Jade Dragon Mountain (8 page)

Li Du's gaze moved to the desk and the mundane objects arranged on its surface: slim porcelain vases of varying height, a wooden brush holder from which hung four brushes suspended over a tray to catch ink, jade paperweights, an ink stone, a cabinet with tiny drawers inlaid with pearl, a pot of fragrant oil, and the familiar shape of the tea set, almost identical to the one in Li Du's room. Arranged on a slatted tray were a jar of tea leaves, a teapot, four tiny cups with translucent edges as thin as flower petals, and four large, cylindrical cups, all decorated with the same glaze of red flowers on a blue background.

Li Du looked again. There
should
have been four large cups. There were in fact only three.
That is not so strange
, he thought.
The fourth cup must have been broken, or lost, and never replaced.
But old habits born in his library made him conscious of objects not in their proper place, and he glanced around the room in search of the cup. It wasn't there.

He returned his attention to the tea set, and noticed something else. There was a very faint blur of steam rising from the spout of the teapot. He touched the rounded porcelain and found it hot. He bent closer and sniffed—it was just hot water. Pieter must have filled it from the kettle over the brazier.

Hearing footsteps and voices outside, Li Du turned around to see a group of male servants entering the courtyard, carrying a dark, lacquered casket. They were led by the young secretary, Jia Huan. The other Jesuit, Brother Martin, was with them. Li Du observed the trepidation in the faces of the servants, though they were trying to keep their eyes lowered and their expressions fixed.

Jia Huan alone succeeded in presenting an appearance of complete composure. He bowed to Tulishen. “I have done as you asked,” he said. “There is a place prepared in the temple. And here is the other priest.”

Tulishen nodded. “Do it quickly. The man's ancestors are searching for him. They will find him more easily in a holy place, with fragrant incense to guide them.”

Li Du watched silently while the servants, under Tulishen's direction, moved the body into the casket, sealed it inside, and carried it away.

*   *   *

When they had gone, Tulishen turned to Brother Martin. “I wish to speak to you on matters of ritual,” he said.

Brother Martin stared at the magistrate with apparent incomprehension, his eyes wide and bewildered. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and shook his head.

Tulishen frowned. “Li Du, will you translate for this man?”

“Of course.” Li Du turned to Brother Martin. “The magistrate wishes to know the proper rituals,” he said gently in Latin, “to show Brother Pieter respect in the tradition of his own faith. The magistrate hopes that you will counsel him in this matter.”

Rather than calming Brother Martin, Li Du's words seemed to increase his confusion. “I—I would like to help, of course, but I only just met Brother Pieter. I do not know what his wishes were for—that is, in case of…” He trailed off, and Li Du translated.

“His wishes?” Tulishen was impatient. “This man misunderstands, or you have not translated well. Explain to him that there are bad omens associated with the death of a guest. For the safety of my house I will do what can be done to avoid those ill fates. I want to know what formalities to observe. I can bring Buddhist monks to say prayers for his easy journey to the next world, or Taoist monks, should their beliefs agree better with the foreign faith.”

Brother Martin listened to Li Du, his continued agitation evident in his clutched hands. He said, “I—I am not of sufficient rank or education—that is, I do not have the authority to perform a service for the dead. It would be—” Brother Martin stopped, as if searching for an appropriate phrase. “It would not be correct.”

Again Li Du relayed Brother Martin's words. Tulishen, becoming exasperated, said, “Is he to be buried or burned to ashes? Should mourners be hired to scatter money for the afterlife on his grave? And if he is to be buried, how long should his coffin remain in the temple before the burial? I only need to know the most basic requirements. The Emperor will want assurances that our actions were proper, you understand.”

Brother Martin's eventual response was tense and quiet. “Our tradition is … is burial, not cremation.”

“Very well,” said Tulishen. “We will summon Buddhist and Taoist priests. They will burn offerings to appease his ancestors and those of this house where he died. We will bury him quickly, if there is no need to keep him aboveground for any time. You may—”

“Wait,” Li Du said. He was surprised to hear his own voice, but he went on. “You should not perform those rituals. The Christians consider them blasphemous.”

