by Tong,, Su
‘Who cares if they fit? We can sell them in the marketplace.’ The boy watched Binu for a while longer before running over and snatching the hoe out of her hands. ‘Use a tree branch if you want to dig for your bundle. You can’t use my hoe. I know you lied to me, because everybody’s afraid to die. What makes you different? Put anybody else in a grave, and all they want is to get out and run away. You’re alive and well, so why would you want to dig your own grave? You’re digging for your bundle, that’s what you’re doing.’
Binu gazed sadly at the boy and sighed. ‘All right, I’ll stop looking for my bundle. Let’s go and find a spot facing the sun to dig a grave.’
The boy threw the hoe and shovel on the ground and looked towards Hundred Springs Terrace. ‘What’s this facing the sun business? What good will that do? Hear that? It’s the horn sounding the morning hunt. Lord Hengming’s horses will be out any minute now. Didn’t you say I’m your gravedigger? Well, what’s in it for me, now that your bundle is gone?’
‘I was a gourd in my last life, child, and after I die I’ll come back as one. You can pick it, take it home and cut it in half, and you’ll have two ladles. If you don’t want to do that, cut a hole in it and use it as a salt cellar. You can even make a lantern out of it.’
‘Who’s interested in your ladles? Or your salt cellars?’ The boy grunted with disdain, walked over, and felt inside the sleeves of Binu’s robe. ‘But money can make the Devil turn a millstone. Do you have any sabre coins left?’
Binu patted her robe. ‘This is all you left me.’ Seeing the disappointment on his face, she reached up and removed a silver clip from her hair. ‘You take it. It won’t do me any good now. However I comb my hair, Qiliang will never see it. You can give it to your wife someday.’
‘My wife? Do you think you can hire me for this little trinket? That sounds like a bad deal.’ He grumbled and pondered the situation for a while, but in the end he accepted Binu’s hair clip, which he studied closely. ‘Is it real silver? This isn’t a trick, is it?’ Once he received Binu’s sworn assurance, the boy smiled reluctantly, stuck the hair clip inside his ear and twisted it around, removing a glob of earwax. ‘Lord Hengming cleans his ears every day. The rich and the powerful like to do that, so from now on I’m going to use this to clean my ears, every single day!’
To make good his promise, he began fulfilling his duties as gravedigger. First, he fixed his gaze on an open spot beneath a pine tree, measured it, and, with some branches, outlined a rectangle big enough for someone lying down not quite flat. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘you’ll be dead, with no need to cook or eat, so you won’t need windows or doors; heat or cold won’t be a concern, and you won’t need a roof to keep out the elements. And you’re small, so this will work fine.’
Binu looked over the outlined gravesite and dimly spotted Death rising up from the rectangle, waiting eagerly for her. She was not afraid, but faced with the imminence of passing from life to death, of being buried in the forest with no one to raise a funeral banner and no one to shed a tear over her, her willingness to die became conditional. She decided that, before she died, she would have one last, tearful cry. So she walked around the rectangle and let her tears flow unchecked. They rained to the ground. Her long black hair, no longer bound by the clip, sobbed loudly in spite of its newly gained freedom, sending down a shower of tears.
‘What are you doing?’ cried the boy in alarm.
‘I am encircling my grave, I am wailing at my grave. No one else will mark my death, so I must do it.’
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘You women cannot leave well enough alone, alive or dead!’
When she had completed the ritual, she looked down at the gravesite through a veil of tears and thought about being interred beneath the pine tree. It was not near a road and did not face the sun, so it was not a good choice no matter how you looked at it. ‘Child,’ she said, offering one final suggestion, ‘could we not pick a brighter spot somewhere? I will return as a gourd, and this spot gets no sunlight. If, after I am under the ground, no gourd can grow, then what?’
‘Sunlight? A gourd?’ The boy shouted. ‘I knew all along that dying was the last thing you wanted. Well, you can be difficult if you want, but not with me playing Death.’
‘I am not being difficult. I’m just worried that, with so many deer in the area, if one of them were to eat the newly sprouted seed, there would be no gourd, and I wouldn’t be reborn. Then I’d have died for nothing.’
