China

by Edward Rutherfurd

“What for?” I asked. “We’ve no money.”

  “I’m going to talk to the old man at the big pharmacy.”

  “But he already refused when we hadn’t enough money. And now we haven’t even got that.”

  “I’ll tell him what happened. His father knew my grandfather. And people can be good-hearted. You never know.” He stopped. “Have you got a better plan?”

  * * *

  —

  So you can imagine how amazed I was, four days later, when he came back with the medicine.

  If he’d come the day after, it might have been too late. My little boy had been getting weaker and weaker. The night before, I’d looked into his eyes, and I could see he was giving up. I’ve often noticed that children don’t really have the life force until they’re five or six. I remember picking him up and hugging him to me and telling him, “You’ve got to fight, little fellow. You’ve got to fight.” And I think he may have sensed what I was saying to him, even if he couldn’t understand the words. Maybe he did try to fight a bit longer, but I’m not sure he would have lasted another day.

  “How did you get the old man to give you the medicine?” I asked my father.

  “I reminded him that this was where he came from. I said my grandson’s life was in his hands. Perhaps he was ashamed, or kindness intervened. Who knows?” He smiled. “It doesn’t really matter why people do things, does it, as long as they do them?”

  So we gave my son the medicine, and by the next day, he started to get better. He’s still alive today, I’m glad to say.

  * * *

  —

  A few days later my master told me he’d heard my son was getting better and that he was glad to hear it. “How did it happen?” he said.

  So I told him about my father and the old man and the medicine. When he heard it, he looked a bit thoughtful. I supposed he might be feeling guilty that the old doctor behaved more kindly than he did. In any case, he didn’t say anything. A few days later, he had to go to Beijing himself.

  It was the morning after he returned that he called me into his house. “Did you know that your father paid the doctor for the medicine he received?” he asked me.

  I was completely astonished. “But that’s impossible, master,” I said. “We have no money.”

  “I assure you he did,” he replied. “I spoke to the doctor myself.”

  “Could it be that he doesn’t want to admit his kindness?” I suggested. “He may be afraid that if people knew about his generosity, they’ll all come asking for favors.”

  “I don’t think so,” my master replied. He was watching me carefully. “There’s a piece missing out of the storeroom,” he went on. “Small, but quite valuable.”

  I stared at him. It took me a moment to understand. “Oh, master,” I cried, “you don’t think I would steal from you, do you?”

  “Who knows what any of us would do to save our child?” he answered.

  It was true, I suppose. I’d have thought the same in his place. But I knew that I hadn’t. And then I realized what had happened. “I did not take it, master.” I shook my head. I couldn’t think what more to say.

  “I know you didn’t,” he quietly replied. “Your father did. When you left him in the storeroom and came to speak to me.”

  “I can’t believe…” I started.

  “It’s obvious,” he said. “But he didn’t tell you.”

  “I wouldn’t have let him,” I cried.

  “I know that, too.” He paused. “I’m not going to do anything about the missing piece,” he continued. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to go. I can’t have you here anymore.”

  “Master,” I pleaded, “you know I’m a good worker, and I love it here. I’ll do anything…”

  He waved my words aside. “While I was in Beijing,” he said, “I spoke to the owner of a fine little lacquer workshop that I know. He used to be in the imperial works. I told him that I had a good worker, a young fellow with talent, who was forced by family circumstances to move to the city. On my recommendation, he’ll take you on—as a pieceworker at first, but in time you may get a permanent position. Just don’t ever let your father go near the place, or you’ll disgrace me.” He nodded. “I’m the only one that knows about this theft, and it will stay that way. But you must go to Beijing. There’s nothing else to say.”

  * * *

  —

  When I got home that evening and accosted my father, he admitted the theft, but he didn’t even apologize. “You do what you have to. I saved your son’s life,” he told me.

  “But you’ve disgraced our family,” I shouted.

  “Not if nobody knows.” He sounded quite happy about it.

  “I’ve lost my job,” I reminded him. “How’s that going to help the family?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Ask for your job back if I plead guilty. Let the magistrate punish me. At least I’ll have done something for my family.”

  “He won’t give me my job back, even if you get a hundred strokes of the heavy bamboo,” I said. “Anyway, he doesn’t want to prosecute.”

  “He feels guilty, that’s why,” my father said triumphantly.

  * * *

  —

  We all went to Beijing together: my two parents, my pregnant wife, and my little boy, who, with the correct medicine, was soon nearly himself again. The owner of the lacquer workshop gave me piecework, but for the time being there wasn’t enough to support a family, and I wasn’t sure there ever would be. My mother found part-time work as a servant in a merchant’s house. The only one of the family who was really happy was my father.

