A Woman of Angkor

by John Burgess

  Mr Chen followed us down. He approached the man in silk robes, voiced some words to him respectfully, then turned to me.

  ‘I present Commissioner Lee, minister of tariff collection and commerce in the port. He welcomes you to the Capital of the Empire of China.’ The man made a low bow.

  ‘Would you please tell the commissioner,’ I replied, ‘that I am delighted to make his acquaintance and hope that he is in good health.’

  Mr Chen reported back that the commissioner was in fact well, and that he requested the privilege of showing the Lady to her accommodations.

  I assumed that this would mean walking. But now I was directed toward a large wooden box. It took a moment, but I realized that it was a palanquin, yet covered. Men were waiting at either end to lift it. There was nothing I could do but get inside. I and the box were immediately lifted and a journey through the streets began, the commissioner in the lead in his own conveyance, Sergeant Sen thankfully walking beside mine, a hand on his knife hilt. The city had the oddest feel – most everything was brick or stone. Could everything be a temple here? It would mean the people must be quite devout. But for now they seemed mainly to be enjoying themselves. They lined the street to inspect us; from windows, they leaned out and stared, or talked in loud voices, though I could of course comprehend not a word. Everyone did in fact look like Mr Chen, with narrow bodies and pale skin. They wore their hair drawn up at the back, and had coverings even on their feet, so that they did not step directly on the ground.

  The party reached the guesthouse. It was bright red, standing without support of stilts. I wondered how it was possible to sleep in such a thing, with no space for spirits to pass underneath. Perhaps Chinese spirits went around things.

  The commissioner bade me an elaborate good-bye. Then Mr Chen led the way through a gate that was another sight to behold – a giant circle, nothing else! My room was in the rear. Lit by large windows, it was, thankfully, bright and breezy. Invisible hands had set out fruit and tea. My apprehensions softened; this seemed familiar to me from visits with Chinese merchants home in Angkor.

  Across the room I saw a large carved wooden thing that seemed a house within a house, with its own roof.

  ‘That is a bed, Lady Sray,’ said Mr Chen, noticing my surprise. ‘In China the well-to-do sleep on these things, not on mats on the floor. This is a rather elaborate one – the commissioner insisted on it. You see the surface there, with the fabrics? That is where...where the sleeper lies.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘But we will provide mats for the floor if you would be more comfortable that way.’

  ‘Thank you, but that’s not necessary.’ That seemed the polite thing to say, but I instantly wished I hadn’t.

  ‘And where will the sergeant and his men be staying?’

  ‘The men will go to a garrison nearby. The sergeant will stay in a room in front of this house. I told him you’d be well protected here by Chinese who will stand guard at the gate, but he insisted that he be right at hand.’

  ‘Mr Chen. I’m sure he didn’t mean to suggest this place isn’t safe. He is sometimes overprotective, that’s all.’

  Mr Chen left. Da and I took some time inspecting the rooms. We opened a cabinet and found that it contained ten silk blouses. We dared to lie down and test the feel of the bed. We agreed it was too soft to sleep on.

  Then came a riotous hubbub from the front – shouts, the banging of gongs. We went to look. The cause was the two horned animals. Men were hauling the cages on carts through the streets, the occupants snorting in a way that showed more fright than aggression. Quite a few people had come to gawk.

  Dinner was brought in baskets by Chinese servants. The rice had a different taste and texture than rice at home, but we ate it anyway. That night, feeling I must try to please my hosts, I lay down on the bed and eventually slept, but not well; I felt I was floating all night, and it was disconcerting to be off the floor. The next morning, I bathed at a jar outside. With Da’s assistance, unneeded but provided nonetheless, I put on my finest silk sampot and a bright red blouse chosen from the cabinet. The maid spent time arranging my hair and applying jewellery and red powder. Normally, I was impatient with lengthy preparations, but today I welcomed any delay. It was the day of the audience with the emperor.

