Breaking Bamboo (49 page)

Most odious of all were his demands that Lu Ying should become his concubine, given his son’s evident impotence. At such times Cao noticed a terrible intensity in her beloved, patient Shih’s face that frightened her. He would increase the amount of Lord Yun’s medicine until the old man grew stiff and could only speak with difficulty.

It was several months since Dr Shih last attended a private patient, all his energies being directed to the Relief Bureau. In between, he had endured imprisonment and trial, the near loss of his brother. Now, as he packed his old medicine bag, Cao watched him intently, aware the summons he had received concerned a family to whom they were forever indebted, for the extensive Xue clan had formed a large part of the sympathetic crowd at Shih’s trial.

‘I shall have something warm for you on your return,’ she said.

Shih paused.

‘You could come with me, if you like,’ he suggested, tentatively. ‘I would be grateful for your help in holding the patient.’

Within moments Cao had found stout wooden-soled shoes and a thick cloak of hemp.

‘Do I look like an apprentice?’ she asked.

‘Do not remind me of apprentices,’ said Shih. ‘Thankfully you do not resemble one at all!’

They stepped out of their shop door into a murky river-fog.

The houses they passed wore tendrils of mist and the fog seemed to close around them like malicious, swirling gossip.

Cao threaded an arm through her husband’s as they walked through the deserted streets. The curfew bells were ringing early today. But Dr Shih carried an official passport, stamped by the Prefecture, and so did not fear the Watch.

Their destination was Xue Alley, a narrow, twisting street full of dark corners. Most of the buildings were two or more storeys high and seemed to disappear upwards into the fog. Laughter escaped through open windows; anxious mothers called in naughty children who were defying the curfew. It was suppertime in Xue Alley and steam rose from communal cooking pans, though such poor folk had little enough to broil or steam.

Shih led his wife to a rickety door and knocked. They were answered almost at once. Over a dozen people of all ages filled a small room opening directly onto the street, sat on the floor around a central fire-pot. The assembled family looked up in surprise as Shih entered. Instantly Carpenter Xue was on his feet.

‘Dr Shih!’ he cried. ‘I was quite sure you would call tonight, though my wife said you would be too busy for humble people like ourselves. “Be silent, woman!” I told her. “You do not understand Dr Shih as I do!” I beg you and Madam Cao to eat with us. Eat, sir! Eat, Madam! We have plenty.’

They could hardly refuse, though Cao noticed the bowls Xue offered were only large enough to maintain the carpenter’s face.

After Shih had scooped up a single mouthful with the chopsticks he carried in a pouch at his belt, he belched with satisfaction and set the bowl aside.

‘Forgive me!’ he said. ‘Your stew is so rich that I am quite replete. No, I can eat no more! Do not press me, I beg you.’

‘Nor can I,’ added Madam Cao, hastily, though she had tasted none of it.

Carpenter Xue pretended to be sorrowful. Nevertheless he indicated to a daughter that the bowls should be collected from his guests; and the contents were promptly poured straight back into the family pot.

‘Let me repay you for that banquet by examining the infant you sent word about,’ said Shih. ‘My wife will hold her.’

Dr Shih conducted his usual readings of pulse, breath and colour while Cao held the wriggling child on her lap. She was face to face with all she had never possessed. Familiar emotions gushed through her – tenderness and a kind of breathless pain.

Such a bonny child! Yet the girl’s complexion was mottled by rashes. Her brown eyes fixed themselves on Cao’s face. After Shih had reassured the child’s mother that the malady was not severe, he promised an ointment would be ready by noon tomorrow. Carpenter Xue bowed them out, a fixed smile on his shrewd face.

‘I suspect old Xue was testing out the extent of my obligation to him,’ muttered Shih, as they walked away. ‘The baby was in no danger, though one would have thought from his summons it was about to die.’

The early evening fog was thinning as they reached North Canal Street. Stars shone in a clear winter sky and wisps of cloud floated through heaven. Suddenly Cao laughed.

‘Why do I feel so light?’ she asked.

Shih smiled.

‘I’d sooner feel light because of a flask of wine,’ he said.

‘Husband, take my arm. I cannot give you wine but, well, I shall say no more.’

