Breaking Bamboo

by Tim Murgatroyd

  She had even taken up the duty of serving Lord Yun’s meals.

  Guang sometimes met her emerging from Father’s room with an empty dish and a vexed flush on her pretty face; and he honoured her for sparing Cao from Lord Yun’s malicious mumblings about cuckoos and true fathers. Lu Ying once confided to Guang that on his bad days Lord Yun believed Khan Bayke to be the unborn child’s demon-father.

  Rarely Lu Ying visited Guang’s room to bring cordials and other refreshments. Then they talked in a free manner, as when she had been his nurse. In all other respects the lady maintained a strict decorum he found provoking – as, no doubt, she fully intended.

  ‘Really, Guang!’ said Chen Song. ‘I swear that I have been speaking to myself since we left Jasper Gate!’

  Only then did Guang realise they were half way across the Floating Bridge. He turned and looked back at Fouzhou.

  The strange catapults were clearly visible. Huge scaffolds with which General A-ku hoped to strangle the Twin Cities.

  ‘What are those things?’ he muttered.

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Do you think Nancheng could hold out if Fouzhou fell?’

  Guang asked quietly, in case their escort overheard.

  ‘If the Pacification Commissioner does not transfer troops there right away, we may find out,’ replied Chen Song.

  *

  It was Lu Ying’s suggestion to visit the pleasure gardens beside the Pavilion of Pure Distance. At first Madam Cao refused. For months no rain had fallen, making the streets close and dusty.

  The level of the Han River sunk alarmingly, transforming it into a wide maze of shingle strips and deep, treacherous channels. The skies behind Mount Wadung remained cloudless.

  Heat filled Apricot Corner Court even at night. The only breezes were stray gusts carrying grit and dust through open windows. Unpleasant enough weather for anyone – but as Cao sat on the shady bench beneath the apricot tree, irritably wafting herself with one of Old Hsu’s largest fans, she touched her swollen belly and moaned. Surely no woman was supposed to grow so large! The heat made her swell like a gourd.

  There seemed no end to the movements inside her womb.

  Sometimes Cao wondered if she had conceived a frog with powerful back legs or a bird constantly fluttering its wings.

  Then she felt afraid of such thoughts in case demons made them come true. Everyone knew a pregnant woman must guard her thoughts.

  Cao had been scrupulous in other ways: eating light-coloured food whenever possible so Baby would be fair-skinned; sleeping with knives under the bed to deter sneaking fox-fairies. Neither would she sit on crooked mats or look at clashing colours except accidentally and then it made her worry all day. Despite such precautions Cao often felt disheartened.

  Old Hsu’s Widow assured her Baby’s movements were normal and very suggestive of yang. The midwife commissioned by Shih concurred. Only a boy, she said, possessed such vigour, for girls are naturally meek from the moment of conception. Cao did not like the midwife. She had always hoped Widow Mu might perform that service, in the days when they were close friends.

  Of course there were many other anxieties. What if the child turned out to be a girl? After all the years of waiting, a mere girl! She was sure her kindly Shih would love the infant, whatever its worth in the world. Or she trusted he would. Most of all Cao dreaded losing the child. Nine months of nagging fear until her head ached constantly! Yet she dared not mention it to a living soul, in case naming what she dreaded made it happen.

  Cao looked up as Lu Ying emerged from the house with two parasols and a small lacquered box. She came over to Madam Cao and sat beside her on the bench. Flies buzzed around them.

  It was early evening but the sun still beat fiercely.

  ‘Just think, in a fortnight the child is due!’ observed Lu Ying, brightly. ‘How quickly the days pass.’

  ‘If Midwife Tui-Lo’s calculations are correct,’ cautioned Cao.

  ‘And Dr Shih’s,’ added Lu Ying.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘So you see,’ said Lu Ying. ‘There is little time left for us to visit the Pavilion of Pure Distance before your confinement.’

  Cao flapped her hands. The benefits of trailing through baking streets to sacrifice to the Buddha seemed outweighed by the discomfort of getting there.

  ‘Here is an offering of old jewellery,’ said Lu Ying, holding out the box.

  Now Cao sat up anxiously. She knew her honoured guest’s precious jewellery was being traded piece by piece for bags of fourth grade rice, more husk than grain, to supplement the family’s rations.

  ‘You are too kind!’ she said.

  ‘Not at all.’

  Lu Ying smiled.

