Binu and the Great Wall of China (22 page)
Binu felt no pain. She poked her right foot with her finger, but felt nothing, so she picked up a stick and poked it again. Still no feeling. She knew that her right foot had betrayed her. The left foot had been spared by the rock, but it too would not obey her. Beating her left foot with the stick, no matter how hard she tried, she could not awaken in it a desire to walk. She was determined to move forward, but her feet remained stubbornly in the same spot. So she gave up on her feet, but not the rock. After sitting down to think things over, she strapped the rock to her back with her sash, then got down on her hands and knees and prepared to crawl.
The sun returned to the sky and sent its diffuse light down on the woman’s creeping figure. As she started out on the now deserted road, she saw her hands tremble in the sandy soil, probably because they were nervous and unsure about the important task they had suddenly been given. She shared their anxiety; her hands were more deft than her feet, but they were not used to walking. She did not know how to transform her hands into feet; livestock,
cats and dogs walked on their hands, but she could not. She was slower than a snake, slower than a lizard.
Her mind was clear as she crawled along with the rock on her back. Afraid that pebbles on the road would wear out Qiliang’s winter robe, she rolled it up onto her back and tucked it under the rock. She then resumed crawling, heading towards the outline of the distant mountain. Cooking smoke came from a nearby village; a few people here and there appeared in the bleak fields, but no one came on to the road. No one, that is, except a frog that hopped out from nowhere. She saw it miraculously land on the road, where it hopped along ahead of her, stopping every few hops to wait for her. She could not tell if it was the same blind frog that had left Peach Village with her, but it should not be on the road. She recalled that the frog had given up trying to find its son and had taken over the pit she had dug. Since she could not see its eyes, there was no way she could tell if it was the blind frog from Blue Cloud Prefecture or some unknown frog from Pingyang Prefecture; yet she was sure it was here to show her the way.
As she crawled along, Binu heard the frog point out the route to her.
‘Go that way, there’s a puddle here. Come this way, there’s a pile of excrement. Hurry.’
Obeying the frog’s commands, Binu crawled and crawled, while the outline of Great Swallow Mountain wavered in front of her, but the frog continued hopping, leading the way, its dark green patterns standing out on the road like a green flame.
The women of Thirteen-Li Shop were gleaning in the field when, to their amazement, they saw the crawling figure. They could not work out why she was crawling, and with a rock on her back at that. Rushing out onto the road, they gathered round and asked many questions, all at the same time. Unable to speak, Binu simply pointed at the outline of Great Swallow Mountain.
‘We know where you’re going and that your husband must be building the wall,’ said the women. ‘What we want to know is: why are you crawling? If you can’t walk, then stop and catch your breath before moving on. When do you think you’ll get there crawling like this? And with a rock on your back. You gave us quite a fright; we thought you were a gigantic turtle.’
Still flat on the ground, one side of her face the colour of mud, Binu reached out to touch one of the women’s feet.
Jumping to the side to avoid the hand, the woman nimbly untied the rock on Binu’s back and threw it away.
You shouldn’t carry a rock just because other people do. What’s the use of carrying a rock and offering it up to Great Swallow Mountain? The Mountain Deity doesn’t see rocks in the hands of the poor. It sees only the rich and powerful, like everyone else.’
Binu could not speak, nor did she have the strength to stop the woman from throwing away her rock. So she backed away, trying to reach the spot where the rock had landed. But the woman, still angry, was about to kick the rock off the road when the other women stopped her.
‘You can be angry at the rock, but don’t make things hard for her. If she wants to offer the rock to the Mountain Deity, let her. You can stop a spirited horse, but not a woman with her mind set on something, for she is willing to suffer for others.’
The women carried Binu, along with the rock, over to a haystack, where they gave her some water and washed her face. They smoothed her hair and combed it into a haystack bun, like theirs. With the mud washed away, Binu’s young pretty face was revealed, making the women envious. She turned to gaze at the outline of Great Swallow Mountain, her glassy eyes lighting up instantly. The women noticed how bloody her hands were, since they had left a trail of red specks on the haystack.
