Crooning like a singshow actor, Stump did a little jig of excitement in front of the stove while Smudge led Tick and Roach in a high-pitched, jubilant chorus:
—Meat, Auntie! We—want—meat!
Jade, who was still busy fending off Kingfisher, managed to get a grip on the bald man’s ear and twisted it ferociously.
—Come on, if you won’t kneel, Stump gets to tuck in first!
—Ouch! Hell! Fine, Jade, fine. When supper’s over I’ll kneel till the sun comes up, if that’s what you want.
—That’s not good enough, Kingfisher. I want you to get down on your knees right now—she pulled Lu Beiping to her side and tapped her toe on the prayer mat Kingfisher had thrown against the door—in front of Four Eyes! It was him that brought us this lovely supper tonight. And did you say a word of thanks? No! You just lit into all of us and started cussing up a storm—
—Jade! Lu Beiping snapped: Enough, okay? Kingfisher, don’t listen to her, I don’t want you to kneel for me.
He struggled free from her grip, and immediately Jade sprang aside and danced three paces over to the kitchen, where she positioned herself in front of the stew pot and stood shielding it like a sacred flame while clacking a chopstick loudly against the rims of the enamel dinner bowls:
—Supper’s served! she yelled. Wash up and come eat!
Wildweed contributed his own barking voice to the chaos, and soon the whole cabin was aglow with light and merriment. Kingfisher threw an arm around his pale young rescuer and squeezed him so hard that his shoulder hurt.
—You’re a fine lad, Four Eyes, he said, laughing. A right, fine lad!
For the first time in his life Lu Beiping discovered that it was possible to get drunk off of meat. Meat drunk, he’d often heard the plantation workers say, but he’d always assumed it was a joke. Now it became clear to him what a powerful intoxicant meat really could be.
(In the highlands, eating meat was a ritual act, Lu Beiping explained years later to Tsung. Even in the Agrecorps camps, where everyone “ate of out the magistrate’s hand,” you could count on one hand the number of times a year a pig was slaughtered, and such occasions became raucous holidays. Needless to say, breaking meatfast was an even more hallowed observance in the remote wilds of Mudkettle Mountain.)
Tonight, after the initial uproar subsided, Kingfisher, Stump, and Autumn proceeded to the edge of the creek to wash their faces and hands and then returned to the lodge, still shirtless but wearing checkered waistcloths that provided the bare minimum in the way of coverage. The kids frolicked at Jade’s knees as she bustled in the kitchen, and Smudge kept pestering Lu Beiping to teach him the harmonica. In the blink of an eye Jade had cleared the long, low dinner table of its clutter of knives, cane wicker, work sleeves, and half-finished sandals, whipped together an assortment of vegetable appetizers, and brought out a big pot of yam porridge that had been cooling since morning. Meanwhile Kingfisher took charge of ladling out portions of yam beer into individual drinking bowls.
In the center of the table sat the pot of stewed pork, like an offering to the gods, browned and gleaming. The meat filled the room with its ambiguous odor, part savory aroma, part noxious reek.
Stump was eager to dig in, but Kingfisher checked him. Now, despite the scene he’d just made, Kingfisher took the time to pull several sticks of mosquito incense from under the mattress, light them in the hearth stove, and stick them in the brazier in front of the altar that occupied the alcove next to the door. As Lu Beiping watched Kingfisher, he made out in the shadows of the alcove a small shrine with a wooden memorial tablet—that must belong to Horn, Smudge’s dad—and an unassuming porcelain statue of Kwan-Yin.
Kingfisher didn’t kneel to pray; instead, he took one of the beer bowls and sprinkled a few drops in the dirt before the shrine, then clasped his hands and bowed, muttering:
—Sup first, brother. Sup first.
From the far side of the table Autumn gave Lu Beiping, by way of acknowledgment, a knowing smile.
Then the meal commenced, and Jade’s chopsticks immediately took on the role of guardian spirit of the meat. In a heartbeat the three kids fell upon the stew pot, but Jade parried their chopsticks deftly, deposited several pieces of meat and veggies into each kid’s bowl, then waved them away from the grown-ups’ table. The two little ones retreated to the small table near the hearth stove, but Smudge lingered for a moment, appealing to Lu Beiping for aid, before Jade gave him a decisive slap on the rump and he slunk off, pouting, to join the others. At that point Stump’s chopsticks darted out too, but Jade deflected them and said with a smile:
—Not yet, boys. I have a big piece of news to share with you all before we start supper.
