China

by Edward Rutherfurd

  “As you wish,” said Mother. “We’ll sell the opium pipe.”

  “You’re going to sell Grandfather’s opium pipe?” California Brother asked in surprise. “What will Elder Uncle say?”

  “He can smoke through a bamboo pipe instead,” Mother said dourly. “The opium will keep him quiet.”

  Nobody spoke. She had just deposed her own son as the nominal head of the family. They all heard it. Things weren’t supposed to be that way. But they knew she was right.

  As her two boys went out together, Mei-Ling heard California Brother say, “The first thing I’m going to do is rebuild the bridge over the pond.”

  “We’ll do it together,” his brother Ka-Fai agreed.

  * * *

  —

  The incident happened in the middle of the day. It took Mei-Ling by surprise. She and little Bright Moon and Mother were all sitting on a bench, watching the two brothers who were already waist-high in the pond pulling rotten timbers from the bridge.

  A few minutes earlier, she’d gone down and whispered to her younger son: “You’ve had so much to think about since you got back, but when you finish, just pay some attention to your little sister, because you’ve hardly said a word to her yet.”

  He’d given her a nod. And sure enough, as he came out of the water and squelched his way up the slope to the bench with a big friendly grin on his face, he looked down at Bright Moon and said, “How’s my beautiful little sister today?”

  When Bright Moon didn’t reply, but stared at the ground, they thought she must be shy.

  “She’s not used to you,” said Mother.

  “Once I’m dry,” he said to the girl, “we’ll sit and have a talk together.” And he went inside.

  Everyone was back in the courtyard when he reappeared. Elder Son, unaware of the family conference earlier on, had also joined them. Bright Moon was sitting under the tree with Mei-Ling, who got up and indicated to California Brother that he should take her place. He’d just sat down when Elder Son decided to address them.

  “Since my dear brother died almost a year ago, in a far country, none of the usual funeral rules apply. But we shall mourn him for two days.” It was said in a simple and dignified manner, and nobody argued. Mother nodded her approval. After that, conversation resumed.

  “You look so grown-up already, with your dainty feet,” California Brother remarked to Bright Moon in a kindly way. “Father often talked of you when we were working on the railroad, you know. He’d be so proud to see you now.”

  Bright Moon didn’t reply.

  “I’m sorry I brought bad news,” he went on. “You must be very sad.”

  It seemed that she might be about to speak to him now, so he waited. “Everyone says that,” she suddenly burst out. She was still staring at the ground.

  “Says what?”

  “That Father would be proud. It’s not true.”

  “Oh?” He frowned. “Why?”

  “I hate my bound feet,” she burst out. “I hate them. They’re not dainty. They’re all squashed and the bones are broken, and they hurt all the time. It hurts!” she screamed out.

  “Well, I know it hurts for a while…” he ventured. But she cut him short.

  “What do you know? Did they bind your feet? No, I’m a cripple now.”

  “Don’t speak that way,” said Mother sharply. “You should be beaten.”

  “I don’t care,” the little girl shouted back. “It can’t hurt more than my feet.”

  “What a temper she has,” cried Mother. But she didn’t do anything.

  “It’s for your own good,” said Elder Son firmly, not because he’d really been involved, but because he thought he was head of the family.

  “If you and Father hadn’t gone away”—she turned on California Brother—“I wouldn’t be like this. Father would never have let them bind my feet. He loved me.”

  “It’s for your own good,” said Mei-Ling.

  “No, it isn’t,” her daughter replied sorrowfully. “You just want me to marry someone rich so I can get money for you.”

  “Where did she learn to talk like that at such an age?” Mother demanded.

  “Actually, you know…” California Brother began gently…But Mei-Ling gave him such a look that he stopped.

  “Go to your room,” Mei-Ling ordered her daughter. She watched the child hobble painfully across the courtyard. When Bright Moon had gone, Mei-Ling turned back to her younger son. “You were going to say your father agreed her feet should be bound.”

  “He said so in California many times.”

  “But the child has got it into her head that her father would have stopped it.” And perhaps, if he’d seen the pain, he might have, she thought. “And now,” she went on, “her father’s dead. And she remembers how kind he was and how he held her hand, and so she believes he would have saved her from the foot-binding. It’s the only thing she has.”

  “Who’s she going to blame, then?” asked California Brother. “Me? My brother? You?”

  “Me and Mother, I should think,” said Mei-Ling.

  “But it’s still a lie,” said Mother.

  Mei-Ling looked at Mother. “We know that Second Son doted on his daughter,” she said. “And if the only way Bright Moon can know that big truth is to believe a little lie, then let her believe.”

  Mother nodded. “You may be right, my daughter. Besides, she is angry because she is so hurt by her father’s death.”

  * * *

  —

  The rest of the day passed peacefully. The two brothers went over to inspect the fields on the other side of the village. Elder Son went with them. On their return, California Brother sat and talked to Bright Moon without further incident. And after they had eaten that night, California Brother said he was sleepy, and everyone turned in.

