Taming Poison Dragons (18 page)

Still, the short trip was pleasant enough. We toasted Lord Xiao’s health frequently, admiring the exertion of the boatmen as they cranked away at the paddles. A friendly clerk pointed out the best places to catch carp.

Nevertheless, I felt snubbed.

At last we reached an island in the centre of the West Lake, hired by Lord Xiao for the day. Among clumps of willow and fine pavilions, food had been laid out and a dozen entertainments diverted his guests. Fire-eaters and jugglers circulated through the crowd, many on stilts. The island was full of musicians competing for tips, the low drone of a thousand voices speaking decorously, afraid of revealing too much, lest word get back to a superior. I wandered through the crowd, seeking P’ei Ti. I had already composed some amusing epithets about my fellow-passengers on the paddle boat, and could not wait to share them.

Then I saw P’ei Ti in an enclosure marked off by red, silken cloth. The more ambitious of Lord Xiao’s followers watched from outside the barrier, occasionally bowing when a particularly fine uniform drew near.

I made my way to the entrance, joining a small queue.

One by one, high officials and their wives shuffled up to a wooden gatehouse decorated with dragons, where secretaries consulted a long list, before granting them admittance.

Why did I assume entry? Was it the thoughtlessness of youth? Or merely arrogance? Yet when I came to the gate, the secretaries consulted their list and found my name missing. Decades have passed since that moment. I still feel the humiliation as if it was yesterday. Contemptuous glances from those in the queue. Frowns from Lord Xiao’s secretaries, one of whom I recognised as Secretary Wen, who had visited Uncle Ming’s house to assess me. How thinly he smiled at my discomfort.

I could have argued, but that would only double my shame. So I nodded with the muttered words, ‘No doubt there has been some misunderstanding,’ and withdrew a dozen feet from the gatehouse to compose myself. When I looked up, P’ei Ti was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen.

But there was a familiar face watching from within Lord Xiao’s enclosure, dressed in night-blue silks, her lute cradled on one shapely arm. Su Lin. And she had witnessed the whole scene.

My blush deepened. Never had I known such mortifi-cation. I nodded a cold greeting to her, and hurried away.

Finally I found a jetty made of rotting planks, concealed by a line of willows and bushes. There I sat and gazed at the distant hills, inwardly raging against Lord Xiao’s secretaries.

Two hours later, my mood had mellowed a little. I had liberated a large flask of wine and a cup from a trestle table and was contriving my own solace. After all, the lake was full of light and shadow, the distant hills rimmed by fire from the setting sun. My soul opened its arms like the wind, to brush all it touched with a sigh.

I did not care that I must appear odd, sitting alone. Let them think what they liked. I had half-decided to resign my post and live as a hairy hermit in the hills, contemplating the Ineffable Dao. . .

‘Yun Cai. Is that you?’

I looked round, startled. Dusk lay across the island.

Soon it would be time for the paddle boats to return their cargoes of revellers to the city.

She appeared perfect in that light. Her oval face and high forehead like purest porcelain; her eyebrows subtly curved like willow leaves. She lowered her almond eyes at my frank gaze.

‘I have been looking for you,’ she said.

I said nothing. What was there to say? She had witnessed my embarrassment.

‘May I sit beside you?’ she asked, boldly. ‘I am tired.’

She struggled in her elaborate clothes to sit, wobbling precariously on raised heels, so that I thought she might fall into the lake. I leapt to my feet and steadied her. Her smile of gratitude banished old resentment. I laughed.

‘This jetty is almost as comfortable as a doorstep,’ I said.

And then she laughed, too.

‘So you remember Madam’s back door,’ she said.

‘Most fondly.’

Something seemed to trouble her.

‘Madam sold me hurriedly, you know. I had no choice.

And my new Madam was strict. When I asked permission to write to you, she refused, and I did not dare disobey her.’

I waved my hand nonchalantly, as if to say that fire was doused. We sat side by side in silence.

‘Is that a flask of wine?’ she asked, innocently.

‘Do you know, it
does
look like one,’ I said. ‘In fact, it even smells like one.’

‘And is that a bowl?’ she asked, in the same guileless tone.

‘Let me see. Well, it is certainly round and hollow. I believe you are right. It is a bowl!’

‘May I have some?’

As usual her boldness filled me with admiration.

