Father hired troupes of performers, who he met on his frequent trips to the provincial capital, Chunming. Acrobats and actors, fire-eaters and musicians. Mother explained that Lord Yun was easily bored and required diversion. Shih knew these people were a bad thing, because he once heard Mother pleading with Father to consider the expense.
‘I will do as I like!’ he had raged. ‘What I want, I shall have!’
After that Lord Yun would not speak to anyone for a week.
Shih pondered Father’s words in the darkness of his room at night. Of course, Father was right. But he had never forgotten the year when the harvest failed and wondered whether Father should hire hungry peasants instead of acrobats. He mentioned this to Mother and she sighed: ‘One might talk to the river, but it does not listen.’
Guang was more delighted than anyone by the actors. He particularly loved fire-eaters and begged Father to let him learn how to breathe out flames. He was rewarded for this brave suggestion by being taken in the carriage when Father toured the district, gathering rent with his bailiff. Shih stayed at home, wondering what he had done wrong. When Guang returned he did not seem happy. ‘A lot of the peasants were insolent and started crying,’ he whispered. ‘One of them called Father a thief, and Father ordered his whole family to be beaten before our eyes and to leave our land forever.’
A thief! Shih considered this silently for a while.
‘Father,’ he said, quite suddenly, as they ate one of their miserable dinners together, where not even Mother dared speak. ‘Why do the peasants call you a thief?’
The table fell silent. He realised, too late, that it was a wicked question. Yet he meant no harm. He simply wanted to understand. Father glared at him.
‘Go to your room!’ he bellowed, sweeping a bowl of rice to the floor.
A hungry night followed. Shih heard Father praising Guang extravagantly in the courtyard as they fired arrows at a target.
Then Aunt Qin arrived, carried up the valley in a jolting cart laden with her boxes. Mother told the boys that with the death of her husband, Aunt Qin had no home except Three-Step-House. Mother’s face was bright for a change, her eyes no longer downcast. So Shih was glad to welcome Aunt Qin.
She was younger than Mother, though not so beautiful, and always carried a purple fan which she fluttered gracefully whenever hot winds arose. At first Father seemed pleased by her presence.
Aunt Qin was no delicate lady like Mother. She laughed heartily at simple things and did not yawn when Shih explained the mysteries all around them. He was eight years old, of an age to dote. Yet he was suspicious at first, wondering if secretly she was mocking him.
One day they walked hand in hand by the river and he found the courage to explain all he had noticed: the plum trees and other plants and animals in the valley. He pointed out where monkeys gathered and birds laid their eggs. She replied that a little nature makes all things kind. They looked at nests together, collecting speckled, turquoise eggs.
For once he did not care that Guang was back in Three-Step-House with Father. Besides, when he came home from these expeditions, he often found Guang impatiently awaiting his return. They would play without quarrelling and Guang seemed envious of his walks by the river. A happy time. Aunt Qin helped him learn his characters, for the tutor Father appointed spent more time drinking and amusing his employer than guiding Shih’s brush.
In six months he mastered so many characters that he began to read the many books and scrolls left by Great-grandfather Yun Cai. Mother clapped her hand to her mouth and wept silently when he read out a poem written by their great ancestor. But Father scowled, loudly ordering a servant to fetch wine. Later, Mother told him Father had never been patient when it came to reading or writing, but that it did not matter because he was Lord of Wei.
Once he found Aunt Qin crying. She said her husband’s absence weighed heavily on her spirits. As he listened helplessly, Shih made a silent promise. Whenever he saw a lady weeping he would make her happy. So he took Aunt Qin’s hands in his own and said: ‘I shall marry you when I am older, then you won’t miss him so much. For you shall have me.’
Aunt Qin looked at him in surprise. He met her gaze without looking away. For once he did not feel foolish.
‘I see you will keep me quite safe, Honourable Yun Shih,’ she said, bowing. ‘And I need someone to protect me. . . But I must be calm. Remember, Shih, whatever happens, one must be calm.’
