Along the River: A Chinese Cinderella Novel

by Adeline Yen Mah

  “What sort of hair do they use to make these cricket ticklers? They’re so fine! Almost invisible.” Gege tilts his head back and inserts the tickler into his right nostril. He twirls the handle, screws up his face and gives a violent sneeze.

  “Ah-cheoow!” Gege exclaims. “Ready for a song or a fight, anyone? No? How about a little tickle up the nose and a good sneeze instead? By the way, you never answered me. What sort of hair is this?”

  “If you really want to know, these fine hairs are rats’ whiskers!”

  “Rats’ whiskers! Ah yah! Why didn’t you tell me before? How do I rinse out my nostril?”

  “Did you buy all this cricket paraphernalia, Ah Zhao?” Baba asks.

  “Of course not, Old Master! I thought you might like to see everything, that’s all. Aren’t they interesting? Whatever you don’t want, I’ll return.”

  “These gourds are beautiful,” Baba says, picking one up. “Especially this one. They’re all different, aren’t they?”

  “You can say that again. Some gourds have smaller turns, while others have larger turns than their bellies. The ones with long, slender necks are called goose-necks. The fat, round, shiny ones are called monk-heads. The one you have in your hand has a pointed bottom. It’s called a spider-bellied gourd.”

  “I really like this one,” Baba says, taking off the gourd’s latticed tortoiseshell top and peering into its interior. “It’s beautifully proportioned. Inside, it has a thick rind, which will maintain an even temperature for our cricket lodger.”

  “Old Master! You have excellent taste. That one’s my favorite too. Look at the glossy patina on its surface! According to the dealer, the patina is from years of being caressed by numerous previous owners. He says this gourd is an antique from the Tang Dynasty. It’s at least three hundred years old.”

  At that moment, Proprietor Ma appears with a tray of steaming dishes, and the delicious aroma of fresh carp, pork ribs and bamboo shoots fills the air. Ah Zhao hurriedly repacks his assortment of cricket-ware and prepares to leave.

  “Buy the antique gourd and that fat, round, shiny one you call monk-head. Bargain for a good price,” Baba says.

  “Tell them to throw in the tickler!” Gege adds.

  “Do you need some more money?” Baba asks.

  “The string of cash you gave me earlier is more than enough.”

  Baba reaches into the voluminous sleeve of his robe and takes out a few more coins. “Here, this is lunch money for you and Little Chen.”

  “Thank you, Old Master.” Ah Zhao bows. “We’re going to watch the preparations for the Qing Ming Festival, but we won’t be far away.”

  “What’s the Qing Ming Festival, Baba?” I ask.

  “That’s a day for us to remember our ancestors. About four hundred years ago, one of the Tang Emperors declared that the day following the Cold Food Festival should be named Qing Ming Jie (Clear and Bright Festival). Nowadays we combine the two holidays together into a joined Qing Ming Festival for sweeping our ancestors’ tombs.”

  “And also for playing games,” Gege adds. “I remember one Qing Ming Festival when you took me to Ye Ye’s (Grandfather’s) tomb and we had a picnic. Afterward we played tug-of-war and cu ju (football) and flew kites. It was such a fun day.”

  “How come I didn’t get to go there for Qing Ming, Baba?” I ask.

  “That was the year I took your brother to see my old house in Shandong Province, where your ye ye is buried,” Baba says. “It’s too far for you to travel. Girls shouldn’t get out of the house too often.… Besides, your niang doesn’t like to leave her room. We haven’t celebrated Qing Ming for many years now.”

  Along the River

  at Qing Ming

  Proprietor Ma comes up to Baba toward the end of lunch and asks to speak to him privately.

  “How long will it take?”

  “It’s about your investment in my humble establishment. I need to show you the books. It might take a while. Do you have time?”

  “I have time, but what about my children?”

  “Today’s the beginning of Qing Ming. Have you not seen the crowds? So many things to do and see. They can walk around the marketplace, fly kites, go on a boat ride, even enter the city to watch the jugglers, or have their fortunes told.”

