Binu and the Great Wall of China

by Tong,, Su

  ‘That just shows how stupid you are. Large livestock means people, not animals!’ Having lost his patience with her, Wuzhang picked up a whip with his feet, raised it high and brought it down with a crack right above her head. ‘Go on, get out of my way. I’m here to take on a new retainer for Lord Hengming. He’ll be coming down the mountain any minute now, so stop bothering me.’

  Binu jumped in alarm, the violent movement causing something metallic in her bundle to clink.

  The carter’s eyes lit up. ‘You’re not a woman who lies,’ he said. I can tell that you do in fact have nine sabre coins. Well, I didn’t lie to you either. Go and buy a head of large livestock. Go out of this pass and look down the mountain. You’ll see a place where they buy and sell people. Large livestock is all you’ll find there.’

  The People Market

  It was nearly time for the people market to close for the day, now that the sun was setting, but people still lined both sides of the street, the most notable being a cluster of bewitching young women. Given their dazzling, elaborate dress, they had probably come from the northern districts of Blue Cloud Prefecture. Rouge covered their foreheads, cheeks and lips, and they were dressed in colourful blue, peach-red or pastel-green dresses. The sleeves and hems were adorned with diamond patterns, some large, some small; their sashes, decorated with inlaid stones of agate and strips of jade, were tied in butterfly knots, and on the ends hung jade rings, silver lockets or perfume sachets. It must have been their splendid attire that lent them such self-assurance and a palpable sense of pride. Their faces betrayed little sadness over the chaotic state of the world around them. It was late in the day, and potential buyers had yet to show, so the women chattered like birds about to return to their nests for the night, making a racket over one thing or another. Scattered around them were barefoot mountain women in bamboo hats, and a few middle-aged women from a distant prefecture, all wearing simple dark clothing. They stood silently, with downcast looks that befitted their station, as they gazed at horse-drawn carriages travelling up and down the road. Across the way, elderly men and boys sat lazily, cross-legged, several of them asleep, with their heads resting on their neighbours’ shoulders. One boy, unmindful of his station, had climbed a date tree by the road and was shaking the branches with all his strength, even though the dates had been picked long ago; all that fell to the ground were dry dead leaves.

  A man sitting beneath the tree shouted, ‘Stop that! You’ll kill the tree that way, and there won’t be any shade left. Then you’ll have to stand in full sun waiting to be sold, and sooner or later that will kill you.’

  The threat worked on the boy, who stopped shaking and sat still in the fork of the branches, from where he spotted an unfamiliar woman with a bundle on her head coming down from the mountain pass. A new target had presented itself. Reaching under his shirt, he took out a slingshot and shouted excitedly to the people below, ‘Here comes some new large livestock! Hand me some stones, hurry!’

  The others watched as Binu, with a bundle on her head, walked under the tree; the women across the street heard the stones bombard her body, but Binu merely looked up into the branches of the tree and said, ‘You cannot hurt me with your stones. But you had better be careful up there or you might fall and hurt yourself.’ Her warning caught the boy off-guard; he put away his slingshot and said to the man under the tree, ‘I hit her with my slingshot but, instead of scolding me, she cautioned me to take care not to fall out of the tree. The head of this large livestock has a problem.’

  Binu stood fast on the dirt road. Since the tree and its surroundings were men’s territory, she could not stop there. But across the road were all those women, whose fancy dresses rippling in the desolate autumn breezes struck her as somehow improper. So she stood in the middle of the road and took a good look at the Bluegrass Ravine people market. The finely attired young women were, at the same time, sizing her up.

  ‘Why is she carrying a bundle on her head? Isn’t she afraid of crushing her hairstyle?’

  ‘Hairstyle?’ one of them sneered. ‘It’s a rat’s nest, that’s what it is. Southern women don’t fuss over their hair.’

  Another woman’s attention was drawn to Binu’s face. With a combination of envy and ignorance, she said, ‘I didn’t know there were beauties down south too. Just look at her delicate moth eyebrows, her phoenix eyes and her willowy waist, a classic beauty.’

