Binu and the Great Wall of China (9 page)
‘I
am
a sorceress,’ she said.
One of the boys, sensing he was being tricked, said to the others, ‘First she’s a ghost, then she’s a decent married woman, and now she’s a sorceress.’
Another demanded proof. ‘You say you have a poisonous toad. Well, call it out, we’re not afraid!’
‘I am not lying to you,’ said Binu. ‘My poisonous toad is right now in the moat around Hundred Springs Terrace, searching for her son.’
Binu had lost herself in her own explanation. As she glanced first to one side and then the other, the boys saw through her bluster. They cupped their hands beside their cheeks, and bounded deer-like towards her, their eyes on the bundle she was carrying. Though they were mere boys, and stick-thin at that, they had no problem wresting the bundle away from Binu and ripping it open. The five hidden sabre coins in the secret compartment of the winter coat were scattered on the muddy ground, extracting excited whoops from the boys. Binu watched as Qiliang’s winter coat flew through the air like a startled, panicky bird, then settled on the ground, where it was seized by multiple pairs of hands. Some fought over the sleeves, some the flaps. Qiliang’s padded cap wound up on one of the boys’ heads, only to be snatched away by another and pulled down tight. Qiliang’s sash snapped crazily in the air.
Binu shrieked at the top of her lungs and watched as the shrill sound of her voice made the stars above the treetops shift in the sky. That one shriek was all she could manage. It followed Qiliang’s winter coat, which flew from one boy to another, while her body slumped
to the muddy ground; she was kneeling before the boys, but to no avail, for they leaped across her shoulders and over her head. She struggled to her feet again, but that too was futile, for she was too slow to catch boys who ran like deer. Their bare legs bounded through the forest; they were swept up in a carnival of wild pleasure. With her last ounce of strength, Binu grabbed one of the boys by the leg.
‘You cannot take my bundle from me. Heaven will strike you dead!’
But her words were swallowed up; the leg in her grasp had a trick to play. The boy let her hold on for a moment before nimbly leaping out of her grasp, leaving only a proud laugh from its owner as he disappeared into the darkness.
Binu could not see her bundle anywhere; she saw only the stars shifting in the sky and forest shadows swaying in the dark. She bent down and prayed before the darkness, whether to heaven or to earth, to the boys or to Qiliang, she did not stop to choose. But before she heard a word of her own prayers, she fell unconscious to the ground.
The boys dragged the sleeping Binu over to the goat shed, waking the goatherd, who picked up a club to prepare himself for whatever was coming. But he threw down his club when he saw Binu, tossed his head back and laughed. ‘I thought you’d caught a wild deer,’ he said. ‘Instead you’ve brought me a human captive, and a pretty young thing, at that.’ He tried to send the boys packing, but they refused to leave their prey.
‘You stinky goatherd,’ they said, ‘we know what’s on your mind, so don’t get any ideas. We bagged this ghost, and we haven’t questioned her yet.’
The goatherd gazed longingly at the woman in the haystack. Examining her hair, her earlobes and her pulse, he announced confidently, ‘She has a pulse and her ears are warm. She’s a woman, not a ghost.’
One of the boys walked over, unhappily dragging the bundle wrapping behind him, ‘There’s no toad, and no tortoise shells,’ he said. ‘Not even a rooster bone! She lied to us; she’s no sorceress.’
‘There’s only one way to tell,’ said the goatherd, ‘and that’s by touching.’ He thrust his hand under Binu’s coat, capturing the bawdy attention of the boys, who ran up to watch and laugh. ‘This is nothing to make a fuss over,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you ever seen how Lord Hengming inspects his women?’ He kept his hand under her coat, trying to look solemn. ‘You don’t know,’ he said, ‘but there are men out there who dress like women to save themselves from being conscripted; since we don’t know where this one came from, I need to find out if she’s really a woman or not.’
Binu’s dust-covered robe was ripped open, and the goatherd clutched her pale breasts. ‘These are fine examples,’ he said, ‘shaped like bowls. Lord Hengming says that women who have never nursed have bowl-shaped breasts. Come, look closely. Don’t they resemble bowls?’
The boys gathered round the haystack, somewhat hesitantly. ‘They don’t look like bowls, they look like steamed buns,’ one of them said.
That gave the goatherd an idea. His eyes lit up. ‘Well, then, want a bite? Come, come, take a bite!’
A boy was forced down on top of Binu and, as he struggled to get up, his ear pressed against her breast, and that side of his face was immediately dampened by a bitter liquid. His eyes burned, and he heard an
unearthly sound. He raised his head quizzically, grabbed hold of his own ear and shook it, then bent down to look at Binu’s breast. A shocked cry burst from his mouth: ‘Come and listen, it’s crying! Those are tears!’
