Lu Beiping released him. In the shadows Autumn stood with his head bowed, silent; it looked to Lu Beiping like he might be crying. Guessing how much shame Autumn must be feeling right now, Lu Beiping grabbed him by the shoulder and said:
—Autumn, I’m sorry.
Autumn brushed his hand off, turned, and stalked off down the creek without a word.
The water chattered crisply in the morning mist. Lu Beiping remembered walking home with Autumn down this same stretch of creek on the evening of his first visit to the hollow—even then, he’d sensed the brittleness of Autumn’s ego and the depths of his inner loneliness. Aloof among others, Autumn always surprised Lu Beiping with his poised, articulate speech whenever they were alone together, and though his childlike earnestness and rough country manners could sometimes make him seem a bit simpleminded, as soon as they got to talking he revealed a dazzling breadth of knowledge that would have befitted a classical aristocrat. Even in their day-to-day interactions an occasional flash of virility or hint of tenderness shone through Autumn’s apathetic facade. Truth be told, the intensity of Autumn’s reaction to their awkward encounter had taken Lu Beiping aback. In those days, when friendship between the sexes was so rare and fraught with political baggage, it wasn’t unusual for re-eds of the same sex to let off steam in brief moments of transgressive intimacy. Twice in the boys’ tent during reclamation campaigns he’d been “ambushed” by older re-eds; people resisted such ambushes with varying degrees of unwillingness, and nobody took it too seriously. At most it was seen as a passing adolescent phase, and he’d never put too much thought to it. But Autumn was clearly so wounded by Lu Beiping’s rejection of him that the whole thing had begun to seem rather serious.
If it hadn’t been for last night’s harrowing torchlit standoff, he and Autumn probably would have drifted apart till they were no more than a pair of strangers passing on the road.
—Autumn, Lu Beiping said finally: I just wanted to say thank you for—
—Don’t mention it, Autumn said sharply, but nevertheless he slowed his pace.
—Where’d you go last night, after Kingfisher drove those jerks away? Lu Beiping asked, refusing to drop the subject. Jade made a big pot of ginger soup with water chestnuts to calm everyone’s nerves, but when it was time to eat she couldn’t find you.
Autumn walked on a little longer in silence, then said abruptly:
—I don’t want you to get the wrong notion, friend. I didn’t do you that favor last night so you’d be grateful to me, or so you’d take pity on me. If you think that’s why I did it, you’re wrong about me.
Lu Beiping was silent. He knew he’d once again run up against one of Autumn’s deep-seated vulnerabilities.
They waded in silence up out of the creek, hiked through the dewy grass to the top of the meadow and sat down on the abandoned, moss-covered log where Lu Beiping had first seen Jade.
The sun hadn’t yet cleared the ridge, and it was just barely light out. Autumn set off into the forest at this early hour almost every morning, so now was the only time when Lu Beiping, following the sound of Autumn’s footsteps as he left the hollow, stood a chance of having a moment alone with him in which to try to rebuild their rusted-out friendship. During the long stretch of time when they hadn’t been talking, Lu Beiping, walking alone through the forest, had often thought back wistfully on his friendship with Autumn and realized how irreplaceable it was. He had a whole reservoir of long-nursed peeves and cynical opinions that he needed the right person to vent to, and Autumn was the person Fate had offered up to him. And Lu Beiping missed Autumn’s tales of amaranthine rosewood and gallant young poets—nobody else he knew, not Jade, not Kingfisher, certainly not Fong or Chu—had such stories to tell. But he also understood that between him and Autumn there existed a fragile boundary that, if broken, might spell destruction for them both.
The knowledge of this possibility filled Lu Beiping with dread, and also with a heady sense of excitement.
—Who was that young sergeant fellow last night? Autumn said, breaking the silence as they sat down on the log. You ought to be careful, it sure looked like they had it out for you. What was all that hullabaloo about?
—That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Autumn, Lu Beiping said, his expression more composed now: At this point, you might be the only person who can help me.
Autumn turned and gazed at him without speaking.
