Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [85]
Ah-Fat had flattened himself so that he could squeeze into a narrow crack between one person and the next. All his bulk was in his shoulders, while the lower part of his body was feather-light. Still, every now and then, he caught muttered curses from his neighbours as he trod on their toes. In the bright sunshine the horizontal banner across the ceremonial arch was clearly visible to him: “Welcome to Your Excellency Li Hongzhang,” but the characters on the four vertical banners were much smaller, and Ah-Fat had to force his way halfway along the street until he was close enough make them out.
The Great Li Hongzhang bestows honour on all the places he deigns to visit
The Great Li Hongzhang has journeyed far at the Emperor’s orders, to establish friendly relations with neighbouring nations The Great Li Hongzhang, in speeding across the Pacific Ocean, shows us the loving concern he feels for the Emperor’s subjects who live in foreign lands
When Your Excellency returns home, we hope His Majesty will suitably reward his loyal elderly minister
He read them several times over from start to finish, until he had rough idea what they meant. Then he heard the sound of stringed instruments, and people singing: With a golden palace towering over, and the grand Purple Pavilion…. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before, something you might chant to the ancestors or in a temple, with a serene and solemn tune. Much later he found out it was called “Li Hongzhang’s Anthem.” Li commissioned lyrics for the music, and it made do as a Great Qing National Anthem, so they had something to sing to the foreigners.
The carriage came through the arch and drew near them. It was drawn by two fine Mongolian ponies with red harnesses, looking from a distance as if they had been painted gleaming black. Their sturdy hooves kicked up dust and pebbles as they trotted along. They set off sporadic bursts of cheering as they passed by, too. But the ponies had been well trained; they were used to ceremonies like this and took no notice.
Ah-Fat could now see the occupants of the carriage more clearly. There were four of them, two facing forward and two backward. Three of the four were yeung fan, so the Imperial official at the back on the left was, without any doubt, Viceroy Li. The hat on his head seemed to be very heavy and he leaned slightly forward under its weight, propping his arm on the side of the carriage. He had bags under his eyes so droopy they might have contained two walnuts. His chin trembled continuously as if he was trying to master a cough which might burst out at any moment. He held a silver cup in one hand which he used as a spittoon. In the other hand he held a pipe. Ah-Fat had heard somewhere that the Viceroy was a heavy smoker. But the Viceroy did not smoke Chinese-produced tobacco; instead, his pipe was filled with the tobacco used in American cigars.
If you stripped him of his gorgeous attire and took off his ornate feathered hat, Viceroy Li was just a man who had reached an advanced age. The process of aging was gradual—a wrinkle here, a white hair there—and was impossible to tell on which morning, or after which evening meal, a particular wrinkle or white hair had appeared. But when observed together, all of the details of aging suddenly made a person old. After the sea battles of the Sino-Japanese War, Viceroy Li had aged into a truly old man.
Old people like this could be found all over the place in Hoi Ping, sprawled dozing with their heads resting on the customary “stone pillow” in summer or sitting in a cane chair enjoying the sunshine when the weather got colder. Grimy sweat lodged in the multiple folds of their necks, grains of rice and drops of soup from past meals stuck to their chins, and they hissed through the gaps in their teeth as they talked.
But Viceroy Li was different. Court dress and an official hat meant that getting old was regarded as acquiring dignity, slowness of mind was regarded as profoundness