Taming Poison Dragons (10 page)

They are clearly a bad lot.’

I blinked at her, amazed by her shrewdness.

‘What is your name?’ I asked.

‘Su Lin.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Su Lin.’

A look of weariness crossed her face. She glanced around the alley as though seeking some means of escape.

‘Do you like your life in the city?’ I asked.

‘No more than you,’ she retorted.

‘If I can help you, I will,’ I said. ‘Try me! I am faithful as a temple lion.’

She laughed at my earnestness.

‘You don’t want to be one of them,’ she said. ‘They never go anywhere, but just sit all day with their tongues hanging out. . . like this.’

She stuck out her own. I bridled at her mockery.

‘I know things you don’t,’ I said, doggedly.

‘And I know things 
you
 don’t.’

Su Lin laid her hand on my arm.

‘Do not be angry,’ she said. ‘I like talking to you. You remind me of home. And you. . . don’t want anything from me.’

‘Ha! That’s where you are wrong.’

She recoiled a little. Her face hardened.

‘I want to talk to you now and then,’ I said, aware I was making a complete fool of myself. ‘And you are from Chunming Province, like me.’

We sat for a while in the afternoon sunlight. The sounds of the city faint around us. A couple were arguing hysterically. In the distance a watchman called the hour.

‘I do not like this house,’ she said, gesturing behind her in disgust. ‘Madam is cheap-minded and foolish. Already I can sing and play the pi-pa better than Madam. She teaches me nothing. I want to ride in a fine carriage and have servants and a pavilion by the West Lake, and my own barge for entertainments, and a garden with little waterfalls and flowers everywhere. The rarest, sweetest flowers! And I will fetch my mother and sisters and father from Chunming and look after them. Other girls have these things. Why not me?’

I could not answer that question. Cousin Hong’s philosophy echoed in my ears. I thought of the man who was perhaps, as we spoke, negotiating a price for his daughter.

As Su Lin’s father must have done.

‘One must always ask why,’ I said, answering my own doubt. ‘Otherwise we understand nothing. That is why I like to study. Without knowledge we are dust blown from one street to another, then back again.’

I subsided, embarrassed by my outburst, which had begun to take the shape of a poem in my mind, characters forming neat, balanced columns.

‘I like it when you talk like that,’ she said, wonderingly.

‘Is that what they teach you at the Academy? Oh, I wish I was a man!’

At once I knew how to interest her.

‘Can you read?’ I asked.

She laughed mockingly.

‘I can read what men want better than you ever will!’

‘No, I’m serious. I could teach you. And to write. It’s easy.’

Su Lin examined me shyly.

‘That would be good, I would love. . . but you don’t mean it. It is not nice to play games with a poor girl. Not nice at all.’

‘I do mean it. I could come here and teach you. Then we could talk some more.’

‘If you come here tomorrow at the same time I will know you mean it,’ she said.

And the next evening I brought paper, ink and brush.

Spreading a sheet across the door-step, I taught her to write her name. 
Su Lin
. The characters for silence and forest.

For two more years I toiled like a termite, until my four-teenth year.

Each afternoon, once released from the Provincial Academy, I would hurry to my octagonal room in the low tower over-looking South Canal. Often, to appease low spirits, I practised the calligraphy which later won renown for its beauty. The strictures of Master Xie-He entered the fabric of my being and later served me well. That depictions should possess liveliness and be properly executed.

That one must depict what is, using the right tones in the right order. Above all, harmony must be learnt by copying the masters, as one learns virtue from one’s father. Luckily I had many masters to copy, all due to the generosity of Uncle Ming, though it cost him little.

I had discovered a large library of dusty scrolls, stored in the chamber beneath my bedroom, which he had forgotten he possessed. This library came his way in part-payment for a debt incurred by a scholar-official much given to wine and girls. Had Uncle Ming guessed the library’s true value, I have no doubt he would have sold it, but contracts and accounts were the only written matters he valued.

At this time I also learned the lute, spending many hours in my room conversing with its gentle voice. It cured my loneliness, for a while.