Lu Beiping tensed. The dog was nosing around hopefully under the table, and he fingered its scruff in an attempt to hide his own unease, bracing himself for the harrowing announcement that was soon to follow. He surveyed the three men sitting around the table, certain that he was in a highly dangerous situation. It’s a trap! a voice cried out inside him. Run, it’s a trap!
Now Jade took their bowls and began portioning out the meat piece by piece. When this was done she lifted her beer bowl to Four Eyes, then, noticing that his was empty, said abruptly:
—Hey! Where’s your beer?
A moment before, when no one was looking, Lu Beiping had furtively poured his beer back into the serving bowl.
—Every man’s a king when he’s got meat and wine, but without them, we’re no better than swine! Kingfisher boomed, now in very high spirits. Four Eyes, we might not be kings, but we’re not swine either. Jade, pour our guest a drink.
—Guest? Jade said as she refilled Lu Beiping’s bowl. Kingfisher, would a guest bring us such a precious gift? Raising her bowl to Lu Beiping again, she said: Four Eyes, Kingfisher just thanked the spirits for our meal. But tonight, with my first drink, I want to offer my thanks to you.
—Stop it! Lu Beiping blurted out. Are you crazy?
Lu Beiping cringed in embarrassment when he heard these words come out of his mouth. (Trust me to find exactly the wrong thing to say in every situation, he said to Tsung. I blame it on the yam beer. First I made the mistake of calling Kingfisher Smudge’s pa, and now . . .)
—Crazy? Jade said with a cryptic smile. We’re all crazy around here. So, as I was saying, let’s drink to Four Eyes. First he saved Smudge’s life, and now he’s made us all kings for a night—she laughed, then turned and grinned at Lu Beiping—You can see, Four Eyes, we’ve all gone crazy over your meat.
—Ha! Kingfisher hooted. I’ll drink to that!
Stump and Kingfisher guffawed, clacked bowls with Lu Beiping, downed their drinks without looking to see whether he’d followed suit, and promptly began stuffing their mouths with pork. Autumn ate with quiet focus, chewing each mouthful carefully before swallowing.
—Bull Devil! Smudge chipped in from the table next to the stove: I’m crazy for your meat too! Then he came running over, waving his bowl above his head and giggling giddily: I’m—crazy—for your—meat! I’m—crazy—for your—meat!
—Smudge! Jade yelled. Don’t interrupt the grown-ups! Then, seeing Kingfisher’s expression darken, she added quickly: Kingfish, you ought to thank me too, you know. If it wasn’t for me, this whole of pot of meat would’ve spoiled.
—Eh? Is that so?
Kingfisher, red-faced from athletic eating, swiveled around to look at Lu Beiping, evidently pleased to have found an opening for conversation with the bespectacled city boy. Lu Beiping chuckled self-effacingly.
—It’s true. My unit slaughtered a pig at the pre-campaign rally, and my friends saved me my ration. I’d been brining it so it would keep longer, thinking I’d share it with you guys. But it was hot out, and the cattle were hard to manage, and I never had the time to bring it up to the hollow. Jade’s right, if she hadn’t found it and cooked it today, it might’ve gone
bad by the time I got back from work.
—Small wonder it tastes a trifle like stinky feet, Stump said, and the whole room erupted into laughter.
—Right on! Kingfisher chortled, slurping beer. That must be what gives it that kick. Toe grease!
—Peh! Mind your tongues! Jade said, shaking with laughter. You’ll make me lose my appetite!
—All the better, then there’ll be more for Four Eyes.
Kingfisher deposited another heap of veggies on Lu Beiping’s plate while urging him to eat, eat through a mouthful of pork.
—Where I come from, Kingfisher said, addressing the room, every time a couple gets hitched the groom’s family serves pork chitterlings for good luck. The groom’s mother has always got to remind the kitchen helpers not to wash them too clean—there needs to be some stink left for that savor to reach heaven, bring glory to the whole family. Eat, Four Eyes, eat.
