Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (40 page)

It ended. For a
time no one spoke. Then Wu Tsai leaned forward and took her cup from
the table, smiling, looking across at Tsu Ma.

"My cousin
is very gifted," she said. "It is said in our family that
the gods made a mistake the day Fei Yen was born. They meant Yin Tsu
to have another son; but things were mixed up and while she received
the soul of a man, she was given the body of a woman."

Fei Yen had
looked up briefly, only to avert her eyes again, but it was clear
from her smile that she had heard the story often and was not
displeased by it. Tsu Ma, however, turned to face Wu Tsai, coming to
Fei Yen's defense.

"From what
I've seen, if the gods were mistaken it was in one small respect
alone. That Fei Yen is not
quite
perfect. . ."

Fei Yen met his
eyes momentarily, responding to his teasing tone. "Not quite,
Chieh Hsia
?"

"No . . ."
He held out his empty cup. "For they should have made you twins.
One to fill my cup while the other played."

There was
laughter all round. But when Fei Yen began to get up and pour for
him, Tsu Ma took the jug and went around himself, filling their cups.
"There!" he said, sitting back. "Now I can listen once
again." Taking his hint, Fei Yen straightened the
p'i p'a
in
her lap and after a moment's concentration, began to play. This time
it was a song none of them had heard before. A strange, melancholy
tune. And as she played she sang in a high contralto.

A pretty pair of
white geese

Double, double,
far from dusty chaos;

Wings embracing,
they play in bright sunlight,

Necks caressing
roam the blue clouds.

Trapped by nets
or felled by corded arrow

Hen and cock are
parted one dawn.

Sad echoes drift
down river bends,

Lonesome cries
ring out from river banks.

"It is not
that I don't long for my former mate,

But because of
you I won't reach my flock."

Drop by drop she
sheds a tear.

"A thousand
leagues I'll wait for you!"

How happy to
fall in love,

So sad a
lifetime parting.

Let us cling to
our hundred-year span,

Let us pursue
every moment of time,

Like grass on a
lonely hill

Knowing it must
wither and die.

Li Yuan,
watching her, found himself spellbound by the song, transfixed by the
pain in her face as she sang, and astonished that he had never heard
her sing before—that he had never guessed she had these
talents. When she had finished and the lute had fallen silent, he
looked across at Tsu Ma and saw how the T'ang sat there, his head
bowed, his hands clasped together tightly as if in grief.

Tsu Ma looked
up, tears filming his eyes, his voice soft. "That was beautiful,
Lady Fei. Perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever heard."

Fei Yen was
looking down, the p'i
p'a
resting loosely against her breasts,
her whole frame bent forward, as if she had emptied herself with the
song. She made a tiny motion of her head, acknowledging the T'ang's
words; then she stood and with bows to Tsu Ma and her husband, turned
and went back into the pagoda.

"Well. . ."
said Tsu Ma, looking directly at Li Yuan. "What can I say, my
friend? You honor me, tonight. I mean that."

"I, too,
Tsu Ma. This has been an evening to remember."

Tsu Ma sat back.
"That's true." He shivered, then seemed to come to himself
again and smiled. "But come, I am neglecting the Lady Wu."
He turned to Wu Tsai, his smile widening. "Do
you
play
anything, my Lady?"

Li Yuan smiled,
recognizing that Tsu Ma was hinting he should go after his wife. With
a bow to his guests he went. But Fei Yen was not inside the pagoda.
He stood there in the empty room a moment, frowning, hearing only the
laughter from the terrace outside. Then he heard her calling him
softly from the far side of the pagoda.

* *
*

THEY STROLLED
back across the bridge, his arm about her neck, her tiny body pressed
warm and tight against his side. The night was mild and dark and
comforting about them, but the terrace was empty, the pagoda, too. Li
Yuan looked about him, puzzled, then stiffened, hearing a splash in
the water close by.

He crouched,
facing the danger. "Get behind me, Fei Yen!" he said,
quietly but urgently, drawing the dagger from his boot.

A peal of
laughter rolled out from the darkness in front of them, rich and deep
and full of warmth. Li Yuan relaxed. It was Tsu Ma.

"Gods! What
are you doing?"

Tsu Ma came
closer, into the light of the lanterns. The water was up to his chest
and his hair was slicked back wetly from his forehead.

