Breaking Bamboo (12 page)

‘Did you deliver the letter?’ asked the soldier.

‘Better than that, I have my father in this boat, rescued from the Mongols.’

They docked, the boatmen casting out and mooring ropes.

As Guang excitedly told his story a crowd formed. Labourers and porters craned to hear his words. Guang was relieved that Father stayed quiet. Soon the crowd comprised many dozens.

He could sense the rumour of his story swelling up and down the quayside.

Guang climbed stiffly ashore, then helped Lord Yun onto dry land. Triumph made him light-headed.

‘Father,’ he said. ‘I will take you to a place where you will be treated with great honour.’

So many were listening that Guang wondered if his words were intended for the old man or the crowd.

‘Follow me, Father.’

They proceeded down the street, stepping aside for handcarts and mule-wagons. Many of the people on the quayside followed, some out of curiosity, but most because the snatching of a Family Head from the barbarians excited their ideals.

A mere
li
from the Water Basin, they arrived at Shih’s shop.

Throughout their long journey Guang had pretended that Lord Yun would join his own household. Now he could pretend no longer. Yet he was afraid to tell the truth in case Father, who had maintained a dignified face so far, disgraced them all. The old man tugged his son’s sleeve like a child.

‘Can this be the fine house you spoke about?’ he asked, gazing doubtfully at the shop and common courtyard it fronted.

Guang resorted to another lie. Or half-truth.

‘Step inside this doctor’s shop, Father,’ he whispered. ‘And you shall receive medicine to make all your parts strong again.

Perhaps we shall find some fishes. . . This way, Father.’

He bundled the old man into the shop, motioning Chen Song to follow, and slammed the door behind them.

The crowd murmured as it waited outside. Yet Guang was naïve to think his connection with Shih was not well-known.

The twin brothers had caught many people’s eye during the winter they lived together, as all exceptional things do.

*

The travellers found themselves in a wide room lined with clay jars. The mingled scent of a hundred herbs was sweet and acrid, an intoxicating aroma, suggestive of renewal. A fat youth sat beside the counter. His expression passed from wonder to delight.

‘Captain Guang!’ cried the apprentice. ‘You’re alive! I must tell Master.’

Before he could be stopped, Chung disappeared into a back room. Guang said awkwardly: ‘Father, someone you least expect will walk through that door in a moment.’ He cleared his throat nervously. ‘It is your Second Son, Shih.’

At first the old man seemed not to understand.

‘Shih? How is that possible?’ he said. ‘I sent him away. Far, far away. Besides, he is dead. Shih is a paper puppet. He does not exist.’

‘Father,’ said Guang. ‘I beg you, stay calm! For all our sakes, but most of all your own.’

‘I will go straight to your house,’ declared the old man. ‘I do not wish to see a doctor or a paper puppet.’

‘Father,’ cried Guang. ‘I must confess a great fault. I lied to you so you would not feel distressed. It is Shih you must live with, not I. You see, I have no means to provide for you.’

This confession wrenched his pride. He would rather Chen Song had not heard it. Even the scholar, tolerant and wise, looked away. Now Father was trembling.

‘I cannot live here,’ he protested, stepping towards the door.

Guang blocked the way.

‘Why is the door locked?’ demanded the old man, suddenly afraid. ‘Shih is not my son! I cannot share a prison with another ghost! Your mother is bad enough with her nagging and reproaches!’

Chen Song cleared his throat.

‘Lord Yun,’ he intervened. ‘This is no prison. Your second son appears to be a physician, no doubt honoured by his patients.’

Guang was grateful for this help.

‘Father, you will be safe here. . .’

He fell silent. Shih stood in the doorway. For a long moment he did not move, staring at Lord Yun in disbelief. A look of horror crossed Shih’s kindly face. He blinked at the floor, then glanced at Guang accusingly.

The old man seemed to have trouble looking at his discarded Second Son. At last he understood the significance of Shih’s stained doctor’s robes and, for a moment, seemed puzzled.

Then Lord Yun’s lips twitched with contempt.

‘A doctor!’ he said. ‘You will not deceive me so easily! No son of Lord Yun could be so humble! A little doctor in his little shop! Does Khan Bayke appoint a shadow to be my gaoler?

Guang, tell me you did not rescue me for
this
!’