Lu Beiping was beginning to feel dizzy. His tightly wound nerves had relaxed, and he was now in a very good mood. Obviously it wasn’t an effect of the alcohol, as throughout the whole meal he’d been careful not to let more than a few drops of yam beer pass between his lips. But eating rich, fatty pork on an empty stomach was like pouring water into a hot, dry kettle; at the first drop of fat his stomach gurgled tumultuously and an ammoniac flavor rushed up into his nose, making his sinuses tingle and his head spin. It was intoxicating. Yes, he thought, you really can get drunk on meat. He smelled the same odor on Stump’s and Kingfisher’s breath when they belched, and he noticed that their eyes had acquired a drifty, glazed-over look. Jade was no longer so vigilant with her chopsticks, and every leap of her eyebrows and toss of her hair betrayed the disinhibiting effects of the meat.
Only Autumn’s manner remained unchanged. Throughout all this he ate serenely and with great focus, gazing now at Jade, now at Lu Beiping, and occasionally turning around to glance at Smudge. He chewed his meat as if he were sucking the juice out of every fiber, savoring some flavor the rest of them couldn’t taste. But Lu Beiping didn’t have long to ponder what this flavor might be before Jade jerked him rudely back to the present. As a second helping of pork made its way around the table and the remaining yam beer was pressed on everyone in turn, Jade slapped her forehead and exclaimed:
—Heavens above, I was so busy stuffing myself that I forgot to tell you my news! Gentlemen, guess what: Today, I made good with Four Eyes. Kingfish, you bet me I couldn’t get him? Well, I did.
Just like that, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, Jade dropped the bomb that Lu Beiping feared would bring the mountains crashing down on his head. Kingfisher’s red-veined eyes widened, and he looked at Lu Beiping, then at Jade, with a broad smile on his face.
—Eh? Is that so?
—Uh . . . Jade? Lu Beiping said, beginning to panic.
—You’d better believe it! Jade said, taking advantage of the giddy atmosphere to snake an arm around Lu Beiping and give him a hearty squeeze. So, from now on, Four Eyes isn’t a guest here. You all had better treat him good.
—Oy, cheers to that! Stump rumbled, raising his beer bowl.
Kingfisher gazed at Lu Beiping for a few seconds, and it seemed to Lu Beiping that a shadow passed behind his eyes. Then, in a cheerful voice, he announced:
—Well, no wonder Jade prayed the eights for you, Four Eyes. She’s a good woman, no? Let’s drink—to her!
Lu Beiping was thoroughly dazed. Even Autumn’s smile from across the table took him by surprise. The mood was still mirthful; the sky hadn’t fallen, the ocean hadn’t risen to swallow the land. Amid the haze of meat-drunkenness and actual drunkenness, Jade’s announcement had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. (Later, it would occur to Lu Beiping that even the tipsy atmosphere that night had been of conscious design. Like cooking the meat and spreading the palm leaves, this evening of boozy revelry was a deliberate step toward a well-thought-out end. Jade was nothing if not practical, Lu Beiping reflected to Tsung, years afterward. Even in the most uncertain terrain her feet instinctively picked out a level road.)
Chuckling awkwardly, Lu Beiping wracked his brains for something to say and once again alighted on the most tactless thing possible.
—Have some more! he said, gesturing grandly at the almost-empty pot as if he were now the master of the house.
Another jug of yam beer, its seal freshly broken, arrived at the table, ferried over from the kitchen by Smudge. Later on Lu Beiping would learn that the driftfolk made this beer in their own stills, which explained why it didn’t have the same foul, stomach-turning odor as the rotgut the hands drank down at camp. While the grown-ups pressed more beer on one another, Smudge planted himself directly in front of Lu Beiping and thrust the harmonica in his face again.
—Play, Bull Devil!
For once Kingfisher didn’t silence the boy. Instead he toasted Lu Beiping and said to Smudge while giving Stump a playful shove:
—Doesn’t your uncle Stump have an old Teochew dulcimer lying around here somewhere? Why don’t you run and get it. Stump, looks like you’ll have a music-playing partner from now on!
—I don’t want to listen to Stump’s dulcimer tonight, Jade said. Four Eyes, why don’t you give us a tune?
—Aye, said Stump, wagging his head. I’m not in the musicking mood just now. Play for us, Four Eyes.
Pushing Lu Beiping from behind, Smudge cried out:
—Come on, play! You promised, Bull Devil! Or else you’re a dirty son of a dog.