All women cry, but the boys found it hard to believe that an unconscious woman could weep through her breasts, and so they wanted to believe that the liquid was milk. But when they thought back to their childhoods, they recalled that milk is white and sort of sticky, not translucent. One boy suggested that the liquid must be sweat. But on such a cold autumn night, when not even thick hemp cloth could keep a person from shivering, how could she release so much sweat, especially since she was half-naked?
The goatherd dipped his finger in the liquid oozing from Binu’s breast. He tasted it and spat it right out. ‘It’s bitter, worse than the bark of a tree. Have any of you ever tasted someone else’s tears? Come over here and taste this, and tell me if it’s tears.’
The boy with the gourd around his neck stepped out from the crowd and leaned against the haystack to lick one of Binu’s breasts. He nodded with certainty.
‘They’re tears,’ he said, ‘a woman’s tears.’ In the midst of looks of doubt and suspicion all round, he was calmly self-assured, perfectly willing to swear that these were
uniquely feminine tears. He told the goatherd that, the night before he left home, his mother had wept as she held him in her arms. Some of her tears had slipped into his mouth; just like these, they were bitter and pungent.
The goatherd’s lustful smile of pleasure froze on his face. He pulled his hand away from Binu’s body and said with horror, ‘This woman must be one of those weepers from the south. Anyone who encounters one of them will never again be happy in this life.’ He flung his hand in the air as a nameless terror passed before his eyes. He turned to the boys. ‘You have a nerve,’ he shouted, ‘dragging this unknown woman all over the place in the middle of the night. Who told you to bring her to my goat shed? Get her out of here this minute!’
The boys pitched in to lift Binu up. She was wet from head to toe. By this time they were utterly convinced that what had flowed from her body was a strange kind of tears, for not only had they tasted them, but they’d examined them with their eyes and ears as well. They had felt strong movements within those breasts, something akin to sobbing, and enraged cries. With trepidation, they stole a closer look at her inviolable breasts; their faces expressed the awe and veneration they felt for them. Beyond that, the weeping breasts presented them with a puzzling question, which prompted a debate.
They knew of brutal men who had torn off their mothers’ clothes in the fields beyond the village or who had disrobed their sisters. Why were these other women’s breasts so reconcilable? Why did these mothers and sisters not weep through their breasts? Someone suggested that this women was different from the others, that so many men had abused her that she had cried until her eyes were dry, forcing her tears to flow from her breasts. What about her hands and her feet, could they cry too? On the recommendation of the boy they called Chancellor Deer, they carried Binu over to the chicken coop, laid her out on top of it and began a close examination.
One of them removed her tattered straw sandals. ‘She’s walked so far her toes are blistered,’ he reported. ‘But no liquid.’
Another held Binu’s hand and scrutinized every inch, front and back. ‘Her hands are like those of a corpse,’ he announced. ‘Ice cold.’
Chancellor Deer said unhappily, ‘Shake her hand, wiggle her toes, see if any tears come out.’
The two boys followed his command. As they did so, fear crept across their faces, and a rooster inside the coop began to crow in response to the commotion outside. Streams of tears began to flow from the blisters
on Binu’s toes, and the palms of both hands were suddenly awash.
This enigmatic, sorrowful being inspired the boys to whoop and cheer with raw delight. When they had calmed down, they began to see more possibilities. They had discovered hidden treasure in the person of a woman who happened to pass by. Each had thoughts of his own, and none could tear himself away from Binu and return to the deer shed to sleep. The boy with the gourd around his neck reminded the others that it was he who had discovered this mystical woman. They kept watch over Binu, respectfully, greedily, as if she were a living gold mine.
With the confused crowing of the rooster as a backdrop, they debated how best to profit from their captive. Someone – it was hard to say who – suggested selling her to the vaudeville troupe in Cotton City. His suggestion was rejected by General Deer and Chancellor Deer: General Deer said the person who had made the suggestion was stupid. ‘The purpose of a vaudeville troupe is to make people happy. Why in the world would anyone buy a woman so that people could watch her cry?’ Chancellor Deer said that if they were going into business, they should go the whole way. Lord Hengming has said, he told them, that all special people and other treasures should be presented
to Hundred Springs Terrace, and that the donor will be well rewarded. He said that Lord Hengming kept more than nine hundred retainers. Some were gifted with talents useful in an emergency. Others were expert musicians, chess masters, calligraphers or artists. There were also assassins and executioners, as well as clowns who could change their faces at will; but a retainer who could shed tears through her breasts, the palms of her hands and her toes would hold special appeal for Lord Hengming. This suggestion met with unanimous approval from the boys. The only possible problem was that Binu was a woman. There were many women in Hundred Springs Terrace, but they were either part of Lord Hengming’s family and entourage, or singing girls and pleasure women. The boys were not confident that Hengming would accept a woman as one of his retainers.
