Binu and the Great Wall of China

by Tong,, Su

  ‘Big Brother, spit three times on the ground. Hurry. You mustn’t curse like that.’ Binu looked daggers at him. ‘My Qiliang is alive and well. He’s used to hard work so he won’t get tired or cough up blood.’

  ‘Fine, your Qiliang is a man of steel. Others cough up blood but not him.’ The hunchback spat three times, but reached out to grab her shoulder. ‘What an ungrateful woman! I was worried about you. In bad times like this, who can be bothered about the bonds between husband and wife? Many Great Swallow Mountain widows went off with someone else. Only a foolish woman like you would struggle against this wind-blown sand to deliver winter clothes.’

  The man’s glibness failed to disguise his lewd intentions. Binu shrugged off his hand and stood to the side, where she waited until he walked away unhappily. An old man turned and gave her an approving smile. ‘It’s a good thing you didn’t go with him. He’s in the business of tricking and selling women; he was going to sell you to be the wife of a madman.’

  Speechless, Binu followed the old man for a while. ‘Old Uncle,’ she said, ‘do you know if they’ll still be building the Great Wall now that the King is dead?’

  ‘Why not? The old King may be dead, but there’s a new King on the throne. All kings want to build walls.’

  ‘Old Uncle, I have another question. Why are so many people talking about coughing up blood? I don’t believe it. If everyone coughed up blood and their health was ruined, who would build the Great Wall?’

  ‘Those who cough up blood, of course. When I was young, I helped build Dragon Pot Pass and I coughed up plenty of blood on the mountain. You’ve never been there, have you? You’d know what I mean if you had. When the sun shines on the walls, the rocks turn red, blood red, which is why we call it Bloody Pot Pass.’ He chattered away until he noticed Binu’s ashen face and stopped to try to comfort her. ‘Coughing up blood isn’t so bad; poor people have lots of blood. Didn’t I live to come down from Dragon Pot Mountain? There’s a trick to hard work: those who know it hide their strength in such a way that the foreman can’t tell, but those who don’t know it fail to conserve their energy. Everyone who coughed up blood and died did not know how to conserve energy. Is your husband the honest type?’

  ‘Yes, he is. My husband Qiliang is the most honest of all the honest men at the base of North Mountain.’ Binu was overcome by near despair and fell to her knees, giving the old man an opportunity to pick up speed as if ridding himself of a burden. He muttered to himself as he walked away, ‘Who told you to marry an honest man? Things don’t turn out well for honest men.’

  The old man may have had weak legs, but he walked faster than Binu; he quickly disappeared into the sandy wind, plunging her into a nightmare of despair. Standing on the road, she found she could not move. Another group of people emerged from the airborne sand, all women, with green or pink scarves covering their faces. They walked in single file, with the younger ones leading and the older ones bringing up the rear. What was puzzling was that each of them was carrying a large rock in her arms. When they saw Binu standing motionless in the middle of the road, they said, ‘Don’t just stand there. In such a strong wind, you need to keep moving if you’re going to get somewhere. If not, then move out of the way.’

  Binu stepped aside, nearly knocking the rock out of a woman’s arms. The woman was about to scream at her, but recognized her face in spite of the blowing sand.

  ‘Aren’t you the woman from the cage? Everyone says you’re delivering winter clothes to Great Swallow Mountain. Why are you standing here? Was your husband hit by falling rocks?’

  Binu began to sob. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘My husband Qiliang doesn’t know to conserve his energy when he works, so he must be coughing up blood.’

  ‘He’s the one coughing up blood,’ said the woman, ‘not you. So why stand here like an idiot?’

  ‘All my internal organs ache when he coughs up blood, and I cannot take another step.’

  ‘It’s just a little blood,’ said the woman nonchalantly. ‘When a man is up on Great Swallow Mountain, he can’t worry about blood. The most important thing is to stay alive. All the men from our River Village are there too. See how many of us got together to go to Great Swallow Mountain?’