  The city seemed to suit him. Not that he found regular employment. But wandering the streets, he seemed to make friends with astonishing speed. Perhaps it was because he was always talking to people and asking about their business. In no time he became a well-known figure around our lodgings, and people began to employ him on all kinds of errands. They’d always give him something for his time and trouble, and though it wasn’t much, he made enough to pay for our food and part of the rent. For the first time I realized that my father wasn’t actually lazy—it was just that he hated repetitive work. There wasn’t much scope for a man like that in a village; but in a big city, he could survive quite well.

  When my second child was born, he turned out to be a healthy son. You might think that would have made me happy, and in a way it did. But it also made me anxious.

  With my family growing, I was looking for ways to earn more money for my wife and children. As for my parents, my mother could be paid as a servant and my father might pick up a sort of living hustling in the streets, but one day that would end and I’d have to look after them, too. Everything fell to me. Getting paid for piecework was all very well, but I needed a permanent position—not only for the money today, but so that I could work with more advanced craftsmen, improve my skills, and earn more in the future.

  I’d already discovered that the master owner of the lacquer store employed very few craftsmen on-site. He mostly farmed the work out to people like me. There were other lacquer workshops in the capital, of course, though I had no introduction to them. I did visit several, all the same, to ask if they had any piecework for me, but had no luck; and nobody was offering a permanent position at that time.

  So every day, you can imagine, there was a nagging fear in my mind. What if my little boy got sick again, or the new baby? What was I going to do then?

  My father had done quite well when he’d sold the lacquer piece he’d stolen, and he still had some money left over. That was our reserve in case of emergencies. After that, there was nothing.

  It was a month before the new year when I brought a piece of finished work to the lacquer store. This little box was a bit more complex than anything I’d done before. There was a pattern on the lid that had needed to be carefully carved, and I was quite proud
of the result.

  When the owner of the store examined it, he nodded in appreciation. “This is beautiful work,” he said. “I’m going to pay you double what we agreed.” I was quite overwhelmed. But only for a moment. “I’m afraid I won’t be needing you anymore,” he went on. “If I do, I’ll let you know. But don’t expect anything.”

  “But surely, my work…”

  “Oh, your work is excellent. The trouble is, I’ve a fellow who’s been supplying me for years who wants more commissions. So I’m giving him the work that you do. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid he comes before you do.” He gave me a kindly look. “That’s partly why I’m paying you double now, to help tide you over.”

  There was no point in arguing. I said thank you and went on my way.

  It was still early morning. I didn’t go home. I remember walking through the streets for hours in a kind of daze. I began to imagine terrible things—my father stealing again and getting caught, my children dying for want of medicine…I scarcely even noticed where I was going until I found myself not far from the Tiananmen Gate and opposite a large teahouse. This won’t do, I thought. I need to stop having nightmares, drink some tea, calm down, and think about what I can do to make a living. So I went into the teahouse. And once I had my tea, I tried to be logical.

  It seemed to me that, whether I liked it or not, there wasn’t much hope of getting employment practicing the one craft for which I had any skill. And I couldn’t afford to start again as an apprentice in a new trade. Perhaps I could be a servant in a merchant’s house. But the pay isn’t much. I started to go through all the trades and occupations I could think of. And I’d been doing that for a little while when I heard the sound of drums.

  It was a small procession, like the one I’d seen the time I came to visit Grandfather’s Elder Brother when I was a boy. A magnificent company of palace eunuchs solemnly led the way, flanked by drummers and men beating gongs. And the moment I saw them I felt a thrill of pleasure. The silks the eunuchs wore were so richly embroidered, so splendid, just to see them was like a glimpse of Heaven. I could almost forget my own troubles for a moment.

  They were followed by a closely guarded sedan chair, no doubt containing some high palace official. They passed the teahouse and came to a big mansion where the sedan chair entered. Some of the eunuchs disappeared into the courtyard of the mansion or were brought chairs and sat by the gateway. Three decided to go for a walk. And to my surprise, one came into the teahouse.

  The manager of the teahouse almost fell over himself as he rushed forward to make a low bow before the eunuch. I must say, in his splendid silk robes and conical hat, he was a stately figure. But he smiled very pleasantly, and when asked where he would care to sit, nodded easily at the table next to mine, which happened to be empty. I heard him say softly that he desired only tea, nothing to eat. “Have you Lushan cloud tea?” he asked.

  “Certainly, certainly,” the manager said, and hurried away.

  Right from the moment he sat down, I couldn’t help admiring his elegance. This is a man, I thought, who knows how to live. There is no better or more lustrous variety of mountain green tea than Lushan. But it wasn’t just his choice of tea. He was in his forties, I guessed, but the way he sat, very straight and still, made me think of an older man. There was a grace in every movement he made. He might have been a priest. I’d always heard that most of the eunuchs were from the poorest class, but whether it was innate in the man himself or the result of years spent in the imperial palace, this eunuch exhibited nothing of the crudeness of the common folk.

  I realized that I was staring at him and, ashamed of my bad manners, forced myself to stop. I gazed out the window and told myself: Think about what to do next, instead of staring at this palace eunuch who can’t do you any good.