She did not explain why she needed a protector. Her eyes filled with tears and she hurried to her room. Yet Shih felt proud. It was something to be needed by a beautiful lady like Aunt Qin.
‘I am Aunty’s protector,’ he told Guang. ‘If anyone treats her in a low way, I shall punish him when I become Lord of Wei.’
Words spoken in childhood. Remembering that promise made Dr Shih feel vengeful and afraid. He opened his eyes. The rough bark of the post chafed against his back. The river flowed, dimpled by light. He felt a great reluctance to remember more.
What was the use? It did little good to grieve twenty years too late. He should hurry to the Relief Bureau, where he might do some good before night fell. But once awoken, Aunt Qin’s words could not be forgotten, like an unburied ghost hungry for satisfaction. I see you will keep me quite safe.
*
Rain fell for days. He remembered that. Everyone in the household feared Father’s restlessness when he could not visit the neighbours or gallop to places of entertainment. With the monsoon came heat. Even in the mountains, the air was motionless, sweating like fever. A time of prickly boredom.
Lord Yun paced the hall in the Middle House, drinking wine and ordering the boys’ tutor to play endless games of chess, washed down by wine. Needless to say the tutor made sure he lost every game. Then Father summoned the bailiff and berated him for a whole hour, his loud voice echoing round the hall.
Mother declared herself indisposed and kept to her chamber.
Then Shih watched more trays of wine and food brought to the hall.
He crouched in the doorway of the topmost house, which stood on the hillside above Middle House, listening to the plash of rain as it ran from the tiled eaves. Why could Father not be like the servants and Mother, who ignored the discomfort of the monsoon? Surely he should be glad. Rain made crops grow on hillside terraces. Plants must drink just like people. Besides, he found it amusing to watch ducks on the river, followed by lines of paddling ducklings, quite oblivious to the downpour.
Shih noticed a servant hurrying up to the family quarters from the Middle House. A few minutes later Aunt Qin descended the plank-lined steps, protected by a bamboo and silk umbrella. She disappeared into the Middle House.
Shih stirred uneasily. He wished Mother was not sleeping in her room. He didn’t like Aunt Qin being alone with Father. It seemed a bad thing, though he did not know why.
Recollecting his promise to Aunt Qin, he trotted down the slippery steps. Gusts of rain blew on his shaven head. He entered Middle House by a side door, softly lifting the latch.
The hall was strangely still. Shih sensed all the servants had been sent away. The only sounds were water noises, dripping and splashing from the roof. Shih crept down the corridor and peered through a half-open door.
Because the blinds were unaccountably down, the hall was gloomy. No lanterns had been lit. Aunt Qin was on her knees paying homage to Father, who paced up and down. Several empty flasks stood on the table. One lay in pieces on the floor.
‘You have come to my house!’ he roared. ‘You make no effort to please me! Who is your master here?’
Aunt Qin was trembling. Shih longed to dart forward, to take her arm and lead her away. Instead he hid, paralysed.
‘Everyone must please me,’ continued Father. ‘Can you not think of a way?’
Father was also trembling. He stepped towards Aunt Qin and leaned over her, gazing down. His arm was raised, as though about to strike.
‘I’m sick of you all!’ he cried. ‘Sick of this dull plac
e! None of you know the meaning of respect.’
Shih watched in horror as he seized her shoulders, thrusting her towards his high-backed ebony chair. Great-great-grandfather’s chair. The Lord of Wei’s chair.
‘You’ll learn to enjoy your duty, you slut!’
Now Aunt Qin was moaning. Her distress brought Shih to his feet. Still he dared not move. Then something unaccountable happened. Father forced her face so that it pressed against the seat of the chair and stood behind her. He tore aside her clothes, revealing Aunt Qin’s white behind. Father was fumbling with his own robes. He took out a fierce, swollen, ugly thing that filled Shih with disgust. He knew it meant only harm.
Aunt Qin was pleading: ‘No! No! Please!’
Father grasped her buttocks and at last Shih found the courage to act. All he knew was that Aunt Qin was afraid, that he had promised to keep her safe. He bustled loudly through the door and into the hall. There he drew himself to his full height like the actors Father hired.