  Binu’s eyes lit up, but quickly darkened. ‘That’s wonderful for your village. But I am the only woman from Peach Village who was willing to go.’ She reached out to tug at the sash on the woman’s robe. ‘Big Sister, please tell me how I can keep my husband alive.’

  ‘Go and get a rock,’ said the woman. ‘You can’t go there empty-handed. People along the way know how you feel, but the Mountain Deity doesn’t. Get a rock and walk the sixty-six li to give it to the Mountain Deity at Great Swallow Mountain. He’ll see you and will protect your husband, who then won’t have to worry about a thing, even if the mountain crumbles and the earth splits open. No rocks will fly at your husband’s head.’

  From Peach Village to River Village, it was the first time Binu had encountered travellers on their way to Great Swallow Mountain. But the women would not let her join them, either because they didn’t want a woman who had been imprisoned with them, or because they were afraid she might become a burden. By the time Binu had found a rock and returned to the road, the River Village women had disappeared in the sandy wind. Cradling her rock, Binu ran after them, but only briefly. She knew they could not have got far, but she could not see the pink or green scarves. The wind had sent off the last few northbound travellers, leaving her behind on the sandy road. Weak sunlight filtered through the sand to cast her shadow on the road, a lean shadow, like water that can flow nowhere. It looked like the shadow of the last person on earth.

  Cradling the rock, Binu began heading north alone, again. The rock kept getting heavier, as if she were carrying a whole mountain. Rocks of various sizes littered the roadside, and she thought she should pick up a smaller, lighter one until she recalled the River Village woman’s words that the Deity at Great Swallow Mountain could see the rock in her arms. The wind was like a galloping horse that had broken free of its reins and, now caught and pulled back by the sun, had stopped its sandy howl. Pale golden sunlight returned, revealing the savage, vast outline of the plain. In the distance, the greyish shadow of a mountain blocked out half the sky. When Binu saw it, she stopped and gazed in happiness at Great Swallow Mountain. The Mountain Deity must be hiding in a crevice, watching her. She had not yet reached Great Swallow Mountain, and she wondered why the rock in her arms could not contain itself any longer. Warmed by her arms, it fell like a landslide and crashed at her feet.

  Binu felt no pain. She poked her right foot with her finger, but felt nothing, so she picked up a stick and poked it again. Still no feeling. She knew that her right foot had betrayed her. The left foot had been spared by the rock, but it too would not obey her. Beating her left foot with the stick, no matter how hard she tried, she could not awaken in it a desire to walk. She was determined to move forward, but her feet remained stubbornly in the same spot. So she gave up on her feet, but not the rock. After sitting down to think things over, she strapped the rock to her back with her sash, then got down on her hands and knees and prepared to crawl.

  The sun returned to the sky and sent its diffuse light down on the woman’s creeping figure. As she started out on the now deserted road, she saw her hands tremble in the sandy soil, probably because they were nervous and unsure about the important task they had suddenly been given. She shared their anxiety; her hands were more deft than her feet, but they were not used to walking. She did not know how to transform her hands into feet; livestock, cats and dogs walked on their hands, but she could not. She was slower than a snake, slower than a lizard.

  Her mind was clear as she crawled along with the rock on her back. Afraid that pebbles on the road would wear out Qiliang’s winter robe, she rolled it up onto her back and tucked it under the rock. She then resumed crawling, heading towards the outline of the distant mountain. Cooking smoke came from a nearby village; a few peop
le here and there appeared in the bleak fields, but no one came on to the road. No one, that is, except a frog that hopped out from nowhere. She saw it miraculously land on the road, where it hopped along ahead of her, stopping every few hops to wait for her. She could not tell if it was the same blind frog that had left Peach Village with her, but it should not be on the road. She recalled that the frog had given up trying to find its son and had taken over the pit she had dug. Since she could not see its eyes, there was no way she could tell if it was the blind frog from Blue Cloud Prefecture or some unknown frog from Pingyang Prefecture; yet she was sure it was here to show her the way.

  As she crawled along, Binu heard the frog point out the route to her.

  ‘Go that way, there’s a puddle here. Come this way, there’s a pile of excrement. Hurry.’

