Mulberry and Peach (4 page)

The tow-line snaps. The men on the cliff curse the water.

Our boat lurches along the crest of a wave, bobbing up and down, then lunges downstream like a wild horse set loose.

There's a crash. The boat stops.

The drum stops. The cursing stops.

We're stranded on the rocks.

 

First Day Aground.

Two rows of rocks rise out of the water, like a set of bared teeth, black and white. Our boat is aground in the gash between the two rows of teeth. Whirlpools surround the rocks. From the boat we toss a chopstick into the whirlpool and in a second the chopstick is swallowed up. Beyond the whirlpools, the river rushes by. One after another, boats glide by heading downstream, turn at the foot of the cliffs and disappear.

The tow-line pullers haul other boats up the rapids. They struggle through it. The tow-line pullers sit by a small shrine on the cliff and smoke their pipes.

‘Fuck it! Why couldn't we get through the rocks? All the other boats made it.' Refugee Student stands at the bow waving at the men on the cliff. ‘Hey . . .'

A wave billows between the boat and the cliff.

‘Help.'

No response.

The oarsmen squatting in the bow stare at him.

‘Hey. All you passengers in the hold, come out.' He yells to the cabin. ‘We can't stay stranded here waiting to die! Come on out here and let's decide what to do.'

Peach-flower Woman comes out of the cabin holding her child. Lao-shih and I call her Peach-flower Woman because when she boarded the boat that day, she was wearing a flowered blouse, open at the collar, some buttons undone, as if she were about to take off her clothes at any moment.

The old man follows her out.

As Lao-shih and I scurry out of the cabin, Refugee Student claps his hands. ‘Great. Everybody's here. We must shout together at the shore. The water is too loud.'

The old man coughs and spits out a thick wad of phlegm into the river. ‘Please excuse me. I can only help by mouthing the words. I can't shout.'

‘Something wrong with your lungs?' asks Refugee Student.

The old man's moustache twitches. ‘Nonsense. I've been coughing and spitting like this for over twenty years. No one's ever dared suggest that I have TB.' He forces up another wad of phlegm and spits it into the river.

‘If we're going to yell, let's yell,' I start shouting at the tow-line pullers on the bank. ‘Hey!'

Lao-shih jumps up and yells along with me. ‘Hey!'

There's no response. Lao-shih picks up a broken bowl from the deck and hurls it at the bank, shouting: ‘You sons of bitches. Are you deaf?'

The bowl smashes on the rocks.

Peach-flower Woman sits on the deck, nursing her child. The baby sucks on one breast, patting the other with its hand in rhythm with its sucking, as if keeping time for itself, pressing the milk out. Drops of milk dribble onto the baby's plump arm. Peach-flower Woman lets her milk dribble out. With a laugh she says, ‘Us country folk really know how to yell. That's what I'm best at. Hey - yo -'

The tow-line pullers on the bank turn around and stare at our boat.

‘Go on singing. Sing. Don't stop now!' The old man waves to Peach-flower Woman. ‘You sound like you're singing when you shout! If you don't sing, they'll ignore us.'

‘Hey - yo -'

‘Hey . . . Yo . . .' The mountains echo.

‘Send - bamboo - raft -' shouts Refugee Student. Peach-flower Woman, the old man, Lao-shih and I all join in. ‘Send - bamboo - raft -'

‘Send . . . Bamboo . . . Raft.' The mountains mock our cry.

The tow-line pullers wave at us and shake their heads.

‘Na - yi - na - ya -'

‘Na . . . Yi . . . Na ... Ya . . .'

We point to the bamboo on the mountains. ‘Cut - bamboo -'

‘Cut . . . Bamboo . . .'

They wave again and shake their heads.

‘Na - yi - na - ya -

‘Na ... Yi . . . Na ... Ya ...'

‘Cut - bamboo -'

‘Cut . . . Bamboo . . .'

They wave again and shake their heads.

‘Na - yi - na - ya -'

‘Na . . . Yi . . . Na . . . Ya . . .'

