“I know,” Ah Zhao agrees. “Where does it begin and where does it end? I want to follow it to its source and find out.”
“And I want something to eat,” Gege says, bringing us back to earth.
At the edge of the field are stands selling hot and cold drinks, noodles, dumplings and steamed buns. Gege buys us each a bun. I bite into the fluffy, light exterior, waiting for the meat and the hot, savory juices to run over my tongue. It tastes so good that I ask for another, but I can’t finish it, so the boys share it.
We pass a large stall piled high with kites of different shapes and sizes, each more colorful than the last. Some are tied to poles so that they billow in the wind. Most are made of paper, but a few are silk. I can’t resist touching one shaped like a bird with orange-and-yellow wings, green tail and blue body.
“This kite is yours for only eight coppers,” the toothless old kite merchant says to me. “Today is a perfect day for kite-flying. Neither too hot nor too cold. Nice breeze blowing, but not too strong. See the leaves rustling in the treetops, and the flags flying on that big boat over there? All indicators of good kite-flying weather. On top of that, not a hint of rain, so you won’t be troubled by lightning.”
“What’s this kite made of?”
“Bamboo frame, paper sail and silk flying line. Silk kites are much more expensive. We carry both kinds. Our special kites look like insects, butterflies, dragons, fish and other animals. Our musical kites have flutes, gourds or bows attached to them, so the wind ‘plays’ musical tunes as the kites fly.”
“What about this one?” Gege asks, pointing to a small diamond-shaped kite attached to a line coated with shards of metal.
“That’s a fighter kite, made for boys. Buy two of them. Then you and your friend can have a friendly contest trying to cut one another’s lines. But be careful that you don’t injure your hands while handling the lines.”
* * *
A dizzying variety of competitions are being held at different areas of the field. There’s a group of small children tripping along, trailing small paper kites. Someone in the distance is counting out numbers in clear, measured tones: “… forty-two, forty-three, forty-four …” The majority of the kites flutter and crash before the announcer reaches one hundred. One little girl with two pigtails pointing upward bursts into tears as her kite blows away in the wind.
Farther along is a group of teenagers about our age. One of them has managed to raise his kite to a height over five hundred zhang.
I see an elderly man handling a butterfly kite so skillfully that it looks alive. He steers it with two lines of equal length strapped to his wrists. His kite can dance, fly loop-the-loop, turn somersaults in the air, or dive down before swooping back gracefully towards the sky.
Next to him is a team of eight men assembling a giant red-and-brown dragon-shaped kite with a long tail. It’s an elaborate affair with many bamboo hinges and numerous strings joined together into a single line attached to a handle and wheel. The team leader studies the wind direction and tells his men where to stand. At just the right moment, he barks out an order. Everyone dashes forward with the kite raised above their heads. As the dragon inflates with wind, the leader signals its release. The kite rises with grace, floating majestically into the sky, while the leader hastily pays out extra lengths of string from his wheel. It doesn’t take long for the dragon to rise to a great height, swaying and swerving as if it’s alive.
To our left, men and boys are shouting, cheering and chasing one another in an area away from the kite-flyers. It’s a large, flat, rectangular field marked off with a red rope.
“Cu ju (football)!” Gege exclaims, in great excitement, and races ahead. When Ah Zhao and I finally catch up, he’s already among the players, chasing after a large brown leather ball.
Two young men approach us with friendly smiles as we watch the ball being kicked from player to player.
“Ever played cu ju before?”
“No,” Ah Zhao says. “How do you play?”
“Easy. You can touch the ball with any part of your body except your hands. See those two posts in the middle of the field with netting between them? That’s the goal. We divide the players into two teams by giving you red or black headbands with numbers on them. Red team scores one point if a Red player kicks the ball into the goal facing the Red side of the field. Same goes for Black. Everyone aims to score as many points as possible while preventing the other side from scoring.”
“How much does it cost to play?”
