LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

let me. And I don’t have a knife, you can’t carry a knife in a bundle.’ Binu urged the frog to hop out and show itself, but it was curled up inside Qiliang’s sandal, having got used to the warmth and darkness there, and refused to come out. A cowardly frog, it had been frightened all along the way, and now it was petrified. Binu explained the situation to the carter as she held the sandal out for him to see. ‘I’m telling you the truth, Elder Brother, there’s a frog in there. What crime have I committed by taking a frog to Great Swallow Mountain?’

      ‘Whether or not you have committed a crime is not for you to say. Your strange, furtive manner proves that you are from Huangdian! I’m telling you, the King has already arrived in Pingyang Prefecture, where people from Huangdian, and snakes, are to be eradicated!’

      ‘I am not from Huangdian; I live in Peach Village. And this frog is not a snake. Please, look inside this sandal, and you’ll see it’s a frog, not a snake.’

      ‘So you refuse to admit that you’re from Huangdian. The people of Huangdian have rebelled against the court for thirty years. Men and women alike have ventured forth as assassins and bandits. Who but a woman from Huangdian would travel from place to place alone, and who would hide a frog in a sandal? It is probably a dangerous frog, maybe a snake reborn in disguise! I’m telling you for your own good, if you travel beyond Blue Cloud Pass and reach Pingyang Prefecture, you’ll see what’s waiting for you. Snakes are the King’s greatest fear. No matter how you raise them, they’ll still bite you. And people from Huangdian are the King’s mortal enemies. No matter how you deal with them, they will never submit. They are born with one thought: to assassinate the King. Let me remind you that all the grass in every town and village of Lulin Prefecture was burned, over and over, until every last snake egg was fried to a crisp. Anyone from Huangdian, young or old, is to be arrested and burned alive!’

      That terrified Binu. She was not from Huangdian – which was on the other side of North Mountain – but she was frightened nonetheless. Her mind in turmoil, she clutched her bundle and walked to a roadside stand where straw baskets were for sale. People were staring at her bundle, so, with rising indignation, she showed them Qiliang’s sandal. ‘Everyone take a look. Is this a frog or is it a snake? Of course it’s a frog, but he says it’s a snake reborn as a frog.’ Their curiosity roused, people gathered round to inspect the frog and try to guess where Binu had come from.

      ‘Carrying a frog or carrying a snake, what’s the difference?’ one of them said. ‘If this woman isn’t a sorceress, she’s a madwoman!’

      In the prosperous town of Bluegrass Ravine, Binu discovered how it felt to be alone and forsaken. She did not know how to lie, yet the people refused to believe her. When she related her sad story, they doubted her from the very beginning. She told them she was from Peach Village, not Huangdian, that the two places were separated by a mountain, and that her accent was nothing like people from Huangdian. But the people in Bluegrass Ravine had no way of differentiating between the two accents, so they asked her, ‘The people of Peach Village, are they assassins, too?’

      Binu told them she was the wife of Wan Qiliang. ‘Have any of you ladies and gentlemen seen my Qiliang?’

      They laughed. ‘No one here knows your Wan Qiliang.’

      ‘Who is this Wan Qiliang?’ someone asked. ‘Does he have his name tattooed on his forehead?’ They told her that hundreds of thousands of workers were building the Great Wall, so who could possibly know anyone named Wan Qiliang?

      Many of the people showed unusual interest in the bundle on her head, reaching out with dirty hands to grab hold of Qiliang’s winter coat. ‘Do you mean to say you’re travelling all the way to Great Swallow Mountain just to give this to your husband?’

      ‘Yes,’ Binu replied, ‘I’m taking him winter clothing. What else can I do? When my Qiliang was dragged off he wasn’t even wearing a shirt.’

      It was a simple statement of fact, but the people treated it as the ravings of a madwoman or a dreamlike fantasy. Binu decided not to talk any more.