Autumn took the harmonica from Smudge, wiped the boy’s greasy fingerprints off of its silver surface, and examined it meticulously before handing it to Lu Beiping. Swaying, Lu Beiping got to his feet.
The moon had risen early that night, and by now it had disappeared behind the hills. With the harmonica cradled in his hands like an infant, Lu Beiping coaxed forth the bright, plaintive strains of “Red River Valley,” meanwhile laying out the rest of the program in his head: “Troika,” “Katyusha,” “The Deep Blue Sea,” “Moscow Nights.” These were songs that most young people in those days knew by heart, all of them from Two Hundred World Folk Songs, and most of them Russian. The musical gifts he’d inherited from his father were on full display tonight as he marshaled arpeggios, glissandos, and pitch-bends to mimic the sounds of a full orchestra. These sounds, he thought to himself, must seem to the hollow-dwellers as beautiful and otherworldly as a choir of angels. But no sooner had he launched into the opening phrase of “Troika,” sweeping in one breath to the keening, querulous high note, than he stopped, sat down, and fell into a stupor. Meat drunk. His stomach juices, unable to digest such rich food, had fermented like yeast and spread alcohol throughout his bloodstream. Though he remained aware of what was going on around him, he felt himself slipping off into a dream-like half sleep. At some point Stump had hauled out his dusty old dulcimer, set it up on the table, and started plinking away while Kingfisher and Jade stood arm in arm, swaying and singing West Canton river shanties. Smudge, Tick, and Roach pranced around on the bed, giggling and crowing with delight. Foggily Lu Beiping noticed that someone had taken the harmonica out of his hands and, looking up, he found himself staring into a pair of deliquescent eyes. It was Autumn. Only much later would Lu Beiping realize that Autumn, even more than Jade, perhaps, was grateful for the entrance of this new member into their household, and had his interests at heart.
When he woke the next day Lu Beiping would dimly recall that later that night, after the music was over and Kingfisher and Stump had downed another big bowl of yam beer, the two men had built a bonfire in the yard and competed to climb the lychee tree, scrambling up opposite sides of the trunk as they vied to be the first to grab the topmost branch of its bare, twisted crown.
Just as the night sky began to pale, long before the sun would clear the walls of the hollow, Lu Beiping was jolted awake by the rasp of a saw. He sat up, and realizing that the scrape of sawteeth
wasn’t the lowing of his cattle, he immediately broke into a sweat. Staring up into the patched mosquito net that hung over the bed, he wondered: Where am I? Why am I lying here? Then fragments of the previous day’s adventures surfaced in his memory, and scene by scene the story reassembled itself, dim and distant, like memories from a past century. He chuckled. This was the same feeling he’d had the morning after the ghost wedding, after spending a night vomiting up the gallon of yam beer he’d been forced to consume the evening before. No, not quite. It wasn’t exactly the same. That felt unreal; this was real. And far stranger. The ghost wedding had had an absurd, nightmarish quality, but last night’s events, though no less absurd, were like the plot of a vivid, fascinating dream that brought him a faint thrill to recall.
His mind was a wild jumble of emotions, scrambling every which way like a kudzu vine across a mountainside.
Smudge, Tick, and Roach lay curled in bed next to him, three grimy monkeys fast asleep. The bed opposite them must be Jade’s, he thought. But when he pulled back the mosquito net he saw that it was empty. He rolled out of bed, fumbled for his glasses, and hurried to the door, where he collided head-on with Jade, just returned from the forest with a basket of freshly picked amaranth leaves, who had heard him stirring inside the lodge and was on her way in to wish him good morning.
—Aren’t you in a hurry! Got someplace you need to be?
—Uh, yes, actually, Lu Beiping stammered, circling the room in search of his undershirt. I can’t believe it, I forgot all about the cattle! I’ve got to get back down to my hut right now.
—What’s the rush? Wait till Kingfisher and Stump are done sawing, then we’ll all eat breakfast together. On hot summer days like these they try to get in as much work as they can in the morning cool, before the sun climbs high. We’ve got plenty of leftover veggies, we got so carried away with the meat and beer last night that we barely ate any of them!
In this eager rush of solicitous patter Lu Beiping sensed a slight awkwardness on Jade’s part. Well, he thought with an inward chuckle, this was, after all, his first day as a “man of the house.”
The Invisible Valley Page 15