Binu and the Great Wall of China

by Tong,, Su

  As for the three cavalrymen, two seemed utterly deflated, while the third took in his surroundings with concern. Claiming to have grown up in Five-Grain City, he got down from his horse and knelt before Prefect Zhan, quietly enquiring about some property his family had left behind in Five-Grain City.

  ‘You have been serving the King in Longevity Palace,’ said Prefect Zhan, ‘so why are you worried about a run-down house out here?’

  The man replied, ‘I am afraid I cannot return to Longevity Palace, and the only shelter from the elements I have is that run-down house.’

  Prefect Zhan knew there was more to it than that and, nagged with doubt, he disregarded the taboo of speaking about a fallen ruler and asked the cavalryman how the King had died. What came out of the man’s mouth was shocking, ‘The King died three days ago on the road,’ the cavalryman revealed. ‘Rotten fish and stinking shrimp could no longer mask the stench from his corpse.’ News of the King’s death had already begun to spread, threatening chaos in the land. The Nine Dragon flag in Longevity Palace had been replaced by the White Tiger flag, and the King’s brother, Chengqin, was now sitting on the throne.

  Binu

  No one in the crowd had been concerned about having to kneel in mud; but there were so many knees and so many rear ends, and so little room, that it led to silent wranglings over space. A few young girls, who foolishly worried too much about their new robes, complied with reluctance and complained loudly. One of them pointed to the caged prisoner and muttered, ‘Everyone else is kneeling, why isn’t she?’

  The girl’s mother slapped her. ‘My little ancestor,’ she said menacingly, ‘there are plenty of people to envy, but she cannot be one of them. If you don’t want to kneel, if you think it’s too uncomfortable, why not climb into that cage and stand there with the assassin?’

  The forgotten Binu was indeed the only person left standing. Her legs were bound to the iron slats, so she could not have knelt even if she’d wanted to. The soldiers by the city wall had laid down their weapons and fallen to their knees. Even the executioners had put away their blades and knelt beside the cage. The King was dead, and everyone was required to kneel, even ducks and chickens, but not her. She remained standing, waiting for someone to discover the omission, but no one did, except for the little girl. Or maybe they did, but didn’t dare say so, since they were required to keep their eyes lowered, and were afraid that someone might ask how they had discovered the omission if they hadn’t looked up.

  The hearse carrying the dead King had not moved, so the people continued to kneel facing the road. Since the cage stood between them and the road, it looked as if the citizens of Five-Grain City were prostrating themselves before a cage. A crow flew off from Five-Grain Tower and passed overhead; an ignorant bird, it thought that the people were kneeling to Binu, so it circled in the air above the prisoner, cawing its respect. She did not understand the bird’s call, but she sensed its emotion, believing that the caws voiced feelings for the kneeling crowd. ‘Binu, Binu, those people kneeling at your feet are asking your forgiveness.’ It was not clear if the idea had come from the crow or from herself, but it startled her nonetheless. She wanted to look away, to gaze at the sky or the city wall, anywhere but at the countless knees, but the pillory obstructed her movements. Since she could not turn her neck, she shut her eyes, which prompted tears to flow. Considering her status, she thought this would not be a good time to be crying. Other people were crying on their knees, but she was standing and so it was inappropriate for her to be crying too. So she opened her eyes and forced herself not to look at the knees or the lowered heads. What then should she look at? Perhaps their robes. She could not forget her mourning robe, which had been taken from her at the Zhan mansion, and she wondered who was wearing it at that moment.

  Binu told herself to stop thinking about the robe. The Kindling Village sorceresses had predicted that she would die on the road, but there had been few details in their prediction. They hadn’t said to her, ‘You will die shorn of all possessions and the winter robe will never reach Qiliang. Your Qiliang is doomed to have nothing to cover his back, unless he has learned how to turn the yellow sand of the north into thread and weave it with rocks from Great Swallow Mountain.’ Standing there in her prison cage, Binu was terrified by her thoughts of Qiliang.

