Authors: Mary Jo Putney
"Grand?"
"In a way, this hall represents the very heart of China. For two thousand years this nation has been civilized, creating poetry and philosophy and planting gardens." She felt a piercing sense of loss. "Periodically conquerors swept in from the barbarian north-west and declared themselves the rulers, but always they adopted Chinese ways.
"Our system of government goes all the way back to Confucius, who believed that the wisdom and temperance of scholars would provide a just and virtuous state. Every government official at every level has proved himself knowledgeable in the classics of our literature and philosophy. Is there another nation on earth that can say as much? "
"None that I've heard of. Two thousand years ago, the inhabitants of Britain were wearing blue paint and Jesus had yet to be born," he agreed.
"But the stability of the Confucian system has also created stagnation and rigidity, along with far too many petty rules and even pettier officials."
"True, yet there is great good in allowing any peasant boy with ability to take the exams. If he does well he can end up a provincial governor or imperial censor. Sometimes a village will band together and sponsor a local candidate, hiring tutors to prepare him in hopes he will bring honor to the village."
"A system based on merit has much to commend it. There is nothing so comprehensive in Britain." His bandaged face swung toward her, eerily featureless. "This is the first time I've heard you say 'we' and 'our' when talking about China."
She realized that was probably true. "Perhaps I am feeling more Chinese now that I am preparing to leave."
"You don't have to make your final decision until later," he said quietly.
"You can return to Chenqua's household if you choose, or stay in Macao." She was tempted to seize on the comfort he offered, but couldn't. Though her secure iron rice bowl waited at Chenqua's, she had changed too much in the last weeks to ever be content with that again.
And it was all Maxwell's fault.
As they left the grounds of the Examination Hall, Kyle wondered how he would have done under such a system. He'd always excelled at his studies, but only because they interested him. He'd never had his whole life weighing in the balance. He had been born shod and hosed, as the saying went. Never had he been truly tested, not the way Dominic had been during his time in the army.
The clamor and color of the streets were a refreshing contrast to the stone solemnity of the Examination Hall. After weeks trapped in the narrow confines of the Settlement, Kyle found Canton exhilarating. Luckily, the discomfort of the cord rubbing his feet with every step kept him in his role of creaky old man.
Several times they passed temples, most of them small neighborhood places of worship, but one a grand and gaudy structure lushly decorated with statues and carvings. He studied the structures wistfully as he and Troth shuffled past. Before they reached Hoshan, he must get her to teach him the proper forms of worship so he could visit the temple without calling attention to his ignorance.
The crowds thinned as they passed a dismal, official-looking compound. On the pretext of steering him around broken paving stones, Troth took his elbow and said quietly, "This is the magistrate's yamen—his office and court, and a prison as well."
Kyle's mouth tightened as he saw prisoners chained to the iron bars outside, prey to the insults and harassment of passersby. Most of them crouched against the bars, heads bent and shoulders bowed. He watched as an old lady spit on one of the malefactors. In a society where "face" was considered vital, this public humiliation was a formidable punishment. A man stumbled from the yamen, a massive square of wood locked around his neck and wrists. Kyle had heard of the device, called a cangue. It was rather like a personal and portable version of the stocks that had once been used to punish minor offenders in England.
The wearer of the cangue was a short man who might have been a street vendor. He staggered under the weight of the wooden slab, jerking his head about in a futile attempt to avoid the tormenting flies that buzzed around his face. Kyle slowed at the sight, but Troth gave a sharp jerk of her shoulder to get him moving again. Outside the magistrate's prison was no place to linger.
By the time they reached the stable that housed their donkeys, he was so saturated with images and sounds that he looked forward to the quiet of the countryside. Troth stationed him at the entrance and walked into the back, calling out in Chinese.
He would have liked to explore the establishment, but supposed that a decrepit blind man wouldn't. A pair of skinny dogs came up to sniff around his ankles, then growled. Could they tell from his scent that he was a foreigner, or were they just bad-tempered? He stood very still until the dogs moved on.
A few minutes later Troth emerged with a donkey bearing a pack and a crude saddle. It was an unkempt little beast, but looked strong and healthy. Troth took one of his hands and placed it on the donkey's neck, as if he were blind, and said under her breath, "Mount clumsily.''
He obeyed, making a show of fumbling and struggling to get one leg over the donkey's back. When he was mounted, his feet just missed dragging on the ground. He suppressed a smile at the thought of what his English friends would think if they could see him now. He'd always been known for the quality of his horses.
Troth took the reins and led the beast into the street. Surprised, he whispered, "Where is your donkey?"
"Only this one." When he started to protest, she snapped, "Later!" Reminding himself that she was in charge, he settled down and watched the passing scene. The donkey moved no faster than a man, but they weren't far from one of the city gates, and soon they left Canton. The road that rolled north was wide and heavily trafficked.
When the suburbs of the city were behind them, Troth turned down a smaller road, barely five feet wide and with little traffic. They wound between rugged, intensely green hills that had been terraced to produce the greatest possible yields. The most common crop was rice, with peasants and water buffalo working in knee-deep water. The landscape had the same slightly unreal loveliness he'd seen in his treasured folio of drawings. The artists of those pictures had been more accurate than he'd realized. After checking that no one was near, he asked quietly, "Why only one donkey?"
"One donkey to carry an old man would look reasonable, but two would imply prosperity, and that would be bad," she explained. "Better to appear as people not worth robbing."
"I take your point, but I really can't ride the whole way when a lady is walking."