  A woman beside her added caustically, ‘Too bad she never learned how to wash her face or apply make-up. She’s actually smeared dust all over her face in place of rouge. Look at the dirt on that face; you could plant crops in it.’

  Binu was not immediately offended by the malicious gossip. From Peach Village all the way to Bluegrass Ravine, she had believed that women who congregated at the side of a road must be waiting to be taken to Great Swallow Mountain, and she expected to meet women from other towns who were also searching for their husbands, assuming they could travel north together.

  She walked up to a woman in green who was eating flatbread. ‘Are you waiting for a ride?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to Great Swallow Mountain?’

  The woman looked at her out of the corner of her eye. ‘Great Swallow Mountain?’ she replied, still munching her food. ‘This is not a stopping point for labourers heading north, so how could there be any rides to Great Swallow Mountain? If you want to go there, you’d best get back on the road while it’s still light.’

  ‘Then what are you all waiting for? And where are you going?’

  The woman in green removed a packet from her sash and waved it in front of Binu. ‘We’re not like you. See that? It’s an embroidery kit. We are not large livestock, we’re skilled needleworkers who are waiting for a carriage from the Qiao family textile mill to take us into employment. Why are you standing here?’

  Noting the derisive tone of the question, Binu said, ‘You shouldn’t talk like that, Elder Sister. None of us chooses what we are. Just because you can do a little needlework there is no reason to act like spoilt girls. In Peach Village girls grow up knowing how to plant mulberries and raise silkworms. Our needlework may not be as fancy as yours, but every thread in that packet comes from a silkworm. I can tell that your silk threads came from Peach Village silkworms.’

  The woman blinked. ‘Are you saying our thread is silk from your hometown? Are you from Peach Village? No wonder you sound like crackling thunder when you speak!’ She laughed smugly. ‘I know who you are. People say there’s a madwoman in Peach Village who is afflicted with lovesickness. She is carrying a frog with her as she travels north to search for her husband. It’s you!’

  Binu was shocked to learn that news of her travels had reached Bluegrass Ravine. It did indeed sound like news of a madwoman. She detected a look of pity in the eyes of the woman in green, the controlled pity of a normal person towards a mad one. ‘Who is spreading such vicious rumours behind my back?’ she said. ‘I am taking winter clothing to my husband. That is not being lovesick, and I have no affliction. Any woman who could bear to let her husband go shirtless in winter is the afflicted one.’

  ‘If you have no affliction, then hurry up and get back on the road, deliver your winter clothing, go all the way to Great Swallow Mountain. If you don’t hurry, you’ll arrive after the winter snows, and your husband will have become a snowman!’ The woman cackled over her little joke and then, with a swish of her sleeve, edged closer to her embroidery sisters.

  Binu heard the gleeful sounds of the woman passing on the news: ‘Can’t you see who that is? Come take a look, it’s the madwoman of Peach Village!’

  The whispering embroidery women turned to give Binu looks of timid curiosity. ‘It’s her. Yes, it’s her. The lovesick one. The madwoman. What about the frog? It’s hidden in the bundle on her head.’ Caught in the needle-sharp gaze of the women, Binu felt her face and body prickle all over. Worn down physically and emotionally, she lacked the strength to reason with the women. It was just like Peach Village, with girls chattering away
whenever they got together, and they loved spreading idle talk about her.

  All this time, the mountain women stood quietly at the edge of the people market like a row of shadowy trees in the settling darkness. Binu left the gaggle of decked-out embroidery women and walked up to a woman in black who was holding a conical hat in her hand. She was reminiscent of the mountain woman on the raft and reminded Binu of the frog in her bundle. Binu thought of asking the woman if she was from Northeast Mountain and, if so, if she knew a woman who poled a raft to search for her son. But the hostility she had experienced in this people market had destroyed her confidence in human contact. So she chose to say nothing. I ask you nothing, and you ask me nothing, she thought. Binu stood silently amid the mountain women, waiting with them for carts and horses to pass by.

