Mulberry and Peach

by Hualing Nieh

  ‘That’s him!’ Hsing-hsing grabs my arm.

  ‘Who?’ asks Chia-kang.

  ‘. . .’

  ‘Who, Hsing-hsing?’

  ‘Your brother!’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There! The one in uniform, back to us, leading the troops in shouting slogans.’

  The three of us stand on tiptoe to see, but we can only make out half his face. A gust of sand and wind whirls around us. When we open our eyes again, he has vanished in the sandstorm.

  The God of the Door that we pasted up for New Year is still there on the half of the main gate that remains. He is dressed in colourful armour. His chest is stuck out and his stomach protrudes. He has two swords. He leans on one sword and brandishes the other.

  Some of the students come out of the house and tear the God of the Door off the gate. They rip him apart and throw the pieces on the icy ground.

  They paste up a slogan in his place on the ruined gate:

  PROTECTING THE PEOPLE’S PROPERTY IS THE NUMBER ONE DUTY!

  Through the gap in the main gate another slogan can be seen on the Gate of the Dangling Flowers:

  THE FRESH BLOOD OF REVOLUTION BRINGS FORTH BEAUTIFUL FRUIT.

  ‘Phoenix your son has returned. You have come back too. Good, you have both come to settle accounts with me . . .’ I enter the room and hear the old lady talking to herself as she lies on the k’ang. ‘Phoenix, your son has become a Communist and you’re acting too proud ... you have come to take me to the Western Heaven. But I know I am not allowed to go there. “When the Goddess of Mercy was engaged in the deep course of wisdom, she beheld the Five Substances and saw that these substances in their self-nature were empty. O Sariputra, here form is emptiness and emptiness is form ...” The Wall of Nine Dragons is falling down. It’s falling on top of me. I can’t get out from under it. Phoenix, help me. Phoenix, Phoenix . . .’

  ‘It’s not Phoenix. It’s Mulberry.’ I sit on the edge of the k’ang and massage her legs.

  ‘Ah, Phoenix isn’t here.’ She is still facing the wall. ‘Is Chia-ch’ing here?’

  ‘No, he has never been here.’

  ‘Didn’t you see him at the Gate of Heavenly Peace?’

  ‘We could only see half his face, and we couldn’t really tell if it was him or not.’

  ‘If only Phoenix were still alive. Chia-ch’ing wouldn’t do anything to us in front of his own mother.’

  ‘Maybe he hasn’t come to Peiping yet. Don’t try to think too much.’

  ‘My brain won’t listen to me. I don’t want to think, but it keeps on thinking, what I owe to other people, how I deceived others. I remember it all. Mulberry, do you hate me?’

  ‘No, not anymore.’

  ‘Mulberry, I have something to tell you.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘That year when I couldn’t get pregnant, I went to the Divine Astrologer of the Imperial Polarity at the festival of the Fire God to have my fortune told. My horoscope said that if I were to conceive the child would be famous, but since there have always been few males born into the Shen family, I would have to be careful with the child. He meant that the Shen family line was about to end. Chia-ch’ ing is a Communist. We can’t depend on him to pass on the family name. Only Chia-kang can do that.’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  She suddenly turns over and takes my hand. ‘Mulberry, you’re pregnant? Then I won’t worry about it anymore. I don’t care about money or position, all I want is a big bunch of children around me. No, no, enough children to fill the whole main hall, each holding a flower flame - a long line of burning flames like a huge fire dragon.’

  ‘That day will come for you. I want a lot of children.’

  She presses my hand and laughs.

  ‘. . . Fox fur ... The People’s . . . Communists . . .’ The refugee students are discussing something in the courtyard.

  ‘Mulberry, don’t go out there, it’s dangerous.’

  There are footsteps in the main hall.

  ‘Chia-kang?’

  ‘He went to the barber shop on the alley to get his hair cut,’ I lie. I don’t want her to know that he is at the People’s Court.

  ‘Someone’s coming. He has come back already.’

