Empress (3 page)
Little sister was the mirror image of me. She was seven years old, and she had the sparkling vitality of a young animal. When Father set out to inspect garrisons and other districts, Mother would shut herself away from us in prayer. We would slip away from the clouded gaze of our ancient governesses and explore the Front Quarters. The imposing pavilions seemed to reach the sky. The white walls bore calligraphy in black ink, spelling out the rules of conduct for imperial officials. The hall shimmered with gold. The pillars supported vast vaulted roofs. Father, who was responsible for the paddy-fields and trading and who meted out supreme justice, was the most powerful man in the region!
In the eighth year of Pure Contemplation, Father gave a party for my ninth birthday. The gifts accumulated into great hills of treasure in the pavilion where the reception was held. Father gave me an armor breastplate in red leather with black laces, a suede hat decorated with a goose head, and a small bow bound with rattan. A general sent me a young falcon and three pups. The dignitaries of the province paid me intoxicating compliments. Blushing and delighted, I made a pretense of shyness as I welcomed the last days of my innocence. The rustle of silk, the tumbling rhythms of music, laughter, shouts, whinnying horses… these were the crowning moments of the beautiful firework display that had been my childhood.
Our infant years are like cruising on a cloud: suspended on high, the celestial landscape seems to unfold so slowly, motionless and eternal, while we flit past a thousand plains and mountains on the ground below.
My journey was already coming to an end.
One morning a few months after this party that dazzled me still, a carriage came to collect Eldest Sister. She emerged weeping from the house, dressed like a goddess, and left forever.
The previous year she had been betrothed to a boy from the local nobility. I had admired her dowry with its crimson lacquered trunks that took up an entire pavilion. As I counted her dishes of jade, gold, and silver; her sheets of velvet and satin; her countless dresses; and her embroidered shoes, I even felt a tinge of envy. I did not understand what marriage was. Only after she left did I realize that a harmonious world in which everything had its rightful place had just collapsed. Later Purity came back to the maternal home with her husband. Just as I had feared-with her fringe lifted off her face, her eyebrows completely plucked, her cheeks powdered, and her hair in a topknot-she was no longer my sister. She had become a woman!
In that ninth year of Pure Contemplation, there were weeds growing in the garden of my heart, and I was a melting pot of scorn and insolence. I had read
A History of the Han Dynasty
and
Poems of the Lands of Chu.
I had studied
The Virtue and Piety of Women.
I was well versed in arithmetic, calligraphy, painting, and playing the zither and the game of go. This image of a well-brought up young lady irritated me: I wanted to be like those barefoot adolescents with their trousers rolled up who hurled their nets into the river.
A History of the Han Dynasty
and
Poems of the Lands of Chu.
I had studied
The Virtue and Piety of Women.
I was well versed in arithmetic, calligraphy, painting, and playing the zither and the game of go. This image of a well-brought up young lady irritated me: I wanted to be like those barefoot adolescents with their trousers rolled up who hurled their nets into the river.
On the sixth day of the fifth moon, the retired emperor died. Imperial messengers spread the grim news to the four corners of the empire. Surprised by their mournful announcement, Father collapsed. When his officers rushed to support him, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he struggled as if possessed by some invisible demon. As his thrashing became calmer, he was taken into the inner quarters. Father never awoke. He had left this world.
Doctors could not diagnose the mysterious illness to which he had succumbed. They concluded that the late emperor had called up his warrior: He was to escort him as he ascended to the celestial kingdom. The imperial Court soon confirmed this theory, and, touched by this proof of loyalty to his master, the reigning emperor conferred on Father the posthumous title of Minister of Rites.
I wandered from one room to another in that unreal world, understanding nothing. Father’s body lay on a bed of ice. With his smooth features and half-closed eyes, he looked deep in thought. Mother wept as she took off all her jewelry. Behind her, men and women could be heard wailing. The house was draped with linen and white hemp, transforming it into an immaculate temple.
A few days later, two officials arrived from the Capital borne by exhausted horses. The servants knelt as they passed. The officials wept as they climbed the stairs, then threw themselves before the funeral bed and howled with pain. I watched these black-bearded strangers through a window and recognized my half-brothers, the sons of Father’s late wife.
