The Real Story of Ah-Q (46 page)

Her noise was rapidly superseded by fresh uproar in the main hall of the ministry. As the savage crowd rushed in, the banqueters’ first instinct was to flee. But when they saw the rude new arrivals were unarmed, they held their nerve and took a closer look. Their gaunt, weather-beaten leader the officials recognized as Yu; the rest, as his retinue.

Everyone smartly sobered up, and retreated to their seats with a rustling of robes. Yu made straight for the head of the banquet table. Perhaps out of natural swagger, or perhaps because his joints were inflamed, he did not fold his legs under him but sat with them stretched out in front of him, exhibiting to his eminent subordinates the bare soles of his enormous feet, along with calluses the size of chestnuts. His retinue sat to his left and right.

‘Did Your Eminence get back today?’ one of the bolder banqueters respectfully inquired, edging forward on his knees.

‘Come a bit closer!’ Yu ordered, ignoring the question and addressing the assembly at large. ‘What did you learn from your investigations?’

On their kneeling progress forward, the senior officials glanced surreptitiously at each other, before seating themselves below the ruins of the feast, surveying the nibbled pine-bark cakes and the conscientiously gnawed ox-bones. There was something very uncomfortable about the view before them – and yet they did not dare order the cooks to clear it away.

‘Begging Your Eminence’s pardon,’ one official finally said, ‘things didn’t seem too bad – in fact, they seemed very good indeed. There’s plenty of pine bark and waterweed, and an overwhelming abundance of potables. The lower classes are all good, stolid salt-of-the-earth types – quite used to it all by now. World-champion sufferers, I might even say, sir.’

‘Allow me humbly to present a plan for raising funds,’ another official offered: ‘an exhibition of recherché survival foodstuffs. We are preparing also to invite an exotic barbarian
mademoiselle
to give a fashion show. All funds will be raised from ticket sales alone – there’ll be no extra audience collection. We’ll get more people in that way.’

‘Very good,’ said Yu, with a bow in his direction.

‘But our most pressing task is to dispatch a flotilla of large rafts to bring the academics back on to dry ground,’ a third official spoke up, ‘while sending representatives to the Land of Clever Tricks to reassure them of our regard for high culture and request that their monthly material aid should now be redirected to the capital. Here is the report we commissioned from the scholars, which really makes terrifically interesting reading. Now, their view is that culture is the lifeblood of a nation, embodied in its scholars. So as long as culture survives, China will also survive, all else being of secondary importance – ’

‘They think that China’s population is too large,’ the first official said, ‘and that the path to peace and prosperity lies in a moderate reduction. The common people, after all, exist in the most benighted state of ignorance and emotional superficiality, possessing not a scrap of the profundity that wiser minds project on to them. Subjectivity is the key to judging men and their times. Take Shakespeare, for example…’

‘Confounded nonsense!’ Yu thought to himself, then went on aloud, ‘I have undertaken my own investigation and now know that the previous method – damming – was fundamentally flawed. In future, we will channel the water. Any views from the floor?’

A silence fell over the room, the colour draining from the faces of the officials. Many of their number suddenly felt the need to call in sick the next day.

‘That was the way of Chi You, the ox-horned giant, with his army of demons!’
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a courageous young official gasped indignantly.

‘I would humbly and stupidly presume to suggest that Your Eminence reconsiders that view,’ a white-bearded, white-haired official valiantly protested, careless of the consequences for his personal safety – as if the very fate of the empire rested on his own intervention. ‘Damming was the method tried and tested by your own late lamented father. A filial son should hold to the way of the father for three years after his death, and it is not yet three years since your esteemed progenitor ascended to heaven.’

From Yu – nothing.

‘Think of the trouble he went to!’ another grey-haired official, the adopted son of Yu’s uncle, went on. ‘Borrowing the Never-Ending Earth from the Emperor of Heaven. Even though it made him no friends Up There, he did reduce the flooding a little. No: the old ways, it would seem, are the best.’

Still nothing from Yu.

