China

by Edward Rutherfurd

  When she’d dried and powdered Bright Moon’s feet, she began to bind them again, a little more tightly this time. And Bright Moon began to cry out and complain.

  “There there, my dear, I know it hurts,” the Binder said to her kindly. “But just think how proud your father will be when he comes home and finds you’ve become such a fine young lady.”

  “When is he coming back?” asked the girl miserably.

  “Not until you’ve got some lily feet to show him,” said Mother firmly.

  * * *

  —

  There was one question Mei-Ling wanted to ask. She could have asked her own sister-in-law years ago. But strangely, when poor Willow was alive, they never discussed such things. At first as the poor peasant girl in the family, she hadn’t dared raise the subject with the elegant wife of the senior son. And later, with Willow trying to produce a boy and being sickly, it hadn’t seemed appropriate.

  Once she’d asked her husband, but he’d only grinned and told her: “I’m sure I don’t know, but I’m glad your feet aren’t bound. I love you exactly the way you are.”

  So that afternoon, when they happened to be alone, she asked the Binder: “Why is it that men like women with bound feet so much?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Well, it shows that the family has money. The woman doesn’t have to work in the fields like a peasant.”

  “That’s true. It doesn’t actually prevent your working in the fields, by the way. But it makes it harder, and you can’t walk very far.”

  “And men think that tiny bound feet are more beautiful than natural feet?”

  “Some men are fascinated by the naked lily foot,” said the Binder. “They like to kiss it and caress it. But mostly women keep their feet bound when they sleep with their husbands, and they wear tiny scented silk and satin slippers. Men find the slippers arousing.” She looked thoughtful. “I suppose they like seeing the slippered feet waving about in the air, and that sort of thing. Like little boots, you know.”

  * * *

  —

  The moon was nearly full that night. The house was silent. Her little girl had fallen asleep, but Mei-Ling lay awake.

  After a time, she got up and went out into the courtyard. The moonlight was so bright that it made her blink. Most of the yard was gleaming, but part was in shadow. She sat on a bench at the shadow’s edge. In front of her feet, in the moonlight, she could see a little pile of crinkled autumn leaves.

  She’d been sitting there a minute or two when she became aware of a shape in the dark corner of the courtyard wall off to her right. She peered at it.

  “You couldn’t sleep, either,” said the shape.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said as her son came out of the corner and sat beside her.

  “I’d come out here when our little one was crying,” he said. “Couldn’t bear it.”

  “She fell asleep an hour ago,” Mei-Ling said.

  “I know. I just stayed here, watching the moon.” They were both silent for a while. “I feel so bad.”

  “Why?”

  “The little girl having to suffer like this so she can have tiny feet and get a rich man and help us, when we should be helping ourselves. And what am I doing? I ask myself.”

  “You’re doing your best. You’re a good worker. You keep the place going.”

  “You know, there’s a piece of land we could buy on the other side of the village. Maybe I could borrow the money. If Elder Uncle would do some work, we could farm it. But I can’t take it on by myself.”

  “Maybe when your father and your brother get back…”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “They haven’t sent us any money yet, have they?”

  “It’s a long way. They will.”

  “I don’t even know where California is.” He fell silent again.

  “Far away,” she said absently.

  “When my little sister gets married, she’ll need to have all sorts of things. Embroidered shoes and I don’t know what. That all costs money. Do you suppose we’ll have enough?”

  “Mother and I have thought of that,” said Mei-Ling.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Sell your uncle’s opium pipe.”

  “He won’t like that.” A slow smile crept over her son’s face. “He’ll have a fit.”

  Mei-Ling nodded slowly, but her thoughts seemed to have moved on to another subject. “Do you know what else worries me?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You should be married. We should have made you marry long ago.”

  “Like father, like son, I suppose.” He smiled. “My father was obstinate when he made his parents let him marry you.”

  She sighed. He looked so like his father just then that it almost gave her pain. “What sort of girl do you want?”

  “Someone like you.”

  “I’m sure you could do better. My family had nothing, remember.”

  “I’m not ambitious. I’m a peasant. I work the land. I like it that way.”

  “Then we’ll find you a nice girl like me.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “The house is too sad.”

  “Maybe it would be happier if you had a wife and children.”

  “Maybe.” He paused. “Nothing feels right. What with Elder Uncle being the way he is, and Father not here and…I don’t know.”

  “Things are never completely right.”

  “When Father gets back, and my brother, and they bring more money…”

  “You’ll marry then? You promise?”

  “All right.” He nodded. “I promise.”

  When Father gets back. But when might that be? In another two years?

  There was not a day when Mei-Ling did not think of Second Son. Not a night when she did not long for him. But there had been no word. Soon, perhaps, they might hear something. If the American came again, he would bring news, and money, too, perhaps. But so far, nothing.

  And still that little voice spoke to her and told her: “You will not see him again.”

