第 28 页

ngng a perfect letter ora lovely poem than in the entertaining or consoling qualities of a song. Because of this, mysisters-in-law and I had forsaken many of the old chants we had grown up with. In anyevent, the tale sung that night was familiar but one I hadn’t heard since childhood. It toldof the Yao people, their first home, and their brave fight for independence. “We are Yaopeople,” Lotus, a woman perhaps ten years older than I, began. “In antiquity, Gao Xin, akind and benevolent Han emperor, was under attack by an evil and ambitious general.Panhu—a mangy, unwanted dog—heard of the emperor’s problems and challenged thegeneral to battle. He won and was given the hand of one of the emperor’s daughters.Panhu was happy, but his betrothed was embarrassed. She did not want to marry a dog.Still, her duty was clear, so she and Panhu fled into the mountains, where she gave birthto twelve children, the very first Yao people. When they grew up, they built a town calledQianjiadong—the Thousand-Family Grotto.”

This first part of the story finished, another woman, Willow, took up the chant. Next tome, Snow Flower shivered. Was she remembering our daughter days, when we listenedto Elder Sister and her sworn sisters or Mama and Aunt as they sang this story of ourbeginnings?

“Could there be a place of so much water and such good land?” Willow asked in the song.“Could it be safer from intruders when it was hidden from sight, the only access through acavernous tunnel? Qianjiadong held much magic for the Yao people. But such a paradisecannot remain undisturbed forever.”

I began to hear verses sung by women sitting around other fires in the bowl. The menshould have stopped our chanting, for certainly the rebels could hear us. But the purity ofthe women’s voices gave us all strength and courage.

Willow continued. “Many generations later, in the Yuan dynasty, someone from the localgovernment, bold in his explorations, walked through the tunnel and found the Yao第 142 页 共 189 页

people. Everyone was dressed resplendently. Everyone was fat from the wealth of theland. Hearing of this tantalizing place, the emperor—greedy and without gratitude—demanded high taxes from the Yao people.”

Just as the first snowflakes fell on our hair and faces, Snow Flower linked her armthrough mine and raised her voice to recount the next part of the story. “Why should wepay? the Yao people wanted to know.” Her voice trilled with the cold. “On top of themountain that blocked their village from intruders, they built a parapet from stone. Theem eror sent three tax collectors into the cavern to negotiate. They did not come out. Theemp

pperor sent another three—”

The women around our fire joined in. “They did not come out.”

“The emperor sent a third contingent.” Snow Flower’s voice gathered power. I had neverheard her this way. Her voice floated out clear and beautiful across the mountains. If therebels had heard her, they would have run away, fearing a fox spirit.

“They did not come out,” we women called our response.

“The emperor sent troops. A bloody siege occurred. Many Yao people— men, women, andchildren—died. What to do? What to do? The headman took a water buffalo horn anddivided it into twelve pieces.

These he gave to different groups and told them to scatter and live.”

“Scatter and live,” we women repeated.

“This is how the Yao people came to be in the valleys and in the mountains, in thisprovince and in others,” Snow Flower wound down.

Plum Blossom, the youngest woman in our group, finished the tale.

“They say that in five hundred years, Yao people, wherever they are, will walk throughthe cavern again, put the horn back together, and rebuild our enchanted home. That timecomes to us soon.”

It had been many years since I’d heard the story, and I didn’t know what to think. The Yaohad believed they were secure, hidden behind the safety of the mountain, their parapet,and the secret cavern, but they were not. Now I wondered who would come into ourmountainous bowl first and what would happen when they did. The Taipings might try towin us over, while the Great Hunan Army might mistake us for rebels. Either way, wouldwe fight a losing battle and be like our ancestors? Would we ever be able to return home?I considered the Taipings, who—like the Yao people—had revolted against high taxes andrebelled against the feudal system. Were they right? Should we join them? Were weviolating our ancestors by not honoring that?

第 143 页 共 189 页

That night none of us slept.

Winter

the four families from jintian stayed together under the protection of the large tree withits spreading branches, but the ordeal didn’t end—not after two nights or even a week.We suffered worse snow that year than had been in our province in anyone’s memory.We endured freezing temperatures at every moment. Our breaths became clouds ofsteam that were swallowed by the mountain air. We were always hungry. Each familyhoarded its food, unsure of how long we would be away. Coughs, colds, and sore throatsswept back and forth across the camp. Men, women, and children continued to die from these ailments and from the relentlessly frigid nights.