  “Oh, Baba,” I cry. “Please let Gege show me everything!”

  Baba smiles indulgently and reaches into his sleeve. “Here are some coins. Tell Ah Zhao to accompany you. He knows the city well.”

  “What if you’re finished before us?” I ask.

  “That’s a good point … hmm …” Baba strokes his beard and looks at our excited faces. “Tell you what: since this is Little Sister’s first visit to the city, why don’t you tell Little Chen to wait for you and drive you home? When I’m done, I’ll just hire a sedan chair and go home on my own.”

  Gege runs downstairs in high spirits, taking the steps two at a time, as usual. I follow more slowly, as stairs are always tricky for my toes, some of which do not bend. He turns around impatiently and tells me to hurry.

  Outside, the sun is blazing and the weather is turning warm. In front of us is the dazzling river. As far as I can see, its entire length is dotted with boats of all varieties, sizes and colors. There are flat-bottomed transport barges laden with sacks of grain, ferries packed with passengers, tiny rowing boats close to shore, river rafts, giant merchant ships and small sampans flying past at high speed. Everyone is going to or arriving from somewhere else. I suddenly realize how narrow my world is.

  We find Little Chen fast asleep by the side of the carriage. Ah Zhao is a little distance away, talking animatedly to a stallkeeper. A blue flag with the single word niao (bird) written in red is flying in the breeze. As we approach, I see a small crowd of people gathered round the stallkeeper. He’s standing in front of a number of bamboo cages, each containing a single bird.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the bird-seller is saying. “The price of one of these sparrow hawks alone is twenty tong bi (copper coins). How can I sell you this stack of three birds for ten coppers?”

  “I’m not particular about what kind of bird it is,” Ah Zhao replies. “Just let me have any three birds for ten coppers. In fact, you can even keep your cages if—”

  “What about getting the sparrow hawk? This one is trained to hunt.”

  The merchant takes the black-and-white bird out of its cage and places it on his left forearm. He points to a sparrow hopping around from stall to stall, then coaxes the hawk into a lying-down position on his right palm. Immediately, the hawk’s eyes rivet on the sparrow.

  “Give me fifteen copper coins and I’ll show you how to throw my hawk at that sparrow like a dart. If it doesn’t kill its quarry with one try, you can have your money back and take any one of my birds home for free. If it succeeds, I keep the money and this sparrow hawk is yours. How about it?”

  “No! I loathe birds that hunt!” Ah Zhao says. “Give me three birds for ten coppers and keep your cages.”

  “I never heard of such a thing! How’re you going to take the birds home without their cages?”

  “That’s my problem. Not yours.”

  “I’ll go bankrupt if I sell you three birds for ten coppers.”

  “All right! How about two birds for ten coppers?”

  “Who keeps the cages?”

  “You do.”

  “Any type of birds?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about these two pigeons for ten coppers?”

  “Fine!”

  “So, these two pigeons are yours for ten coppers. Now, I’d like to see what you’re going to do with them without a cage.”

  He hands over the two caged birds to Ah Zhao, who pays him. Ah Zhao calmly opens the doors of the cages and releases the pigeons, one after the other, into the sky. A murmur of astonishment goes through the crowd of onlookers. I can tell by the way they shake their heads that they can hardly believe what they are seeing.

  The bird-s
eller is outraged. “What did you do that for?”

  “If you were a bird imprisoned in a cage, what’s the one thing you would yearn for?”

  “I have no idea. What is it?”

  “Freedom! Lack of freedom is a fate worse than death!”

  “You’re mad! But why should I care? Just give me back my cages, as agreed, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

  I watch as the two pigeons flap their wings and soar away joyously toward the horizon. Happy birds, I think to myself. I wish I had eyes buried in their feathers so I could follow their flight across the wide blue yonder and go wherever they roam. I can see from Ah Zhao’s body language that he’s happy to have set the birds free. It occurs to me that, as a servant, he must feel like a caged bird himself. Just like me.

