Binu and the Great Wall of China (19 page)

‘The assassin is unaware that she ought to be afraid, and the rain doesn’t seem to bother her. She’s asleep in there!’

Someone explained patiently, ‘She may not be an assassin. She was born with a big mouth and talked a
bit too much with the real assassin. She likes to talk, but after she was caught she could not explain why she’d come to Five-Grain City. She said she had walked a thousand li to deliver winter clothes to her husband, but then she wasn’t able to produce any clothing and was considered a suspect. The government put her in a cage to await the King’s arrival; when the King comes, the suspect may be released by means of what is called a royal pardon.’

When the rain eased up, women came to the city gate in their straw hats. Showing undisguised interest in Binu, some of them wondered how such an honest, respectable looking woman could turn out to be an assassin.

‘All women miss their husbands, but none as much as she did. Her feelings must have affected her mind; otherwise, why would she chat with the assassin Shaoqi in front of all those constables?’

Everyone tried to get a look at Binu. But her hands were fixed in a wooden pillory, out of sight, and her dishevelled hair, heavy with raindrops, obscured her face. Some latecomers shouted unhappily to the guards, ‘You have to provide a better display than this. It’s raining so hard that those of us who came late can’t see a thing in that cage. At least let us see her face.’

Pressed by the crowd, one of the guards came down
from the tower with a huge leaf over his shoulder. Reaching in through the iron bars, he tried to tie up Binu’s hair, then he poked Binu roughly with his spiked baton to wake her up. ‘I don’t know how you can sleep so soundly in this pouring rain, in a cage, with your hands and head in a pillory. I didn’t want to wake you up, but the people won’t let you sleep, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So stop sleeping. Show yourself, let them see you.’

Binu raised her pale, watery face, and the women could see that she had been a pretty young woman whose looks were ruined by fatigue. She opened her eyes under the gaze of many people; she tried to speak, but her mouth was gagged by a mouth bit and she could not make a sound. A pure glow, like moonlight, brimmed in her eyes; the silvery glow slid down her face, brightening the cage and submerging it and her in a bright light. The guard jumped back, as he noticed that a patch of green moss had sprouted under the cage after the downpour, and that specks of rust had appeared on the iron slats wherever her body had touched them. He let out a startled cry. He knew that the cause was her tears, not the rain.

‘Stop crying,’ he said, ‘tears are not allowed. I know that you feel you have been wrongly accused, but you are not allowed to cry, no matter how great the injustice. I
don’t care if moss grows under your cage, but I’ll be in trouble if it rusts because of your tears. Don’t blame me if I treat you harshly, because I will suffer if you keep crying.’

Binu looked up at the sky, now bright and blue following the downpour. A few raindrops fell on her face from the top of the cage; they were indistinguishable from her now legendary tears.

‘Don’t look at the sky,’ he said. ‘Look at the ground. Prisoners in cages are not allowed to cry at the sky. That’s the rule. Look down at the ground, right now. Do as I tell you.’

Since Binu was confined by the wooden pillory, it was impossible to tell if she was obeying his command or resisting it. She moved her head slightly and lowered her eyes to stare at the guard, the white light from her tears continuing to flow.

‘I told you to look down at ground,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Don’t look at me. Didn’t I just tell you not to cry? Why are you still crying? They say your tears are toxic.’

He ran back to the guard tower, where, apparently, he was reprimanded, for he came down again with a black scarf. He reached into the cage to cover Binu’s eyes.

‘My superior said your eyes are too dangerous, and we have to keep a close watch on them. You don’t need to see anything anyway; it is others that need to see you, as entertainment.’ Trying to avoid her tears, he moved too slowly and felt a boiling stream of water drench his hand. At that moment thunder rumbled across the sky above the city wall, and a strange commotion erupted among the crowd of onlookers.

A loud thunderclap sounded behind them, and the guard turned to see the silvery light from the cage reveal some hideous-looking evil faces. Many in the crowd lost control of their knees and fell to the muddy ground, knocked over by the invisible tide of tears. Onlookers nearby did not move away quickly enough to avoid being sprayed. ‘Why is this water so hot?’ they shouted in alarm. ‘How could autumn rainwater be this hot?’