  The woman in black lowered the hat that she held in front of her face, revealing ashen, swollen features. The moment she opened her mouth to speak, a rank, fishy smell engulfed her. ‘You ought not to stand with those women. But then, only the aged, the ugly, the sick and dying, those with no skills, should stand here with us.’ The woman, with a blank look on her face, eyed up the bundle on Binu’s head. ‘You are better off than us,’ she said, ‘since you at least own a large bundle. We have nothing and can only stand here and wait. We are not waiting for a cart from the textile mill. If someone were to buy us to pull a plough, that would be enough. We are what is known as large livestock. But no one wants to buy mountain women like us; they think we are too ugly and too stupid. We will never find a cart, so we stand here awaiting death. If that is what you are waiting for too, then stand here with us.’

  Obviously, there was no place in the Bluegrass Ravine people market for Binu. She could stand with neither the embroidery sisters nor the mountain women. Unable to see an alternative, she stood in the middle of the road to wait, like the others; just wait. The last cart passed by the people market; the sky above Bluegrass Ravine darkened slowly, winds from the mountain were chilled. Every now and then, a cart passed down the road, creating a stir among women on both sides of the road. The embroidery sisters brushed and straightened their clothes and waved their colourful packets, retaining a modicum of reserve. The boys across the street simply ran over and grabbed hold of the cart canopy, hoping to jump aboard, but were driven back by the driver’s whip. ‘We’re not buying people, not today,’ the driver said.

  The mountain women chased meekly along behind the cart, shouting, ‘Don’t you want some large livestock? We don’t need wages, just some food.’

  The man on the cart answered, ‘No, we don’t need large livestock, not at any price.’

  With the bundle still resting on top of her head, Binu moved out of the way of the cart. The sight of her solitary, impoverished presence once again captured the attention of the boys under the tree, who began pointing and gesturing at her bundle.

  ‘Let’s see if there really is a frog in that bundle,’ one of them said.

  Another voice, gravelly, like that of an old man, responded, ‘See if there’s a frog? What in the world for? Let’s see if there are any sabre coins.’

  It was becoming clear to Binu that the people market was a dangerous place, especially as night was falling; the middle of the road was not a good place for her to be loitering. She was about to move to the left side of the road when the date tree rustled noisily and the boy with the slingshot jumped to the ground. At the same time, one of the other boys stood up and headed straight for Binu, who screamed, ‘What are you, bandits? If you’re not careful, the authorities will arrest you and take you away!’

  That stopped them in their tracks, but the gravelly voice began again, this time with a sinister edge, ‘Let them. In jail they’ll have to feed us, and that is surely better than starving here!’

  That comment energized the boys. ‘Let them take us away, that way they’ll have to feed us!’

  His friend tried to act like a highwayman. ‘Pay a road tax before you can leave!’

  The boys rushed at Binu like wild animals. She screamed and sought help from the fancy women across the street, shouting out, ‘Are you going to stand there and let them rob me?’

  The women glanced indifferently at her. One of them, in a blue dress, pointed to the other side of the road. ‘That’s their grandfather sitting there. If he doesn’t care, why should we?’

  Binu turned and grabbed the sleeve of one of the mountain women, who immediately pulled back.

  ‘Don’t grab me, run away! You’re asking for trouble, standing here in the people market with such a big bundle on your head.’

  With no choices left to her, Binu took off, running.

  At that moment the frog chose to show itself. People on both sides of the road were shocked to see flashes of light above Binu’s head, when the already legendary frog appeared miraculously, as if it had fallen from the heavens, and landed softly on top of Binu’s head or, more accurately, on top of the bundle. The darkening sky above Bluegrass Ravine made it difficult at first for the people to see the frog clearly, but its tightly shut eyes and the silvery flashes of tears around them put fear into everyone, for no one had ever seen a frog cry.

