The Concubine's Daughter Page 5

  When Yik-Munn heard from his frightened wives the news of Goo-Mah’s death, the sun burst through the clouds to embrace him with its warmth. He hurried to the spirit room to hug the feet of Kuan-Yin, sobbing his thanks for her great mercy and burning joss sticks as big as bullrushes kept for only the most prestigious of events. He told himself that the life of his elder sister, who had long prayed to join her ancestors, must be the price demanded by the restless spirit that had plagued him since the death of Pai-Ling. That with the passing of the great Goo-Mah came the deed to the farm, a chest full of jewelry he could hardly lift, property she owned in the village, and the sum total of her considerable wealth was proof of his patience and his worthiness as a brother.

  Such a large inheritance, however, did not stop him from paying a “loafer”—one who would defy all gods for a handful of coins—to strip the grand coffin of its copper sheath, rifle its carefully hidden treasures and even replace the valuable jade plugs from her various orifices with ones carved hastily from wood.

  He looked upon Li-Xia with caution but ordered her to be freed. His heart was not without favor for her role in his sister’s blessed departure. He told the wives to feed her well, wash her in hot water before the kitchen fire, make her a new set of clothes, and take her back to the rice shed.

  To appease the newly departed spirit, he sent to the village for better paper offerings: a much bigger mansion, a fleet of motorcars, a troop of servants, and a cartload of heaven money to be blessed by the priests and accompany Goo-Mah on her final journey to the afterlife. He also sent for the exorcist to purify the fox fairy and purge the vacated rooms with abundant incense, and for many mourners to receive food and drink, plus a generous lai-see.

  The following day, the divine being, clad in colorful robes and his official hat, arrived wielding his demon-dispelling sword. A grand feast was prepared to appease the offended ancestors, to be eaten by the family and their holy visitors once it had been offered to the ancestral tablets.

  With the last of the roasted pig shared, every bowl empty, and the last rice cake eaten, the ceremony began. Li-Xia had been given an elixir that left her unable to move but conscious of the proceedings carried out around her. With much rattling of the official sword and banging of drums, she was laid upon a hastily erected altar, mystic symbols smeared upon her naked body with the warm blood of a freshly killed cockerel.

  Strings of jumping crackers were set off to warn away hungry ghosts eager to pounce upon the crumbs of the living. Incense sticks were burned, together with talismanic inscriptions daubed upon red paper. After many noisy moments of mystic incantation and a great rattling of ritualistic weaponry, the ashes of the talismans were mixed with a cup of pure spring water.

  With the cup in his left hand and the all-powerful sword in his right, the exorcist prayed for power: “Gods of heaven and earth, invest me with the healing seal that I may purge this being of all evil that possesses her.” He picked up a switch of willow and dipped it into the cup, sprinkling first east, then west, north, and south. To reinforce the spell, he filled his mouth with the magic water and sprayed it over Li-Xia’s motionless body. Having banished all malignant spirits properly and eternally to the cellars of the Master of Heaven’s palace in far-off Kianghsi, the exorcism was officially and successfully completed.

  The divine being then turned his attention to the burial of the great Goo-Mah, accompanying the ravaged coffin to the family burial spot beneath the great pine. This done, the group of professional mourners set up a wailing that could be heard for a mile across the fields, succeeding in rousing the dogs to add their howls of sorrow to this cacophony of lament. This was kept up to the accompaniment of gongs and firecrackers, drums and trumpets, until the divine being accepted his red packet from a tearful Yik-Munn. Then, with a final spray of magic water in the direction of Goo-Mah’s grave, he sheathed his demon-dispelling sword. Li-Xia was lifted from the altar, washed clean of chicken blood and ashes, and returned to the rice shed, where she fell into the deepest of sleeps.

  Having performed his duty commensurate with Yik-Munn’s donation to the temple, the exorcist led the procession on its noisy way back to the village. Yik-Munn did not make it known that in the interests of prudence, he had persuaded the temple to carry out both rituals for the price of one.

