Now that Jade had returned to the slopes of Mudkettle Mountain, the atmosphere around the fire became lighthearted again. She picked up his notorious rainboots, sniffed them and made a face, then went over to wash them in the creek. The water burbled and clattered. He sat there, watching her. This was the first time in weeks that he’d studied her closely. Farther from the fire, with her face lost in tree-shadow, the movements of her body seemed strangely exaggerated. Early on he’d noted the ivory luster of her fingers, the creamy soles of her feet; now his gaze fell upon her wrists and earlobes, the silver shimmer of her bracelets and earrings: monstrosities never seen on women in those days. The ornaments gave off a metallic dazzle in the firelight. There was a flashy self-confidence about Jade that Lu Beiping found very arresting; she had absolutely no inhibitions. To even speak of such qualities in women in those days was taboo, but in Jade, they seemed a natural expression of her femininity. She wasn’t, Lu Beiping thought, actually pretty, at least in the conventional sense, but there was something very stirring about the contours of her face, those features carved by time and hardship, by the passage of long months in the hills. In old novels, lofty cheekbones, deep eye sockets, and thick lips were the clichés used to describe mountain women. There was nothing lofty, deep, or thick about Jade’s features, but they had a finely etched quality, like the red-brown woodwork of an antique sandalwood fan, simple but delicate, rough but pure. Lu Beiping caught himself unconsciously trying to estimate her age. He was twenty-one; she couldn’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six. But something about her seemed . . . not just old, but ancient.
Now the empty feeling that had opened up inside Lu Beiping after they made love began to be filled by something else. He wanted to be close to Jade, to be a part of her in a way that had nothing to do with the body. This woman, who was so utterly different from him, whose life experiences were so far removed from his own, had slipped quietly into a deep corner of his being and claimed it.
Lu Beiping sighed.
—Well, he said with a wry chuckle: You’re a stonewoman, I’m a ghost husband. I guess we were meant to be together, Jade.
Jade spun around and faced him in the firelight.
—Four Eyes, I’m not your ghost wife. I’m real. There’s a difference.
Throwing him a sharp look, she added:
—I’ll bear you a child. What do you say?
At that Lu Beiping truly felt like the breath had been stolen from his lungs. (Those words yanked me right back to reality, Lu Beiping said to Tsung.) All of a sudden the aroma of meat wafting on the night air seemed like a nauseating reek. Lu Beiping thought: Do I love this woman? Is this really love? Is this the person who deserves my love—“my” woman? God, he thought, she wants to have a child with me! In those days it was hard to imagine a proposition more preposterous, more beyond the pale, than the one that had just issued from her lips. He thought of her “whelps,” his cattle; her pipe, his books; he thought of the vast, craggy, canyon-riven landscape that separated him from her. Yes, he could follow a fateful scrap of paper into the jungle to play the specious, unconsummatable role of Han’s ghost husband; but could he really, for the sake of this single, absurd caper on the banks of Mudclaw Creek, abandon his life and become someone else?
And yet, before he could think any of these things through, Jade made another, even more harrowing declaration.
—Alright, she said, pushing back her hair, her bracelet flashing in the darkness: Let’s head up to the hollow. I need to tell Kingfisher and the others that we’re together now, that we’ve made good. Now you’re my man too. We need to give them a heads up.
—What? Lu Beiping cried. Jade, you’re crazy! Now you really have gone crazy!
—Well, what are we going to do, then? Jade said with a chuckle that betrayed a faint hint of self-satisfaction, fanning herself and wiping the sweat of their recent exertions off her brow: I already told them I wanted to make good with you. They didn’t believe me, didn’t think young Stinkyfoot Four-Eyes would even go with an old lady like me! Ha!—Jade hoisted the stew pot, grinning at him jubilantly—Oh, and Four Eyes, I almost forgot to chew you out. You greedy pig, how the hell did you get your hands on this big pot of meat, and why didn’t you tell us? Sky’s sake, the damned thing had almost turned!
—Jade . . . you . . . I . . . Lu Beiping stammered. I got it down at camp, I was saving it for you and Smudge . . .