They walked back to Apricot Corner Court and the medicine shop full of jars. Most had been emptied over the course of the siege. Yet just as a bankrupt preserves at least one precious object from the wreck of his fortune, Cao had held back a quantity of a certain infusion tasting of lamb’s fat and pepper, mingled with a coarse, everyday root especially revered by Daoist hermits seeking visions.

Madam Cao sat her husband down and boiled water on a small stove. While the fire caught, they eyed each other wordlessly. Cao’s mind was full of the evening they had just shared.

‘You seem happy,’ said Shih.

‘Is that so strange?’

‘Nowadays, perhaps,’ he said. ‘I am glad.’

‘Are you happy?’ she asked.

Shih stretched out his long legs and shrugged.

‘We spend so little time together, that I cannot help but be happy tonight. But Cao, there is something important I have meant to say for a long time.’

She waited. Behind him wisps of steam began to rise from the kettle.

‘Cao, we have been uneasy together ever since I cured His Excellency’s son. Ever since Lu Ying joined our household.

How foolish it all seems now.’

‘We need to look at each other more often,’ she said, firmly.

‘Then we will remember who we are.’

She bit her lip in confusion. Would he think she was foolish?

‘I’m looking,’ he said.

‘Are you thirsty?’ she asked.

She poured the water and, as the leaves suffused, a complex smell filled the shop, blending earth and plant and animal aromas. Cao remembered an ancient drinking game.

‘If I pour you a bowl you must sing me a song,’ she said.

He took the cup and drained it in one. For a minute he stared into space then began to sing tunelessly, but with feeling:
A handsome gentleman

Waited at the gate:

How very sad I did not accompany him!

For him I wear my unlined skirt,

My skirt of brightest silk.

Oh, sir, gracious lord,

Give me a place in your coach!

Cao, who had been sipping steadily while he sang, sighed then giggled.

‘You sing like an actor!’ she exclaimed.

Her husband smiled shyly.

‘Cao, you have no idea how I acted when they transformed me into Captain Xiao!’

Although Shih had told her this tale, she still did not quite believe it. As ever, he read her mood exactly.

‘You cannot imagine that I, humble Dr Shih, became Captain Xiao! But if you had a voice murmuring in your ear and punish ment cells at your back, even
you
could become Captain Xiao!’

Cao blushed, glad Guang could not hear their conversation, for it might be viewed as disrespectful.

An hour later both were intoxicated to the point where almost anything seemed hilarious, especially anything disrespectful. Fired by a strange enthusiasm Shih mimicked several officials who had visited the Relief Bureau. Gradually their drunken laughter subsided, first into chuckling, then silence.

‘Painted puppets, that’s all,’ said Shih. ‘No one is spared a part. Must ours be unhappy? My dear love, why must we be unhappy? I can see no good reason at all!’

Cao leaned forward. She reached out and twined her fingers round his hand.

‘If you pour me a bowl I must sing you a song,’ she said. ‘I’ve learned an old one, far older than yours, all about planting.’

And she sang:

Chop, chop, we clear the elms

And pile branches on the bank,

He neither sows nor reaps!

How has our lord five-hundred sheaves?

He neither traps nor shoots!

How do badger pelts adorn his courtyards?

Those lords, those handsome lords,
Need not work for a bowl of food.

‘What has that to do with anything?’ he asked, when she had finished, clasping her hand tightly.

‘What is a
handsome gentleman
and his coach to do with me?’ she asked, in a coy manner she had once observed Lu Ying using when talking to Guang.

Their eyes were glassy.

‘Make more of that tea and I’ll show you!’ he cried. Then Dr Shih blushed. ‘Am I too loud?’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps I inconvenience the neighbours.’

‘Not at all!’ replied Cao, pretending to shout.

Another pot later, followed by a prolonged embrace on the counter of Dr Shih’s shop, he led her into the dark central corridor. Lu Ying heard them creep along the wooden floor with all the subtlety of water buffalo, their arms laden with quilts and blankets.

They giggled immodestly as they mounted the ladder to the tower room,
shhhing
each other every few steps. A faint thudding noise vibrated throughout the house for a long time, just as when Dr Shih mixed medicine by the light of a full moon because the Goddess Cheng-e’s light grants the whole world good fortune. So it was for them.