‘Your Eminence, I think, would be best to finish what your father failed to accomplish,’ a corpulent individual, his face slick with sweat, boomed patronizingly, assuming from Yu’s silence that the majority view would carry the day. ‘On with the family way – redeem the paternal reputation. Perhaps Your Eminence has not heard what people say about your late lamented – ’

‘In summative essence, the virtues of damming have been proven the world over,’ the white-haired old official broke back in, nervous that his oversized colleague had provoked Yu. ‘Any other technique would be dangerously modern. And that was the whole trouble with Chi You – and his army of demons.’

‘I know, I know.’ Yu smiled faintly. ‘Some say my father turned into a brown bear, others that he turned into a soft-shelled turtle with three legs. Others again say that I am hungry only for profit and fame. Let them say what they like. I have investigated the lie of mountain and march, consulted the people and assembled facts. My mind is made up. Channels are the way of the future – this is my last word on the subject. My colleagues here are of the same mind.’

He motioned to left and right. The officials – white-haired, grey-haired, trimly handsome, corpulently sweaty, and corpulent but not sweaty – considered the line of thin, swarthy beggarly creatures to either side of him: still, silent, impassive, as if cast in iron.

Time passed quickly indeed after Yu’s departure, and life in the capital grew steadily more prosperous. First, the rich started to wear pongee; next, oranges and pomelos began to appear in the larger fruit shops. After that, the better silk emporia took to displaying openwork linens, while society banquets now featured decent soy sauce, shark’s-fin soup, and chilled sea slug in vinegar. Later still, the wealthy acquired bearskin rugs and fox-fur jackets, while their wives flaunted solid-gold earrings and silver bracelets.

Stand at the gate to one of the grander mansions, and you would be greeted by endless novelties: a cartload of bamboo arrows one day, a batch of pinewood boards the next. Sometimes, curiously shaped stones would be heaved in for artificial mountains in rockery displays, or fresh fish for the morning porridge. Shoals of giant tortoises, over a foot long, would be carted off to the imperial city, packed into bamboo cages, their heads shrunk back into their shells.

‘Look at the big tortoises, Mummy!’ children would yell, rushing up around the cart.

‘Get lost, you little brats! These belong to the emperor! Touch them and you’re dead!’

News of Yu’s doings also proliferated with the influx of luxuries into the capital. Below the eaves of houses, in the shade of roadside trees – everyone was discussing him: how he turned into a brown bear at night and set about dredging the Nine Rivers with his teeth and claws; how he had begged the heavenly army, led by its heavenly generals, to capture Wu Zhiqi, the monster who had stirred up all the floods in the first place, and imprison him beneath Turtle Mountain. No one spoke any more of the achievements of the venerable Emperor Shun and his line; public opinion would, at most, spare the hopeless Crown Prince Danzhu a dismissively critical mention.

For weeks, months, years, reports of Yu’s imminent return to the capital had been circulating. Every day a crowd would gather at the city gates, trying to catch a glimpse of his retinue’s flags. And yet nothing. But the swirl of increasingly credible rumours seemed to be bringing him ever closer. And one morning – as the sun hesitated over whether to appear – he entered the imperial capital in Jizhou through the heaving ranks of the assembled masses. His arrival was announced not by flags and banners, but by a tremendous beggarly entourage. A great lanky fellow near the back, with callused hands and feet, tanned face and brownish beard, jostled his way through the throng on slightly bowed legs, holding in his hands the large, black, pointed jade tablet of imperial appointment. ‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ he repeated over and over, all the way up to the imperial palace.

Outside, the people joined in choruses of acclamation, their voices swelling like the mighty billows of the River Zhe.

The venerable Shun, now weary with old age, sat nervously on the dragon throne. He stood politely as soon as Yu entered, to salute his celebrated minister.

‘Enlighten me,’ the emperor eventually said, after his minister Gao Yao had padded the occasion with a little small talk.

‘I have no knowledge to impart,’ Yu brusquely replied. ‘My only thought has been to work. To work tirelessly.’

‘Tirelessly?’ asked Gao Yao.