My feet—and those of most of the women in these mountains—had been badly hurtduring our escape. We did not have privacy, so we had to unwrap, clean, and rewrap our feet in front of the men. And we overcame our embarrassment about other bodyfunctions, learning to do our business behind a tree or in the common latrine, once it was dug. But unlike most women up here, I was without my family. I desperately missed my eldest son and the rest of my children. I worried constantly about my husband, hisbrothers, my sisters-in-law, their children, even the servants— and if they had reachedthe protection of Yongming City.

It took almost a month for my feet to heal enough to walk on them again withoutrestarting the bleeding. At the beginning of the twelfth lunar month, I decided I would go every day in search of my brothers and their families and Elder Sister and her family. Ihoped they were safe up here, but how could I locate them when we were ten thousandpeople spread out across the mountains? Each day I draped one of the quilts over my shoulders and gingerly set out, always marking my progress, knowing that if I didn’t findmy way back to Snow Flower’s family I would surely perish.

One day—perhaps two weeks into my searching—I came across a group from Getan Village huddled under a rocky overhang. I asked if they knew Elder Sister.

“Yes, yes, we do!” one of the women chirped.

“We were separated from her on the first night,” her friend said. “Tell her, if you find her,to come be with us. We can shelter one more family.”

Yet another—the one who appeared to be their leader—cautioned that they only hadspace for people from Getan, in case I got any ideas.

“I understand,” I said. “But if you see her, could you tell her I’m looking for her? I’m her sister.”

“Her sister? Are you the one known as Lady Lu?”

“Yes,” I responded warily. If they thought I had anything to give them, they were

mistaken.第 144 页 共 189 页

“Men came looking for you.

”

My stomach jumped at these words. “Who were they? My brothers?”

The women looked at each other, then at me, sizing me up. Their leader spoke again.“They were mindful not to say who they were. You know how things are up here. Oneamong them was the master. I would say he had a good build. His shoes and clothes wereof good quality. His hair came down on his forehead like this.”

My husband! It had to be!

“What did he say? Where is he now? How—”

“We don’t know, but if you are Lady Lu, know that a man is looking for you. Don’t worry.” The woman reached up and patted my hand. “He said he would come back.”

But as much as I searched, I never heard another story like this. Soon I came to believethat those women had used their own bitterness against me, but when I returned to thespot where I had met them, a different set of families huddled under the rocky shelf. Afterthat discovery, I went back to my camp feeling nothing but deep despair. Supposedly Iwas Lady Lu, but looking at me no one would know it. My lavender silk with the expertlyembroidered chrysanthemum pattern was filth and torn, while my shoes wereblackened with my blood and scuffed from daily

yy wear in the outdoors. I could onlyimagine what the sun, wind, and cold were doing to my face. From my age of eighty, I canlook back now and say with certainty that I was a frivolous and stupid young woman tothink of vanity when the lack of food and the unrelenting cold were our true villains.Snow Flower’s husband became a hero to our small band of people. By being in anunclean profession, he did many things that needed to be done, without complaint andwithout thanks. He was born under the sign of the rooster—handsome, critical,aggressive, and deadly if required. It was in his nature to look to the earth for survival; hecould hunt, clean an animal, cook it over an open fire, and dry the skins for us to use forwarmth. He could carry heavy loads of firewood and water. He never tired. Up here, hewasn’t a polluter; he was a guardian and champion. Snow Flower was proud of him forbeing such a leader, and I was—and am—forever grateful that his actions kept me alive.

Aiya! But that rat mother of his! She was always skulking and slinking about. In thesemost desperate circumstances, she continued to denounce and complain, even over themost unimportant things. She always sat closest to the fire. She never released the quiltshe had been handed that first night and at every opportunity took one of the others untilwe demanded it back. She hid food in her sleeves, pulling it out when she thought weweren’t looking to shove bits of burnt flesh into her mouth. You often hear that rats areclannish. We saw this every day. She constantly wheedled and manipulated her son, butshe didn’t have to. He did what any filial son would do. He obeyed. So when that oldwoman went on and on about how she needed more food than her daughter-in-law, hemade sure that she, and not his wife, ate. Being filial myself, I couldn’t argue with the logic第 145 页 共 189 页

of that, so Snow Flower and I began to share my portion. Then one day, after we hadreached the bottom of our rice sack, the butcher’s mother said that the eldest son shouldn’t be given food that the butcher had hunted or scavenged.

