“I am sorry, my lady. I didn’t know that this monk would keep reading until his victim passed out. I thought my brothers were joking when they told me about him.”
“May we leave now?” I asked.
“I am afraid not, my lady. Your good deed will not be recorded unless it is completed properly.”
“I shall not survive this!”
“Don’t worry,” An-te-hai whispered. “I have just offered a handsome bribe. He assured me that the rest of the ceremony will take little time.”
Stone gods lined the edge of the site, an open space with one wall to the west. A fifty-foot flagpole stood to the southeast. On top of the pole was a bird feeder. Birds were said to deliver the Emperor’s messages to the spirits. There was a strange object hanging on the wall. As I walked closer I was able to tell that it was a dust-colored cotton bag.
“The bag belonged to the dynasty’s founding father, King Nurhachi,” the senior monk explained. “Inside are the bones of the king’s father and grandfather. Nurhachi carried them back to the tribe to be buried after the two men were slaughtered by the enemy.”
The monk clapped his hands. Two women whose faces were caked with mud appeared. “The witches of the Shaman tribes,” the monk introduced. The women’s robes were thick with patterns of black spiders. Their hats were covered in fish scales made of copper. Dangling over their heads, ears and necks were beads made from fruit pits. Bells were tied to their limbs. Drums of different sizes hung from their necks and waists. They each had a three-foot-long brown “tail” made of braided leather strips hanging from their behinds. As they started to dance they encircled me. Their mouths smelled of garlic. They sang by imitating animal sounds.
I had never seen such a disturbing dance. The women were in a squatting position most of the time. The “tails” looked more like stringy excrement.
“Don’t you move!” the monk called when he saw that I was attempting to stretch my legs.
The dancers sprang away and went to encircle the flagpole. They spun around like headless chickens with their arms waving at the sky. They shouted, “Pig! Pig!”
A trussed pig was carried over by four eunuchs. The animal wailed. The dancers hopped back and forth across its body. The pig was carried away. A golden plate was brought over with a flopping fish on it. The monk told me that the fish had been caught from the nearest pond. The young monk returned and skillfully trussed the fish with a red ribbon.
“On your heels!” The senior monk dragged me up and grabbed my right hand. Before I realized what was going on, a knife was put in my hand and I was forced to slice open the fish.
An-te-hai and the young monk supported me with their knees and arms so I wouldn’t collapse.
A blanched pig’s head was carried in on a large tray. The senior monk told me that it was the wailing pig I had seen a moment ago. “Only a freshly slaughtered and boiled pig will guarantee the magic.”
I shut my eyes and took deep breaths. Someone gripped my left hand and tried to loosen my stiff fingers. I opened my eyes and saw the dancers, who offered me a golden bowl.
“Hold it!” the senior monk commanded.
I was too weak to protest.
A rooster was brought before me. Once again I was handed a knife. The knife kept slipping through my fingers. The monk took the bowl into his own hands and told me to grab the rooster. “Cut its throat and pour its blood into the bowl!”
“I… can’t…” I felt that I was about to faint.
“Steady, my lady,” An-te-hai said. “It is the end!”
The last thing I remembered was that I poured wine upon the cobblestones where the fish, the pig’s head and the rooster lay in their blood.
On my way back in the palanquin I threw up. An-te-hai told me that every day a pig was brought through the Gate of Thunder and Storm and was sacrificed by noon. The headless pigs were supposed to be discarded after the ceremony, but they were not. The eunuchs of the temple hid them, chopped them up and sold them for a good price. “For over two hundred years, the broth in the giant wok that the pigs were boiled in has never been changed,” An-te-hai told me. “The fire in the stove has never been allowed to die. The eunuchs hawked the pig meat: ‘This is no ordinary meat. It has been dipped in the heavenly soup! It will bring you and your family luck and great fortune!’”
Nothing changed after my visit to the temple. By the end of autumn my hope to gain Emperor Hsien Feng’s attention was completely crushed. All night long I listened to crickets singing. The crickets in the Imperial backyard did not sound the same as the ones in Wuhu. Wuhu crickets carried short tunes, with three beats between each interval. The Imperial crickets sang without rest.
An-te-hai told me that the senior concubines who lived in the Palace of Benevolent Tranquility raised the crickets. When the weather was warm the crickets began to sing right after dark. Thousands of crickets lived in yoo-hoo-loos, bottle-shaped gourds made by the concubines.
The storm season started early this year, and the flowers were beaten. White petals covered the ground, and their fragrance was so strong that it filled my room. The roots of my peonies were soaked by the daylong rains and began to rot. Bushes were sick with brownish spots. Puddles were everywhere. I quit walking outside after An-te-hai stepped on a water scorpion. His heel swelled to the size of an onion.
Every day I went about the same routine. I put on makeup and dressed in the morning and took it all off in the evening. I waited for His Majesty and did nothing else. The sound of the crickets got sadder and sadder in my ears. I tried not to think of my family.
An-te-hai went to the Palace of Benevolent Tranquility and came back with a basketful of beautifully carved yoo-hoo-loos. He wanted to show me how to grow and carve the gourds. He promised that it would help lift my loneliness, as it had for many other concubines. The gourd, he pointed out, was an auspicious symbol, implying a wish for “numerous descendants.”
“Here are the seeds from last year.” An-te-hai offered me a handful, which looked like black sesame seeds. “You plant them in the spring. After they blossom, the gourds will begin to form. You can design a cage that will force the gourd to grow into a desired shape-round, rectangular, square or asymmetric. When it is ripe, the shell will turn hard. You then pick the gourd off the vine, empty out the seeds and carve it into a piece of art.”
I studied the gourds An-te-hai had brought. The designs and colors were intricate and rich. A spring motif was used over and over. I was especially moved by one piece showing babies playing in a tree.
After dinner An-te-hai took me to visit the Palace of Benevolent Tranquility. We each carried gourds. Instead of calling for the palanquin I walked. We crossed several courtyards. As we approached the palace, there was a strong smell of incense. We entered clouds of smoke. I heard mourning sounds and figured that it might be monks chanting.
An-te-hai suggested that we first stop at the Pavilion of Streams to return the gourds. As we passed the gate and entered the garden, I was struck by the grand temples covering the hills. Statues of Buddha were everywhere. The small ones were egg-sized; I could sit on the feet of the big ones. The names of the temples were carved on golden boards: Palace of Excellent Health, Palace of Eternal Peace, Hall of Mercy, Mansion of Lucky Cloud, Mansion of Eternal Calm. Some were built from existing pavilions, others from existing rooms and gardens. Every space was crowded with pagodas and altars.
“The elderly concubines have turned their living quarters into temples,” An-te-hai whispered. “They spend their lives doing nothing but chanting. Each has a small bed behind the statue of a Buddha.”
I wanted to know what the concubines looked like, so I followed the sound of their chanting. I descended a path leading to the Hall of Abundant Youth. An-te-hai told me that it was the largest of these temples. As I entered, I saw that the floor was covered with praying figures. The incense smoke was thick. The worshipers rose and fell on their knees like an ocean wave. They chanted tonelessly, their hands busy moving beads strung on waxed threads.