  At the circular gate, my bodyguard was waiting.

  ‘Sergeant,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Your presence will give me courage for the ceremonies that are coming.’

  There followed another covered palanquin, another journey through teeming streets, another brick gate. Rows of Chinese soldiers in red uniforms and caps stood waiting. When we Khmers had all arrived, a Chinese who seemed to be some kind of master of ceremonies formed us up into a procession, the minister at the front. Sergeant Sen was directed to the rear, but he affected not to understand and stood instead behind me.

  Inside, the palace was like a mountain-temple in size and symmetry but the resemblance ended there. So many things were painted in the bright red that I now associated with China. (And I will confess I was finding the colour a bit unnatural and disturbing.) Roofs curved at odd angles, strange creatures of stone looked down from eaves. Following an arrow-straight walkway, we embassy members passed through inner gate after inner gate, then into a stone-paved courtyard filled with more soldiers in formation. The two cages from the ship had been placed to either side of the walkway. Both animals were on their feet, unhappy with the presence of so many strange people.

  ‘I was told,’ whispered Sergeant Sen, ‘that the emperor requested to see the animals right away.’

  On cue from the master of ceremonies, we passed up steps to the door of a large wooden hall. A gong sounded, and a strange, solo voice began an undulating chant. We stepped through. It was gloomy inside, with just a few candles burning and the smell of many bodies mixed with still air. Perhaps there was not sufficient water for bathing here. Huge red columns held up roof and rafters; I had never been in such an enormous covered space. Straight ahead was a piling-up of gilded platforms. It seemed to be a throne. Atop it was – a boy of perhaps six, wearing an embroidered gown that was too big for him, and a cloth cap.

  It was hard not to stare. Even our minister did, taking a moment to ascertain that he saw what he saw. Then the man went to his knees and touched his forehead to the tiles of the floor three times. Mr Chen appeared at his side, ready to translate the statement whose time had come.

  ‘Separated by the Salt Water Sea,’ intoned the minister, ‘two great Empires exist in friendship, both beloved of Heaven, both centres of learning and martial prowess, strengthened by trade that...’

  That was as far as he got. Because the boy on the throne had sprung down from his perch, and was running to the door, shouting, pursued by half a dozen courtiers.

  Sergeant Sen and I exchanged glances, amused for the first time. ‘I think,’ murmured the sergeant, ‘that he wants to see the animals. In that way, boy emperors are no different than boy villagers.’

  We walked to the hall’s entranceway to look. Down the steps, the young Majesty was having second thoughts. He hung back from the cages, clutching at the robes of a courtier. The animals had taken notice of him and were huffing and grunting in a menacing way. Where was his mother, or nursemaid? No sign, only half a dozen of these courtiers, wearing the clothes of men, yet seeming somehow different than men.

  So I hurried down the steps to the boy. ‘The animals won’t hurt you,’ I told him, stooping down to his level. ‘They’re just a little nervous. It’s best to be still. They’ll get used to you faster that way. Then you can go closer.’

  A breathless Mr Chen translated. The courtiers received this idea with scepticism, tossing comments back and forth in their language.

  The emperor and I stood and watched. I thanked Heaven that, just as I’d promised, the animals calmed down.

  ‘Now, would you like to feed them? They would like that.’

  I took his hand – the courtiers gasped
. A Khmer keeper by the cage provided two lengths of sugar cane. I gave one to the boy and stepped to the cage with the other. ‘Like this,’ I said. ‘Gently. Put just the end through.’

  The boy followed my example, giggling as the beast took the cane, grinding it between mammoth stained molars. The courtiers relaxed. The second animal was fed too; I explained to the emperor that Heaven smiled on fairness. Soon I led him back up the steps and the welcome ceremony resumed. At the emperor’s insistence, I stood next to the throne. But when the last official word had been intoned, two of those courtiers stepped forward and re-asserted control. With firm insistence they led the young emperor off, one to each side. I felt doleful at the sight. Just before they disappeared through a door, the boy managed to turn and look to me with an expression of yearning.

