The Hundred Secret Senses

  As I climbed out of the mountain’s womb, I felt I was being born into the world again. It was day, but the sky was white not blue, drained of color. Around the sun was a ring of many pale colors. Had the world already changed? What lay beyond these mountains—life or death?

  When I reached the archway just above Changmian, I saw the village was there, the crowded marketplace, everything looking the same as before. Alive! Everyone was alive! This gave me hope about Miss Banner, and I cried. As I hurried down the path, I bumped into a man leading his buffalo ox. I stopped him, told him the news, and asked him to warn his family and others: “Remove all signs of ‘The Good News,’ God, and Jesus. Speak quietly and do not cause alarm. Otherwise the soldiers will see what we are doing. Then disaster will visit today instead of tomorrow.”

  I ran toward other people and said the same thing. I banged on the gate to the roundhouses where Hakkas lived, ten families under one roof. I went quickly from household to household. Hah! I thought I was so clever, warning the village in such a calm and orderly way. But then I heard a man shouting, “Death is coming for you, you shit-eating worm!” And his neighbor cried back, “Accuse me, will you? I’ll tell the Manchus you’re bastard brother to the Heavenly King.”

  At that instant—ki-kak!—we all heard it, like the cracking of dry wood. Everyone fell quiet. Then came another crack, this one like the splitting of a tall tree at its thick trunk. Nearby, a man howled, “Guns! The soldiers are already here!” And in an instant people began spilling out of their houses, grabbing on to the sleeves of those fleeing down the street.

  “Who’s coming?”

  “What! A death warrant for all Hakkas?”

  “Go! Go! Find your brothers. We’re running away!”

  The warnings turned into shouts, the shouts into screams, and above that, I could hear the high-pitched wails of mothers calling for their children. I stood in the middle of the lane, bumped by people running this way and that. Look what I had done! Now the entire village would be killed with a single volley of gunfire. People were climbing into the mountains, spreading across like stars in the sky.

  I raced down the lane, toward the Ghost Merchant’s House. Then came another gunshot, and I knew it had come from within those walls. When I reached the back alleyway gate, there was another explosion, this one echoing through the lanes. I darted inside the back courtyard, then stood still. I was breathing and listening, then listening to my breathing. I scampered to the kitchen, pressed my ear against the door that led into the dining room. No sounds. I pushed the door open, ran to the window facing the courtyard. From there I could see the soldiers by the gate. What luck!—they were sleeping. But then I looked again. One soldier’s arm was twisted, the other’s leg was bent. Ai! They were dead! Who did this? Had they angered Cape? Was he now killing everybody? And where was Miss Banner?

  When I turned down the corridor toward her room, I saw a man’s naked body, smashed facedown on the ground. Flies were feasting in the fresh gourd of his brains. Ai-ya! Who was this unlucky person? Dr. Too Late? Pastor Amen? I crept past the body, as if he might awake. A few steps later, I saw last night’s dinner, the shank bone now brown with hair and blood. General Cape must have done this. Who else had he killed? Before I could wonder too much longer, I heard sounds coming from God’s House. The music box was playing, and Pastor was singing, as if this Seventh Day were like any other. As I hurried across the courtyard toward God’s House, Pastor’s singing turned to sobs, then the bellow of an animal. And above this, I heard Miss Banner— still alive!—scolding as if she were talking to a naughty child. But a moment later, she began to wail, “No, no, no, no!” before a big explosion cut her off. I raced into the room, and what I saw made my body turn to stone, then sand. By the altar, lying bent and crooked—Miss Banner in her yellow dress, the Jesus Worshippers in shiny Sunday black—like a butterfly and four beetles squashed dead on the stone floor. Wah! Gone so fast—I could still hear their cries echoing in the room. I listened more carefully. These were not echoes but— “Miss Banner?” I called. She lifted her head. Her hair was unbound, her mouth a silent dark hole. Blood was spattered on her bosom. Ai, maybe she really was dead.

  “Miss Banner, are you a ghost?”

  She moaned like one, then shook her head. She held out her arm. “Come help me, Miss Moo. My leg is broken.”