Cao stared out of the window at stars above Nancheng and listened to her husband’s breathing as he slept. A wisp of cloud blew across the moon. For a moment cloud and moon entwined. Then the cloud floated beyond the frame of the window and Cao fell into a deep, contented sleep beneath the quilts, her bare arm resting on Shih’s chest, aware that her husband’s surname meant ‘cloud’.

*

While Cao slept in her husband’s arms, Lord Yun’s door quietly opened. A thin pre-dawn glow lit the central corridor of the house. He crept towards the kitchen and the grain bins with their heavy porcelain lids. In his hand was a small hemp sack.

The house was silent except for the mournful sound of wind in the eaves. The old man pushed open the kitchen door and peered inside. All the shadows belonged to inanimate things.

He lifted the lids of the grain bins one by one. For a moment he muttered to himself, looking round suspiciously. At last he found a few handfuls of rice, representing the family breakfast and scooped them into his hemp sack. Some grains fell to the floor but he did not worry. Household deer would soon devour them, for the rats were starving. Those foolish enough to get caught found themselves roasted on spits.

Lord Yun retreated the way he had come. Instead of returning to his chamber, he unbarred a wooden door at the back of the house that gave straight onto a narrow footpath beside the canal. Across the water stood Ping’s Floating Oriole House, dark and strangely forlorn at this hour. Lord Yun walked to a humped bridge over which North Canal Street passed.

At first there was no one to be seen. Then he stepped forward haughtily. A thin shape rose from the darkness and knelt before him in the gloom. He did not deign to look down, but affected a yawn. When at last his eyes lowered, they were narrow and cold. The kneeling figure rose timidly and bobbed towards him. Lord Yun made a guttural noise at the back of his throat, as one might when summoning a dog or a horse with a hard journey ahead of it. Widow Mu’s daughter, Lan Tien, at last drew close. Her wide eyes fastened on the little bag of grain he held out temptingly, then she glanced aside into the black waters of the canal.

‘Fouzhou was far smaller than Nancheng when I was young, though many notable prefects sought to increase its size. Always they were thwarted by the city’s watery setting, especially the marsh known as Liu’s Pond. The Fouzhou of my youth was an old-fashioned kind of town. Indeed, many of the ancient ward walls and gates remained from the Tang Dynasty. We had three uncles in Fouzhou and I always found them as stiff and formal as their city. . .’

From
Sundry Recollections Of My Youth
by Du Fan 

The Ramparts, Fouzhou. Autumn, 1268

The party of gentlemen on the battlements gazed at the Mongol siege lines. Winter was long forgotten, replaced by summer rains then an unseasonably hot early autumn. The enemy could be seen creating temporary camps well beyond the range of Fouzhou’s scant supply of artillery. Pacification Commissioner Wang Ting-bo sat stiffly on a portable throne decorated with ivory chrysanthemums that accompanied him everywhere.

‘Gentlemen! Gather round!’ he ordered.

The small crowd of commanders and high officials obliged.

A few of the more ambitious sank to their knees before His Excellency. Guang hesitated, then caught General Zheng Shun’s sharp glance and remained upright.

‘Gentlemen!’ continued Wang Ting-bo. ‘I have summoned you to Fouzhou for a reason. I am sure many of you are surprised.’

This was true. Fouzhou on the northern bank of the great Han River had attracted few assaults due to its location amidst marshes and a lattice of canals. Instead the Mongols had concentrated on the foremost of the Twin Cities, Nancheng, lured by its importance as Gateway to the South.

‘My reason is this,’ said Wang Ting-bo. ‘As all know, the continuing drought aids our attackers. Fouzhou has been rendered vulnerable by the drying of its moats and marshes.

Even Liu’s Pond has dried out. Yet magic and other rites have so far failed to conjure rain.’

‘Fouzhou’s ramparts remain strong, sir!’ broke in General Zheng Shun. ‘As is our resolve!’

Zheng Shun had grown more sullen since the loss of his cousin, Admiral Qi-Qi, but no less fiery in his determination to resist the enemy. Wang Ting-bo’s eyes narrowed at this interruption.

‘Perhaps so,’ replied Prefect Wang Bai, on his uncle’s behalf.

‘But what of those mountain-tower monsters over there? What are
they
?’

All turned in the direction of Wang Bai’s pointing finger.

Certainly the enemy was busy. Four catapults of an unimaginable height had almost been erected. Observers on the ramparts reported trains of wagons bearing timber and huge stone balls.