  That evening, we went, this time on foot, to Commissioner Lee’s residence for an official dinner. A young Chinese man who’d been on the ship lit the way with a torch, and at windows there were again those many curious eyes. Da, at my side, had regained some courage in this new place, and walked proudly. I was sure she’d begun making eyes at the young man with the torch. No, I realized now, sifting through some memories – that had begun on the ship.

  Inside, the commissioner waited in an expansive dining hall of polished beams and white plaster. To the side, something large was covered in red cloth. Mr Chen joined me. I was shown to one of the tables with him and a group of clearly prominent Chinese men. It was all very awkward, because I could feel eyes inspecting me at every opportunity. Then servants brought bowls of steaming rice and spiced meat and vegetables, and the men looked to the food, and I felt less the centre of things. How glad I was that I had learned at home how to use the small lacquered sticks with which Chinese eat. Over the next two hours I tasted many things I had never tasted before, even in the Chinese places at home, and I sipped at a strange wine that was placed in front of me.

  Sergeant Sen stood by the door, and every so often my eyes sought his out.

  Later, servants cleared away the bowls, and the commissioner made a speech, Mr Chen translating to me in low tones. Again the subject was the happy relations between the two great Empires. The Khmer minister responded in kind. Then one of the Chinese posed a long question about whether ivory truly came from an animal that weighed as much as twenty horses and had a great snake growing from its lip, and, whatever the appearance of that animal, where ivory could be bought and at what price. I waited for the minister to answer, but Mr Chen whispered that no, the question was addressed to me. Indeed, everyone was looking my way. Some friendly spirit came to my aid just then. I shed my self-consciousness and answered that question and others that followed.

  Later two men came to me and presented a fancy carved box. I had no idea what was inside, and the commissioner voiced a few words. ‘It is a gift, Lady Sray,’ said Mr Chen, ‘one by which we hope you will remember China. Please open it.’

  Inside, packed in straw, was a brand new blue and white teapot, with matching cups. I took the pot in hand and turned it slowly. Remarkable! It had the same kind of patterns I remembered, the same colours. And a painted scene of people drinking tea. Not quite the same as the old one at my house, but close.

  ‘I will take it home and treasure it as a memento of my time here.’ Translated, this caused general delight around the room. Then two servants stepped to the large thing covered by red fabric and, with a flourish, pulled it off. Underneath were stacks of boxes resembling the one I held.

  ‘One thousand sets!’ declared Mr Chen. ‘To take home for sale in Angkor. Of lesser quality, of course – only you deserve one as fine as the one we have given you.’

  When it came time to return to the guesthouse, Da was missing. As was the young Chinese man from the ship. We waited a bit, then a servant from the commissioner’s household was assigned to lead the way with a torch.

  At the guesthouse door, Sergeant Sen said his good night. Pensive now, I passed slowly down the corridor to my room. A lamp was burning there. I removed my jewellery and splashed water on my face from a bowl. Then, for no reason I could discern, I sat down on the floor, facing a window open to the stars. I blew out the lamp. I gazed at Heaven’s lights, but at the same time my mind turned over another question: the room to which Sergeant Sen had retired – did it have windows, did it look out to the night sky in this same way? I pictured him settling in for the night on one of these bed things, tossing, unable to find a comfortable pose. Just like me. Or maybe he would just sleep right on the floor, mat-less. He would not have asked for one; he never worried about his own comfort.

  Then there came to me a particular thought, one that had been hiding in my consciousness for how long I didn’t know. Now it had been brought to the fore, by some spirit, surely, perhaps a friendly stow-away on the ship. Was it one of Bronze Uncle’s assistants? Was it the one that had helped me find my voice at the dinner? I was certain that it was now suggesting that a certain course of action was something Heaven would accept, even approve in this far-away place.