  Hsing-hsing comes into the room. ‘Auntie, I came especially to tell you something, to prepare you for it. I saw it with my own eyes, on Wang-fu-ching Boulevard. The Nationalist slogans that used to be there are now all changed to Communist slogans. They were making a well-dressed woman in a fox fur coat crawl on the ground. A group of students surrounded her singing the Rice Sprout Song and taunting her, saying, “People in New China don’t wear fur coats, only animals wear fur coats.” Auntie, I know you have a lot of furs. By all means, don’t wear them. The students in the courtyard are saying that they won’t let anyone wear a fur coat in this courtyard.’

  ‘I sold some of my furs. The rest I gave away. The only thing I have left is my fox fur jacket. It’s hanging over there by the bed. When I get up I always put it on. Hsing-hsing, what should I do with it?’

  ‘If you try to give it away now, no one would want it.’

  Chia-kang comes into the room. Hsing-hsing repeats the story again and imitates the woman in the fox fur coat crawling on the ground.

  Chia-kang throws the fur jacket on the floor and stamps on it. ‘What kind of world is this anyway? If I knew things would turn out like this, I would have gone South even if I had to be a beggar.’

  Hsing-hsing laughs, ‘Second Master Shen, the South is about to fall, too. The executive government has already moved from Nanking to Canton. The Nationalist representatives are at the peace talks: Shao Li-tzu, Chang Shih-chao and three others have already arrived in Peking.’

  ‘Hsing-hsing,’ Chia-kang stares at her. ‘How do you know so much about what’s going on outside? Are you . . .’

  ‘Chia-kang, I’m not a Communist,’ Hsing-hsing says, staring back, curling her lip in a smile. ‘I couldn’t be one even if I wanted to. I wasn’t born in the right class. But the world is changing and we have to learn things all over again, learn how to be new, different people or else we can’t go on living. The Peking Military Control Committee of the People’s Liberation Army has already been established. All sorts of discussion groups have been set up, too. There are discussion groups, demonstrations, speeches every day. Yesterday two hundred thousand people held a meeting at the Gate of Heavenly Peace. Now everybody is busy: workers, students, peasants, merchants. And here you are, Second Master Shen, still at home clutching an old fur jacket and you are not able to decide what to do with it!’

  ‘Throw it in the outhouse!’ Chia-kang picks up the fur jacket, signals to me, and heads for the door.

  I follow him into the main hall.

  ‘From now on, you’ve got to be careful about Hsing-hsing,’ he says in a low voice as he caresses the fox fur. ‘Maybe she’s a spy for the Communists.’

  ‘What happened at the People’s Court?’

  ‘Amah Ch’ien’s son sued us saying we exploited her and tormented her to death. He wants half of the house as well as the expenses for her burial.’

  ‘What did the court decide?’

  ‘The house belongs to the people. It’s not the Shen’s nor the Ch’ien’s. We’ll have to give him more money to settle it. One of these days, we’re going to get kicked out of here. You stay inside and don’t go out. Those students are getting pushy.’

  Chia-kang wraps the jacket up. When it’s dark, he takes the package and steals past the students dancing the Rice Sprout Dance in the courtyard.

  When he returns, Hsing-hsing is laughing as she tells us about her grandfather and Joy. Joy’s belly is swelling. The old man had his fortune told: Joy will certainly have an outstanding son. The old man was delighted and strutted around joyfully. ‘Marriage at sixty, a grand birthday celebration at eighty. There are twenty good years left to enjoy.’

  After Hsing-hsing leaves, the old lady calls Chia-kang to the k‘ang. She fac
es the wall and says listlessly, ‘Chia-kang, remember this: no matter what happens, the Shen family line must not be broken. Mulberry is pregnant. You two must get away to the South.’

  It’s spring. A narrow coffin is carried out of the courtyard. Chia-kang and I aren’t dressed in mourning. We bury the old lady outside the City Gate in the paupers’ graveyard, the Muddy Hole.

  Chia-kang and I take a train for the South.

  Peking. Tientsin. Ching-hai. Ch‘ing County. Ts’ang County. Tung-kuang. Te County. P‘ing-yüan. Yü-ch’eng. Chi-nan. Chang-ch’iu. Ch’ing-chou. Chu-liu-tien.

