by Lao She
Another gust of wind blew out of the east and the sky suddenly turned black. A bolt of red lightning bracketed both ends of the row of houses and formed a triangle. To the rumble of a clap of thunder, scattered rain drops as big as eggs started coming down in the distance, making gentle splashing sounds. In the midst of the grey clouds where the sky lowered over the land, it began to get bright, and another giant bolt of lightning came down, accompanied by a gust of cold wind. Now the rain hammered down from the sky, and one could no longer distinguish the sound of individual drops. The sky grew black and everything around me disappeared into a darkness that was occasionally relieved by red splashes of lightning. Then high up in that waterfall descending from the sky, an opening was rent as a tremendous bolt of lightning leapt out of nowhere and momentarily cleaved the blackness. It shuddered once or twice against the black sky and then, like a startled snake, disappeared again into the forest of darkness, surrendering the field once again to blackness. By the time I arrived back at the house, I was thoroughly soaked.
Which home belonged to the ambassador’s wife? I couldn’t see clearly, and moved back several paces to await the temporary brilliance of a lightning flash. Then a huge one came, a blinding white flash; it was as though the largest devil in heaven had suddenly opened his eyes and quickly blinked several times. But it was so bright that I couldn’t see against its glare. I began to panic and decided to worry about whose house it was after I’d climbed in. By the time that I was halfway up, I could tell by the feel of things that it was the right house – I recognised the way the walls swayed.
There was a great flash of lightning and then, after a pause that seemed centuries long, a peal of thunder that sounded as though the whole sky were caving in. I was conscious that the wall and I were no longer upright. We were leaning! I closed my eyes, and heard another peal of thunder. Where was I going? Who knew?
MADAM AMBASSADOR’S STORY
I WAS vaguely conscious of the sound of thunder moving off into the distance, but I was still in such a foggy state that I couldn’t tell whether I was really hearing a roll of thunder or was merely dreaming. I tried to open my eyes, but couldn’t; it seemed as though every last bit of mud from the walls of the landlady’s house was plastered across my face. ‘Yes,’ I decided, ‘that really is thunder and I am awake.’ I started to feel about with my right hand, but discovered that I couldn’t move it; it was pinned under some stones. I couldn’t even see my feet or legs and felt for all the world like a rice plant that some farmer had stuck in the mud.
I finally got my right hand free and began to wipe the mud away from my face. Madam Ambassador’s house had become a large mound of earth. While struggling to free my legs, I screamed loudly for help. I wasn’t thinking of myself, but of Madam Ambassador and the eight sexpots in her care, for I was sure that they were buried beneath all the rubble. But no matter how loudly I called, I couldn’t seem to rouse anyone. There were still a few scattered raindrops in the sky. Remembering how deathly afraid of rain the Cat People were, I realised that no one would come out until the sky was perfectly clear.
I succeeded in extricating the half of me that was buried and began tearing away like a mad dog at the mud pile, with no time to even worry about whether or not I myself had suffered any injury. When the sky had fully cleared, all the Cat People came out. I kept on digging as I called to them for help. Quite a few came and stood off to one side, watching me. I thought that perhaps they had misunderstood, and explained to them that I didn’t want them to save me, but the nine women buried beneath the rubble. After they understood my meaning, they all crowded forward for a better look, but not one lifted a hand to help. I realised that exclusive reliance on entreaty would be useless. I felt in my pocket. My National Souls were still there. ‘Anyone who comes and helps me dig gets one National Soul!’ They stood, mouths agape, for a moment as though they didn’t believe me. I hauled out two National Souls, which I waved in their faces. They came up the mound like a swarm of bees. One would pick up a piece of stone and depart with it; then another would pick up a piece of brick and make off with that. I knew what they were up to, for taking advantage of every opportunity for personal profit was a prevalent custom in Cat Country. ‘All right! Go ahead and steal the bricks and stones! When you’ve stolen them all away, the people buried underneath will be saved anyway!’ And were they ever fast! It reminded one of a colony of ants making away with the separate grains of a pile of rice. When I heard the sound of a voice from below, I was somewhat reassured. But then I became doubly nervous when I realised that Madam Ambassador’s voice was the only one to be heard. When the rubble had been entirely cleared, Madam Ambassador appeared through the hole in the flooring. She was in a sitting position; the eight vixens were strewn all around her. None of them were moving. I was going to help her up, but just as my hand touched her shoulder she began speaking.
