Binu and the Great Wall of China (8 page)
When Binu climbed down from the donkey cart, she felt the ground beneath her feet shift; having trouble keeping her balance, she crouched down in this alien, dreamlike place. Hundred Springs Terrace was separated from the woods by a moat that surrounded it like a silken sash. There were glimpses of human figures on the other side, and a row of lanterns with panther insignias flapped in the wind. Then the sound of chains and a winch rose together, and a giant drawbridge rumbled down from the sky next to the terrified Binu. She jumped to her feet. ‘Elder Brother,’ she shouted, ‘you cannot leave me here. You accepted my two sabre coins, but only took me twenty li. You must return one of the coins to me.’
The carter and his passenger turned to look. The passenger remained silent, his eyes still shining brightly. ‘Do you want me to take you into Hundred Springs Terrace for your two sabre coins?’ the carter asked. ‘Open
your eyes and take a good look. Does this look like a place for you?’
Binu held her breath as she listened to voices coming from across the moat. ‘You’re lying, Elder Brother. Who says a woman can’t cross that bridge? I hear women’s voices over there.’
He laughed. ‘Those are pleasure women. Want to join them? You’ve got the looks, now all you need to do is learn to sing and play an instrument, and you might pass. Give me another one of those coins, and I’ll introduce you to a pleasure house. You can be one of the women then.’
Before Binu could say a word, the frog began to fidget. It had hidden shyly in Qiliang’s sandal all the way to Hundred Springs Terrace, but now it boldly jumped out of the sandal and landed on the back of Binu’s hand, stopping just long enough to leave a blistering mark, before hopping off. Shocked by the sudden movement, Binu watched the frog hop around in the moonlight, all the way up and onto the donkey cart. From the way the retainer shifted his body, she could tell that the frog had hopped into his lap.
‘Don’t go there, that is not your son!’ Binu shouted fearfully, suddenly realizing what the frog was thinking. ‘Come back here! He doesn’t know you; he is not your son!’
Binu’s shout was unfortunately too late. The man grabbed the frog, and Binu saw his hand flick in the air, sending a tiny black object arcing into the water.
A furious beating of gongs came from beyond the drawbridge. It was a sentry signalling to the donkey cart to hurry up and cross over. The carter raised his feet and snapped his whip in the air as Binu ran to catch up. In a panic, she grabbed hold of the retainer’s sash; without thinking what she was saying, she screamed out to the man, ‘That was not a frog, it was your mother’s ghost. You will be punished for flinging your mother into the water!’
The man stood up; something glinted under his coat, and in one fearful instant, his sword had severed his sash where Binu’s hand was clutched. The carter’s enraged voice came from behind, ‘What do you mean, his mother? A ghost?’ He roared at Binu, ‘Be careful he doesn’t bury that sword in your heart! He’s a master swordsman, Lord Hengming’s newest retainer. His weapon recognizes no one; not family and certainly not ghosts!’
Binu sat down hard, still clutching a piece of the sash. On it was the panther insignia and splashes of something dark; this time she was certain it was dried blood.
The cart crossed the drawbridge, and the bridge rose
into the air and disappeared from view, leaving Binu stranded on the opposite bank. The human figures that had been visible in the lantern light were also gone; all that remained were the red flames flickering beneath a cauldron. Every so often an attendant emerged from behind the wall to add kindling to the fire. Binu stood beside the moat, the retainer’s sash still in her hand, and gazed at Hundred Springs Terrace, bathed in moonlight, still looking like an enormous beast and filling the sky with a mysterious scent that could have been its breath.
Binu walked along the bank, searching for her frog. A clump of duckweed floated on the surface of the water, which rippled in the moonlight. Riding on top, heading towards Hundred Springs Terrace, was a tiny dark object that left little ripples in its wake. It had to be the frog, the pitiful ghost following the trail of its son. An uproar of men’s voices emerged from a tent across the water; maybe they were all the sons of the woman in black, but who among them would recognize or acknowledge a mother who had been reborn as a frog? Binu waited by the moat for a while, certain that the frog would not look back. Binu had lost her travelling companion and would have to walk the rest of the way alone.