—There you go! All the more reason to come with me. We’re so meat-thirsty up in that hollow that we’re about ready to gnaw each other’s thigh bones. When Stump, Kingfisher, and them get a whiff of this, they’ll get down on their hands and knees and worship you like a god. Come on—she tugged at his arm—Let’s go! I cooked your supper, now you’d better come up and eat it.
—Jade, you’re insane! Lu Beiping yelled, shaking her off with a furious twist of his arm. I am not leaving this place tonight! Not if you cut off my balls and feed them to the cattle!
With that Lu Beiping turned and ran up the slope toward his hut, leaving Jade alone at the edge of the water.
Chapter 6
The Hollow
But unbeknownst to Lu Beiping, the Blue Dragonfly of Fate had already alighted and was waiting for him quietly in a corner of his hut.
As Lu Beiping rounded the Tree That Dances in the Wind and jogged furiously up the slope, he noticed that the door to his hut was open. He halted immediately, remembering that he’d gone straight down to the creek that afternoon, hadn’t even set foot in his hut. Who had come here? What the hell was going on? While he hesitated, Jade, toting the stew pot, caught up with him, and together they filed cautiously through the door.
Once inside they both stopped short again. Smudge was sprawled over the log stool at the foot of the bed, fast asleep, Lu Beiping’s harmonica clenched tight in one hand. As he snored his nostrils quivered. Fine droplets of sweat glistened on his naked back. Clearly, he’d been waiting here for a long time.
Lu Beiping felt his heart quicken. Had Smudge seen them? At the thought that their performance down by the creek might have had an audience, Lu Beiping’s scalp prickled. (Actually, Lu Beiping said to Tsung many years later, I didn’t give that kid enough credit. When I became more familiar with life up in the hollow, I realized how little difference it would’ve made to him. Poor thing.)
Jade, standing behind Lu Beiping, uttered a syllable of surprise.
—Bless me! Look who’s here, she said, striding over to Smudge and laying a slap on his bare rump. Get up, you little lout. Do you do anything but sleep? Why didn’t you give us a shout?
Smudge’s eyes popped open to reveal two big, black, gleaming irises. He mumbled through the fog of sleep:
—I didn’t want to trouble you and Four Eyes, Pa.
Lu Beiping’s face went beet-red.
—Smudge, I . . . he stuttered, I didn’t . . . I didn’t realize . . .
—Hmph, Smudge snorted disdainfully, sliding the hand that held Lu Beiping’s harmonica behind his back: You’re a dirty son of a dog.
Lu Beiping’s heart went cold. Crap, he thought. I’m done for. He stood there in dumb silence, a vein throbbing in his forehead, waiting for Smudge to come out with the inevitable, damning accusation.
—Stinkyfoot! Smudge burst out at last. You promised! Said if you didn’t play for me next time you were a dirty son of a dog! And you still haven’t played!
Oh, that little imp, Lu Beiping thought. He sure knows how to maneuver the grown-ups out of a sticky situation. A wave of relief washed over Lu Beiping, and he slumped back against one of the hut’s central roof-posts, his body limp as a slack fiddle string.
—But Smudge, Lu Beiping said with a forced grin, this is next time, and we’ve been together for barely a minute!
Jade chuckled at that, and hoisting the stew pot she chimed in:
—Smudge, you’re right. He is a dirty son of a dog. Loo
k at this delicious pot of pork scraps he had squirreled away all for his greedy self. He hadn’t even cooked it yet. It was a lucky thing I found it, or it would’ve gone bad!
At the word “meat” Smudge’s nose twitched automatically, and he flopped off of the log stool and scrambled across the floor to the stew pot. Bringing his nose close to the warm metal, he drank in the aroma, pursing his lips; then without warning he began to giggle and weep at the same time. For a moment he sat there stupidly, wiping tears and trembling with laughter, then all at once he flew upon Lu Beiping and began pummeling him with his fists.
—Oy-yoy-yoy! he wailed. Stinkyfoot! Whyever’d you do such a sorry thing? Bad man! Pa, I’m hungry! I want meat! I want to eat—now!
The boy’s hand darted out to snatch off the lid, but Jade barked at him reproachfully and he froze.
—Smudge! Did that fever addle your head? Don’t you dare touch that meat till your uncles get a chance to eat too! Shame on you!
Three pairs of eyes came to rest on the stew pot. Its dented, smoke-blackened lid seemed to glow softly in the dim evening light.