  * * *

  —

  The Binder was as good as her word, and it had to be said she was thorough. By the time the month was up, she had taught both Mei-Ling and Mother how to tie the bandages, wrapping them a little tighter each time; how to sew them in place so that they didn’t need to be changed every day; how to wash and powder each foot. She also taught them how to lift the little girl up and drop her onto a narrow block of wood laid on the ground—a most useful exercise that helped to break down the arches of her feet. Though she still had to reprove Mei-Ling from time to time for weeping when Bright Moon screamed—which, as she pointed out, was no help to the little girl at all.

  “When will I stop wearing bandages?” Bright Moon asked her one day.

  “Never, my dear,” the Binder explained. “You’ll always have a light binding for the rest of your life, just to keep everything in place.”

  She left on a sunny morning, promising to return a month later.

  * * *

  —

  Around noon that day, the weather changed. Grey clouds, trailing skirts of mist, came into the valley from the coast. A dull humidity settled over the hamlet. Bright Moon was subdued. Mother had sat down indoors and closed her eyes.

  Mei-Ling went out through the gate and stared down at the pond. The water was grey as the sky. The reeds by the bank hung their heads—in boredom, perhaps. The flock of ducks at the foot of the bridge made no sound.

  She stood there for a quarter of an hour before she saw the single figure emerge from the trees at the far end of the bridge. The figure paused, as if debating whether to cross the bridge, so she supposed it wasn’t someone from the hamlet. And she was about to call out that the wood was rotten and that it wasn’t sa
fe when the person evidently came to the same conclusion and disappeared back onto the path through the woods. She wondered idly who the stranger might be. But since the track led to the village lane in one direction, or into a network of fields some way behind the house in the other, she didn’t expect to see him again.

  She was taken by surprise, five minutes later, when the figure came from behind the barn and made its way towards her, and she realized that it was her younger son.

  “Mother.” He had grown a little taller, thickened, turned into a powerful young workingman during his absence. He carried a bag on his back, a stick in his hand. He didn’t smile at the sight of her. He looked very tired.

  “You are back,” she cried. How could he be back already? “You came from America?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is your father?”

  But with a sinking heart she guessed, even before he said it.

  “Father’s dead.”

  After he told her what had happened, he said he needed to lie down. Then he slept.

  * * *

  —

  Mei-Ling told Mother first, asked her to tell the others and to ensure no one disturbed her sleeping son. “We’ll get the whole story when he wakes up tomorrow,” she promised.

  But first, she thought, she’d better prepare her poor little daughter. So she went in to Bright Moon and sat on the bed and gently told her: “There is bad news. Your father had an accident. He was killed, in America.”

  The little girl didn’t say anything for a moment. She just stared in shock.

  “I’m here, my little one, and so is all your family, and your brother is back from America, too. We’re all here. But your father won’t be back.” And she put her arms around the child.

  “I’ll never see him again?”

  “You can think of him. I’m sure he’s watching over you.”

  Then Bright Moon started to cry. And Mei-Ling cried with her. And stayed with her for an hour until she had fallen asleep.

  But she herself lay awake for a long time afterwards. And she thought of all the good things about her husband and wished she could speak to him just one more time, at least to say goodbye.

  And then she felt anger towards him for leaving her like this, as the living often do towards the dead.

  * * *

  —

  Her son slept and she would not let anyone disturb him. He slept through the evening, all through the night, and into the next morning. At noon he woke. Mei-Ling brought him a little food; and she made him go for a long walk in the afternoon. It wasn’t until the evening that he faced the rest of the family, who gathered to hear his story.

  Elder Son presided. It was strange to see him sitting in old Mr. Lung’s chair, trying to look important. As long as her husband was alive, Elder Son knew that however little he did, there was someone else to take over control. But now Second Son was suddenly gone. Until Mei-Ling’s boys were older, there was no one to be head of the Lung family. Perhaps Elder Son meant to do his duty after all, though she wondered how long that would last.

  “Tell us how it happened,” he said gravely.

  “It was an accident,” his nephew explained. “No one’s fault, really. Laying the tracks is hard work, but it isn’t difficult. The work’s always the same. Clear the land, build the foundation, place the wooden crossties, then the iron rails on top of them. You have to be careful because the timber and iron are all so heavy, but it’s all routine and we knew what we were doing. Everything was all right until we went up into the mountains.”

  “What mountains?”

  “A range they call the Sierra Nevada. Runs parallel to the coast. The mountains are high, but the railroad has to cross them to go east. It can be dangerous working in the passes.”

  “How did he die?”

  “An avalanche. No one saw it coming. The foreman had sent me down the line to order extra gravel. I’d gone just a quarter of a mile when I turned and saw a section of cliff high above the tracks split from the mountain and come sliding down. It was almost silent for a moment, and it seemed to be moving quite slowly. Then there was a rumble, and a sort of gravelly hiss, and then a roar. I could see rocks bouncing down the mountainside, and the earthslide was so fast it was almost like a waterfall. Then a huge cloud of dust at the bottom.” He paused. “We all started working with shovels or anything we could use to dig the men out. There were twenty or thirty. A lot of them were quite badly hurt and two or three suffocated. But we didn’t find Father.”