‘The flood waters ran high,’ Yu said, ‘encircling mountains and engulfing hills; the people were inundated. Where the road was dry, I travelled by cart; on water, I travelled by boat. I sledged over mud and climbed mountains on sedan chairs. On every mountain, I cut down trees to make paths, and with the help of Yi found meat and rice for everyone to eat. I drained the water from the fields into the rivers, and from the rivers into the seas, and with the help of Ji found everyone supplies of food, despite all the difficulties. Where one area felt a scarcity, I made it good from parts that knew abundance. I moved the people to better, safer homes. When peace returned, your subjects began to live decently again.’

‘Well said, well said, indeed!’ Gao Yao applauded.

‘An emperor,’ said Yu, ‘needs to act with caution and calm. Conduct yourself with conscience and Heaven will smile upon you.’

Heaving a sigh, the venerable Shun placed the running of the empire in Yu’s hands. Any discontent he felt, he should voice directly – there should be no sniping behind the retired emperor’s back. ‘Don’t turn out like Danzhu,’ he sighed again, after receiving Yu’s agreement, ‘loafing about, boating on dry land, making trouble at home. He’s never given me a moment’s peace – I’m sick of the sight of him.’

‘I left home four days after I was married,’ Yu answered. ‘I’ve never been a father to my son, Ah-qi. But that is how the floods were tamed, the empire divided into five regions, each two thousand miles square, and then into twelve provinces all the way out to the coast. I have appointed five governors – all good men, except for the Youmiao.
⁴
Keep an eye on him!’

‘The empire is indebted to you,’ the venerable Shun commended him.

Both Gao Yao and Shun bowed their heads in deference. After dismissing his court, the old emperor commanded his people to learn from Yu’s example; to disobey constituted a criminal offence.

The news initially generated tremendous panic among the city’s merchant population. Happily, though, some of the great Yu’s puritanism became diluted after his return to the capital. Although he cared little about food or drink, he was capable of ostentation in his performance of sacrifices and rites. And though he remained none too particular about his day-to-day clothes, at court or on official visits his outfits were always immaculately assembled. As a result, the succession had little impact on market conditions, and soon even men of business were recommending that everyone should emulate Yu and proclaiming the excellence of the venerable Gao Yao’s new laws. And so peace and prosperity returned: even the beasts of the kingdom danced for joy, and phoenixes descended to join the fun.

November 1935

The past half year, peace had deserted even the Old People’s Home, with a number of its residents acquiring a taste for whispered confabulations and scurrying about. Only Boyi held himself aloof from it all. As summer ended, his sole concern was to protect his aged bones from the chill of autumn – perching himself on the front steps and basking in the sun all day long. Even an approaching patter of footsteps did not persuade him to look up.

‘Brother!’

He immediately recognized Shuqi’s
¹
voice. Always a scrupulous observer of rank and form, Boyi stood before looking up and gestured at his younger brother to sit down next to him.

‘Bad news,’ Shuqi breathlessly informed him – a slight quaver to his voice – as he sat down beside him.

‘What’s wrong?’ Finally turning to look at him, Boyi saw that Shuqi’s face was a shade paler than usual.

‘Surely you heard about the two blind men fleeing the King of Shang’s court?’

‘Yes, I think I remember San Yisheng mentioning them a few days ago. I didn’t pay much attention.’

‘I called on them today. They’re the court musicians – Grand Master Ci and Junior Master Qiang. They’ve brought an enormous number of instruments with them. A few days ago, they held an exhibition – everyone’s been talking about it… But it seems the army’s on the move.’

‘Waging war for the sake of a few musical instruments,’ Boyi ponderously observed. ‘This is not the Way of the sage kings.’

‘It’s not just about music. You must have heard about the King of Shang’s cruelty – how he cut off the feet of a man who crossed a freezing river at dawn, to see if there was something special about his marrow? Or how he ripped out Prince Bigan’s heart to see whether it had seven orifices? These were just rumours before, but the blind musicians have confirmed it. The king is desecrating the old laws – and tradition holds that he should be punished for it. But it strikes me that neither should a subject attack his sovereign; and Zhou is still the vassal of Shang.’