Cat Country (16 page)

That stumped me. Since I’d never conducted a funeral in Cat Country, I didn’t have the foggiest notion of what to do with the bodies. Madam Ambassador’s eyes grew more and more menacing; a watery glow shone out from the pupils, but it wasn’t wet enough to dampen in the least that wildfire of madness that emanated from the same source. It seemed as though all her tears had been dried in the foundry of those blazing eyes. Even the whites of her eyes seemed to cast a magnetic sheen.

‘Let me talk it over with you!’ She cried out. ‘There’s no one to whom I can turn. I’ve no money and no man. And I don’t even eat reverie leaves! The wife of an ambassador! Let me tell you about it!’

I could see that she was out of her head, for she seemed to have forgotten all about the burial business she had just brought up, and simply wanted to cry on my shoulder.

‘This,’ she grabbed one of the dead women by the scalp, ‘this dead sexpot was brought in by the ambassador when she was only ten. Only ten! Even before her bones and tendons were fully matured, she was dedicated to the ambassador’s pleasure. For over a month she was all right as long as it didn’t get dark. But once it got dark, she – this dead little bitch – she’d wail and wail; call for her father and mother; grab my hand and hold on for dear life; call me mother; call me kind benefactor; and beg me not to leave her. But I was a virtuous woman and couldn’t say anything that would make it appear as though I were jealous of a mere ten-year-old. If the ambassador wanted to take his pleasure with her, that was none of my business. After all I was the first wife and had to maintain a proper wifely attitude.

‘But this poor little sexpot, whenever the ambassador went to her, she’d scream to wake the dead and wail until she no longer even sounded cat-like. When the ambassador was about to enter her, how she’d plead! How she’d scream! “Madam Ambassador! My saviour! Save me!” But could I forbid the ambassador his pleasure? It was none of my business. When it was all over she’d just lie there completely inert. I wouldn’t know whether she was pretending to be dead or had actually passed out. Nor did I really try to find out. I’d just apply salves to her and get her something to eat. But do you think this dead bitch was at all grateful to me? And you should have seen what an imperious wench she became when she grew up. She became so possessive that I thought she’d swallow the ambassador whole any minute. Then when he bought a new concubine, she went about whimpering and sobbing the livelong day, blaming me for not stopping him! But I had my position to think of.
I
was an ambassador’s wife. And if the ambassador didn’t buy a new sexpot every now and then, who would respect him? What would become of our prestige? But this little bitch didn’t have enough brains to understand that and actually blamed me for not stopping him! Bitch! Stinking bitch! Goddamned hussy!’ Madam Ambassador pushed the corpse aside and grabbed hold of another.

‘This little bag was a whore. She ate reverie leaves all day and tempted the ambassador to eat them too. I knew that if he became addicted, the government would never let him go abroad again. He’d be without a job! Without position! You should have seen the trouble she caused. But what was I to do? I couldn’t prevent him from playing around with whores if he wanted to, but I couldn’t sit idly by and watch him eat reverie leaves either, for then we’d never be able to go abroad again. The problems I’ve had! You can’t possibly imagine how difficult being an ambassador’s wife really is! I had to watch that whore every minute of the day to see to it that she didn’t take reverie leaves on the sly, and at night I had to be on my guard lest she try to turn the ambassador against me. And then the dead little bitch threatened to run away. She was constantly scheming up ways to escape. I had to have eyes in the back of my head to make sure she didn’t fly the coop! After all, if a concubine ran away, what face would we have left?’ It seemed that the eyes of the ambassador’s wife were really shooting fire now, as she grabbed the head of yet another of the dead ladies.

‘This . . . thing! She’s the most despicable of them all! She’s a
modern
sexpot. Before she had even come into the house, she tried to get the ambassador to drive me and the concubines out so that she could be his
proper
wife. Hah! How did she think she’d get away with that! And anyway, it was
she
who had chased the ambassador because of his rank. All the other sexpots were bought with money; this trollop wanted to be with him of her own accord. Just think, the ambassador got into her pants without spending a single penny! Think of how that cheapened the rest of us!