Tears, cries, and wails. We observed the ceremonial procedures: bathing him, calling upon his soul, filling his mouth, the smaller clothing ceremony, the great clothing ceremony, laying him in his coffin, and making daily offerings. I followed meekly, obedient, and dazed. Imperial representatives, envoys from the world of high politics, relations, and local dignitaries filed past us offering their condolences and their funeral gifts. Throughout that whirlwind of comings and goings, the summer threw a thick heat haze over the town. Beneath my mourning gown, my hips and buttocks became covered with tiny spots. At night I moaned and turned over in bed, scratching frantically.
The coffin left the house and was taken to the temple of Beloved Happiness, where it stayed for forty-nine days while the monks read sacred texts and prayed for the soul of the deceased. Unfamiliar faces and men with brutish accents invaded the house and occupied the guest rooms. Mother told me that they were my father’s nephews, and they had come to escort us to his motherland.
The thoroughbred horses disappeared-apparently sold by the young lords. Soon huge trunks were brought out of the inner quarters, and the governesses, dancing women, servants, and cooks evaporated in turn. One morning, seeing King of Tigers’ empty stall, my heart stood still. I ran over to the pavilion where Mother was praying and fell to my knees, calling on Buddha. I rubbed my eyes, which had become infected by so much lamentation and shed every last tear in my body.
Mother remained silent. Then suddenly, for the first time in my life, she held me in her arms and wept with me. The sons had taken the funds and the keys for themselves; the nephews had announced that they would take charge of our assets and be masters of our fate.
IN HIS YOUTH, Father had married a commoner who had given him sons. It was after her death that he obeyed the sovereign’s order and married my mother. Even when I was very little, I understood that Father had begat two different worlds. My sisters and I were sunlight and beauty; my brothers, dark, ill-dressed creatures, were the echo of an indelible former life. They had become officials and rarely came home. Father, who had always been so authoritarian toward his subordinates and so severe with us, had given in to his sons’ arrogance. He had tried to buy their favor by showering them with gifts. Arguments flared between my parents: Mother would complain about their harsh words and vindictive expressions; Father would defend them, claiming that they were shy and wary of us. Mother pronounced the terrible word “hate.” She said they would never forgive her for taking his first wife’s place.
At night I would paint Father’s face feature by feature: his wide forehead; his pronounced wrinkles; and his square jaw beneath his beautiful, long, white beard. Officials had greeted him with respect, and the common people had prostrated themselves at his feet. One after another they had come before him to plead their case and beg for justice. Father listened to them patiently and gave each of them a reply. He spoke slowly and firmly, intimidating them with his gaze. His physique seemed to occupy a space so fully that it could reach the vaulted ceiling of a pavilion held up by massive pillars. Then I would picture him in his bed clothes, a gray, silk tunic over a white under-robe, held by a mauve sash. He would be reading, leaning his head on one hand that bore an emerald ring carved in the shape of a tiger’s head. He would call me over: “Heavenlight, come and read with me.” For hours on end he would talk to me about mountains and rivers; he would draw the canals he was having dug to link up the rivers and irrigate the fields. Dawn would come, and Father would leave, taking Glory and Magnificence with him. The world that opened before me now was a dark, narrow, insignificant place.
A new governor had arrived, and we had to vacate the residence for him and go with my brothers to take the coffin to the motherland. We waited for winter before starting out. The caravans of carriages drawn by oxen and horses set off toward that distant land in the north. Men, women, and children dressed in linen tunics with white headbands round their foreheads followed us out of the town of Jing in tears.
I was leaving my town of stone and winged horses. The River Long and the roar of the waves disappeared. I abandoned the tame cormorants and the bobbing junks tossed into the sky. The cavernous temples, the nuns, and the little fishing girls vanished with the wafting incense. Farewell, moon, you who lit the battles of old, you who guided warriors as they rode recklessly through the night. You who know the secrets of my destiny, give me a well-honed weapon, give me your blessing!