—You see, Lu Beiping began with a grim laugh, On the surface of it, it was probably because that guy, Fook—he was my old squad leader—thought that my old girlfriend, Fong, dumped him in order to get back together with me. But actually, my hunch is that the real reason behind it all has to do with my ghost wife, Han, the foreman’s daughter, who I got tricked into marrying.
—Eh? What’s all this gobbledygook? I’m lost.
Strand by strand, Lu Beiping teased apart the entire web of intrigue—the sudden appearance of Han’s blouse and Choi’s subsequent disappearance; the suspicious liaisons between Choi and the foreman and between Wing and his sister; Fong’s visit and her stern warning; the Gaffer’s unwelcome meddling, which had sparked the incident. When he reached the end of the story, Autumn sighed.
—Good heavens, Kingfisher saw right to the heart of it. I told you way back, he could tell you were in some kind of trouble. After he heard that stuff about you being ghost husband to the foreman’s daughter, he said, there’s got to be some secret behind this yet. Otherwise, why’d a doler magistrate send his son-in-law into the jungle to live like a hermit? That day, right after Kambugger left, Kingfisher turned to us and wailed out, This is it! We’re done for! Our end’s upon us!
—Really? Lu Beiping said, standing up in surprise. Kingfisher really said that?
—That’s the reason he wanted . . . your blood to be seen.
More and more, it was becoming clear to Lu Beiping that behind all of Kingfisher’s crude, backward mysticism there lay a deep perceptiveness about human affairs.
—Bei, Autumn said, using his nickname for the first time in weeks: Why didn’t you tell me about this? Such a big thing . . . Autumn’s voice carried a hint of reproach. Then he looked Lu Beiping in the eye and said: But you’re right, you can’t talk to Kingfisher about this now, and you’d better not tell Jade either. It’d give them too great of a shock. But don’t fret. No matter what, before we weigh anchor, I’ll help you get to the bottom of this.
—What? Lu Beiping said. Before you weigh anchor? The phrase sounded strangely familiar; then he remembered Kingfisher’s cryptic words the night before.
Autumn stammered and looked down. Apparently he hadn’t meant to let this slip. For a few moments neither of them spoke, then Autumn said:
—No reason to hide the truth from you, Bei. Ever since we got that permit from Whitesands we’ve been working flat-out in hopes of someday trading it in for an official, black-and-white logging license that could really protect us. Now that we’ve got that license in hand, we’d better weigh anchor and move on. Like Kingfisher says, a full moon can only wane. We woodsmen don’t dare log a place to the point that we’ve upset the earth and trodden all over the magistrates’ turf. This little family enterprise of ours, it would’ve been broken up long ago if we hadn’t been so careful, taking only what we need, never pressing our luck—Autumn paused, and sighed quietly—And lately, the mountain’s shown us we’ve gone a little too far.
—So . . . you’re leaving? You’re moving someplace else? Lu Beiping asked. He remembered the rainy night when Kingfisher had urged him to go, the strange atmosphere at dinner last night; everything made sense now. A wave of grief rose up inside him, and he said: Autumn, I know this is my fault. I’ve caused so much trouble, I’ve endangered you all . . .
He stared out at the hazy green expanse of the forest, suddenly overcome by melancholy. What other trouble have I caused without knowing it? he wondered. Who else have I unwitting
ly harmed?
The sun had risen over the treetops into a veil of mist, and a few white needles of light pierced the clouds. If this were evening, he thought, those would be blood-red snakeclouds.
They sat for a while in silence. Down in the valley the morning work bell began to toll, far-off and faint, filling Lu Beiping with a feeling of hopelessness and desolation. Autumn got up and began to walk away, then stopped, stood for a moment as if steeling himself, then looked back and said:
—Bei, I don’t want to pretend like nothing’s happened between us. My dad always said, it takes ten shared lives to make a shipmate. Since you came looking for me, I want you to know what’s in my heart, I want you to know my true feelings about . . . our acquaintance.
Lu Beiping didn’t dare look up and meet Autumn’s candid, unforgiving gaze.