At once both adults noticed him. Father shamefacedly readjusted his clothes. The ugly thing vanished. Aunt Qin, sobbing and hiding her face, stumbled to join the little boy.
Though she was almost twice his size he felt tall and noble like Great-grandfather Yun Cai.
He spoke the first words in his head: ‘Aunty, come with me!
Father, it is very wrong of you to make Aunty cry!’
Before he could say more his feet rose from the ground. He found himself being half-carried, half-dragged out into the rain, up the slippery steps to the Top House and the family rooms where Mother was resting. When they reached the corridor Aunt Qin clasped him, weeping silently.
‘Brave boy,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, you honourable boy!’
He swelled with pride. Now everyone was happy, or almost happy. Except for Father. But somehow, though he knew it was very wicked, he did not care for Father, and decided to avoid him. It was not difficult. That same afternoon Lord Yun rode to Chunming, accompanied by his friend, the tutor.
Then came bad times. Scattered memories from a scattered life. Aunt Qin leaving in the rain, her sedan carried by four drenched peasants. Mother weeping in the doorway, dabbing her eyes with a sleeve. One of the servants whispered that Aunty had gone to a monastery, that it was a great pity. Shih never saw her again and never dared ask after her. Aunt Qin had become unmentionable.
When Father returned from Chunming with an astrologer and a gentleman in an official’s uniform, he ordered that Shih should be locked in a store room with a tiny, high window.
Hours passed slowly and he heard raised voices in the house. It shocked him to hear Mother angry. He never imagined Mother could be so angry. Most of all he longed for Guang to play with him, but his brother was forbidden to come near.
Finally, the door was unbarred. The astrologer entered and said, after coughing repeatedly (he had a terrible cough), that a grave mistake had been made. Yun Guang, not he, was Father’s First Son and heir. He said that he feared Shih had been planted into Mother’s womb by a fox-fairy.
‘Where is Mother?’ Shih had wailed. ‘I must speak to Mother!’
The astrologer held his arm in a steady grip and led him outside. Bags were piled in the porch and a horse-drawn carriage stood in the rain. The astrologer ordered Shih to enter it. Then he banged on the roof and a whip cracked.
As they jolted away, Shih stared back at Three-Step-House.
Suddenly he cried out and tried to open the carriage door. His guardian struggled to hold him down. For Mother was running down the hill after him, pursued by Father and the tutor. She slipped in the mud, falling to her knees. The carriage entered Wei Village and he could no longer see her through the buildings and pig-sty fences, the mulberry trees and roof-tops.
An hour later they were in a strange country and the astrologer sat morosely beside him. Shih sensed the man was ashamed. The boy stared straight ahead, determined not to cry.
He always remembered what Aunt Qin had taught him: that he must be calm. Soon he would return to Three-Step-House.
Then he would play with his dear brother, Guang, on Wobbly-Watch-Tower-Rock, as they always had. People would remark how they were like each other’s shadow, and Shih would feel safe again. He hugged himself as the carriage struggled through mud and monsoon, heading always east, towards the capital.
*
Shih opened his eyes. Wiped away tears. How used he was to feeling the past as a dripping sore.
Then came a new thought, so uncomfortable he sensed it must be true. His reluctance to share his essences with Cao, finding excuses in work and its wearisome duties, stemmed from that moment in the Middle House.
Was that why no children filled the empty rooms of their home? Because of what he had glimpsed, so long ago? Because of Father?
He thought mournfully of Cao. And Aunt Qin. Of Lu Ying.
And Cao again.
The river, speckled by ripples and light, flowed ceaselessly. A family of grey geese paddled towards the jetty. Shih stared at them blankly until a commotion on the river made him stir.
A fleet had appeared round the sweeping bend of the river. A dozen warships limping toward the Twin Cities. Shih rose, shielding his eyes for a better view. Several seemed burned, their hulls splintered, decks stubbled with arrows. As he watched, a gaily-painted paddlewheel destroyer listed violently, the crew that cranked its many gears and handles emerging like desperate rats from hatches. Suddenly the sailors’ cries for help were drowned out by beating wings. The family of geese had taken fright, skimming over the wide expanse of water between Fouzhou and Nancheng. Shih hurried back in alarm to the Water Gate of Morning Radiance.
