“Hsiao Liang!” Jakob circled the cook boy’s shoulders with his free arm in a fierce embrace of gratitude. “Is my daughter safe?”
“Yes. Look here!” Liang led him beneath an overhanging rock and pointed to his two wickerwork panniers, which stood on the ground in the most sheltered spot. A pale haze of moonlight was shining through a broken cloud and when Liang bent to remove the lid of one of them Jakob was able to see the face of his sleeping daughter. Tucked warmly into the zip-up bag and wearing a woolen bonnet, the child was serenely asleep and showed no signs of stirring.
“ It’s a miracle Liang,” breathed Jakob leaning down to lift the child into his arms.
“Perhaps it would be better to wait, Ke Mu-shih.” Liang laid a warning hand on Jakob’s shoulder. “It’s better not to risk disturbing the child. If she makes a noise it might attract the soldiers’ attention.”
Jakob nodded and continued to gaze down at the sleeping baby. Despite the meager nourishment she had received, the infant had grown noticeably since Jakob had last seen her and he fancied he could already see a hint of her mother’s gentle prettiness in her features. He shivered suddenly, swept by a mixture of emotions in which joy and wonder predominated, but as he crouched by the basket, lost in the moment, a thin, keening note from a bugle split the silence cloaking the village below. There was a strident urgency in the bugler’s call and Jakob knew at once it was not the regular reveille signal. In the act of reaching out to touch the baby’s cheek he stopped and looked up in alarm at his cook boy.
“We must hurry, Ke Mu-shih. This way!”
Liang pushed past Jakob to replace the lid on the basket and quickly hoisted the bamboo carrying pole onto his right shoulder. His two sons appeared like silent genies from behind a rock and, followed closely by Jakob, dashed away down the far side of the hill in the wake of their father and his bouncing panniers.
Behind them the plaintive notes of the bugle quavered through the predawn darkness once more — and this time the wail of the alarm signal was punctuated by a ragged chorus of voices shouting orders to organize a pursuit.
8
Hobbling painfully on his lacerated feet and breathing raggedly, Jakob climbed the next hillside more slowly. Liang and his sons had to stop repeatedly to wait for him to catch up with them and each time the cook boy stared anxiously back into the darkness, watching and listening for signs of their pursuers. The track that had led them down from the crag overlooking the Red Army camp snaked upward again across the lower slopes of a bigger, partly wooded mountain and they had followed it until it petered out beyond the trees. Now they were scrambling over rocks and through patches of briar with the aim of getting as high as they could before dawn broke. Faint streaks of gray were already beginning to lighten the rim of the sky above the eastern hills and in the distance a growing cacophony was rising from the Red Army camp. Every bugle seemed to be blowing at once as though rousing the whole multitude of troops to action.
“I shall have to rest, Hsiao Liang,” gasped Jakob, staggering to a halt. “Perhaps we should hide and watch to see what the soldiers do.”
“No, Ke Mu-shih! Some of the officers have binoculars.” He plucked urgently at Jakob’s sleeve, drawing him forward. “We must try to get around the shoulder of this mountain. We need somewhere to hide before it gets light.”
With an effort Jakob struggled on: although almost four months of marching had hardened him and increased his capacity to endure the stamina-sapping distances the Red Army covered each day, the poor food, his lacerated feet, and the strain of being frequently under fire had left him in no condition for running. The complete lack of sleep during the night and the excitement of finding himself unexpectedly beyond the clutches of his captors had also produced a strangely light-headed sensation in him. A feeling of unreality seized his mind as he clambered upward behind the swaying panniers on Liang’s pole — he wondered suddenly if he were dreaming and began to fear he might wake soon and find himself lying once more on the floor of the mud-walled cottage.
He could scarcely believe that his daughter had survived the privations of Liang’s dogged pursuit of the Red Army, and his overwhelming desire was to stop and open the cook boy’s rear basket again. He wished above all else to hold the child in his arms, to soothe and comfort her and feel the reality of her against his own body — and yet drifting through all these tangled emotions like a thread of smoke was another, less tangible feeling of loss or deprivation. A vague, nostalgic ache seemed to gnaw at him without defining itself and he knew it was connected with the sense of dislocation he felt at having been torn suddenly from the unity of the marching columns of the Red Army.