Shih hesitated then lowered himself to his knees, his face dark with emotion.

‘Father,’ he said, dully. ‘We believed you were dead. Where is Mother?’

The old man’s grave composure cracked.

‘Washed away!’ he cried, addressing Guang and entirely ignoring the existence of Shih. ‘Washed away by the stream! I am only here because of the fishes’ spells! They are powerful, even if they are demons and tempt me to hell as the Abbot Jian says.’

Confusion crossed Shih’s face, replaced by watchfulness.

‘Tell me about the demon-fishes, Father,’ he said, softly. ‘Do they speak to you?’

But the old man was muttering to himself, laughing at some secret thought. Shih listened attentively, fingering an amulet on his belt. He turned to Guang. Their eyes met, holding each other’s gaze. Though time and trial had altered the twin brothers in subtle ways, their brown eyes remained peculiarly alike. Something of the sorrow and fear and pain Guang had endured in rescuing Lord Yun passed between them, and Shih nodded, as though silently acknowledging these sacrifices. But when his gentle, intense gaze returned to Lord Yun, darker passions might be read in his face.

‘I see how things stand,’ he said. ‘I will take Honoured Father somewhere he may rest. A chamber must be prepared. Wait here for me, Guang, there are many things I need to know.’

He walked over to his unexpected guest, who shrank back in alarm.

‘Come with me, Father,’ he said, briskly. Then Shih appeared to support Lord Yun while firmly directing his steps so that Guang marvelled at how well he managed the old man. For the first time he glimpsed the strength of will within his brother, and thought of bamboo.

‘We have a fine room for you, Father,’ said Shih. ‘You must be hungry after your long journey. . .’

His reassuring voice faded down the corridor until a door closed. Chen Song stirred uneasily.

‘A most filial scene,’ he said, awkwardly. ‘I must leave you now and report to the authorities.’

A great reluctance to stay in Shih’s shop made Guang step after him.

‘Chung,’ he said, addressing the apprentice. ‘Tell Dr Shih I am called away on urgent business of state. Tell him. . . I will return soon to explain all that has happened. Now I must accompany my friend to Peacock Hill.’

Chen Song looked puzzled.

‘Should you not tell your brother yourself?’ he asked.

Guang shook his head doggedly and led Chen Song to the door.

‘Shih will understand Father’s malady better than I,’ he said.

‘There is nothing more I can do.’

As they emerged onto the street, the waiting crowd cheered and clapped. Guang strode towards Peacock Hill and with each step an unbearable burden in his heart grew lighter.

*

Their destination was a fashionable teahouse at the foot of the former Palace complex. Onlookers turned to watch the two travellers and the excited crowd accompanying them. As the idle naturally will, many joined the throng to share any gossip going. Idlers were a common enough sight. Year by year more peasants drifted into the Twin Cities, harassed by their landlords’ exorbitant rents and taxes benefiting only the Son of Heaven’s extravagant court.

‘It is as I predicted,’ Chen Song said, happily. ‘Word of your exploits spreads like a filial fire! We must use this to your advantage. But Guang, you seem troubled.’

‘More is happening than I expected,’ he confessed.

‘I beg you to remain here until I return,’ said Chen Song. ‘I shall go straight to the Bureau of Internal Peace with my memorandum. Given your favourable reception in the city, I shall request that you are granted an early audience with His Excellency Wang Ting-bo.’

Guang bowed to his friend.

‘That would please me above everything,’ he said.

Chen Song nodded.

‘Guang, why not step onto the balcony and acknowledge your admirers. I believe you have acquired a new name.’

Reluctantly, he parted the curtains and went outside. He was confronted by a hundred up-turned faces. At the sight of him, the people began to clap and Guang heard a strange name called out. At first he wondered if he had been mistaken for someone else.

‘Captain Xiao!’ they called. ‘Captain Xiao!’

Who was this captain?
Xiao
meant filial piety, the highest moral duty admired by all. Indeed the authorities compiled thick volumes describing notable examples of such piety, so all might be instructed. Could he really have acquired such a name?

On stepping back into the room, he found Chen Song smiling at his flustered face.

‘You are the centre of the hour, my friend. Yet all hours pass.

Now I must call on the Bureau Chief.’

Guang was left alone in the room. Servants brought fresh tea, eager to acquire gossip concerning Captain Xiao. Several singing girls loitered round the door suggestively strumming their lutes, but he ignored their services. A woman was the last thing he needed.