  I did notice, however, that when the woman served his tea, she brought him little delicacies to eat, which he ignored.

  I’d been staring out the window thinking of my sorrows for a little while when I was interrupted by a quiet voice. “You look unhappy, young man.”

  I turned and saw to my surprise that it was the eunuch who had spoken to me. The flesh of his face was soft, his mouth was kind but not weak, and his expression was one of genuine concern.

  “I daresay every man has troubles, sir,” I answered politely. “I don’t suppose mine would seem very interesting to a distinguished gentleman like yourself.”

  “Perhaps not,” he said pleasantly. “But as I have to wait here for an hour, which is quite boring anyway, I should like to hear your life story, if you would tell it to me.” And he offered me some of the food on his table.

  So begging him to stop me as soon as he’d heard enough, I gave him a brief outline of the story. He seemed to observe me quite carefully while I talked, and at the end he nodded. “It wasn’t boring at all,” he said. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, honored sir,” I replied. “I wish I did.”

  “I couldn’t help noticing,” he continued, “that while you were talking, you kept glancing at my robe. May I ask what interested you about it?”

  “As a craftsman, sir,” I said, “I always notice beautiful workmanship of any kind. In fact,” I told him, “ever since I was a boy I’ve been drawn to the finer things of life—even though I can’t have them myself,” I added with a smile.

  To my surprise, he stretched out his arm. “Would you like to feel the silk?” he offered.

  Well, I did. The embroidered silk was even stiffer than I’d expected, almost like brocade, and was finely sewn with tiny beads that made it almost scratchy. I couldn’t stop myself leaning forward to inspect the stitching, which was so tight I could scarcely believe it. “This is made to last a thousand years!” I said.

  “Perhaps it will,” he said, and laughed. Then he drew back his arm and gazed at me thoughtfully. “You know,” he remarked quietly, “there may be a way for you to get what you want, though it is not without risk and would entail great sacrifice.”

  “Please tell me about it, sir,” I said.

  “You could become one of the palace people, as they call us. A eunuch.”

  “A eunuch?” I stared at him, astounded. “But I’m a married man, sir,” I protested. “I’d have had to become a eunuch when I was a boy.”

  “That’s what most people think,” he said, “but they are not correct. It is true,” he explained, “that by far the majority of eunuchs are castrated when they are still boys. But there are a number in the palace who were castrated after they became men, had married, and had families. They use the money they make in the palace to support their wives and children.”

  “I never heard of such a thing,” I exclaimed.

  “I assure you it is so. I am in the palace, and I know such men.”

  “And their wives…?”

  “They live better than they might have done otherwise. Their children are cared for and fed. The eunuchs are often allowed out of the palace at night, you know. Some of these men go home at night to be with their families.”

  “But they cannot…”

  He raised his hand. “Such arrangements do not mean that the woman can receive no pleasure at all. We need not speak of all the possibilities.” He nodded. “Indeed, I daresay there are women married to ordinary men in Beijing who would gladly trade places with these wives.”

  “I don’t know what to say, sir,” I stuttered. I was quite flabbergasted.

  “All eunuchs receive a modest pay,” he went on. “But if one is lucky, there are plenty of ways of making money on the side. A few eunuchs even become rich.” He paused. “My impression of you is that you would make friends easily and do quite well. And of course,” he said, smiling, “you would be surrounded by the finer things of life.”

  I was silent. He glanced out the window.

  “I must be off,” he said suddenly. “Shou
ld you ever wish to take this further—but only if you are truly sure that you are ready for such a drastic step—then there is a merchant in the city that I recommend you visit. You should go to his house discreetly, in the evening, without telling anyone the true nature of your business. But once alone with him, tell him why you have come, and he can be very helpful to you, both in arranging the operation and in getting you accepted by the palace—without which, of course, the operation would be a most unfortunate waste of time and money. This is the name of the street where he lives in the Inner City. Ask for Mr. Chen, the merchant.” He got up. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  * * *

  —

  When I got home, I didn’t say a word about this conversation. But I had to tell them, of course, that I’d lost my work. I saw my mother’s whole body sag with shock, though she quickly tried to hide it.

  Rose put on a very brave face. “I’m sure I can take in work of some kind,” she said calmly. “And I know you will find a position soon.”

  As for my father, he didn’t even seem to think there was a problem. “I’ll think of something,” he told us all airily.

  “That,” I muttered, “is what worries me.”

  * * *

  —

  You’d think in a huge city like Beijing that there would be plenty of opportunities for work, but after ten days of looking, I soon discovered a simple fact: A city is a vast collection of villages. And just like in any village, a craftsman employs his own family or the son of a friend. Nor does a rich man looking for a servant want to employ a stranger who may rob him. He’ll more likely ask a trusted servant he already has, “Do you know of anyone?” And that servant probably has a cousin or a friend he can recommend. In short, most of the good jobs were already spoken for, and strangers could pick up only casual work, the way my father did—which is to say, jobs with no prospects at all.