The Man From Beijing

by Unknown

  If San was scared, his brother was panic-stricken. Lodin sat with Guo Si throughout the whole of the raging storm. When it was over, Guo Si went down on bended knee and said he wanted to declare his belief in the God the white men were going to introduce to his Chinese brothers.

  San was filled with even more admiration for the missionaries who had been so calm while the storm raged. But he couldn’t bring himself to do what Guo Si had done and kneel down to pray to a God that for him was still too mysterious and evasive.

  They rounded the Cape of Good Hope, and favourable winds assisted their passage over the Indian Ocean. The weather became warmer, easier to cope with. San continued with his teaching, and every day Guo Si would go off with Lodin for their intimate, mumbled conversations.

  But San knew nothing of what the future held. One day Guo Si suddenly fell ill. He woke San up during the night and whispered that he had started to cough up blood. Guo Si was deathly pale and shivering. San asked one of the sailors on night watch to fetch the missionaries. The man, who came from America and had a black mother but a white father, looked down at Guo Si.

  ‘Are you suggesting that I should wake up one of the gentlemen just because a coolie is lying here and bleeding?’

  ‘If you don’t, they will punish you tomorrow.’

  The sailor frowned. He fetched Elgstrand and Lodin. They carried Guo Si to their cabin and laid him on one of the bunks. Lodin seemed to be the one who knew more about patient care and gave him several different medicines. San squatted back against the wall in the cramped cabin. The flickering light from the lantern cast shadows onto the walls. The ship progressed slowly through the swell.

  The end came very quickly. Guo Si died as dawn broke. Before he breathed his last, Elgstrand and Lodin promised that he would be delivered unto God if he confessed his sins and affirmed his belief. They held his hands and prayed together. San sat by himself in the corner of the room. There was nothing he could do. His second brother had left him. But he couldn’t help but notice that the missionaries gave Guo Si a feeling of peace and assurance that he had never experienced before in his life.

  San had difficulty understanding the last words Guo Si said to him. But he had the feeling Guo Si wasn’t afraid of death.

  ‘I’m leaving you now,’ said Guo Si. ‘I’m walking on water, like the man they call Jesus. I’m on my way to a different and a better world. Wu is waiting for me there. And you will come to join us one day.’

  When Guo Si died, San sat with his head on his knees and his hands over his ears. He shook his head when Elgstrand tried to talk to him. Nobody could help him with the feeling of solitary impotence that overwhelmed him.

  He returned to his place at the very front of the ship. Two members of the crew sewed Guo Si’s body into an old sail, together with some rusty iron nails as weights.

  Elgstrand told San that the captain would conduct a sea burial two hours later.

  ‘I want to be together with my brother,’ said San. ‘I don’t want him to lie out there on deck before they drop him into the sea.’

  Elgstrand and Lodin carried the body in its shroud of sailcloth into their cabin and left San alone with his brother. Guo Si would never return to China, but traditional beliefs made it essential for a part of his body to be buried there. San took a knife from the little table and carefully opened up the bottom of the package. He cut off Guo Si’s left foot. He was careful to make sure that no blood dripped onto the floor, tied a piece of cloth around the stump, then tied another piece of cloth around the foot, and put it inside his shirt. Then he repaired the hole in the sail. Nobody would be able to tell that it had been opened.

  The captain and crew assembled by the ship’s rail. The sailcloth containing Guo Si’s body was placed on a plank resting on trestles. The captain took off his cap. He read from the Bible, then launched into a hymn. Elgstrand and Lodin joined in with powerful voices. Just as the captain was about to give the signal for the sailors to tip the body overboard, Elgstrand lifted his hand.

  ‘This simple Chinese man, Wang Guo Si, saw the light before he died. Even if his body will soon be on its way to the bottom of the ocean, his soul is free and already soaring over our heads. Let us pray to the God who looks after the dead and liberates their souls. Amen.’

  When the captain gave the signal, San closed his eyes. He heard a distant splash as the body hit the water.

  San returned to the place he and his brother had occupied during the voyage. He still couldn’t register that Guo Si was dead. Just when he’d thought that his brother’s will to live had been boosted, not least by the meeting with the two missionaries, Guo Si had been whisked away by an unknown illness.

  The night after the sea burial San began the unpleasant task of cutting away skin and sinews and muscles from Guo Si’s foot. The only tool he had was an iron screw he’d found on deck. He threw the bits of flesh overboard. When the bones were clean, he rubbed them with a rag to dry them and hid them in his kitbag.

  He spent the following week in solitary mourning. There were times when he thought the best thing he could do was to climb silently over the rail under cover of darkness and sink into the sea. But he had to take the bones of his dead brother back home.

  When he started his lessons with the missionaries again, he could never stop thinking about how much they had meant to Guo Si. He hadn’t screamed his way into death; he had been calm. Elgstrand and Lodin had given Guo Si the most elusive thing of all: the courage to die.

  During the rest of the voyage, first to Java where the ship replenished stores again, and then the final stretch to Canton, San asked a lot of questions about the God who could bring comfort to the dying, and who offered paradise to all, irrespective of whether they were rich or poor.