  As I walked toward the altar, I thought the other foreigners would rise too. But they remained still, holding hands, forever sleeping in pools of bright blood. I squatted beside her. “Miss Banner,” I whispered, searching the corners of the room. “Where is Cape?”

  “Dead,” she answered.

  “Dead! Then who killed—”

  “I can’t bear to talk about that now.” Her voice was shaky, nervous, which of course made me wonder if she— But no, I couldn’t imagine Miss Banner killing anyone. And then I heard her ask with a scared face: “Tell me, quick. Yiban—where is Yiban?”

  When I said he was safe in a cave, her face sagged with relief. She sobbed, unable to stop. I tried to soothe her. “Soon you’ll be reunited with him. The cave is not so far away.”

  “I can’t walk even one step. My leg.” She lifted her skirt, and I saw her right leg was swollen, a piece of bone sticking out. Now I told my third lie: “This is not so bad. Where I grew up, a person with a leg like this could still walk all over the mountain, no problem. Of course, being a foreigner, you are not as strong. But as soon as I find a way to bind your leg, we’ll escape from here.”

  She smiled, and I was grateful to know that a person in love will believe anything as long as it gives hope. “Wait here,” I said. I ran to her room and searched through the drawer containing her private ladies’ things. I found the stiff garment she used for pinching in her waist and pushing up her bosom, also her stockings with the holes at the heels. I ran back and used these clothes to splint her leg. And when I was done, I helped her stand and limp to the bench at the back of God’s House. Only then, away from those who were alive just a short while before, was she able to say how and why each person was killed.

  She began by telling me what happened after Lao Lu lost his head and I fell senseless to the ground. The Jesus Worshippers, she said, joined hands and sang the music box song: “When Death turns the corner, our Lord we shall meet.”

  “Stop singing!” Cape then ordered. And Miss Mouse—you know how she was always so nervous—she shouted at Cape, “I don’t fear you or death, only God. Because when I die, I’m going to heaven like this poor man you killed. And you, bastard of the devil, you’ll roast in hell.” Yes! Can you imagine Miss Mouse saying that? If I had been there, I would have cheered.

  But her words did not frighten Cape. “Roast?” he said. “I’ll show you what the devil likes to roast.” He called his soldiers: “Cut off this dead man’s leg and cook it over a fire.” The soldiers laughed, thinking this was a joke. Cape barked out the order again, and the soldiers leapt forward to obey. The foreigners cried and tried to leave. How could they watch such an evil sight? Cape growled that if they didn’t watch and laugh, each of their right hands would be next to go over the fire. So the foreigners stayed and watched. They laughed and vomited at the same time. Everyone was scared to death of Cape, everyone except Lao Lu, since he was already dead. And when he saw his leg turning on a spit— well, how much can a ghost stand before he turns to revenge?

  Early in the morning, before the sun came up, Miss Banner heard a knock on her door. She rose and left Cape sleeping soundly in her bed. From outside, she heard an angry voice. It sounded familiar yet not. It was a man, shouting in the Cantonese of rough workingmen. “General Fake! General Fake! Get up, you lazy dog! Come and see! Brother Jesus has arrived. He’s come to drag your carcass to hell.” Wah! Who could this be? Certainly not one of the soldiers. But who else sounded like a coarse-talking kuli?

  Cape then cursed: “Damn you, man, I’ll kill you for ruining my sleep.”

  The Chinese voice yelled back: “Too late, you son
of a bastard dog. I’m already dead.”

  Cape jumped out of bed, grabbed his pistol. But when he threw open the door, he began to laugh. There was Pastor Amen, the crazy man. He was cursing like a fifth-generation kuli, the shank bone from last night’s dinner balanced on his shoulder. Miss Banner thought to herself, How strange that Pastor can now speak the native tongue so well. Then she rushed to the door to warn the madman to go away. When Cape turned to push her back, Pastor swung the shank bone and cracked open the fake general’s skull. He struck him again and again, his swings so wild that one of them caught Miss Banner on the shin. Finally Pastor threw the bone down and shouted at his enemy, long past dead: “I’ll kick you with my good leg when we meet in the other world.”

