China

by Edward Rutherfurd

  As they didn’t come our way, though, we didn’t worry much.

  But the British were another matter.

  The first we heard, there had been trouble down in Guangzhou. The barbarians were still complaining because they hadn’t got everything in the shameful treaty their pirates had forced on us after the Opium War. Consulates in our ports weren’t enough for them. The British wanted an ambassador in Beijing, who could come barging into the emperor’s presence without even performing the kowtow, as though he were the equal of the Son of Heaven. I don’t think such a thing had happened in a thousand years, maybe two thousand.

  And the barbarians wonder why we say they have no manners.

  It was in the winter after my marriage that the British got into a fight with the governor of Guangzhou, who wouldn’t let them into the city. Suddenly we heard that they’d seized him and taken over that city.

  Actually, some people in Beijing were quite amused, because that governor was known to be a most objectionable character. All the same, such behavior couldn’t be tolerated.

  Next, the watermen sailing up the canal were telling us, “The British are coming.” They came right up the coast. And then we heard: “They’ve taken the forts at the mouth of the Peiho River. They control the canal.” But what really frightened us was when people started saying, “They’ll join up with the Taiping rebels in a Christian army and sweep up to Beijing.” Would anyone be able to stop them? We didn’t think so. Would they turn out the emperor? What would that mean?

  My father got very depressed. “The Mandate of Heaven is being withdrawn,” he said. “There’ll be chaos. There always is when that happens. We’ll all be killed. Then there’ll be a British emperor or a Taiping one. We may even be forced to be Christians, whatever that means.”

  “It won’t happen,” I said. I don’t know how I was so sure, but I was.

  * * *

  —

  I believed it then, and despite all I’ve seen in my life, I still believe it now: Our kingdom is eternal. When you think of the thousands of years of our history, the wisdom we’ve learned, our arts and inventions…Why, even our writing’s a miracle: Every character is like a little world. And when it comes to the finer things of life, everything’s made to last.

  Those lacquer boxes I love to hold—the ones with the deep patterns cut into them and the many layers of lacquer hardened like a stone—they’ll last as long as the Grand Canal or the Great Wall. Sometimes, when I look at those boxes, I think they’re how a great city must look, seen from the eye of Heaven. Walls within walls, streets and avenues, palaces and temples, houses and courtyards, all packed tight as a geometric pattern on a box. Dynasties come and go, war and disease, famine and flood. But Nanjing and Beijing are still standing; and even if they weren’t, the idea of them would still be there, preserved like a garden, in every lacquer box.

  You can’t destroy a great idea. That’s what I believe.

  * * *

  —

  Patience is the key. And that’s what the emperor’s servants showed now. Just as they had before, they negotiated with the British, promised enough to satisfy them, and persuaded them to go back to Guangzhou. They also granted one new concession.

  It seemed the British were hurt that all our official documents called them barbarians. We had to promise not to call them barbarians anymore.

  Of course they are. So we went on calling them barbarians amongst ourselves. And since they couldn’t speak Chinese, they didn’t even know, which shows how foolish their request was in the first place!

  * * *

  —

  That autumn my son was born. I think it was the best day of my life. You might say it changed everything.

  The first time I held the baby in my arms, I remember I started to count his fingers and toes, and Rose looked at me and said, “What are you doing?” And I replied, “I’m just making sure he has the right number of fingers and toes.” And she said, “What will you do if he hasn’t?” and I said, “I don’t know.” “Well,” she asked, “has he?” “Yes,” I said proudly, as if this were a great achievement. “He’s perfect.”

  Then I looked down at his little face, and he looked just like my father. So I walked outside where nobody could hear, and I whispered to my son, “You may look like your grandfather, but you’re going to work hard and be a big success.” That’s the first thing I ever said to him. He may not have understood, but I thought it was important to say it right away.

  We called him Zi-Hao, which means Heroic Son.

  I loved being a father. Sometimes the baby would cry in the night because he needed to burp, and if I woke up and Rose was asleep, I’d pick him up and rock him in my arms until he felt better. Several times my mother appeared and told me, “You shouldn’t be doing that. It’s woman’s work.” And she’d make me go back to sleep while she rocked the baby. But I didn’t mind doing it at all. I think those were some of the happiest moments I ever knew.

  One day I had just taken a piece of work I had completed to the storeroom when the master appeared. He asked in a friendly way after my family and then told me that he was awarding me a small pay raise. “I’m now paying you the top rate for what you do,” he said, “and you have earned it. In due course, as you master more complex work, you’ll be paid accordingly.”

  Naturally, I bowed deeply and thanked him.

  “Is the baby letting you get any sleep?” he asked with a smile.

  “Enough, master,” I said, and I told him how my mother made sure of this, and how I liked holding my son, even in the middle of the night. “You know how I love the finer things in life, like these,” I said, indicating the work all around us, “but I never realized I’d love my child even more.”

