Everything Under the Sky (35 page)

“By the look on your face, Elvira, I gather you're upset,” he noted.

“What do you think?” I muttered, trying not to lose control. “Didn't you ever consider the children? The risk we all faced traveling with you?”

“I don't know what danger you're talking about,” he replied. “Dynamite is stable and safe no matter how much you move it or bang it around. It becomes dangerous only when you connect the detonator to the fuse and fuse to the sticks. I don't think I put you in danger at any time.”

“So why did you bring it? We didn't need it on this journey!”

Fernanda, Biao, and Master Red looked at us with their heads lowered. The children seemed frightened.

“I brought it for this,” the antiquarian replied, pointing to the Dragon's Nest. “I thought we might need it in the mausoleum or, in the worst case, to save us from the Green Gang.”

“But we had protection from the Green Gang! Don't you remember? The Kuomintang soldiers followed us from Shanghai without anyone but you knowing. And then the Communists joined them.”

“I don't know why you're so angry, Elvira. Why is it that a few little sticks of dynamite make you react like this? They're going to come in quite handy to open up the entrance, just as I knew they would. I honestly don't understand you.”

Well, I didn't understand him either. It seemed the height of absurdity—it was ridiculous to carry explosives around for months in case you “might” need them at some point. We'd been very fortunate there hadn't been an accident. We could have been killed.

“You'd better get as far back as possible,” he advised as he walked over to the bag hanging from his saddle. “Go on.”

I took the children by the arms and began to walk swiftly away. Master Red followed in silence. I don't think he was particularly happy about the explosives either. We kept walking until we heard the detonation. I was expecting something different, but much to my surprise it sounded just like fireworks. We stopped then and turned back to look. A small column of smoke rose up into the cloudless sky as the animals pranced nervously, trying to break free. The antiquarian was lying on the ground halfway between us and the obliterated Dragon's Nest.

The column of smoke slowly dissipated before our eyes, becoming a cloud of dust and earth that rained down in a circle several feet around the hole. As soon as Lao Jiang stood up, we began walking back.

“Do you think they heard the explosion in Xi'an?” Fernanda asked worriedly.

“Xi'an is seventy
li
away,” Master Red explained. “They didn't hear a thing.”

The cloud of dust floating in the air slowly settled, and we were finally able to peer into the cavity that had opened up in the ground. It was cone-shaped, the mouth being wider than the bottom, about ten feet deep. It would be easy to fall down that bank, and, unfortunately, the hole still seemed blocked.

“I'd say that hole isn't deep enough,” I commented.

“Should I use more explosives?” Lao Jiang asked.

“Let me go down first, Lao Jiang!” Biao said anxiously. “It might not be necessary.”

“Go on,” I urged, “but be careful.”

The boy sat on the edge and turned to crawl down on all fours. I didn't call out any warnings, because he was obviously being very careful, making sure one foot was firmly planted before moving the other and gripping firmly with both hands. He was soon at the bottom. We watched him stand and dust off his padded pants. He looked a little unsure, tapping around with his foot, not daring to take a step.

“What are you doing?”

“It seems hollow underneath, and the ground's shaking.”

“Get up here right now, Biao!” I yelled, but instead of obeying he got down on all fours again and began to dig in the earth with his hands.

“There are coins here,” he noted, and held one in the air so we could see it.

“Throw it up to me!” Fernanda said.

The boy sat on his knees and wound up. No sooner had he thrown it than his expression changed, and in a split second I saw him lie flat on the ground and hang on tight with his eyes squeezed shut. The very same instant the coin landed in my niece's hand, you could hear a strange crunch, and a puff of dust rose up from the middle of the ground where Biao had been digging just moments before. None of us had time to react: The bottom of the opening split in two, and both pieces fell down into the void, sucking the earth Biao had been grasping. All of us screamed at once. The hole had become a hopper, and Biao was lost down it. As he fell, we saw his face turn to look up at us. I thought I might die. Then, in less than two heartbeats, we could hear a dry thud, followed by a wail of pain.

“Biao! Biao!” we called.

The wail intensified.