“We charge a small fee. But why don’t you start playing first, so we can observe you? If you’re talented, we might even ask you to join our organization and pay you for playing!”
“That will be the day!” Ah Zhao says, laughing and turning to me. “Feel like trying?”
I’m sorely tempted, but I can’t run fast, so I shake my head.
“Are girls allowed to play?” Ah Zhao asks.
“Of course they are! During the Tang Dynasty, there was a seventeen-year-old girl who was so talented she beat a team made up of army soldiers. If you feel like playing, just signal us.”
Meanwhile, Gege is darting about wearing a Red headband with the number shi er (twelve) on his forehead. A scoreboard on top of the goalposts shows the score tied at one all. A tall and lanky lad wearing Black number ba (eight) takes the ball near midfield and fires from long range. The stocky goalkeeper, Red number wu (five), blocks the shot and kicks it out to Red number twelve (Gege!), who chases it down and passes it to Red number san (three). Number three handles the ball nimbly backward and forward between his feet, gets behind the Black defense and fires a shot that rebounds off the Black team’s goalpost. The entire Red team groans with disappointment.
“From the way he kicks the ball, I think your brother must have played cu ju before,” Ah Zhao says.
“But where?”
“There are many cu ju fields like this throughout Bian Liang. I even saw one in the backyard at Commissioner Ye’s house.”
“How long do you think Gege will play?”
“I won’t be surprised if he’s here until sundown. Let him enjoy himself. I’ll tell the organizers that we’ll wait for him at the riverbank below.”
The weather grows even hotter as we saunter down the plateau toward the river. Snatches of music drift toward us, mingled with shouts and peals of laughter. We meander down a grassy slope and enter a narrow stone passageway flanked by feathery maples, lush flowering shrubs and towering bamboos. Below us, a green meadow stretches all the way to the river. A graveled walkway shaded by graceful willows runs along the riverbank. Nestled within the blue-green haze of leafy willow branches is a little wooden bench flanked by two pear trees ablaze with fragrant yellow flowers.
Ah Zhao leads me to the bench and signals me to sit.
“What about you?” I ask.
“That’s not for the likes of me,” he says with a hint of darkness. “You’re the boss and I’m the slave. Let’s remember this at all times.”
He picks up a flat stone from the path and throws it toward the water with such force that it skips the surface three times before it sinks. I wonder what has happened to change his mood.
“It’s so beautiful and tranquil here. Why isn’t anyone around?”
“Maybe they don’t know about it.”
“How lucky we are!”
“Are we?” he asks moodily, staring into the distance. After a while, he walks toward the water and climbs onto a little barge moored there. Sitting at the edge, he removes his shoes, puts his feet into the cool river and begins to hum a strange tune.
It suddenly strikes me that he’s handsome, despite his crooked nose. Starting with his height, his muscled frame, his light skin, his curly black hair, his long-lashed, deep-set eyes and ending with his nose … I think of his nickname, Big Nose, and say to myself, “His nose isn’t really big. It’s tall rather than big.”
“Why are you staring at me?”
His question cat
ches me off guard. I lower my eyes, but I know my face must be turning red.
“I’m just thinking that your nose is tall rather than big. Your nickname should be Gao Bi Zi (Tall Nose), not Da Bi Zi (Big Nose).”
“Am I really that different from everyone else? Why give me a nickname at all? Don’t I eat, drink and breathe just like you? Are we that dissimilar?”
“Of course not! Actually, I was thinking that your face is more interesting than mine. Or Gege’s. It’s more three-dimensional.”
“Interesting!” He spits out the word with loathing. “Interesting indeed. Am I an animal in a zoo? To be gawked at and compared to human beings?”
“Why are you getting angry?”
He looks away, and for a while he says nothing. Then I see tears coursing down his cheeks and I realize he’s crying.