Despite his maltreatment he had begun to feel an illogical empathy with the men among whom he had marched over many hundreds of miles; despite the brutality and harshness with which the Communists treated their enemies, the strength of their determination and their fierce camaraderie had a crusading, almost spiritual quality that he had never encountered among the Chinese before. The sense of outrage nursed by all the peasant soldiers as a result of the harsh lives they had led in their semi feudal villages had engaged his sympathy and compassion to a greater degree than he had previously realized. There was no denying the catalogue of injustices they and their families had suffered over many years, and finding himself unexpectedly outside their ranks again, he felt an irrational, barely understood sensation of regret.
“There’s a temple, Ke Mu-shih.” Liang pointed ahead through the blurred dawn light. “Perhaps we can hide there until nightfall.”
Jakob, too breathless to speak or argue, nodded his agreement automatically and they hurried on, grateful for the jutting mass of rock that shielded them from the sight of their pursuers. The Taoist temple, an imposing, high-walled building with curved roofs of shimmering green tiles, had been built into the rock face overlooking a ravine. But when they reached it, they found all its doors barricaded against attack. As they searched around its thick stone walls for a means of entry, Jakob hung back, inclining his head beneath his wide conical hat as Liang had suggested, so that his features remained unseen. His weather-beaten face was now as brown as that of many Chinese, but there was no disguising his blond beard and blue eyes, and the sight of a foreign devil in a remote mountain area where few if any foreigners had ever been seen would, they knew, immediately cause alarm and prejudice any potential helper against them. However, nobody emerged to scrutinize the group and a complete search around the temple walls revealed no unbarricaded door. Liang, baffled, lowered his panniers to the ground and squatted on a rock outcrop to rest. Jakob seated himself beside the cook boy and gazed anxiously back down the track, watching for signs of pursuit. For the space of several minutes neither man spoke and silence surrounded them. Then instinct prompted Jakob to turn his head and he was surprised to find a Chinese of great age, dressed in a loose robe of the same color as the mountain stone, standing motionless against the rock face a few yards away. He was looking at them appraisingly, yet there was a hint of regret in his expression.
“It would be better for you to travel onward,” said the old Taoist in a low voice. “The Red Army has come every day to search for landowners who try to hide in the temples.”
Jakob could not see the priest’s face without raising his own head and had to content himself with a glimpse of the old man’s simple gray robe and a pair of wrinkled, shoeless feet. The priest stood absolutely still, holding his hands clasped gently in front of him: an aura of calm peacefulness seemed to radiate from him but the firm tone of his voice indicated his alertness and suggested he was unlikely to be swayed from his chosen course or be made easily to change his mind.
“We’re not landowners — and we’re in great danger,” said Liang desperately, indicating Jakob and his sons with a sweep of his hand. “We must find somewhere to pass the day.”
“If you stay here we shall all be in danger.”
The priest looked pointedly at Jakob, eyeing his padded long- gow
n, which had been looted by the Communists from a landlord’s house. Although he was unable to see the missionary’s face below the wide bamboo hat, something about Jakob obviously conveyed an incongruous impression and the priest’s demeanor seemed to suggest he knew everything about them without having to ask. In the distance the faint note of a bugle wailed again on the still dawn air; but the Taoist did not look up nor give any sign that he had heard it.
“The Red Army always comes to the temples first,” he added, his tone suggesting he was as interested in warning Liang as he was in protecting his temple. “If we are found harboring fugitives, they treat all of us as enemies.”
There was no hint of fear or self-pity in the Taoist’s voice: his words were detached, matter-of-fact, unemotional. In uttering them he seemed himself to retain a neutral stance to what he was saying. During the silence that followed a faint but unmistakable whimper came from one of the wickerwork panniers that Liang had rested on the ground. The priest, although he had obviously heard it, again gave no outward sign and did not even look at the basket. Jakob moved anxiously toward the pannier but Liang raised a cautionary hand and the whimper ceased almost at once. When they turned back to look at the priest, they found he had disappeared. But a moment later he returned, holding a small bamboo basket containing cold rice, salted vegetables, and dough bread. He placed them in Liang’s hands without comment and stood watching impassively as the cook boy gathered up his shoulder pole.