“Someone had better go down,” one of us said, but I was already on my way. Braking with my boots and my hands, I slid down the loose soil right where Biao had gone. I'd be either dead in a few seconds or down there with the boy. Where the bank ended, I felt myself fall into the void, and a minute later my feet slammed into a hard surface. If it hadn't been for the tai chi that had strengthened my ankles and the treks that had firmed up my legs, I would certainly have broken something. The impact reverberated through every bone in my body. The boy was whimpering to my right; it was a good thing I hadn't landed on top of him. The dust made me cough.

“Biao, are you okay?” I asked, blinded.

“I hurt my foot!” he moaned. The image of Paddy Tichborne and his amputated leg came to mind. I knelt beside him and, patting around, took his head in my hands.

“We'll get you out of here, and you'll be fine,” I assured him. Just then I came to the horrific realization of what I'd done. Had I really thrown myself down a hole like some suicidal maniac? My hands began to tremble. Had I gone insane? What in God's name had just happened? Had I, Elvira Aranda, a Spanish painter residing in Paris, the aunt and guardian of a young orphan who had no one else in the world, nearly killed myself in a thoughtless, completely unusual leap I never would have taken if I'd been in my right mind? My heart raced.

“Are you all right?” Lao Jiang called out. I couldn't reply. I was so shocked by what I'd just done that not a sound came from my throat. “Answer me, Elvira!”

Petrified. I had become petrified.

“We're fine!” Biao finally shouted. My trembling hands must have told him that something strange was happening to me. He struggled out of my grasp and dragged himself back, breaking free of me. Moving slowly, he was able to stand by leaning against the wall. Then, bending over and pulling on my arm, it was he who helped me to stand. “Come on,
tai-tai,
we have to move.”

“Did you see what I just did?” I managed to say.

He smiled shyly. “Thank you,” he whispered, putting my right arm around his neck and standing up to his full height.

“Auntie! Biao!” my niece yelled from above. The dirt I'd brought down with me had dissipated, and the midday light streamed in. I looked around. It was extraordinary. The boy and I were standing on a platform six feet long by about two and a half feet wide, carved into the ground and paved with white baked-clay bricks. The shaft was perfectly cylindrical, about sixteen feet across, paneled with wooden boards and beams that had seen better days. The sturdiest thing was the step we were standing on, as well as the ramp that led down to it and the next that led down to another platform and another ramp, and so on, swirling to the bottom of the shaft that was actually out of sight.

“How's your foot?” I asked the boy.

“I don't think it's broken,” he assured me. “It doesn't hurt as much anymore.”

“We'll see how it is after you've been still for a while.”

“Yes, but I can walk on it now.”

“Auntie … ! Biao … !”

“Just a minute!” I shouted. “How do we get them down here?” I asked the boy.

“I don't think there's any other way,” he replied, looking around us. “They'll have to slide down.”

“But they might hurt themselves.”

“They can throw their bags down first and we'll arrange them like
k'ang
s.”

“Except for Lao Jiang's!” I replied, alarmed.

“Right,” he agreed very seriously, “except for Lao Jiang's.”

My niece sounded terrified when she said she didn't think she could slide down that bank. I replied, quite honestly, that I thought it was perfect if she wanted to stay up there and look after the horses. She quickly changed her mind and jumped bravely when it was her turn after Master Red. Everyone made it down without any trouble. After Fernanda came that damn bag of Lao Jiang's with the explosives. He kept repeating from up above that there was nothing to be afraid of, that nothing was going to happen, but the children and I went down the ramp to the next platform just in case. Master Red caught the disagreeable bundle in his arms and then carefully set it to one side in order to help Lao Jiang. Soon we were all safe and sound inside that Han-dynasty shaft, where a strange, rotten smell rose up from below. It was calming—though not entirely—to know that we were standing on solid ground reinforced by boards and beams that, however bad they might look, were definitely doing their job Everything felt as steady as a rock.

I don't know how far we descended until the light became just a white dot up high and no longer illuminated anything. I hadn't counted on this eventuality, but of course Lao Jiang had. He pulled from his pocket a silver cigarette lighter and a thick piece of bamboo that he fiddled with until he was able to remove a very small piece. When he held it up to the flame, it lit just like a torch.