‘Aiyah! Don’t touch me! I am Madam Ambassador! You’ve all stolen my house away and I shall report it to the emperor unless you all act like honest folk and return the bricks and things back immediately!’ Her eyes were still stuck together with mud so she couldn’t possibly have seen anything, but being familiar with the habits of the Cat People, she’d taken it for granted they had already made away with the wreckage of her collapsed house.
All around me the Cat People were still gracefully scampering about in search of more booty. Since the bricks had already been moved away, they now had to content themselves with scooping up the dirt. I was struck by the way that economic oppression can cause people to feel that it’s at least better to go home with a double-handful of mud than nothing.
Madam Ambassador clawed the mud away from her face. Her cheeks had been torn in two places and a mighty lump had risen on her forehead. Fire seemed to be shooting out of both eyes. She struggled to her feet and stumbled towards one of the Cat People. I don’t know how her aim could have been so accurate, but at any rate, she had the poor unfortunate’s ear clamped between her teeth in less time than it takes to tell. She snarled fiercely out of the sides of her mouth as she chewed on the ear, just like a cat that has caught a rat. The cat-man being bitten began to howl and belabour Madam Ambassador’s belly for all he was worth. After they had been at it tooth and nail for a while, Madam Ambassador noticed the other women strewn about and relaxed her jaws in surprise just enough to allow the unfortunate cat-man to shoot away like an arrow. The people standing about gasped and moved back from Madam Ambassador so as not to crowd her. She clasped one of the dead strumpets and began to wail.
I melted. So she wasn’t a heartless wretch, after all! I was tempted to go over and comfort her, but was afraid that in her present frenzied state she might well latch on to one of my ears. After she had cried for quite a time, she looked at me again.
‘It’s all your fault! You pulled my house down with all your climbing! You won’t get away with it, nor will those rascals who made off with my house! I’m going to see the emperor and have you all killed!’
‘I have no intention of running away,’ I said slowly. ‘I shall simply stay here and do all that I can to help you.’
‘Since you’re a foreigner, I guess I can trust you. But as for that bunch of cat-rabble there, I’ll see to it that the emperor dispatches soldiers to search all their homes, house by house. Wherever a single piece of brick is found, that person will be executed. After all, I am the ambassador’s wife!’Angry spittle flew a long way out of her mouth and finally, with a retching sound, she spat out a mouthful of blood.
I didn’t know whether she really had all the prestige that she laid claim to, but at any rate, I began to calm her down for fear that she would go completely out of her head. I asked, ‘Now what do you want done with these eight ladies?’
‘What have these eight dead sexpots got to do with you? I’m only worried about the living. I can’t be bothered about the dead. Do you have some way of disposing of them?’
That stumped me. Since I’d never conducted a funeral i
n Cat Country, I didn’t have the foggiest notion of what to do with the bodies. Madam Ambassador’s eyes grew more and more menacing; a watery glow shone out from the pupils, but it wasn’t wet enough to dampen in the least that wildfire of madness that emanated from the same source. It seemed as though all her tears had been dried in the foundry of those blazing eyes. Even the whites of her eyes seemed to cast a magnetic sheen.
‘Let me talk it over with you!’ She cried out. ‘There’s no one to whom I can turn. I’ve no money and no man. And I don’t even eat reverie leaves! The wife of an ambassador! Let me tell you about it!’
I could see that she was out of her head, for she seemed to have forgotten all about the burial business she had just brought up, and simply wanted to cry on my shoulder.