  Everyone has to get off at each stop where we are inspected by Communist guards. It’s always the same routine. The same questions. The same answers. Each person walks forward, gives the Eighth Army guard his travel pass, shows him his empty hands and turns around. What’s your name? Where were you born? Where are you going? Why are you going there? What do you do? All those questions.

  Chia-kang and I pretend not to know each other. He’s a cloth seller from Shantung. I’m from Hsu-chou; I sell fritters of twisted dough. We sit in two separate sections of the freight train.

  The Peking-Tientsin railroad already has their passenger trains running. Between Tientsin and P’u-chou, there are only freight trains. I left my wedding ring and the broken jade griffin in Peking.

  We come to another station. Wei County is the last stop in the Communist-controlled area. Beyond Wei County is no man’s land; the trains can’t connect the two sides. Beyond the no-man’s land lies Nationalist-held Ch’ing-tao.

  Twelve men and women have been travelling in the same car since Tientsin. Now each of us picks up his own luggage and walks to the Inn. There’s a sign in big black characters on the mud wall at the Inn:EVERYONE ALLOCATED LAND MUST

  JOIN THE ARMY

  ANYONE NOT JOINING THE ARMY IS

  REACTIONARY

  The twelve of us, strangers, sleep on a large communal k’ang. I lie next to the wall, beside Chia-kang. We are silent, all twelve of us. I haven’t said a word for six days. Now I have to say something. I take Chia-kang’s hand out from under the covers and write on his palm with my finger. We talk on his palm.

  CAN’T SLEEP

  COME HERE I’LL ROCK YOU TO SLEEP

  NO

  ?

  AFRAID

  SLEEP DON’T BE AFRAID

  FIRST, SAFETY

  SAFETY WHERE

  CH’ING-TAO

  COMMUNISTS ALMOST THERE

  NANKING

  COMMUNISTS ALMOST THERE TOO

  RETURN PEKING

  CAN’T RETURN

  MUST KEEP GOING

  UNTIL WHEN

  UNTIL GOOD PLACE FOR CHILD

  TAIWAN

  BEAUTIFUL ISLAND

  I WANT A SON

  I WANT A DAUGHTER

  SON CALLED YAO-TSU

  DAUGHTER CALLED SANG-WA

  No man’s land.

  The sun is setting. Only a few more miles to Ts’ai Village. No sign of the village in sight. The twelve people on the narrow path are silent. We are still strangers. We have to hurry. Wheelbarrows piled with luggage creak over the dry, cracked earth. Dust rises in veils, separating each of us from the others. Each figure is blurred, hidden in a tent of dust. The faster we walk, the quicker our hands swing: clenched fists poking through the swirling tents of dust. Wherever we go, the tent of dust whirls around us, no matter how fast or how far we walk.

  It’s growing dark. Still a couple of miles. the twelve of us are lined up on the narrow path. Chia-kang and I are at the end.

  At the front a lantern is lit.

  Ah, we all murmur. Someone coughs, spits loudly; another stumbles on a rock, and curses.

  The lantern is held up, lighting the path for those at the back.

  ‘Mulberry, I still want a son,’ says Chia-kang in a low voice, leaning forward.

  ‘And I still want a daughter.’

  ‘Only sons, no daughters allowed,’ he says and punches me playfully on the back.

  Ahead of us a man from Shantung chuckles, ‘I could tell all the time that you two were married.’

  The lantern goes out.

  Ah, we all murmur again.

  ‘Excuse me, anyone have a match?’ asks the one carrying the lantern.

  ‘Here!’ Chia-kang yells.

  The man stops and lets the people behind him pass. ‘Watch out, A pit. Be careful, folks, there’s a pit. Be careful, ma’am.’ He stands in the dark and helps people across.

  Chia-kang walks up and hands him the matches.

  The lantern is lit again.

  ‘Thanks, sir.’ He hands the matches back to Chia-kang.

  ‘Keep them, man, you have to hold the lantern.’ Chia-kang threw the matches back into the man’s hand.

  There are several cottages at Ts’ai Village. All empty. On the slope stands a temple with a broken signboard above its entrance. The name of the temple is in fading gold characters.

  The twelve of us relax in the main hall. The Buddha with a thousand arms lies on its back on the mud floor. The child in the Goddess of Mercy’s arms is headless. Only the Laughing Buddha is intact, laughing. We light the altar lamp, untie our luggage and sit on bedrolls and eat our dry food. The main hall comes to life.

