Breaking Bamboo Page 14

  ‘So who pays the honourable doctor for his services?’

  ‘The Prefecture, though I can assure you, it’s little enough.

  My husband does the work because he likes to see people happy. Even low people.’

  Lu Ying detected a hint of reproach in Madam Cao’s voice.

  It reminded her of First Wife.

  ‘How strange,’ she repeated, with an edge of coldness.

  Cao lifted her eyebrows.

  ‘What is your extreme discomfort?’ she asked.

  ‘I will await Dr Shih’s return,’ said Lu Ying, haughtily. ‘Pray inform him that I am indisposed. Naturally, I will pay his usual fee.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘I’m sure my husband will not require it,’ said Cao. ‘You are our Honoured Guest.’

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ replied Lu Ying. ‘Let the usual fee apply.’

  She turned away, intent on regaining the safety of her room.

  Cao said more gently: ‘Miss Lu Ying, tell me what troubles you, and perhaps I can suggest something. Is it a woman’s complaint?’

  Lu Ying hesitated.

  ‘I have an insufferable headache,’ she said. ‘My temple. . . it is as though there are lights.’

  Cao’s expression softened. She sighed, as if at a private thought.

  ‘I’m sure you have every reason for it. Sit down and I’ll bring something I myself find helpful. Perhaps little red sister has come? If the tea does no good, Dr Shih can help.’

  Lu Ying sat stiffly. This simple woman had read the situation exactly. She awaited Cao’s return, eagerly watching people pass on the street. Some looked interesting and she wondered where they came from, what they sought. Her headache was much improved by the time Madam Cao returned with a steaming pot. She drank the infusion cautiously. It tasted coarser than she had expected. Soon a sense of well-being filled her body.

  Cao watched, her eyes stealing down to Lu Ying’s slippers, then took a cup herself.

  ‘I feel surprisingly better!’ announced the girl.

  Indeed, she felt disturbingly at ease. If Wang Ting-bo came upon her now, he would gain the shameful impression that somehow she belonged here.

  ‘Pray tell me how much cash is required?’

  Madam Cao regarded her curiously.

  ‘Miss Lu Ying, when do you intend to leave our house?’

  The girl looked away in confusion. She understood what troubled the plain woman before her, with her bent nose and absurd feet. The reason was all too familiar. She could have her husband any time she chose. Lu Ying would have laughed at the irony, but she was used to maintaining a bland face. So ridiculous a situation! And horribly demeaning. A cruel impulse inspired her next words. Yet it was Wang Ting-bo’s wife she wished to punish, not Madam Cao.

  ‘I would be most appreciative if Dr Shih took my pulse,’ she sighed. ‘I imagine he takes one’s pulse very sweetly. His touch must be gentle.’

  Now Madam Cao looked alarmed.

  ‘A lady always appreciates the attentions of a diligent doctor,’ continued Lu Ying. ‘Especially one dedicated to one’s welfare.’

  Cao responded by taking up her brush and dipping it into the ink-slate. The neatness of the ledger mocked Lu Ying. She could barely write, apart from her signature. It seemed their interview was at an end. She left awkwardly and Madam Cao did not look up from her task.

  *

  Instead of the shifting street glimpsed through the window of Dr Shih’s shop, Lu Ying was confronted with stacks of shiny, lifeless boxes. Her feelings were uneasy as she closed the chamber door. One might possibly describe her behaviour as faulty – though it had felt pleasant to be superior. That way she might remember who she truly was. But Lu Ying knew she had offended Madam Cao and regretted it. The doctor’s wife reminded her of Mother. Yet Dr Shih was a handsome man and he had every right to admire her, whatever his wife might think.

  Sleepy from the bitter tea she had drunk, Lu Ying lolled on the divan. It had once stood in the Pacification Commissioner’s mansion. Memories clung to it, traces of perfume, vanished words. . .

  Lu Ying had first passed through Wang Ting-bo’s gatehouse a year before her ceremony of hairpins. A great honour, denoting his wish that she receive a thorough training before entering concubinage.

  The time before that was vague. Her father had held a lowly position in the Waterways Bureau, assisting the local sub-commissioner for fords and bridges. His duties often took him away from home. Mother said he had been unjustly overlooked for promotion.

  Blessings eluded him in other ways, too. Although Mother delivered half a dozen daughters, no son had been forthcoming.