  ‘Don’t touch it, it’s a poisonous toad! You’ll go blind!’ came a loud and frightened warning from the old man beside the road. ‘Stay clear of that woman, she’s a sorceress, for sure.’

  The boys backed off in the direction of the tree. ‘Didn’t you hear Grandpa say it’s not a frog, that it’s a poisonous toad?’

  ‘Why is she taking a poisonous toad with her?’ the slingshot-boy asked.

  ‘Grandfather told us: she’s a sorceress. Let’s get out of here!’

  They ran to the tree for protection, and Binu shouted at the boys’ backs, ‘I am a sorceress! And I have a poisonous toad. If not, how could I deal with the likes of you in my travels? How could I get where I’m going without this poisonous toad?’

  Binu had salvaged her dignity in Bluegrass Ravine thanks to a frog that could cry. Even though it was unexpected, it was the sort of dignity worthy of a true sorceress. As she tidied up her bundle in the fading light, her body emitted an aura of mystery. The fancy women reacted by gathering round her, followed by the guilt-ridden mountain women, who fell in behind. The occupants of the people market – women and children, young and old – were like fish in treacherously shallow water schooling towards the mouth of a spring; they swam towards Binu, embracing the natural respect of a fish to water. They wanted her to tell them their destiny. Binu felt uneasy, and she was anxious to remove herself from their midst. But then she was reminded that they too were poverty-stricken, people to be pitied, and that they shared a similar destiny. Binu had never known a life of fine clothes and good food, but was well acquainted with one of cold and hunger. She had never met anyone reborn from dragons or phoenixes, but had seen a great many humble people who had emerged from earth and water. What then could be so hard about predicting humble destinies? Taking courage from this thought, she looked for a clean patch of ground, on which she laid Qiliang’s sandal; after reinserting the frog in the sandal, she copied the behaviour of the Kindling Village sorceresses by drawing a circle in the dirt and sitting inside it, lotus position.

  The woman in green offered her the uneaten half of her flatbread, curtsied and said, ‘Forgive me, I could not tell that you were a sorceress. My husband was taken off to Great Swallow Mountain in the summer, and I have received no word from or about him since. Please make a divination for me; ask your frog if my man is still alive.’

  With a sideways glance at the woman’s fancy dress and adornments, Binu reached out and touched the sash, on which jewels and pieces of agate hung. ‘You are dressed so beautifully, while your husband has been left shirtless. When the northern winds begin to blow, I am afraid he will not survive.’

  ‘Will he freeze to death?’ the women asked in unison.

  ‘No,’ Binu replied. ‘The frog says he will die of a broken heart.’

  The shocked woman in green pleaded,
‘What can I do?’

  ‘Go home and find your husband’s warmest winter clothing. Lay it out in the sun tomorrow, and once it is aired and fresh, you can deliver it to Great Swallow Mountain in person.’

  The woman hung her head in shame. ‘I no longer have his winter clothing,’ she said. ‘I traded it for a bag of grain. I am not your equal. You are a sorceress who can fly across mountains and walk on water. I cannot travel such a long distance, I am much too frail. If I tried, I would die along the way for sure.’

  ‘You are afraid of dying along the way, but not afraid that your husband might freeze to death, is that what you are telling me?’

  The woman in green had no answer for that, but before long began to speak in her own defence: ‘He is suffering, but my days are not pleasant either. What good is it to be a talented embroiderer? Isn’t it the same as waiting here for death to claim me? In any case, I was a butterfly in my previous life, and that is what I will return as. Then I can fly to Great Swallow Mountain to see him.’

  A hunchbacked old man with a white beard walked up and handed Binu a sour date. Breathing heavily, he said, ‘My son was on his way down the mountain with kindling to sell when he was taken. The villagers falsely accused him of stealing a goat, for which he was arrested. I went to the county government office, but was driven away with a beating. The yamen officials said that, even if he had stolen a goat, they had no time to arrest him. Please, Elder Sister sorceress, ask your frog if my son actually committed a crime, and tell me where they have taken him.’