The Ancient Ship. Zhang Wei

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      Jiansu found it impossible to understand how anyone could be so stubborn. Given the man’s talents, why didn’t he become a technician? It would mean a doubling of his wages and prestige, not to mention a more relaxed job. But Baopu shook his head every time the issue came up. Quiet was too important to him, he said, although Jiansu found that hard to believe.

      The day after Jiansu told his brother about what had happened at the drying floor, he drove his cart back onto the gravel road to the port city. As it bumped and rattled along, he held his whip close to his body and was reminded of what he’d said: “The Sui family will not carry their whip forever.” Angered by the thought, he lashed out at the horse. The round trip took four or five days, and on the road home, as he neared town, he spotted the riverbank line of “fortresses” and the old city wall. The sight energized him.

      The first thing Jiansu did after bringing his cart to a halt was go see his brother. He heard a rumble when he was still quite a distance from the mill, and when he walked in the door he saw the gears of the machinery and the converor belt. He was dumbstruck. With a tightening in his chest, he muttered in a shaky voice, “Who did this?” Baopu told him it was Li Zhichang and their uncle. Jiansu cursed, then, without another word, sat down.

      Over the next several days, Jiansu stayed away from the mill so as to avoid the confusing sight of those spinning gears. He predicted that before long, all the mills and processing rooms would be mechanized, which would be a boon for the Zhao clan. He paced back and forth on the sunset-drenched riverbank, staying as far from the mills as possible. The distant strains of a flute came through the mist, played by the bachelor everyone called Gimpy, a shrill, jumpy sound. Jiansu stood looking down at the shallow water and thinking about his uncle, who had helped Li Zhichang in the project; nearly cursing out loud, he cracked his knuckles.

      Coming down off the riverbank, he rushed over to see his uncle.

      Sui Buzhao lived a fair distance from his niece and nephews in a room outside the compound, where he’d lived ever since leaving the sea behind him. No lamps had been lit and the front door was open. Pausing in the doorway, where the smell of liquor was strong, Jiansu heard the sound of a bowl banging on the table and knew that his uncle was home. “Is that you, Jiansu?” Sui Buzhao asked.

      “Yes,” Jiansu replied as he stepped inside.

      Sui Buzhao was sitting on the kang in the dark with his legs crossed, dipping his bowl into a liquor vat. “Drinking in the dark is the way to go,” he said, offering a cup to Jiansu, who took it and drank. Buzhao wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He slurped his liquor; Jiansu never made noise when he drank. Sui Buzhao had often eaten raw fish aboard ship, washing it down with strong liquor to smother the fishy smell. Jiansu, who seldom drank, accompanied his uncle for nearly an hour, with grievances and anger burning inside him.

      Suddenly Buzhao’s bowl fell to the floor and shattered, the sound causing Jiansu to break out in a cold sweat. “Jiansu,” his uncle asked, “did you hear Gimpy play that flute of his? You must have. Well, the damned thing keeps me awake at night. I’ve spent the last few nights wandering through town, and I feel like I’m ready to die. But how could I expect you to know?” He grabbed his nephew’s shoulder; Jiansu wondered what was troubling his uncle as Buzhao drew back his hand and massaged his knees. Then, without warning, he put his mouth up to Jiansu’s ear and said loudly, “Someone in the Sui clan has died!”

      Jiansu stared blankly at his uncle. Even in the dark he could see two lines of shiny tears running down the old man’s face. “Who?”

      “Sui Dahu. They say he died up at the front, and it might be true…I’m the only person in Wali who knows.” The old man’s voice had a nasal quality. Though a distant younger cousin, Sui Dahu was still a member of the Sui clan, and Jiansu took the news hard. The old man went on: “What a shame, he was quite a man. Last year, before he left, I went over to drink with him. He was only eighteen, didn’t even have the hint of a moustache.” Shrill notes from Gimpy’s flute came on the air, sounding as if the player’s tongue was a frozen stick. With the flute music swirling around Jiansu, the hazy image of Dahu floated up in front of him. Too bad! Dahu would never again set foot in Wali. As he listened to the icy strains of flute music, Jiansu had a revelation: We’re all bachelors, and Gimpy’s flute plays our song.

      Sui Buzhao was soon so drunk he fell off his kang, and when Jiansu picked him up he discovered that the old man was wearing only a pair of shorts; his skin was cold to the touch. Jiansu laid him out on the kang as he would a misbehaving child.

      Not until three days after his ferocious drinking bout did the old man finally wake up. Even then he spoke gibberish and kept tripping over his own feet. So he propped himself up against the window and informed anyone who would listen that a large ship had pulled up to the pier, with Zheng He himself at the tiller, and he wondered why he was still in the town of Wali. Jiansu and Baopu watched over him; Han-zhang cooked for him three times a day. When Baopu began sweeping the floor and removing cobwebs from the window, his uncle stopped him. “No need for that. I won’t be here long. I’m getting on that ship. Come with me, and we’ll sail the seas together. Or would you rather die in a dead-end town like this?”

      Nothing Baopu said could change his uncle’s mind, so he told him he was sick. “I’m sick?” the old man shouted, his tiny gray eyes opening wide. “It’s this town that’s sick. It stinks. Can’t you smell it?” He crinkled up his nose. “At sea we deal in nautical miles, which equal sixty li, although some stupid bastards insist it’s only thirty. To test the depth, measured in fathoms, you drop a greased, weighted rope into the water, it’s called a plumb…” Baopu stayed with his uncle and sent Jiansu to get Guo Yun, a doctor of Chinese medicine.

      Jiansu left and returned with Guo Yun.

      After feeling the old man’s pulse, Guo Yun left a prescription that would bring him around in three days. Hanzhang sat at the table watching, and when Guo Yun stood up to leave, he turned, spotted her, and froze. Her brows looked penciled on, two thin black lines. Her dark eyes shone, though her gaze was cold. The skin on her face and neck was so fair, so snowy white, it was nearly transparent. The elderly doctor stroked his beard, an uncomprehending look on his face. He sat back down on the stool and said he’d like to feel Hanzhang’s pulse. She refused.

      “You’re not well, I’ll bet on it,” he said as he turned to Baopu. “In nature growth is inevitable, yet moderation is essential. Without growth there can be no maturation, and without moderation growth is endangered.” Baopu could make no sense of that, but he urged Hanzhang to do as the doctor said. Again she refused. Guo Yun sighed and walked out the door. They watched his back until it disappeared.

       THREE

      In the end Sui Jiansu quit his job at the factory, surprising many people, since a Sui had never before given up the calling. For him, however, it was an easy decision. After visiting the commerce office and checking with the Gaoding Street Party secretary, Li Yuming, and Luan Chunji, the street director, he received permission to open a tobacco and liquor stall. A month later he found an empty building just off the street, ideally located to expand his business into a shop. He went to the mill again to talk his brother into joining him in the venture, but Baopu shook his head. “Well, then,” Jiansu said, dejected, “since your calligraphy is so good, will you paint a shop sign for me?”

      The old millstone rumbled. Baopu took the writing brush. “What’s it called?”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