Breaking Bamboo Page 12

  When he comes you shall pay! I have seen what he will do on my behalf, especially to dishonourable weaklings. And eunuchs.’

  Now Shih barely concealed his distress.

  ‘You know you are not a prisoner! Tell me, do you ever hear voices whispering when you are awake? Voices no one else can hear?’

  This seemed the heart of the matter. Yet he drew no closer to it, for Lord Yun resumed his vigil of the fishbowl, deaf to every question. Shih wondered if he should make enquiries with other members of the guild. Venerable Dr Ku-ai was said to have an interest in maladies of the two souls. But that way, Dr Du Mau might get wind of Father’s shameful condition and use it against him. Perhaps he should hire a magician skilful at taming demons.

  Defeated, Shih sought out Cao and asked her to prepare a tea tinctured with hemp pods. After that he felt more at ease.

  ‘Did you learn the cause of Father-in-law’s illness?’ she asked, taking a cup herself.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Only this,’ he said. ‘We must prevent him from entering the tower room or I fear an unpleasant scandal. If only Guang would come more often! I believe Father is a little afraid of him. Perhaps if Guang spoke sternly. . .’ He left the thought unfinished. ‘I must go to the Relief Bureau.’

  Before he left, Dr Shih happened to meet their other Honoured Guest in the corridor. He felt himself flush and stammered a hope she was well. Lu Ying merely nodded in reply. His thoughts were guilty as he hurried through the streets, preoccupied by someone other than Cao or Father.

  *

  There had been a time when only Cao filled his mind – and senses.

  Such a long ago evening! Ten, eleven years had passed since then. In the hours following old Dr Ou-yang’s funeral they had not known where to turn. Her duty was plain: to marry the man chosen for her, Fifth Cousin Wen. Yet neither Cao nor Shih could countenance separation. Since childhood they had been all that was kind and worthwhile to each other. Such tenderness he had known breathed through her lips.

  Even then he understood Cao’s strength. She was the green jade all sensible people hang from their belts. Without her, he would be nothing. In the capital, a city of two hundred thousand families, she alone cared whether he flourished. Yet he had hesitated before speaking.

  ‘Beloved,’ he had said, gazing down at her hopeful face. ‘I told you there may be a way. But perhaps we should forget dreams of a better life.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I will drag out your thoughts. . . with a hook, if I must.’

  It was as though they had been in a sad play, acted out in the silent house of dead Dr Ou-yang. Small birds chattered around the eaves, building their nests. Hawkers of snacks and fresh water cried out their wares.

  ‘I will make my suggestion,’ he said. ‘And you will believe I never honoured you.’

  So he had described his plan, if so wild a venture deserved such a name. That they should pack clothes and what little they possessed, defying all decency. In short, they should elope. He subsided, expecting an angry reply. Instead she nestled against him tightly. He felt her heartbeat against his own. The scent of her hair fascinated him.

  ‘Are you not concerned how we will live?’ he had asked, amazed at their recklessness.

  ‘No,’ came her muffled reply.

  ‘If we flee together, no doctor in the capital will hire me,’ he said. ‘This scandal will always follow us.’

  ‘Then we will go far away,’ she said. ‘And set up your own shop.’

  ‘With what?’ he had asked. ‘My savings are small.

  Everything you might have inherited has been pledged to your uncle, as a dowry.’

  Cao had stepped back, still holding his hands.

  ‘Have your things packed by the next bell,’ she said. ‘If you are still true to your plan, you shall find me ready.’

  So he had waited by the front gate, a single sack at his feet containing all he owned. She had appeared with far heavier bags, loaded onto a wheelbarrow.

  ‘We should not take that,’ said Shih, anxiously. ‘The barrow belongs to your uncle now.’

  He had seen the beatings criminals received in the market-place; such a theft, tainted by unfilial conduct, warranted a hundred strokes of the bamboo. Enough to leave him crippled for life. She ignored his protests and trundled it into the street.

  ‘It is mine,’ she said. ‘Father gave it to me. I will explain later.’