‘I only have one bowl and I have polluted it with my foul, unworthy lips,’ I said.

‘Then we must share like good friends,’ she said. ‘We are still good friends, Yun Cai, are we not?’

I smiled and bid her pour.

‘Why have you left Lord Xiao’s enclosure,’ I asked. ‘Is that wise?’

‘My duties are done for now. I was hired to play and so I have. For a while I can come and go as I please. Ah, this tastes good. And the lake is so pretty from here! How clever you are to watch the fire-flies instead of talking to stupid people.’

‘There is something I must know,’ I said. ‘Are you Lord Xiao’s concubine? If so, your presence here is a great danger to us both.’

It was an urgent question. Lord Xiao tolerated no trifling from his inferiors. There were rumours of underlings who had displeased him being sent to bandit-ridden provinces, never to return. Others were dragged before magistrates only too willing to apply the harshest punishments for imaginary crimes. Su Lin laughed gaily.

‘Of course not! I am a singing girl, belonging to no one but myself.’

‘I thought. . .’

‘He asked for me by name when he hired the other girls.

That is all.’

‘Then you are not?’

‘No.’

‘Or . . ?’

‘Not that either. Whatever it is you had in mind.’

Her reply pleased me to an absurd extent.

‘Where do you live?’ I asked. ‘This is all so strange.’

‘I am no longer an apprentice, if that is what you mean.

Indeed, you should be very polite to me. I have my own little cottage now, and a maid to tend my make-up and hair, and strings and strings of
cash
saved up already. You really ought to treat me with some reverence.’

‘But I do! Can’t you tell?’

‘I hope so. Or I will grow offended like the Empress Lu.

Do you remember telling me about her? A horrible woman! Horrible! To answer your question, I live on the shore of the West Lake, near Turtle Hill Monastery, and a dozen other girls have cottages there, too.’

I was surprised by her news. Without doubt she had risen honourably in her profession. Turtle Hill Monastery lay near the foot of Phoenix Hill and one could not rise higher than that. Indeed, she probably earned more than I did.

‘Then we are neighbours,’ I said, and told her of my own small house. Even then the possibilities of our situation were apparent. Except for the small matter that I could not afford her services.

We sat in silence while she sipped. I sensed her tiredness.

‘So Lord Xiao asked for you by name?’ I said, at last.

‘Yes, his secretary wrote to my broker. Perhaps he likes the way I sing
Wave-washed Sands
. It is always popular, especially at weddings.’

‘You always sang well,’ I said, lightly.

But the first traces of foreboding had taken root. A loud, sonorous gong echoed across the island. We glanced at each other. I contained a desire to reach out.

‘How tiresome!’ she said. ‘I am expected to play in Lord Xiao’s own barge all the way back to the city. And I was just starting to enjoy myself for a change.’

I found it hard to swallow.

‘Do you still remember the characters I taught you?’

‘Of course, Yun Cai! I am not stupid.’

‘Then you will remember how to write to me. There is no strict Madam to stop you now, if that is your wish.’

Perhaps I sounded earnest. Yet she flushed beneath her white make-up.

‘We shall see. I must go now.’

She hesitated.

‘You are not sad about what happened today at Lord Xiao’s enclosure? Pah! Such stupid men! I could have boxed their ears!’

‘Not now,’ I said, smiling. ‘In fact, I am glad. Otherwise we would not have spent this hour together on a rotting jetty! I might even learn to prefer jetties to doorsteps.’

She giggled tipsily as I helped her to her feet. The gong sounded again and she hurried through the willows. I sailed home with a clenched heart. Sleep was impossible that night.

Later I heard my name had indeed been withheld from Lord Xiao’s list by mistake, and that he was displeased by the error. After all, one does not rear a sow to have it not breed. He expected a return from all his two-legged investments, and gained nothing from us unless we rose.

P’ei Ti was outraged on my behalf. Yet the fragility of my position had been revealed. A bitter draught I would not forget. Nor did I forget whose sweetness softened its taste.

P’ei Ti was right, of course. At twenty-four years of age I should have already commenced my studies for the Imperial Examination, moderated my incessant versifying, and paid countless visits to influential dullards who might further my career. Yet even he could be tempted from the steep path. I led him to areas of study his father, recently returned from a posting in uncouth Gunggu Shan, no doubt thought fatuous.

