by Hualing Nieh
The tenants in the east and west wings come and go in an endless stream. They arrive here, having fled from the area beyond the Great Wall: from Shantung, and Shansi, from Honan, Hopei and other parts of the country. They usually stay less than two months, then flee south. Since September, the Communists have occupied the whole of the North-east and war has erupted again in Hsü-chou and around Peking and Tientsin. The east and west wings are hard to rent out. If they are left empty, army units or refugees will probably take them over. The east wing is now rented by the Chengs, who, born and bred in Peking, swear they will never leave. They sold their own house. Their monthly rent is ten dollars. In November ten dollars could still buy twenty packs of cigarettes. In December it only bought ten packs. Amah Ch’ien and the maid, Joy (mentally retarded), live in the west wing. The two rooms in the south section of the house, beyond the Gate of the Dangling Flowers, are occupied by a group of more than twenty students who fled from T’ai-yuan in Shansi. T’ai-yuan has been surrounded by Communist forces for half a year now. I live in a small room off the corner courtyard. It was Chia-kang’s father’s study when he was alive. It is isolated from the rest of the house and has a cobblestone patio.
The sky is black and silent. In the central courtyard the old acacia tree, bent and blacker than the sky, its blossoms shed, stretches its branches upwards.
Two low explosions sound in the south horizon. The south sky reddens suddenly. Red sparks sprinkle down. Above the acacia branches the dark sky begins to glow.
Chia-kang and I race to the central part of the house to see his sick mother, Aunt Shen. She is lying on the brick k’ang facing the wall. A thin knot of ash-coloured hair sticks out from the thick red silk quilt. Amah Ch’ien has just finished styling Aunt Shen’s hair. She goes to get the spittoon. Joy is sitting on the edge of the k’ang massaging Aunt Shen’s legs.
‘Chia-kang,’ she says, still turned to the wall. ‘Was that the Eighth Army?’
‘Mother, the Eighth Army is still a long way away. They wouldn’t just fire two shots. It’s probably some local explosion.’
‘Do you think the Eighth Army is responsible?’
‘Mother, the Eighth Army is still a long way away.’
‘The Eighth Army took over the airport the day after I arrived,’ I say.
‘Mulberry, that’s only a rumour. It’s not certain. There are rumours everywhere these days; that the Eighth Army has occupied the Summer Palace, that the Tower of Treasures has collapsed, that the glass arch in front of the Confucian temple was smashed. That the ancient cypress grove by the temple of Heaven was chopped down, that the Golden Buddha of Yung-ho Palace was stolen! That the temple of the Reclining Buddha . . .’
‘All right, all right, Chia-kang. That’s enough. Don’t say any more. What you don’t know won’t hurt you.’
‘Mother, don’t worry. Peking has always been an imperial city. It has a way of turning disaster into good fortune. The Mongols, Manchus, the Allied Army, the Japanese, none of them could swallow her; it’s Peking that swallowed them up.’
‘Well, that cheers me up a little, Chia-kang.’
‘Mother, if you stop worrying, you’ll get better.’
‘And when will that happen? I’ve been to see doctors, I’ve gone on, I’ve drawn lots, made vows, it’s all useless.’
I look at Joy. ‘Since I’ve been in Peking, Joy is the only person I’ve seen who is still smiling.’
Aunt Shen glances at her. ‘I wish I were an idiot girl, with no responsibility except massaging someone’s legs. If the sky fell, I’d still be massaging and grinning from ear to ear.’
‘And I’d like to be a nightsoil collector,’ says Chia-kang. ‘I’d carry a large barrel on my back and take a long iron shovel in my hand and scoop it up from the ground and toss it into the barrel on my back, all the while humming lines from the opera.’
‘Joy,’ Aunt Shen cires out, still facing the wall.
‘Hai,’ she answers.
‘Your day has arrived. You’re going to have a better life from now on. But what about me? There will be no one to massage my legs. You better be good to old Mr Wan.’
‘Hai.’ Joy nods vigorously.
‘Joy, do you really like that old guy?’ asks Chia-kang with a smirk.
‘L-l-luv bim.’ She stutters.
‘What about “bim” do you “luv”?’
‘I l-l-uv bim.’ Joy is still grinning.
“‘Luv” to sleep with “bim”?’