  A week later, the fox fairy disappeared for two days and was found even farther from the house. She had crossed the sea of silver millet and the mustard field, leaped the irrigation ditch, and followed the river until her feet were sore and bleeding, but she felt no pain and would have walked for a thousand miles if they had not caught her. This time her brothers did not beat her and their curses were mild. Though they did not say so, they were wary of powers that even the exorcist seemed unable to appease, and could not deny the courage and determination of one so young. She was allowed to walk back unrestrained, and treated with caution on her return.

  So troubled was Yik-Munn by the failure of the costly ceremony and the child’s continued defiance, he decided her re sis tance must be sanctioned by powers from above and must be respected more than punished.

  Only when the attempts to bind her feet had been stopped altogether, because it seemed the only thing to do, did she cease her caterwauling and settle down. It was a defeat, but at least it brought comparative peace and quiet to Great Pine spice farm.

  The irritating news that the Beautiful One from the House of Munn would not have lotus feet was conveyed to Ah-Jeh, the superintendent of the Ten Willows silk farm, who laid it before Ming-Chou. But the great man was tolerant. He would still accept the child, though she would never become a concubine for him or his sons or grandsons. Upon the day of her eighth birthday, he would buy her for one-third the price agreed upon.

  Yik-Munn accepted the merchant’s offer gratefully; less than one more year and he would be rid of Li-Xia, and his life would be complete. He set her to work in the godown, or warehouse, with orders for the dockworkers to keep an eye on her. The long, low-roofed wharf shed faced the river, its large doors opened wide to invite fresh air, but the mixed smells of peppercorns, nutmeg, black beans, and drying garlic were overpowering. This was where the harvested and winnowed spices were sorted, weighed, and packed to await shipment.

  Li-Xia was set the task of filling sacks, bins, boxes, stone jars, and clay pots—three scoops of spice to one scoop of sweepings from the floor—with a rag around her mouth and nose. Yik-Munn had insisted she must wear gloves at all times; if she could not be graced with lotus feet, her hands must be those of a weaver, with hummingbird fingers soft and nimble enough that they might one day caress the lordly limbs of the great Ming-Chou.

  Ah-Su, who performed the task of comprador from an office of her own, a hut at the end of the loading dock, commanded much respect and was left to herself, keeping tally of the cargoes that filled the holds of the sampans and junks and other boats on the river.

  Recognizing that the godown was no place for the child, she convinced Yik-Munn that Li-Xia would be better used helping her—fetching tea and tidying her office—than risking her health and her precious fingers among the crude boys who labored in the godown. He agreed, on the condition that the girl did not shame him further by trying to rise above her lowly station, forbidding her to be taught the mischief of letters and figures.

  Number Three had the child properly bathed and dressed, and gave her a bed to replace the mattress on the boards of the rice shed, as well as a chest to keep her things in and and a bucket to fetch water. She even hung a scrap of pretty curtain at the window, and set a vase of wildflowers on the sill, but most important of all was an old desk with a mended chair, matches, and a box of candles.

  She was given a seat of her own in a corner of the small, well-ordered tally office.

  “You may sit here if you are quiet and cause me no concern. See that there is fresh tea in the pot, and the water jar is always filled. You will fetch the rice and if I need you to run an errand, I will tell you.”


  Ah-Su did not smile, but said with firmness, “If you wish to grow brains, you may watch and listen. Learn what it is to be a comprador. In this office I am no longer Ah-Su, Number-Three Aunt—I am your teacher. But this must be our secret.” She looked down at Li-Xia with eyes that smiled. “I cannot teach you to read; it will make much trouble and is difficult to hide. But that you will one day learn what it is to be a scholar like your mother is as sure as the rising of the sun.”

  Li-Xia spent almost six months in the corner of the office, happy to do as she was told, fascinated by the tallying of figures and the transfer of spice cargoes from the wharf to the open hatches and into the holds of river junks. It was a joy to discover that she could keep things in her mind and find answers to questions that she asked herself. Ah-Su was contented with her company, speaking to her often and answering her questions with thoroughness and patience, showing her approval at the brightness of her little assistant’s mind.

