Go Ask the River. Evelyn Eaton

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      He listened with added pleasure to the performers. Three of them brushed the strings, one of them played the flute. They had a distinctive style, a pure sort of silken playing, suited to the ancient classics, which these pieces were. He did not recognize all of them and called out after a while,

      “What was the name of the song that you just finished?”

      The flute player answered, “‘Green Water.’”

      “And the one before that?”

      “‘The Queen of Shu.’”

      “I have never heard them.”

      She smiled politely. She was young, and if not exactly pretty, very graceful and elegantly dressed. They were all graceful and elegant and skillful, but he was beginning to see them and everything about him through a growing haze.

      The smooth rich wine was strong, and he was drinking it by the flagon.

      “Play ‘The Day of No Fire,’” he said.

      They shook their heads. They looked puzzled.

      “Never mind,” he said thickly, while the room turned about him. “Play anything you like.”

      The heart-shaking music went on. He shut his eyes and leaned his head down, resting it on his arms, on the edge of the table. Someone brought him a cushion, and hot wet towels for his neck. After a while, he did not know how long, he began to feel better. The room stopped turning about him. He was able to sit up. He glanced shamefaced about him. Now his servant brought him strong tea and poured it for him, with little encouraging noises to put him at his ease.

      Suddenly there was a stir in the far end of the room. Coming toward him, with quiet authority, in a flurry of attentive maids, must be the Innkeeper, the Lady of the House, magnificent in green and gold, from the high comb in her hair to the jade shoes on her feet, glimmering as she moved and her jewels caught the light.

      When she drew near enough for him to see her face clearly, he was pleasantly surprised. From the stately way she walked and the deference paid to her, he expected her to be old. This was a young woman, very beautiful.

      “I am sorry I was not here to pour the first wine.” Her voice was as lovely as her face. “I hope you were well entertained?”

      “Like the King of Yueh, when he had conquered Wu.”

      She smiled.

      “The King of Yueh got very drunk,” he said, “and so did I.”

      “The King of Yueh said, if I remember well, ‘Fill my glass and let it glow in amber.’”

      “The King of Yueh had a stronger head than mine.”

      “I do not think so. Probably you were tired, or the first wine was to blame. This wine will not hurt you.” She beckoned. The servants hurried forward with new flagons, bowls of fruit, cakes and sweetmeats, baskets of dates and nuts. He began to worry again, not only about getting drunk, but about the reckoning. He cleared his throat and was searching for the right words to explain the slimness of his purse, when she puzzled him by saying:

      “The Governor is unable to greet you tonight. He charged me with his regrets and with the honor of offering you his hospitality.”

      “The Governor?” he repeated stupidly. “How did he know I would come here?”

      “Is he not expecting you?”

      “Well, yes, at his Palace,” he muttered. “But still, I don’t understand…”

      Now she looked perplexed, and he thought, “I am not the guest she expected,” and then, “Most men I suppose would seize the opportunity…” He said hurriedly:

      “I am delighted. It is only that…let me explain…my name is T’ien Chu…”

      “T’ien Chu,” she repeated. “It is a well-shaped name, but is it any reason why you cannot drink the Governor’s wine?”

      She was laughing at him.

      “You don’t understand,” he plowed on. “I am a poor scholar, a tutor for the Governor’s sons.”

      She rebuked him.

      “Scholars, rich or poor, and they are seldom rich, T’ien Chu, are particularly welcome, and educators honored here. The Governor’s Ya Men will be diminished that T’ien Chu rejects his hospitality, at the hands of this poor shadow, for such a reason.”

      “No, no,” he said hastily. “I do not reject it…for any reason… I just wanted you to know who I was, in case you expected another… As you see, I am drinking the wine.” He lifted his bowl. “To the Governor’s fragrant shadow.”

      She did not reveal her name, and he did not feel that he should press for it, curious though he was. She was beginning to attract him strongly, with her lilting voice, her painted, heart-shaped face, the charm of her gestures…all the subtle enchantment emanating from her.

      He tried to remind himself that she must be a trained and skillful performer in the seductive arts, to be the Governor’s official Hostess in this inn, where apparently he paid the reckoning for any man who came. No doubt she was the Governor’s favorite Flower-in-the-mist, and nothing she did could be sincere. But he did not believe this in his heart, and with every word she said, and everything they shared, every glance, every smile, every sipping of the wine together, in the smooth, swift passing of time suspended between them, on this strange and fortunate night, he was drawn more deeply toward her.

      Presently she took up her guitar and began to sing, small haunting songs, in the style he was beginning to think of as the music of Cheng-tu.

      The four musicians, shadowy in the background, accompanied her softly in a tune he recognized, a very ancient love song, half rueful, half humorous:

       “I will knock down the Yellow Crane House for you, with a hammer. You may upset the Parrot Island too for my sake.”

      The second was unfamiliar:

       “The Mountains of Tsang-wu may crumble, the River Hsiang go dry, our tears on the bamboo leaves will not fade forever.”

      The third he knew well, it always moved him, and he caught in his breath to hear it now:

       “Go ask the river which are longer, its eastward-flowing waters or the thoughts that fill us…”

      The thoughts that fill us. His must be evident to her.

      “T’ien Chu,” she said, “shall we sing together some song that you know?”

      “I have no voice,” he muttered.

      She put down the guitar.

      “Then shall we harmonize a poem together, composing alternate lines?”

      “Willingly.”

      She clapped her hands. A servant СКАЧАТЬ