‘L-l-uv bim.’
‘Chia-kang,’ laughs Aunt Shen, ‘I won’t let you intimidate her.’
‘What’s wrong with a little joke? Nothing else to do in Peiping. There are soldiers and refugees all over, you can’t go anywhere.’
‘Go make fun of someone else then. It wasn’t easy to find a master for her. If it doesn’t work out this time I’ll marry her off to you. Mulberry!’ Aunt Shen suddenly turns to face me, ‘Do you still have that little gold chain I gave you when you were little?’
I unbutton my collar and take out the necklace. ‘I wear it all the time. After the war was over and I left Chungking and went back to Nanking, Mother gave it to me.’
‘I gave it to you before the war. Was it ’36? I took Chia-kang with me to Nanking and we stayed at your house. You were only six or seven then. Chia-kang was ten. You two played so happily together. I gave you that little gold chain for your birthday. Your mother laughed and pointed at you, “Twenty gold ingots. I’ll sell her to you for that!” she said. In the wink of an eye twelve years have passed. Your father, Chia-kang’s father, those two sworn brothers have both passed away...’
‘Mother, all those years Mulberry’s family has been in the South. We’ve been in the North. Just think, it was only after the end of the war with Japan that we got in touch again. Mulberry said that it was the strength of that little gold chain that brought her to Peking.’
‘Now that you are here, there’s no way to leave, Mulberry. The railroad from Peking to Tientsin has been cut. Thousands of people have made plane reservations, but you have to pay gold. We aren’t able to do that.’ Aunt Shen pauses, then suddenly cries out. ‘Chia-kang! Chia-kang, I’ve got a cramp in my foot!’
Chia-kang runs over and shoves Joy aside. He pulls back the red silk quilt embroidered with mandarin ducks. He uncovers her small foot, no longer bound, pointed and wrinkled, the toes twisted.
‘Ai-ya! Ai-ya! It hurts!’
‘Mother, I’ll massage it for you. Every time I do it, you get better,’ says Chia-kang, cradling the small foot in his hands, massaging the muscles along the top of the foot with his thumbs.
‘Good, that’s good. Chia-kang, don’t stop!’
Chia-kang cradles the calf of her leg as he massages. He presses his thumbs along the top of her foot. ‘Mother, is it better? Is it better now, Mother?’ he says over and over.
She doesn’t answer. She stares at the foot in her son’s hand. Then she says, ‘Chia-kang, dig into it with your fingernails.’
Chia-kang presses his long nails into the top and arch of her foot.
‘Chia-kang, harder. That’s good, there . . .’
‘Mother, I’ve pinched so hard that you’re bleeding. Does it hurt?’
‘If only I could feel pain. When I saw that foot in your hand, I was shocked. It wasn’t my foot anymore.’
‘If it’s not yours, then whose is it?’ Chia-kang laughs.
‘I’ve been sick too long, Chia-kang. I’m in a daze all the time. Sometimes when your face suddenly flashes before my eyes, I even think it’s your father.’ She withdraws her foot from his hands and wiggles her toes at him, laughing. ‘Look, it’s alive again.’
Joy, still grinning, returns to her place on the k’ang and begins massaging Aunt Shen’s legs.
The oil lamp on the table sputters and almost goes out. We haven’t had electricity or water for two days. Now the fire in the stove is dying down.
Chia-kang opens the door to the stove and throws in a shovelful of
coal. The fire flares up again, the flames licking higher and higher, about to leap out of the stove. He hurriedly slams the door shut. The shadow of the acacia tree, with its branches stretching up to the sky, appears etched in the paper window.
Suddenly the clamour of shouts and a dog’s barking come toward us. The noise moves from the main gate to the Gate of the Dangling Flowers. The barking comes into the main courtyard. The howls lengthen into low muffled whimpers.
Aunt Shen turns to face the wall. ‘Dogs cry at funerals. Chia-kang, get that dog out of here.’
I go with Chia-kang to the courtyard. Ice has formed on the ground. The sky is dark. Seven or eight of the students are beating a black shadow by the wall with clubs and poles. The shadow darts from corner to corner, whimpering. The rest of the students stand aside, cheering.
I ask them whey they are beating the dog. ‘There’s nothing to eat in this city. When you’re hungry, you want to eat meat!’ replies one of the students, grinding his teeth.
