by Rich Horton
And so the war was averted, with the Sixth Emperor relieved that he had appeased the Green Visitor, and the Great Sea Dragon thinking that he had avoided what was sure to be a disastrous land invasion against an able opponent. Within three years, both of them fell precipitously from power.
What the Great Sea Dragon thought was the Sixth Emperor’s recognition of his equal status brought him no honor among his sea lords and led to a crisis of confidence. As he had feared, many immediately conspired against him, as they considered the peace he had made with the Grand Circle an act of cowardice. In the ensuing war in South Ocean, his nephew, whom he was grooming to be his successor, was bribed by rebellious sea lords into assassinating him.
The Great Sea Dragon managed to escape the attempt and kill his beloved nephew, but his spirit was broken. In the next naval battle, he jumped into an enemy vessel by himself and fought a multitude of soldiers until they brought him down. South Ocean then fell into bloody chaos for the next five years, until the Peace of the Sixteen Sea Lords brought a measure of order back.
At around the time of the Great Sea Dragon’s final battle, the Sixth Emperor expressed his desire to visit his original homeland in the northern frontier. He confided to one of his eunuchs that he did not fear going there to pay respects at the graves of his ancestors because the Green Visitor was no longer there. The monster had been pacified and sent far away, acting as his official in charge of South Ocean. It was also rumored that he meant to establish a North Capital and move his court there permanently. On the night after he arrived at the central fortress where he was born and raised, he used a secret passage to sneak out of his chamber in the middle of the night. He ventured outside and walked until he came to the house of a goatherd where
he asked for directions to the path up a nearby mountain. When the goatherd suggested that he wait till daylight to travel, the emperor told him that he needed to get to the summit by dawn so that the first light of the new day would transform him into an immortal spirit. After he was shown the path, he granted the goatherd his cloak of radiant worm fabric and went on his way. He was never seen by anyone again.
The next day, when his eunuchs realized that he was missing, they kept it a secret at the fortress but mobilized the soldiers of a nearby garrison and sent them out in every direction to search for him. When the eunuchs were informed of the goatherd’s story, the soldiers were dispatched up the mountain, but they eventually returned without having found any sign of him. In their panic, the eunuchs fabricated an imperial order and activated the troops of the fortress to slaughter all the soldiers of the garrison as well as the goatherd and his family under the false charge of fomenting a rebellion. In what came to be called the Rule of the Fifty Half-Men, the eunuchs continued to run the state while hiding the emperor’s disappearance for almost a year, hoping in vain that he would show up somewhere.
They thought that they had killed every member of the goatherd’s family but one of the boys they had executed was actually a neighbor’s child who had come to the house to play. The real son was returning from an errand when he witnessed the killing of his family and hid inside a rotten tree. After the soldiers were gone, he begged all the way to the neighboring province where he was taken by some bandits and sold off as a slave. After a few months of working as a water carrier, he managed to escape and reach a town where an uncle on his mother’s side of the family lived. He told the uncle his story, and the uncle told a local official who brought the tale to the magistrate. It eventually reached the ear of the governor, who sent a letter to the
Sixth Emperor’s nephew who was returning to West Capital from a pacifying expedition to the New Frontier of the far west where barbarians ate their food raw. He diverted his force to the town where he personally interrogated the goatherd’s son. Enraged by what he learned, he gathered more soldiers and marched to the north, where he arrested and executed the fifty eunuchs. Within a month he arrived at West Capital, got rid of the Sixth Emperor’s children by his murdered concubines, and ascended the throne as the Seventh Emperor. He also adopted the courageous and resourceful son of the goatherd who went on to have an illustrious career as a military officer, eventually becoming the commandant of the Forest of Spears.
There is one last element of the secret history of the Peace of Five Peaks Island to be told, though it can only be related in a speculative manner. The recently discovered letters that Upright Lotus sent to Diviner Supreme show that in the aftermath of their conspiracy to manipulate events through deliberate mistranslations, they planned to reunite at some point in the future. They knew that they had to be extremely careful, since it would raise suspicion if they were seen together by someone who knew their identities. For that reason, Diviner Supreme planned to decline the offer of a position in the imperial court and leave West Capital as soon as possible to settle in some remote place in the southeast, as close to South Ocean as possible. But then his mother died and he had to go into mourning period during which he could neither receive nor send correspondences, which caused a delay in their plan. When he was finally able to leave the capital and establish a home far away from the scrutiny of government officials, it was Upright Lotus who met with difficulties as she tried to arrange a passage into the Grand Circle.
Despite the remoteness of Diviner Supreme’s last home, he did not lead the life of a hermit. He had his school, and many scholars who journeyed all the way there to meet and consult with the famed linguist reported that he led a rich social life surrounded by students and friends. The Seventh Emperor himself sent envoys to offer him a position in his court on no less than three occasions, but he declined each time, claiming to be too ill to travel, an apparent lie as he lived a very long life. It is most unfortunate that none of the visitors have written of the presence of Upright Lotus at his house. There is actually no reason to expect any of them to have done so, given the low status of women in this period. Men of the time would have hardly deigned to distinguish between a wife, a concubine, or a servant maiden who served them liquor and meals, but then withdrew to the women’s quarters. Consequently, we cannot know if Upright Lotus ever managed to make her way to him.