  At that moment, Gege creeps up stealthily behind Ah Zhao, tackles him from behind, covers his eyes and shouts, “Guess who I am, Big Nose!”

  “Can it possibly be the handsome and talented Zhang Ze Duan, famous court-painter-to-be?” The two boys laugh and shadowbox and chase one another along the grassy shore.

  “Tell me about the boats, Ah Zhao,” I say.

  “Amazing variety, aren’t they?” He brushes grass off his black, hemp cloth trousers as I join them. “See the cluster of boats on the other side of the teahouse? Most of those belong to fishermen. Families of four or six people sleep, eat and work in them.”

  “I see some fishermen even keep birds as pets.”

  “Those are special birds called cormorants. The fisherman places a metal ring round their neck so they can’t swallow big fish. He lowers them into the water to catch fish, then takes the ones they can’t swallow from their mouths.”

  “What about that cargo boat laden with boxes? What’s making it move up the river?” Gege points to two vessels close together, one behind the other. “I don’t see any sails or oars, let alone anyone rowing.”

  “That’s because the smaller boat in front is a paddle-wheeled tugboat. Instead of sails or oars, these wooden paddle wheels are moving the two boats forward.”

  “How about those two big boats docked along the banks to our right? Are the workers loading or unloading?”

  “Who knows? The one with multiple decks that looks like a big house may be a merchant ship. Both of them are big enough to sail to the ocean or to other countries. See those gigantic masts? When all the sails are pulled up they look like great clouds in the sky.”

  “What are the sails made of?”

  “Bamboo matting. The sailors probably took some of them down for cleaning and repairs. The direction of those sails can be changed from moment to moment to catch the wind. That way, the sailors can go wherever they wish.”

  “How glorious! To go wherever one wishes!” Gege says longingly.

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the three of us could board one of those boats and sail somewhere far, far away?” I say, mesmerized by the panoramic view and the possibility of travel.

  “How I long to be a sailor!” Gege exclaims. “I simply hate my lessons! As for those ancient books I have to learn by heart, I don’t know anyone who speaks like that. Why should I waste my time? Let’s run away instead!”

  “How will we support ourselves?” Ah Zhao says.

  “You can teach us how to paint, and we’ll sell our paintings. Or else we can stage cricket fights and make bets!”

  “What sort of life is that? You two have no idea what it’s like out there.”

  “Show us!” I cry. “I want to see everything, today!”

  “See everything in one afternoon? How much time do you have? Where’s your baba?”

  “Baba says he’ll go home by himself,” Gege says. “We need to wake up Little Chen and tell him to wait here and take us home later. We have the whole day ahead of us.”

  “Let’s get started!” I shout, giddy with excitement. “This is the first time I’ve been out of the house without my parents. I want to see everything!”

  “Follow me!” Ah Zhao says. “With so much free time, you he bu ke (is anything impossible)?”

  Two queues stretch in front of the gate: a long line to the right for carriages and carts, and a much shorter line to the left for pedestrians, peddlers and riders. As we approach, the imposing city gate appears to grow taller and taller, looming up to a height of at least thirty men (approximately fifteen zhang . The name of our capital city, Bian Liang is written in beautiful, giant calligraphy and prominently displayed on a gold placard hanging from the roof of the building above the gate.

  Facing us are two sets of rectangular doors, one behind the other, each two zhang high. The outer door is made of a single thick sheet of iron. It’s controlled by heavy chains that hoist the door up or down; the inner double door is made of carved wood and opens inward. Above the doors is a traditional administration building, with flying eaves and upturned corners, enclosed by a balcony. Steep stone steps lead from the top of the wall to the building’s entrance. Parapets along the top of the wall act as lookout towers during times of trouble and provide shelter for archers to shoot arrows.

  A black-robed ticket official sits at a table inside the gate, counting coins with the help of a suan pan (abacus) and logging the sum into a ledger with brush and ink. He stamps a sheet of paper firmly with his tu zhang (chop or seal), gives it to the driver standing at his desk and waves him on before beckoning to the next driver to come forward.

