China

by Edward Rutherfurd

  * * *

  —

  Actually, the worst thing wasn’t even the day of the operation. It was afterwards. I was strapped to that wooden bench for a month.

  It just ached and burned, day after day. I kept taking the cannabis drink for three days, which helped a bit, and they made me drink rice soup through a wheat straw. Three times a day the assistant would help me move my legs—I was still strapped to the bench, of course—because otherwise you probably couldn’t walk when you got up. But it’s so uncomfortable, being tied to a hard bench like that. Torture, really.

  And it’s so boring. Just lying there, staring at the ceiling, for thirty days. I didn’t know the true meaning of boredom until that time.

  The only other thing I remember happening was, a day after the operation, the surgeon came in with a jar and let me look inside it. And there were all the vital bits he’d cut off me—pickled, you might say, in lime. I suppose I was glad to see them and to know they were safe. But honestly, they looked so shriveled, so completely separate from me, that I could have wept.

  My father came to see me. “Rose wasn’t sure if she should come,” he said, and I told him not to bring her. I didn’t want my wife to see me strapped to the bench. “We may need to use a little of the money I have,” he went on sheepishly, “with you not bringing any in just yet.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “I won’t need it all.” I still hadn’t told him about the loan from Mr. Chen, and I wasn’t going to.

  A month later, when I was able to walk, I sent word to the family to come and see me, but it wasn’t a great success. Rose asked me if I was all right, and I said yes, and she said, “That’s good.” It didn’t sound as though she really meant it. My mother started to cry, so my father said he’d better take her home, and Rose went with them.

  They’ll cheer up when I bring them some money, I thought.

  Mr. Chen looked in several times to see how I was getting along, but apart from that I had no visitors.

  * * *

  —

  I wasn’t the only person undergoing the operation at the house of Mr. Bi. There were half a dozen others, but they were all boys. I was the only adult. Normally it took a patient three months from the operation until the day he was ready to go to the palace, but I made such unusual progress that I was fit to leave after only two. I was told I should go with three of the boys who were to leave next. They were nice enough, and I took care to be friendly to them. We’d sit and talk, and they’d ask me all sorts of questions, assuming that because I was older I must know everything. They were simple country boys, and none of them could read or write. So I was able to tell them a good deal they didn’t know about the palace and Beijing. I had a feeling they were destined for quite lowly careers. Certainly none of them had any feeling for the finer things of life.

  On the day we were due to be collected, however, we were told we’d have to wait, on account of a yellow wind.

  That’s the only thing I hate about our northern springs: They always seem to end with a yellow wind.

  For four days the yellow dust filled the sky, so that if I ventured into the street, I could hardly see my hand in front of my face. I’d wrap a piece of silk or cotton across my nose and mouth, but the dust was so fine it seemed to get through, encrust itself on my lips, and block my nose until I could scarcely breathe.

  But at last it was over. A palace eunuch arrived to escort us. And Mr. Chen also turned up to keep me company, which was very good of him.

  The sky overhead was a clear pale blue that morning, but there was a sandy-colored haze hanging over the horizon, and the sun came through it with a strange, harsh light. It almost felt like a dream. The street was still thick with dust, and we left our footprints as we went. “I hate this dust,” I said to Mr. Chen; but he only laughed.

  “You shouldn’t,” he told me. “This is the dust that turns the waters of the Yellow River into gold.”

  “It still gets up my nose,” I said.

  “And it enriches the great northern plain,” he went on, “where all our wheat grows. Tell me,” he asked, “are the roof tiles in the Forbidden City a different color from those in the rest of Beijing?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yellow.”

  “What color is worn only by the emperor?” he continued.

  “Yellow,” I replied.

  “Learn to love yellow, then,” he ordered. “Yellow River, yellow earth, yellow roofs, yellow silks…”

  “I got the point,” I said.

  * * *

  —

  As we approached the red walls of the Imperial City in that harsh sunlight, with a sullen glare coming from the huge roofs of the Tiananmen Gate, I noticed the three boys cowering nervously. I didn’t blame them. The closer one gets, the higher those great red walls and towers seem. And remember, the circuit of those walls is six miles and more. Six miles. No wonder people are frightened. But I wasn’t afraid.

  Because walls have two purposes: They keep strangers out, of course; but they also protect the fortunate within. That’s what I was thinking as we entered the tunnel of the smaller gateway. This was the safest place in the world. I’d be protected. Well paid. Most of the people on the outside were losers; but I was a winner now. It was true I’d paid a price to get there. But you usually do pay a price for things, don’t you?

  And as we came out of the tunnel, there it was before us: the Forbidden City itself, the Son of Heaven’s Palace, the center of the world. I was so excited. I’d never seen it before.

  There was a broad moat all the way around it. The walls were purple. We crossed the moat by a beautiful bridge and entered by a modest gateway in the western wall, where the eunuch showed our passes to the Manchu guards. Then, after passing through a little park of trees, we made our way down a short alley until we came to a low building.