“An old Chinese lighting system for traveling,” he explained. “It's so efficient that it's still in use today after many centuries.”

“And what sort of fuel does it use?” Fernanda asked.

“Methane. A magnificent text by Chang Qu
⁴⁷
from the fourth century describes how bamboo pipes caulked with asphalt were built and conducted methane to cities to be used in public lighting. You in the West didn't light up your big capitals until less than a century ago, isn't that right? Well, not only did we do that over fifteen hundred years ago, but we also learned to store methane in bamboo tubes like this one to use as torches or fuel reserves. Methane has been used in China since before the time of the First Emperor.”

Master Red and Little Tiger smiled proudly. Indeed, the wealth of the Chinese people's valuable ancient knowledge was amazing and worthy of admiration, but their constant boasting about it wore a little thin. I had taken a suicidal leap after Biao, and yet I didn't go around mentioning it so they'd remind me how brave I'd been (although, let's be honest, I wouldn't have minded at all).

After that, our descent down the ramps was much easier and more secure. Every step took us deeper into the earth, and I wondered, frightened, when the first crossbow would fire. I walked warily, although after my leap I felt a renewed energy that made me a little braver, a little more intrepid. It was a sweet sensation, as if I were twenty years old again and ready to take on the world.

“We're reaching the end,” Master Red said, and we all stopped. There were only two platforms and three ramps left. Oddly enough, it wasn't any colder way down at that depth than it was outside; I might even say the temperature was warmer. The only difficulty was the smell, but after three months in China even that had ceased to be such a problem for me.

“What should we do?” I asked. “The crossbows could begin firing at any moment now.”

“We'll have to take that chance,” the antiquarian replied.

I didn't move an inch.

“Remember the
jiance,
” he snarled. “The foreman told his son that if he went into the shaft after diving in the water, he'd come out directly inside the burial mound, in front of the doors to the main hall leading into the funeral palace, and that's where hundreds of crossbows would fire on him. This shaft is a long way from the burial mound. The crossbows aren't here.”

“But in the story Master Red Jade told,” I insisted, “the thieves who came down these very same ramps never went back up again.”

“But they didn't necessarily die right here, madame,” Master Red replied. “We Chinese are very superstitious, even more so two thousand years ago. Given that this is the tomb of such a powerful emperor, it's only logical to assume that the first servants to go inside would have been terrified. They were probably prisoners, like those who built the mausoleum, and the foremen and nobles would have remained up on the surface waiting to see what happened.”

“What did happen?” Biao asked, as if he'd never heard the story before.

“Those that went down never came back up again.” The master smiled. “That was all the chronicle I read had to say. But those who were waiting became so frightened that they filled in the shaft, as if they were afraid something horrible might escape.”

“It must be quite terrible to defile a tomb in China,” I commented, “where ancestors are so revered and respected.”

“Even more so if it's the tomb of an emperor that the Han themselves left without a single descendant to carry out the funeral rites required by tradition.”

“Let's do this,” I proposed. “We'll throw our bags in front of us, and that way we'll know whether it's clear.”

“That's a very good idea, Elvira.”

“But not your bag, Lao Jiang.”

We descended the last bit and began throwing our bundles as far as possible from the shaft and clumps of earth that had given way under Biao's weight. Nothing happened.

“The trap's not here,” Master Red said.

“Let's carry on, then.”

The last step we took off the last ramp was the beginning of many disconcerting visions that left us agape: A long, seemingly empty stretch opened up in front of us, punctuated by columns without capitals or bases, lacquered black and decorated with dragons and clouds. The inlaid ceramic ceiling was some ten feet high and supported by thick wooden beams that didn't inspire a great deal of confidence. Many of the ceramics had come loose and lay smashed on the tile floor.

“Where are we?” my niece asked.

“I'd say we're on the outer edge of the funeral palace,” Lao Jiang ventured, pointing to something hidden behind one of the columns. I took a few steps forward and got the fright of my life when I discovered a man kneeling, his body resting on his heels and his hands hidden inside his “sleeves that stop the wind.” He was very large, and his hair was neatly combed, parted straight down the middle and pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.