  I rose and stole down the corridor toward his room.

  ‘Sergeant,’ I whispered from the door. ‘I have heard a strange noise in my room. Will you come and look, please?’

  ‘Of course, Lady!’

  Lamp in hand, he hurried past me. I followed him back down the corridor, feeling bad, but not too bad, for alarming him in this way. I spied on him from the doorway as he looked in his diligent way behind drapes and furniture.

  ‘It’s all right, Lady. There’s no one here. But I’ll check outside as well.’

  ‘Sergeant. I…I have a confession.’

  ‘Yes, Lady?’

  ‘I deceived you.’ I took a breath. ‘There is nothing. I deceived you…so that you would come here and we would be together, alone.’

  I was unable to say more, because I felt suddenly terrified. The meaning of those words was unmistakable, and with it I might snuff out the quiet friendship on which I had depended for so many years.

  He was speechless as well. Then, looking down, he said: ‘My place is in my own room, Lady.’

  I found my courage. ‘For tonight, please make it here. I ask as someone who has…who has…felt – I must say it – the deepest kind of love for you for many years. And I dare to suspect that you have something similar in you. We have felt this way since the day at the prince’s compound, have we not? And yet there is a terrible distance between us. Does it always have to be so? There are different principles that govern life in China. You said so yourself on the ship. I think that different principles can sometimes bring a good result.’

  When he answered, there was despair in his voice. ‘Lady, all these years I have felt a craving to hear what you have said. I have carried this burden with me every day. I recognized the goodness in your heart on that first day, when you worried more about food for the other people than for yourself. I saw it again today – you were the only person who felt compassion for that poor little boy who has been made emperor. I worry that when you left the palace today he suffered the same disappointment that I have for so many years, Lady Sray.’

  ‘Don’t call me that – please! I deserve no title. On the ship, you told me of your past. Mine is the same, can’t you tell? I was born in a village like yours. I lost my family, not to disease, but to war. I grew up in a house for orphans. I raised ducks and sold their eggs in the market. I never prayed for anything more than a simple life. But Heaven chose to elevate me to a station where I don’t belong, where I have never felt contentment.

  ‘For just one night, I would like to be again what I was brought into this life to be, to know what I might have experienced. To be as wife to the man whom I wish Heaven had placed with me from the start. For tonight, I want the Lady Sray to vanish and the simple village woman Sray to take her place. Please, won’t you allow it to be that way?’

  There was another silence, and I felt I had lost him, that he would leave without another word and send one of his men to occupy his
room. But then he pulled me gently to him. I laid my head on his shoulder.

  ‘Do you know,’ he asked, ‘what I imagined today at the palace?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘That you and I and the boy were transported by some deity to a village, one of those that we passed on the ship, and we were set down and became a family, no different than any other there. We remained there after our ship departed for the Empire again. I worked the fields, you took your place at a stove, fanning the coals. The boy grew up as our son.’

  ‘And we had more children, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, yes, many more. They cared for us in our old age.’

  I became aware now that I couldn’t feel his skin against mine. I stepped back and unfastened the silk blouse.

  ‘There!’ I laughed, throwing it aside. I sank back into him. ‘How do people wear this all the time? I can’t understand it!’

  ‘Nor can I. But for now, let’s pretend that we can, because the dream about a Chinese village requires that you wear the garment. Except at night…Sray.’

  And I called him Sen, for the first time, and many more times before first light appeared those names went back and forth between us.

  I told you when I began this story that the last moments of peace I ever knew came just before the Brahmin appeared at our door in the little settlement so many years ago. But that is not entirely true. For the few hours of this night in China, the burdens of family, of wealth, of fear of vengeance by a ghost and discovery of a terrible secret – all these things were lifted from my heart.

  47: The boar-hunting ground

  I have told you of the startling changes that came over my children’s lives during my absence. There was also an important change in the palace. It had to do with the succession.