  Obeying the frog’s commands, Binu crawled and crawled, while the outline of Great Swallow Mountain wavered in front of her, but the frog continued hopping, leading the way, its dark green patterns standing out on the road like a green flame.

  Thirteen-Li Shop

  The women of Thirteen-Li Shop were gleaning in the field when, to their amazement, they saw the crawling figure. They could not work out why she was crawling, and with a rock on her back at that. Rushing out onto the road, they gathered round and asked many questions, all at the same time. Unable to speak, Binu simply pointed at the outline of Great Swallow Mountain.

  ‘We know where you’re going and that your husband must be building the wall,’ said the women. ‘What we want to know is: why are you crawling? If you can’t walk, then stop and catch your breath before moving on. When do you think you’ll get there crawling like this? And with a rock on your back. You gave us quite a fright; we thought you were a gigantic turtle.’

  Still flat on the ground, one side of her face the colour of mud, Binu reached out to touch one of the women’s feet.

  Jumping to the side to avoid the hand, the woman nimbly untied the rock on Binu’s back and threw it away. You shouldn’t carry a rock just because other people do. What’s the use of carrying a rock and offering it up to Great Swallow Mountain? The Mountain Deity doesn’t see rocks in the hands of the poor. It sees only the rich and powerful, like everyone else.’

  Binu could not speak, nor did she have the strength to stop the woman from throwing away her rock. So she backed away, trying to reach the spot where the rock had landed. But the woman, still angry, was about to kick the rock off the road when the other women stopped her.

  ‘You can be angry at the rock, but don’t make things hard for her. If she wants to offer the rock to the Mountain Deity, let her. You can stop a spirited horse, but not a woman with her mind set on something, for she is willing to suffer for others.’

  The women carried Binu, along with the rock, over to a haystack, where they gave her some water and washed her face. They smoothed her hair and combed it into a haystack bun, like theirs. With the mud washed away, Binu’s young pretty face was revealed, making the women envious. She turned to gaze at the outline of Great Swallow Mountain, her glassy eyes lighting up instantly. The women noticed how bloody her hands were, since they had left a trail of red specks on the haystack.

  ‘We’ve never seen a woman as devoted as you,’ one of them said. ‘The men from Thirteen-Li Shop have all gone to Great Swallow Mountain, but no one has gone looking for them, even though for us it isn’t far. Even if your husband was a deity born to the human world, there’s no need for you crawl like that. Why not wait here by the haystack for a ride on a donkey cart?’

  Binu crawled right back onto the road. The women had never before encountered such a stubborn woman, one who would rather crawl than wait. A woman ran after her with a pair of straw sandals for Binu’s hands, but stopped after a few steps, recalling the rumours about female ghosts haunting the road. Villagers claimed to have seen the ghosts late at night, carrying bundles on their head as they trekked north under the moonlight. They disappeared at the sound of humans.

  Clasping her chest, the woman cried, ‘She must be one of the ghosts. They’re travelling in broad daylight now!’

  She had articulated the suspicion shared by all the others, and that created fervent and fearful responses. ‘I’ve always wondered how a living person could feel no pain, so she definitely might be a ghost,’ one woman said loudly. ‘No human could tolerate that kind of suffering. Has anyone ever seen a woman carry a rock on her back to search for her husband? Only a ghost could be so determined.’ They recalled Binu’s calm, peaceful look, as well as her cold body.

  ‘What does it matter whether she’s a ghost or a human?’ said another. ‘She has a tragic fate as a ghost, and an even more tragic fate if she’s human.’

  Their discussion ended abruptly with startled cries, as an even stranger sight on the road caught their attention. The sand receded wherever the woman crawled, leaving little pools of water on the surface, all linked together; a sparkling stream of water, like a silvery arrow pointing north. With the stream leading the way, a long line of grey-green frogs materialized out of nowhere, forming an impressive army as they hopped towards Great Swallow Mountain. Being northerners, the women had never seen so many frogs. They came from the watery lands of the three southern prefectures; and, carrying the smell of water, they hopped along the trail left by the woman as she crawled towards Great Swallow Mountain. Before the frogs passed, a swarm of white butterflies flew northward above the road. There were plenty of white butterflies in Pingyang Prefecture, but the women had never seen such a dense cloud of them. They flew low, with traces of the warm southern sunlight on their wings, looking like a colourful sash with white piping on its way towards Great Swallow Mountain.