  ‘Well, now!’ someone suddenly yells. ‘Let me sing you a passage from Beat the Drum and Condemn Ts’ao Ts’ao.

  Although you serve as Prime Minister

  You can’t tell the virtuous from the stupid

  Your thief’s eyes are impure

  You can’t take good advice

  Your thief’s ears are impure

  You don’t study the classics

  Your thief’s mouth is impure

  You cherish thoughts of usurping the throne

  Your thief’s heart is impure.’

  Someone else chimes in:‘Beyond the mountains are beautiful lands

  Where people toil dawn to dusk

  To eat, you must work with your own hands

  No one serves as another man’s slave.

  ‘. . . Hearing that, Huang Chung gets on his horse. He points his sword and shouts, “Master Kuan,” the Great Han Army has been defeated. From the four corners of the empire gallant men rise up in the chaos . . .

  ‘. . . Suddenly something jumped out at me. And you know what it was? A tiger. Where did that tiger come from? He was living in a remote valley on South Peak.

  Look, there’s a dragon on my head

  a dragon on my body

  on my left side is a dragon

  on my right side is a dragon

  there’s a dragon in front of me

  and a dragon behind me

  nine dragons all around me

  golden dragons with five claws . . .

  ‘Hey, all you opera singers, storytellers and folk singers. Stop all that noise and listen to my ghost story.’

  The singing and chanting stop. Only the voice telling the story is heard:

  ‘Yü and the girl in the green dress finish making love. Yü asks the girl to sing him a song. She laughs and says that she doesn’t dare. Yü caresses her tenderly and repeats his request. The girl in green says that she doesn’t mean to be inhospitable, but she is afraid someone might overhear. She lowers the gauze curtain and leans against the bedpost and softly begins to sing:The Han River ceases its flow

  Birds soar high

  Where will they land

  Here and there they fly

  Tall peaks not so low

  As city walls nearby.

  She finishes her song and gets down from the bed. She looks out the window, looks in the corners, inspects the room. Yü laughs at her timidity and coaxes her back to bed. He begins to make love to her again, but the girl in green remains passive and melancholy, unwilling to make love. Yü entreats her and finally succeeds once more. At dawn, she gets dressed and climbs down from the bed, walks to the door, hesitates and returns to his side, quite frightened. Yü accompanies her to the door and watches as she
vanishes down the corridor. Suddenly he hears her scream for help. He races over but sees no one, only hears a faint moan under the eaves. Looking closely, he sees a spider web under the eaves. The moan appears to come from the web. Looking again he sees a big spider with something in its grip. He tears down the web. A large green honey bee falls to the ground.’

  ‘Hey, I’d like to meet a bee like that!’

  ‘Does anybody know if the Communists have crossed the Yangtze yet?’

  ‘Hey, you motherfuckers, still talking about the war. In all of China this is the only place where there’s no fighting. Look, see how beautiful the moon is, feel how soft the spring breeze is. The trees on the hill outside the temple are sprouting green leaves.’

  ‘Hey, old man, thanks for carrying the lantern for us. What’s your name?’

  ‘Don’t ask me my name. And don’t ask where I’m going. I’ll stay here in this dilapidated temple and become the ancestor of later generations. I’ll take the first name in the Book of the Hundred Names; just call me Chao, as in Chao founder of the Sung Dynasty.’

  ‘Master Chao, may I ask where Madame Chao is?’

  ‘That’s something I haven’t thought about yet. I’m still a bachelor.’

  Chia-kang glances left and right, looks at my stomach and laughs. ‘I’m the one who is going to be the ancestor of later generations. My wife is pregnant. I’ll take the next name in the Book of the Hundred Names. Call me Ch’ien.’

  ‘If you’re going to be the ancestor of later generations, you better take care of your wife. On the road, you really tried to fool us. You avoided your woman as if she were a locust. But I knew a long time ago that you two were together.’

  ‘We’ll take the third name in the book,’ a young man who looks like a student takes the hand of the girl sitting next to him.

  ‘You too? Now that I couldn’t tell.’