Something comes over me. Even though he’s tall and strong, at that moment he looks like a little lost boy and I think of him alone in the world with nobody to turn to. Without thinking, I climb onto the barge, sit down next to him, take off my shoes and dangle my bare feet in the river. The cool water feels delicious against my skin as I wriggle my toes. Neither of us says anything for a while. A million thoughts race through my mind.
“Why are the toes on your right foot so crooked?” His question makes me jump. Instinctively, I bend my foot back to hide my ugly toes.
“Did you have an accident?” he persists.
“No, I did not.”
“Are your crooked toes the reason why you wouldn’t play cu ju just now?”
“How did you know?”
“I know, that’s all.…”
There’s a long silence. Then I say, “Can you and I truly be friends?”
“Not if you don’t tell me anything about yourself. Besides, are you sure you want to be friends with someone like me? A servant?”
“Yes! You’re the smartest person I know.”
“Friends don’t have secrets from one another.”
“I agree … but there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to tell.”
“Oh, sorry—what was that about friends not having secrets … ?”
“I’m serious. What is there to tell? I’m an orphan. My father was a barbarian who couldn’t read or write. My mother died the same day I was born.”
“Where are you from?”
“You mean, where am I really from. My father’s parents were Jews. My grandfather’s name used to be Levy, but he changed it to Li after they moved here. When he was a little boy, my father traveled across the desert with my grandparents, to come to China. He used to tell me about the vastness of the desert … the sand dunes stretching on and on as far as the eye could see … the searing sun during the day and the black, freezing nights … the miraculous sunsets and fantastic sunrises … the terrifying forays into the nothingness to search for water … the endless silence … They came from a foreign country far away to the west, tian xia zhi bian yuan (at the edge of civilization). My grandparents disowned my father after he married my Chinese mother. Throughout his life, my father felt that he didn’t belong here … or anywhere. Sometimes I feel that I need to search for the places where my father lived before he came to China. I have this strong desire to travel, to retrieve my lost heritage.”
“What did your baba do?”
“He was a laborer … a carpenter and stonecutter. After my mama died, my baba was alone in a strange land. He found it difficult to get work, and over the years he got depressed and angry. He used to gamble what money he had. Just before he died, he placed huge bets on a cricket he believed in. At first it won, but eventually it lost. Baba accused his opponent of cheating. They fought and my baba was stabbed to death.”
I try to imagine what it would be like to have no parents, but I can’t. I feel a deep sadness for Ah Zhao as I realize how alone he is.
“Why have you never told me all this before?”
“You’ve never asked. To you, and the rest of your family, I’m not even a regular person, let alone a friend. I’m merely the barbarian hedge-clipper and tree-trimmer. I am, and will always be, a wai ren (outsider).”
“That’s not true! You and I have become friends, and now you won’t be alone anymore.”
“All right, friend! It’s your turn now to share. Tell me how your toes got broken.”
I close my eyes and fight the feeling of nausea that always comes when I think about that day.
“My niang … my niang …”
Tears come to my eyes, and I look down and try to control myself.
Ah Zhao leans over and looks into my face. “I’m sorry—I didn’t want to upset you. Don’t tell me any more if you’d rather not.”
After a while, the sickness goes and I find that I do want to talk about that terrible day, long ago. I take a deep breath and begin.
Mei Lan’s Confession
“Since I was a toddler, and for as long as I can remember,” I tell Ah Zhao, “I’d heard Niang speaking to Baba about choosing an auspicious day to bind my feet. She spoke of my foot-binding as a momentous and special occasion; a sort of combined feast day/name day/celebration holiday when I would shed the cocoon of my infancy and turn into Mei Lan (Beautiful Orchid). I would become as lovely as my niang.
“She told Baba and me that all her wealthy friends were binding their daughters’ feet, and that only poor peasant girls ended up with big, ugly, natural feet these days. My bound feet would announce to the world that I have a wealthy father and far-sighted mother. Matchmakers would be clamoring to represent me.
“I had no idea what foot-binding involved, but I couldn’t wait to be as beautiful as Niang!