When he wrote the narrative poem Upright Lotus toward the end of his life, was it a celebration of how he came to first meet his beloved with whom he shared a long, happy life together? Or it is work of melancholy remembrance, of the one who was never able to reach him, leaving him to lead the rest of his life in solitary longing? I confess that it pains me deeply that we will, in all probability, never know.
The great mural painting “Peace of Five Peaks Island” is indeed the kind of monument to peacemakers that the Grand Historian Silver Mirror dreamed of in a civilization that has reached the age of wisdom. Yet it was not the gloriously attired Sixth Emperor or the proudly standing Great Sea Dragon who were the true heroes of the event. What all people who value peace and humanity should celebrate is the secret but truly great achievement of their interpreters, barely visible in the background of the picture as well as of history itself, who quietly and subtly saved the lives of hundreds of thousands through the virtuous use of unfaithful translations.
• • •
[Marginal Note: My true and dear beloved, how well you have weaved the story together from so many disparate documents across the ages, in different scripts and genres. How you have rendered the invisible visible, how you brought clarity to the obscure, and how you shed light on the hidden. Yet, I must express disappointment at one aspect of your narrative.
My true and dear beloved, could you really only have told the secret history of the unfaithful translators from the point of view of the man? I already know what your response to that will be. As you point out more than once, the events took place during a historical period that was a particularly low time for women, when they were subjugated, marginalized, and rendered invisible to such an extent that it is almost impossible for historians to gather much reliable information about their lives. This was true even for women
of the highest status families, who were forbidden from learning, restricted to their quarters, and kept away from the social life of the larger community. Having made forays into research myself, I understand the difficulties involved.
But I must ask you, my true and dear beloved, have you tried hard enough? Or did your knowledge of the paucity of historical evidence on women of the Primal dynasty make you give up too quickly? Did you even attempt to read around the absence of information? To put it in another way, were you not bothered enough by the question of who Upright Lotus was to look further in search of her identity? Even her name is one that was given to her by a man.
For instance, you speculated that she might have been a member of a southern merchant family who worked as an assistant to her father. We know that indeed women played a greater role in South Ocean and its islands, a few even heading merchant concerns. Beyond merely theorizing about the origin of Upright Lotus, have you delved into that historical context? Even if you were not able to find any information about her before the Peace on Five Peaks Island, the research may have shed light on the life of such an intellectually gifted woman who worked for her family’s business and then for a powerful sea lord.
But, my true and dear beloved, what bothers me the most is your lack of a detailed analysis of the letters Upright Lotus sent to Diviner Supreme. You say that they provided the essential clues that allowed you to decode Diviner Supreme’s poem. How did they do so? Also, what exactly do the letters say, what is her writing style, what do they reveal about the character of the writer? You wrote, on that day on Five Peaks Island when Diviner Supreme fell in love with her, “he gazed at her luminous eyes that shone with sad intelligence.” How did he look to her? Did she also fall in love with him? Or did she have her own reasons for her actions? After they successfully averted war, did she really want to be with him? Would she have wanted to take the enormous risk of traveling by herself to the Grand Circle, just so she could live in a society where she would have to lead a restricted existence? Would she have indeed done all that just to be with him, or could she have made her own way and led her own life? Even if they were never reunited, leaving Diviner Supreme to lead a life of, as you say “solitary longing,” that doesn’t necessarily make it a tragedy for Upright Lotus. She may have found happiness in a different world.
I assume, my true and dear beloved, that the letters do not provide direct answers to those questions, as otherwise you would have revealed them. But you must see how your neglect of their specific contents deprives the reader of what may turn out to be clues to another alternate view of the events. A secret history within the secret history of the Peace of Five Peaks Island, if you will. You have done well, my true and dear beloved, but you can do better and you must do better. We all must, in our never-ending task of rendering the invisible visible, bringing clarity to the obscure, and shedding light on the hidden.
My true and dear beloved . . . ]
Shucked
by Sam J. Miller
Adney had seen the man staring well before he spoke to them. Two tables over, in the otherwise-empty restaurant loud with the sound of waves against the breakwater. Fifty-something; poor posture; took good care of himself. A tourist like them, she could tell by the clumsy way he’d conversed with the woman behind the bar. A guest at the hotel upstairs—hence he was unburdened by bags or backpacks like the ones at their feet.
It happened from time to time: People stared. One of the burdens of being with a boy as beautiful as Teek. This guy at least had the decency not to pretend she didn’t exist. He was transfixed by her boyfriend, yes, but he was also assessing her. When he caught her staring back—when their eyes locked—he smiled affably. But was affable the right word? There was something else happening in his eyes, something less friendly. Conspiratorial, almost, like eye contact had made them complicit in something.
