ContactWitching Vale, by Su Wei
Chapter 4: At the Water's Edge
- Chapter 4, section 5
- OTHER EXCERPTS TBA
While grazing his cattle, fancifully named for characters in the forbidden Western books that he packs in his satchel on his long sojourns in the mountains, Lu Beiping meets the wild-woman Jade, who leads him up a shallow stream into a hidden hollow where she and her family live. There, at dinner in her hut, Lu Beiping meets Stump, Kingfisher, and Autumn, her three male companions, and their nest of wild-born children. Jade and her unusual family are "driftfolk," unregistered migrants who live on the shadowy margins of China's strictly regulated society. During dinner, Lu Beiping violates family taboos of which he is not aware; on the way home, Autumn explains.
5
On the far side of the stream the cattle rested. They'd eaten their fill, and were tired now: their dark forms nestled on the slope. Lu Beiping followed Autumn. As they drew near the cattle stirred and murmured.
Lu Beiping shouted for Antony. The cattle woke, gathered in ranks for the return trip. Lu Beiping breathed a sigh of relief.
Weird place. Weird people. In his short life he'd never met anybody so strange.
Cold moonlight. The shadowy hollow was splashed with silver; the bundled folds of the mountain stood framed in its mouth, like a huge octopus at ease in still waters. A wind picked up, carrying a hint of cold. Lu Beiping stepped into the stream, gasped as its chill pierced his rubber boots. Autumn, barefoot, didn't seem to mind. The cattle splashed through the water. They were eager to get home, Lu Beiping thought. He was too.
As they made their way down the creek the jungle's mildew-odor and its familiar sounds enveloped him again. He searched his mind for something to say. He needed to talk.
—The dog's quiet, he said finally. He was making quite a scene earlier.
—I tied him up. You scared him good, coming in with your... thunderous host.
They laughed, each to himself. They walked on in silence for a bit. At last Autumn said:
—How old are you? If you don't mind me asking. When did you come to the country?
—Guess.
—Can't say. City boys look alike to me.
—City boys look alike? Lu Beiping laughed.
—You look a little younger than me, Autumn said. I graduated middle school in sixty-five. You?
—Sixty-nine. I mean, I would have, theoretically. I never actually went to middle school, though, soon as I graduated from fifth grade they shipped us all off.
—But you know Peter, Judas, Antony. Part of the country I'm from, even high-schoolers don't know those names.
Lu Beiping glanced at Autumn. He knew them, clearly. Lu Beiping said:
—Yeah, but there's a lot I don't know. Like: the history of all class-conflict is... no no no, the history of all humankind is the history of, shit, whatever. I failed every test.
He guffawed, thrashed the plants on the bank with his machete.
Autumn laughed softly, but there was a pained look on his face.
—Let's not talk about those things.
Lu Beiping wondered what "part of the country" Autumn was from. Somewhere on the mainland, he guessed. When did he come to Hainan? He supposed he ought not to ask about that history. Driftfolk had their reasons for drifting. He and Autumn went on in silence, water lapping at their ankles. From somewhere up ahead, Lu Beiping heard a soft splashing barely audible over the creek's gurgle, probably some nocturnal animal out and about. He reached for his machete. Autumn put a hand on his shoulder.
—Snake, crossing the water. Don't startle her. Anger no serpents, wake no haunts—one of Kingfisher's laws. Should have told you earlier.
Kingfisher's laws. That was something to talk about.
—So, Lu Beiping asked, when we were all eating supper, what law was it I... sinned against?
Autumn was silent for a while. Then he said:
—Kingfisher's got many laws. Many sins. Me, for one.
What was that supposed to mean?
Lu Beiping threw a glance at Autumn. In the dappled moonlight sieved through the branches his face looked quietly austere.
—Smudge's dad died, Autumn went on. Day after he was born. Was smudged, we say here in the mountains, never say die, say smudged. Felled a tree, tree fell on him, smudged him. When Smudge was born his dad chose that name for him, said we driftfolk are lowly, give a man a lowly name and death will pass over him. But Smudge smudged his own pa. His own father's bane. So. He's not always welcome.