Three or four evenings each week, I left my studies and wandered to Su Lin’s alley. She had bought her own writing materials by then and I would teach her ten new characters each time we met. She learned fast, and greeted me like her dearest brother. Mostly we talked about our lives, or I did, for she never mentioned the business in Madam’s establishment except through hints. I was glad of this tact. The thought of other men. . . no, I did not like it. No bond other than friendship lay between us, for I was young, and backward in that regard, and she never chose to lead me forward.

In one way I followed Su Lin’s advice scrupulously.

Each provocation from Zhi or Hounoured Aunty splashed over me like water on a stone. Naturally, they discovered my trysts with Su Lin and tried to discredit me with Uncle Ming. As a result, he summoned me to his office next to the brew house.

‘Nephew, I hear bad things about you.’

He was lolling on a low, padded divan and had clearly been sampling his own wares.

‘Forgive me, Uncle,’ I said, falling to my knees. ‘You are my father in this house.’

My instant submission pleased him.

‘Honoured Aunty is not happy,’ he said. ‘You little rogue!’

‘I beg forgiveness.’

‘That’s all very well. What’s this I hear about you seeing a singing girl? I promised your father to make a scholar of you. Would you shame me?’

‘Honoured Uncle, my teachers are very satisfied with me. I come first in nearly every examination.’

‘So I understand. Perhaps that’s the problem, eh? You little scoundrel, you!’

‘Honoured Uncle, my relations with the singing girl are chaste. I am teaching her how to read and write.’

‘Eh?’

‘She’s like a sister to me.’

This left him speechless.

‘Are you lying to me?’ he asked, at last.

‘No, Uncle. Even the singing girl’s Madam approves of my tuition.’

‘Of course she does! It adds value to the girl. Have they ever asked you for money?’

‘Never!’ I protested.

By now I was fourteen years old and understood everything worldly, or thought I did.

‘They are taking advantage of you,’ he declared. ‘I do not like this. It shows disrespect towards me.’

‘I beg forgiveness,’ I said, bowing once more.

‘I’m not angry with you, Nephew,’ said Uncle. ‘Just 
them
. The women. Next time you teach her, demand a proper payment. And a word of caution. I would be betraying your father’s trust in me if I did not show you the right way. Slap her around a bit if she does not please you. She’s not family and she’s not reached a respectable position in her profession and she’s not your wife. If you need some money to set things on a proper footing, here’s a string of 
cash
. Off you go, boy.’

I bowed my way out, leaving him well-satisfied, for whatever criticism may be uttered against Uncle Ming, he strove to fulfil his obligations.

Fortunately, I was spared further annoyance from Cousin Zhi and Honoured Aunty by a simple event. At last, after a failed attempt, he passed the First Examination. The celebrations in Uncle Ming’s house lasted ten days and for the first time I saw Honoured Aunty laugh. The fact that I also passed, though two years younger than Zhi, was entirely ignored, apart from a letter to Three-Step-House in which Uncle expressed the utmost self-congratulation.

I celebrated by spending an evening in the back courtyard of Su Lin’s house. She poured warm wine and fed me dumplings stuffed with pork and ginger. She sang gentle songs in our mountain dialect – of deserted wives and true lovers, of the harvest and hunt. That night I kissed her with passion for the first time. She made no objection when I buried my head in her breasts, their musky scent making me drunker than the wine. Their firmness in my longing hands, the discovery of her tightening buds! Is it unseemly for an old man to recall such things? I cannot help myself. Desire took hold of me, though I needed guidance to appease it. And surely I had earned that reward. Yet, to my surprise, Su Lin began to cry. She who never wept easily.

‘I am so happy for you,’ she said, between sobs. ‘You have been the kindest of brothers to me. Oh, Yun Cai!’

Then she ran out of the courtyard into the house. There was a clicking of bolts. I reeled, too drunk to see anything but spinning stars in the clear night sky over the city. How I made my way home I do not know.

When I returned the next day I discovered Su Lin was no longer in residence.

‘She’s gone away,’ said her Madam, curtly. ‘I’ve sold her on to another establishment. But you’re a good boy. Come back when you’re older, any time! And if you want to teach another of my girls to write, that’s fine with me.’

‘Where has she gone?’ I managed to croak.

Madam tapped my cheek with her folded fan and chuckled.

*

‘Never you mind. You can’t afford her now, that is for sure.’