  But the key question was why this God had allowed Guo Si to die just when he and San were on their way back home after all the hardship they had undergone. Neither Elgstrand nor Lodin could give him a satisfactory answer. The ways of the Christian God were inscrutable, Elgstrand said. What did that mean? That life was nothing more than waiting for what came next? That faith was in fact a riddle?

  San was brooding as the ship approached Canton. He would never forget any of what he had been through. Now he wanted to learn to write, so that he could record what had happened in his life alongside his dead brothers, from the morning when he’d discovered his parents hanging from a tree.

  A few days before they expected to see the Chinese coast, Elgstrand and Lodin came to sit down beside him on deck, wishing to know of his plans on arriving in Canton.

  He had no answer.

  ‘We don’t want to lose touch with you,’ said Elgstrand. ‘We’ve become close during this voyage. Without you, our knowledge of Chinese would have been even more sketchy than it is. We’d like you to join us. We shall pay you a wage, and you will help us to build up the big Christian community we dream about.’

  San sat in silence for quite a while before responding. When he’d made up his mind, he stood up and bowed twice to the missionaries.

  He would go with them. Perhaps one day he would achieve the insight that had gilded Guo Si’s final days.

  On 12 September 1867, San stepped ashore in Canton. In his kitbag were the bones from his dead brother’s foot. That was all he had to show for his long journey.

  He looked around the quay. Was he searching for Zi or Wu? He didn’t know.

  A few days later San accompanied the two Swedish missionaries on a riverboat to the town of Fuzhou. He contemplated the countryside drifting slowly by. He was looking for somewhere to bury the remains of Guo Si.

  It was something he wanted to do alone. It was a matter between him, his parents and the spirits of his ancestors.

  The riverboat sailed slowly northward. Frogs were singing on the banks.

  San had come home.

  15

  In the autumn of 1868, San began with considerable effort to chronicle his story and that of his two dead brothers. Five years had pas
sed since he and Guo Si had been abducted by Zi, and it was now a year since San had returned to Canton with Guo Si’s foot in a bag. During that year he had accompanied Elgstrand and Lodin to Fuzhou, had been in attendance as their personal servant and, thanks to a teacher arranged for him by Lodin, had learned to write.

  The night San sat down and began writing his life story, a strong wind was rattling the windows of the house in which he had a room. He sat with his pencil in his hand, listening to the sounds and imagining himself back at sea.

  It was only now that he was starting to grasp the significance of everything he’d been through. He made up his mind to recall and record every detail, skipping nothing.

  Though who would read his story?

  He had nobody to write for. And yet he wanted to do it. If there really was a Creator who ruled over the living and the dead, he would no doubt see to it that whatever San wrote would end up in the hands of somebody who wanted to read it.

  San started writing, slowly and labouriously, while the winds made the walls creak. He swayed slowly back and forth on the stool he was sitting on. The room had soon turned into a ship, and the floor was moving under his feet.

  He had placed several piles of paper on the table in front of him. Just like crayfish in the riverbed, he intended to work his way backward, to the point where he had seen his parents dangling on the end of ropes, swaying in the wind. But he wanted to start with the journey to the place where he was right now. That was the one most vivid in his memory.

  Elgstrand and Lodin had been both exhilarated and nervous when they disembarked in Canton. The chaotic mass of people, strange smells and their inability to understand the special Hakka dialect spoken in the city made them insecure. They were expected – a Swedish missionary by the name of Tomas Hamberg was there to greet them: he worked for a German Bible society devoted to spreading Chinese translations of biblical texts. Hamberg was very hospitable and let them stay in the house in the German legation where he had his office and his flat. San played the role of the silent servant he had decided to assume. He took charge of the Chinese delegated to carry the missionaries’ baggage, washed his employers’ clothes, and saw to their needs at all hours of the day and night. Although he said nothing and kept in the background, he listened carefully to everything that was said. Hamberg spoke better Chinese than Elgstrand and Lodin and often spoke with them in order to help improve their fluency. Through a door standing ajar, San heard Hamberg asking Lodin about how they had come into contact with him. San was surprised to hear that Hamberg warned Lodin not to place too much trust in a Chinese servant.

  It was the first time San had heard any of the missionaries say anything negative about a Chinese. But he was confident that neither Elgstrand nor Lodin would think the way Hamberg did.

  After a few days of intensive preparation they left Canton and sailed along the coast and then up the Min Jiang River to Fuzhou, the City of the Black and White Pagodas. Hamberg had arranged for them to receive a letter of introduction to the chief mandarin of the city, who had previously shown himself to be well disposed to Christian missionaries. To his astonishment, San watched as Elgstrand and Lodin didn’t hesitate to kneel down and touch the ground with their foreheads before the mandarin. He gave them permission to work in the town, and after a thorough search they found a base suitable for their purposes. It was a gated compound containing several houses.

  The day they moved in Elgstrand and Lodin knelt down and blessed the compound, which would be their future home. San also bent his knee, but uttered no benediction. It occurred to him that he still hadn’t found a suitable place in which to bury Guo Si’s foot.