—I’ve been pondering this a long while, Autumn said, stabbing repeatedly at the soil with his machete but speaking with great calm: I’ve been asking myself, my wanting to make good with Bei, is that a crime? Kingfisher says, everything in this world that shares in growth and life, none of that’s sin, no kind of affection between living beings ought to be a sin. But when people share great affection, isn’t love the natural end of it? I don’t know, Bei, I just don’t know . . . Autumn’s lips trembled as he spoke and the knuckles stood out on the hand that gripped the machete, but he went on in the same calm, even voice: When you told me, just now, about all the things you’ve had weighing on your mind since coming up onto the mountain, I wanted to take you to task for not telling me. I laid bare every little thing about myself to you, but you hid so much from me. I realized, then, that you hadn’t taken our friendship as seriously as I did.
—Autumn . . .
—I’ve taken a liking to you, it’s true. I can’t say why. Or maybe you don’t need a reason to like a person, only not to like them?—Autumn gave a chilly laugh—I know the world’s not fair. Jade and you can love each other, Jade and Kingfisher and Stump can do the same, your foreman’s blighted family can love the world sideways and even drive people to death on account of it. But I, I don’t dare make my feelings known to you. I’m afraid I’m in the wrong . . .
As Autumn spoke, Lu Beiping sat on the log with his arms crossed, listening. After a while he unfolded his arms, looked up, and saw that Autumn’s eyes were glittering with tears. He knew that he’d struck the steely hardness that hid at the core of Autumn’s tenderness. Clearly Autumn had thought these words through many times before speaking them, but Lu Beiping had never considered any of this before. Here was this swarthy-skinned mountain man, this sinewy backwoodsman who’d educated him about Li Shutong, Nara Singde, and amaranthine rosewood, laying out the tenets of a manifesto of love that would be heresy in the eyes of civilized society. Who would have thought that love could be such a complex, exacting field of study.
—Bei, our acquaintance . . . Autumn said, looking straight at Lu Beiping, his hand still gripping the pommel of his machete: We don’t have much time left. All I ask of you, is . . .
He stopped, his lips trembling. Lu Beiping sat, gazing blankly at him.
—All I ask . . . is that you accept my kindness.
Autumn’s gaze, shining brightly through his tears, managed to be both imploring and imperious. Lu Beiping hung his head.
Autumn pulled his machete out of the soil and turned to leave. Suddenly Lu Beiping looked up and said:
—Autumn, don’t go. Just a minute . . .
Lu Beiping brushed the dew off of the log next to him and patted it, inviting Autumn to sit down.
Hesitant, Autumn sat down at the far end of the log, planted his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.
—Okay, Lu Beiping said. Such a simple word, but so hard to say. Then, slowly, he reached over, drew Autumn toward him, and gave him a hug.
When at last the gray monsoon rains abated, Mudkettle Mountain emerged swathed in blue-green gauze. The sun, peeping through the clouds, was a painter’s palette; the banks of mist that drifted through the forest at dawn were glittering prisms; the afternoon fog was tinted green, as if the color of the mountains had run; and the evening light, lancing through the mist, shone rainbow colored. The haze burned where it was thick, shimmered where it was thin, and down in the creek gully there seethed billows of pink and lavender fog, as if the wispwomen of Mudkettle Mountain were busy cooking up a sumptuous banquet of steam.
From a distance, Lu Beiping watched Jade sitting by the water.
Jade’s always sitting by the water, Lu Beiping thought.
She’s a wispwoman, he thought. A fey forest spirit.
It always tugged at his heart to see her like that, sitting alone by the creek.
This time it was he who was watching her in secret. He sat behind the row of broad-leafed banana trees—the same trees from behind which Jade and Smudge had watched him “supping sun,” the same ones among which he’d given himself to Jade for the first time. This banana grove had a kind of magic to it; this little beach, it now seemed to him, was his destiny. Almost every time he and Jade had made love, it had been by the water. Jade told him that, by her calculations, the baby must have been conceived the night of the typhoon, during the jubilation that followed their close brush with disaster. I’m having a calf too, Jade had said, patting her stomach. I caught the breath of life from your cow, Maria. As always Jade broached this terrifying topic as if it were the most straightforward, uncomplicated thing in the world.