  That’s when Miss Banner suspected Lao Lu’s ghost had jumped into Pastor’s empty mind. She watched this man who was both living and dead. He picked up Cape’s pistol and ran across the courtyard, and called to the soldiers guarding the gate. From where Miss Banner lay, she heard one explosion. Soon another came. And then she heard Pastor cry in his foreigner’s tongue: “Dear God! What have I done?” All that noise had wakened him from his cloudy dreams.

  Miss Banner said that when she saw Pastor next, he had the face of a living ghost. He staggered toward his room, but came across Cape’s body first, then Miss Banner with her broken leg. She cowered as if he would strike her again.

  For many hours, Pastor and the other Jesus Worshippers discussed what had happened, what they must do. Miss Banner listened to their talk of doom. If the Manchus saw what Pastor had done, Miss Mouse pointed out, he and the rest of them would be tortured alive. Which of them had the strength to lift the bodies and bury them? None. Should they run away? To where? There was no place they knew of where they could hide. Then Dr. Too Late suggested they end their suffering by killing themselves. But Mrs. Amen argued, “Taking our own lives would be a great sin, the same as murdering someone else.”

  “I’ll put us all to rest,” said Pastor. “I’m already condemned to hell for killing those three. At least let me be the one to deliver you to peace.”

  Only Miss Banner tried to persuade them against this idea. “There’s always hope,” she said. And they told her that any hope now lay beyond the grave. So she watched as they prayed in God’s House, as they ate Mrs. Amen’s stale Communion bread, as they drank water, pretending it was wine. And then they swallowed Dr. Too Late’s pills to forget all their pains.

  What happened after that you already know.

  Miss Banner and I had no strength to bury the Jesus Worshippers. Yet we could not leave them as an easy meal for hungry flies. I went to the garden. I pulled down the white clothes I had washed the day before. I thought about all the terrible things that had happened during the time the laundry had changed from wet to dry. As I wrapped our friends in those hurry-up funeral shrouds, Miss Banner went to their rooms and tried to find a remembrance of each to put in her music box. Since Cape had already stolen their treasures, all that was left were pitiful scraps. For Dr. Too Late, it was a little bottle that once contained his opium pills. For Miss Mouse, a leather glove she always clutched when in fear. For Mrs. Amen, the buttons she popped off her blouses when she sang out loud. For Pastor Amen, a travel book. And for Lao Lu, the tin with leaves from the holy tree. She placed these things in the box, along with the album where she wrote her thoughts. Then we lighted the altar candles that had melted to stubs. I took from my pocket the key Miss Banner had given me the night before. I wound the box, we played the song. And Miss Banner sang the words the foreigners loved so much.

  When the song was over, we prayed to their God. This time I was sincere. I bowed my head. I closed my eyes. I said out loud, “I lived with them for six years. They were like my family, although I didn’t know them very well. But I can honestly say they were loyal friends of your son, also to us. Please welcome them to your home. Pastor too.”

  HOW MUCH TIME did we have before the Manchus would come? I did not know then, but I can tell you now. It was not enough.

  Before we escaped, I tore off the skirt of Miss Banner’s everyday dress and made a sling for the music box. I threw this over my left shoulder, Miss Banner leaned on my right, and we two hobbled out as one. But when we reached the door to leave God’s House, a sudden wind blew past us. I turned around and saw the clothes of the Jesus Worshippers billowing as if their bodies were renewed with breath. Stacks of “The Good News” scattered, and those papers that flew on top of the burning candles burst into flame. Soon I could smell the Ghost Merchant, chili and garlic, very strong, as if a welcome-home banquet were being prepared. And maybe this was imagination that springs from too much fear. But I saw him—Miss Banner did not—his long robes, and beneath that, his two new feet in thick-soled shoes. He was walking and nodding, finally back in his unlucky house.

  Hop by hop, Miss Banner and I climbed into those mountains. Sometimes she would stumble and land on her bad leg, then cry, “Leave me here. I can’t go on.”

  “Stop this nonsense,” I would scold each time. “Yiban is waiting, and you’ve already made us late.” That was always enough to make Miss Banner try again.