  A Great Swallow Mountain widow in Five-Grain City had once told her not to think about him all the time. ‘You poor woman,’ she had said, ‘thinking about him is also suffering. You think about him every day and every day he suffers.’

  One of the weepers in Prefect Zhan’s mansion had also warned her, ‘Be careful with your dreams. Don’t ever dream about going to see your husband. With your luck, the person you dream most of seeing will suffer just like you.’

  So Binu cleared her mind of thoughts of Qiliang, forcing herself to think instead about the pampered body of the King and wonder where it was lying, in a coffin or on the golden-turret boat. What were his funeral clothes made of, gold or silver? Were there King’s marks on his wrists? She suddenly realized that she had substituted the King for the thief Qinsu, with his small eyes and ratty beard. She would never know if the King had the word ‘King’ tattooed on his wrists. She felt unspeakable regret, not over her life and death, but the King’s. Who among the commoners did not want to see the King with their own eyes? She had wanted to look at his face and his wrists. But the King was dead.

  Anger welled up inside the two executioners as they knelt alongside the cage. At first they quietly complained about the King’s untimely death, which had cost them the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to perform the ceremony they had rehearsed so many times. In the past, they had been rewarded whether the prisoner was executed or not, but now they would receive nothing; and, given the chaos at the gate entrance, who would be interested in watching them chop off someone’s head now? When the commotion broke out at the granary, one of them had begun sharpening his sword with a violent ferocity, while the other had simply stood up and stretched before kneeling again.

  ‘Looting is not our responsibility,’ he said, ‘that’s for the constables to deal with, so let’s just kneel here.’

  Soon they saw some of the officials filing out through the gate entrance and heard someone shout, ‘Hey, why are they leaving, when we’re still here? Being good citizens has cost us our Mercy Rice.’

  One of the men said defiantly, ‘Let’s not kneel any more. Let’s get up. Why should we keep kneeling now that the officials have fled? What’s the point? Get up, everybody, get up. All the Mercy Rice is gone, but there’s plenty more at the rice shop. Let’s go and get it.’

  At this point, the executioners could no longer contain themselves. They stopped one of the officials, who was running their way. ‘Are we going to use these swords today or aren’t we? Tell us, or we’ll join the crowd looting the rice shop.’ Getting no response, they walked off with their swords, still in their red uniforms. One of them followed the mob to the rice shop, while the other was caught and beaten by some angry old men and women, who pulled and grabbed him, crying and cursing, ‘You have chopped off too many people’s heads, and we’re not going to let you go today. Cut off our heads if you dare.’

  The executioner raised his shiny sword high above his head and ran off. ‘Don’t think the world has changed,’ he shouted. ‘The old King is dead, but there’s a new King. Tomorrow I will start beheading people for the new King.’

  Binu stood alone in her cage and watched as the executioners disappeared in the rioting crowd. The crowd swallowed up the officials and soldiers, and no one had any thoughts for the prisoner. She wondered if anyone would remember her. She felt like shouting, but her mouth was still gagged; she wanted to leave the cage, but her body was still confined by the pillory. She watched people emerge from the rice shop and disappear into the nearby fabric and blacksmith shops. Someone came out with a farm tool in his arms, bright red blood streaming down his face, the result of a fight over a hoe. Another man carried a bolt of si
lk, but it was quickly shredded by other hands and, by the time he broke free, all that was left on his shoulder was the wooden roll.

  The uproar stirred Binu’s blood as she watched, and she heard herself shouting directions, ‘Go over to Used Clothes Street. Get their winter clothes. Get me a set of winter clothes for Qiliang.’ Her voice burst out of her frail body, and she shut her eyes, as a fresh teardrop rolled out of the corner. She knew it was a tear of shame.

  Binu stood in the cage, waiting for the rioting crowd to remember her. She knew that the pillaging would come to an end at some point. She could only wait for someone to loot her cage. Finally some boys from the area below Five-Grain Tower came running towards the cage. One held a rock, another a scythe he’d stolen from the blacksmith’s shop. The flames of plundering burned brightly in their eyes. They hacked and beat at the cage, until it gave way. One boy grabbed Binu and began chopping at the pillory. Seeing that she wasn’t helping, he tore the black cloth out of her mouth and stuffed it in his pocket. ‘Why don’t you move a bit?’ he said. ‘I’m trying to save you, so stop acting like a corpse.’