“The Red Army soldiers will probably try to march to the river to set a trap for you,” said the priest quietly. “You will be able to see them on the plain below from the next height.”
He pointed up the track to a knoll of rock amid a cluster of trees and stood aside, waiting for them to leave. Rising reluctantly to his feet, Jakob thanked the priest softly in Chinese. He no longer attempted to conceal his features but although the Taoist must have recognized Jakob’s foreign voice at once, he showed no sign of surprise.
“I wish you a safe journey,” said the priest, looking directly at Jakob. “If you encounter difficulties, remember that nature moves you — you do not move nature.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” said Jakob uncertainly.
“In the action of inaction you will one day find the truth,” said the priest in the same gentle voice. “All human history until now has been winter — but spring is on its way.”
In the steady gaze of the aged Chinese Jakob sensed a deep, serene knowingness that left him stilled and perfectly at ease. But he could not comprehend fully the meaning behind the priest’s words, which were obviously meant to encourage them, and because he was unable to frame a coherent reply, Jakob thanked him again and hurried after Liang and his sons. The priest remained outside the temple, watching the four of them climb the steep track. In his rock-colored robe he was an impassive figure, tranquil and unmoving like the mountains behind him, and as they climbed higher toward the knoll, the priest seemed to merge gradually into the background, becoming almost invisible in the misty dawn light.
9
The priest was right,” breathed Liang as they paused among the pines growing around the rocky knoll. “They are running ahead to blockade the river and cut off our escape.”
The cook boy pointed to a seemingly empty area of plain becoming visible below and Jakob, by following his finger, was just able to distinguish two groups of Red Army men jog-trotting fast toward the west.
“They will send men along every track behind us too,” said Liang urgently. “We must find somewhere to hide quickly.”
He led the way at a run over the peak and down the other side, but as they rounded a sharp turn in the track they almost collided with a wrinkled peasant woman carrying two buckets toward a well from a mountainside cottage. Jakob was nearest to her as they slithered to a halt and a look of terror spread across her aged features at the sight of his bearded face. Dropping her buckets, she turned and fled back to the house, cackling hysterically and peering around at him every few steps. Liang ran after her and Jakob saw a man come out of the door to talk to him. The man stared apprehensively over the cook boy’s shoulder at Jakob and gesticulated repeatedly with his arms, waving Liang away until he returned disconsolately to the track.
“Everybody is frightened of you and the Reds, Ke Mu-shih. Nobody wants to help us.”
“God will help us, Hsiao Liang, never fear.”
Jakob smiled encouragingly in spite of his weariness and they set off together down the track that again led them in among trees. They descended for an hour through the forest, acutely conscious of the ever-brightening sun, which was rising above the eastern peaks. When they came to a village on the edge of the plain, Liang in desperation handed his carrying pole to his older son and ran ahead to the first big farmhouse, which stood apart from the other houses. Jakob watched him talk earnestly to the farmer, a swarthy, thickset peasant; then he ran back to them with a smile of triumph on his face.
“At last, Ke Mu-shih! He says we may rest in his grain store. If anybody comes he will say he didn’t know we were there.”
Jakob nodded his thanks and kept his head bowed as they hurried into the shadowy granary. The Szechuanese farmer stared hard at them from the edge of the yard, but when they had closed and barred the door and Liang was satisfied that they were no longer observed, he motioned to Jakob to settle himself on a heap of rice straw in the darkest corner. Opening one of his panniers, Liang gently lifted out the still-sleeping baby and carried her across to her father. Watching Liang, Jakob was struck by the extreme gentleness of the hardy mountain-bred man: he handled the child with such surprising tenderness that she settled into Jakob’s arms without waking. Abigail continued to sleep peacefully as he held her and Jakob, deeply moved, sat motionless in the straw, gazing down at her with a rapturous expression lighting his face.