‘But that wasn’t the worst of it. Once she’d come into the house, the ambassador didn’t even dare speak to us! And if he went out, she’d go with him! She’d even insist on being with him when he received guests. She was so pompous that one would have thought
she
was the ambassador’s first wife! Where did that leave me? It was perfectly proper, and even desirable, that the ambassador should buy in a few more women, but there could only be one Madam Ambassador. I had to punish her for her presumption. I began tying her up, and sticking her up on the platform whenever it rained. After she had been soaked three or four times, the little bitch couldn’t take it any longer. She demanded that the ambassador send her back home. She even had the nerve to say that the ambassador had deceived her. But how could I let her go? Can you expect to get away with taking the position of “Madam-Ambassador-In-Reserve”, having a battle with the ambassador himself, and then just get up and leave when you feel like it? I, for one, have never heard of such a thing! Did she hope to marry someone else? Well, she wouldn’t get off that easily if I had anything to do with it. It’s difficult, I tell you! Being Madam Ambassador is far from easy! I had to watch her night and day. Then, fortunately, the ambassador came by a new piece of baggage.’ She turned around and picked out another of the bodies on the ground.

‘Now this one was fairly close to me. She wanted to form a united front with me in order to oppose that modern tramp. But women are all alike. They get nervous when they don’t have a man around. If the ambassador spent a night in the modern tramp’s bed, then this one would cry the whole night. I set her straight. I said, “And you think that someone like you, who can’t stand to be away from him for a moment, could be the ambassador’s first wife? Why don’t you take time to observe what I – his real first wife – am like! If you want to be an ambassador’s first wife, then you can’t monopolise him. The ambassador, after all, is not some pedlar on the street who has to be content with sleeping with one woman all of his life.”’

Madam Ambassador’s eyes were all red now. She lifted the head of one of the dead women and bashed it on the ground several times. This was followed by a laughing spell and then she looked at me. Instinctively, I retreated a few steps.

‘While the ambassador was alive, they wouldn’t let me relax for a single day. I’d have to keep my eyes on this one and be on guard against that one; I’d have to chew one out and beat up another. They didn’t give me a moment’s rest from morning til night. They spent all of the ambassador’s money and drained him of all of his male vigour; and after all that, when the ambassador died, he hadn’t left behind even one male child! It wasn’t that he hadn’t had any – all eight of them had given birth to male children, but not one had survived. How could they? When one of them gave birth to a child, the others would stay up the whole night working out ways to do it mischief. They were all competing to be the ambassador’s favourite and were scared to death that anyone who gave birth to a male child might be advanced to the position of first wife. On the other hand, I myself – the real first wife – was not nearly so jealous as they were. I didn’t pay any attention to them. If one of them wanted to kill another’s child, that was entirely her business; it had nothing to do with me. I wouldn’t harm any of the children myself, of course, but then I wouldn’t interfere in their intrigues either. After all, a first wife has to preserve a first wife’s dignity.

‘When the ambassador died, he didn’t leave me any money or male offspring – nothing but these eight playthings! What could I do? I certainly couldn’t let them run away and remarry as they pleased, I just couldn’t! Day in and day out I had to keep a close eye on them so that they didn’t drag some man into their beds. I faithfully exhorted them from morning till night in order to make them understand the great principles of feminine morality. But do you think they understood? It wasn’t that easy. But I didn’t give up either. I kept a tight watch on them day in and day out. What was I hoping for? There was really nothing I
could
hope for, except that the emperor might understand my difficulty, appreciate my dedication and character, and reward me with money, perhaps even present me with an honorary tablet with STEADFASTLY CHASTE AFTER THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND engraved on it. But . . . well, you heard me crying just now, didn’t you?’

I nodded my head.