  So Binu began screaming in time with the boy’s hacks with the scythe, and she was still shrieking when the pillory was removed. They tried to force her out of the cage.

  ‘Foolish woman, why won’t you come out? We’re going to sell this cage, so get out. You’re free to go.’

  She felt like sitting down, but her waist refused to bend. Perhaps she had been standing in that narrow cage so long she’d forgotten how to sit. Holding onto the bars, she looked around, then started off towards the city wall, but could only take a few steps. Slowly she retreated to the cage to lean against the bars for support. That, of course, made it hard for the boys to remove it.

  One of the boys pried her hands off and said, ‘Foolish woman, can’t you bear to part with the cage? Standing in here has dulled your mind.’

  They dragged her towards the city gate. ‘Everyone else is plundering,’ they said. ‘Why aren’t you? Go and get something for yourself.’

  Binu was bundled into the crowd, where she stepped on someone’s toes. She was caught up in a frenzied mob; people pushed her from behind and elbowed her from in front. The faces on everyone – men and women, young and old – burned red from the thrill of plundering; their breath was fast and shallow, their eyes shone brightly. One person choked on tears as he vowed to loot everything in Five-Grain City. He would burn down the city and kill everyone; no one would survive.

  Binu followed some boys into Used Clothes Street. Stumbling as if walking in her sleep, she was different from the other, more excited looters. When she reached a corner, she fixed her gaze on a clothes stand, her eyes full of expectation and shame. The woman who sold used winter robes was stunned by the disaster that was unfolding. Madly waving a forked pole, she wailed as she tried to protect her stock. The boys, with the help of older folk, snatched the pole away from her and pushed her down on a hemp sack, where she was ordered not to resist.

  ‘Come and get it,’ a boy called out to the others. ‘It’ll be cold soon, so concentrate on the warm clothes.’

  The clothes on display and the pile of shoes, hats and socks disappeared in a flash. Everything but a single black robe with green piping that had fallen behind the hemp sack. Binu stepped away from the looters and, seeing that no one was watching, bent over to pick up the robe. But too late. Someone else had grabbed a corner; it was the clothes seller, who had somehow escaped from the boys and freed one hand to clutch Binu. She stared at Binu with angry eyes. Binu could not be sure if the woman recognized her as the prisoner in the cage; but she easily spotted Binu’s poverty.

  ‘The world has been turned upside down!’ she screamed. ‘People have taken to stealing used clothes! The poor robbing the poor. Well, everyone will be poor again in the next life.’ Tears streamed down her face as she railed against heaven and earth, but held on tightly to Binu, as if prepared to die with her. She spat on her captive.

  When Binu wiped the spittle from her face, tears welled up in her eyes as she said to the woman, ‘Big Sister, don’t hold me like that. Let me go.’

  ‘I will not let you go,’ the woman screamed. ‘I’ll die first, unless you release the robe.’

  Binu stood there not knowing what to do, when she heard two boys say to her as they pushed the woman down again.

  ‘Are you demented? The forked pole is there under your foot. Pick it up and hit her. She’ll let go then.’

  Still gripping the robe, Binu looked down at the pole and hesitated briefly before picking it up and hitting the woman’s hand with it. But the woman was relentless.

  ‘You’re that prisoner!’ she shouted. ‘You escaped from the cage, but instead of taking your anger out on the officials, you come here to beat me. You don’t know how to rob the rich, so you come here to steal used clothes from me. You’re worse than dogs and pigs, all of you!’

  Binu was shocked by the venom in the woman’s words.

  ‘Don’t just stand there,’ someone said from behind. ‘Beat her.’

  So Binu hit the hand again. This time it hurt so much that the woman began to wail, but still she wouldn’t let go. Now she remembered Binu’s story.