‘We’ve never seen a woman as devoted as you,’ one of them said. ‘The men from Thirteen-Li Shop have all gone to Great Swallow Mountain, but no one has gone looking for them, even though for us it isn’t far. Even if your husband was a deity born to the human world, there’s no need for you crawl like that. Why not wait here by the haystack for a ride on a donkey cart?’
Binu crawled right back onto the road. The women had never before encountered such a stubborn woman, one who would rather crawl than wait. A woman ran after her with a pair of straw sandals for Binu’s hands, but stopped after a few steps, recalling the rumours about female ghosts haunting the road. Villagers claimed to have seen the ghosts late at night, carrying bundles on their head as they trekked north under the moonlight. They disappeared at the sound of humans.
Clasping her chest, the woman cried, ‘She must be one of the ghosts. They’re travelling in broad daylight now!’
She had articulated the suspicion shared by all the others, and that created fervent and fearful responses. ‘I’ve always wondered how a living person could feel no pain, so she definitely might be a ghost,’ one woman said loudly. ‘No human could tolerate that kind of suffering. Has anyone ever seen a woman carry a rock
on her back to search for her husband? Only a ghost could be so determined.’ They recalled Binu’s calm, peaceful look, as well as her cold body.
‘What does it matter whether she’s a ghost or a human?’ said another. ‘She has a tragic fate as a ghost, and an even more tragic fate if she’s human.’
Their discussion ended abruptly with startled cries, as an even stranger sight on the road caught their attention. The sand receded wherever the woman crawled, leaving little pools of water on the surface, all linked together; a sparkling stream of water, like a silvery arrow pointing north. With the stream leading the way, a long line of grey-green frogs materialized out of nowhere, forming an impressive army as they hopped towards Great Swallow Mountain. Being northerners, the women had never seen so many frogs. They came from the watery lands of the three southern prefectures; and, carrying the smell of water, they hopped along the trail left by the woman as she crawled towards Great Swallow Mountain. Before the frogs passed, a swarm of white butterflies flew northward above the road. There were plenty of white butterflies in Pingyang Prefecture, but the women had never seen such a dense cloud of them. They flew low, with traces of the warm southern sunlight on their wings, looking like a colourful sash with white
piping on its way towards Great Swallow Mountain.
The women cried out again and again in amazement. Looking into the distance, they gazed at the mountain, which they surmised was the destination for the frogs and butterflies. Behind the miraculous sight was a hidden calamity, and suddenly everyone could see the splendid halo of calamity inching towards the mountain. One of the women ran towards the village, shouting, ‘Prepare the carts; we’re going to get our men back. The south has revolted at the death of the King, including even the frogs and butterflies. Who knows what will happen at Great Swallow Mountain.’
Flying birds did not recognize the Great Wall. A flock of birds migrating south lost their way over Great Swallow Mountain and cried sadly throughout the night. A tiny grey bird crashed into the tent of General Jianyang, commander of the wall-building, at Seven-Yard Terrace. It was a messenger, declaring that a storm of homesickness would soon envelop Great Swallow Mountain.
Every night, General Jianyang went to bed wearing the golden Nine Dragon helmet presented to him by the King. In the morning, the helmet filled up with calls for the workers to build the wall, waking up the General on time. But not this morning, for what echoed inside the helmet was, instead, the sounds of wind, sheep and oxen, as well as a grassland melody he hadn’t heard in a long time. It sounded like someone crying and moaning. When he woke up, General Jianyang realized he’d been crying in his sleep, then he saw the little bird, dead by his pillow.
General Jianyang ordered his puzzled steward to fetch
a basin of cold water from the mountain spring to save the bird. The constable went for the water, as ordered, but moved slowly, wondering why the General, a coldhearted man, would care about a little bird. Sensing his puzzlement, the General asked if the constable recalled that the General had come from the steppe in the north, if he recalled that he had once said that an honoured guest on horseback would present him with a congratulatory stole on the day the Great Wall was finished.
‘But, General,’ the constable stammered, ‘the Wall isn’t finished yet, and no one has ridden here.’
The General glared at him angrily. ‘Shangguan Qing, how many times have I told you? Can you remember nothing? The bird will be the bearer of good news when someone comes from the steppe. This grey-beaked bird carries the smell of the steppe and the smell of my family yurt. Come and smell the grease on the bird if you don’t believe me.’
