So he made the best of this misunderstanding and played the part of a mute. He frequently dreamed he was being sent home and each time he would cry himself awake. On this particular day, Old Town was enjoying rare clear skies, and Ninth Brother was feeling good. But Ah Mu’s sudden appearance was really a bolt from the blue. His worst worry had finally happened. He didn’t dare shake his head to say that he didn’t know Ah Mu. First, the banana slipped out of his mouth and next, he burst into tears.