  “He didn’t escape?”

  “I thought he might have and I kept calling his name, but there was no sign of him. So I just kept digging with some of the other fellows. And after an hour I found him. Well, what was left of him. A big boulder hit him. It must have killed him at once.” He glanced at his mother and little sister, then at his brother. “I’m sure he didn’t feel any pain.”

  “When was this?”

  “About a year ago.”

  “Then why,” asked Elder Son, “did you return? You should have completed your contract.” Mei-Ling looked at him furiously, but Elder Son shook his head and continued sternly: “You must have given up a lot of money, and that’s what you went there for.”

  “I know. I thought of all that,” said the young man. “And I didn’t leave. They gave me what was due to Father, and I went on working.”

  “Then why are you here now?” Elder Son pursued relentlessly.

  “The young American came by. He checks on all the people he transports. I believe he’s the only one who does that. So he knew about Father before he even got to me. Then he said, ‘Do you know there’s smallpox in the next work camp?’ Well, I’d heard a rumor that some of the rail workers were sick, but since I was under contract, I didn’t see much point in worrying about it. ‘You’re to get out of here,’ he told me. ‘I watch out for my Chinese fellows, and I’m not losing you as well as your father.’ ”

  “That’s all very well…” Elder Son started, but his nephew hurried on.

  “I was going to refuse. But he said he did a lot of business with the railroad and he’d take care of it. And before I knew it, he’d got them to pay out my full contract and Father’s as well; and I was on my way back home.”

  “Let me see the money you brought,” said Elder Son.

  “It’s in a safe place,” said Mother firmly. “I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  All this time, Mei-Ling was watching her daughter, who’d been listening, wide-eyed but silent. Then Bright Moon closed her eyes, as though she was trying to shut the news out. When the little girl opened her eyes again, her look was so blank that Mei-Ling had the feeling that her daughter was retreating, closing herself off from them all, like a person folding their arms across their chest. She hoped it would pass.

  “Where is your father buried?” she asked her son.

  “Farther down the valley. It’s a proper grave. I’d know where to find it.”

  She nodded slowly. Would she ever tend her husband’s grave? She didn’t imagine so.

  “What is this place like, this California?” asked Elder Son.

  “The weather’s mild, drier than here. America’s big, but not many people.”

  “They don’t have big cities like ours?” Elder Son asked.

  “Not in California. Not yet, anyway. There are big cities in other parts of America. But mostly they don’t have walls around them.”

  “How can you have a city without walls?” said Mother. “What if you’re attacked?”

  “I don’t know. They just had a big war there. Fighting each other. A lot of people killed. Like the Taiping. The fighting never came near California.”

  “How did the railroad bosses treat you?” Mei-Ling asked.

  “They like the Chinese. We work hard. We don’t give any trouble. There’s a lot of Chinese working
on the California railroad already, and more coming all the time. It used to be mostly Irishmen doing the manual work out there,” he added proudly. “Big, strong men. But when the Irish complained about us taking their jobs, the railroad boss told them that if they didn’t stop complaining, he’d replace them all with Chinese.”

  “What’s Irish?” asked Mother.

  “A barbarian tribe. There are many barbarian tribes in America.”

  Elder Son seemed satisfied with all he’d heard. “Perhaps we should all go to America,” he said.

  “You have to work there,” Mother murmured softly, but Elder Son didn’t hear. That night he smoked his father’s opium pipe.

  * * *

  —

  In the morning, while Elder Son was still asleep, Mother, Mei-Ling and her two sons held a family conference. By now, both in the family and in the village, her younger son had acquired a new name: California Brother.

  The first question was what her two sons should do. California Brother offered to return to America, but before Mei-Ling could even voice her anguish at the thought, Mother told him firmly: “No. We need you both here.”

  “In that case,” Ka-Fai said, turning to Mei-Ling, “what about the land I told you about that’s for sale on the other side of the village? Do we have enough money to buy it now? I’m sure the two of us could work it.”

  Mei-Ling looked at Mother, who pursed her lips. “I know the price of that land. If we use the money from America and sell the opium pipe, we might have enough. But then we won’t have the money we need to spend on Bright Moon so she can get a rich husband. And now that we’ve already bound her feet…”

  “We could borrow the money for the land,” California Brother suggested.

  “No debt,” said Mother firmly.

  “I think…” Mei-Ling spoke slowly, weighing her words. “I think that you should buy the land. After all, as soon as you work it, that’ll bring in extra money. We don’t have to find a husband for Bright Moon for years yet. Something might turn up in the meantime.” She saw Mother give her a long look.