Now that the frog was gone, Binu’s bundle was silent and Qiliang’s sandal was empty. She washed it in the
moat, then gazed at her reflection in the water. The moonlit surface was smooth as a mirror, but still she could not see her face; it was absorbed into the glittery water. Unable to see her reflection, she suddenly forgot what she looked like, and when she tried to recall her appearance, the images that came to her mind were of a wizened old mountain woman on a wooden raft, and a tear-streaked face with inauspicious colouring. She knelt by the water and rubbed her eyes, recalling how bright and beautiful they had been. But her fingers, strangers to those eyes, were driven away by an assault from her eyelashes. She then felt her nose. The women of Peach Village all envied her dainty, well-shaped nose. But it too rebuffed her touch with indifference, even releasing a bit of snot onto her fingers as an added display of mischief. She dipped her fingers in the water and rubbed them across her lips, recalling that they had been Qiliang’s favourite feature; he had told her often how red and sweet they were. Now they were tightly compressed, rejecting the water she brought to them. All her features seemed to be upbraiding her. ‘You have forsaken everything, including your eyes, your nose and your lips, the totality of your beauty, all for Wan Qiliang.’
Binu could feel the sticky dust of spent tears when she touched her hair, and she realized that she had not
washed it since leaving Peach Village. So she removed the hair ornaments and plunged her black tresses into the moat. Even with her face lying right up against the surface of the water, she still could not see her reflection. Little fish swam up to her, for they had never before seen a woman performing her toilet in the moonlight, and they thought that her hair was a new kind of water plant. They began to nibble passionately on her floating hair. Binu wanted to see what the little fish looked like, but Qiliang’s face emerged from the water and she felt his nimble fingers stroking her hair in the water, out of sight. She could not recall what she looked like, but Qiliang could never be forgotten. She remembered how his face glowed in the sunlight beneath the nine mulberry trees, filled with optimism and ardour; in the dark, however, he was like a little boy, childish, bashful and occasionally a bit morose when he thought about what the future might hold. She remembered his hands. In the daytime they were coarse and strong, ideal for handling farm tools and tending the mulberry trees; but when he came home at night, her body became his mulberry tree, and the sweetest harvest began. When he got too rough, she slapped his hands, and they deftly moved on. When his hands became tired, she slapped them to bring them back to life, more passionate than
ever, more daring. Binu missed Qiliang’s hands, missed his mouth and his teeth, missed his mud-caked toes, missed that special part of his, which was sometimes wild and unmannerly, at other times fragile and needy. It was his second son, the secret one, one that rose in the night to light up her dreary body, bit by bit. She recalled how Qiliang’s body emitted scorching hot sunlight in the dark of night, and this indelible memory illuminated the dark sky above the strange land around her; it also lit up the road north. Binu got to her feet beside the moat and gazed along the road to where a forest grew; she knew that the one and only road leading to the north was hidden among those trees.
Binu started walking and soon came upon a ragged array of thatched huts deep in the forest; some were tall, others were squat, but they were all dark, and they shuddered in the night winds, which carried towards her the stink of human and animal waste, and the snores of exhausted sleepers. A lantern hung outside one of the huts, and Binu wondered if that might be Lord Hengming’s stable. Guided by the light, she approached the stable and peered in, only to find it empty, except for three horses eating hay from a trough; their silvery manes radiated a noble, somehow watery light in the darkness. As she pushed open the door, a shadow flashed
before her eyes, and something made of metal captured her hand and held it secure. It was the hooked end of a scythe. When she recovered from the shock, she saw an old groom, naked from the waist up, hunkering down in a dark corner; the scythe was his.
‘I’ve told you people you are not allowed in the stable. The next time I catch you I’ll treat you like a horse thief.’ He made a gesture of drawing the blade of the scythe across his neck and sneered maliciously. ‘Anyone who tries to steal a Hundred Springs Terrace horse pays with his life!’
‘I’m not trying to steal a horse,’ Binu protested. ‘I was just passing by.’
‘This forest belongs to Lord Hengming, and this is not a public road. Who gave you permission to come this way?’ The groom glared at Binu. ‘Eight or nine out of every ten people who pass by here are assassins. If you’re not careful, the authorities will seize you and cut off your head!’
‘I am not an assassin, I am from Peach Village.’ Binu took advantage of the thin light cast by the lantern to look closely at the groom’s face. ‘I can tell from your accent, old man, that you are from North Mountain. Do you know a man from Peach Village by the name of Wan Qiliang? I am his wife.’
