Along the River (13 page)

Facing us are two sets of rectangular doors, one behind the other, each two
zhang
high. The outer door is made of a single thick sheet of iron. It’s controlled by heavy chains that hoist the door up or down; the inner double door is made of carved wood and opens inward. Above the doors is a traditional administration building, with flying eaves and upturned corners, enclosed by a balcony. Steep stone steps lead from the top of the wall to the building’s entrance. Parapets along the top of the wall act as lookout towers during times of trouble and provide shelter for archers to shoot arrows.

A black-robed ticket official sits at a table inside the gate, counting coins with the help of a
suan pan
(abacus) and logging the sum into a ledger with brush and ink. He stamps a sheet of paper firmly with his
tu zhang
(chop or seal), gives it to the driver standing at his desk and waves him on before beckoning to the next driver to come forward.

We queue behind a troupe of musicians dressed in black costumes with red sashes round their waists. They are carrying their musical instruments: bamboo flutes, reed pipes, drums,
erhu
(two-stringed fiddle),
qin
(zither), lute, cymbals and bells.

“Carriages and carts have to pay tolls to go through the gate,” says one musician to another, “but pedestrians get in for free during the Qing Ming Festival.”

Gege taps the musician on his arm to get his attention. “Where will you be performing?”

“At the Longevity Gardens. There’s going to be a kite-flying competition this afternoon. You three should come and join the fun. It’s only half a
li
upriver to your left. We’re going to have a hot and noisy party.”

“When do the city gates close?” I ask.

“At sundown.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ah Zhao interrupts. “You’ll hear the drums.”

“Drums?” I ask. “What drums?”

“See the ornate guardhouse standing atop the city gates?” the musician says. “There’s a bell as well as a drum in that guardhouse. The bell is rung at sunrise every morning, when the city gates open, and the drum is beaten at sundown every evening, to warn you the gates are about to close.”

“How many bells and drums are there altogether?”

“The city wall has twelve separate gates,” Ah Zhao says, “but I’m not sure whether each gate has a bell and drum in its guardhouse.”

“Don’t worry,” the musician says. “Unless you’re deaf, you’re bound to hear the drums at sundown. You’ll know when to get out.”

Inside the walled city there are even more people milling about: tightrope-walkers, pole acts, jugglers, clowns, fortunetellers, actors and professional storytellers are all surrounded by dense crowds. We walk past a barbershop and see a bearded man being shaved with a sharp, curved knife. Down the street a well-muscled army officer is testing the suppleness of a crossbow at an archery stall. Next to him, illiterate farmers wait patiently for a public scribe to write their letters for a fee.

We mingle with shoppers, beggars, monks asking for alms, and families out on holiday. I can’t help laughing at a bare-bottomed little boy who’s trying to climb into a peddler’s basket. A sign on the basket proclaims that the peddler can cure diseases of cows and horses, as well as children! Many people are dressed in their best holiday clothes, with elaborate headgear. It’s so noisy we can hardly hear one another speak. Suddenly a loud bang startles me, but Ah Zhao says it’s just a firecracker. I’m fascinated by all the different shops and restaurants, hotels, temples, official buildings and private residences, ranging from modest dwellings to grand mansions with meticulously maintained yards.

Gege and Ah Zhao walk on either side of me to make sure that I don’t get lost in the crowd. As we stroll along the riverbank, toward the Longevity Gardens, the crowds thin out a little and I see hundreds of paper kites, shaped like birds and butterflies, flying in the wind. Some are tied to long poles wrapped in colorful silk banners, all bearing the characters
Qing Ming Feng Zheng Jie
(Qing Ming Kite Festival).

The Longevity Gardens turn out to be a large, empty field on a raised plateau overlooking the river on one side, and plots of vegetables and wheat on the other. The best thing about the grounds is the panoramic view of the city of Bian Liang. The three of us stand at the edge of the plateau, with Gege in the middle. He drapes his arms affectionately around our shoulders.

“When we get home,” Gege says, “I’m going to paint a picture of this great scene, exactly as it is at this moment. I’ll remember how it looks right now and never let go of the image. Will you help me do this, Big Nose?”

