The Promise Bird

by Zhang Yueran

In the cramped house, we frequently walked past each other or sat face to face, but on these occasions her gaze didn’t linger on me, not even for a second. Her devotion for me, which I had once thought I would never lose, seemed to be at an end.

  At harvest time, I gave up the bee-catching job and returned to my coffee plants. The coffee beans were stored in wooden buckets. I left them to dry in the sun for most of the day, and then, worried about rain, moved them indoors. The next day, I told Hua Hua to watch the beans and keep her cat away from them. She was bathing it at the time, gleefully splashing water over its body, showing no sign of having heard me.

  That night, I came home to find — sure enough — one of the buckets spilling its contents onto the ground. The cat must have eaten some. Looking at it asleep in Hua Hua’s arms, its belly round and full, something snapped in me. I picked it up by the scruff, roaring at Hua Hua. She woke to see me at the end of the bed, waving it like a flag. When she leapt at me I pushed her aside and flung the animal to the ground. It disappeared yowling under the bed. I pulled it out and continued hitting it. Hua Hua knelt and pleaded with me to let it go, and when I continued, began hitting her head against the floor — tu tut tu — so loudly that I could only grab her and hold her upright. In a panic, her mouth gaped open. The helpless emptiness where her front teeth had been. She said, over and over, “I beg of you, don’t hurt our baby.”

  9

  The wildcat refused to emerge from under the bed all that night. Hua Hua insisted on sleeping on the floor, and was still there the next morning as I prepared to leave the house. The cat must have crept out in the night and shat beside the wooden buckets — of course, I stepped into it. Looking at the mess on my shoes, I was enraged all over again and ready to drag it out from its hiding place, when I noticed that the beans were intact — so the animal swallowed without chewing. I picked the beans out. They had an intriguing smell — as if the cat’s musky scent had imprinted itself on their aroma.

  I washed them clean and put them in the sun to dry. I wasn’t in the mood to continue with the harvest, so spent the day lounging outdoors, turning the beans over from time to time. I was afraid I might have washed the peculiar new smell away, but each time I sniffed them it was still there.

  At noon, I became drowsy, dazed from the sun and from not having eaten anything. A burst of rain woke me — I snatched up the small bowl of beans and dashed into the house, trying to dry them with my sleeve. The aroma was now stronger than ever, filling the house. Even Hua Hua noticed and asked what that funny smell was. The wildcat was reclining in her lap, but when it saw me, it arched its back and widened its eyes, ready to leap back under the bed.

  In order to make it feel safe, I stopped two paces away from it. We looked at each other until it decided I wasn’t going to attack, and resumed its supine position. I told Hua Hua about the beans, and asked her to let the animal eat some more. She stared in consternation. “You mean, Baby can eat more coffee beans — and you won’t beat him?”

  “I’ll never beat him again.”

  She relaxed, and even looked a little happy. Already the events of the past were fading, her trust in me as strong as ever. Taking up a handful of beans, she held them in front of the cat, all the while stroking it and murmuring soothing words. It sniffed, then withdrew its nose and narrowed its eyes, looking first at her and then at me, motionless. Hua Hua motioned at me to leave the house. The creature was still afraid of me.

  I stood in the doorway. It was still raining, fat water droplets hitting the plants and soil, making enough noise to cover the tender words of the young mother inside the house. Roofs in this country were flat, with no eaves, so half my body was soaked. I remembered a rainy day long ago, when Chun Chi sat outside peacefully listening to raindrops striking the terracotta tiles above her. In the northern summer, rain falls evenly, tiktak tiktak, like the heavens’ pulse. Chun Chi had spent so long in the cold, only that sound could bring her a little warmth.

  As I wiped the rain off my face, I realised that my hand still smelt of those beans, that fragrance like a long corridor, endlessly deep, leading somewhere far off and unknown. I clutched my palm, suddenly afraid — this aroma was my last hope.