‘Mulberry, last night I dreamed you were at the Altar of Heaven.’
‘I’ve never, ever been there, Chia-kang.’
‘Maybe that’s just as well. The Temple of Heaven, the Imperial Park, the Imperial Temple, the Confucian Temple, Yung-ho Palace, now they’re all overrun by refugees. The holy grounds of the sacred temples of the past are now contaminated, but when I dreamed about the Temple of Heaven, there was one tiny part untouched.
‘You know, the Temple of Heaven is the place where the Ming and Ch’ing emperors sacrificed to Heaven and prayed for a good harvest. All around, as far as you can see, are old cypress trees. The Hall of Prayer, the Imperial Circular Hall, and the Altar of Heaven are all located at the Temple of Heaven. The Hall of Prayer is where the emperors prayed for a good harvest. It’s a huge round triple-roofed hall with double eaves. The ceiling of the dome is decorated with golden dragons and phoenixes, glazed blue tiles; there are no beams. The three roofs and the double eaves are supported solely by twenty-eight giant pillars. The Imperial Circular Hall houses the memorial tablets of the emperors. It’s a small circular shrine with a golden roof, glazed blue tiles, red walls, and glazed doors. The Altar of Heaven is where the emperors sacrificed to heaven. It’s a three-tiered circular terrace built of white marble. The centre of the altar is a round stone encircled by nine rings of marble. Each ring consists of marble slabs arranged in multiples of nine. The rings radiate from the centre like ripples on a pond. When you stand there, you feel like you’ve touched heaven. If you whisper in the centre of the altar, you can hear a loud echo.
‘The Temple of Heaven I dreamed about wasn’t like that at all. The Hall of Prayer, the Imperial Circular Hall, the Altar of Heaven were crowded with refugees’ straw mats, quilts, and sheets. Ragged pants were hanging out to dry in the sun on the white marble balustrades. The memorial tablets of the emperors had been thrown down to the ground, and the Hall of Prayer was full of excrement.
‘The old cypress trees had been cut down.
‘Only the shrine of the Altar of Heaven was still clean: white marble stones. The sky above the shrine was still clear blue. Mulberry, I dreamed you were lying in the centre of the altar, naked, looking up at the sky. You were so clean and pure. I had to make love to you. We rolled over and over on top of the altar, shouting. The space between heaven and earth was filled with our shouting. Between heaven and earth there was only you and me, two naked bodies entwined together.’
He gently pushes me down on the sofa in my room and begins stripping off my clothes.
I suddenly sit up. ‘No, Chia-kang, you must respect me.’
‘I know you’re a pure, clean girl. I want to marry you right away. Even if we sleep together now, it’s all right because we’re going to get married.’
‘Even if I sleep with my own husband, it’s still dirty.’
The parlour door opens. Large flakes of snow whirl around the doorsill. Tiny icicles dangle from the acacia branches. A crow, immobile, sits on a branch, a black statue in ice.
Hsing-hsing hurries in, removes the red scarf from around her head and brushes the snow from her clothes. Her long pigtails swish back and forth. She goes into Aunt Shen’s room, saying, ‘A bomb went off at the airport, killing and wounding more than forty people!’
‘Who did it?’ asks Chia-kang.
‘Someone said that the Nationalists did it as they were retreating from the airport. Someone else said the Eighth Army did it as they were seizing the airport . . .’
‘Then the Eighth Army is really going to fight its way into Peking.’
‘Second Master Shen, the Eighth Army is already at the base of the city wall. Grain and vegetables can’t get into the city. The city’s food supply is almost gone. My mother hoarded up twenty sacks of flour and forty heads of cabbage. The Nationalist government just released a lot of prisoners in order to save food, but the prisoners didn’t want to leave the prison. No one would feed them if they left. The guards forced them out with bayonets. The government has declared a general amnesty. They have even released traitors from the Japanese occupation and a lot of students who had been jailed for demonstrating. Five or six students from our university were released. Some people say that Nationalist Commander Fu Tso-i is talking peace with the Eighth Army, and that he wants to form a coalition government with them. Other people say that Fu Tso-i is withdrawing to the Northwest to join forces with Ma Hung-k’uei. Anyway, Peking will never be the same. Someone else said . . .’