Wrongdoers were collapsing to the ground, crying their eyes out, slapping and beating their chests, but refusing to reveal why they were crying. People who had led a moral life were rewarded by being able to withstand the impact; hands remained in sleeves for those who were used to doing just that; people who liked to bend forward while standing remained crooked as a willow tree; and hands roamed the bodies of those who liked to scratch themselves. It was this group of people
who managed to maintain a vestige of dignity on behalf of the citizens of Five-Grain City. Moving among the evil bodies of those who had cried out their regrets, they praised each other.

‘You’ve led a blameless life,’ they said. ‘See, the water has wet your robe, but that’s all. We have nothing to cry about.’ Pleased with themselves, they calmly observed the area around the city gate, searching for the source of the sudden storm of tears. They noticed a torrent of water rushing beneath Binu’s feet; narrow and clear, it surged rapidly with a cold glint, like watery arrows firing at the crowd. They concluded that the tear-storm resulted from that torrent, and that the curse of tears had originated from the Blue Cloud Prefecture prisoner.

They looked up and saw that the guards on the wall were playing finger guessing-games behind the battlements, completely oblivious to what was happening below. The guards’ nonchalance reminded someone that the solution was to move to higher ground. Everyone, innocent or not, would be safe once they were higher up than the woman.

Slowly people regained their senses and began searching for the nearest higher ground, warning onlookers, ‘Don’t get too close to that woman. The assassin from Blue Cloud Prefecture brought a curse of
tears, and you cannot know what sort of calamity will befall you if you come under its spell.’

Some children had climbed a tree to get away from the dangerous water on the ground. A woman with lithe, strong legs wrapped her arms around a tree and began to climb, but had not made it far up the tree before a schoolteacher told her to get down, ‘No matter how much a woman like you is enjoying the scene, you cannot climb a tree. It’s inappropriate for a woman to do that.’

Being fearful of the teacher, the woman slid back down and unhappily smoothed down her robe. ‘Everyone else can climb trees,’ she complained. ‘You men can, so can the children, even chickens and dogs. But not us. First you tell us to get to higher ground, then you won’t allow us to climb trees. Where exactly do you expect us to go?’

Thinking of the prisoner, the schoolteacher bemoaned his lack of knowledge. ‘I have learned something new today, something I cannot explain. How have a little woman’s tears managed to cause such an emotional uproar?’ Stroking his long beard, he sighed and said, ‘I don’t know how or why this happened.’

Suddenly, a commotion broke out near Five-Grain Tower; guards were running around attending to flagpoles. People formed human ladders next to the shops, children in the trees climbed to higher branches. A frenzied
cheer echoed through the square in front of the gate entrance; the shouts rose and fell: ‘The golden-turret boat is here. Come and see the golden-turret boat. The King is here!’

The canal had yet to flow to Five-Grain City, yet the golden-turret boat had arrived. The King’s servants were towing it across dry land. Yes, the King had arrived, and the people crowded in front of the teahouse to gaze at the road, where birds were scared into flight and the edge of sky was shrouded in a golden light. Through the misty golden fog, they saw the coiled dragon mast of the renowned golden-turret boat, and the crowd spontaneously broke into ecstatic, joyous applause. In the opinion of one sharp-eyed individual, the King’s long, winding caravan looked like a beached dragon. The splendid coiled dragon mast was motionless, except for the black Nine Dragon flag with its gold piping, which flapped high in the rain-washed sky.

‘Nothing is moving,’ the man said, ‘not the wagons or the horses or the boat. Could they be stuck?’ He was immediately met with angry glares.

‘You must be referring to your own broken-down donkey cart. Those are the King’s wagons and the King’s golden-turret boat. How could they be stuck?’

King

All of Five-Grain City held its breath as it awaited the King’s arrival. Above the city gate the Nine Dragon flag flapped in the wind; beneath the gate throngs of people with gongs and drums lined up against the city wall to form the two characters, ‘Long Life’, while the Guo Family Troupe, renowned for its lion dancing, brought out all its dancers. From a charity granary set up by the government came the fresh fragrance of rice, attracting hordes of people, who queued up with their bamboo baskets to wait for the granary to open and distribute Mercy Rice. On the deserted side of the stone terrace, a pair of executioners in red robes stood quietly by the prisoner’s cage with aloof, calm expressions; the blades in their hands gave off a sharp, cold glint, seemingly impatient for the time to come.