"Swimming,"
he answered. "It's lovely. The water's much warmer than I
thought it would be."

"And the
Lady Wu? Has she gone back?"

In answer there
was a splashing to their left and a second whoop of laughter.

"You should
come in, you two!" she yelled. "It's marvelous!"

Li Yuan looked
about him, puzzled. Tsu Ma saw and laughed.

"If you're
looking for our clothes, they're in the boat. It was the Lady Wu's
idea. She told me there were fish in the lake and I wanted to see for
myself."

"And were
there?" It was Fei Yen. She had come alongside Li Yuan and was
standing there, looking across at Tsu Ma. He stood straighter in the
water, his broad chest glistening wetly in the multicolored light.

"Only an
eel," Wu Tsai answered, coming nearer, her naked shoulders
bobbing above the surface of the water. "A rather stiff little
eel. . ."

"Wu Tsai!"
Fei Yen protested, but even Li Yuan was laughing now.

"They say
the god Kung-Kung who brought the Great Flood was an eel," Tsu
Ma said, scooping water up over his chest and arms as if he were
washing. "A giant eel. But look, you two, if you're not going to
join us, then perhaps you should let us join you. Li Yuan . . . if
you would avert your eyes while the Lady Wu gets out and finds her
clothes?"

"Of course
. . ." Li Yuan turned away, hearing the giggling that went on
behind his back as Fei Yen went across to help her cousin.

"All
right," Wu Tsai said, after a while. "You can turn around
now, Prince Yuan."

He turned back.
Wu Tsai was kneeling in the boat, fastening her silks. She looked up
at him, grinning. "You really should have joined us."

He hesitated,
conscious of Tsu Ma, naked in the water close by, and of Fei Yen,
crouched there beside the boat, watching him.

"It
wouldn't have been right..."

Wu Tsai
shrugged, and climbed up onto the bank. "I thought we had made a
toast." Her eyes flashed mischievously. "You know, eternal
friends, and all that. . ."

Tsu Ma had
pushed forward through the water until he was standing just below the
deep lip of the bank. Now he spoke, placing his hands flat on the
flagstones at the lake's edge. "Prince Yuan is right, Lady Wu.
Forgive me, I wasn't thinking. It would be most. . . improper."

Wu Tsai brushed
past Li Yuan provocatively, then glanced back at Fei Yen, smiling. "I
just thought it would have been fun, that's all. Something a little
different."

Li Yuan turned
angrily, glaring at her; then, biting back the retort that had come
to mind, he turned back, looking at Fei Yen.

She was standing
now, her head bowed, her whole stance submissive.

He took a step
toward her, one hand raised in appeal. "You must see how wrong
it would have been?"

Her eyes lifted,
met his, obedient. "Of course, my husband."

He let his
breathing calm, then turned back, looking across at the T'ang. "And
you, Tsu Ma? What do you wish? Should we retire to the pagoda while
you dress?"

Tsu Ma laughed,
his body dark and powerful in the water. "Gods, no, Yuan. This
is much too nice. I think I'll swim back. Float on my back a bit and
stare up at the stars."

Yuan bowed his
head. "Of course. As you will. But what will you do when you get
to the far shore?"

But Tsu Ma had
turned already and was wading out into the deeper water. He shouted
back his answer as he slipped into the blackness. "Why, I'll get
out of the water, Yuan! What else should I do?"

* *
*

AT ELEVEN the
next morning, Tolonen was standing at the West Window in the Room of
the Five Directions in the East Palace at Tongjiang, looking out
across the gardens toward the lake. He had been summoned to this
meeting at short notice. That in itself was not unusual; but for once
he had been told nothing of the reason for the meeting. It was this—a
sense of unpreparedness—that made him feel restless standing
there, made him turn and pace the room impatiently.

He had paused
before the great mirror at the far end of the room, straightening the
collar of his uniform jacket, when the door behind him opened. He
turned, expecting Li Shai Tung, but it was the Prince, Li Yuan, who
entered.

"Prince
Yuan," he said, bowing.

Li Yuan came
forward, extending an arm to offer the Marshal a seat. "Thank
you for coming, Knut. My father will join us later."

Tolonen bowed
again, then sat, staring pointedly at the folder in Li Yuan's lap.
"Well, Yuan, what is it?"

Li Yuan smiled.
He enjoyed the old man's bluntness, a trait that had grown more
pronounced with every year.