“Of course—we’ll do it together! We need to make the river the centerpiece of your painting. Be sure to remember the direction of the sun; we’ll put in sunshine and shadows where we see them now.”

“How do you draw sunshine?”

“When you draw dark shadows, the spaces you leave blank will be sunshine.”

“Brilliant! We’ll name the painting
Along the River at Qing Ming
. It will preserve a slice of Bian Liang city life, during Emperor Huizong’s reign, for our grandchildren and our great-great-grandchildren.”

“There’s something mysterious about this river, isn’t there?” I muse.

“I know,” Ah Zhao agrees. “Where does it begin and where does it end? I want to follow it to its source and find out.”

“And I want something to eat,” Gege says, bringing us back to earth.

At the edge of the field are stands selling hot and cold drinks, noodles, dumplings and steamed buns. Gege buys us each a bun. I bite into the fluffy, light exterior, waiting for the meat and the hot, savory juices to run over my tongue. It tastes so good that I ask for another, but I can’t finish it, so the boys share it.

We pass a large stall piled high with kites of different shapes and sizes, each more colorful than the last. Some are tied to poles so that they billow in the wind. Most are made of paper, but a few are silk. I can’t resist touching one shaped like a bird with orange-and-yellow wings, green tail and blue body.

“This kite is yours for only eight coppers,” the toothless old kite merchant says to me. “Today is a perfect day for kite-flying. Neither too hot nor too cold. Nice breeze blowing, but not too strong. See the leaves rustling in the treetops, and the flags flying on that big boat over there? All indicators of good kite-flying weather. On top of that, not a hint of rain, so you won’t be troubled by lightning.”

“What’s this kite made of?”

“Bamboo frame, paper sail and silk flying line. Silk kites are much more expensive. We carry both kinds. Our special kites look like insects, butterflies, dragons, fish and other animals. Our musical kites have flutes, gourds or bows attached to them, so the wind ‘plays’ musical tunes as the kites fly.”

“What about this one?” Gege asks, pointing to a small diamond-shaped kite attached to a line coated with shards of metal.

“That’s a fighter kite, made for boys. Buy two of them. Then you and your friend can have a friendly contest trying to cut one another’s lines. But be careful that you don’t injure your hands while handling the lines.”

A dizzying variety of competitions are being held at different areas of the field. There’s a group of small children tripping along, trailing small paper kites. Someone in the distance is counting out numbers in clear, measured tones: “… forty-two, forty-three, forty-four…” The majority of the kites flutter and crash before the announcer reaches one hundred. One little girl with two pigtails pointing upward bursts into tears as her kite blows away in the wind.

Farther along is a group of teenagers about our age. One of them has managed to raise his kite to a height over five hundred
zhang
.

I see an elderly man handling a butterfly kite so skillfully that it looks alive. He steers it with two lines of equal length strapped to his wrists. His kite can dance, fly loop-the-loop, turn somersaults in the air, or dive down before swooping back gracefully towards the sky.

Next to him is a team of eight men assembling a giant red-and-brown dragon-shaped kite with a long tail. It’s an elaborate affair with many bamboo hinges and numerous strings joined together into a single line attached to a handle and wheel. The team leader studies the wind direction and tells his men where to stand. At just the right moment, he barks out an order. Everyone dashes forward with the kite raised above their heads. As the dragon inflates with wind, the leader signals its release. The kite rises with grace, floating majestically into the sky, while the leader hastily pays out extra lengths of string from his wheel. It doesn’t take long for the dragon to rise to a great height, swaying and swerving as if it’s alive.

To our left, men and boys are shouting, cheering and chasing one another in an area away from the kite-flyers. It’s a large, flat, rectangular field marked off with a red rope.

“
Cu
ju
(football)!” Gege exclaims, in great excitement, and races ahead. When Ah Zhao and I finally catch up, he’s already among the players, chasing after a large brown leather ball.

Two young men approach us with friendly smiles as we watch the ball being kicked from player to player.