*
Cao’s eyes were downcast as she threaded through the streets –and not solely due to a respectable woman’s modesty. Her heart ached. She hesitated and straightened her dress. Hasty words could not be unspoken. Once uttered, they altered life’s flow. A storm may change a river’s course, washing away houses once snug and dry.
Perhaps she wished to punish herself. Really it had not been necessary to ignore Shih so steadily over the last few days. Cao was not the kind to sulk. Their guest was welcome to pre-eminence in pouting and fragile moods – along with all her other dainty ways. Mostly she wished for the reassurance of her husband’s face.
Her destination lay only a li or so from Apricot Corner Court. When she reached the Relief Bureau she found the medical orderly, Mung Po, anxiously watching the street.
‘Where is Dr Shih?’ she asked.
Mung Po bowed, upper teeth resting on his lower lip in a nervous grin. It was one of his affectations to treat the humble doctor’s wife like a dowager empress, yet today he spoke with more excitement than decorum.
‘Madam Cao, I had hoped you would answer that question.’
‘I thought he was here, Mung Po,’ she said. ‘Has he not attended his duties this morning?’
Mung Po shook his head. ‘Madam, I was about to enquire if he was sick.’
Cao flushed, wondering if her coldness had infected her husband with a malady. She knew how much he hated dissension.
‘No doubt he has been called upon urgently,’ she said. ‘I will sit and wait.’
The orderly made a show of polishing the Bureau’s best chair with his sleeve, then returned to examining the street from the doorway.
‘Mung Po, are you quite well?’ she asked.
‘Madam, forgive me. Dr Shih would not welcome me discussing official matters, even with your honoured self.’
‘Come now, there are no secrets between my husband and I.’
Mung Po nodded with relief.
‘Of course, Madam, forgive my stupidity! You are aware that Dr Fung inspected the Bureau a few days ago, on behalf of the guild? And that he claimed to have discovered irregularities in our accounts?’
Cao bit back an angry name for Dr Fung.
‘My husband mentioned it. He told me the good doctor would return in a month or so. He said there is nothing to worry about
.’
‘Then Dr Fung deceived him,’ said Mung Po. ‘This morning no less a person than Dr Du Mau came here, accompanied by an official from the Prefecture. Dr Du Mau was very cold. He inspected the place from top to bottom and persuaded the official to confiscate all our ledgers. The word corrupt was whispered.’
Cao stood up angrily.
‘Dr Shih would never sell medicines intended for the poor!
Not like the superintendents of other Relief Bureaus I could mention. His honesty is a reproach to men like Dr Du Mau.
That is why they hate him. Du Mau is merely angry because the Pacification Commissioner has refused to let him set foot again on Peacock Hill!’
Mung Po shook his head.
‘I must tell you that some of our most valuable medicines have been disappearing. When I mentioned it to Dr Shih yesterday, he said the matter must be investigated.’
The pair stood in silence.
‘Dr Du Mau seemed quite triumphant as he left,’ added Mung Po.
‘His triumph will be short-lived,’ said Cao, uneasily recollecting Lu Ying’s demands for cash. But surely her husband could not stoop so low, unless, of course, there was some secret understanding between them to satisfy the girl’s requests. She stilled her thoughts. Horrible, unworthy thoughts.
‘I tell you, Mung Po,’ she continued. ‘If Dr Du Mau hopes to snare my husband, he would do well to consider who saved the Pacification Commissioner’s heir. And who is the brother of Captain Xiao. Though I am a woman, I am no fool and understand these things.’
The orderly seemed relieved. ‘Madam’s opinions are forth-right and wise,’ he said, bowing.
In her heart she was less sure.
‘Has the apprentice been here?’ she asked.
‘I thought he was with Master.’
‘Chung left Apricot Corner Court two hours ago. Did he not arrive at all?’
Breaking Bamboo Page 17