I left like a beaten dog.

How long did my sorrow last? A week? A month? I cannot recall. Certainly it spoilt my triumph at winning a place in the Metropolitan Academy. More than a friend, I lost my capacity to trust wholeheartedly. I saw Su Lin’s gay, artful conversation and affectionate words in a new, hateful way. Her anecdotes of life in Chunming and haunting mountain songs. Her slender hand on my arm, which seemed to promise so much. I had been used.

Would Su Lin practise her new-found ability to write by sending me a letter? No letter came. Or even pass a message through a porter or servant? No message arrived.

When I shared my hurt with Cousin Hong, expecting him to jeer (I wished to be humiliated for my folly, punished, I deserved it), he wagged a reproachful finger.

‘This a valuable lesson, Little General,’ he said. ‘You won’t learn a lesson like this in your precious Academy.

Never pay in advance unless you can help it. If you’d used her services in instalments, everyone would be happy.’

I resisted such wisdom by reading and re-reading sheaves of love poems, learning dozens by heart until the bitter-sweet chime of their words echoed in my soul. Then I began to write my own, awkward, crude imitations, offerings to my distress, forerunners of my later success.

For it is as a poet of loss and regret that I became best known.

For the first time I fell behind in my studies, and Uncle Ming’s frowns suggested consequences I dared not contemplate. Honoured Aunty thoughtfully watched my discomfort until I wondered if she had a hand in my dear friend’s sudden removal. It was as though Su Lin had died and I was in mourning. I never suspected how easily love returns from its grave.

‘. . .
Evening discourses from a cold studio.
All very well for Master Su Tung-po!
Enlightenment dredged from a deep wine bowl.
The moon’s beauty worms away at my soul. . .’

I wait for Youngest Son and his officers by the gatehouse. Eldest Son hovers behind me. We have nothing to say to one another, our thoughts too full for words. I lean on my stick and examine the village below. Soldiers drift between the houses and an inordinate number of fires have been lit. Stray voices rise – our valley has a strange way of carrying sound – and all the dogs are silent. Possibly they are already on the spit.

I calculate we have been occupied by two companies of infantry, each a hundred strong, half armed with crossbows, the rest with halberd and sword. In addition, thirty or so cavalry, mainly mounted archers. Every day they spend devouring our hard-won stores increases the likeli-hood of famine. Wei Village and the surrounding valleys sustain hundreds of peasants, yet soon we shall be stripped bare. We have four, perhaps five days at most.

As dusk gathers, a small procession leaves the village, bound for Three-Step-House. At their head, men bearing General An-Shu’s dragon banner, followed by drummers, and finally our honoured guests: Youngest Son and his three principal officers. Swallows dart above their heads, oblivious to the drumbeat echoing hollowly round the hills. It says much that my son feels such a show is necessary to dine in his family home. Eldest Son bobs uncertainly.

‘Remember,’ I say. ‘It is important they feel obliged to us.’

An anxious evening lies ahead. I hope to placate Youngest Son, drown his past grievances in wine and food. Then I might extract assurances from him concerning the villagers’ safety, so binding that he dare not go back on his word without great loss of face.

Up the hill they come. I raise a smile of welcome. Eldest Son’s is more like a leer. Still, I have a few tricks up my official’s sleeve. The first is deployed as Youngest Son approaches the gatehouse. I clap my hands and a servant rushes forward with bowls of flower-heads soaked in wine.

‘Youngest Son,’ I say, opening my arms. ‘Welcome!

Please make this offering to the gate-gods. I have no doubt they greet your return, and the presence of your esteemed officers, as I do.’

He seems surprised and tugs at his whiskers. He can hardly refuse. A period of bowing before the gate-gods follows, all forced into the role of dutiful, civilised men. Youngest Son pours the libation with every sign of reverence.

In this pious mood, we proceed to the Middle House, where a banquet has been prepared. Youngest Son nods stiffly to his brother but no words are exchanged. The household servants line the way on their knees. At the entrance, I pause.

‘My honoured guests must make allowances for the dishes a poor, unworthy house can offer. As the venerable Lao-Tzu remarked. . .’

To my amazement Youngest Son interrupts me.