‘Hsing-hsing, stop it, don’t go on!’ says Aunt Shen lying on the k’ang with her face to the wall.
‘Hsing-hsing,’ laughs Chia-kang. ‘Tell us some good news, not bad news. We’re just doing fine here, and then you come bursting in like a firecracker with all this bad news. May I ask where you got all these rumours?’
‘Rumours? Things are changing out there. You are still shut up at home playing Second Master Shen. There are all sorts of reports on the bulletin board at school. We don’t even go to class anymore. Everyone is wriggling and dancing to the Rice-sprout Song.’
‘Hsing-hsing, are you happy that the Eighth Army is coming?’
‘Why should I be happy? I’m just not afraid, that’s all.’
‘Do you think that once the Eighth Army arrives, your family will have an easy time? Your grandfather was a wealthy landlord and your father is an official in Nanking!’
‘That has nothing to do with me. My mother and I are victims of the old society. My father hasn’t paid any attention to my mother for more than ten years. He took his concubine and her children to the South to live in luxury. We never had any part of it. My mother stayed home and took care of his parents. When the old lady died, she was the one who had to find someone for the old man. Joy!’
‘Hai!’ Joy is still sitting on the k’ang, massaging Aunt Shen’s legs. She is still grinning.
‘Joy, my grandfather has your new room all ready for you. He has even bought the flowers you’ll wear!’
‘White lilies.’
Hsing-hsing laughs. ‘Silly girl, even if it were summer now, you couldn’t find white lilies in Peking. No fresh flowers or vegetables can come into the city. You have to pay gold for cabbages. Aunt, I came today about Joy . . .’
‘Has the old gentleman changed his mind?’ says Aunt Shen, suddenly turning over.
‘He won’t change his mind! He wants her to come earlier. He says that things are getting worse and worse. When the Eighth Army enters the city, he won’t be able to marry Joy.
‘He had wanted to invite enough guests to fill two tables at the wedding banquet. Now the guests can’t come. Some suddenly left for the South. Others are moving to smaller houses. Some have set up stalls in Tung-tan selling things. Others are trying to get plane reservations to escape. The old gentleman asked me to come over and ask Auntie if Joy could come over tomorrow.’
‘How can I bear to see Joy leave? For the past few years, I have had to have my legs massaged day and night. These days you have to give up whoe
ver wants to leave and whatever you have to throw away. Come and get her tomorrow.’
‘Joy!’
‘Hai!’
‘Pack up your things. I’ll come get you early tomorrow.’
‘Hai!’ Joy’s grin widens.
‘Lately the old gentleman has been very cheerful, even praising my mother for being a good daughter-in-law. Things are getting worse and worse. All the scrolls in the house have been taken down and packed away. He took out a painting of the sun rising in the East above the ocean and hung it in the parlour. He said it had a double meaning: it’s supposed to bring good luck and decorate the room, but it also could welcome the Red Army. Mulberry,’ Hsing-hsing suddenly turns to me, ‘I really envy you. You came up here to the North all by yourself. The South really is more open-minded. I’ve never been to the South, but I really want to go. When I think of the South, I think of willow trees.’
‘I’ve wanted to go to the South for a long time, but I couldn’t get away,’ says Chia-kang looking at his mother’s tiny, flower-like chignon of grey hair. ‘To me the South is an endless rampart of stone, an old monk, bent over, tugging on the rope to ring the bell at the Temple of the Crowing Cock, his whole life spent like that, just ringing the bell.’
‘To me Peking is grey cranes flying over the Gate of Heavenly Peace, it’s mansions of the Manchu Monarchs, lots of gates, secluded courtyards. It’s houses haunted by fox spirits,’ I say.
Chia-kang laughs. ‘So you escaped to Peking. Hsing-hsing and I want to escape to the South.’
‘But now both North and South are in chaos.’
‘Did you hear that? Did you hear that, Chia-kang?’ says Aunt Shen, still facing the wall. She raises her arm and shakes her finger in the air, ‘The North and South are both in chaos. You better listen to me and stay at home.’
‘“Inside Peking there’s a big circle. In the big circle is a smaller circle. In the smaller circle is the imperial yellow circle where I live.”’ Chia-kang begins to sing the role of the disguised emperor in the opera The Town of Mei-lung.