‘Cut - bamboo - make - raft -'

‘Cut . . . Bamboo . . . Make . . . Raft . . .'

The men on the cliff stop paying attention to us. The oarsmen squat on the deck, eating.

The captain finally speaks. ‘What good will a raft do? There are rocks all around here. A raft can't cross.'

‘How come our boat landed here?'

‘We're lucky,' says the captain.

‘If you're in a great disaster and you don't die, you're sure to have a good fortune later!' says the old man. ‘Let's sing to the bank again!'

‘Ho - hey - yo -'

‘Ho . . . Hey . . . Yo . . .'

‘Tell - the - authorities -'

‘Tell . . . The . . . Authorities . . .'

Two of the tow-line pullers start climbing the mountain path.

‘Good,' says the old man, ‘those two will go tell somebody. Go on singing.'

‘You sure know how to give orders! But you don't make a sound,' says Refugee Student.

‘Forget it,' Lao-shih says, ‘here we are fighting for our lives. Let's not fight among ourselves.'

‘Hey - you - there - hey -'

‘Hey . . . You . . . There . . . Hey . . .'

‘Send - life - boats -'

‘Send . . . Life . . . Boats . . .'

The two men on the path stop and turn to look at us.

‘Good,' says the old man, ‘they'll do it.'

‘Na - na - hey - yo -'

‘Na . . . Na . . . Hey . . . Yo . . .'

‘Send - life - boats -'

‘Send . . . Life . . . Boats . . .'

The two men on the path turn again and proceed up the mountain. Two others stand up.

‘I've been steering boats in these gorges my whole life. I've only seen capsized boats, never iife-boats.' The captain puffs away on his pipe.

A boat approaches us, riding the crest of a wave.

‘Na - na - hey - yo -'

‘Na ... Na ... Hey . . . Yo . . .'

‘Help! - help! -'

‘Help! ... Help! . . .'

The boat ploughs over another large wave, wavers on the crest and glides down.

‘There's an air raid alert at Feng-chieh,' someone shouts to us from the boat as it passes, turns a curve, and disappears.

A paddlewheel steamboat comes downstream.

‘Hey, I have an idea!' says Refugee Student as he runs into the cabin.

He comes back out carrying the peach-flower blouse. He stands in the doorway of the cabin, the collar of the blouse tucked under his arm; he stretches out a sleeve and playfully tickles the arm hole as the blouse billows in the breeze.

‘You imp,' laughs Peach-flower Woman. ‘You're tickling me. You make me itch all over.'

Refugee Student waves the blouse in the air. ‘I'm going to use this blouse as a flag. Come on, everyone, sing! The steamboat will see it in the distance and hear our song. Come on. Sing: “Rise up, you who will not be slaves.” '

‘No, no, not that Communist song. I don't know these new songs,' says the old man.

‘Well, let's sing an old one, then. “Flower Drum Song”,' I say.

‘OK!' Lao-shih races over to pick up the drumsticks and pounds several times on the big drum.

We sing in unison.

Refugee Student waves the blouse. The old man taps chopsticks on a metal basin. I beat two chopsticks together. Lao-shih beats the drum. Peach-flower Woman holds her child as she sings and sways back and forth.

The steamboat glides by.

We stop singing and begin shouting. ‘We're stranded. Help! Save us! We're stranded! Help!'

The people on the boat lean against the railing and stare at us. Two or three people wave. The boat disappears.

The water gurgles on the rocks.

‘It doesn't do any good to sing!' The captain is still puffing on his
pipe. ‘Even a paddlewheel wouldn't dare cross here. There's only one thing left to do. The oarsmen will divide into two shifts, and day and night take turns watching the level of the water. We have to be ready to push off at any moment. As soon as the water rises over the rocks and the boat floats up, the man at the rudder will hold it steady and the boat will float down with the current. If the water rises and there's no one at the rudder, the boat may be thrown against those big rocks and that'll be the end of us.'

Lumber planks, baskets, basins, and trunks drift down towards us with the current.