  “It was the same with me,” he replied with a nod. Then he gave me a strange look. “But you must take care,” he said. “However attached you are to a child, you will lose some of them. We all do. Just treasure them all the more while they are here.”

  I understood what he said, of course, but I didn’t really listen. I mean, you don’t, do you?

  Another good thing about the birth of Zi-Hao was the effect it had on my wife. She put on a little weight, and it suited her. I don’t mean she was plump, but I suppose you might say she changed from a girl to a perfectly formed young woman. I was very happy about it. A year after Zi-Hao was born, Rose was pregnant again.

  There was some more good news that summer. The British barbarians came back again and stormed the forts down at the mouth of the Peiho. But this time we were better prepared and our men drove them back to Guangzhou. Even my father was triumphant. “I told you that one day the emperor would teach the barbarians a lesson,” he cried—which was quite untrue, of course. All the same, it did seem to be a good sign.

  My little boy had started to walk. I would put him between my legs and hold his two tiny hands above his head, teaching him to put one foot in front of the other. By summer’s end he could walk a few paces by himself. And he could speak some words as well. I felt as if everything was right with the world.

  * * *

  —

  So it came as quite a shock when he fell sick. It began in early autumn. One day he suddenly threw up. We didn’t think much about it. These things happen all the time with little children. But the next day it happened again, and afterwards he seemed very listless, which wasn’t like him at all. The day after that, he just lay on the kang covered with a shawl and didn’t want to move. We didn’t know what was the matter with him. He looked awfully pale.

  My mother, the midwife, and a woman from the next village who knew many cures all took a hand, but nothing did any good. I became so worried I could hardly work.

  It was my master who came up with a suggestion. “I know a physician in Beijing,” he told me. “If anyone can cure your son, he can. Take the baby to Beijing and come back as soon as yo
u can.”

  That was an act of great kindness on his part. Not many masters would have done it. I almost broke down when I thanked him.

  So I took Rose and the baby to Beijing. My father insisted on coming, too. “You never know, I might be useful,” he said. And in fact he was, because he persuaded the master of one of the ships on the canal to take us there for nothing.

  The apothecary’s where the doctor was to be found turned out to be a huge emporium. The main hall was like a temple. Behind the dark wood of the high counters were rows and rows of glass jars and baskets of herbs. The doctor himself was a tiny old man, sitting on a chair in one corner of the place, so small that only his toes touched the floor. He looked up at me curiously as I told him who’d sent me, but he was very courteous. He asked us a lot of questions and examined the baby.

  I’d heard about how the best physicians examine the tongue and the pulse. Each wrist has three pulses, from just above the thumb to farther up the arm. There are all sorts of descriptions for what doctors feel—floating, surging, hard, soft, hollow, irregular, and so many combinations it makes the mind spin. I couldn’t believe the old man would be able to perform all these tests on a tiny child, and I don’t know how many he did, but it took a long time. Finally he delivered his verdict. “Your son is very sick,” he told us. “He may die. But I think I can cure him. However, the medicine will be expensive,” he warned me.

  I’d have paid everything I had.

  We waited patiently by the counter while the assistants collected the ingredients in a wooden bowl. Then they ground it into a powder. It all took some time.

  Rose was looking exhausted. I had my little boy in my arms, and I was so busy whispering to him how the medicine was going to make him feel better—although he didn’t know what I was saying, the sound of my voice seemed to soothe him—that I hardly noticed that my father had gone off.

  When I did realize, I started to look around, and finally I saw him deep in conversation with the tiny old doctor. My father was busy talking, and the old man nodded and said a word from time to time, though I couldn’t tell whether he was interested in what my father was saying or not. And I was just wondering how long this would be going on when Rose nudged me and pointed towards the counter. The medicine was ready. They gave me a slip of paper to take to the desk where you pay. I hardly looked at it. I had the money ready. I gave the slip of paper to the man at the desk, and I saw him look a bit surprised.

  I don’t think I heard him at first. I’d put silver on the desk, but he was shaking his head and pointing at the slip of paper. Then I read it.

  I still had my little boy in my arms, but I must have staggered and nearly dropped him, because suddenly Rose was at my side, and she had her hands out to take the baby from me. I stood there and stared at the cashier dumbly, like a man who’s just been struck dead but doesn’t know it. For the cost of the medicine was more than I’d brought to Beijing. In fact, it was more money than I possessed in the world. I couldn’t pay.

  So what was to become of my little boy?

  Just then I saw my father moving towards me. He was looking pleased with himself.

  “Do you know who the old doctor is?” he said excitedly.

  “No,” I mumbled. I was so wretched I was hardly listening.

  “He owns the whole store,” my father said. “And you’ll never guess: His father came from our village. He knew my grandfather, the merchant, who had all the money.”

  “Well,” I said sourly, “you can tell him we can’t pay.” I wasn’t sure he even heard me. “The medicine’s too expensive,” I shouted at him. “Your grandson’s going to die!”

