China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

hadn’t gone away”—she turned on California Brother—“I wouldn’t be like this. Father would never have let them bind my feet. He loved me.”

“It’s for your own good,” said Mei-Ling.

“No, it isn’t,” her daughter replied sorrowfully. “You just want me to marry someone rich so I can get money for you.”

“Where did she learn to talk like that at such an age?” Mother demanded.

“Actually, you know…” California Brother began gently…But Mei-Ling gave him such a look that he stopped.

“Go to your room,” Mei-Ling ordered her daughter. She watched the child hobble painfully across the courtyard. When Bright Moon had gone, Mei-Ling turned back to her younger son. “You were going to say your father agreed her feet should be bound.”

“He said so in California many times.”

“But the child has got it into her head that her father would have stopped it.” And perhaps, if he’d seen the pain, he might have, she thought. “And now,” she went on, “her father’s dead. And she remembers how kind he was and how he held her hand, and so she believes he would have saved her from the foot-binding. It’s the only thing she has.”

“Who’s she going to blame, then?” asked California Brother. “Me? My brother? You?”

“Me and Mother, I should think,” said Mei-Ling.

“But it’s still a lie,” said Mother.

Mei-Ling looked at Mother. “We know that Second Son doted on his daughter,” she said. “And if the only way Bright Moon can know that big truth is to believe a little lie, then let her believe.”

Mother nodded. “You may be right, my daughter. Besides, she is angry because she is so hurt by her father’s death.”

—

The rest of the day passed peacefully. The two brothers went over to inspect the fields on the other side of the village. Elder Son went with them. On their return, California Brother sat and talked to Bright Moon without further incident. And after they had eaten that night, California Brother said he was sleepy, and everyone turned in.

But Mei-Ling didn’t feel sleepy. She took a small lantern and went out into the courtyard.

She wanted to be alone with her thoughts for a while, to mourn alone. And for some time she sat there. But mourning does not always come so easily. The sky was overcast, opaque.

And she had been there for some time when her older son appeared.

“Not tired?” Ka-Fai asked. She shook her head. “I’m tired, but I still can’t sleep.” He sat beside her. “The moon must be almost full,” he said, jutting his jaw up at the clouds, “if we could only see it.”

“Full tomorrow,” she replied. “Perhaps the sky will be clear.”

He yawned. She watched. His face was just like his father’s. She felt a sudden bittersweet rush of love.

“Do you remember what you promised to do when your father came home?” she asked. He nodded. “Your brother’s home,” she went on. “That counts as the same thing.”

“I know.”

“So you’ll marry?” Again he nodded. “Have you anyone in mind?” she wanted to know. He shook his head. “Do you want to think about it?”

“Families are supposed to decide these things,” Ka-Fai said, “not the bridegroom.”

“I know. But you’re so obstinate, I thought…”

“You choose.” He gave her a smile.

“Oh,” she said. She felt rather pleased.

They were quiet for a little while. Then he said, “I’m sleepy now,” and went to bed.

Mei-Ling stayed there alone. She was pleased about the marriage. As she considered her son’s strengths and limitations, she couldn’t immediately think of any particular girl for him, or even a type of girl. But she felt sure she’d recognize the right girl when she found her.

And after the misery she had endured watching Bright Moon suffer so much, the idea of arranging a happy marriage for her son was like balm on a wound.

As the minutes passed, her thoughts turned to her husband. How was it she’d sensed that Second Son would not return? She couldn’t say. Had something happened that first cloudy night after he’d left, when her little messages of love, so carefully wrapped, had never seemed to reach him? Had he turned away from her? Surely not. She had continued to send her thoughts after him as the months went by; and several times it had seemed to her that she could feel him thinking of her in return. But she wasn’t sure, if truth be told.

She’d always thought she’d know it if he died. It was just an assumption, an article of faith, almost.

But she hadn’t. She knew now when it must have happened. Yet at that time she’d felt nothing. Nothing at all.

As she sat in the courtyard now, in the dark, she remembered all the good things about him, all the moments they had shared. She thought of his kindly ways. Surely, she supposed, these things would bring her comfort and warmth. She wanted to open a door in the sky, through which his spirit might enter and be with her again.

But the sky was blank. His spirit did not come. As if she were inside a box whose lid had been locked, she waited in silence. Her love was lost. And she felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

◦

It was the following spring when Shi-Rong made his journey to Guilin Prefecture. He was accompanied only by two servants and his secretary, a tall young man named Peng. The journey took two months.

At the end of the first month Peng asked him: “Isn’t this the wrong way, master?” To which he replied: “You ask too many questions.” He’d taken Peng as a favor to the young man’s father, an important man, a friend of Prince Gong. The young man was Mr. Peng’s third son, and his father didn’t quite know what to do with him.

The understanding between Shi-Rong and Peng’s father was simple. “We both know you should have had a promotion years ago, my dear fellow,” Mr. Peng had declared. “There’s a job open down in Guilin. Sub-prefect. Fifth rank. Go down there. Avoid trouble. Play it safe.