Lining both sides of the gate entrance were officials from Five-Grain City in yellow or crimson official robes. From a distance the lines appeared harmonious, but a closer look revealed struggles over position and placement.
Some believed that their place in the line did not match their official position; unwilling to stand behind others, they moved to more prominent places, encroaching upon others who maintained their places with their elbows and knees. It took the timely interruption by Prefect Zhan for the pushing and shoving to stop and for the gate entrance to recapture its proper solemnity.

But the waiting was interminable, and suspicion grew. The officials began to whisper among themselves, staring at Prefect Zhan with a distrustful eye.

‘The King may not be here yet,’ they said, ‘but the palace vanguards ought to have arrived. Or, at the very least, the King’s Dragon Cavalry. If they’d decided not to enter the city, they’d have sent a palace official, so where is he?’

Anxiety was written all over Prefect Zhan’s face, where a nagging apprehension had produced a tortuous cold sore at a corner of his mouth, making him moan constantly. A palace official had turned and left immediately after entering town. Unable to ward off any more questions, Prefect Zhan finally let slip the first piece of news concerning the King, ‘I thought the man was here to deliver a message from the King, but it turned out he just wanted some rotten fish. I asked him why, since they were about to enter Five-Grain City, where the
King could have all the fresh fish he wants. Why rotten fish? He wouldn’t tell me.’

Puzzled by the news, the officials stared wide-eyed, saying that the King was, after all, the King, with tastes that common people could not comprehend. Many of the secrets about Longevity Palace sounded outlandish, and perhaps rotten fish was a recipe for longevity.

After departing with a cart-load of rotten fish, the palace official did not return, leaving behind an oppressive air of suspense. Prefect Zhan sent someone up the city tower to gauge the movements of the King’s entourage. He repeatedly instructed everyone on the proper welcoming ceremony, to the point of losing his voice, until finally they had memorized the intricate details, procedures and rules: as soon as the coiled dragon mast began to move, the gongs and drums were to be struck, the lions were to start dancing and the granary would open to distribute Mercy Rice. When the King reached the city gate, the executioners would raise their blades and ask if the prisoner should be beheaded. Normally, the King would respond from his dragon seat, ‘Stay the knife and spare the prisoner.’ That was the only detail that worried Prefect Zhan. No one could either imitate the King’s voice or predict his mood, so it was impossible to rehearse the ritual for celebrating the King’s benevolence. They had
to wait until the time came. The ceremony must be polished and distinguished, since all arrangements followed the laws and rites of Longevity Palace, supplemented by the local cultural rules of Five-Grain City. It would make little difference if the weather did not work in their favour. The road would still be muddy in any case after the recent rain, so the King’s horses and wagons would travel on a street sprinkled with grain husks and grass ashes; they would arrive at the yamen gate and enter the palace through an underground tunnel.

Everything was in place, except for the King. The news from the tower remained depressing: the King’s entourage lay unmoving on the public road like a beached whale. The sentry even said that cooking smoke was rising from the public road, which meant that the King’s men were preparing their meals out in the open.

Prefect Zhan felt a cold sweat creep over his body; the fact that the King’s men were preparing their own meals was a nightmarish development. He began worrying about the King’s opinion of Five-Grain City: had someone maligned their citizens to the King? Did the King have a poor opinion of Five-Grain City? That would indicate a negative opinion of him. Had he been denounced by someone and incurred the King’s wrath? Who would that someone be? He cast an inquisitive gaze
over colleagues lined up in the entrance and was met by their return gazes. The looks on their faces covered the full spectrum: some appeared muddle-headed, others cunning; some wanted to say something but didn’t, others showed off their cleverness by pontificating about the news of the King cooking in the open.

‘He is a great king,’ they said, ‘for he passes by Five-Grain City and does not want to enter the city to eat a single morsel of the common people’s grain.’