  They went to a hostelry south of the city, taking a tiny room near the waterfront. Shih’s stock of cash extended that far.

  Though they shared a bed, still they dared not open their joy together. He remembered staring up at the low ceiling while she slept beside him, snoring softly. The scent of her skin reminded him of warm dough.

  At dawn the next day he went from boat to boat, enquiring about destinations. The sailors seemed uncouth folk, but he struck up a rapport with a fellow from Nancheng and found he was willing to take them there for a small sum, on condition they provided their own food and Shih acted as physician to the crew.

  ‘You’ll have to find a place in the hold, young man,’ said the captain. ‘That is all I promise.’

  Shih rushed back to Cao.

  ‘Nancheng is said to be a great city far to the west,’ he said.

  ‘I have read that several kings of Chu resided there before Our Holy Ruler’s ancestors gained power. If only we had money for provisions!’

  To his surprise, Cao produced the necessary cash from her bags. That was when his suspicions began. He asked no questions, simply relieved to be on their way before her uncle notified the magistrate about the loss of his wheelbarrow.

  Many pass whole lives without a single glimpse of the sea, but Shih never forgot that passage along the coast to the Yangtze delta. Most of the time was spent below decks, wedged between barrels of southern wine. When he climbed the ladder from the hold and stood at the rail spray broke on his face. The air flowed with a strange, heady tang and the passing shore was full of interest. The Captain admired his sea legs and asked if he had sailors in the family. Shih replied, perhaps inspired by his wise ancestor, Great-grandfather Yun Cai: ‘We are all floating, especially when on land.’ After that the captain treated him with more respect.

  The Yangtze estuary was a hundred silted islands and villages on stilts. Slowly the boat made its way west against the great river’s course. Shih tried not to think of the future. Cao remained out of sight in the hold, in case her presence provoked the sailors. Otherwise they talked and slept, existing on the millet and pickled vegetables she had purchased.

  The journey improved as they headed up river. Great cities and towns passed by, and sometimes they stepped ashore, never venturing far from the dockside, to replenish their provisions.

  Cao lived in constant anxiety that the baggage would be stolen, though Shih joked any thief would gain little.

  Nancheng became a secret promise between them. Only they knew the true meaning of its name. Hours were spent in chatter and speculation; in all the years of their acquaintance, he had never seen her so happy. Though gloomy by temperament, he began to glimpse the fine future she described and sense it might be possible.

  Summer had commenced when they arrived in Nancheng, passing through the Water Gate of Morning Radiance. By now Shih’s resources were at an end. They had only youth to preserve them.

  On the dockside, as they stood gawping at warehouses and porters, wondering where to go next, Cao had revealed her secret.

  ‘Husband,’ she said, softly.

  Shih was noting the layout of the streets. How might he find a doctor willing to employ him?

  ‘I must confess to a great fault,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shih,’ she said, more sharply. ‘I must confess that you are not entirely poor. Look in the blue bag, the one I told you it would be unlucky to open.’

  He did so and gasped. Within lay a box of cash, several strings of a hundred coins and, more importantly, Dr Ou-yang’s
case of needles, as well as half a dozen vital books – even a pestle and mortar. All he needed to set up in business that very afternoon!

  ‘Cao,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘Surely it belongs to me more than Uncle!’ she blurted, shame-faced. ‘I am Father’s only child. Do I have no rights to his property, merely because I am a girl?’

  Shih looked round the busy street anxiously.

  ‘Do not speak so loud. We are little better than thieves. All this belongs to your uncle.’

  She grasped his hands.

  ‘You will use the needles to make sick people well, as Father taught you! You will use the cash to set up a medicine shop and bring happiness. Uncle would have spent the money on loose women or fine clothes. As for Father, I believe he would desire this. Consider how unkindly his family treated him! Besides, I have only taken the tiniest portion of Father’s wealth. Uncle can hardly complain.’

  ‘This will haunt us,’ he said, ruefully.

  Then he looked through the bag of precious objects and sighed with relief.