‘What do you think I was crying about? This bunch of sexpots? Fat chance of that! I was weeping over my own fate as an outcast. Wife of an ambassador! I’ve never even eaten reverie leaves. And now the house has fallen in on me and utterly destroyed the evidence of all of my accomplishments. If I go to see the emperor now what can I say to him? If he sits up there on the throne and asks, “Madam Ambassador, upon the basis of what merit do you come to seek a reward?” What will I say? Supposing I report that I have been taking care of the late ambassador’s eight women in such a way as to preserve and uphold the highest precepts of feminine morality? Then His Majesty is bound to ask where they are. And what will I tell him? That they are all dead? Do you think he’ll give me a reward when all proof of my merit has been buried? Not much chance of that. What will I say? Think of it! The wife of an ambassador, a woman who has never eaten reverie leaves, a woman . . .’ Her head dropped down on her breast. I thought of going over to her again, but was afraid she might give me another tongue-lashing.

She lifted her head once more, eyes fixed in a dead stare, ‘Wife of an ambassador, a woman who has been abroad, who doesn’t eat reverie leaves. And my reward from the amperor! My honorary tablet! Wife of an ambassador . . .’ Madam Ambassador’s head dropped down again. Her body sank slowly sideways to the ground, and came to rest between two of the others.

FREE LOVE AND OTHER THINGS

I
WAS
extremely downcast, for the widow’s lament had made me weep for all the women of who knows how many past centuries. I felt as though my hands were resting on the very darkest pages of Cat Country’s history, a history that I was afraid to go on reading.

Not going to the foreign enclave had been a mistake, for now I was once again a homeless ghost. Where would I go? The cat-men who had helped with the house were still watching me. They were probably waiting around to see if they could get any more money. To be sure, they had already looted everything that Madam Ambassador had owned, but apparently that still wasn’t enough to diminish their desire to come by a few more National Souls. My head ached terribly and two of my teeth had been loosened in the fall. I was finding it difficult to think clearly. Something in the back of my mind warned me that I was going to be ill. I took my pocketful of National Souls, in denominations of ten and five, and threw them all on the ground. Let the cat-men decide how it should be divided up or stolen, for I certainly didn’t have the heart or energy to supervise.

There was no hope for the eight vixens, and now Madam Ambassador was finished too. A puddle of blood flowed out from under her body, but her eyes were still open as though, even in death, she still wanted to keep watch over those eight little sexpots. I knew that if I didn’t bury them, no one else would, and yet there was nothing I could do. I was afflicted by such intense grief and disappointment that I almost felt like ending my own existence.

I sat on the ground for a while. Then, looking at those bodies again, I felt that I’d just have to get out of there. I was totally drained and almost too exhausted to move, but I simply couldn’t watch the women rot away before my very eyes, and so I left. Limping and hobbling alone in a most unsightly way, I probably lost a good deal of face for the entire foreign community. The street was crowded again.

I noticed a group of young people going from house to house with chalk, writing on the walls. The walls were still so damp that the words were not visible when they were first written but then a breeze would blow and dry the chalk to whiteness: SANITATION MOVEMENT. And then on every house appeared the words: EVERYTHING HAS BEEN WASHED CLEAN HERE. Although my head was throbbing, I couldn’t help roaring with laughter. The Cat People really knew how to get things done! What better time to advocate cleaning up the whole city than right after a violent rainstorm? The intense rain had even cleared out the stinking ditch in the centre of town. Sanitation movement – that was a laugh! I must have been slightly out of my head, myself, for I felt a strong urge to draw my pistol and shoot a few of the chalk-toting bastards.

I seemed to remember Young Scorpion’s having told me that the buildings over there were cultural agencies. I wound my way around to that side, not to visit the cultural agencies, but just to find a quiet place where I could rest and pull myself together. I couldn’t break myself out of the habit of thinking that buildings on a city street ought to be arranged facing each other, rather than laid out back to back in a single line as they were here. Pondering the novelty of this unique arrangement made me forget my headache a bit. Such a layout well suited the Cat People, for they didn’t care about fresh air and light in the first place. The buildings were all back to back without even breathing space between them; rather than calling it a street, it would be more accurate to describe it as a giant brewery for disease. My headache returned. Falling ill in a foreign country is apt to make one particularly despondent, and I am no exception. I began to feel that I should never get back to China alive.