  ‘I have gone so far as to hire two sedan chairs. And before you ask, Dr Shih has indicated his agreement with my plan. It was his idea that it should be a surprise.’

  ‘Then it seems I must go,’ said Cao.

  Half an hour later they arrived at the Pavilion of Pure Distance. Most of the city’s pleasure gardens had been turned into vegetable plots. Not so this one. It adjoined a notable shrine and contained a large rock shaped like an arch. Its many ornamental ponds were said to cleanse misfortune. Prudent women of all classes came here to purchase favour at the Pavilion then pass under the stone arch, praying to Lord Buddha for a painless childbirth.

  At the shrine Cao grew tearful and might have shown a disreputable face had not Lu Ying guided her into the evening sunshine. There she composed herself, hidden by her friend’s parasol.

  ‘You cannot imagine,’ she sniffed, ‘the anxiety I feel.’

  ‘True,’ said Lu Ying, wistfully. ‘But Madam Cao, dry your eyes, for we must pass beneath the lucky arch! Why come here without that?’

  The two women entered the area of ornamental ponds, a maze of paths shaded by moon-gates and tasteful stands of bamboo. They turned a corner and Lu Ying went rigid. Painful fingers found Cao’s arm. For coming towards them, shuffling on lotus feet, was a group of fine ladies six or seven strong.

  Despite the heat they wore exquisite silk gowns. Their silver-chased headdresses stood a foot high. Each lady fluttered a silken fan to ward off insects. Two sturdy servants armed with clubs followed at a distance, along with a crowd of maids.

  ‘We must turn back!’ hissed Lu Ying. ‘It is Wang Ting-bo’s First Wife! I should never have come here!’

  It was too late to escape. Cao pulled Lu Ying to the side of the path and both women bowed respectfully. Their best hope was to be deemed unworthy of notice, but the great lady recognised Lu Ying at once. And though her emotions were hidden behind thick layers of white cosmetics, her small, alert eyes did not leave the former concubine for a moment. Cao guessed what she saw – a rival reduced to miserable poverty, unable even to afford make-up. Then she bristled inwardly on Lu Ying’s behalf.

  At first it seemed the great lady would pass without comment. When level with Lu Ying she halted, forcing her companions to do likewise. A maid carrying a broad parasol to shade her mistress bobbed uncertainly.

  ‘Ah, Lu Ying!’ said First Wife. ‘I barely recognised you. How changed you are!’

  The younger woman said nothing, her eyes fixed on the gravel path.

  ‘I’m sure my husband would not care to recognise you at all!’ declared First Wife, pleasantly. At this, her companions tittered. ‘Who is your companion? Are you her maid?’ When Lu Ying did not reply, she clapped her hands sharply. ‘I instructed you to speak!’

  Now Lu Ying lifted her eyes.

  ‘May I present Madam Cao,’ she said. ‘Dr Yun Shih’s honoured wife.’

  First Wife seemed surprised and said: ‘So Dr Shih’s wife swells with his child while his concubine’s stomach is flat as a shield! I see that nothing changes.’

  Again the ladies were amused. Lu Ying glanced darkly from face to face. Most were former companions. The click and flutter of their fans was constant. One by one they fell silent.

  ‘Madam, Miss Lu Ying is
not my husband’s concubine,’ said Madam Cao, pointedly. ‘And never has been.’

  The Pacification Commissioner’s wife smiled thinly.

  ‘I am glad, for your sake,’ she said. ‘Dr Shih is a man I respect. He saved my Little Tortoise when all the world had consigned him to the tomb.’

  Madam Cao bowed gratefully.

  ‘He often does good.’

  ‘Unlike that slut beside you!’ exclaimed First Wife with a sudden fury, quite unbecoming in a lady of quality. ‘I warn you, never trust a fox-fairy!’

  Cao recoiled in surprise. She composed herself and tilted her head, as though puzzled. Lu Ying trembled beside her. When Cao answered it was in an agreeable manner.

  ‘Miss Lu Ying is our Honoured Guest. She brings good fortune to our house.’

  Now Wang Ting-bo’s First Wife was at a loss for words and Madam Cao pressed home her advantage.

  ‘Madam,’ she said. ‘Miss Lu Ying’s behaviour has been very proper indeed.’

  The Pacification Commissioner’s wife sniffed contemptuously, seeking a suitable reply, but she had already said enough to start a hundred whispers on Peacock Hill. She clapped to indicate her party should proceed and the ladies soon shuffled away and turned a corner.