Tulishen raised his eyebrows. “Are you a convert?”

“I am not a Christian. But I have read the book of instructions on how to become a Christian without disrespecting the ancestors. Father Ricci wrote that Christians cannot invite monks from other religions to their funerals, and cannot burn paper money for use in the afterlife. I do not know what Brother Pieter would have wanted, but Father Ricci is considered an authority.”

Brother Martin raised his pale eyebrows at the sound of Ricci's name. He broke in hastily. “You speak of Father Ricci? Of course, of course Father Ricci's instructions are clear. But I have observed that many brothers of my order are so accustomed to Chinese rituals that they consider them acceptable. I thought Brother Pieter might wish to be buried according to local custom.” His voice shook slightly.

Li Du translated, and Tulishen gave him the barest nod. “Then he will be buried at first light. I will have it done quietly. There is no need to draw the attention of those who would stare and gossip. He will have a small tomb with the Mu kings on Lion Hill there.” He indicated the dark silhouette of the hill rising at the back of the mansion. “In this part of the empire I can think of no greater sign of respect. We will not invite local priests.”

Brother Martin turned to go, but Tulishen stopped him. “It would be appropriate,” he said, “for you to keep vigil here tonight, to cleanse the room. It is a dangerous time, dangerous for the man's soul, and for this household. If you will stay and recite the prayers of your faith, it would reassure me.”

Li Du watched Brother Martin search for a way to refuse the request. He failed, and with a wan face and stiff movements, moved to the doorway of Pieter's room. He stepped inside. “I do not have my prayer book with me,” he said. “I will read from Brother Pieter's Bible, if it is here.”

The book was on the desk. Brother Martin sat down and opened it.

“I will have fresh candles brought,” said Jia Huan.

Tulishen nodded his approval. “Jia Huan,” he said, “go and prepare ink and seals for official correspondence. I will meet you in my offices. Li Du, I would speak with you.” Li Du followed Tulishen down the stairs into the courtyard. Together they exited onto the path. Li Du looked back toward the welcoming solitude of his own room, but followed his cousin into the uneasy darkness of the gardens.

Now that orders had been issued and Li Du was his only audience, Tulishen allowed some of his personal distress to show, and paced nervously while he spoke. “You realize,” he said, “that this puts everything at risk. All of my plans. Why did the man have to die here? And dealing with that one”—he gestured toward the guesthouse where Brother Martin kept vigil—“how can these people expect to have any influence on the Emperor when they are so clumsy? How have they built their own kingdoms when they are all such buffoons?”

“I do not think that Brother Martin is a stupid man, but I agree with you that he seems a strange choice for his church to send as representative.”

“He is wasting everyone's time.”

“Perhaps he will appear to better advantage when he has recovered from the shock of what has happened. And remember that he has been ill.”

“He should have concealed his illness in order to save face. But that is a separate matter. I will tell you what I want from you. In the morning, I want you and Jia Huan to search the dead man's belongings. You can itemize the books and documents—I want an inventory of everything that he has.”

“But why? What need is there for such an invasion of his privacy?”

“Has your exile made you so naive? Any of these foreigners could be spies, and even if they are not, they have in their possession letters or books that could enlighten the Emperor on some relevant or interesting matter.”

“Do you have doubts about the manner of his death? He died so suddenly, and I—”

“The man's breathing failed, and he died.” Tulishen spoke in a sharp whisper. “It could not have been prevented, and he was, we could all see, an old man. The travel was too much for him.”

“Yes, but perhaps there should be some inquiry at least. You are the magistrate.”

“What do you know of the duties of magistrates? It is upsetting enough that a guest has died in my house. Now you would make it worse with unfounded speculation. You have no idea what damage could be done to my house, to my reputation, should this disturbance have some ill effect on the Emperor's festival. Consider what the people who came here tonight are saying to each other now. Consider how much effort I will have to put into reassuring them that there is no cause for concern. And already I am overwhelmed with preparations, introductions, negotiations, and worries of every kind.”