  Three days later, I brought the special beans to market and forced an appointment with a trader who claimed to have encountered every type of coffee under the sun. He came out reluctantly to see me. I tipped the small bag of beans into my palm, and held them before him. One sniff and he was all astonishment. He had them ground and brewed immediately, passing cups around to his associates. They were stunned too, venturing timorous comments.

  “Earthy. Very earthy.”

  “Almost… animal.”

  “Sticky. Like syrup.”

  “There’s an element — it’s hard to pin down.”

  The coffee trader invited me to take a seat. He was prepared to talk to me now. From the change in his attitude alone, I could gauge the worth of these beans.

  Striving for calm, he asked me the origin of the beans. I said they were from my own farm, dried and roasted after being soaked with rain. He looked dubious, but after a moment’s hesitation, named a price. I laughed, shaking my head, and put the beans back into the bag. As I walked from his house, I knew he would follow the steps I’d described, trying to replicate that scent. And when he failed, the value of my beans would be several times higher.

  He turned up at my house a few days later, as expected, offering a sum that was more than all my land was worth, and asking that I supply him on a regular basis. I agreed —perhaps too quickly, because he seemed to disbelieve my repeated explanation of rain and roasting. His eyes roved suspiciously around the house and its simple wooden furnishings, the young woman clutching a cat, but there was nothing, no esoteric equipment. He walked around the outside of the house before leaving, disappointedly clutching the small bag of precious beans.

  After that, there would be many visitors who’d heard of this expensive new coffee, wanting to know what tricks I was employing — but they would all leave defeated.

  Clutching the merchant’s bag of coins, I stood in a daze. Tears trickled from my eyes, but I swiftly wiped them away. Going to Hua Hua’s side, I pulled her to her feet and said, “See — now, we really are rich.”

  Startled by my sudden movement, the cat vanished into its usual hiding place. Hua Hua, flustered, nodded and said, “Yes, really rich.” But she was humouring me. The next instant she was on the floor, beseeching the cat to come out, uninterested in me or my money. I suddenly longed to go back to the evening we robbed the foreman, Hua Hua waving the small bag of coins. How strong her spirit was then, to be so gleeful at such little money.

  10

  The proceeds from that single transaction bought me oneof Miss Bessie’s shells. The Dragon Palace had thick walls, and needed to be polished very carefully before it would yield its inner pulse. After a few days of hard work, the shell was smooth and nearly transparent. I found a quiet place deep in the forest, and allowed my fingers to draw out its memories — but they were not Chun Chi’s.

  With sadness, I brought the useless shell to the market, thinking I could sell it to recover at least some of the cost —but its colour and distinctive markings were gone, and it now resembled not so much a shell as a weird alien vase. I waited all day at the market without receiving a single enquiry.

  There was no other option — I had to go on producing the special coffee beans.

  Back home, Hua Hua was playing with the wildcat, running in circles with it following closely, darting left and right. She used to play with the child in the same way. It had been a while now since I’d thought of the child, and the memory no longer filled me with guilt or fear. I could see that everything was preordained.

  I’d been leading a pointless life here. On the point of giving up, Hua Hua and the child appeared, and with them came the dreams of that sunken boat — then finding the shell with Chun Chi’s memories but not having the money — working to earn the money, the child�
��s death, the wildcat replacing the child — and now the cat was earning me all the cash I needed. Each event was connected to the next, inexorably. Perhaps Chun Chi’s memories could only come at the cost of my child. And if this seemed unjust to the child — fate is unjust. As the sun rises and sets, the moon waxes and wanes, unstoppably. I’d accepted my destiny to seek Chun Chi’s memories, and the child’s destiny was to die in exchange for that crucial shell.

  The cat leapt around Chun Chi, flicking the hem of her skirt with its claws. Its tawny fur was glossier, its black-and-white tail flicked energetically, a picture of vitality. I couldn’t take my eyes off its belly, and the mysterious powers hidden inside.

  The cat remained uninterested in the coffee beans. It had probably only eaten a few that first night out of curiosity. Hua Hua had to stroke its spine and talk soothingly before it would consent to swallow some more. I tried hiding the beans in its food, and even bought it some fresh fish from the docks — more than I’d ever done for our son — but it was clever enough to pick out the beans and devour the rest.