  It was several months before he found a place near the river where the evening sun shone over the treetops until the ground was slowly swallowed up by shade. San visited the spot many times and always felt very much at peace as he sat there, his back leaning against a boulder. The river flowed slowly past at the bottom of the gentle slope before him. Even now, although autumn had already set in, there were flowers blooming on the riverbank.

  Here he would be able to sit and talk to his brothers. This was where they could come to be with him. They could be together. The dividing line between life and death would disappear.

  He dug a deep hole in the ground and buried his brother’s foot bones. He filled in the hole meticulously, removed all traces, and on the spot placed a stone that he had brought back from the American desert.

  San thought that perhaps he ought to recite one of the prayers he had learned from the missionaries; but since Wu, who was also there in a way, had not become acquainted with the God to whom the prayers would be addressed, he merely mentioned their names. He attached wings to their souls and empowered them to fly away.

  Elgstrand and Lodin generated amazing energy. San had more and more respect for their unrelenting efforts to lower all barriers and persuade people to help them build up their mission. They also had money, of course. They needed money to carry out their work. Elgstrand had an arrangement with an English shipping company that regularly visited Fuzhou and brought deliveries of money from Sweden. San was surprised to note that the missionaries never seemed to worry about the possibility of thieves, who wouldn’t hesitate to kill them in order to gain access to their riches. Elgstrand kept the money and bills of exchange under his pillow. When neither he nor Lodin was around, San was responsible.

  On one occasion San secretly counted the money, which was kept in a little leather bag. He was surprised by how much there was. For a brief moment he was tempted to take the money and run away. There was enough for him to travel to Beijing and live as a rich man on the interest his fortune earned.

  But the temptation was overcome when he thought about Guo Si and the kindness and care the missionaries had shown him during his final days on this earth.

  San was leading a life he could never have imagined. He had a room of his own with a bed, clean clothes, plenty of food. From being at the very bottom of the ladder, he was now in charge of all the servants in the house. He was strict and decisive, but never resorted to physical punishment when anybody made a mistake.

  Only a couple of weeks after they arrived in Fuzhou, Elgstrand and Lodin opened their doors to one and all. The courtyard was crammed full. San remained in the background and listened to Elgstrand explaining, in his faltering Chinese, about the remarkable God who had sent His only Begotten Son to be crucified. Lodin handed out coloured pictures, which the congregation passed around to one another.

  When Elgstrand had finished, the courtyard emptied rapidly. But the following day the same thing happened, and people came again, some of them bringing friends and acquaintances. The whole town began talking about these remarkable white men who had come to live among them. The most difficult thing for the Chinese to understand was that Elgstrand and Lodin were not running a business. They had nothing to sell, and there was nothing they wanted to buy. They simply stood there and spoke in bad Chinese about a God who treated all human beings as equals.

  In these early days there was no limit to the missionaries’ efforts. They nailed Chinese characters to the arch over the entrance to the courtyard, declaring that this was the Temple of the One True God. The two men never seemed to sleep but were constantly active. San sometimes heard them using a Chinese expression meaning ‘degrading idolatry’, declaring that it must be resisted. He wondered how the missionaries dared to believe that they could persuade ordinary Chinese people to abandon ideas and beliefs they had lived with for generations. How could a God who allowed His only son to be nailed to a cross be able to give a Chinese peasant spiritual comfort or the will to live?

  A few weeks after they’d arrived in Fuzhou, early in the morning San drew the bolts and opened the heavy wooden front door to be confronted by a young woman who bowed her head and announced that her name was Lou Qi. She came from a little village up the Min River, not far from Shuikou. Her parents were poor peasants, and she had fled her village when her father decreed
that she should be sold as a concubine to a seventy-year-old man in Nanchang. She had begged her father to release her from that obligation, since rumour had it that several of the man’s previous concubines had been killed when he had grown tired of them. But her father had refused to listen to her protests, and so she had run away. A German missionary based in the outpost of Gou Sihan had told her that there was a mission in Fuzhou where Christian charity was available to anybody who sought it.

  San looked her up and down when she had finished her story. He asked a few questions about what she was capable of doing, then let her in. She would be allowed to see if she could assist the women and the chef who were responsible for feeding the residents of the mission. If things turned out well, he might be able to offer her a job on the household staff.

  He was touched by the joy that lit up her face.

  Qi did a good job, and San extended her contract. She lived with the other female servants and was liked because she was always unruffled and never tried to avoid tasks allocated to her. San used to watch her as she worked in the kitchen or hurried across the courtyard on some errand or other. Their eyes occasionally met, but he never treated her any differently from the other servants.

  One day shortly before Christmas, Elgstrand asked him to hire a boat and appoint some oarsmen. They were going to travel downriver to visit an English ship that had just arrived from London. The British consul in Fuzhou had informed Elgstrand that there was a parcel for the mission station.

  ‘You’d better come with us,’ said Elgstrand with a smile. ‘I need my best man when I’m going to collect a bagful of money.’

  San found a team of oarsmen in the harbour who accepted the assignment. The following day Elgstrand and San clambered down into the boat. Just before, San had whispered to his boss that it was probably best not to say anything about the contents of the parcel they were collecting from the English ship.