TWOThe horizon kept receding further. The road forked and melted into the sun. The roar of the River Han and the seagulls’ cries disappeared. The greens, blues, ochres, and mirrored reflections of the paddy-fields vanished. On the far side of the River Huai, the hills smoothed out, and the trees had lost their leaves. Rivers and dry reeds sprang out of the black earth and its metallic glitter. The wind whipped up, squally gusts tormented the fields, and straggly wheat stalks moaned. The horses and oxen lowered their heads to battle against the wind. Little Sister had taken refuge in my carriage; wrapped in furs, we tried in vain to keep warm. All day long I listened to pebbles clattering against the wheels and the howling of the north wind, which deadened my thoughts. My heart was dry; I had no tears left.
One morning, in that ocean of uninterrupted buffeting, I discovered the Yellow River stretching its frozen length away toward the sky. Countless trading caravans had already carved a white track through the ice. Early that afternoon it snowed: The snowflakes of the north, larger than a child’s hand, were like millions of birds twirling in the sky. Black and gray became opacity and transparency. The wind dropped. We were dark smudges strung out across this immaculate world as we forged ahead.
Ten days later, just as the fleeting sunlight was about to be eclipsed behind the mountains, hundreds of men and women dressed in white appeared in the snow waving funeral banners. My brothers and cousins dismounted and ran over to meet them.
My heart felt constricted. The thing I so feared was about to happen: I would discover my origins.
A great uncle, head of the Wu clan, took us to the village. My brothers prostrated themselves in the Temple of Ancestors to announce our return. An ageing aunt, mistress of all the women, took us into a house lit by white lanterns. The meal provided for us in mourning was ice cold. Somewhere a dog howled. In the middle of the night, Little Sister came to join me, and we shivered in my bed, which was hard as a sheet of iron.
The next day, in Father’s old bedroom, I witnessed the calling of his soul. The coffin and offerings were positioned behind a curtain of gauze. Members of the family tore their clothes and beat their foreheads on the ground, wailing and lamenting. The sorcerer danced until a powerful voice rose up from his throat. He turned to face the north, where the Kingdom of Shades is to be found, and shook one of Father’s tunics, calling on him and singing:
O soul, come back!
Why did you leave your body?
Desolate and alone, you now wander the four corners of the Earth!
O soul, go not to the east! For there ten suns have dried out the
seas and set fire to the fields. They will charm you with their
dazzling flames and will burn you to cinders!
O soul, stop before the great swamps of the south! There are
venomous snakes coiled in the mud, and their venom has poisoned
the mists. They will transform themselves into beautiful, naked
women draped with gold necklaces. They will suffocate you with
their supple tongues and drink your blood!
O soul, go not to the west! The desert sands conceal the great Abyss
of the Earth. Storms whip up the stones and bleach skeletons there.
The ground has been roaring and suffering since the creation of
the Universe. Three-eyed vultures and deaf and blind asses wage
war on each other for all eternity.
O soul, do not cross the glaciers of the north. Nine-headed bears
watch over the celestial gates. Snowflakes hide the jade scorpions
lying in wait for wandering souls. Their venom turns the living to
stone and the dead to water!
O soul, come back home! Here your family gives you offerings.
Here there is white rice, brown rice, millet, and sorghum! Here
there is beef soup, turkey stew, and sauteed tortoise meat. Here
there is wine from every region, that earthly nectar and the sweet
headiness it brings! Here is your gentle bed, the gauze curtains, the
silk sheets and downy cushions, and women more fragrant than
orchids!
O soul, do you not long for tender glances, plump lips, and
caressing hands?
O soul, have you forgotten your nights of love making, the
pleasures of the spring?
O soul, return to your body! The celebrations are beginning, and
we are waiting for you to start the ceremonial poem!
O soul, you are here! Forget the calls of ghosts, the world that has
no shadows where the pale moon never sets. You are here, taking
up your cloak again!
The sorcerer collapsed. His assistant took the tunic from between his limp hands and disappeared behind a curtain.
The soul had returned from the south. After a life of conquest, my father, who had changed his own destiny by leaving the land of his ancestors, had come back to the house of his birth.
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