The boy flung his hoe at her feet, stood beside the spot for the hole, hands on his hips, and snorted angrily, ‘You’re a liar! Dig your own grave and bury yourself! I’m not going to let you trick me any more.’
They faced one another for a moment. The woman headed for death struggled to defend herself; the gravedigger was very angry. A tuft of brown feathers fell from the pine tree. The infuriated boy looked up and spotted a bird’s nest in the treetop. The way it rose above the fork of the branches gave him an idea. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I know a place, one where you’ll never have to worry about not seeing the sun or about deer eating the vine. I’ll tie you up, hang you from the tree, and let you die there.’ A cold, excited glare shone from his eyes. He picked up his hoe, went into the brush, and cut down some twigs. He selected one, rolled it up to test it and then let it snap back. ‘You said you want sunlight, right? Well, then, I’ll tie you to the tree. Three of these ought to be enough for a skinny thing like you.’
Binu looked up into the tree, where she saw the nest. ‘I am not a bird,’ she said, ‘and I’m not going up into a tree! Besides, even a bird falls to the ground when it dies. So does a leaf. How could you think of hanging me from a tree?’
‘You’re the one who said I’m your gravedigger,’ the boy complained. ‘I concern myself only with your death. And if I want you to die on a tree, then that is where you will die.’
He stepped towards her, twig in hand, and was caught by surprise when she raised the hoe above her head. Though her face was bathed in tears, an unmistakeable resolve shone through. She would not die on a tree, she simply wouldn’t. Even the boy could see that an emotionally overwrought woman who wanted to die was not about to yield on this point, and he found this amusing. ‘How can you be so stupid? After you’re dead, you won’t know anything, so why not just think of yourself as a tree branch? They all die on trees, don’t they?’
‘I am not a tree branch!’ Binu replied angrily. ‘You cannot let me die up in a tree, child!’
The boy thought deeply and frowned. It was time for an ultimatum. ‘If not in the tree, then under the tree. This is your last chance. Does that sound all right to you? If not, then I’m leaving. I’ll give you back your hair clip, and you can find someone else to dig your grave.’
It was Binu’s turn to compromise. She stepped towards the tree and studied the canopy of branches and leaves. ‘I suppose I’ll have to do without sunlight. I shouldn’t be so fussy, child, so don’t be angry with me.’ She lifted up her skirt and squatted down in the grave plot, then tried lying down on her side. ‘It’s big enough to allow me to be buried like this,’ she said eagerly. ‘You’re a clever boy, and I’m lucky to have you to cover my grave. I am like your big sister, so who else would I get to do it?’
The forest floor was damp and loose, the sound of their digging muffled and soft. It should not have disturbed anyone outside the forest, and certainly no one in Hundred Springs Terrace. So when a retainer in a purple robe raced towards them, the boy was dumbfounded. ‘We’ve been spotted by Far-Seeing Eye,’ he shrieked in alarm. ‘Let’s get out of here!’ He threw down his hoe and took off running, only to be caught by the retainer almost as soon as he started.
Far-Seeing Eye, holding the boy in one hand and a flag in the other, walked menacingly up to Binu. ‘I had you in my sight last night as you prowled along the side of the moat. You must be an assassin.’
Dangling from the crook of Far-Seeing Eye’s arm, the boy said, ‘She’s no assassin, she’s a we
eper.’
‘A weeper? I’d say she’s a thief. You’re right, she doesn’t look like an assassin, so she must be a tree thief.’ Far-Seeing Eye said smugly, ‘I could tell there was a tree thief from the other side of the moat just by the movement of leaves. So here I am, right again. You’re here to steal a tree, aren’t you?’
‘I am no thief,’ said Binu, pointing to the hole in the ground. ‘We’re digging not to steal a tree but to bury someone.’
Obviously frightened of Far-Seeing Eye, the boy added, ‘I didn’t choose to bury her. She hired me to dig a grave because she’s tired of living.’