  We queue behind a troupe of musicians dressed in black costumes with red sashes round their waists. They are carrying their musical instruments: bamboo flutes, reed pipes, drums, erhu (two-stringed fiddle), qin (zither), lute, cymbals and bells.

  “Carriages and carts have to pay tolls to go through the gate,” says one musician to another, “but pedestrians get in for free during the Qing Ming Festival.”

  Gege taps the musician on his arm to get his attention. “Where will you be performing?”

  “At the Longevity Gardens. There’s going to be a kite-flying competition this afternoon. You three should come and join the fun. It’s only half a li upriver to your left. We’re going to have a hot and noisy party.”

  “When do the city gates close?” I ask.

  “At sundown.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Ah Zhao interrupts. “You’ll hear the drums.”

  “Drums?” I ask. “What drums?”

  “See the ornate guardhouse standing atop the city gates?” the musician says. “There’s a bell as well as a drum in that guardhouse. The bell is rung at sunrise every morning, when the city gates open, and the drum is beaten at sundown every evening, to warn you the gates are about to close.”

  “How many bells and drums are there altogether?”

  “The city wall has twelve separate gates,” Ah Zhao says, “but I’m not sure whether each gate has a bell and drum in its guardhouse.”

  “Don’t worry,” the musician says. “Unless you’re deaf, you’re bound to hear the drums at sundown. You’ll know when to get out.”

  Inside the walled city there are even more people milling about: tightrope-walkers, pole acts, jugglers, clowns, fortunetellers, actors and professional storytellers are all surrounded by dense crowds. We walk past a barbershop and see a bearded man being shaved with a sharp, curved knife. Down the street a well-muscled army officer is testing the suppleness of a crossbow at an archery stall. Next to him, illiterate farmers wait patiently for a public scribe to write their letters for a fee.

  We mingle with shoppers, beggars, monks asking for alms, and families out on holiday. I can’t help laughing at a bare-bottomed little boy who’s trying to climb into a peddler’s basket. A sign on the basket proclaims that the peddler can cure diseases of cows and horses, as well as children! Many people are dressed in their best holiday clothes, with elaborate headgear. It’s so noisy we can hardly hear one another speak. Suddenly a loud bang startles me, but Ah Zhao says it’s just a firecracker. I’m fascinated by all the different shops and restaurants, hotels, temples, official
buildings and private residences, ranging from modest dwellings to grand mansions with meticulously maintained yards.

  Gege and Ah Zhao walk on either side of me to make sure that I don’t get lost in the crowd. As we stroll along the riverbank, toward the Longevity Gardens, the crowds thin out a little and I see hundreds of paper kites, shaped like birds and butterflies, flying in the wind. Some are tied to long poles wrapped in colorful silk banners, all bearing the characters Qing Ming Feng Zheng Jie (Qing Ming Kite Festival).

  The Longevity Gardens turn out to be a large, empty field on a raised plateau overlooking the river on one side, and plots of vegetables and wheat on the other. The best thing about the grounds is the panoramic view of the city of Bian Liang. The three of us stand at the edge of the plateau, with Gege in the middle. He drapes his arms affectionately around our shoulders.

  “When we get home,” Gege says, “I’m going to paint a picture of this great scene, exactly as it is at this moment. I’ll remember how it looks right now and never let go of the image. Will you help me do this, Big Nose?”

  “Of course—we’ll do it together! We need to make the river the centerpiece of your painting. Be sure to remember the direction of the sun; we’ll put in sunshine and shadows where we see them now.”

  “How do you draw sunshine?”

  “When you draw dark shadows, the spaces you leave blank will be sunshine.”

  “Brilliant! We’ll name the painting Along the River at Qing Ming. It will preserve a slice of Bian Liang city life, during Emperor Huizong’s reign, for our grandchildren and our great-great-grandchildren.”