(Years later, recounting this story to Tsung, Lu Beiping would emphasize again and again how powerful a hold this pot of meat seemed to possess over the minds of the driftfolk. Migrants living deep in the Hainan hills weren’t likely to taste meat more than once or twice a year, and in the calculations of such people two pounds of pork scraps could easily outweigh a woman. For them, Lu Beiping’s meat had an almost magical power.)
—Four Eyes, Jade said, turning to face Lu Beiping: Come with us. You just saw what this poor boy’ll do for a bite of meat. Our bones are squealing for lack of grease up there. Why, when Stump and Kingfisher smell this stew, they’ll get down on all fours and yap like dogs if you tell them to.
Lu Beiping sat down heavily on the bed and stared blankly at the stew pot.
—Think about it this way, Jade said. If you don’t come, could I be so cruel as to steal this pot of stew away from you? And Smudge, tell me, would Four Eyes be so cruel as to keep this meat all to himself? Oh, and Four Eyes, I forgot to mention. Kingfisher has something he wants to talk to you about.
Lu Beiping sat on the bed, motionless, silent. Smudge thrust the harmonica under his nose and resumed his dogged petition.
—Play it, Four Eyes! he said, dancing around him impatiently: Please! You promised, or else you’re a dirty son of a dog. Please! I want to eat meat, I want to hear you play the mouth harp!
(Alas, Lu Beiping sighed to Tsung, seeming almost to pride himself on his own fatalistic attitude: What else could I do? I had no other choice. Like I told you before, I knew that kid would be my undoing.)
Mother and son led the way in triumph, Smudge waving the harmonica, Jade carrying the stew pot. Feeling resigned, Lu Beiping latched the door amid the nasal complaints of the cattle and started up the trail after Jade and Smudge. The path glowed faint blue in the dappled moonlight, leading away up into darkness. That’s the color of destiny, Lu Beiping thought.
When they reached the fourth bend of the creek, having crossed the meadow where Lu Beiping first encountered Jade, they waded into the water. Now Lu Beiping held the stew pot, at Jade’s insistence. As they began sloshing up the creekbed, Jade grabbed Lu Beiping from behind and said to Smudge, giggling:
—Smudge, Four Eyes said he wouldn’t come with us unless I cut off his balls. Shall we cut them off now? We don’t want him to change his mind . . .
—Heehee! Smudge cried as he scampered through the water and pounced on Lu Beiping’s leg. Pounding him and tugging at him, he said: If we cut off your balls, will you still be the Bull Devil?
Lu Beiping laughed as he tried to wriggle free of them, their struggle churning the creek into a dancing rattlesnake. Finally, feeling a bit surly, he yelled:
—Quit it, you two! You’ll spill your own dinner!
The hollow was silent as a ghost town. No lamps were lit, and nobody stirred in the two dark cabins sitting catty-corner by the creek. The moon glared over the bluffs that ringed the hollow, illuminating the twisted figure of the lychee tree that loomed to one side like a door-god guarding the entranceway to a temple. As they emerged from the tunnel of branches Wildweed began to bark again, and Jade shushed him. With silent eagerness the dog ran over to sniff Lu Beiping’s legs, then gamboled greedily after the stew pot.
After exchanging a glance with Smudge, Jade took the pot from Lu Beiping and proceeded to the near cabin, where she disappeared behind the protruding bulk of the hearth stove. Smudge led Lu Beiping to the other side. He tiptoed to the door, gently eased it open, peeked inside, then looked back at Lu Beiping with his tongue out in surprise.
It was pitch black inside, and silent. First Lu Beiping made out the two children sprawled on the bed; then, in the shadows near the foot of bed, he noticed two glowing specks of orange light. Stump and Autumn were sitting side by side on the floor, smoking, each holding a lit incense stick for a lighter, silent except for the hoarse gurgling of their water pipes. As Smudge pulled Lu Beiping into the cabin Autumn started to rise, but Stump tugged him back down and, pointing wordlessly with his incense stick, directed Lu Beiping’s gaze to the other figure in the room.
Kingfisher sat cross-legged on a log stool, his back to the door. The gaunt ridge of his spine was barely visible in the darkness. He looked like he was meditating, or maybe just brooding. Lu Beiping remembered the frigid atmosphere around the dinner table on his first night in the hollow, and sensed that another blizzard was about to hit.