Far-Seeing Eye released his grip on the boy and glared, first at him and then at Binu. The boy quickly shinnied up the tree and peered down at Far-Seeing Eye, a look of practised innocence on his young face. Binu, head lowered, kept her eyes fixed on the gravesite, a track of glistening tears on each cheek; both hands were shaking uncontrollably. Far-Seeing Eye kicked a clod of earth. ‘Who do you think you are, digging a grave here?’ he thundered, as he stuck his flag into the ground. ‘Whose forest is this, tell me that.’ He pointed to the golden panther on the flag. ‘You can die anywhere!’ he shouted. ‘But you decided to pick this forest, one of Lord Hengming’s treasured properties, a place of superb feng shui passed down from generation to generation. Not even we retainers are worthy of burial here, so how can a woman from who-knows-where expect it?’
Far-Seeing Eye’s menacing words sent the boy higher up into the tree. ‘Where should she be buried, then?’ he shouted, holding on to a branch.
With a glance at Binu, Far-Seeing Eye pointed to the northwest. ‘The potter’s field. You people don’t seem to have eyes. Anonymous people who die in the streets are dragged off to be buried in the northwest potter’s field.’
Binu looked in the direction he was pointing. There at the far end of the forest was a patch of grey sky. It was the sky above the potter’s field. She had seen that plot of wasteland on her way to Hundred Springs Terrace, weedy ground dotted with mushroom-shaped grave mounds. Crows filled the sky above. Where she was standing was a vast improvement over the potter’s field; she stuck a tentative toe into the barely begun hole, then gazed pleadingly at Death. ‘Climb down out of that tree, child, and talk to this gentleman for me. All I want is this tiny spot of land. Why can’t I have it?’
The boy rebuffed her from his perch in the tree, refusing to come down. ‘Why did you have to be so choosy? If you had let me do my job early on, you’d be in the ground now. Well, it’s too late for regrets. Go and die in the potter’s field.’
Far-Seeing Eye pulled Binu up out of the hole, grabbed the hoe, and, before she could count to ten, the hole was filled in. He stuck the panther flag in the ground beside her and said, ‘Please don’t get the idea that I am contemptuous of you. It’s just that you should not have chosen Lord Hengming’s forest for your gravesite. Don’t be fooled by the way all those deer-boys are allowed to run and skip here in the forest. When they die, they are dragged off to be buried elsewhere. Even when we retainers fall ill and die, we are not buried here, so how can I allow you that privilege? Elder Sister, don’t be stubborn, and don’t try to pull any tricks on me. I am Far-Seeing Eye. Ask anyone and they will tell you who has the sharpest eyes of all of Lord Hengming’s three hundred retainers. Even if you buried yourself thirty feet deep, you could not escape the power of my eyes; I’d come and dig you up.’
Seeing that he was unmoving and overcome by exhaustion, Binu and the boy fell to the ground and slept.
The River Bend
The clang of the bell announcing a night hunt startled Binu awake. Sleeping near the river bend, she was once again dreaming of death; the bell brought the dream to an end. She awoke on her filled-in gravesite, and her first sight was a canopy of stars hanging low in the sky over the river bend, speaking to her of all the tiny details of death. To her it seemed the starry sky was stubbornly urging her to hold on to life. She was still alive, and that was a miracle, albeit a miracle she would not have chosen. Several watery pearls were frozen on her face, not dewdrops but tears she had shed as she dreamt. Why was she still alive after shedding all these tears? She recalled that her mother had told her that her father had shed a single tear over Lord Xintao, one teardrop on the mountain top, and was dead by the time he reached level ground. For three days now she had shed so many tears; this morning she had expected to be dead by nightfall and, as night was about to fall, she thought she would die before the sun rose again. She had anticipated her death for three days, only to open her eyes to a starry sky once more.
As she stood at the bend in the river, looking all around, she pinpointed the source of the sound of the bell – it came from the forest. Moonlight flooded the area, lending the water and the rank grass a cold gleam. The boy was sleeping next to her, but Binu could not waken her gravedigger; he must have been worn out by three days of waiting for her to die, waiting and digging, and doubting her motives.
By now, doubts had crept into Binu’s mind as well. She could not say for sure if she was being untruthful or if she had been misled by the Peach Village Rulebook for Daughters. Perhaps her tears were worthless and she could shed them as much as she liked, without effect. Or perhaps her sadness did not count; her bitterness was a sham. Three days of waiting to die had taken its toll on her and yet she lived on, for which her Angel of Death had a bellyful of resentment.
‘If you say you are going to die, then die,’ he had said.