  But Mei-Ling didn’t feel sleepy. She took a small lantern and went out into the courtyard.

  She wanted to be alone with her thoughts for a while, to mourn alone. And for some time she sat there. But mourning does not always come so easily. The sky was overcast, opaque.

  And she had been there for some time when her older son appeared.

  “Not tired?” Ka-Fai asked. She shook her head. “I’m tired, but I still can’t sleep.” He sat beside her. “The moon must be almost full,” he said, jutting his jaw up at the clouds, “if we could only see it.”

  “Full tomorrow,” she replied. “Perhaps the sky will be clear.”

  He yawned. She watched. His face was just like his father’s. She felt a sudden bittersweet rush of love.

  “Do you remember what you promised to do when your father came home?” she asked. He nodded. “Your brother’s home,” she went on. “That counts as the same thing.”

  “I know.”

  “So you’ll marry?” Again he nodded. “Have you anyone in mind?” she wanted to know. He shook his head. “Do you want to think about it?”

  “Families are supposed to decide these things,” Ka-Fai said, “not the bridegroom.”

  “I know. But you’re so obstinate, I thought…”

  “You choose.” He gave her a smile.

  “Oh,” she said. She felt rather pleased.

  They were quiet for a little while. Then he said, “I’m sleepy now,” and went to bed.

  Mei-Ling stayed there alone. She was pleased about the marriage. As she considered her son’s strengths and limitations, she couldn’t immediately think of any particular girl for him, or even a type of girl. But she felt sure she’d recognize the right girl when she found her.

  And after the misery she had endured watching Bright Moon suffer so much, the idea of arranging a happy marriage for her son was like balm on a wound.

  As the minutes passed, her thoughts turned to her husband. How was it she’d sensed that Second Son wo
uld not return? She couldn’t say. Had something happened that first cloudy night after he’d left, when her little messages of love, so carefully wrapped, had never seemed to reach him? Had he turned away from her? Surely not. She had continued to send her thoughts after him as the months went by; and several times it had seemed to her that she could feel him thinking of her in return. But she wasn’t sure, if truth be told.

  She’d always thought she’d know it if he died. It was just an assumption, an article of faith, almost.

  But she hadn’t. She knew now when it must have happened. Yet at that time she’d felt nothing. Nothing at all.

  As she sat in the courtyard now, in the dark, she remembered all the good things about him, all the moments they had shared. She thought of his kindly ways. Surely, she supposed, these things would bring her comfort and warmth. She wanted to open a door in the sky, through which his spirit might enter and be with her again.

  But the sky was blank. His spirit did not come. As if she were inside a box whose lid had been locked, she waited in silence. Her love was lost. And she felt nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  * * *

  ◦

  It was the following spring when Shi-Rong made his journey to Guilin Prefecture. He was accompanied only by two servants and his secretary, a tall young man named Peng. The journey took two months.

  At the end of the first month Peng asked him: “Isn’t this the wrong way, master?” To which he replied: “You ask too many questions.” He’d taken Peng as a favor to the young man’s father, an important man, a friend of Prince Gong. The young man was Mr. Peng’s third son, and his father didn’t quite know what to do with him.

  The understanding between Shi-Rong and Peng’s father was simple. “We both know you should have had a promotion years ago, my dear fellow,” Mr. Peng had declared. “There’s a job open down in Guilin. Sub-prefect. Fifth rank. Go down there. Avoid trouble. Play it safe. In another year or two there will be a number of appointments coming up, and I think I can get you one which carries both promotion and profit.”

  “Guilin?” Shi-Rong had pursed his lips. It wasn’t just a backwater. The Miao people, a big ethnic tribe who’d been giving trouble for centuries, had been in a state of rebellion for the last decade. True, the insurrections had all been in the next province to the north. But there were plenty of Miao folk in the area around Guilin. It might be uncomfortable, even dangerous. “You’ve really nothing else to suggest?” he asked.

  “If you’re worrying about the Miao, I just had a letter from the prefect there. He’s a splendid fellow. He assures me it’s all right. It’s poor but quite beautiful. Put a little time in there, and you’ll be rewarded, I promise you.”

  It was a chance, at least, the best hope he’d had for quite a while. So he’d accepted it gratefully. And when his patron mentioned that his third son needed a job, Shi-Rong had taken the hint at once.

  “Is there anything I need to know about the young man?” he asked.

  “You’ll have to tell him to stop talking.” Peng’s father gave him an apologetic smile. “Frequently.”

  * * *

  —

  During the first month Peng asked quite a lot of questions about the administration of a prefecture and his duties. The questions weren’t stupid, and Shi-Rong was content to answer them. He also taught the young man some Cantonese. It passed the time, after all. And he soon evolved ways of shutting the young man up, without being unkind.

  “Will your wife and family be joining us?” Peng asked on the second day.

  “Not at present. My daughter, sadly, is not in good health. Not well enough to travel. My dear wife will remain with her at our family home until she is stronger.”

  “I see. Shall we have the pleasure of seeing your sons?”

