Bound

by Donna Jo Napolli

  "Do you have anything for pain in the feet?" asked Xing Xing.

  Mei Zi laughed. "Oh, they're not full. We know nothing about the practice of medicine, dear girl. Master Tang and I enjoy them just as objects of beauty. Here, come take a look at these." She led Xing Xing to a small table in a corner that held a low, wide bowl.

  Xing Xing immediately recognized the bowl as one her father had made. In it was a pile of something she was familiar with—pottery shards. Their jagged edges brought back the image of Wei Ping's bone ends. She had to hurry.

  Mei Zi held up a shard with a frog pattern on it. "This is old. I don't know how old, but hundreds and hundreds of years. Perhaps even thousands. It was found way down south, in the Dongting Lake area of the Yangzi River. The artistry is crude, but it may have been sacred to the people who used it."

  The frog had a round back with two stripes down the center and dots on either side in perfect reflection. Despite the urgency of the moment, Xing Xing couldn't help but feel delight. She imagined the frog hopping at the muddy edge of the river. "It's lovely," she said.

  Mei Zi opened her hand. It was full of small coins of cast copper. She looked Xing Xing over, then she reached into the folds of her bodice and took out a cloth purse. "Help me open this, please, for my fingers cannot work the clasp anymore." Xing Xing opened the purse, and Mei Zi poured the coins into it.

  Xing Xing was embarrassed that in Stepmother's and her haste, she'd forgotten to bring a purse. "I will return the purse quickly," she said.

  "I have others. You can keep it. And you'll need something to fill it after you've given your stepmother this money." Mei Zi's eyes discreetly went toward the bowl of pottery pieces, then back to Xing Xing's face. "Pick the one that pleases you best."

  Xing Xing shook her head. "I couldn't. Something so old and fine. Never."

  "But that's exactly why you should have one," said Mei Zi, and her face spoke plainly her sincerity. "Many people consider this junk, but you value it properly. Choose one."

  Xing Xing didn't dare put her hand in the bowl; she let her eyes do the searching. And there it was—a small part from the fluted mouth of what had clearly once been a large jar. It must have been a water jar, for this one piece held two animal images: a frog, like the one on the shard Mei Zi had shown her, and a beautiful carp.

  Chapter 11

  The three of them gathered before the shrine in the innermost cavern. Stepmother solemnly read off the names of their recent ancestors painted on the wooden tablets. Then she uncovered the bowl of rice that Xing Xing had prepared. Xing Xing straightened in surprise, for Stepmother had added the delicate white flesh of a snake, arranged in a graceful swirl on top of the grains. This was a hearty meal, for sure. The ancestors should feel well cared for.

  "Most worthy ancestors," said Stepmother, "may you do the favor of listening to my meager voice. Other beliefs are popular today even here in the north— Buddhism and Daoism. But we are still followers of Kong Fu Zi, and we never forget that. We revere antiquity and the sages. We place family above all."

  Wei Ping appeared not to hear anything. It wasn't clear she knew what was going on. She rolled her head from side to side. She clasped her arms across her chest, and her fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arms.

  But Xing Xing listened closely. Though she'd neard this invocation many times, the gravity of adult voices when they approached the ancestral shrine always impressed her.

  "We seek your assistance," said Stepmother. "We long for your protection. Only with it may we avoid misfortune." She bowed her head. "Bless the children of Master Wu. Though they be girls and essentially worthless, they are the only descendants of this family. You are such generous and wise ancestors that you look after even the most unworthy of us. For this we, thank you. Every good thing that happens to us happens because of you."

  Stepmother left the room. She came back a few moments later followed by Master Tang's slave boy. She draped one of Wei Ping's arms around the boy's neck and the other around Xing Xing's. Wei Ping still gave no indication of knowing what was going on. But when the boy and Xing Xing each took one of her legs, she let out a hair-raising yowl and her face twisted in such excruciating pain that they almost dropped her.

  "We must go as fast as you can manage," said Stepmother, picking up a sack and hobbling on her heels behind them. "To Master Wu's grave. Hurry."