‘There must be another ship capsized upstream on the rocks.' The captain looks at the black rock teeth jutting out of the water. ‘If it rains, we'll make it. When it rains, the water will rise and when the water rises, we'll be saved.'

Someone has lit a bonfire onshore.

The sky is getting dark.

 

The Second Day Aground.

The sun glistens on the rock teeth. The water churns, boiling around the rocks.

‘It's so dry, even the bamboo awning creaks,' an oarsman says.

 

Our cabin is beneath the awning. It has a low, curved roof and two rows of hard wooden bunks, really planks, on each side. The oarsmen occupy the half at the bow. That half is always empty; they are on deck day and night. The passengers occupy the half in the stern. Our days and nights are spent on these wooden planks. The old man and Refugee Student are on one side. Lao-shih, Peach-flower Woman and I are on the other side. ‘The Boys' Dormitory' and ‘The Girls' Dormitory' are separated by a narrow aisle. The old man has been complaining that we are brushing up against each other in the cabin and goes around complaining that ‘men and women shouldn't mix.' So he has ordered that men can't go bare-chested and women can't wear clothing open at the neck or low in the back. His own coarse cotton jacket is always snugly buttoned. Refugee Student doesn't pay any attention to him and goes around naked from the waist up. Peach-flower Woman doesn't pay any attention either. She always has her lapels flung open, revealing the top of her smooth chest. The old man puffs hard on his water pipe, although there's no tobacco in it, and makes it gurgle. ‘Young people nowadays!'

The old man sits in the cabin doorway all day long, holding his water
pipe, looking up towards the small shrine on the shore and occasionally puffing a few empty mouthfuls on his pipe. Refugee Student paces up and down the aisle which is only large enough for one person to pass.

Lao-shih, Peach-flower Woman and I sit in the ‘Girls' Dormitory' and stare at the water around us.

‘Hey, you've been going back and forth a long time. Have you got to a hundred yet?' asks Lao-shih.

‘Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. OK, Lao-shih, it's your turn.'

Lao-shih paces back and forth in the aisle.

Silence.

‘... Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. OK, I'm done. Little Berry, your turn.'

I walk up and down the aisle.

Silence.

‘Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. OK, Peach-flower Lady, your turn.'

She paces up and down with the baby in her arms.

Silence.

The old man begins murmuring, ‘Rise, rise, rise, rise.'

‘Is the water rising? Really?' Lao-shih and I leap down from the bunks and run to the doorway, jostling each other as we look.

‘Who said it's rising?' The old man taps the bowl of his pipe.

‘Didn't you just say it's rising?'

‘What are you all excited about? Would I be here if the water was rising? I said rise, rise because it's not rising. This morning that little shrine was right next to the water, about to be flooded. But look, it's still safe and dry by the edge of the water. July is the month that waters rise in the Chü-t'ang Gorge. It's now mid-July and the waters haven't risen. So here we are stuck in this Hundred Cage Pass.'

‘Hey, I've already counted to a hundred and five,' laughs Peach-flower Woman.

‘You're done then. It's my turn again.' Refugee Student jumps down from his plank and starts pacing in the aisle again. ‘Hundred Cage Pass! The name itself is enough to depress you! Hey, Captain,' he yells, ‘how far is this Hundred Cage Pass from the City of the White Emperor?'

‘What is Hundred Cage Pass?'

‘What's this place called, then?'

‘This place is near Yellow Dragon Rapids. It doesn't have a name. Call it whatever you like!'

‘Call it Teeth Pass, then,' he mutters to himself. He calls out again. ‘Captain, how far is this place from the City of the White Emperor?'

‘Only a couple of miles. Beyond that are Iron Lock Pass, Dragon Spine Rapids, and Fish Belly Beach.'

‘Captain, can we see the City of the White Emperor from here?' the old man asks.

‘No, Red Promontory Peak is in the way.'

‘If only we could see the City of the White Emperor, it would be all right.'

Refugee Student laughs. ‘Old man, what good would it do to see it? We'd still be stranded here between these two rows of teeth.'

‘If we could see it, we could see signs of human life.'