Teek was immersed in his phone, trying to decide what tourist-type spot to visit when they left the restaurant. She picked his camera up off the table and took a picture of him. When it flashed on the screen, she tried to see it as if he were a stranger to her. Black hair cropped close; olive skin darkened by a week of vacation sun; untamable stubble. Hazel eyes that seemed always to be aimed down. Slim. Slight. An overall sense of delicacy. Fragility, even.
In the background, out of focus: the man. Clearly staring. Maybe smiling.
To tell Teek or not? He’d find it funny, for sure, but might it also make him self-conscious? Or, worse, swell his ego so it tipped over into insufferable? They had not been dating long enough to know for sure, so she said nothing. The woman behind the bar was pouring water from one big glass pitcher into many smaller ones. She was old and stout and said little, but always had a smile for her. They’d come to the same place every night since they arrived in Amalfi. Teek had said last night that she was “super mean,” and Adney was dazzled at how they had such different experiences of the same person.
She struggled with the oyster she was shucking. “Let me,” Teek said, and she handed it over—and marveled at how effortlessly he sank the knife into the hinge, wobbled the hand that held the oyster until the blade made a full circumference. Peeled back the shell, severed the muscle that bound the meat to its hard, translucent platter. Where had he learned to do that? He’d come from a pathetic inland Jersey strip-mall exurb, same as she did. A summer working in a fancy spot down the Shore, she imagined, and could see it quite vividly. Teek in a white apron; Teek the apple of the eye of every man and woman at the country club.
“I always hated oysters,” she said. “My father loved them. We couldn’t afford to buy them hardly ever, and it was a big deal when we did. Once he’d shucked them, and when he wasn’t looking, I’d dump them all out onto the ice and swap them back into the wrong shells. I thought I was getting away with something.”
“That’s . . . pretty dumb.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I was six.”
“Why did you order them if you hate them?”
She shrugged. After that, the silence came flooding back in like the tide. She indulged in that thing everyone had been doing last semester: Shut your eyes and you can hear your student-loan debt piling up. Cents per second, dollars per minute.
“The church has some amazing art, apparently,” he said, holding up the phone to show a church not far from them. “Including a disputed Caravaggio.”
“Is it free?” she asked.
He scrolled down, gave a thumbs-up.
“Let’s do that,” she said. They’d met in Art History, last semester, so that was one thing they could have a conversation about. This was the second mostly silent lunch in a row. Two weeks is probably too long, she thought, for a vacation together so early in a relationship. Especially when neither one of us has any money. Outside of bed there is not so much of a spark, and there’s only so long we can stay in bed.
Even through the glass, the afternoon waves were very loud. She remembered the woman at the hostel explaining the complex system of bells used to signal the start and end of high and low tide. Amalfi was eerily empty of tourists that week. Everyone had a theory why.
Teek picked up his camera, pointed it at the water. Put it down without taking a picture. Lately he’d been doing that a lot. He was obsessed with photography and could talk endlessly about the work he wanted to do, the aesthetic he aspired to—grungy, gritty high fashion—but the actual taking of photographs rarely happened.
She watched waves punish the Amalfi jetty. Crashing against it, sending up spray in high glass curtains. Like white elephants, she thought, and rolled her eyes at herself. Last night they’d wanted to walk out along the breakwater, but she’d been too afraid.
“You’re a lucky woman,” the man said, startling them both.
“Am I,” she said, not a question. Teek turned around and took the man in for the first time. Trying to determine whether he represented a threat.
“Obviously,” the man said. “You’re sitting with the most handsome man in t
his or any city.”
Teek’s face broke into a wide, self-conscious smile, and then swiftly reddened. Gratified, but embarrassed. His awkward happiness softened Adney’s initial anger at the man’s intrusion.
He got up, dragged his chair over. She smiled at him, aware that doing so was a kind of encouragement. But she was bored, and the break in their long, shared silence was not completely unwelcome.
“You’re Americans?”
“We are,” she said. “Don’t hold it against us.” He had an accent. She couldn’t place it and didn’t want to ask.
“Forgive my impertinence,” he said. “I’m sorry to be so forward, but I believe it’s best to cut right to the chase when it comes to strange offers.”
“Offers,” Adney said. Teek’s blush deepened. “Strange ones.”
From a briefcase she hadn’t noticed, he took a massive stack of bills.
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars for one hour of your boyfriend’s time.”
No one said anything. The sound of the sea had dropped out entirely, replaced with the quickening thud of her own blood in her ears. Teek squirmed. She waited for him to reject the offer, but his mouth remained a rigid wobble.
She wondered what he was thinking. Feeling. Her own emotions were strangely absent. As ever, he was unreadable. Was he excited at the thought of being turned into a rent boy? Horrified? Humiliated that the offer was made to her and not to him, as if his own feelings on the matter were irrelevant? Or did that same fact arouse him? It was a constant source of frustration for her, how little Teek said about what was going on inside his head. How he was still a mystery to her, along with all his traumas and fears and hopes and funny stories.