At Seven-Yard Terrace, General Jianyang personally laid the dead bird in a copper basin, which the constable was about to place on the wall when the General stopped him and ordered him to hold the basin up so that the morning sun could shine on the spring water. ‘If the bird has come from the steppe,’ he said, ‘it will revive when the sun warms up the cold water.’ He stood on
the terrace gazing at the undulating mountains beyond the wall, a rare look of frailness on his ageing face. He said, ‘The Great Wall should be finished soon; this bird will revive on the day of completion and take me back to the steppe. I must return home to see my parents, my wife and my four children.’
The constable held the basin up in the wind, wishing he could tell the General that, even if the bird came back to life, a hundred li of desert still separated the Great Swallow Wall from the wall at Crescent Pass; the two sections of the wall would not be joined in the foreseeable future. The General’s thoughts of returning home were like reaching for the moon in the water. He wanted to say, ‘General, you will die of old age here at Great Swallow Mountain,’ but he dared not utter those words. In recent days the General’s homesickness had made him temperamental and unpredictable. He fantasized daily about finishing the construction overnight, so that he could climb on his horse and return home. When he opened his eyes each morning, the first words he uttered were, ‘Will the work be done today?’ At first, the constable had tried to explain that finishing the wall would take more than a day’s work, but his efforts only incurred the General’s wrath, which led to slaps across his face. Eventually, he learned his lesson, and, each time
the General asked the question, he answered, ‘Soon, it will soon be done.’
Rubbing the Nine Dragon helmet, General Jianyang gazed down at the construction site below the terrace and asked the guard. ‘Will the work be finished today?’
Avoiding his superior’s ardent gaze, the constable looked at the little bird in the water and replied, ‘Soon. If not today, then tomorrow. General, the wall will be finished soon.’
As the bird waited for its rebirth in the water, a morning of accidental sorrow arrived. The sun rose, and along with it, as General Jianyang discovered, the bitter sadness of Great Swallow Mountain erupted. Calls to work that had been loud and clear were stilled on this morning. Porters’ baskets moaned forlornly on mountain paths, bricklayers’ trowels and stonemasons’ chisels sounded dull, causing General Jianying considerable anxiety, for he could not sense the elation of imminent completion. Walking out onto the observation terrace, he saw the construction crew surging all over the mountain. Fire burned bright in the brick kilns; workers carrying dirt and rocks were scattered along the mountain ridge; stonemasons applied their hammers and awls to distant stones. For the first time, the General detected fatigue and sadness on their bodies. Removing his golden helmet, he listened carefully, and
thought he heard some indistinct sobbing carried by the wind. He turned to look at the brick kilns, where the sobbing floated in the fire. He turned towards the stone ground, and the sobbing was now echoing in the rocks. He grew even more restless.
‘Why didn’t I hear the bugle today?’ he asked Shangguan Qing. ‘Instead I hear crying, non-stop crying.’
‘General, the wind is so strong today that it diffused the sound of the bugle,’ replied the constable. ‘The sobbing you hear is probably the wind. The workers at Great Swallow Mountain would not dare cry, so it must be the wind.’
Pulling Shangguan Qing over to the side of the city wall, the General insisted that someone was sobbing in the wind. Shangguan said that all he could hear was the wind, not sobs. So the General ordered him to stand on top of the wall and listen carefully. Not daring to disobey, he was helped to the top of the wall, but again he shook his head and said, ‘General, it is the gusting wind. You have mistaken the sound of flying sand for someone crying.’
The General beat him off the wall with his helmet. ‘How dare you challenge me with those pig’s ears of yours!’ He went on angrily, ‘Even the King remembered that I, General Jianyang, come from the steppe. I can
hear the steps of wolves from ten li and horses from fifty li. I can hear a storm from a hundred li. But you, all you stupid good-for-nothings, forget that I can even hear my enemy when he pulls his bow outside my tent. So when I say that someone is sobbing on Great Swallow Mountain, then someone must be sobbing. But who is it? I want you to find them.’