"I'm not a lady. Remember? People would be shocked to see me ride while my honored grandfather had to walk."
"And I am not an honored grandfather." He swung one leg over the donkey's back and began walking on the side opposite Troth, one hand resting on the crude saddle as if he needed guidance. "During my time in Canton, I've been going mad with lack of exercise. I can't pass up this opportunity to stretch my legs."
"All right, but if we approach a town or village, mount up again."
"Very well." It was relaxing to be in the country again. He studied the hills, keeping his head still so as not to alert anyone to the fact that he wasn't behaving like a blind man. "The landscape is so carefully cultivated that it reminds me of a park. The scenery is much wilder in England."
"Tell me what it is like."
"In the south, many of the roads are lined with hedgerows full of birds and flowers and berries in season. There are woods, and streams that choose their own courses rather than being diverted into irrigation."
"What about Scotland?"
He began describing the moors: the rugged hills, the fleet deer and shaggy Highland cattle, the wild burns that rushed down from the hills, turning into rainbow-touched cascades after a storm. "It's a wild and lonely landscape compared to this. I have a home in the Highlands. You'd like it there, I think."
"I know I would," she said in a voice laced with longing. "My father grew up in the border country, but he took walking tours through the Highlands when he was young. He planned to retire someday and take me home to Scotland."
"So you dreamed of the Highlands while I dreamed of Hoshan," he mused. "Perhaps we were fated to meet."
"Isn't the concept of fate more Eastern than Christian?"
"Believing in fate, or luck, is part of human nature, I suspect. Tell me about Chinese religious beliefs. I've done some reading, but still haven't got the three main religions sorted out. Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism—who believes what?"
"Most Chinese follow them all." She smiled. "The Christian Bible says that
'the Lord thy God is a jealous god,' but here we believe that any religion that teaches you to be a good person is worthy.
"There are Three Ways. Taoism teaches that we must follow the laws of nature, and sees spirits everywhere. The greatest figures are Lao-Tzu, the Old Philosopher, and the Eight Immortals. The Tao is yin and yang, opposite and equal, and feng shui, the art of harmonious placement, which creates homes and gardens that nourish the soul."
"You're going too fast!" he protested. "I want to know more." She gave an enchanting laugh. "Later. The second Way is that of Confucius, the Master. He taught people to respect one another, to cultivate discipline and learning and wisdom, to honor our elders. Chinese society and government are rooted in his teachings."
"And Buddhism?"
"He was the Enlightened One, who taught that in order to escape the cycle of death and rebirth, we must not be attached to the things of the earth. Giving up worldly desires will lead to peace and wisdom." Kyle studied the pure line of her throat, her beautifully cut profile. "I'm definitely not ready to give up earthly desires, but I want to learn more. I'm going to make you talk until you're hoarse every day of this journey, from Canton to Hoshan to London."
"After so many years of being quiet, invisible Jin Kang, I shall enjoy having an audience," she said tranquilly.
He smiled, thinking that already this was a wonderful journey. Perhaps fate truly had brought them together for a purpose, for she was giving him China. In turn, he would give her Scotland.
If it wouldn't have been out of character for an old grandfather, Kyle would have begun to whistle.
Time to get on your faithful steed again," Troth murmured. "The village on the hill ahead looks large enough to have an inn, and it's almost sunset."
"Are all Chinese towns and villages walled?"
"Most of them are. There have been periods in our history when bandits swarmed over the land like locusts and unprotected villages were destroyed."
Resigned to being carted around like baggage, Kyle mounted the donkey again and their small party climbed the long hill. He noted that the village had been built on a poor, rocky outcropping so fertile land wouldn't be wasted on buildings. He'd never seen land used so intensively. Just inside the village gates stood an inn, its function as unmistakable in China as in England. Troth took them through a broad arch into a courtyard where three of the four walls had doors leading into guest rooms, while the fourth was a shed. The air was ripe with the odors of animals and frying fat. Before Troth had even finished tethering the donkey, a middle-aged woman bustled from the manager's quarters with a tea tray. As she and Troth conversed, a cup of steaming tea was gently pressed into Kyle's hand. He raised the cup clumsily to his lips, assuming that even a deaf, blind grandfather should be able to manage tea.
After he'd drunk, Troth took the cup and went inside with the woman while Kyle relaxed on the donkey, cultivating patience. In England he'd been accustomed to servants taking care of life's menial tasks, but that had changed when he left on his travels. His long-term valet had declined to follow his master to foreign places, and the manservant who'd replaced him had left Kyle's service in India.
Unable to find an acceptable substitute, he'd decided to manage for himself while he was in Canton, and found that he rather enjoyed the privacy of not having a manservant constantly underfoot. Now Troth was handling every aspect of their journey, and it felt rather odd to return to idleness.
Still, entertainment presented itself. A very small child toddled up to the donkey. As he regarded Kyle with great solemn eyes, he squatted, his trousers opening along the crotch seam as he relieved himself on the soil of the courtyard. Kyle blinked behind his gauze bandage. While the boy's garment was a very practical design, it would never catch on in London. Two pretty young women wearing heavy cosmetics pattered up on bound feet. Probably they were prostitutes, since the inn would be a good source of business. One took the child's hand and led him away, but the other stayed and surveyed Kyle.
Apparently reaching a favorable conclusion, she patted Kyle's knee—no, above the knee; her hand was sliding up his thigh. As she rattled off a cheerful question, he froze, embarrassingly aware that his body was responding to her practiced caress. Was this a local custom that his guide had neglected to explain?