  “I’ll leave you now,” said Mr. Chen. “Just do everything you’re told. They’ll give you all sorts of training about palace rules and so forth, which I know you’ll learn easily. I’ll come by in ten days to find out how you’re getting on.”

  * * *

  —

  Well, naturally, I didn’t know what to expect. But I must say, I spent a very agreeable day.

  They gave us all a medical check first. It might have been embarrassing, but since both we and all the people inspecting us had been castrated, it wasn’t so bad.

  Then we got our uniforms—simple cotton top and bottoms, blue underwear, a broad black belt, and short boots. That’s what you got when you started. The beautiful silks I’d seen were only for the eunuchs who’d attained high rank.

  After that, we got to meet our mentors. These were eunuchs with some years of service who would teach us the basics. Though my mentor was older than the others, he evidently hadn’t been picked out for any promotion yet. He was like a rather solemn family dog, moving slowly and speaking in a soft, mournful voice, but he wasn’t unfriendly. “Did you know I’m supposed to hit you with a bamboo cane if you don’t learn your lessons?” he asked me sadly. “Some of the eunuchs like whipping the new boys. But I hate it.”

  “I’ll try not to give you cause,” I reassured him, which seemed to cheer him up a little.

  “By the way,” he said, “as I’m your mentor, you’ve got to call me master.”

  “Yes, master,” I said, and bowed.

  “You don’t really need to if we’re alone,” he went on, “but I suppose you’d better, because otherwise you might forget when we’re in front of an official, and then I’d get into trouble for not teaching you to be respectful.”

  “Yes, master,” I said, “that’s very wise.”

  The first thing he explained to me was how to identify the senior eunuchs. “There are about two thousand eunuchs altogether,” he said, “though there used to be more. And two hundred of them are officials—from the eight
h mandarin rank up to the third. That’s normally as high as a palace person can go.”

  “And each rank has a different uniform and insignia?” I suggested.

  “Exactly. I’ll tell them to you now,” he said.

  “I have an idea,” I said. “Is there a wardrobe room where we could look at the robes? I’d remember them a lot more easily if I could see them.”

  “Well…” He looked a bit doubtful. “I suppose we could.”

  The wardrobe was next to the eunuchs’ laundry. It was like a treasure trove to me: rows of silk coats—blue, red, purple, and other colors. Some were plain silk with a big square patch on the chest, embroidered with the bird belonging to their rank. Others were covered with embroidery, with the bird worked into the rich design. The third rank was a gorgeous peacock, then a wild goose, then a silver pheasant, an egret, and for the seventh rank a mandarin duck. The humblest clerk of the lowly ninth rank wore a little bird called a paradise flycatcher. There were hats as well, with feathers in jade holders, and various grades of tassels. After we’d studied these for a while, I said: “Will you please test me, master?” And of course I got them all right. He was quite amazed.

  He didn’t realize that this wasn’t work to me at all. The moment I saw each beautiful design, I had it in my mind. These were the finer things of life—everything I loved. I could have stayed in there all day. I couldn’t wait to come back.

  “I expect I’ll forget some of them by tomorrow, master,” I said. “But if we come in here for a few minutes each day, I’m sure I’ll get them all fixed in my head, so that I won’t let you down.”

  The next morning, he taught me about the rooftops. For like everything else in the Forbidden City, each building belonged to a particular rank. “You know how every government building has at least three little figures on each corner of the roof,” my mentor began. “On the outer point is a tiny man riding a bird. That’s the emperor’s servant running his errands. Behind him is at least one other animal, watching over him, and behind them both is an imperial dragon—he’s a bit bigger—who’ll eat them up if they don’t get on with it.”

  “A minimum of three figures,” I said.

  “That’s right. But a more important building will have another two figures, making a total of five. More important still, another two, making seven; and most important of all, two more again, making nine. Always an odd number, you’ll notice, in a little procession down the roof’s ridgeline. There’s a bird, a lion, a seahorse, a bull, a figure that’s half goat and half bull, a young dragon, and a fish. You’ll have to learn them all, their individual significance, and exactly what all the combinations tell you about the building or gateway in question. Here in the Forbidden City you’ll find examples of every kind.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “But there’s still one more figure. It’s only on a single building in the whole kingdom. Do you know what that is?” I didn’t. “It’s a figure of a walking man,” he told me. “He’s holding a sword as if it were a stick. He goes at the back, just in front of the dragon, to oversee all the other figures. And he’s to be found only on the roof of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, here in the Forbidden City, because that’s where the emperor’s throne is.”

  “Will I ever go in there?” I asked.

  “I doubt it,” he said, “but you may see the roof.”

  The next day he took out a scroll and unrolled it on the table. It was a map of the Forbidden City, beautifully illustrated with little pictures of every building with their names written beside them, as well as the number of figures on each roof. We studied this closely for a couple of hours and I made good progress. When we paused in the middle of the day, my master asked if I had any questions.

  “I have noticed one thing, master, which you haven’t yet discussed.”

  “What is that?” he inquired.