  The women cried out again and again in amazement. Looking into the distance, they gazed at the mountain, which they surmised was the destination for the frogs and butterflies. Behind the miraculous sight was a hidden calamity, and suddenly everyone could see the splendid halo of calamity inching towards the mountain. One of the women ran towards the village, shouting, ‘Prepare the carts; we’re going to get our men back. The south has revolted at the death of the King, including even the frogs and butterflies. Who knows what will happen at Great Swallow Mountain.’

  Great Swallow Mountain

  Flying birds did not recognize the Great Wall. A flock of birds migrating south lost their way over Great Swallow Mountain and cried sadly throughout the night. A tiny grey bird crashed into the tent of General Jianyang, commander of the wall-building, at Seven-Yard Terrace. It was a messenger, declaring that a storm of homesickness would soon envelop Great Swallow Mountain.

  Every night, General Jianyang went to bed wearing the golden Nine Dragon helmet presented to him by the King. In the morning, the helmet filled up with calls for the workers to build the wall, waking up the General on time. But not this morning, for what echoed inside the helmet was, instead, the sounds of wind, sheep and oxen, as well as a grassland melody he hadn’t heard in a long time. It sounded like someone crying and moaning. When he woke up, General Jianyang realized he’d been crying in his sleep, then he saw the little bird, dead by his pillow.

  General Jianyang ordered his puzzled steward to fetch a basin of cold water from the mountain spring to save the bird. The constable went for the water, as ordered, but moved slowly, wondering why the General, a coldhearted man, would care about a little bird. Sensing his puzzlement, the General asked if the constable recalled that the General had come from the steppe in the north, if he recalled that he had once said that an honoured guest on horseback would present him with a congratulatory stole on the day the Great Wall was finished.

  ‘But, General,’ the constable stammered, ‘the Wall isn’t finished yet, and no one has ridden here.’

  The General glared at him angrily. ‘Shangguan Qing, how many times have I told you? Can you remember nothing? The bird will be the bearer of good news when someone comes from the steppe. This grey-beaked bird carries the smell of the steppe and the smell of my famil
y yurt. Come and smell the grease on the bird if you don’t believe me.’

  At Seven-Yard Terrace, General Jianyang personally laid the dead bird in a copper basin, which the constable was about to place on the wall when the General stopped him and ordered him to hold the basin up so that the morning sun could shine on the spring water. ‘If the bird has come from the steppe,’ he said, ‘it will revive when the sun warms up the cold water.’ He stood on the terrace gazing at the undulating mountains beyond the wall, a rare look of frailness on his ageing face. He said, ‘The Great Wall should be finished soon; this bird will revive on the day of completion and take me back to the steppe. I must return home to see my parents, my wife and my four children.’

  The constable held the basin up in the wind, wishing he could tell the General that, even if the bird came back to life, a hundred li of desert still separated the Great Swallow Wall from the wall at Crescent Pass; the two sections of the wall would not be joined in the foreseeable future. The General’s thoughts of returning home were like reaching for the moon in the water. He wanted to say, ‘General, you will die of old age here at Great Swallow Mountain,’ but he dared not utter those words. In recent days the General’s homesickness had made him temperamental and unpredictable. He fantasized daily about finishing the construction overnight, so that he could climb on his horse and return home. When he opened his eyes each morning, the first words he uttered were, ‘Will the work be done today?’ At first, the constable had tried to explain that finishing the wall would take more than a day’s work, but his efforts only incurred the General’s wrath, which led to slaps across his face. Eventually, he learned his lesson, and, each time the General asked the question, he answered, ‘Soon, it will soon be done.’

  Rubbing the Nine Dragon helmet, General Jianyang gazed down at the construction site below the terrace and asked the guard. ‘Will the work be finished today?’