Lu Beiping remembered the cold looks around the dinner table, the sense of trespass. He shuddered. Not welcome?
—Smudge... is he, is he Jade's kid?
—Yes. Her firstborn. The little ones are hers too. Tick and Roach.
—By... Kingfisher? He hesitated. Stump, too?
Autumn nodded.
—Yes. But Smudge is closest to her heart. She still has him call her Pa. In secret though, always in secret. We can't let on... when Kingfisher's around. Another law.
—And snakes? Why can't you anger them?
Autumn gave him a look that was either an appraisal or a warning.
—Allow me, friend, to break one of your laws. Some things of a... reactionary nature.
—Go ahead.
—It's said all living things have a soul. I believe it. Kingfisher says hot-blooded beasts, birds, baboons, humans, or most humans, have spirits, and these spirits are divines. Cold-blooded creatures that creep and crawl, snakes and insects and such, have spirits too. But these spirits aren't divines. They're haunts. Weirds.
—How, how about dead people, Lu Beiping stammered. He thought of Peony, her spirit: a haunt, or a divine?
—Dead souls are cold-blooded. When a hot-blooded creature becomes a dead soul, that makes bad air. Killing air. Smudge has the killing air about him, Kingfisher says.
—How about you? You say you're... a sin?
—They say my blood's cold. They're right.
Lu Beiping shuddered. He thought of Peony again, and was silent. They walked on.
After a long silence, Lu Beiping said:
—How do you get by, up there? Selling wood, don't they say you're...
—Capitalists? Sure. We've got special permission though. You all are part of Danzhou County, but up here we belong to Whitesands. Whitesands is afraid you down in Danzhou will eat up all the timber on the mountain, so they let us up here. Kingfisher's got papers.
He seemed to be telling a story he had often told before. He sighed.
—Hard work. Who else to do it, but driftfolk?
The cattle stopped. They'd come to a familiar bend in the river, knew the path home. Lu Beiping hollered, got them on the trail, then turned and said:
—I'm okay now, I know the way.
—It's early yet, I'll go with on with you. If you don't mind. I'd like to see your... abode.
Abode, Lu Beiping grinned. Thought for a moment, said:
—Alright, come along then. I've got some medicine I can give you. For Smudge. If that's not against your laws or anything.
Autumn laughed bitterly. They quickened their pace, thinking of Smudge. Down through a gully, across another creek-bend. The cattle started to low, creating a quiet hubbub: they sensed they were near home. Before long they were nosing at the gate of the pen. Antony! Lu Beiping called, then grabbed his rake and deftly knocked a clump off the mountain of grass he'd piled near the pen, gathered it in his arms, tossed it in. As the cattle shouldered for the feed, he sprung aside, leapt up onto the axle of the ox-cart, and looked over the sea of bovine backs. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. Seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight.
Autumn studied Lu Beiping, seeming surprised, as if he hadn't expected him capable of practiced, lithe movements.
—There'll be more than that soon, he told Autumn proudly. Two of my cows are pregnant, at least. Before long we'll have a family!
Autumn didn't respond. A cloud seemed to pass over his face.
It was smelly in the hut, full of mingled odors of mist, sweat, new thatch, plus the familiar rankness of his boots. He lit the lamp, looked back for Autumn. He hadn't come in, still stood outside with the same brooding look on his face he wore at the supper table up in Jade's shack. Lu Beiping called for him to come in, but Autumn didn't move. Lu Beiping turned to root in his bag for the medicine pouch. Damn. He'd taken all the quinine already—ever since he'd come into the mountains he'd lived in fear of tropical diseases, malaria and worse, had popped pills daily without mind to whether they were supposed to be taken prophylactically. All he had left now were piddling things, herbal remedies and dietary supplements, stuff they'd given him at the company infirmary. He grabbed a bottle of painkillers, held it out to Autumn.
—This'll have to do for now. I'll run down to the village, get some real medicine.
He rummaged some more, looking for something fun for Smudge. His hand fell on the cold metal of his harmonica; he hesitated, picked it up. But when he turned to give it to Autumn the man had vanished.
He rushed to the door, but Autumn was already gone. He heard the dwindling slosh of footsteps in the creek.
Another strange one, he thought.