  One morning, she delighted Li-Xia with the gift of a broken abacus: “Take this, and if you can mend it with the right number of beads, you may try to use it, but let no one see you.”

  Ah-Su was amazed at the speed and accuracy with which Li-Xia learned the abacus with little coaching. “You have the fingers and the brains of your mother.”

  When Yik-Munn appeared unexpectedly and caught Li-Xia with the abacus, he snatched it from her and trampled it into matchwood. That this defiant creature was idly wasting time seated on a chair and playing with a frame of beads against his wishes made him sick with fury. He would have flayed her to death and buried her beside her breeder, but he dared not. Instead, he sent her to wives One and Two, with instructions to at least see that she earned her rice.

  Li-Xia’s days started before the dawn mist had risen, with feeding hens and milking the goats. She spent her mornings gathering wood and sweeping the courtyard, her afternoons planting rice, until it was time to bring in the ducks and geese. She had grown strong, and no work was too much for her to do, but her brothers treated her as cautiously as they did the farm dogs. The wives made sure she obeyed Yik-Munn’s commandment to keep her hummingbird fingers covered with gloves, but otherwise kept their distance, as though to look into her strange round eyes might strike them as dead as the great Goo-Mah.

  Since Goo-Mah had joined her ancestors in a paper mansion of many colors, Yik-Munn had regained his lost face in the village by generosity in the tea house and expensive new clothes for his mistress. It was well known that he was now the ruler of his house. He beat his wives more often and for less reason, which among those who shared a pipe with him was proof of his recovery.

  Despite her solitude, Li-Xia found that she was never lonely; contentment came with every sunrise, opening her mind to whatever the day brought. She rubbed her feet and wiggled her toes each morning until they tingled, and she ran everywhere, as though to walk was not enough. She discovered that the smallest things could bring the greatest comfort—the softness of a newly hatched duckling, a bumblebee balancing on the petal of a flower, a wren’s nest made from tiny feathers and bound with moss, the constant song of larks high above the ginger field.

  Because there was no one to talk to, Li-Xia spoke in her heart to her mother, imagining her wise words: You are already finding your thousand pieces of gold. We enjoy all these priceless things together. There are no adventures too great, no journeys too long for us to share. Call and I will always hear you; look and you shall always see me.

  From the quiet words of Ah-Su, Li-Xia had formed a picture of her mother’s lovely face intent on the making of images, the curled tip of her tongue lightly touching her lip and her eyes filled with purpose as each character spilled ever more smoothly from the tip of her brush.

  At night, before sleeping, she spoke in whispers to the rising moon, seeking Pai-Ling in the softness of its pure light.

  “Is it true that I am qian-jin, as Ah-Su has said—compared like you to a thousand pieces of gold?”

  She could almost see Pai-Ling’s smile and hear her answer clear and steady as the murmur of a gently flowing stream: Gold can be found everywhere if you look for it … sprinkled by sunlight on clear water … in the evening sky and the coming of each new dawn. It falls like scattered coins on the forest floor and gilds the leaf of every tree; glitters on every blade of grass after the rain and turns each dewdrop into a precious jewel. You will find gold in kindness; it can be found in the seeking of happiness and in helping others. Try to find your fortune among these things, collect what you can of this real gold, and one day you will be qian-jin.

  “But I am told that I am worthless and do not even deserve my rice.”

  The shining face of Pai-Ling seemed to brighten the dark room.

  Do not reward such foolish words with your precious tears; they are not worthy of your sadness. Carry your dignity with care: The world and its people are not always kind to those who are gentle, and even the gods may pass you by. Gather your thousand pieces of gold wherever you may find them and protect them with all your strength. You will find these words on the very last page of my journal. I wrote them for you before you were born.

  Each evening, by the light of the lamp and the fluttering of moths, Li-Xia turned the pages of her mother’s precious papers, learning to separate one character from another, carefully copying them with the colored pencils Ah-Su just happened to drop under her bed in the rice shed, then hiding her work beneath the thin straw mat of her wooden bed. The paper journals had no covers and were easily rolled up and hidden in the piece of hollowed wood that was her headrest. Some of the yellow pages were torn, but every one was filled with row upon row of Chinese characters. Here and there, attended by tiny images of gods and goddesses, a drawing of the moon appeared in all its many palaces.