  ‘You’re taking my winter robe for your husband. Well, it’s no use. Your husband died at Great Swallow Mountain. He’s dead, dead. He doesn’t need a winter robe any more.’

  The curse made Binu so furious that she gave the woman’s hand a vicious whack with the pole, forcing her to let go. But she didn’t stop there; she hit her over and over until one of the boys told her to stop.

  ‘She’s let go of the robe. Take it and leave.’

  Throwing the pole away, Binu ran out onto the street with the robe; now she was crying. After a few steps, she stopped to look back at the woman with remorse in her tearful eyes. Then she ran to the other side of the street, where she stopped and looked back at the boys as if to express gratitude. But it was not the sort of gratitude that can be spoken, so in the end she thanked no one. She simply ran off.

  The boys watched as Binu disappeared around the corner of Used Clothes Street. They were fortunate enough to hear the last weeping sound she left in the street, but they could not have cared less. They had never had anything good to say about tears. What was the point of crying?

  ‘Rain moistens the land,’ the boys said. ‘The river provides for people, the water in ditches nourishes weeds, and the water in ponds makes fish and shrimps grow big. Only human tears are useless; they are the most worthless things in the world.’

  The North

  Travellers inundated the public road like a flood and divided off in two directions outside Five-Grain City. One group, comprising fancy carriages and magnificent horses, surged towards the clean south, the other, consisting mainly of refugees, headed north like migrating crows.

  They passed the beached golden-turret boat, whose gigantic body had now turned into a pile of oddly shaped wooden planks that littered the roadside. The King’s entourage had finally left with his corpse and the priceless Nine Dragon golden mast; the boat looked like a fat, tasty fish after a feast, only its bones left behind. Along with the disassembling of the golden-turret boat went the people’s fantasy about a journey on the canal. Most of the refugees had never seen a boat and were convinced that it ought to have wheels. Others believed that it had been made in the image of a fish, so it must have a mouth, fins and scales. They actually did discover some painted fish scales on the sides, and a group of people who had gathered around the boat were using hammers to chip them away. They were tight-lipped about what they were doing, but a voluble young boy stopped people on the road and persuaded them to help with the work, telling them there was gold in the paint.

  A madman excitedly ran into the oat field, pointed a twig at a pile of excrement and shouted at the flow of traffic on the road, ‘Come and take a look. The King’s shit. Here’s the King’s shit.’

  The riot at Five-Grain City had bestowed two pieces of pro
perty on Binu: a man’s black robe with green piping and an unripe gourd that she had picked up somewhere. She put the loose man’s robe over her own and tied the gourd to her sash. Then she pulled her hair into a topknot and gathered the loose strands together with a blue ribbon, which made her look like a willow swaying in the wind-blown sand. Some people caught up with that willowy figure and, on closer inspection, realized that she was the caged prisoner.

  ‘What a lucky woman,’ they said. ‘Only yesterday she was waiting to be beheaded, and now she’s travelling with us.’

  Seeing the gourd at her waist, a child asked for some water to drink. Binu shook the gourd to show that it was empty. ‘My gourd isn’t for carrying water,’ she said. ‘It will contain my soul if I should die on the road.’

  ‘The sword was poised over your neck,’ they said, ‘yet you didn’t die. Then, thanks to the riot, you have escaped from the cage. But instead of thanking people for saving your life, you keep travelling alone.’ A fake hunchback in the crowd asked, ‘Where are you going, anyway?’

  ‘To Great Swallow Mountain. I’m taking winter clothes to my husband. Do you know how far it is from here?’

  ‘Not too far, just another ninety li or so, but you may never get there stumbling along. Take a look at yourself in the ditch water. You are not well. You ought to find a village and rest for a while. My home village is only ten li from here.’

  ‘I cannot rest,’ she said. ‘The weather will turn cold any day now, and I must deliver this winter robe to Qiliang before the first snowfall.’

  ‘Your Qiliang? Who knows if he’s a man or a ghost now? Seven out of ten people who went to build the wall are dead, and the remaining three are coughing up blood. The colder it gets, the more they cough. They’ve all nearly coughed themselves to death!’