‘This,’ she grabbed one of the dead women by the scalp, ‘this dead sexpot was brought in by the ambassador when she was only ten. Only ten! Even before her bones and tendons were fully matured, she was dedicated to the ambassador’s pleasure. For over a month she was all right as long as it didn’t get dark. But once it got dark, she – this dead little bitch – she’d wail and wail; call for her father and mother; grab my hand and hold on for dear life; call me mother; call me kind benefactor; and beg me not to leave her. But I was a virtuous woman and couldn’t say anything that would make it appear as though I were jealous of a mere ten-year-old. If the ambassador wanted to take his pleasure with her, that was none of my business. After all I was the first wife and had to maintain a proper wifely attitude.
‘But this poor little sexpot, whenever the ambassador went to her, she’d scream to wake the dead and wail until she no longer even sounded cat-like. When the ambassador was about to enter her, how she’d plead! How she’d scream! “Madam Ambassador! My saviour! Save me!” But could I forbid the ambassador his pleasure? It was none of my business. When it was all over she’d just lie there completely inert. I wouldn’t know whether she was pretending to be dead or had actually passed out. Nor did I really try to find out. I’d just apply salves to her and get her something to eat. But do you think this dead bitch was at all grateful to me? And you should have seen what an imperious wench she became when she grew up. She became so possessive that I thought she’d swallow the ambassador whole any minute. Then when he bought a new concubine, she went about whimpering and sobbing the livelong day, blaming me for not stopping him! But I had my position to think of. I was an ambassador’s wife. And if the ambassador didn’t buy a new sexpot every now and then, who would respect him? What would become of our prestige? But this little bitch didn’t have enough brains to understand that and actually blamed me for not stopping him! Bitch! Stinking bitch! Goddamned hussy!’ Madam Ambassador pushed the corpse aside and grabbed hold of another.
‘This little bag was a whore. She ate reverie leaves all day and tempted the ambassador to eat them too. I knew that if he became addicted, the government would never let him go abroad again. He’d be without a job! Without position! You should have seen the trouble she caused. But what was I to do? I couldn’t prevent him from playing around with whores if he wanted to, but I couldn’t sit idly by and watch him eat reverie leaves either, for then we’d never be able to go abroad again. The problems I’ve had! You can’t possibly imagine how difficult being an ambassador’s wife really is! I had to watch that whore every minute of the day to see to it that she didn’t take reverie leaves on the sly, and at night I had to be on my guard lest she try to turn the ambassador against me. And then the dead little bitch threatened to run away. She was constantly scheming up ways to escape. I had to have eyes in the back of my head to make sure she didn’t fly the coop! After all, if a concubine ran away, what face would we have left?’ It seemed that the eyes of the ambassador’s wife were really shooting fire now, as she grabbed the head of yet another of the dead ladies.
‘This . . . thing! She’s the most despicable of them all! She’s a modern sexpot. Before she had even come into the house, she tried to get the ambassador to drive me and the concubines out so that she could be his proper wife. Hah! How did she think she’d get away with that! And anyway, it was she who had chased the ambassador because of his rank. All the other sexpots were bought with money; this trollop wanted to be with him of her own accord. Just think, the ambassador got into her pants without spending a single penny! Think of how that cheapened the rest of us!
‘But that wasn’t the worst of it. Once she’d come into the house, the ambassador didn’t even dare speak to us! And if he went out, she’d go with him! She’d even insist on being with him when he received guests. She was so pompous that one would have thought she was the ambassador’s first wife! Where did that leave me? It was perfectly proper, and even desirable, that the ambassador should buy in a few more women, but there could only be one Madam Ambassador. I had to punish her for her presumption. I began tying her up, and sticking her up on the platform whenever it rained. After she had been soaked three or four times, the little bitch couldn’t take it any longer. She demanded that the ambassador send her back home. She even had the nerve to say that the ambassador had deceived her. But how could I let her go? Can you expect to get away with taking the position of “Madam-Ambassador-In-Reserve”, having a battle with the ambassador himself, and then just get up and leave when you feel like it? I, for one, have never heard of such a thing! Did she hope to marry someone else? Well, she wouldn’t get off that easily if I had anything to do with it. It’s difficult, I tell you! Being Madam Ambassador is far from easy! I had to watch her night and day. Then, fortunately, the ambassador came by a new piece of baggage.’ She turned around and picked out another of the bodies on the ground.