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough, Hsiao Liang,” said Jakob with a catch in his voice. “God blessed us when he gave my daughter into your charge.”
“The child has a gentle, peaceful spirit,” said Liang quietly, turning away in his embarrassment. “It hasn’t been difficult to care for her.”
The cook boy busied himself unpacking and setting out the food the Taoist priest had given them, but when he lifted the flask of soybean-milk powder from one basket it proved to be almost empty, and he turned a worried face toward Jakob.
“There’s only enough soy milk to last a day or two more, Ke Mu-shih. I bought more soybean in Tsunyi — but it’s almost run out. The money left in the baby’s sleeping bag is nearly finished also.”
Jakob continued gazing down at his infant daughter and the cook- boy thought he had not heard. Then the missionary raised his head and Liang saw that although he was still smiling gently, his eyes were moist. Overcome with emotion, he could not master his voice and he spoke in a strangled whisper.
“Don’t worry, Hsiao Liang. I’m sure the Lord will provide.”
At that moment, the baby stirred and opened her eyes. She gazed blankly up at Jakob and he found himself holding his breath: Abigail, however, seemed to take no exception to the strangeness of his face and did not cry out. After a moment her uninterested gaze flickered away around the shadowy grain store, attracted by the narrow shafts of yellow sunlight infiltrating the gloom through crevices in the wooden walls. Liang and both his sons hovered beside Jakob, watching the child anxiously, and only when Liang was satisfied that she was going to remain quiet and calm did he hurry out to find water to boil. The two boys settled in the straw at Jakob’s feet, whispering playfully to the baby girl, who smiled and chuckled at them in response, and when Liang returned, they watched proprietorially as Jakob held the feeding bottle to her lips.
“Thank you for being good playmates with my daughter,” said Jakob softly, addressing both boys in Chinese. “I can see you’ve become friends.”
“Yes, we have — and shall I tell you a secret, Ke Mu-shih?” asked Little Liang excitedly. “Your baby loves mice �
� we’ll show you.”
He and his brother scampered in among the rice straw piled against one wall, and after rummaging around for a minute or two Little Liang returned grinning broadly and clutching a brown mouse in his right fist. Holding the tiny animal so that its whiskered face was visible between his curled thumb and forefinger, he leaned over the baby and she immediately stopped feeding and smiled, kicking her arms and legs simultaneously in her pleasure at seeing the furry creature.
“You see, Ke Mu-shih?” Little Liang’s face lit up with a smile and he settled down in the straw again to stroke the mouse and imitate its squeaks, to the baby’s further delight. “If ever she cries we just find a mouse for her — and she’s happy again.”
Liang had bought eggs from the farmer with his last few cents and a new pair of woven cloth sandals for Jakob. When he had cooked the eggs and heated the rice and vegetables given to them by the priest, they all sat together in the straw on the earth floor and ate in silence. The baby, settled in one of the panniers, watched them contentedly for a few minutes before falling asleep again. When Jakob had finished eating he stretched himself full—length on a bed of straw Liang had prepared, and the cook boy took a wadded quilt from one of the panniers to cover him.
In the few moments before he fell into an exhausted sleep, Jakob felt a great sense of peace settle over him. With the baby daughter he had given up for lost sleeping safely nearby and faithful Liang and his two young sons themselves preparing to bed down around him in the clean smelling straw, the physical pain in his body evaporated; the world seemed transformed and mellowed. During the rigors of the march he had rarely allowed himself to think of his home in England and the family and friends he had left behind. They seemed remote and unreal at that distance, but suddenly he found himself picturing the loyal prayer meetings they would undoubtedly be holding for him in the cobbled back streets of Moss Side and the image was immediately comforting. Unbidden, the memory of the beautiful, euphoric dawn he had spent with Felicity at the Pavilion of Eternal Spring in Peking also came back to him to augment his feeling of well-being, and as they mingled in his imagination, all these gentle, gladdening images gradually banished his fear of pursuit by the Red Army soldiers: Without his being consciously aware of it, the earthy aromas of the shadowy grain store soothed and reinvigorated some vital entity deep inside him, ......
Anthony Grey Page 30
