Breaking Bamboo (16 page)

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 overlooking 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.

‘I shall have to report your lapses, and recommend the Bureau be closed until the matter is investigated thoroughly.’

Dr Shih nodded.

‘Before you do so,’ he said. ‘Please consider one thing. If the Bureau closes, who will help these people? They are destitute and have no family. You are well known as a good and kind man. Consider who will really suffer, sir.’

Dr Fung looked at him steadily then watched Mung Po lead a shivering wretch to the infirmary. He frowned. Dr Shih waited with downcast eyes.

‘If only the world allowed one to be as good as one wished,’

sighed Dr Fung. He pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps the irregularities are minor. . .Yes, I shall report that to Dr. . . to the guild. But make sure your accounts are more detailed when I visit in a month’s time! Remember, wind snaps the stoutest pine.’

Shih understood that gale to be Dr Du Mau. He nodded gratefully and conducted Dr Fung to his waiting carriage, which had attracted a gathering of street urchins and licensed beggars. He remained by the Bureau doors until it rattled away.

*

An hour later, Dr Shih lifted his hand to knock on Lu Ying’s door, and let it drop again so it hung restlessly by his side.

Cao had gone out to the market and Chung was still at the Relief Bureau, pounding medicines. As for Father, no sound escaped his room, not even the interminable conversations he conducted with himself or the demons speaking through his fishes. Probably he was asleep.

Shih and his nominal concubine had the house to themselves.

The possibilities of such a situation brought on restless feelings.

It was as if he could not quite trust himself, though how, or why, he did not care to acknowledge. Shih was well aware that, if he chose, he could apply pressure on Lu Ying to submit herself. Had not Wang Ting-bo himself sanctioned such a union?

Few men would scruple to pleasure themselves in such a legitimate way; and a barren wife could hardly complain when it was his clear duty to furnish the ancestors with a fresh supply of sons.

Tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Again Shih raised his arm, this time knocking softly on the crude plank door. She did not call out a warning, so he opened the door a crack.

It was a small room, containing little furniture. A heap of lacquered boxes and chests, relics of her days in the Pacification Commissioner’s mansion, were stacked against a wall. At once he became aware of a musky fragrance.

‘Lu Ying,’ he said. ‘May I enter?’

He heard a rustle of silks within and took it as assent.

‘I trust I do not intrude?’

She sat on the long divan that served as a bed, looking up at him fearfully. For a moment he did not recognise her, then realised why. When he had seen Lu Ying before, her face always wore a white mask of elegant make-up. Today she was uncovered, apart from a fan held over her face.

The blinds were down except for a crack, allowing a beam of sunlight to pool on the floor. Dust motes circled aimlessly.

Dr Shih blinked at her in the gloom.

‘Lu Ying,’ he said. ‘May we talk?’

‘Dr Shih,’ she said, with sudden force. Her voice was melodious in a trained way, its sing-song not quite refined.

‘Please return in an hour, when I have had time to prepare myself.’

His instinct was to obey. Then he frowned.

‘That is not convenient. In an hour I must visit my round of patients. Please do me the honour of a short conversation.’

Lu Ying sighed.

‘I am hardly in a position to argue,’ she said.

Dr Shih perched awkwardly on the only seat available, a large chest decorated with intertwined songbirds.

‘You must forgive me for not enquiring about your health more often,’ he said, examining the floor. Finally his gaze settled on the lady. She was no coy girl, that was certain, for all the modesty of a raised fan. As at their first meeting he found it hard to see beyond her beauty. Without make-up, her complexion was flawless, emphasising her green eyes. Little wonder the Pacification Commissioner had noticed her when he entered the women’s quarters. Yet Shih recollected that such coloured eyes were said by some to denote evil intentions.

‘Lady Lu Ying,’ he said. ‘Have you everything you need?’

She lifted her fan slightly so that only her green eyes showed.

No, Shih could not believe they concealed a malicious spirit.

‘I have everything,’ she said, stiffly. ‘You and Madam Cao are most generous.’

‘We are concerned for you,’ he said. ‘You keep to yourself too much. I understand how unwelcome your stay here must be.’

‘If it is His Excellency Wang Ting-bo’s desire, it is very welcome,’ she replied. ‘I mean, for the moment.’ Then she added. ‘Besides, I am used to waiting.’

