Along the River (3 page)

Over the last few weeks, Dr. Allen and Grandma Wu had developed great respect for one another. She learned that he was the son of missionary parents and had been born in China. After graduating from medical school in America, he had returned to China and founded the hospital in Feng Jie. He, in his turn, was impressed by her intelligence, calmness, emotional stability and quiet strength. He knew she wasn’t the kind of person to worry about nothing.

“Perhaps it’s time for CC to spread her wings a little,” he suggested. “The torn ligaments in her ankle and foot have not yet healed, but with the help of crutches she could take short walks. You might like to show her different parts of the hospital or even the garden. This will help her regain her strength. It might even relieve her headaches and enable her to sleep more soundly.”

Although her room was pleasant enough, with its white-painted furniture and windows opening onto the grounds, CC was glad to leave it for a while. She took some time to get used to the crutches, but was soon managing so well that she could go for short walks around the hospital by herself. She came across a stack of magazines and publications, in Chinese and English, on a wooden table in the main entrance hall. Among them was a large, handsomely bound volume called
The History of Art and Literature in China
.

It was a heavy, hardback tome filled with poetry and photos of old paintings. There was something about the book that immediately intrigued CC. She asked Grandma Wu to carry it into the garden, so she could sit on one of the wooden benches under the trees and read it properly.

Together they looked through the photos of different paintings, but there was one in particular that fascinated CC.

“Look at this one! Grandma Wu! Where would I have seen this painting before?”

Grandma Wu put on her glasses to study it closely. “I don’t know, CC. This is a very famous painting from the Song Dynasty. It’s called
Qing Ming Shang He Tu
(Along the River at Qing Ming)
. You may have seen a copy of it, but I doubt you would have seen the original.”

Grandma Wu tried to interest CC in the other paintings in the book, but CC kept flipping back to
that
painting, her eyes fixed on the panorama of river traffic and city life depicted more than eight hundred years ago. It seemed familiar somehow—oddly evocative. It bothered her that she couldn’t understand why she found it so appealing. She marveled at the artist’s skill in rendering hundreds of people, animals, carts, stalls, buildings and boats at a particular moment in time onto a long, narrow picture. How wonderful, she thought, that he should have had the ability and patience to capture a slice of Song Dynasty life and preserve it for eternity.

She read the caption beside the painting and learned that the name of the artist was Zhang Ze Duan
a court painter who lived from
AD
1085 to 1145. She found his name as haunting and arresting as the picture. It too had a familiar ring, as if it were someone she had known a long time ago. But who was Zhang Ze Duan? Where did he come from? And how had she heard of him? Had someone mentioned his name to her sometime in the past? Or could she have met one of his descendants?

For the next few days, CC was kept busy attending physiotherapy sessions for her foot, eating her meals and exercising in the garden. But whenever she could, she would go back to the book and look at the painting. Each time she held the volume in her hand, strange things would happen. Meandering through her mind, jumbled and unbidden, would tumble sights, sounds, smells, gestures, laughter and snatches of conversation. Sometimes, she even thought she could recall fleeting expressions of people she had encountered long ago. There they were! Familiar and elusive at the same time. Were these memories or hallucinations? She didn’t know.

Her headaches and feelings of confusion continued. She tossed and turned through the night. She started taking the big picture book into bed with her and staring at the Song Dynasty painting for hours on end. She found the images of boats, bridges, gateways, hamlets and markets soothing yet stimulating. She felt she had been in that city before; had walked along the riverbank and bought things at the market stalls; had seen all those people, dressed in their robes, strolling and gesturing, flying kites and sailing boats, eating and drinking, gambling with dice and placing bets on cricket fights, laughing and talking. Yet a part of her knew that this peculiar feeling of having been there before was not connected with any real event she could remember. It was like a doubling of consciousness.

She confessed to Grandma Wu that, for reasons she couldn’t explain, this particular painting touched a chord in her that resonated with emotion and nostalgia. She found herself drawn deeper and deeper into its aura. As her appetite increased and her body grew stronger, the painting exerted an increasingly dangerous spell. At times, she was almost afraid to look at it for fear that she might be going mad.

