Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [153]
The blood-colored wild chrysanthemums bloomed in madness. The plants hung over my fences and covered the ground of my courtyard. Still shaken by the contents of a letter recently sent by Prince Kung, I was in no mood to appreciate the flowers. In his letter, the prince described his day. It was after he delivered the treaties signed by his dying brother, Emperor Hsien Feng.
“I was escorted to the Forbidden City by General Sheng Pao, who was no longer captive, and four hundred horsemen. I then took only twenty men and entered the main hall of the Board of Rites to meet with my counterpart, Lord Elgin.” Through Prince Kung’s choice of words I sensed his anger. “This was my first time entering the heavenly ground after the foreigners had assaulted it. Lord Elgin was three hours late. He entered with two thousand men in a display of pomp. He rode in a crimson palanquin borne by sixteen men, knowing that this privilege was reserved only for the Emperor of China. I made an effort to be gracious, although I was disgusted beyond description. I bowed slightly and shook Elgin’s hands in the Chinese style. I struggled and succeeded in keeping my emotions from spilling.”
I admired the wisdom of his concluding words, addressed to Su Shun and the court: “If we do not learn to restrain our rage but continue with hostilities, we are liable to sudden catastrophe. We must advise our people throughout the nation to act in accordance with the treaties and not allow the foreigners to go even slightly beyond them. In our external expression we should be sincere and amicable but quietly try to keep them in line. Then, within the next few years, even though they may occasionally make demands, they will not cause us a great calamity. Time is crucial to our recovery.”
Again I felt that Tung Chih was blessed by having a level-headed uncle. Su Shun might increase his own popularity by challenging Prince Kung and calling him “the devil’s slave,” but what could be easier than sneering at someone? Prince Kung had a nasty but necessary job. His office was in a rundown Buddhist temple in northwestern Peking. It was a dirty, cheerless, barren space. His workload was excessive, and the outcome of his negotiations almost a foregone conclusion. It must have been unbearable. The numbers the foreigners demanded in indemnities and reparations were ridiculous, far in excess of any real damages and military costs. His days must have been worse than my own.
By the time I put the letter down I was so exhausted that I fell asleep instantly. In my dreams I set fire to every pile of documents in my room.
It was my weakness that I longed for a man’s shoulder to lean on. I knew it and struggled against it, but my feelings kept surfacing. I sought distraction and buried myself in work. I asked An-te-hai to make stronger tea and chewed up the leaves after I drank. Finally I succeeded in clearing my floor of all the documents. I didn’t know if the court’s business had slowed because Su Shun couldn’t keep up with me, or if he had changed his tactics and stopped sending me documents.
Without work to occupy my evenings, I became restless and irritable. There were other things I could have turned to—reading, writing a poem or painting. But I was simply unable to concentrate. I went to bed and stared at the ceiling. In the deep quiet of night Yung Lu’s face and the way he moved on his horse passed back and forth before my eyes, and I wondered what it would be like to ride with him.
“Would you like a back rub, my lady?” An-te-hai whispered in the dark. His voice told me that he had been awake.
I said nothing and he was beside me. He knew that I wouldn’t allow myself to say yes. But he also knew I had been in a kind of agony. Like a force of nature, my desire must follow its own path until sated and spent. My body was ready for release.
In silence, An-te-hai held me. Gently and slowly he touched my shoulders, my neck, my back. My body was comforted.