That austere, cross-legged pose, Lu Beiping thought, was an expression of Kingfisher’s authority over the other hollow-dwellers. By doing daily homage to the band’s dead leader, he now positioned himself as their new one.
Over in the kitchen Jade had already rekindled the fire and set the stew pot on the stove to warm. Now she lit a kerosene lantern and sashayed into the room.
—What are you boys doing here in the dark? Sitting the sevens? What happened, did somebody die?
When this sarcastic question failed to provoke a response, Jade picked up her comb from the bed and flung it across the room at Kingfisher.
—Sorry I’m late, Kingfish. I’m back, you can kill me now if you want.
The comb bounced off Kingfisher’s back and skittered across the floor. Kingfisher seemed not to notice. Slowly he joined his hands in prayer, raised them to his forehead, swept them out and around in a broad downward circle, joined them at his chest again, and made a slight bow. Having formally concluded his meditation, he turned with the same deliberate slowness to face Jade. Then, in an abrupt, explosive motion, he grabbed the wicker prayer mat and hurled it against the doorframe.
—Shameless woman! he boomed. Face west, Jade, get down on your knees, and pray! Pray to your brother Horn, to the father of your son Smudge! Pray, Jade!—his voice became suddenly shrill—Pray to him, now!
Tick and Roach stirred in bed and began to whimper. Stump silenced them with a bark. Glancing sidelong at Lu Beiping, Kingfisher rubbed his arms briskly and said:
—Beg pardon, Four Eyes. The kingdom hath its mandates, the family its laws. Jade here just broke family law, and I forgot my manners.
Lu Beiping could tell by the veins bulging on Kingfisher’s bald head that the man was working hard to contain his own rage. He stole an uneasy glance at Jade, trying to catch her eyes in hopes of gauging his own standing vis-à-vis Kingfisher. Jade stood off to one side, her arms folded, gazing wordlessly at Kingfisher with a bitter smile on her face while he continued to berate her:
—The first thing on your lips is die, die, die. Haven’t you had your fill of dying? Remember what you promised Horn when you joined up with us—you said he could trust you to take care of the family. Right? You said you’d be a mother for this family of orphans. Ever since we came into the hills we’ve counted on you for every scrap of cloth on our backs and every ounce of rice in o
ur bowls. I don’t believe you’ve ever shammed out on us like this. You think you’re some kind of goddess? Leaving the whole family hungry to go larking it up downmountain!
He glanced sideways at Lu Beiping again, then continued:
—Jade, I just talked to Horn through the plate sprite. The plate said fire, then scatter. When there’s no fire in the hearth, the family will scatter! Smudge, this is your fault too! You . . .
Kingfisher’s voice trailed off abruptly. Smudge hung his head and gave a morose sniff. Kingfisher pointed at the prayer mat and continued imprecating Smudge, but now his head was inclined slightly in the direction of the kitchen and his nose was twitching unconsciously as he spoke:
—Kneel, boy! Kneel with your Auntie and apologize to your Pa’s spirit! I send you down to look for her and you disappear like a dog with a bone! You—
He stopped again, sniffing as if he were coming down with a cold. Firelight was dancing inside the hearth stove, and the aroma of stewed pork had begun to fill the room.
—Eh? All of a sudden Kingfisher’s body went slack and his legs flopped out limply in front of him. Then his face lit up and he gave a joyful whoop: Jade! he cried. You devil!
—Ha!
Chortling triumphantly, Jade charged over and barred Kingfisher’s way as he made a beeline for the kitchen.
—Hmph! she snorted, giving him a shove: Not so fast, Kingfish. First, you kneel.
—Quit it! Kingfisher yelled, trying to fight his way around her: Stew my balls, I’ve never smelled anything so good in years!
—Nope! Jade said, arching her brow. No dice! Not till you kneel down in front of Smudge’s pa’s shrine and apologize for what you just said to us.
Already Stump had scrambled to his feet and bounded across the cabin to the stove, where he stood, pot lid in hand, beaming down into the bubbling stew with a look of pure rapture on his face.
—Oy, yoy, yoy! he crowed. Mother heaven! Sis, where in the blazes did you cozen this big pot of meat?
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