How long had she been here? Lu Beiping wondered. She must have been hanging out here all afternoon. She’d emptied his rain-sodden hut of its entire store of damp shirts, blankets, and pillowcases and strewn them, along with his satchel and boots, at the edge of the creek, where she was now washing them and spreading them out to dry in the sun. His whole wardrobe now adorned the slope like the colorful ribbons the Loi tribesfolk used to decorate their jugs of rice wine during the hillflower festival. Jade sat on a big, flat stone in the brilliant sunshine, her bare feet dangling right above the surface of the water, the whites of her soles reflected brightly in the stream and her flowered blouse hanging open so that, from this angle, her swollen breasts and large belly were just barely visible to him. From time to time she splashed a few handfuls of water onto the stone and pounded it into his sneakers and satchel while humming quietly to herself.
Her face gave off an aura of melancholy that hung palpably over the creek, like a thick blanket of fog.
Again she wore that placid expression, that far-gazing look that had so captured his imagination the day they met. Now, though, this look just struck Lu Beiping as chilly and remote, and made him feel even more distant from her.
He threw a stone into the water. Jade didn’t react.
He threw another, larger, stone. Plunk. She still didn’t move.
Finally he walked out from behind the banana trees.
—I knew you were watching me, Jade said without looking at him. I figured I’d let you watch, let you sate your eyes.
Like a true mountain woman she let no sound or movement in her environment escape her attention. Hands still busy with his clothes, she added:
—There’s someone else with you. I could tell it was two people. Who is it? Smudge?
Clearly Jade too had been reliving their earlier encounter.
—Nope. Autumn.
Jade looked up in surprise. She glanced around the banana grove.
—But where is he?
—He went back up to the hollow, Lu Beiping said. Detecting the hint of awkwardness in his voice, Jade chuckled.
—Seems like you two got to be pretty good friends again after he saved your hide the other night. What were you doing just now, anyway?
Lu Beiping smiled deviously.
—Something important. Something I can’t tell you about, just yet.
—Oh, I see! What else have you been hiding from m
e?
Laughing inwardly at the thought of the prank that he and Autumn had just devised, Lu Beiping reached out from behind and circled Jade with his arms.
—So kind of you to come down here and clean house for me, sister.
—Hmph! Jade slapped his wrist. Smells like you’ve been pickling kraut in there.
Lu Beiping withdrew his arms, laughing.
—Jade, what was that song you were singing? I couldn’t hear it clearly.
—Oh, Jade said, blushing with embarrassment: Just a silly, salty driftfolk song. Not proper for the ears of a scholar-gentleman like you.
—But I’d like to hear it.
—Oh, fine, Jade said, and sang quietly: “There’s nothing in this world that tastes so fine, as that pretty little thing you’ve got between your thighs . . .”
—Nice! That’s pretty salty! Lu Beiping said, chortling at this vulgar ditty. He snaked an arm around her again, ready to initiate some mischief, but Jade beat him to it and pushed him into the creek.
Propelled by the swirling current, Lu Beiping staggered a few paces downstream, then, as he regained his footing, he heard Jade order him quietly from the riverbank:
—Take off your shorts, Four Eyes.
Again he thought back to the time when she spied on him as he was bathing in the creek. If she hadn’t done that the past five months might have taken a very different course. Thinking this, he felt a pang of sadness, but he hid it with a laugh and retorted, parroting Jade’s words:
—Alright, here goes. Sate your eyes.
With a tacit understanding and a kind of ritual solemnity, Jade and Lu Beiping prepared to perform—like the “Last Supper” of a few evenings ago—a Last Frolic in the Creek. Gazing intently at his naked body, Jade sauntered to the edge of the rock, murmuring:
—I want to remember your fine body, Four Eyes. I want to remember your good looks . . . your good . . .
Good again, Lu Beiping thought. Always good. He forced a laugh, and hoping to recapture the lighthearted atmosphere of the moment before, he fell back on his old tricks and started splashing water at her.
The Invisible Valley Page 34