  Yet Lu Ying always knew herself to be valuable as any son.

  People could not help glancing at her and often marvelled over Father’s good fortune. Such a daughter, they said, would attract splendid wedding gifts.

  Only Mother did not seem to appreciate her worth. She kept Lu Ying out of sight, forcing her to mind her sisters because she was the eldest. Nevertheless, it was Mother who bound her daughter’s feet, and though it was painful, Lu Ying felt proud.

  None of her sisters’ feet were bound. That honour belonged to her alone.

  Father would return every few weeks. Apart from complaining about his superiors, he often talked about a child’s duty to provide for her parents – just as he had cared for his own in their old age. Lu Ying rolled her eyes when he could not see.

  ‘You shall come with me to the village,’ he announced one day. ‘The Sub-prefect is to hold an examination.’

  An examination! Did not scholars undertake the Son of Heaven’s examinations? Lu Ying wondered if Father would be promoted at last, though he was surely no scholar.

  Then the local matchmaker arrived. Whispered conversations took place in the kitchen, so secret that Mother stood guard by the door. Lu Ying crept beneath the window outside and heard her name mentioned, as well as ba-bao, precious things. Then everything made sense. Why the village boys came by, whistling to attract her attention, and older men, too, speculation in their eyes. It was because she was precious and would bring Father luck. He ordered her to bow before Madam Matchmaker.

  ‘This lady will prepare you for a great event,’ said Father.

  ‘You must do exactly as she says.’

  She stood very still while Madam applied make-up and dressed her in borrowed silks. Mother fluttered anxiously.

  ‘This is our great chance,’ she murmured. ‘Be placid and obedient.’

  That afternoon Father took her to the village square where the Sub-prefect had set up a temporary court. She waited in the tavern owned by Madam Matchmaker’s husband, her cheap silks and make-up constantly adjusted. Lu Ying did not know why they hid her away. She wanted everyone to admire her new clothes.

  At last Father appeared and led her into the village square.

  The Sub-prefect sat beneath an awning, conspicuously bored.

  When he caught sight of Lu Ying his expression changed.

  Dozens of other girls her age stood awkwardly, but she was the one he noticed. A calculating look came into his red-rimmed eyes. He ordered her to come forward.

  ‘What is your name?’ he asked, in a strangely effeminate voice.

  ‘Lu Ying, sir,’ she said, bowing as Madam Matchmaker had instructed.

  ‘Show me your feet.’

  She hesitated, then raised her skirt a few inches. He chuckled and clapped his hands: ‘This one will do!’

  She had wondered what exactly must be done.

  As Lu Ying dozed on the divan in Dr Shih’s shop, pictures filled her inward eye. A journey in a curtained carriage. Stripping naked while doctors examined her gravely, recording on scrolls and consulting astrologers. She was one of fifty girls from all over the province. Some gossiped excitedly when they thought themselves unobserved but Lu Ying had known better. They were never unobserved. It rarely crossed her mind that these rivals were more beautiful than herself. When it did, L
u Ying went cold inside yet smiled so gaily, and modestly, that even the doctors’ grave expressions softened a little. For all her smiles, she did not trust them. Ever after, the presence of doctors made her anxious – ivory does not come from a dog’s mouth.

  A sudden noise startled her. Dr Shih was pounding medicines again. She did not care to consult him now; not after her conversation with Madam Cao. Once more her thoughts drifted. . .

  When Father left the Pacification Commissioner’s mansion on Peacock Hill, he was pushing a specially purchased handcart, laden with bolts of silk and boxes of precious things.

  ‘Do not disgrace us,’ he told her. ‘Remember, if you are ever banished from here our doors will be closed. Never forget your duty to us!’

  She had waited, head bowed, expecting some sign of affection. But Father seemed inordinately pleased with his bargain and vanished into the crowds of Nancheng. He did not look back though she waved and waved.

  She never saw him again. Years later she heard that Wang Ting-bo had received a letter from the Sub-prefect, explaining a flood had drowned Father and Mother. As for her sisters, she never learned what became of them. No one showed her the letter and she was too afraid to ask. Besides, Peacock Hill filled her mind and senses.

  Lu Ying could not remember when First Wife noticed her.