  I told Hua Hua to starve the beast for a few days, but she refused. She’d regarded me with trepidation ever since that first crop of special beans was sold. Now she urged me to leave her Baby alone. She was willing to go back to work for the Dutch family —

  I laughed coldly. How much money could she earn that way? Still, she had to be persuaded. I pulled her before me and gently embraced her, then said, “Don’t you want to bring Baby home?”

  She looked at me, and nodded.

  “I promise you — once we’ve bought the rest of the shells, we can go home. I’ll have lots of money then, we can build a big house and live there, just the three of us.”

  As I spoke, even I was moved by the sincerity in my voice. I’d like to believe that I really did think that, that I would bring Hua Hua home and take good care of her.

  “And then Baby will never be hungry again?” she asked carefully.

  “Of course. He can eat fish every day, as much as he wants.”

  She smiled, dark wind whistling through the black spaces between her teeth.

  Pressing my advantage, I urged her, “So you have to starve Baby for a few days now, and then make him eat lots of beans.”

  This approach proved ineffective. It seemed that the beans needed to be digested together with food to produce that thick, intoxicating aroma. Eaten alone, they passed through the wildcat too quickly, and emerged the other end with no discernible change.

  I found a thin piece of metal and fashioned it into a long scoop. After Hua Hua had fed the cat, she held its front paws as I tilted its head back with one hand, while the other used the scoop to tip coffee beans into the back of its throat. The animal struggled and cried until Hua Hua shut her eyes, unable to watch it suffer. Both our hands were covered with long scratches.

  Each session went on till the cat’s belly was almost spherical. Afterwards, it looked humiliated, refusing even Hua Hua’s company, stalking moodily into a corner and curling up to sleep there.

  On one occasion, the cat went to its corner as usual but couldn’t sleep. It thrashed about on the ground. Hua Hua went to hug it, but it became more agitated, thinking it might be in for more forcefeeding. Its fur stood on end. Hua Hua said, futilely, “Baby, don’t be scared, it’s me.” Ignoring her, the creature disappeared under the bed. Hua Hua slumped on the floor, muttering to herself, “Baby’s hiding from me. Baby’s angry.”

  In the middle of the night, I was woken by a scratching noise. The wildcat was at the door, frantically clawing at it, even butting it with its head. I woke Hua Hua and let her see. She stared in despair — she wouldn’t be able to suffer a second abandonment.

  Baby’s neck acquired a metal collar around his neck, chained firmly to the table leg. It hurt Hua Hua to see him held captive, but his leaving would hurt her even more.

  11

  It wasn’t long before I could buy another two Dragon Palaces. The heavens continued to test my patience, and Chun Chi’s memories were not in them. I had half-expected this, but still felt a great weariness come over me. The end of the month was approaching fast. My resolve weakened, but the many years’ accumulation of feelings for Chun Chi was enough to propel my shattered body forward.

  When I’d finally filled another little bag with the special coffee beans, I decided not to take them to the coffee trader. He had already noticed how urgently I needed the money, and was lowering his prices correspondingly. In addition, he was always trying new ways to trick me into revealing the secret of the beans, and dealing with his craftiness added to my exhaustion.

  Instead, I went directly to Miss Bessie. She was a woman of superior taste, and having seen her at breakfast I knew she was particular about her coffee. What I hadn’t counted on was that she had already heard rumours about these new, special beans. When she learnt that I was the one producing them, she grew excited. Her husband was a coffee fanatic, she said, and every month she had to send several sacks of the stuff back to Holland for him. Hearing of this new coffee, thick as syrup, she was determined to get some for him to try.

  I exchanged my small bag of beans for the fourth Dragon Palace. Miss Bessie urged me to bring her more — she would happily trade the rest of the shells for them.

  Heading home, I got to work immediately. Once again, the memories released belonged to someone else. Hua Hua seemed more disappointed than I was at the news — this meant her Baby would have to be tormented yet again.