  ‘Let us find a bench,’ murmured Cao. ‘I feel faint.’

  They fanned themselves in silence, occupied by different thoughts. Slowly the flush of mortification drained from Lu Ying’s face until she managed a smile.

  ‘You are fierce for someone with such a quiet demeanour,’

  she said. ‘I’m sure First Wife was quite afraid of you.’

  ‘Never mind her, where is this lucky arch?’ asked Cao. ‘My belly is so huge that I need a corresponding amount of good fortune.’

  As twilight gathered, Lu Ying helped her friend rise and the two women found the auspicious stone. Both murmured prayers, one to the Buddha, the other to the Moon Goddess Cheng-e. Really it was more an expression of gratitude than a prayer, for having a friend willing to speak out bravely on one’s behalf.

  That evening Madam Cao received word from Shih he must spend the night at the Relief Bureau. Yun Guang was also away, patrolling the ramparts of Fouzhou, for the Mongols were testing the defences over there with a night sortie.

  Cao sometimes felt uneasy when the men were absent. Water Basin Ward had grown more lawless as hunger taught desperation. But Old Hsu’s burly son lived just across the courtyard; at the first sign of trouble, help was close. Besides, Apricot Corner Court possessed stout doors and windows. She had no cause to feel troubled. Yet the foreboding would not pass. Cao sat on her bed, propped up by rolls of cloth and sweated in the breathless air.

  Everyone seemed to be going a little crazy in the drought. She had witnessed neighbours shoving each other on North Canal Street, their shrill voices disturbing the peace of the ward. An unusual number of crying babies broke the night’s stillness. Cao wondered if her own child would wail so piercingly. She was hungry for it. She stroked her stomach, seeking the reassurance of a kick or movement. Whoever waited in there, boy or girl, chose not to oblige. Cao sighed, then grew alert.

  A door was opening in the corridor. It could only be Lu Ying or Lord Yun, unless Shih had returned. From the soft, shuffling footfall she divined it was Lu Ying. Instead of stepping into the courtyard for a little air as Cao expected, her guest climbed the ladder to the tower room. Cao could not blame her. The breezes were cooler up there.

  She settled once more and dozed until another noise disturbed her. Again, a door. From the long, stealthy creak it belonged to Lord Yun’s chamber and Cao felt uneasy. What could he want at such an hour? She listened closely, expecting him to sneak into the kitchen in yet another attempt to steal grain. Everyone in the household knew that he traded it for home-brewed spirits with the new owner of Ping’s Floating Oriole House. As a result, all their stores of food were hidden.

  Tonight the old man did not sneak past Cao’s door towards the kitchen. He took the opposite direction. His feet could be heard scraping on the stair-ladder to the tower room and Cao grew alarmed. It would be most improper for him to come upon Lu Ying sleeping up there. No doubt he would poke his head through the trapdoor and see the girl, then retreat. She listened for the sound of his footsteps, climbing back down the stairs. It did not come. Now Cao sat up on the bed.

  She could hear a scuffling noise through the floorboards of the tower room above her head. A loud, insistent: ‘No! Please!

  No!’

  Lu Ying’s voice! Straightaway Cao was upright and hurrying down the dark corridor to the stair-ladder. The scraping feet like dancers on a wooden floor were louder now, as were Lu Ying’s frightened moans and a chuckle belonging to Lord Yun.

  For Cao the effort of climbing the stairs was huge. Not so much the strain of her arm muscles on the rail as what she feared to find. When her head poked through the trapdoor Cao blinked, adjusting her vision to the starlight. She cried out in alarm. Lord Yun stood over Lu Ying. The girl had been pushed to her knees. He was panting heavily.

  ‘Be quiet, stupid girl!’ he hissed. ‘I mean you no harm!’

  A smell of rank spirits filled the room. His handsome, noble features were twisted, desperate. His drunken eyes were without focus. He held her slender wrists in a desperate grip. As Cao watched he thrust out a hand and grasped Lu Ying’s shoulder to hold her still. Whether deliberately or by accident the nightgown tore at the front so that her jade mountains were revealed.

  ‘No!’ Cao’s voice was a loud sob. ‘Father-in-law!’