      ‘You people won’t believe anything I say, so I’m better off not saying anything,’ she muttered to herself as she painstakingly rewrapped her bundle. ‘If I pretend I’m a mute, you won’t think I’m crazy,’ she said to the old man selling the straw baskets. ‘All I have to do to make you believe me is lie.’

      Looking at her out of the corner of his eye, the carter snorted and said, ‘Telling lies is hard for a woman like you. Not saying anything is even harder.’

      Binu had the feeling that this old man knew what was in her heart, but she was not about to appear weak, so she put her bundle back on her head and said, ‘How hard can it be to pretend I’m a mute? You say that not talking is hard; well, this time, I’ve made up my mind. You can all forget about trying to talk to me.’

      The carter leaned against his donkey cart and blocked Binu’s way with his leg. It was a skinny, filthy leg that stuck out from under his fancy jacket, but it was more aggressive than an arm. He rudely but forcefully placed it against Binu’s hip. ‘Leaving already?’ he said. ‘Where to? I hear the sound of sabre coins in that bundle of yours. You’re going to have to leave some as a road tax.’

      With a mixture of anger and shame, Binu pushed his leg away. Though she had vowed only moments ago not to speak, with his leg blocking her way, she had to say something. ‘What do you mean, a road tax? You’re a highwayman, one who uses his feet!’ She rubbed her cheek with one finger, trying to shame the man. ‘Elder Brother,’ she said, ‘I don’t like to curse people, but that foot of yours is more obscene than other people’s hands!’

      He mocked her with a sneer. ‘I thought you were going to be a mute,’ he said. ‘Why are you talking?’ He abruptly lifted his crossed arms out from his armpits and said ‘Hands? Hands are for fools. I’ve never touched a woman with my hands. Here, look for my hands. Where are they?’

      Binu was astounded. There were no hands, just two stumps sticking up in the air, a pair of tree stumps flaunting their withered, severed stubs, the fingers and palms long gone. With a dreadful shriek, she covered her eyes. ‘Elder Brother,’ she asked, despite her fear, ‘who chopped off your hands?’

      The carter deliberately displayed his handless stumps, first the left and then the right. ‘Why are you so interested in these? Thinking of marrying me?’ He sniggered menacingly. ‘Who cut them off? Guess. I tell you, you can try till the end of time, but you’ll never guess. I did it myself to avoid being taken to Great Swallow Mountain! First I cut off my left hand, but the pressgang man said that missing the left hand made no difference, since I could still carry stones with my right. So I asked my father to help me cut the right one off. I’ll make your hair stand on end when I tell you what happened then. The pressgang messenger was outside pounding on our door while I was inside cutting off my right hand, but with my father’s help both hands were gone just as he broke down the door.’

      ‘I can see that your hands are gone, Elder Brother,’ said an ashen-faced Binu as she peeked through the gaps between her fingers. ‘But how can you drive a cart with no hands?’

      ‘I’ve got feet! Everyone in Bluegrass Ravine knows the carter with no palms. My legs and my feet are known far and wide by everyone except a stupid woman like you, who doesn’t know what I can do with them. They are itching to put on a show.’ He raised them slowly, brought them together like a pair of hands, and clasped the reins between them. ‘I tell you,’ he said, looking Binu in the eye, ‘I’m a retainer in the employment of Lord Hengming, who would never have taken me on if I hadn’t possessed the unique skill of driving a cart with my feet.’

      At a loss to understand the special status that the carter was boasting about, Binu’s face wore only an expression of deep-seated fear, without admiration or respect. Apparently displeased, Wuzhang, or ‘No Palms’ said. ‘What are you staring at? Is that pity I see? You pity me? You can keep your damned pity. If I hadn’t chopped off my hands, I’d have been dragged off to Great Swallow Mountain to work like a slave. If I’d kept my hands, I’d never have developed the special skill of driving a cart with

Скачать книгу