‘Now this one was fairly close to me. She wanted to form a united front with me in order to oppose that modern tramp. But women are all alike. They get nervous when they don’t have a man around. If the ambassador spent a night in the modern tramp’s bed, then this one would cry the whole night. I set her straight. I said, “And you think that someone like you, who can’t stand to be away from him for a moment, could be the ambassador’s first wife? Why don’t you take time to observe what I – his real first wife – am like! If you want to be an ambassador’s first wife, then you can’t monopolise him. The ambassador, after all, is not some pedlar on the street who has to be content with sleeping with one woman all of his life.”’
Madam Ambassador’s eyes were all red now. She lifted the head of one of the dead women and bashed it on the ground several times. This was followed by a laughing spell and then she looked at me. Instinctively, I retreated a few steps.
‘While the ambassador was alive, they wouldn’t let me relax for a single day. I’d have to keep my eyes on this one and be on guard against that one; I’d have to chew one out and beat up another. They didn’t give me a moment’s rest from morning til night. They spent all of the ambassador’s money and drained him of all of his male vigour; and after all that, when the ambassador died, he hadn’t left behind even one male child! It wasn’t that he hadn’t had any – all eight of them had given birth to male children, but not one had survived. How could they? When one of them gave birth to a child, the others would stay up the whole night working out ways to do it mischief. They were all competing to be the ambassador’s favourite and were scared to death that anyone who gave birth to a male child might be advanced to the position of first wife. On the other hand, I myself – the real first wife – was not nearly so jealous as they were. I didn’t pay any attention to them. If one of them wanted to kill another’s child, that was entirely her business; it had nothing to do with me. I wouldn’t harm any of the children myself, of course, but then I wouldn’t interfere in their intrigues either. After all, a first wife has to preserve a first wife’s dignity.
‘When the ambassador died, he didn’t leave me any money or male offspring – nothing but these eight playthings! What could I do? I certainly couldn’t let them run away and remarry as they pleased, I just couldn’t! Day in and day out I had to keep a close e
ye on them so that they didn’t drag some man into their beds. I faithfully exhorted them from morning till night in order to make them understand the great principles of feminine morality. But do you think they understood? It wasn’t that easy. But I didn’t give up either. I kept a tight watch on them day in and day out. What was I hoping for? There was really nothing I could hope for, except that the emperor might understand my difficulty, appreciate my dedication and character, and reward me with money, perhaps even present me with an honorary tablet with STEADFASTLY CHASTE AFTER THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND engraved on it. But . . . well, you heard me crying just now, didn’t you?’
I nodded my head.
‘What do you think I was crying about? This bunch of sexpots? Fat chance of that! I was weeping over my own fate as an outcast. Wife of an ambassador! I’ve never even eaten reverie leaves. And now the house has fallen in on me and utterly destroyed the evidence of all of my accomplishments. If I go to see the emperor now what can I say to him? If he sits up there on the throne and asks, “Madam Ambassador, upon the basis of what merit do you come to seek a reward?” What will I say? Supposing I report that I have been taking care of the late ambassador’s eight women in such a way as to preserve and uphold the highest precepts of feminine morality? Then His Majesty is bound to ask where they are. And what will I tell him? That they are all dead? Do you think he’ll give me a reward when all proof of my merit has been buried? Not much chance of that. What will I say? Think of it! The wife of an ambassador, a woman who has never eaten reverie leaves, a woman . . .’ Her head dropped down on her breast. I thought of going over to her again, but was afraid she might give me another tongue-lashing.