  They hired two small rooms in Apricot Corner Court adjoining the street, and set up a hemp awning to provide shelter against rain and sun. At first trade had been slow. In the first year they barely earned enough to feed themselves. In the second year, Cao began to produce the common preparations her father had taught her, selling them to other doctors in Water Basin Ward. Shih was grateful for her assistance but did not expect it to last. When children arrived she would have little time for work. But children did not come. Instead, she ventured into new medicines, bargaining in the East Market for rare herbs imported from distant provinces. Where possible, she commissioned the growing of special roots and plants by local market gardeners. Most of all, patient by patient, his practice spread tendrils, one cure encouraging another, until they moved from the two smallest rooms in Apricot Corner Court to their current home. An extravagant house for a childless family, but the rent was cheap. Water Basin Ward was one of the poorest in the city.

  So many rooms. Year after year passed without them being filled by children. Meanwhile their business prospered, Cao selling medicines to doctors of all kinds, Shih building his round.

  Always he wondered if their childlessness was a punishment.

  Cao had defied her father’s will and he had encouraged her. He never doubted his complicity in her crime. Even now, he used his old master’s case of needles. Sometimes, when drunk, Shih suspected Dr Ou-yang had decided she was unworthy of her ancestors. That he was a faithless apprentice, who must be cursed. When his head cleared, the fear persisted. An ancient proverb stated that no good deed goes unpunished. What then of bad deeds?

  *

  The North Medical Relief Bureau stood on a humble street near the Water Gate of Morning Radiance and consisted of a few small wooden shacks and a courtyard surrounded by a high wall. The east-west orientation of the buildings contained few pairings between the green dragon and white tiger, and one might wonder how a place of healing came to be established there at all – until one realised the land had been cheap.

  It was flanked on one side by a butcher specialising in offal and, on the other, by a house for itinerant labourers bursting with noisy lodgers. The miasmas created by such neighbours were a constant source of unease to Dr Shih.

  He was fortunate to possess even these premises. The Prefecture had provided the money grudgingly, persuaded by the great monasteries at the foot of Peacock Hill which found themselves overwhelmed by needy supplicants.

  After the purchase of the buildings, only basic medicines could be afforded. As for a salary to appoint a doctor, a bare pittance remained each year, so Shih received less than many peddlers of cheap amulets. When it came to herbs and medicines, he often had to beg from other doctors, who naturally viewed the Relief Bureau as damaging to their own trade. But not all cures rely on costly medicines. He used massage and the needles, aided by applications of moxa, whenever he could.

  The Relief Bureau had struggled along in this way for three years until word of Dr Shih’s good work spread beyond the destitute, even reaching the attention of the guild. It had been a cursory attention. After all, a lean dog shames its master.

  One morning Shih arrived at the Bureau with Chung in tow and found a crowd of patients outside. His one assistant, a soldier turned monk then doctor’s orderly, was admonishing the assembled sick.

  ‘It does no good to shove,’ protested Mung Po, addressing a famished-looking man. ‘I warn you! Step back!’

  At the sight of Dr Shih he seemed relieved, and bowed low.

  ‘Like locusts today, sir,’ he remarked.

  Dr Shih frowned at the babble of beseeching voices, avid elbows, hungry eyes.

  ‘They must wait outside until I am ready.’

  Mung Po took up his bamboo staff with alacrity and cleared the entrance.

  Apart from a monk’s shaven head, Mung Po retained few outward signs of his former profession. His arm muscles were prominent from hefting patients and corpses, as well as pounding bucket-loads of poultices. He generally grinned mirthlessly, upper teeth resting on his lower lip.

  The morning passed like many others. One woman could not stop retching and Dr Shih diagnosed an overheated womb, prescribing a concoction to make the blood sluggish. Another man was unable to work, having broken his arm while un -

  loading barrels. Dr Shih set the bones and advised him to avoid sour foods. One youth sweated inordinately, his pulse so fiery that Shih wondered if he would survive the day. He ordered Chung to conduct him to the small infirmary on the opposite side of the courtyard.

  After a simple lunch of rice and fried vegetables, fetched by the orderly from a street stall, Dr Shih made his way to the infirmary, where the most serious cases were housed.