With Binu still lying there unconscious, the boys discussed the best way to present her to Hundred Springs Terrace before Lord Hengming went out for his morning hunt. If he accepted her, they were assured a generous reward. They did not want pork, or sabre coins; what they wanted was admission into Hundred Springs Terrace to become Lord Hengming’s horse-men. They knew of lucky deer-boys before them who had entered Hundred Springs Terrace to become horse-men, and even
though it was the lowest of the low among the retainers, a status that did not permit them to eat or travel with Lord Hengming, it was nonetheless a sure-fire means of having food to eat and clothes to wear, and an absence of worries. It was the life they longed for, and this unconscious woman might well have brought good fortune with her, good fortune that had fallen out of the sky onto their heads. With hope alive in their faces, the boys strapped Binu to a wooden plank and set off for Hundred Springs Terrace.
‘We caught a weeper! Here comes a weeper! Here comes a weeper!’
Across the moat, the drawbridge maintained its silence amidst the boys’ shouts, the shrill cries of a herd of deer. Eventually the noise attracted the attention of a pair of bridge workers. But no matter how beguilingly the boys described the mystical Binu, a woman who could shed tears from all parts of her body, the workers not only refused to lower the drawbridge but also called the deer-boys all sorts of names, saying that they were more stupid than real deer. Besides, a weeper? So what! They lowered the drawbridge for galloping horse-men, for bird people who sang so beautifully, and for people whose faces always wore beaming smiles. But the bridge was off limits to a weeper. An elderly bridge worker came out and gave the deer-boys some good advice: no matter how wide a net Lord Hengming threw for great talents from all over the world, he would never accept a weeper – someone who simply cried, and cried, and cried – as one of his retainers.
A woman’s tears would destroy the
feng shui
of Hundred Springs Terrace. He also took the opportunity to complain about the decline of public morals: ‘Every waif and stray is intent on entering Hundred Springs Terrace as a retainer,’ he said, ‘so they can eat for free. Even a woman who can do nothing but weep thinks she can enter Hundred Springs Terrace!’
But the deer-boys, still holding Binu up in the air, refused to leave. In high-pitched voices, they argued their case as they saw it: ‘Plenty of women who can only sing or dance are allowed into Hundred Springs Terrace, so a weeper who can shed tears through the palms of her hands and her toes ought to have immediate access.’
The bridge workers laughed. ‘What do you children know? Women are allowed into Hundred Springs Terrace because they’re good at laughing, not good at crying. If a woman wants to make Lord Hengming happy, beyond singing, dancing, giving pleasure, or entertaining with special skills, there are plenty of other things she can do, things you will never understand.’
Bewildered by the man’s comment, the boys tried harder to convince him. ‘Come, see for yourselves. Her hair is saturated with tears. Her toes and hands all shed tears.’
One thrust his hand in and squeezed Binu’s breast to
taunt the bridge workers. ‘Come and look at this. Even her breasts can shed tears!’
The frantic slaps had awakened Binu, only for her to discover that her clothes had been pulled back to expose her breasts. After all the hardships she had suffered, her dust-covered body had been bared by a bunch of curious deer-boys. Their brutal probing, imitating deer behaviour, was worse than being robbed. She felt a subtle pain in her lower abdomen, and one of her exposed breasts was shedding tears of shame. She was virtually drowning in tears. Her bundle hated her: ‘Such clever hands, and you can’t even keep hold of a simple bundle!’ Her breasts resented her: ‘All those clothes wrapped tightly around your body, and you let those boys touch us with their filthy hands.’ She heard the boys call her a weeper and wondered if she had shed all her tears while she lay unconscious. Tied fast with ropes, she could sense how light she had become; it was as if her body, overcome with shame, was trying to detach itself from her. As she came to, she gradually realised that, while in her mind, she was still on the road, her exhausted legs were refusing to do her bidding. She knew that her trek had been interrupted, and that in the process she had lost her bundle, and that falling unconscious at the height of her torment had brought a taste of tranquillity. In the midst of that
strange tranquillity, dream-like, Death itself had come calling; a gourd had fallen through the darkness, sending splashes of tears into the air, and she had seen herself in death. A person holding a gourd to his chest had stood in mid-air as dawn was breaking, and she could not tell if the gourd was leading the person, or if the person was taking the gourd along. She could not see clearly, but she knew it was Death, and that Death was waiting for her.