She could tell that his patience had run out. As he slept on the ground, hoe in hand, snores of contempt emerged from his nostrils.
Binu failed again to waken him, so she went to look for a new gravesite. She found an ideal location, close to water, near the road, a pristine spot that descended from the riverbed; it was also far away from the frightful potter’s field, but not far from Hundred Springs Terrace. The boy, finally awake, told her that the new territory near the bend in the river would one day become part of Hundred Springs Terrace. But that was in the future, and by then she would already be in the ground and would have come back as a gourd. The people of Hundred Springs Terrace had yet to claim the marshy land by the river bend, so it was left to loaches, to reed blossoms, and to Binu. As dusk settled, a grand, canopied carriage drove by and stopped at the sight of Binu and the boy. Several men climbed down and, like stars attending the moon, guided an elderly official towards Binu. She assumed she was going to be driven away yet again, that this spot too was off limits.
Even before he had reached her, the official said, ‘What are you planting in this uncultivated spot, Elder Sister?’
‘Gourds,’ she replied, not daring to reveal her true intent.
‘Gourds are no good,’ the official said. ‘You should plant cotton. Aren’t you aware that there is fighting going on in the west and in the south? If you plant cotton, you can use it to make uniforms for the warriors on the battlefields. Women, too, must make contributions to the state.’ The man’s accent and diction were barely comprehensible to Binu, so after they had returned to the carriage and continued on their journey, she asked the boy if the man was Lord Hengming.
‘Him? That was a royal emissary, sent by the King himself. Even Lord Hengming is afraid of him.’
‘I don’t care where he came from,’ Binu replied, ‘I did not block his way, so he cannot stop me from digging a hole.’
Torches in the forest turned half the sky red, the wind carried the voices of men, the cries of deer, and the whinnies of horses to the river bend. Binu did not know what was happening in Hundred Springs Terrace. She nudged the boy, who jumped to his feet, and when he heard the call of deer whistles he exclaimed, ‘A hunt!’
He gazed longingly over at the forest beyond the river, and said, ‘It’s a night hunt, a night hunt! I’ve never been on one of those. Forget about the grave, I’m going back to being a deer-boy.’
‘You can’t leave,’ said Binu. ‘When I say I’m going to die, I’m going to die. Who knows, I might be dead wh
en the sun comes up. If you leave, who will throw dirt into my grave?’
A look of loathing came over the boy’s face. He glared at Binu for a moment, then abruptly scooped out a hoe-full of dirt and flung it at her. ‘Throw dirt! Throw dirt! I’ll throw it for you right now. It’s not fair; always saying you’re going to die, but never actually doing it. You’ve held me up long enough, and all for a measly ear-pick.’
‘I understand your feelings, and it confounds me too that I am still alive. Living is hard, but dying is harder.’ Binu looked up into the sky above the river bend. ‘A while ago I asked the stars what kept me from dying. I dreamed I was dead, the same dream I’ve had many times, but I awoke, and there again was the starry sky.’
‘You’re lazy, just sitting around waiting to die. You won’t hang from a tree, because a hanged ghost has a long tongue, and you find that ugly. You won’t jump into the river because a drowned ghost will float off in the water. Instead you insist on being buried in the ground. What’s so good about that anyway?’
‘I am a gourd, child. How can I come back as a gourd if I’m not in the ground?’
This infuriated the boy. ‘You are not a gourd. You are a dung beetle. Only dung beetles burrow into the ground to die.’
The boy ran off into the night, leaping nimbly over the hoe and disappearing from sight in the direction of the hunt. Binu could not hold him back, and again she stood alone, this time in the chill of moonbeams. She hadn’t known that life could contain so much suffering, that even dying could be such hard work. Winds rustled the reeds on the riverbank and swept at her hair. She looked down at the ground, where she saw her own shadow. Ghosts do not cast shadows, and she definitely had one. After three days and three nights, how could she still be dragging a shadow up and down the river bend? She thought back to the ways of dying that the boy had mentioned. Hanging from a tree was the quickest and easiest. She could do that without help; all she needed was a sash. But the boy was right, she’d seen people who had died that way, with their eyes popping and their tongues hanging out, and the scene had terrified her.