Breaking Bamboo (45 page)

Fu Xuan

*

Water Gate of Morning Radiance, Nancheng.

Autumn, 1267

The sky no longer drifted with rain and other signs of autumn arrived. Day by day darkness settled earlier. Birds gathered on the river and chill winds whistled down from Mount Wadung.

Just such a breeze tugged at the baggy clothes of three women working a narrow strip of land between the stone ramparts of Nancheng and the River Han. They made an unlikely collection.

One could not call them family – none bore the slightest resemblance to one another. An observer on the ramparts might not even have detected a joint purpose between them. Two of the women worked with a will while the third’s movements were slow and resentful. At last they paused and surveyed a large tangle of coarse-smelling weeds surrounded by boggy ground.

‘Are we to reap all
that
?’ asked a supercilious voice.

The voice belonged to Lu Ying; and Madam Cao struggled hard to conceal her irritation, for she could not ignore the extent of her obligation to the former concubine.

After Dr Shih’s trial, Old Hsu’s funeral had been a noisy affair.

Apricot Corner Court filled with wailing and the sound passed as a rumour through Water Basin Ward to other districts of the city. Few who heard the tale sympathised with the authorities.

Madam Cao had wept as freely as Old Hsu’s relatives, her grief barbed with guilt that he had died defending Shih’s honour; she knew that the crack of the bamboo club on the old man’s spine would echo in her dreams until the day she died.

However, there had been one mourner in Apricot Corner Court who took Madam Cao by surprise. Lu Ying made no secret of her remorse at not petitioning Wang Ting-bo on Dr Shih’s behalf: ‘If I had done as you suggested, who knows whether that funny old man would still be alive!’ she had cried, biting her plump lips. ‘I am a selfish creature, Madam Cao, not like you or your kind husband.’ But it also became apparent that when it came to the ways of Peacock Hill, she was a practical one. Not content with a mere petition (which Lu Ying doubted would even reach the Pacification Commissioner’s eyes) she disappeared to her room and returned with a lacquer box decorated with fortunate symbols. When she opened it Cao had gasped. On a silken tray lay two small black pearls no larger than the tip of a lady’s little finger. Their flawless, dusky surfaces glowed in the sunlight.

‘Take one to the Chief Gaoler,’ said Lu Ying. ‘Tell him that if Dr Shih is still alive and healthy when he comes to trial in a month’s time, he shall receive its companion.’

Cao shook her head, overwhelmed: ‘How can we repay you for this?’

For a moment Lu Ying grew thoughtful: ‘There are ways. I am tired of being helpless. Teach me where everything is kept so I may make myself tea and food. And if you should tell Captain Xiao what I have done. . . I would also be grateful.’

Cao glanced sharply at Lu Ying for some explanation of this strange request. But the former concubine’s features were bland.

The question of Widow Mu remained. She could hardly live next door to the Hsu clan, when her hasty, hysterical testimony had cost Old Hsu his life. Yet where else were she and her children to go? Those ineligible for state rations starved on the streets, and to lose eligibility one need only lose one’s home and become a vagrant or offend a minor official.

Cao wondered what Dr Shih would have done to help Widow Mu, if anything. It was his nature to strive for reconciliation. In the end the decision was made for her. She crossed Apricot Corner Court to knock on Widow Mu’s door and found it wide open. Her old friend had fled without a word. Cao stood forlornly for a while, remembering their closeness, then became aware of someone behind her: Lord Yun, uncharacteristically out of his chamber. The old man looked round the empty rooms suspiciously. Cao bowed in the proper manner but he did not notice her existence.

‘Not here,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll make her. . . Oh, yes!

Obedient. . . Ha!’

His voice trailed away. There was something repulsive about his ravings. A moist, fetid wind had stirred the leaves of the apricot tree. Cao could hear sobbing from within Old Hsu’s house. Then she led Lord Yun back inside and mixed him a dose of medicine which he had gulped like a thirsty child, sighing with relief.

*

Which was why, as the remaining women of Apricot Corner Court reaped herbs by the riverbank, Madam Cao tried hard not to show her irritation in case she inconvenienced Lu Ying.

No one could deny that without her generous bribe of the black pearl, Shih would have perished in the Prefectural gaol.

‘There is little point in digging and sowing in the spring, if one does not intend to harvest in autumn,’ she said, soothingly.