“It’s too precious to waste on someone so weak,” she said. “When he dies, we will all berelieved.”

I looked at the boy. He was eleven that year, the same age as my eldest son. He stared athis grandmother with sunken eyes, too pathetic to fight for himself. Certainly Snow Flower would say something on his behalf. He was the first son after all. But my old same did not love that boy the way she should have. Her eyes, even in that terrible moment when he was being consigned to certain death, were not on him but on her second son.

As clever, resilient, and strong as the second boy was, I could not let this happen to an eldest son. It went against all tradition. How would I answer my ancestors when they asked how I had let the child die? How would I greet that poor boy when I saw him in theafterworld? As the eldest son, he deserved more food than any of us, including thebutcher. So I began sharing my portion with Snow Flower and her son. When the butcher realized what was happening, he slapped the boy and then his wife.

“That food is for Lady Lu.”

Before either of them could respond, his rat mother jumped in. “Son, why give food tothat woman anyway? She is just a stranger to us. We must think of our own blood: you,your second son, and me.”

No mention, of course, of the first son or Spring Moon, both of whom had survived this far on scraps and had become frailer with each passing day.

But for once the butcher didn’t buckle under his mother’s pressure.

“Lady Lu is our guest. If I bring her back alive, there may be a reward.” “Money?” hismother asked.

Such a typical rat question. That woman could not hide her greed and acquisitiveness.

“There are things Master Lu can do for us that go beyond money.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed to slits as she considered this. Before she could speak, Isaid, “If there is to be a reward, I will need a larger portion.

Otherwise”—and here I twisted my face into one of the spoiled grimaces I rememberedfrom my father-in-law’s concubines—“I will say that I found no hospitality from thisfamily, only avarice, inconsideration, and vulgarity.”

Such a tremendous risk I took that day! The butcher could have thrown me out of thegroup right then. Instead, despite his mother’s never-ending complaints, I received the

第 146 页 共 189 页

largest amount of food, which I was able to share with Snow Flower, her eldest son, and Spring Moon. Oh, but how hungry we were. We became little more than corpses—lyingstill all day, our eyes closed, breathing as shallowly as possible, trying to harness whatever resources we had left. Maladies considered mild at home continued to reduce our numbers. With little food, energy, hot cups of tea, or fortifying doses of herbs, no one had the strength to fight these nuisances. As more succumbed, few among us had thestrength to move the bodies.

hich I was able to share with Snow Flower, her eldest son, and Spring Moon. Oh, but how hungry we were. We became little more than corpses—lyingstill all day, our eyes closed, breathing as shallowly as possible, trying to harness whatever resources we had left. Maladies considered mild at home continued to reduce our numbers. With little food, energy, hot cups of tea, or fortifying doses of herbs, no one had the strength to fight these nuisances. As more succumbed, few among us had thestrength to move the bodies.

Snow Flower’s eldest son sought my side whenever possible. He was unloved, true, but hewas not as stupid as his family believed. I thought of the day that Snow Flower and I hadgone to the Temple of Gupo to pray for sons and how we wanted them to have elegant and refined tastes. I could see these things lay dormant in the boy, though he had receivedno formal education. I could not help him learn men’s writing, but I could repeat what Ihad overheard Uncle Lu teach my son. “The five things the Chinese people respect themost are Heaven, Earth, the emperor, parents, and teachers. . . .” When I ran out of lessons I could remember, I told him a didactic tale carried by the women in our county about asecond son who becomes a mandarin and returns home to his family, but I changed it tofit this poor boy’s circumstances.

“A first son runs by the river,” I began. “He is as green as bamboo. He knows nothing oflife. He lives with his mama, baba, younger brother, and younger sister. The younger brother will follow his father’s trade. The younger sister will marry out. Mama’s and Baba’s eyes never rest upon their eldest son. When they do, they beat his head until it isas swollen as a melon.”

The boy shifted beside me, moving his eyes from the fire to my face as I went on.