  “The names of the buildings,” I said. “Every palace, every hall, has a beautiful name. Going north from the Hall of Supreme Harmony, for instance, I see the Hall of Preserving Harmony, then the Gate and the Palace of Heavenly Purity, the Palace of Earthly Tranquility, and the Hall of Imperial Peace. In the east there is the Gate of Tranquil Longevity. To the west there’s the Palace of Everlasting Spring. The list goes on and on. Everything is about heavenly peace, harmony, absence of discord.”

  This pleased my master very much.

  “You are exactly correct,” he replied. “And how could it be otherwise when the rule of the emperor is dedicated entirely to the maintenance of harmony, justice, and peace within the kingdom?”

  “Can the emperor really be so wise all the time?” The moment I said it I cursed myself for being such a fool. Now I’ll be in trouble, I thought. But my master only smiled.

  “That was all thought of centuries ago,” he said. “Everyone in the palace, including the emperor himself, is watched all the time. All his memoranda and all his actions, no matter how small, are recorded. Not only does he have counselors, but there are officers who will inform him of the precedents for every action, going back into previous dynasties. Everything he does has to be according to law and custom. Not only that, there is always at hand at least one Confucian philosopher called a censor, who acts like a tutor and who is required to warn him if any action he is considering would be unjust. The censor may speak freely, without any fear, and the emperor is obliged to listen.

  “So you see,” he concluded, “all this attention to order is part of a larger theme. If the palace isn’t perfectly ordered, with everything in its proper place and rank, and morally correct, how can we expect the kingdom to be ordered?”

  “I understand, master,” I said. “And I think it’s wonderful.” I still do, as a matter of fact.

  * * *

  —

  Learning deportment took much longer. How to walk, how to bow, how to address everybody respectfully. There were so many little mistakes you could make, and even the smallest one could land you in deep trouble.

  “You can be grateful that we’re not as strictly treated as the servingwomen,” my mentor told me.

  There were scores of these, from the humblest cleaner who polished the floor on her hands and knees, to the women who tended personally to the empress. These last were usually from high-ranking Manchu families, and it was supposed to be a great honor. “I can’t imagine the Manchu ladies waiting on the empress have a bad time,” I said.

  “Actually, it’s the reverse,” he said. “They have to keep terrible hours. If a member of the imperial family wants one of these women, nobody cares if she’s sleeping after a long day, she has to get up and run at once. The closer you are to the royal family, the greater your danger. They say that one poor girl dropped a piece of burning ash onto the empress’s gown once—by accident, of course—and it caught light. They put it out, but all the same…Bad mistake. What do you think happened to the girl?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Beheaded. Straightaway. So were most of her family, though it was hardly their fault, was it?”

  “And if a eunuch had done it?”

  “Oh, punished, demoted. But not beheaded—unless they thought you’d done it on purpose. They trust us more, you see. We’re just poor boys who owe everything to the court, so we’re not going to do anything against our masters.”

  You can be sure I devoted myself to learning everything I could, and my master never even had to strike me once, though I often heard the other recruits catching it. In fact, by the time Mr. Chen came to see me after ten days, word had already reached him that I was the best pupil they’d had for over a year, and that I was a paragon of virtue.

  I’d just had my first pay packet, but when I offered to make a payment towards what I owed him, he wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Don’t even think of it yet,” he told me, “your family needs the money.” He smiled. “You’ve done me far more g
ood already, by impressing everybody. I’ve been busy reminding them that it’s all thanks to me you came here.” He made me tell him everything I’d been doing, and nodded approvingly. “Later on,” he told me, “after you’ve completed your training and got a position, there’s a nice little job we’ll try to get you for extra money.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Carrying a sedan chair for members of the royal family,” he told me. “You’re one of a team and you aren’t often needed, but it would give you a second salary.” He laughed. “It was an honor reserved for elderly eunuchs of long service, but after they’d nearly dropped one of the princes a few times, it was given to younger fellows like you.”

  When I got home and gave my family my pay and told them all the good news, they were very happy to see me. I played with my little children, and that night I lay with my wife and made her quite happy, one way and another.

  So you can imagine what a good mood I was in when I returned to the palace early in the morning.

  My mentor was waiting for me, but instead of going with me into the schoolroom we often used for our lessons, he told me to go in alone and whispered: “Mr. Liu wants to see you. He’s a head eunuch. Remember to bow low.”

  The only person in the room was sitting in a chair. From the peacock on his silk robe I knew at once that this must be one of the few eunuchs in the third grade. The sleeves of his robe had long white extensions that flapped down to his knees—which told me he served the emperor personally. I bowed very low indeed. As I raised myself back to a respectful attention, I saw there were some papers on the small table at his side.

  His face was smooth and still as a statue’s. “Did you know your papers are not in order?” he asked me.

  “Your unworthy servant did not, honored sir,” I said.

  “I daresay Mr. Chen arranged them for you,” he remarked. I nodded, since this was indeed the case. “Mr. Chen is an important person,” he went on. “If Mr. Chen tells the clerks in my department—for I am in complete charge of all the palace eunuchs, you see—that an applicant’s papers are good enough to be stamped and sealed, they will do as he says. I have the power to countermand him, of course.”