The third woman, Old Hsu’s Widow, grunted then stared across the wide waters at the Mongol forts upstream. Since her husband’s death she had fallen into a taciturn grief. Her mourning was not of the wailing kind that neighbours call virtuous.

It manifested itself through an absence – Hsu’s Wife had always been a matron of great humour, especially at her husband’s expense, and now the wells of her laughter were dry.

‘We’ve only filled one wheelbarrow,’ she said. ‘And that’s with bletilla tubers. Dr Shih still needs the mugwort and ginseng.’

The Pacification Commissioner’s former concubine was not so easily deterred.

‘It is not the work itself,’ she said. ‘It is just that I am needed by one in great pain!’

Madam Cao noticed how the girl’s hand crept to her girdle for a costly silk fan that no longer hung there. Instead, Lu Ying fanned herself daintily with her broad, conical hat. Her glossy mound of black hair caught the sun like spun silk.

‘He is a gentleman used to sacrifices,’ said Cao. ‘We may be sure he does not feel neglected. Besides, when we left him, he was in a deep sleep.’

Lu Ying sighed and picked up her scythe. They waded through the marshy ground, releasing peaty, ripe smells.

Midges buzzed round them. Because of her bound feet, Lu Ying used a hoe to keep balance.

Cao glanced back at the ramparts. Half a dozen soldiers were watching from on high, joking among themselves. No need to guess the object of their interest. Even in shapeless peasant clothes, Lu Ying’s figure and movements attracted attention. Cao felt invisible in comparison.

Up to their ankles in mud, they swept at the plants with their scythes, building piles of pungent stalks. Easy work compared to the bletilla tubers. Those had required patient loosening of the soil before a sharp, decisive tug. Neither Cao nor her unwanted guest had ever learned such skills. The long, long siege was changing them and most other respectable folk in drastic ways. Nearly all Lu Ying’s wealth had gone on costly food, despite Wang Ting-bo’s extra rations, for she passed all she received straight to Madam Cao. Many notable families were parting with precious heirlooms to fill their bowls.

Everyone was gaunt, their clothes threadbare. Few maintained a worthy face. Once fine ladies could be seen toiling like landless peasants to grow a few edible shoots. As for Cao, all her fortune lay in the man she relied upon.

By noon the last of the herbs were loaded onto the waiting wheelbarrows.

‘Now I really must return to Apricot Corner Court,’ said Lu Ying. ‘If nothing else, your Honoured Father cannot bear a late meal.’

Madam Cao had to agree with that.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘If you and Madam Hsu will push the wheelbarrows of herbs home, I will take care of the tools. Now I must seek out Dr Shih and ask what is to be done with our harvest.’

The three women trudged through the Water Gate of Morning Radiance. Lu Ying and Old Hsu’s Wife launched their load in the direction of Apricot Corner Court, leaving Madam Cao at a crossroad. Her destination had been unthinkable only a few months before.

*

The triumph of the Ineffable Winged Relief Fleet lay in its cargo. Supplies and goods had been packed into every conceivable space in the ships – provisions worth twenty thousand Mongol lives.

General A-ku realised this. He knew the siege must now endure for at least another year. His army’s heroism had drowned in the wide moats surrounding Nancheng and Fouzhou. Without new tactics, the campaign might drag on for decades. Meanwhile his best troops and horses succumbed to strange illnesses in the damp air. It was a climate of endless disappointment.

Yet the siege lines were maintained. Although Mongol horsemen marauded around the Twin Cities the blockade remained porous, messages from the Imperial court winning through.

Another new Pacification Commissioner was sent to replace the affable gentleman who had perished with Admiral Qi-Qi, but was seized by the Mongols when using a previously secure route into the Twin Cities. So Wang Ting-bo remained supreme arbiter of all civil and military affairs in Nancheng Province.

He made great efforts to reward those who had ever proved useful to the Wang clan, and that included a certain doctor.

At the North Medical Relief Bureau, Madam Cao found Mung Po performing a rite before a cheap woodcut print of the Yellow Emperor. Snakes of incense rose. The Chief of the North Medical Relief Bureau watched closely, along with his Assistant. They had just concluded a hopeless application of the moxa and needed divine favour to pull the patient through.

Madam Cao nodded politely to both men, but especially the Bureau Chief. The Assistant glanced nervously at his superior, evidently concerned the ritual had been ruined.