  He heard that all right. He blinked at me. But he hardly even paused. “I’ll talk to him,” he said.

  I watched my father speak to the old man. Then I saw the old man shake his head.

  “He said he’s sorry. He told us it was expensive. The herbs are very rare. He can’t give them away. He says there’s another apothecary not far away.”

  So we went outside, and half an hour later we were at the other apothecary. It was much smaller and the doctor there was a younger man. After listening to our case he said: “I can give you a different medicine that does almost the same thing.” And he named the price, which was a third of what the old man had wanted. When we agreed to that, he went and attended to the order himself, making the assistants bring every ingredient for his inspection.

  “It had better work,” I said, “because it’s still all the money we’ve got.”

  “It’ll work,” said my father.

  * * *

  —

  We’d been back at home only two days when my little boy started to show signs of improvement. At work, every time I saw my master, I thanked him again for sending us to Beijing. And though he didn’t show it, I’m sure this made him happy.

  It was on the tenth day that my father showed up at the workshop. He came by at noon, when we were all eating and having a rest. “I had an errand in the village, so I thought I’d look in,” he told me cheerfully. After bowing politely and greeting the other craftsmen, he asked me what I was working on. As it happened, the piece on my table wasn’t that interesting, though he examined it admiringly. “Can I see some of your finished work?” he asked.

  “I suppose so,” I said, and I took him over to the storeroom.

  I always loved showing people the shelves of finished work. You’re just so proud of what you produce when you work in a place like that. Sure enough, when my father saw the rows and rows of beautiful treasures, he was quite amazed. I showed him a few small things I’d done, which weren’t too bad. “You really are a craftsman,” he said, and he looked so pleased and proud. Then he asked some questions that weren’t at all stupid about some of the more complex and valuable pieces and the skill that went into them. And I was feeling really pleased that he’d come when he suddenly turned to me with a serious face.

  “I didn’t come in here to look at the lacquer work,” he said. And while I stared at him, he went on. “I needed us to be alone.”

  “What’s all this about?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want the other men to hear us. I didn’t want them to know—especially after your master gave you time off to go to Beijing.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “You’ve got to ask your boss a big favor.” He gave me a wise nod. “Never ask a man for a favor in public—because if he does it for you, then everyone else will want the same from him. So if ever you need to ask a favor, son, always do it in private.”

  “What favor?” I asked. I didn’t like the sound of this.

  “He needs to lend you some money,” he says. He gazed at me sadly. “It’s Zi-Hao. Our little boy.”

  “What are you saying?” I felt my heart sink.

  “It happened soon after you left this morning. He was sick, the same way as before. And then he just lay there. He didn’t move all morning. He’s pale as a ghost.” My father looked so wretched. “I don’t think the medicine’s working anymore,” he said.

  “What do we do?” I cried.

  “That’s exactly why I came,” he said. He sounded quite eager. “All your master has to do is lend you the money for the right medicine—the one from the old man that we couldn’t afford. Go to him right away. Tell him what’s happened and ask for the loan. He’ll trust you. You’re a good worker. You’ll pay it back over time.”

  “He wouldn’t like it,” I said. “I don’t think I can.”

  “You’ve no choice,” he told me, “if you want to save your son’s life.” For once he was right. “Go and see him now. I’ll wait for you here.”

  So I did as he said. My master was in his house. When I went to the door and asked to speak to him, he saw me at once. He gave me a friendly welcome, but I saw a trace of caution in his eyes.

  I’d
never told him the detail about our buying the cheaper medicine from the other doctor. But now I had to tell him about that and about what was happening to my son.

  “Have you any suggestion about what I should do, master?” I asked. Because I thought perhaps he might offer something, and if he did, it would be better than my asking for a loan. Perhaps I was wrong to go about it that way. I don’t know.

  He didn’t keep me waiting long. “You should go to the temple and make an offering,” he said. “Sometimes that works.”

  “I was thinking,” I said in desperation, “that if he had the expensive medicine, it might cure him. If you could give me a loan, you know I’d pay it back. I’d do extra work. Anything you want.”

  He looked at me silently for a few moments. “Do you remember,” he said, “what I told you about children? You must be prepared to lose a few. We all do. It’s very sad”—he sighed—“but that’s the way of things.”

  “I have to try to save him,” I said.

  “Sometimes,” he answered me, “we just have to let go.”

  So I knew he wasn’t going to lend me any money.

  “It’s no good,” I told my father when I got back to him. He looked very depressed. Then he left and I went back to work.

  * * *

  —

  I didn’t know what to expect when I returned home that night. My son was lying there so quietly. He’d eaten less than half the tiny bowl of soft noodles my wife had been feeding him. She’d given him some of the medicine, but there was no sign it was doing him any good. I didn’t know what to say. More important, I didn’t know what to do.

  “I’m going to Beijing tomorrow,” my father suddenly said.