There were a dozen Imperial Pleasure Grounds in the city at that time, all in suburbs beyond the ramparts. They had originally been built to entertain bored soldiers, vast covered markets of amusement. Men of all classes visited them. They were no longer huge brothels, though that element still traded respectably. Instead, year by year, more sophisticated entertainments took root. I only visited a prostitute there once, and found the experience dispiriting, draining my essential breaths in a way mutual desire never did. As I recollect, the girl’s pubic hair was long as a goat’s beard and her breasts firm as over-ripe melons.

Beyond that, little remains. She must recall me not at all.

My chief enjoyment in visiting the Pleasure Grounds was to marvel. How remarkable is humanity, considering we are P’an-ku’s fleas! We take for granted our accomplishments, our diversity, our capacity to express the most subtle, and gross, permutations of mood. Blindness to assume wisdom or beauty belong only to the Classics, as we scholars are taught. The spirit creates a thousand ways to speak, all complementary.

Many would despise such unorthodox views. Part of me does, too, so deep did my education plough. Yet when I hear a simple folk melody, does not my heart respond as I might to the poems of Li Po, or my darling Po Chu’i, or my beloved Wang Wei? And did not the
Book of Songs
sprout from folk-ditties, watered by the people’s experience? All seek meaning for their lives, often in unapproved ways. The test, I believe, is whether sympathy and kind thoughts are promoted.

The Imperial Pleasure Grounds combined wisdom and vacuity. In this they were like most men’s lives, from birth to re-birth.

My favourite stood near the Gate of Elegant Rectitude.

I loved the acrobats who performed behind silken barriers, wearing costumes of red or violet, yellow or blue, depending on their troupe. Tightrope walkers with poles on their shoulders, balancing jars of water and contriving to never spill a drop. I dubbed these ‘High Officials’, much to P’ei Ti’s amusement. Musicians sang and capered. Little boys or girls struck spectacular poses on their shoulders. These I called ‘Aspiring Families’.

How lute and pipe and drum stimulated the blood! I thrilled, too, or sighed, at the actors with their plays of ghosts and murder, tragic emperors and suicidal concubines. Performing ants always made me examine the crowd, unsurprised by the city-dwellers’ fascination.

Boxers, unerring archers, humorists spouting lewd tales, all found echoes in my soul.

One afternoon, when I had persuaded P’ei Ti to accompany me, we passed through the Gate of Elegant Rectitude and wandered beneath the awnings of the pleasure ground. P’ei Ti often grew uncomfortable and titillated in these shadowy, crowded alleyways. Here all rites and formalities were set aside. Low did not bow to great but brushed past heedlessly. This mingling of the classes lent excitement to the place.

That day I made two discoveries, one of which shocked me. The other, much later, at a time I could not imagine, except perhaps in nightmares, saved my life.

We had explored for an hour, downing cups of wine at alarming prices, when we found ourselves at the rear of the more respectable amusements. Here were booths and tents given over to boy-prostitutes. They paraded in thick make-up and silks thin enough to emphasise their buttocks. Pimps assessed the crowd, chewing sunflower seeds. P’ei Ti blushed fiercely and muttered that the law was lenient. Indeed it was, if you could afford the bribes.

My own attention was drawn elsewhere.

A shooting gallery had been set up against one wall, marked out by military banners. At the near end stood a raised platform, surrounded by dozens of loaded crossbows. At the far end there was a thick stake hung with iron rings.

Suddenly a loud crack of gunpowder! The crowd murmured. When the smoke cleared, a heavily whiskered man, the very parody of military prowess, stood on the platform, hands folded across his chest. We fell silent before his glare.

‘Who has vanquished the Kin and Mongol scum as I have?’ he growled. ‘Who has seen their cruel arrows fall like rain?’

He beat his chest extravagantly.

‘No one! Yet for your entertainment, I have brought back a curiosity from the frontier. Do not all civilised men despise the cursed barbarians of the steppes?’

The crowd shouted its approval. For several minutes he harangued us in this manner until the entertainment took shape.

A hooded archer mounted the dais. Then an emaciated man, ten or so years older than myself, was dragged into view. A great show was made of attaching him to the stake by a thin chain, five feet long. He cowered miserably, yet I detected defiance in his lowered eyes. By now the ‘general’ was reaching a fever.