  Hua Hua grew restless. Unable to sleep at night, she sat by the table, petting the cat and singing it lullabies. Pulled awake by her voice, I found the music unbearably sad, like a biting wind piercing straight through my body, like the northern Chinese winter, like that December when she sat outside our door, singing, writing my name in the snow.

  “Three more shells, Hua Hua. Just three more, and we can go home.” I tried to comfort her, stroking her face. She stared weakly, unable to respond. I held her to me. “Only you can help me. You’re my good wife.” This was the first time I had called her this. That word, “wife”, had been lodged in my throat a long time, and now came out rusty from disuse. It was far, far too late. After all that waiting, her long-suffering heart was damaged beyond rescue.

  Slipping back into sleep, I dreamt of Miss Bessie on the boat back to Holland, taking the remaining shells with her. In the middle of the ocean, she leaned over the edge and, with a sudden movement, flung them so they spun, white wingless birds in the air, then one after the other splashed into the sea.

  My heart was ashes. The faint pre-dawn sunlight made the brash island unusually restrained. Hua Hua was asleep on the edge of the bed, as far from me as she could get. I looked over her body, unable to believe I had once probed its deepest reaches. It was all dry — her face, her hands, her breasts, her secret parts — not a drop of moisture left in her. She didn’t even have tears left, since the death of our child. Sorrow now showed on her face, but she never cried. Tears had once shown the depth of her devotion to me. The fact that they had dried up was a kind of betrayal.

  I reached for her, as if hoping to find a single living shoot in the barren, scorched ground, but she suddenly turned her back to me. Even this restless movement, made in dreams, hinted that she had left me.

  The first creatures to be woken by the tropical sunrise were the colourful little birds deep in the jungle. Their piteous cries in the weak sunlight were the desperate gabble of spirits trying to finish telling their tragic stories before vanishing at dawn. I lay in bed listening to their broken chirping, thinking: Perhaps the sun will never rise again, just as our child died at the age of one, the dawn of his life; Hua Hua came to grief in her dreamlike pursuit of me; and I was destined to fail in my mission of finding the seashell. All of us, frozen at this moment.

  My heart shivered. I sat up and said her name softly. Chun Chi. I had never called her this before. If the world were suddenly to collapse around us, my first thought would be to see her again.

/>   12

  After another two days of torture, the wildcat was resting against the table leg as usual, when it suddenly stood and stumbled backwards, a strange gurgling coming from his throat. Its mouth opened wide, and a slurry of food and coffee beans spewed out. Obviously in pain, it kept retreating, forgetting about the chain around its neck until it was jerked off its feet, falling into its own vomit. Hua Hua stroked its spine, then turned to me. “Baby’s shivering. What should we do?”

  I had no time to comfort her, I was busy picking the coffee beans out of the mess on the floor — but they were unchanged. So it was something deep in the creature’s digestive tract that produced the unique fragrance.

  The cat now refused to eat or drink. Hua Hua covered it with a rug, which it huddled inside trembling. A transparent yellowish liquid dribbled from its mouth. Hua Hua knelt by it, endlessly apologising to it.

  My body limp, I leaned against the door, watching the sky turn dark, uncertain if this meant night or rain was coming. Time was a python silently slithering forward, devouring anything in its path. The cat was motionless now. Hua Hua stood unsteadily, saying she wanted to bring Baby down to the village to see a doctor. Suddenly, I felt a jolt of déjà vu — she had said these words once before, looking exactly the same, brimming with misfortune. If the cat left this house, it would never come back.

  The heavens helped me — at that moment, it began to rain. I didn’t need to refuse her, merely open the door. “Bringing Baby out in such a storm is sure to make him even sicker.”

  Unwilling to believe me, she ran outside. When she came in, her hair and clothes were soaked right through. Clutching my arm, she shrieked, “What are we to do?”

  I couldn’t look at her like this, so helpless. I wiped away her tears, and said, “You’ll have to go fetch a doctor here. Quick, before it’s too late.” I handed her some money from the jar. She hesitated, looking at the animal still huddled under the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.” My voice tender, I tucked damp strands of hair behind her ears.