  Her vision faded in on itself. Went black. Suddenly she was sliding down the stairs. A strange, calm inner voice told her she had fainted. . . The floor sped upwards and she landed with a crump, legs folding beneath her. Then the calm voice urged, Your baby, Cao! Your baby! She gasped and howled at the realisation her thighs were sticky with warm blood.

  *

  Dr Shih could hear sounds of fighting across the river. Word had reached the Relief Bureau hours earlier that the Mongols were attempting a night attack on Fouzhou.

  He stood in the street, a bowl of tea warming his hands.

  Mung Po, his orderly, crouched against the wall meditating.

  Both glanced up sharply at the sound of voices drawing nearer.

  Soon a procession of three wagons pulled by dozens of peasants came into view. They rumbled along at a brisk trot.

  Inside the wagons, wounded soldiers groaned or cried. Some stared sightlessly, their eyes wide, overcome by the bumpy journey across the Floating Bridge to Nancheng.

  It took a moment for Dr Shih to recognise the youth leading the wagons. Mung Po followed his gaze and instinctively reached for a bamboo club he kept by the door. The plump, sweating figure drew nearer. He wore the robes and hat of an apprentice physician. A servant ran beside him, carrying a pale lantern.

  Mung Po glanced at his Bureau Chief’s rigid expression and stepped forward to block the intruder’s way. Meanwhile, half a dozen other orderlies led by Dr Du Tun-i rushed from the Relief Bureau to transfer the wounded men to makeshift cots. During this frantic activity Mung Po and Dr Shih remained on the street.

  ‘Shall I, sir?’ asked Mung Po.

  His question was no figure of speech. The club was half-raised. Dr Shih did not reply. The young man before him stood uncomfortably, head lowered. Perspiration on his brow glinted in the languid torchlight.

  ‘Why are you here?’ asked Dr Shih, though he already guessed the reason.

  ‘My master. . . I mean, Dr Du Mau sent me here. With a message.’

  ‘I see.’

  But having come so far Chung seemed reluctant to deliver it.

  He glanced fearfully at his former master’s face then looked away.

  ‘Dr Du Mau wished me to say, sir,’ he said. ‘There are too many wounded for the relief bureaus in Fouzhou, but that if you find. . . that is, if you discover. . .’

  He fell silent with embarrassment.

  ‘Quickly!’ commanded Mung Po. />
  ‘If you find,’ continued Chung, rushing on. ‘Any wounded are beyond your skill, you have Dr Du Mau’s permission to consult. . .’ Chung coughed before adding: ‘Me.’

  Dr Shih and Mung Po listened incredulously.

  ‘A memorable message!’ said Dr Shih, laughing coldly.

  ‘Please assure Dr Du Mau we are grateful.’

  He was about to re-enter the Relief Bureau in disgust when he realised Chung had followed, his head bobbing. Mung Po growled and raised the club, but Dr Shih waved him back.

  ‘Is there more?’ he asked. Then a mocking sneer, quite out of character, made his face ugly. ‘I should have warned Dr Du Mau how easily you forget messages. Or anything at all for that matter – unless you can use it to cause mischief.’

  Tears glistened round Chung’s eyes.

  ‘I have another message, sir,’ he said. ‘For Madam Cao. Tell her I am sorry.’ Dr Shih raised his eyebrows ironically. Quite unexpectedly Chung fell to his knees. ‘And you, too, sir! I am sorry how it all ended.’

  ‘Worthless apologies!’ declared Shih. ‘I do not accept them.

  No doubt you dislike your new master’s strict ways.’

  Mung Po grunted approvingly and shook his fist over the kneeling young man.

  ‘Get away!’ he advised. ‘Those who slip by accident into North Canal sometimes never climb out.’

  Yet Chung stayed kneeling on the street.

  Dr Shih’s bitter heart remembered the Prefectural prison, the hellish indignities he had suffered and Old Hsu’s cruel death.

  Finally he realised who Du Mau hoped to punish by sending Chung here to be humiliated. Against his will he felt righteous anger soften. Perhaps he saw the little boy who had once knelt before him, a frightened, weak-willed little boy. As every drought is followed by rain the natural pattern of Shih’s sentiments asserted themselves.

  ‘I will tell Madam Cao you are contrite,’ he said, more gently. ‘Go now, Chung.’

  His former apprentice rose and hurried towards the Floating Bridge and his new life in Fouzhou. Tears pricked Shih’s own eyes as he turned to help Dr Du Tun-i supervise the unloading of the wounded.