  Father's grave was at the edge of a group of graves, all of the Wu family. Xing Xing and the slave boy set Wei Ping on the ground beside the grave. The girl immediately cried out, "Stop this pain, Father, I beg you. I beg all my ancestors," and she collapsed in sobs.

  Stepmother sank to her knees, then sat back with her feet tucked to the side and arranged her sackcloth around her knees demurely. "Forgive the girl for speaking so bluntly. Physical misery makes children forget to show proper respect." She reached into the sack and took out candles. "Help me, Xing Xing," she said.

  Being addressed by her right name was a privilege Stepmother afforded Xing Xing only when they performed the rituals of ancestor worship. Xing Xing wondered if perhaps Stepmother believed that if she acted kind at these times, Father's ghost wouldn't know how she treated her stepdaughter at other times. Such a belief would be absurdly naive—spirits could be anywhere, at any time. You had but to call out to a spirit of a close ancestor and it would come to you if it knew where you were. That's why it was so important to speak to the spirits and let them know when you went anywhere unexpected.

  Together Stepmother and Xing Xing stood the candles in the trough of river sand dug at the foot of the grave for just that purpose. Then Stepmother handed Xing Xing sticks of incense. Xing Xing placed these in the stoneware bowl of sand right on the center of the grave.

  Stepmother nodded to Master Tang's slave boy. The boy struck the flints and lit a long stick, which he used to light the candles and the incense. The incense smoke rose in spirals, inviting ghosts and spirits.

  "When our daughter spoke today of remarriage, she was terribly mistaken," said Stepmother in a wavering voice. "I would commit suicide before I'd enter another man's bed. See how I wear the sackcloth of mourning? See how mine is unhemmed and ugly? I will wear it a full three years, I promise." Then she added more forcefully, "When you died, we did a proper ceremony. We said the right words to help you find your way to your ancestral home. We burned maple and white spruce. We wrapped an ox's horns in bamboo wreaths and sacrificed it. We did everything right, everything." She shook her head. "See? There's no cause for any spirit to hide under our roof and haunt us. All I wanted then, all I want now, is to give you pleasure. I know that not producing a male heir was a terrible blow for you. But if you will help Wei Ping find a husband, I will take her second son and raise him as though he were yours. He will be accepted as a legitimate heir to your household. I will get her husband to agree to this somehow. I promise you, my dearest husband." Her voice was as humble as that of an orphaned child, and Xing Xing felt like crying for her, who had lost her husband, for Wei Ping, who would lose her second son, for all of them. She wiped at her running nose.

  Now Stepmother stood. She picked up the sack from the ground and turned it upside down, shaking hard. Paper money fluttered onto the grave.

  Xing Xing swallowed her surprise.

  But Wei Ping didn't. "Can we afford all that?" Her broken voice trembled in fear.

  "Hush," said Stepmother. She took a lit candle and set the paper money on fire.

  Xing Xing shielded her eyes from the smoke. It was better that Stepmother burned paper money than left copper coins, she knew, for there were bandits who stooped so low as to rob money left on graves. But while burned money might prove how much Stepmother revered the Wu ancestors, Xing Xing couldn't understand how it would give pleasure to Father's spirit. Xing Xing knew what pleasured Father better than anyone. She'd been thoughtless not to bring a flower or a feather or a colored pebble—for Father enjoyed little objects of beauty, the simpler the better. It was still Xing Xing's job
to care for Father; Mother had entrusted her with that sacred job. Alas, she had nothing to give him. She was letting him down again, just as she had let him down the day he died. He had fallen into a deep ravine when a boulder gave way under him. He died instantly. Certainly, he had no dying words, so Xing Xing had no chance to listen to them as Mother had asked her. Nevertheless, something inside her had failed, for a person who is about to die gives off an aura that those who love him should be able to sense. Xing Xing had not noticed the aura of death around Father that morning. She had noticed only that the one gray hair she'd spotted on his head before then now had a partner. How sad to let him down again—to have empty hands.

  But, oh, she did have something after all. She pulled on the string that went down the inside of the front of her bodice and surreptitiously fished out the purse Mei Zi had given her. She untied it from the string and caressed the pottery shard with the frog and fish through the silk of the purse. Stepmother and Wei Ping were absorbed in their own thoughts and didn't notice her actions. The slave boy kept sneaking looks at her, but he was no threat, she was sure. She buried the purse in the sand trough.