  She had been so little regarded. At that time First Wife was pregnant with Little Tortoise and a brittle atmosphere ruled the ladies’ quarters. Everyone feared the unborn baby would not live long enough for its ceremony of the scarlet shirt.

  Darkness of midwinter, clouds rolling across a star-lit, frosty sky when Wang Ting-bo at last honoured her with a summons.

  She was fifteen years old. The servants led her to a huge canopied bed decorated with gilt and dragons and instructed her to disrobe. She was sure what followed had not been painful; at least, only a little. She stayed awake all night in case he required more but he snored peacefully, his breath scented with garlic and wine. At dawn the Head Butler’s urgent, silent gestures called her away while the Pacification Commissioner slept on. That month her red news came as usual. . .

  The pounding upstairs had stopped. Lu Ying registered the change and curled up on the divan, hugging her chest.

  After that, her position in the household subtly altered. Wang Ting-bo summoned her infrequently and First Wife regarded her with a mocking smile as she held her baby boy.

  ‘Lu Ying,’ she said. ‘I hear you eat a great deal. Indeed, I have witnessed it. A girl in your position must deserve her food.’

  She kept her head lowered.

  ‘Yes, Madam.’

  ‘Really there are too many concubines!’ First Wife exclaimed to her confidante, an old crone of little wealth who echoed her mistress in everything. ‘Before the birth of Little Tortoise, I understood the need for girls like this. Now she is quite unnecessary.’

  The child on her lap began to cry and First Wife awkwardly bobbed him up and down, unsure what to do.

  ‘Lu Ying,’ she said, irritably. ‘I hear your parents were washed away by a flood. I suppose we’re stuck with you. Will this child never stop crying! Lu Ying, hold him for a moment.’

  She took the Pacification Commissioner’s son while Madam First Wife fanned her streaked face. Years of looking after baby sisters had taught Lu Ying what troubled the child. For a moment she wondered whether to let on. It was amusing to see First Wife in a fluster. Then Lu Ying took pity on the baby – so sweet a little thing, after all – and winded him on her shoulder.

  He let out a huge milky belch. First Wife watched the boy settle then reached out angrily.

  ‘Stupid girl! You are not worthy to touch my son! Pass him back at once!’

  Lu Ying did so, bowing shamefacedly. But the river of her feelings had changed course. It no longer ran smoothly. Hatred for Madam First Wife brought purpose and strength.

  After that Lu Ying became more mindful of Wang Ting-bo, observing him closely. Years passed, until she celebrated her nineteenth birthday. She noticed he liked to laugh among friends, whereas First Wife always spoke to him coldly. That he seemed uneasy with the mother of his heir. His eye often descended to his concubines’ jade mountains, so she contrived to make her own more prominent. Most of all, she sensed the loneliness of his august position. That was the weakness to work upon.

  Lu Ying eagerly awaited her summons to his bedchamber.

  After the birth of Little Tortoise, his attentions were naturally directed towards First Wife. Finally, the interminable hours spent in her chamber came to an end. The Pacification Commissioner’s personal servant ordered her to follow him and that night she tested her plans.

  First, she archly suggested that he leave a candle burning and encouraged him to revel in her ivory mounds. Saucy tales of the palace servants diverted him so he laughed out loud. Once his ardour had extinguished itself, she enquired about the day’s business, hoping His Excellency had been caused no annoyance. He seemed surprised, but explained about certain emissaries from the court, and she sighed admiringly at his wisdom.

  As she lay on the divan in Dr Shih’s house, Lu Ying hugged herself more closely. Her breath quickened. What followed was the happy time. The most dangerous of times. At last First Wife truly took notice of her existence. . .

  ‘Lu Ying, you displease me,’ she had said, when the women of the household were gathered for the Vigil of the Water-borne Moon. Silence among the ladies. Lu Ying knew she should feign humbleness, yet would not.

  ‘How have I displeased you, Madam?’

  ‘Don’t think your tricks go unnoticed,’ chided First Wife.

  ‘Many a silly girl before you thought she could supplant her betters. It always ends badly.’

  ‘Who is this silly girl Madam refers to?’ asked Lu Ying, wide-eyed. ‘She must be very bad.’

  First Wife paled at such impudence.

  ‘Go to your quarters,’ she commanded.