He chose not to appear on the balcony again that evening.

The adulation of the crowd elated and disturbed him. When he peered through the paper curtain he could see wine and tea sellers circulating. A portable puppet show had been established on the street. Guang could hear the shrill voices of the performers as they acted out an impromptu version of Lord Yun’s rescue.

Night had fallen when Chen Song returned. He smelt of wine and seemed well-satisfied.

‘It was good of you to wait for me,’ he said. ‘I feared you would lose patience and return to oversee the reception of your Honoured Father.’

Guang had considered doing just that. To be apart from Father felt strange, and he longed for Shih and Cao’s friendly company, to tell them all that had happened while they gasped and exclaimed. But Guang sensed he must establish his independence or risk losing it. Besides, as hours passed in solitude amidst the noises of the city he began to remember his hopes. All his adult life he had been alone, free to act as he chose. Liberty was something he could not surrender lightly.

Why should he tend Father, day after day, month after tedious month, when Shih was so better suited to the task? One did not ask a tiger to pull a plough.

‘My time with the Bureau Chief has passed pleasantly,’ said Chen Song, filling bowls of wine for them both. ‘More importantly, His Excellency Wang Ting-bo has ordered you to attend his morning audience with the city commanders.

Rumours of your heroism have reached the Pacification Commissioner’s ears. Now, tell me, are you not pleased?’

Guang drained his cup in one. It washed away awkward doubts.

‘Or perhaps I should now address you as Captain Xiao,’ said Chen Song. Then he added wistfully: ‘There are many who would give much for such a name, but are unworthy of it.’

Dawn brought a visitor while they breakfasted on mutton stew and fish-head broth. Shih’s portly apprentice bowed low as he entered, his eyes drawn to the fragrant dishes.

‘Well, Chung,’ said Guang. ‘I take it Father has settled?’

The apprentice nodded so doubtfully he might as well have shaken his head.

‘It was a long night, sir,’ he said. ‘But Master finally persuaded Lord Yun to take a little tea flavoured with. . . something cooling to the spirit. After that, he slept soundly.’

‘So everything is settled,’ declared Guang.

‘Master requests that you visit him at once, sir.’

‘Did he say why?’

The lad stood awkwardly.

‘That was his message, sir.’

‘Tell him I have urgent business with the Pacification Commissioner. As soon as it is concluded, I shall visit.’

After Chung had gone, Chen Song watched his friend carefully. Whatever was in his mind did not reach his tongue.

The streets were already busy. Officials drifted to their bureaux alongside merchants and artisans. Beggars squabbled over pitches for the day. Stalls and booths specialising in breakfast dishes lined the approach to Peacock Hill. Guang and Chen Song were forced to step aside for carriages bearing high officials from their residences in Fouzhou and the garden wards within the city walls of Nancheng.

‘That was the Pacification Commissioner’s nephew, Wang Bai,’ Chen Song murmured, bowing as a carriage passed, its bells tinkling. ‘And the horsemen with a retinue of archers are the two Zheng cousins, our foremost commanders in the city.

Perhaps we will meet them at our audience with His Excellency.’

They reached an imposing gatehouse decorated with carved serpents and phoenixes. Chen Song produced a pass with a flourish of pride.

‘This simple piece of paper,’ he told Guang, ‘is a dragon one may ride to the very heart of a dragon’s abode. Think of it! I shall treasure this document always and bequeath it to my children.’

Guang had no reply to such flights of fancy, other than a smile.

Although he did not know it, they followed the same route through the former palace of the Kings of Chu that Shih had taken on the occasion of Little Tortoise’s sickness. Finally they were led to an octagonal pavilion Wang Ting-bo used for audiences with his highest officials, built among artificial ponds and walkways, floating lilies and fragrant shrubs. The pavilion’s advantage was that no one could easily overhear the conversation within.

When Guang entered, it became apparent they were late. An orderly waved them to floor space on the outskirts of the circle surrounding the Pacification Commissioner. A bushy-bearded man Guang recognised as General Zheng Shun was earnestly addressing His Excellency. Zheng Shun was the hero of several notable victories over the Mongols in the last campaign; so much so that he had been posted well away from the frontline by envious officials to prevent him gaining too much influence.