He stopped, breathing hard.

Li Du spoke carefully. “If, as you said, it is certain that Brother Pieter died naturally, then there can be no scandal to trouble you.”

“You have been away from society too long, Cousin, if you believe that. There can always be scandal. Rumors require nothing to feed them other than people who talk. Rumors must be controlled. That is the priority now.”

There was a short silence.
Yes
, thought Li Du,
I understand your priorities
. He said quietly, “I ask your permission to leave tomorrow, after I have concluded the inventory.”

Tulishen gave a curt nod. “I have no objection. Jia Huan will find you in the morning. When you have finished, your papers will be returned to you, and you may depart.”

*   *   *

Li Du returned to his room by a meandering route. He passed the library, where a small light now glowed from one window. Even as he watched, it went out. A solitary figure descended the stairs and left in the direction of the servants' houses.

A night bell sounded the time, three hours past midnight. Its ring recalled to Li Du an old memory of a morning twenty years ago. It was the day Li Du sat for the final round of the national examinations. He remembered the shivering crowds of students waiting in the darkness before sunrise for the examination hall to open. He could almost feel the ink stone he had gripped, so cold he had to switch it from hand to hand to relieve his fingers from the marble's freezing weight.

In the exam room, the sleet had dripped through the ceiling tiles as he wrote, and he shielded his paper from the drops, knowing that an examiner in an unkind mood might fail a student rather than spend time deciphering a smudged character. Li Du's eyes became so tired that his eyelids swelled and stung, and he relied on the proctors calling out topics because he could no longer read the questions in the book.

And then, emerging from the hall of examinations still clutching his blanket around his shoulders, going over in his mind what he had written, miserably regretting answers, he heard the mourning bells sound from the Drum Tower. The tower itself was hidden in the mist, and the hollow, echoing strikes seemed to come from the very clouds that hung low over the Forbidden City. They went on, solemnly, and he lost count of their number. Someone important had died. Who could it have been? A concubine, perhaps, or a wife of the Emperor's father?

Word spread quickly that it was the Emperor's Jesuit friend, Father Verbiest, who had died that morning, and that he was to receive the greatest funeral honors that had ever been bestowed on a foreigner in China. The Emperor himself would write his eulogy, and had withdrawn from the public world to meditate on how best to express his grief. In the days that followed, it was rumored that the Emperor ventured out alone at night to the astronomical observatory where Father Verbiest had taught him to read the stars. They said that he stayed there, among the sextants and armillary spheres, mourning the loss of his confidant. That was a time when Jesuits were more secure in their place among the Kangxi's advisors.

Li Du's own education had taken place at the height of Jesuit influence in the Forbidden City. As a boy, he, and the other children of nobles, were tutored by a succession of the foreigners. Most of them were as old and white-bearded as Brother Pieter. A few were younger, and Li Du had always found them the more disconcerting. Their faces showed the sombre intensity of men devoted to a cause. The expressions of their elders were kinder, their eyes more understanding of the world and of the compromises that had to be made within it.

The Jesuits were most often to be seen in the library of the Forbidden City, poring over scrolls and calibrating bronze and iron instruments, lighting candles to continue their work long after the evening shadows had silenced the palace. As Li Du grew older and spent more and more time in the library, he had found ample opportunity to converse with the Jesuits, practicing his Latin and assisting them in their translations. Some were adept at Chinese, others not. Some devoted themselves to bringing converts to their religion. Others put all their energy into their intellectual pursuits. Some had concubines, some had wives, and some adhered to their vows of celibacy. Some were outspoken, others reticent. They were as strange in their individual proclivities as they were in the oddities they had in common.

Li Du had reached the guesthouse again. The hanging lanterns had been extinguished. The door to Pieter's room was open, and Brother Martin was silhouetted at the desk, hunched over his open book, supporting his head in his hands.