  She had owned the lovely shard of pottery for only a matter of hours. But at least she'd always know that Father was enjoying it. Besides, she had the real carp as her friend, and that was better by far than any number of carp images.

  Xing Xing warmed at the thought of the fish being her friend. She had never had real friends other than Wei Ping. Girls her age distrusted her because of her education. It seemed they were confused and almost embarrassed by the way her life had taken a turn so different from theirs. She understood, and so she never lingered—hurrying past them as though intent on important errands. She used to think wistfully of them. But now she had the fish.

  She bowed one more time. Then, before she left, she tilted her cheek toward Mother's grave, as if to give and receive a tender touch. That's all Mother's grave really needed, for Xing Xing knew that Mother's spirit didn't stay in her grave much. Mother's spirit liked to follow Xing Xing about.

  Chapter 12

  Wei Ping sat on the kang rocking back and forth in the pain that seemed to keep increasing. She droned a tuneless hum. Xing Xing wanted to hug her but feared hurting her more. So she gave her half sister's hand a light squeeze to say good-bye, and the unnatural heat of Wei Ping's skin scared her. She walked to the small opening in the four bamboo walls that now surrounded the kang. That opening led to a little corridor of bamboo on both sides that made a sharp turn before opening into the main cavern room.

  Only the day before, under Stepmother's guidance, Master Tang's slave boy and Xing Xing had built the square screen around the kang and that little, crooked corridor. Demons cannot turn corners. Any demon who entered the corridor would be stopped short at that sharp turn. Wei Ping was safe so long as she stayed at the kang. She had even slept there the night before and she would sleep there for the foreseeable future.

  Her bed was not empty, however. In the center was a plate of fatty pork. Demons were greedy, and once they got busy eating, they'd forget about their original prey. For good measure here and there around the cave Stepmother had placed boxes with crickets and hard-shelled beetles that glowed in the dark, all of which she'd ordered Xing Xing to catch for her. Demons loved to play with such things.

  Xing Xing was glad for all of Stepmother's precautions, for she wanted Wei Ping to be safe in her absence. She picked up the sack of green jujube dates. It was heavy, but not so heavy as to slow her down terribly. Stepmother had been careful in that regard.

  "The lang zhong will leave the neighboring village soon," said Stepmother. "So you must hurry. If he has already gone by the time you get there, follow him to the village beyond."

  Xing Xing had never gone beyond the neighboring village. "How will I know the way?"

  "Ask, Lazy One," barked Stepmother. Then she seemed to relent a little. Her face softened. "No one will try to stop you when they see that all you have is a sack of unripe dates. And you are of such a small frame that within your loose dress, no one will guess you are anything but a child. You will pass unmolested. Your ancestors will protect you. You understand what you are to do?"

  Xing Xing nodded. Stepmother had repeated the instructions too many times. Xing Xing could never forget them.

  "You must succeed," said Stepmother. "You must. And in the meantime, I will allow no demons to come near my daughter. I will fight with my very life."

  Xing Xing stepped out into the haze that precedes the morning of what will be a hot, hot day. She walked down the hill, feeling Stepmother's eyes on her back. When she was sure she was out of sight, she took off the sack and hid it in some bushes. Then she snuck back to the spring-fed pool.

  "Beautiful fish," she called.

  The fish came to the surface of the water, as she had done every morning and every evening since Xing Xing had returned her to the pool. Usually, Xing Xing offered the fish a bit of her meal, which she would lovingly save. But now she had nothing. In fact, she didn't even have a piece of fruit for her own future meal. Stepmother had wanted her to go empty-handed, hoping that hunger would spur her to do her errand as quickly as she could.

  "I'm going to the neighboring village," said Xing Xing. "I wish I could explain to you, so you wouldn't wonder where I was." The day before when she had visited Father's grave, she'd made the same announcement. That hadn't been so worrisome, though, since Father's spirit understood everything. Her brow furrowed. But then she smiled. "At least you won't be hungry, that's obvious. Look how much larger you've grown already. This pool must be full of good fish food." Indeed, the fish was as long as Xing Xing's arm. "I bet I'll miss you more than you'll miss me. Don't forget me, please. I'll return to you, I promise."

