Empress Orchid - Anchee Min [164]
Nuharoo told me that she had also had a dream. It was the opposite of mine. In her dream she found herself in a peaceful kingdom, and her mirror was the size of a wall. The kingdom was hidden in the deepest recesses of a mountain. A Buddhist with a floor-length white beard had led her to this place. She was worshiped, and her subjects all walked with white pigeons on their heads.
After some fuss Tung Chih agreed to leave Nuharoo’s tent-sized palanquin and came to sit with me. “Only for a short while,” he said.
I tried not to let my son’s growing attachment to Nuharoo bother me. He was one of the few things left in my life that could bring me true happiness. So much about me had changed since my entering the Imperial household. I no longer said “I feel good today” upon waking in the morning. The cheerful songs I used to hear inside my head had all been silenced. Fear lived in the backyard of my mind now.
I convinced myself that it was just part of life’s journey. Cheerfulness belonged to youth and one naturally lost it. Maturity was what I would gain. Like a tree, my roots would grow stronger as I aged. I looked forward to achieving peace and happiness in a more essential way.
But my spring continued to have no butterflies. The saddest thing was that I knew I was still capable of passion. If Tung Chih were close to me, the butterflies would return. I could disregard everything else, even my loneliness and my deep yearning for a man. I needed my son’s love to endure living. Tung Chih was near, within arm’s reach, yet we might as well have been an ocean apart. I would do anything to earn his affection. But he was determined not to give me a chance.
My son punished me for the principles I demanded that he live by. He had two kinds of expression when he looked at me. One was like a stranger’s, as if he didn’t know me and had no interest in knowing me. The other look was of disbelief. He couldn’t understand why I had to be the only one to challenge him. His look seemed to question my very existence. After we fought and struggled his expression would show a sneer.
In my son’s bright eyes I was diminished. My worship for this little creature reduced me to the dancing bone in the Imperial soup that had been cooked for two hundred years.
I once saw my son and Nuharoo playing. Tung Chih was studying the map of China. He loved it when Nuharoo failed to locate Canton. She begged him to let her quit. He granted her wish and offered her his arms. He was attracted by her weakness. Protecting her from me made him feel like a hero.
Yet I couldn’t unlove my son. I couldn’t escape my affection. The moment Tung Chih was born, I knew that I belonged to him. I lived for his well-being. There was nothing else but him.
If I had to suffer, I made up my mind to take it. I was prepared to do anything to help Tung Chih avoid the fate of his father. Hsien Feng might have been an emperor, but he was deprived of a basic understanding of his own life. He was not raised with the truth, and he died in confusion.
Looking out, I saw large, loaf-shaped stones surrounded by a thick carpet of wild brush. For mile after mile there was not one single roof. Our lavish parade was for no one’s eyes but Heaven’s. I knew I shouldn’t resent it, but I couldn’t help myself. Sitting inside the palanquin, I was damp and achy. The bearers were exhausted, wet and filthy. The happy music only depressed me further.
Li Lien-ying walked back and forth between my chair and Nuharoo’s. He was in his purple cotton robe. Dye from his hat ran in rivulets down his face. Li Lien-ying had learned his trade as an Imperial servant and was by now almost as good as An-te-hai. I was worried about An-te-hai. Prince Ch’un had told me that he was in the Peking prison. To complete his deception, An-te-hai had spat at a guard, ensuring harsher punishment: he was put in a water chamber with feces floating around his neck. I prayed that he