Again, Grandma Wu talked to Dr. Allen about her concerns, including CC’s obsession with the painting. He too was puzzled by CC’s slow recovery. The medical staff had done everything possible, and there were no signs of any undiagnosed physical problem. However, the symptoms of headaches, anxiety, amnesia and insomnia continued. After consultation with Grandma Wu and with CC herself, Dr. Allen decided to treat CC with hypnotherapy.

“I’ve had a lot of experience in this area, and a great deal of success,” he reassured them both. “It’s really a very straightforward process, and I think we should start as soon as possible—how does tomorrow sound?”

Hypnotherapy

T
he next afternoon, Grandma Wu helped CC get dressed in street clothes for the first time since her accident. CC felt strange putting on her blouse and slacks instead of the hospital pajamas that she had worn for so long. Together, they found their way through the corridors to Dr. Allen’s office.

Dr. Allen looked up and smiled as they came in. His ground-floor office consisted of a large rectangular room with big windows overlooking the garden. Facing the door was an enormous writing desk surrounded by three chairs. Under the window was a comfortable red leather recliner. On his desk were writing materials and a typewriter, a vase of fresh flowers, a telephone and a sophisticated-looking machine.

“Here’s my favorite patient! Welcome to my part of the hospital for a change, CC. How’re you feeling today—still willing to give my idea a go?”

CC swallowed nervously and nodded. Grandma Wu patted her hand and said, “Remember, I’ll be right outside the room, CC. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

A few minutes later, CC was settled in the red recliner while Dr. Allen pulled out a chair opposite her.

“Now, I don’t want you to be frightened,” he said. “All I’m going to do is help you feel very relaxed so that you can tell me some of these dreams that have been troubling you. This might relieve your headaches and help you feel less confused. Hopefully, you will then start to sleep better at night. All right?”

“Will I be awake when I’m talking to you?”

“Absolutely. But after our session you might not remember what we’ve talked about.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Yes, of course.” Dr. Allen pointed to the gleaming, state-of-the-art machine on his writing desk. “See this wire recorder? This will record our conversation. In time, I will let you listen to the recording so you’ll know exactly what you said. Okay now?”

CC thought about it for a moment. To her surprise, she found that she didn’t feel quite as nervous as before.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Good! Now look at this ball dangling in front of your eyes and just concentrate on listening to what I say. Your eyelids are getting heavier and heavier. You are becoming sleepy. Soon, you will start to feel more and more relaxed.…”

CC wasn’t quite sure she believed him, but she did as she was told. She stared at the little green ball swinging back and forth before her eyes: right to left, left to right. Her eyelids were indeed getting heavier and heavier. After what seemed like no time at all, she heard Dr. Allen saying, “That’s enough for today, CC. You can open your eyes now.”

The light from the window had disappeared completely. Outside, it was now pitch black.

“Did I fall asleep?” she asked. “Aren’t we going to do the hypnotism?”

Dr. Allen laughed as he helped CC out of the recliner. “It’s all over. You did extremely well for a first session. Don’t worry! Remember what I said before. It’s quite common not to recall much about it.”

CC’s legs felt strangely heavy and wobbly, not like her own legs at all. She struggled with her crutches and was glad Grandma Wu was there to look after her.

Richard Allen sat for a while after the door closed behind CC. He looked at the wire recorder and shook his head as if he could not quite believe what he had heard. He pressed the return button and listened to his own voice talking to CC.

DR. ALLEN
: Now, CC—are you feeling comfortable?

CC
: Yes, thank you.

DR. ALLEN
: Good. Now I want you to think back to the day when you fell. Can you remember?

CC
: Yes.

DR. ALLEN
: Okay then. You’re running through the market and suddenly you see someone who scares you. You are running… running… and all at once you fall. What do you remember now, CC?

(Silence for half a minute.)

CC
: Why are you calling me CC? My name is Zhang Mei Lan. Zhang
is my surname and Mei Lan
(Beautiful Orchid) my given name.