  The small book, with its cover of faded silk, was her greatest treasure. On its first page, Ah-Su had assured her, was the perfect image of her mother’s name, written when she was a child and surrounded by pale flowers painted by her hand. The last page was so beautiful it took her breath away, showing the lady of the moon dancing upon a carpet of stars. Li-Xia longed to know what was written there. Finally, when Ah-Su found a way to visit her in secret, bringing sticky rice wrapped in a spinach leaf, dumplings, and fried noodles, Li-Xia asked her to read the words clusterered at the feet of the Moon Lady. Ah-Su read slowly and clearly:

  Protect the secrets of your heart as others may protect the jewels and riches of a kingdom, share them only with those deserving of your trust. Do not allow your expectations to rise above your reach, but let no one set a limit to your hopes and dreams. Never lose respect for the feelings of others older than yourself, remember courtesy and good manners in the receiving and giving of face … but do not waste such wealth upon the undeserving, nor give the treasure of your smile to those without joy. These words you will find are written in my hand and those you do not now quite understand will become clear to you when you can read them and form letters of your own. Seek your fortune and find real gold where you can. Such happiness is qian-jin.

  Li-Xia had been told little of Great-Uncle Ming, the silk merchant, and the changes in her life that were soon to come about. She was surprised and excited when her father himself appeared in the doorway of the rice shed. It was her eighth birthday, he said, and she would not work today. He brought her a ripe peach and a new sam-foo—a pair of trousers and a top the color of an apricot, with birds in flight embroidered on the cuffs and collar. Her porridge on this special day was sweetened, and there was fresh goat’s milk to drink, and a sweet bun filled with red bean paste. Li-Xia had never seen such beautiful clothes or tasted such delicious food. The butterfly of hope sat upon her shoulder.

  She must eat and then wash herself, her father told her. Number Three would dress her hair and see that she was fit to ride upon the river and be seen by important people. When she was ready, he would come back and take her on a ride in the sampan, to see the willow trees and the frogs among the lotuses. The bucket was fetc
hed specially for her to use; the hot water tipped from the steaming bucket into a washtub was the first real bath she had ever known. Washing herself with soap, fragrant as a petal, and dressing herself in the fresh-smelling clothes, she thought how greatly her fortunes were changing for the better.

  When Yik-Munn returned, he looked with interest upon the child he had created, relieved by her mildness of manner. Could it be that the priests were right, the fox fairy had left her completely? She seemed vibrant in health and of quite an engaging disposition. He wondered if he should ask a higher price than the bargain he had struck. Even without the lotus slippers, did she not show promise of the beauty of her mother?

  “Let me see your hummingbird hands,” he commanded with a twitch of his wide thin mouth and a glimpse of his famous teeth, and she quickly obeyed, placing them in his outstretched palms. He fondled them carefully, inspecting each finger with its perfect painted tip. He bent, lifting them to his broad, flat nostrils, and sniffed each in turn, as he would a fresh-cut flower or the delicate traces of a rare and valuable spice, then held them against the roughness of his sparsely whiskered cheek.

  It was the first time Li-Xia had felt his touch, and it both confused and emboldened her. Seeing him look so kindly upon her, she dared to speak in a strong and fearless voice.

  “Will my honorable great-uncle up the river teach me to read?” she asked.

  He frowned, instantly dropping her hands; then, turning away with an angry snort, he spotted the tip of a paper book under her bed. He stooped to pick it up and for a moment was so silent, she wondered if he had understood her question. When he spoke, each word was cold with accusation. “What are you doing with this? Where did you get it?” She hesitated, shrinking from his sudden burst of fury as he kicked aside her bed to uncover more tightly wound scrolls and loose paper pages of her copied words. He pulled them out, ripping and twisting until they were torn to shreds.