  A dozen lay on mats and threadbare blankets. Flies buzzed round open sores and dull, spiritless eyes. Despite Dr Shih’s insistence on every means of ventilation and cleanliness, the room stank. This was the last place many would see on earth. Only those without family came to die here. It was a terrible thing to lack a son or daughter when the last days came.

  As he went from mat to mat, Mung Po followed with a wooden stool so his master might sit beside the sick person. Dr Shih leaned forward and took the pulse, ordering whatever simple remedies they could afford, especially distillations of poppy. Often he massaged to lessen the pain, for there was nothing more to be done.

  The last patient, a middle-aged peasant and refugee from the north, seemed asleep. Shih took up his wrist then gently let it fall. He hunched on his stool and regarded the dead man’s face.

  He turned to Mung Po, who as an ex-monk, understood answerless thoughts.

  ‘Let us hope the poor fellow is reborn closer to Emptiness,’ said Shih.

  Mung Po shrugged. ‘From his feverish talk, I gathered he was once a bandit. A favourable rebirth seems unlikely.’

  ‘Yet we must hope. Also, we must not distress the other patients. Chung, take his legs. We’ll load him in the handcart, then you can dispose of him as usual.’

  Mung Po grasped one arm while he lifted the other. The corpse was surprisingly heavy. As they carried it into the courtyard, a group of silk-dressed men, their fans fluttering like painted butterfly wings blocked the way. They were so in-congruous in this drab place that Chung almost dropped the dead man’s legs.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Dr Shih. ‘Pray, step to one side, so we may reach that handcart.’

  Dr Fung frowned at this impudence and sniffed.

  ‘I see your treatment has been ineffectual,’ he remarked.

  Realising his senior colleague was reluctant to move aside, Shih motioned to his assistants. They gently lowered the emaciated body to the ground. Now he was free to bow deeply.

  ‘We are honoured by your presence, Dr Fung!’ he said, wondering what might occasion it.

  Dr Fung sniffed again. He had detected the aroma of rotten meat from the butcher’s next door. A dozen heads protruded from windows over
looking the Bureau’s courtyard, staring at the gorgeous visitors and exchanging ribald remarks.

  ‘I must advise you,’ said Dr Fung, in his soft, fluttering voice, a voice that had reassured many of Nancheng’s wealthiest people. ‘We have been sent by the guild to inspect your standards.’ He laid peculiar emphasis on the word. ‘In managing the Prefecture’s benevolence to the common people.’

  Dr Shih looked at him suspiciously, then at the corpse by his feet.

  ‘You’ll find everything in order. Perhaps others in the guild persuaded you to take up such a duty?’

  He was referring to Dr Du Mau, as Fung understood perfectly well.

  ‘We must not let standards slip,’ said the doctor.

  ‘Sir,’ broke in Mung Po. ‘What about our friend here?’

  They loaded him onto the handcart and the orderly trundled it away to Crow Tree Cemetery, having first covered the man with a hemp sack.

  ‘Please honour me by sharing a little tea,’ suggested Shih.

  ‘But since we are here, first let me show you the infirmary.’

  Fung stuck his head through the door and recoiled at the stench.

  ‘Good,’ he declared. ‘I have seen enough.’

  ‘I would welcome any suggestions you might make, sir.’

  Fung nodded sagely.

  ‘I have seen enough,’ he repeated, fluttering his fan.

  In the front office, Dr Fung outlined his intentions more fully.

  ‘We are concerned that all revenues and medicines are not properly accounted for. I take it you may provide records?’

  Dr Shih noticed his visitor did not deign to touch the cheap tea Mung Po set before him.

  ‘We keep accounts,’ he said, cautiously. ‘Whenever we can.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Sir, I am too busy tending the patients for brushwork. But you may look at what we have.’

  Dr Fung and his assistants spent a long hour reading the Bureau’s ledgers. Shih suspected they had already decided what they would find before opening them.

  ‘Your records are a matter of grave concern,’ said Dr Fung.