  “Perhaps. My elder boy is busy with his studies at present. But it may do him good to come to Guilin for a rest in a few months.”

  “It must be difficult to be parted from one’s wife,” Peng ventured.

  “Indeed,” said Shi-Rong. Not as difficult as you suppose, he could have added. Instead he said solemnly: “Our duty to the emperor comes first.”

  “Oh. Of course, master. Duty first.”

  “And now I should like to enjoy the view in silence, my dear Peng,” Shi-Rong said firmly, “if you would be so kind.”

  “Is it true,” Peng asked another time, “that you were with the great Lord Lin as his private secretary during his time in Guangzhou?”

  “It is true.”

  “My father says that Lord Lin was a great hero, and the most honest servant of the emperor who ever lived,” Peng continued.

  “He was certainly honest,” Shi-Rong replied. “As you know, he was temporarily disgraced and then reinstated, but his career never quite recovered. I am glad that after his death his memory has been held in ever higher esteem.”

  “My father says most mandarins are just out to line their pockets.”

  “Nobody’s perfect,” Shi-Rong said cautiously.

  “My father says you’re like the lord Lin.”

  “He is too kind. I am undeserving.”

  “I know I shall see nothing but the utmost correctness in all your actions in Guilin, master,” Peng went on enthusiastically. “I shall study all you do.”

  Shi-Rong did not reply. He seemed to be considering something.

  In fact, young Peng’s enthusiasm was not entirely misplaced. By the standards of many men in his position, Shi-Rong had been a model of probity. But it wasn’t as if his reputation for probity had brought him any promotion. It hadn’t. He was in his fifties now, and he hadn’t risen very far. If he was going to do something for his family, earn the respect of his children at least, then he needed to put some money by and add to the family fortune. Not that he would stoop to evil conduct. If a man was rightly accused of a crime and the family tried to bribe him to find the fellow innocent, he wouldn’t even consider it. But there might be other, more harmless ways to come by extra money. And if these came his way, then perhaps occasionally he might avail himself of the opportunity in future. If he was sure he wouldn’t be caught.

  Anyway, it was time for Peng to shut up again. “Do you know the little poem ‘Silent Night’ by the poet Li Bai of the Tang dynasty?” he suddenly asked.

  “Of course, master. Every child knows it.”

  “Recite the poem to me.”

  Peng did so:

  Moonlight makes my bed board gleam

  Like the ground frost’s silver sheen

  Look up to see the moon so bright

  Look down, and see your childhood home

  “Excellent,” said Shi-Rong. “Li Bai wrote over a thousand poems, you know, and another of them has just come into my mind. I should like to contemplate it now, uninterrupted,” he added pleasantly, “for the rest of the day.”

  So they continued into the second month. And Shi-Rong was pleased to note that never, not even once, did Peng again ask him why they were going so far to the south.

  * * *

  ◦

  The sun was sinking in the west when Mei-Ling saw the four horsemen approaching. She was standing at the gate with Elder Son admiring the newly completed bridge over the pond below.

  The head of the household was in a cheerful mood. He’d even managed to collect some rent from a tenant that day. “Look at what a good job we’ve made of that bridge,” he had just remarked, quite as if he’d done some of the work himself.

  One of the horsemen, a tall young man, dismounted and approached them. “My master is an important official,” he told Elder Son in halting Cantonese. “We need shelter for the night. We’d pay you well.”

  The young man certainly looked like an official. Mei-Ling’s gaze traveled to the other riders: two servants, obviously, and a mandarin. The mandarin was walking his h
orse closer.

  But when she saw his face, Mei-Ling went very pale. Her mind began to race. Why had he come? Could it be about Nio? Had he heard something? Was it possible?

  “Of course, by all means, we should be honored,” she heard Elder Son saying. “We were about to eat, if you will join us.”

  * * *

  —

  The men sat around the table: Shi-Rong, young Peng, Elder Son, and her two boys. She and Mother served them. Her son’s new wife, a cheerful peasant girl they all liked, was looking after Shi-Rong’s two servants, who were to be housed in the barn. Bright Moon had been told to stay in her room.

  Shi-Rong was treating Elder Son with a friendly courtesy that he certainly didn’t deserve. California Son was telling Peng about America, while Ka-Fai was smiling amiably at everyone.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” Mother whispered when they were in the kitchen together. When Mei-Ling silently nodded, Mother explained: “I never really got a good look at him that time before. Not enough to recognize him. But when I saw your face just now…”

  “Why is he here, Mother? Could it have something to do with Nio?”

  “It might be Nio, if he’s alive.”

  * * *

  —

  Bright Moon appeared, just as they were finishing the meal. Curiosity got the better of the young girl, and she came out of her room to see what was going on.

  Shi-Rong stared at her in surprise. “Who is this beautiful young lady?”

  “My daughter,” Mei-Ling said.

  “I see.” He gazed at them both. “She looks just like you.”

  “Her father’s pride and joy,” said Mother. “My younger son, sir. He adored the child.”

  “Adored?”

  “He died a year and a half ago.”