  That same night Wang Ting-bo called her to his bedchamber, defying the admonishments of his wife. He was drunk and his flame required coaxing before it would burn steadily. Then her moon filled the night sky.

  For two years he doted on her. She was assigned quarters scarcely smaller than First Wife’s. He took her on excursions to fashionable waterfalls and monasteries, smiling at the chatter she rehearsed to amuse him. She was the being in his eyes, everyone acknowledged it. Servants whispered the fearful word divorce and officials treated her with exaggerated respect.

  Extravagant clothes and perfumes were all supplied without question, some as gifts from officials hoping to buy future influence. She even risked offending Wang Ting-bo’s great adviser, his nephew, Wang Bai, concerning an appointment.

  Amazingly, the Pacification Commissioner followed her suggestion. Afterwards, she had wandered her suite of rooms, drunk on the fragrance of perfumed clothes and exquisite furniture, the metal-smell of ornaments – and most of all, power.

  First Wife would no longer speak to her, but Lu Ying pretended not to notice. Each slight or rudeness encouraged her to beg something new from Wang Ting-bo and he never refused.

  But no child came. Every month her scarlet general grasped the door. Gradually the Pacification Commissioner became less manageable. He even began to mock her inability to write well or recite noble poems. Then, like a flood unleashed by Heaven, his heir fell sick. And Dr Shih – kindly, earnest Dr Shih – did the rest. If the boy had obligingly died, as most reasonably could have been expected, then the divan on which she curled would still stand in the mansion on Peacock Hill.

  Lu Ying’s headache returned. At least she had a plan now. A fine present would remind him she was waiting. It was impossiblehe had forgotten her. But she must not empty her box of cash. Without wealth, what was anyone?

  Then Lu Ying had another idea. Dr Shih had received a considerable reward for taking her into his household. He could hardly have spent it all, given his modest ways.

  Lu Ying’s flower-bud mouth pursed as she calculated. />
  Because of Dr Shih’s obvious fascination with her, she would soon persuade him to pass over a considerable sum. The main obstacle, his dowdy wife, was hardly worth mentioning. But even as she thought these things, Lu Ying felt a flicker of unease. How weak she was becoming! Henceforth, whenever she felt pity for Madam Cao, she would pretend First Wife’s face sat upon the plump woman’s shoulders.

  There was another danger. What if Dr Shih assumed that providing the money for Wang Ting-bo’s present entitled him to intimate exchanges of the ‘bathing in orchid blossom’ kind?

  Lu Ying hugged her chest and wondered at her own feelings; for such a prospect did not disgust her exactly as it should.

  Rising, she paced the room full of boxes. The lacquer on their sides reflected her movements as a blur.

  *

  The autumn night was unseasonably warm. While the household slept, Lu Ying lit a candle and quietly opened her chamber door. She listened for a long moment. No one stirred. Not even a creak as the wooden walls settled. The central corridor of the house was entirely dark. Lu Ying ventured out, naked of make-up, her long hair disordered. What would happen if Dr Shih found her in such a state? She was in no position to prevent anything.

  Lu Ying bit her lip and held the candle high, its light steady in the breathless corridor. Step by step, she made her way to the black tunnel of the stairs. Pausing on the bottom step, she detected a faint snoring. No telling whose room it came from.

  Then Lu Ying climbed the steep staircase, silk slippers scraping faintly. On reaching the tower room, her fears subsided. She laid her guttering candle on the floor and stood by the south window. Rooftops formed a confused jumble, leading all the way to Peacock Hill, where lights burned late in the Pacification Commissioner’s residence.

  A half-moon varnished the wooden rooftops. Clouds rolled northwards, obscuring the moon momentarily. Lu Ying felt that the Moon Goddess, Cheng-e, shone for her alone.

  Vague warnings crept across her soul. She shivered. The moon was lonely, too. She could see its reflection in the dark, placid waters of the canal below. Tears filled her eyes. How tiresome life had grown! The moon lay on the water like a half-open door, tempting her to enter. If she jumped from the tower, no one would hear. And she could not swim. She shivered, imagining the struggle for breath, the darkness closing as she sank. Perhaps she should dress in her finest, heaviest silks, weigh herself down with jewellery, and find peace at last. Wang Ting-bo would miss her then. Her pale, beautiful face would float upwards, just as the moon’s reflection drifted on the inky, drifting water.