"My father
has asked me to talk to you on a certain matter. When I've finished,
he'll come and speak with you himself. But what I have to say has his
full approval. You can direct any questions—or objections—to
me, as if you were speaking to my father."

"Objections?"
Tolonen raised his chin. "If Li Shai Tung has approved it, why
should I have objections? He has a job for me, neh?"

"A task,
let's say. Something that he feels you should oversee."

Tolonen nodded.
"I see. And what is this task?"

Li Yuan
hesitated. "Would you like refreshments while we talk?"

Tolonen smiled.
"Thank you, Yuan, but no. Unless your father wishes to detain
me, I must be in Nanking three hours from now to meet Major Karr."

"Of course.
Then we'll press on. It would be best, perhaps, if you would let me
finish before asking anything. Some of it is quite complex. And
please, record this if you wish."

Tolonen bowed
his head, then turned his right hand palm upward and quickly tapped
out the command on the grid of tiny flesh-colored blisters at his
wrist. That done, he settled back, letting the young Prince speak.

Li Yuan watched
the Marshal while he talked, barely referring to the folder in his
lap, unless it was to take some diagram from it and hand it to
Tolonen. He watched attentively, noting every frown, every look of
puzzlement, every last betraying blink or twitch in the old man's
face, anxious to gauge the depth of his feelings.

Tolonen had not
smiled throughout the lengthy exposition. He sat there, grim-faced,
his left hand gripping the arm of his chair. But when Yuan finished,
he looked down, giving a great heave of a sigh.

"Can I
speak now, Yuan?" Tolonen said, his eyes pained, his whole face
grave.

"Of course.
As I said, you must speak to me as if I were my father. Openly. As
you feel."

Prepared as he
was, Li Yuan nonetheless felt a sudden tightening in his stomach. He
respected Marshal Tolonen greatly, had grown up in the shadow of the
old man. But in this, he knew, they were of a different mind.

Tolonen stared
at him a moment, nodding, his lips pressed tightly together, his
earnest gray eyes looking out from a face carved like granite. Then,
with a deep sniff that indicated he had considered things long
enough, he began.

"You ask me
to speak openly. Yet I feel I cannot do that without offending you,
Li Yuan. This is, I take it, your idea?"

Li Yuan could
sense the great weight of the Marshal's authority bearing down on
him, but steeled himself, forcing himself to confront it.

"It is."

"I see. And
yet you command me—speaking with your father's voice—to
answer you. Openly. Bluntly." He sighed. "Very well then.
I'll tell you what I feel. I find this scheme of yours repugnant."

Li Yuan
shivered, but kept his face impassive. "And I, Marshal Tolonen.
And I. This is not something I
want
to do."

"Then why?"

"Because
there is no other way. None that would not result in greater
violence, greater bloodshed than that which we are already
witnessing."

Tolonen looked
down. Again he sniffed deeply. Then he looked up again, shaking his
head. "No. Even were the worst to come, this is no path for us.
To put things in men's heads. To wire them up and treat them like
machines. Achh . . ." He leaned forward, his expression
suddenly, unexpectedly, passionate. "I know what I am, Li Yuan.
I know what I have had to do in the service of my T'ang. And
sometimes I have difficulty sleeping. But this . . . this is
different in kind. This will rob men of their freedom."

"Or the
illusion of freedom?"

Tolonen waved
the words aside impatiently. "It's no illusion, Prince Yuan. The
freedom to choose—bad or good—that's real. And the
Mandate of Heaven— those moral criteria by which a T'ang is
adjudged a good or bad ruler—that too is real. Take them away
and we have nothing. Nothing worth keeping, anyway."

Li Yuan sat
forward. "I don't agree. If a man is bad, surely it is no bad
thing to have a wire in his head—to be able to limit the
effects of his badness? And if a man is good—"

Tolonen
interrupted him. "You, I, your father—we are good men. We
act because we must—for the good of all. Yet when we have left
this earth, what then? How can we guarantee that those who rule Chung
Kuo after us will be good? How can we guarantee
their
motives?
So you see, I'd answer you thus, my Prince. It does not matter if the
man with the wire in his head is good or bad. What matters is the
moral standing of the man who holds the wires in his hands like ten
thousand million strings. Will he make the puppets dance? Or will he
leave them be?"