Shih considered this. What exactly was she waiting for? Had she received word from Wang Ting-bo that her exile would soon end? Her words implied as much. No letter had come for her from Peacock Hill, unless it had arrived secretly. Perhaps she was warning him not to demand all he might from her; all that the giddiness in his heart and pulse urged him to demand.

‘Nevertheless, I am concerned that you are unhappy,’ he said.

‘The change in your situation is extreme.’

She sat quite still. Only her eyes, staring at the opposite wall, moved to blink.

‘I am not unhappy,’ she said.

‘If you left your room more often you might be happier still.

Not that we wish you to spend time away. You may come and go as you please.’

‘I know that, sir.’

Shih hesitated. His eyes travelled down her figure to her feet, then hurriedly glanced away. As though possessed by another’s will, Shih found himself rising, so that he stood quite close to her chair. For all her evasions he sensed her awareness of his power. Where else had Lu Ying to go, after all, if he drove her from Apricot Corner Court? For a moment wide enough to consume a dozen loves, he hesitated. Lu Ying shrank into the divan, her breast rising and falling hurriedly as though in agitation. Then his tense shoulders relaxed, and a puzzled look replaced the hungry, hawk-like expression on his high cheekboned face.

‘I shall inconvenience you no longer,’ he said, smiling his usual sad smile.

Yet still he did not move. So little had been learned! And yet too much. He was left only with questions he dared not ask.

‘It is too early to speak of the future,’ he said. ‘Be assured that we will help you establish a new place in life, in as far as we may.’

‘This conversation is distressing to me, sir!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am quite, quite content to obey His Excellency until he requires me again.’

‘Then we shall leave it at that.’

He closed the door behind him. It was a relief to return to his familiar shop. He decided not to tell Cao about his conversation with Lu Ying. What was there to say, except the lady was miserable? Possessing that secret knowledge, little as it was, excited him strangely.

‘One may often see cheap woodcut prints of the Moon Goddess, Cheng-e, on sale during the Water-borne Moon Festival. Always she is shown as a fine lady admiring herself in a bronze mirror held aloft by a dainty maid while a second prepares tea. Two children admiring a hare stand beside her. The ‘hare in the moon’ uses its pestle and mortar to grind cinnamon bark into magic powder capable of granting immortality, but only the Most Sage know that this fabulous creature sometimes uses dried bamboo rind instead. . .’

From
Diverse Matters of Interest to Curious Minds
attributed to Ch’i Po 

Apricot Corner Court, Nancheng. Autumn, 1266.

After Dr Shih had gone, Lu Ying remained motionless on her divan. Movement might be taken as a sign she wished to renew their conversation. What he wanted was obvious; and dangerously tempting. Yet she must never allow herself to be swayed by a kindly face again. What were such things worth, after all? Lu Ying listened to the creak of oars as a boat passed on the canal beneath her window, the boatman calling out his wares – purest spring water from Mount Wadung’s blessed streams – and she wondered how much longer she must endure this vulgar house.

Although Dr Shih’s manners were pleasant, she found his earnest goodwill tiresome. Yet he was attentive in his way – if a little odd – and, despite all the reasons she had for hating him, Lu Ying thought it prudent to appear gracious. At least he showed no signs of forcing himself upon her.

Lu Ying risked a loud sigh. When she finally left Apricot Corner Court, floating in a gilded palanquin carried by six –no,
eight
servants – she would toss Dr Shih an absurd present of
cash
. The guarded pity in his eyes would change to awe. His wife, with her vulgar, lop-sided nose and enormous feet, would bow in consternation. The bells on her palanquin would tinkle, as each step carried her closer to Peacock Hill. . .

Lu Ying realised she was trembling. Images lingered and faded. She must guard against dreams. Had she not even learned that? She pinched her bare arm with unpitying fingers.

Once. Twice.

Her glance flicked from corner to corner. It seemed all her life had passed in narrow rooms. Even the widest grew close when morning and night were spent waiting for a visit or summons. Then one fell prey to yearning, despair at the limits of four walls. One imagined what was happening beyond, rivals biting each other like toads in a box. Eagerness for any rumour, however unreliable, made one flatter and bribe the servants.