‘North Mountain, where’s that? And who is Wan Qiliang? I cannot let you into the stable, no matter who you know. The White Dew period has arrived, and these horses will go into town to deliver Hundred Springs elixir. If something happened to one of them, my head would be on the chopping block!’ An inquisitive look flashed across the old groom’s eyes as he spoke. He stepped out from behind the door and poked at Binu’s bundle with his scythe. ‘I can see you came with no weapon. What are you, a woman alone, doing in the forest at this late hour?’
‘Old man,’ Binu replied, ‘I hadn’t planned on entering the forest. I am on my way north, and this is the only way I can get there.’
‘Everybody else heads south. Why are you heading north? Even men dare not head north. How does a mere woman have the nerve to do so?’ The old groom held up a torch to see Binu’s face, filled with doubts as he took her measure. ‘I can see you are a pretty thing, and that you have a solid-looking bundle, but I cannot be sure if you are a person or a ghost. They say that most pretty things that travel at night are, eight or nine times out of ten, ghosts. These old eyes can’t be sure.’ He began to mumble pensively. ‘I’m old and don’t much care what you are. I’ll assume you’re not a ghost and urge you to
find a safe place to spend the night. I cannot let you stay here, though, and you must not seek out a goat pen or pig sty. They smell bad and the men who tend them would not let you out of their clutches, whether you are a woman or a female ghost. I recommend the deer shed. The youngsters who tend the deer are orphans and have nearly become deer themselves. A woman is safe with them.’
So Binu went to the deer shed, outside of which a sleepy-eyed boy was just then relieving himself, scratching himself with one hand, peeing with the other. From where she stood in the dark, she saw that a small gourd hung from the boy’s neck and that a pair of strange deer horns poked out from the hair stacked on his head. But what truly startled her was that his stream of urine headed straight towards her feet, like a river finding its way to the ocean. When she moved to the left, it followed; she moved to the right, and it veered towards her, a bright ribbon of liquid that seemed to seek her out. She held her hand over her mouth, so as not to frighten the boy, and ran over to a haystack.
Too late, he spotted her and screamed, ‘A ghost! A ghost is hiding in the haystack!’
From behind the haystack, Binu said, ‘I am not a ghost. I am a woman from Peach Village.’ But before she could
explain herself further, a swarm of boys burst out from the deer shed.
‘Bring a torch!’ One of the boys shouted. ‘Ghosts are afraid of fire.’
‘Be careful you don’t start a fire,’ another boy said. ‘Lord Hengming would make you very sorry. Go and get clubs. Everyone go after the ghost with a club!’
Binu knew she was cornered. She stepped out from behind the haystack and, attempting to smile, she asked, ‘Have any of you children ever heard of a ghost travelling with a bundle on her head? I am not a ghost. I am from Peach Village, on my way to Great Swallow Mountain. I am the wife of Wan Qiliang of Peach Village.’
In a tone that sounded worldly-wise, one of the boys asked, ‘Who is Wan Qiliang? I know every one of Lord Hengming’s retainers, and none of them is called Wan Qiliang.’
A bright-looking boy demanded, in a high-pitched voice, ‘Prove that you are not a ghost. I heard the wind follow you when you walked.’
‘That was the sound of my clothing. I eat in the wind and sleep in the dew, and I have grown thin. My clothing now fits much too loosely and, when I walk, the wind blows through it.’
The boy with the gourd hanging from his neck had
been staring at Binu’s bundle, curious about its contents. ‘Ghosts sometimes travel with bundles on their heads, and they are filled with human bones. You say you are not a ghost; then throw your bundle over here and let me check for human bones!’
His friends applauded his suggestion. ‘Quickly, throw your bundle over here,’ they said.
Binu backed away, shaking her head and clutching her bundle to her. This only increased the boys’ curiosity. ‘Search it!’ one of them shouted. ‘Search her bundle.’ Dark figures were already advancing on her before the sound had died out. Then the boys rushed at her, and she saw in their movements the bounding gait of deer.
With the smell of deer in her nostrils, Binu shouted in desperation, ‘There’s a poisonous toad in my bundle.’
They stopped in their tracks, the way a deer stops when it hears a whistle. They understood the threat posed by a poisonous toad. ‘Liar!’ they cried out. ‘Only a sorceress travels with a poisonous toad.’