‘Mung Po, leave off that for now!’ commanded the Chief.

‘Start the rites again when there are no females present.’

‘I have come to tell you all the herbs have been gathered,’ said Madam Cao.

‘You have worked too hard!’ said the Chief, in a voice of quiet concern. ‘Go home and rest. The other ladies must be exhausted, too.’

The Assistant Supervisor readily concurred with the opinion of his Chief.

‘Perhaps Mung Po could escort Madam Cao home?’ he suggested, diffidently.

‘That will not be necessary, Dr Du Tun-i,’ replied Shih. ‘I shall return with Madam Cao to Apricot Corner Court.’

Then he turned to the new Assistant Supervisor. ‘Please ensure all the patients are examined before their next meal.’

Dr Du Tun-i nodded and the Chief of the North Medical Relief Bureau left with his wife. Dr Shih’s plain, homespun blue robes were stained with spilt medicine and blood; Madam Cao’s clothes were still muddy. Yet their demeanours possessed a dignity and inner peace lost to them for many months.

Dr Shih’s restoration as Bureau Chief had occurred several weeks earlier. Pacification Commissioner Wang Ting-bo ordered it as a reward for Shih’s impersonation of Captain Xiao, on condition the promotion was accomplished discreetly.

His Excellency did not wish it known that the city’s saviour had in fact been a humble doctor on trial for unfilial behaviour. The people needed heroes in the midst of their suffering, as simple food requires salt.

The high official who communicated the good news to Dr Shih had added: ‘Dr Du Mau and other influential members of the Physicians Guild are unhappy that you have been given back your old position. I believe one Dr Du Tun-i is the current Bureau Chief? No doubt a relative of Dr Du Mau?’

‘Indeed he is,’ replied Shih.

‘He shall be dismissed at once,’ said the official, airily.

Shih had hesitated. The young man had saved his brother’s life by staunching Guang’s wounds on the dockside at Nancheng. Because of this he could not welcome Dr Du Tun-i’s complete demotion.

‘Perhaps, sir,’ he said. ‘He may be retained as my assistant at an appropriate salary?’

The official had looked surprised, then yawned.

‘As you wish. His Excellency is minded to grant any reasonable request. Personally, I advise you to get rid of the fellow.

He’ll only cause you trouble later.’

Yet Dr Shih had got his way, however disregardful of future trouble.

Madam Cao considered these changes as they walked through Water Basin Ward. Shih stared straight ahead, apparently lost in thought. Since his release from the Prefectural gaol he often seemed distant, even cold. Cao believed he had not fully returned from that dreadful place; a great part of his spirit, perhaps the best part, still languished in chains.

‘Husband,’ she said, timidly. ‘You walk so fast! I can barely keep up.’

He slowed and frowned.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘My life is all hurry – and yet I travel in circles! Forgive me.’

‘You are tired, that is all,’ she said. ‘You work too hard.’

Shih glanced at her keenly.

‘I am grateful for your help at the Relief Bureau,’ he said. ‘It reminds me of when we first married. Ah, what happy times those were! We were with each other from dawn until dark.’

‘I remember,’ she said, softly.

Cao’s eye fell upon a tea-stall near their home. For a moment the couple exchanged looks of surprise. The stall had been closed for over a year, a victim of the long hostilities. Today its banners were out, a little faded perhaps, as were the paper and bamboo umbrellas on poles bearing the characters
Eternal
Refreshment
. It had been a favourite haunt when they first came to Nancheng and could afford no better entertainment.

‘Husband,’ she said. ‘Let us take tea at Mao’s stall, like we used to do!’

Dr Shih hesitated.

‘What of Guang?’ he asked.

‘His usual nurse takes care of him very diligently.’

At this his face darkened. She wondered at his exact feelings.

‘It would please me so much to take tea,’ she said, without a trace of wheedling, though her eyes combined reproach and entreaty.

‘Then the matter is settled,’ he said. ‘Besides, Mao needs at least one customer.’

Yet the stallholder turned out to be a stranger who had bought the business from Mao in exchange for millet rations.

As for tea, he had only a few leaves. He explained that he merely wished to try out the banners and umbrellas for when peace returned.

‘I beg you to sit for a while,’ he continued. ‘You shall be my first honoured customers! I shall return with boiling water.’