  At the top of the first archway, I looked back at the empty village. Half of the Ghost Merchant’s House was on fire. A great black cloud was growing above it, like a message to the Manchus to hurry to Changmian.

  By the time we reached the second archway, we heard the explosions. There was no way to hurry ourselves except in that place where our stomachs churned. It was growing dark, the wind had stopped. Our clothes were sweat-drenched from our struggle to come this far. Now we had to climb along the rocky side of the mountain, where one misstep could send us tumbling into the ravine. “Come, Miss Banner,” I urged. “We’re almost there.” She was looking at her bad leg, now swollen to the size of two.

  I had an idea. “Wait here,” I told her. “I’ll hurry to the cave where Yiban is. Then the two of us can carry you in.” She grasped my hands, and I could see in her eyes that she was frightened of being left alone.

  “Take the music box,” she said. “Put it in a safe place.”

  “I’m coming back,” I answered. “You know this, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I only meant you should take it now so that there is less to carry later on.” I took her box of memories and staggered forward.

  At each cave or crevice I passed, a voice would cry out, “This one’s already taken! No room!” That’s where people in the village had gone. The caves were plugged up with fear, a hundred mouths holding their breath. I climbed up, then down, searching for the cave hidden by a rock. More explosions! I began to curse like Lao Lu, regretting every wasted moment going by. And then—at last!—I found the rock, then the opening, and lowered myself in. The lamp was still there, a good sign that other people had not come in and that Yiban had not gone out. I put down the music box and lighted the lamp, and groped slowly through the twisty bowels of the cave, hoping with each step that my exhausted mind would not take me the wrong way. And then I saw the glow ahead, like dawn light in a trouble-free world. I burst into the room with the shining lake, crying, “Yiban! Yiban! I’m back. Hurry, come and help Miss Banner! She’s standing outside, between safety and death.”

  No answer. So I called again, this time louder. I walked around the lake. A dozen fears pinched my heart. Had Yiban tried to make his way out and gotten lost? Had he fallen in the lake and drowned? I searched near the stone village. What was this? A wall had been knocked over. And along another part of the ledge, blocks of stone had been piled high. My eye traveled upward, and I could see where a person could grab here, step up there, all the way to a crack in the roof, an opening wide enough for a man to squeeze through. And I could see that through that hole all our hopes had flown out.

  When I returned, Miss Banner was sticking her head out of the archway, calling, “Yiban, are you there?” When she saw I was alone, she cried, “Ai-ya! Has he been killed?”

  I shook my head,
then told her how I had broken my promise. “He’s gone to find you,” I said in a sorry voice. “This is my fault.” She did not say what I was thinking: that if Yiban had still been in that cave, all three of us could have been saved. Instead, she turned, limped to the other side of the archway, and searched for him in the night. I stood behind her, my heart in shreds. The sky was orange, the wind tasted of ash. And now we could see small dots of light moving through the valley below, the lanterns of soldiers, bobbing like fireflies. Death was coming, we knew this, and it was terrible to wait. But Miss Banner did not cry. She said, “Miss Moo, where will you go? Which place after death? Your heaven or mine?”

  What a peculiar question. As if I could decide. Didn’t the gods choose for us? But I did not want to argue, on this, our last day. So I simply said, “Wherever Zeng and Lao Lu have gone, that’s where I’ll go too.”

  “That would be your heaven, then.” We were quiet for a few moments. “Where you are going, Miss Moo, do you have to be Chinese? Would they allow me in?”

  This question was even stranger than the last! “I don’t know. I have never talked to anyone who has been there and back. But I think if you speak Chinese, maybe this is enough. Yes, I’m sure of it.”

  “And Yiban, since he is half-and-half, where would he go? If we choose the opposite—”

  Ah, now I understood all her questions. I wanted to comfort her. So I told her the last lie: “Come, Miss Banner. Come with me. Yiban already told me. If he dies, he will meet you again, in the World of Yin.”

  She believed me, because I was her loyal friend. “Please take my hand, Miss Moo,” she said. “Don’t let go until we arrive.”

  And together we waited, both happy and sad, scared to death until we died.