  Xing Xing scurried back to the bushes and picked up the sack of dates. "Mother," she sang out, "come with me. Stay with me." She followed the road along the river valley toward the neighboring village.

  She passed a furniture maker and his two slave boys tapping a lacquer tree in the predawn light. The furniture maker moved swiftly, applying dozens of layers of lacquer to a wooden screen before the air could harden the sap beyond usefulness. His engraving knife flickered here and there in the first rays of sun. There used to be a lacquer screen like that in the cave. They stood it behind the oven, since lacquer is resistant to cooking steam and heat. Father had said it would outlive them all. Xing Xing didn't know who owned it now.

  The early summer sun flooded the land in an instant. Already it baked the back of Xing Xing's shoulders. She thought briefly of the cool of the cave. But she had to hurry to the village—hurry for Wei Ping's sake.

  When she was younger, she used to go to this village a couple of times a month with Father. Other girls stayed with their mothers, but Father liked to take Xing Xing and Wei Ping out to see a bit of the world. After he died, there was no one to take her anywhere. These days the only time she even visited their own village was on an errand for Stepmother. So a flush of excitement went up her arms and chest as she finally came to the first store.

  Outside some men had set up a low fence of sticks. They surrounded it and shouted at whatever was in the center. Xing Xing wiggled through the crowd and peeked. Two huge cockroaches attacked each other. Near the fence were small cages, some with more roaches, others with crickets and grasshoppers. She understood immediately: These men were betting on the fight. And once they were through with the roaches, they would bet on cricket fights and grasshopper races. Father had bet sometimes too. Xing Xing always hated it when he bet, because if he lost too much money, Stepmother would go into a screaming fit. Any extra money should have gone for Wei Ping's dowry, after all. Xing Xing watched as the smaller roach bit the head off the other. A cry of triumph went up from some of the men.

  Xing Xing backed away. She went into the store, where folds of material for making clothing were arranged on tables everywhere. But this store also sold signs with sayings on them to hang in homes or in places of busin
ess. She read, Dragon and phoenix manifest good fortune. Marriage celebrations arrive at the house. Wouldn't Wei Ping love a sign like that? She read, Business flourishing as far as the four seas. Riches in abundance reaching the four rivers. Xing Xing wished she had the money to buy that one and bring it home to read to Stepmother; Stepmother would love it.

  She approached the shopkeeper with optimism. To her utter dismay, she learned that the lang zhong, true to his name, had already wandered off to a town downriver, a much larger town than this village, to offer his medicinal services. That town was half a day's walk away for a full-grown man. Poor Stepmother would have to fight the demons alone for longer than either she or Xing Xing had anticipated.

  Chapter 13

  Without hesitation, Xing Xing started on the road the merchant pointed to. The sun was at its highest point. Sweat soaked through her dress. But she wouldn't give in and rest in the shade of a tree; she had to hurry. A girl couldn't sleep out in the open on her own. Wolves prowled at night. And what if there were tigers in the forest on the other side of the river? Tigers swim. Xing Xing had to reach the lang zhong before nightfall.

  Boats sailed past on the nearby river, heavy with boxes, some sheltered by woven bamboo canopies and some out in the open. Xing Xing wished she were a bird—maybe a kingfisher or something dramatic like a painted stork. Then she could fly to a boat mast and perch up high, where the air was undoubtedly cooler.

  The cicadas kept up a high-pitched scream from the tall trees—the elms and yellow-leaved poplars and hardwood nanmus. White strings of sesame flowers lined the busy road.

  After a couple of hours Xing Xing stopped briefly to rub her tired feet. An ox-drawn cart rolled by with a boy running beside it. A rope around the boy's waist tied him to the ox's horns. That's how cruel owners kept their slave boys from running off. The cart slowed to a halt, and the driver waved for her to catch up. "Climb in," said the man, smiling with the few teeth he had left and patting the bench beside him. Despite his mouth, though, he wasn't old enough to be harmless. His bare arms were thick, like Stepmother's. And he looked at her in that way men looked at unmarried women in the village.