“In those days I thought she loved me.
“In the autumn of the Year of the Ox (1097), when I was six years old, an important monk came from the Buddhist Temple to our house in a palanquin carried by four young apprentices. All five men had shaven heads and were dressed in coarse brown robes. Baba welcomed the chief monk into our parlour while the others waited outside.
“Niang didn’t meet the monk face-to-face, but she was behind the latticed screen that divides the room into two. You know the screen I’m talking about … it’s still there, and was made in such a way that Baba and the monk could not see her, but Niang was able to see and hear them. As a special favor, Niang said I could stay there with her.
“I peeped eagerly through the holes in the screen, and watched Baba and the monk take their seats, across from one another, on high-backed hardwood chairs covered with red cushions. Between them was a square wooden table with two cups of tea and a large bowl of tangerines. A tiger-skin rug lay under the table.
“I could see steam rising from the hot tea as Baba took the lid off the cup. He raised the teacup with both hands and bowed his head slightly.
“The monk took the lid off his cup and bowed in return, before taking a sip.
“ ‘Everything has its time and place,’ the monk said, ‘including the auspicious date of your daughter’s foot-binding. During the past month, we have spent a lot of time figuring out her Ba Zi (Eight Characters).’
“ ‘For the sake of my wife, who is behind the screen, will you explain the concept of Eight Characters?’
“The monk smiled.
“ ‘What is the most important thing that determines a person’s life?’ he asked.”
‘Tell me!’
“ ‘It’s luck. You are who you are today because of your luck. And I am who I am because of my luck. By combining your daughter’s Eight Characters with my astrological knowledge of feng shui (fortune), I’ll be able to find on my abacus the most auspicious day for her foot-binding.’
“My heart quickened. They were finally talking about my foot-binding!
“ ‘What is Eight Characters?’ I whispered to Niang.
“She placed her finger against her lips to silence me and mouthed the word, ‘Listen.’
“ ‘Is the concept of Eight Characters th
e same as the Four Pillars of Life?’ Baba was asking.
“ ‘They are one and the same. The Four Pillars of your daughter’s life consist of the year, month, day and time of her birth. Each Pillar consists of two words. Four times two equals eight. Hence the term Four Pillars is also known as Eight Words or Eight Characters.’
“ ‘So the year, month, day and time of a person’s birth determine his fate!’ Baba mused. ‘But thousands of babies are born on the same day at the same hour. Do they end up with the same fate?’
“ ‘Of course not! That’s where my knowledge of Chinese astrology and feng shui comes in. Other factors must be taken into account, such as place of birth, family background, education and behaviour. My calculations are based on ancient wisdom handed down to me by my teachers, who learnt it from their teachers, and so on over many, many generations.’
“ ‘What do you use your abacus for?’
“ ‘Feng shui depends on precise mathematical calculations. It’s not a guessing game. To find the right day for your daughter’s foot-binding, I need to plug in Yin and Yang the Wu Xing (Five Elements) and the Shi Er Sheng Xiao (Twelve Animals of the Zodiac: rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, goat, monkey, rooster, dog and pig). In addition, her fate is also determined by the position of the sun, moon, planets and comets at the exact time and place of her birth.’
“At this moment, Niang signaled that we should leave, but later that day, Baba came to my room and handed me a large red envelope with my name, Zhang Mei Lan , written in beautiful calligraphy. In it were two sheets of red paper. The first was a chart divided into four columns. Each column was filled with difficult words that I didn’t recognize. The second sheet had only six characters:
“ ‘What do these characters on the first page say, Baba?’
“ ‘That’s your feng shui according to your Eight Characters. Can you read the words on the second page?’
“ ‘Yes, Baba! It says Eighth Day of the Tenth Moon, Year of the Ox.’
“ ‘That is the auspicious day of your foot-binding. Eighth Day of the Tenth Moon, Year of the Ox.’
Along the River Page 7