I Love a Broad Margin to My Life - Maxine Hong Kingston [43]
heart, and fly them to those who wait to hear.
The nomads, Liao people, women and men,
girls and boys fight, hunt, play
with crossbows and longbows and arrows.
They gallop their horses under the geese, and shoot
them down. Birds become afraid of people.
“I want to kill myself. I am among
nonhumans. I want to kill myself.
I am a prisoner with ten thousand anxieties
but no one to confide them to. I want to kill
myself. I have to make finger gestures,
yes, no. I have no speech.
I want to kill myself. The barbarian
with a pretty face wants to make me his wife.
I will kill myself. Yes, I shall.
I am pregnant with a barbarian child.
I shall kill myself.” At her wedding to the prince
of barbarians, musicians play pipa,
horn, and flute. They have 2 sons, half
Liao, half Han. An envoy comes bearing
ransom. The covered wagon with red wheels
is waiting to carry her home. The nomads stand
in groups and alone, and weep into their long sleeves.
Wen-chi, wife and mother, holds
her baby for the last time. Her husband, whom she
has learned to trust, holds their son by the hand.
The children do not understand to weep.
Liao horsemen and Han horsemen and infantry
in procession escort Wen-chi’s return.
Husband and sons, elder son on his own
small horse, the baby carried in a rider’s
lap, accompany her partway. The prince
rides his wife’s dappled horse, saddled
with snow-leopard fur. He constantly looks
back at her wagon, which is drawn by 2 oxen
with up-growing horns. The scroll ends
at the home with many roofs and courtyards.
But now people are everywhere, enjoying themselves,
the streets alive, the teahouse open; the baker
sells buns to the returning soldiers;
kids walk with their mothers and fathers.
And the house comes to life as Wen-chi
goes up the stairs toward her kinswomen;
one kowtows to her; the rest shrink
away from her, cover their mouths with long sleeves.
They are protecting themselves from her strangeness.
Wen-chi will help her father compile
a new library.
My father wrote
that her legend reminds him of 2 prisoners,
Su Wu and Li Ling. In 100 B.C.,
during the thousand-year war, Su Wu,
ambassador to the Mongols, went to their country
to negotiate for peace. The Khan poisoned him, beat
him, kept him from leaving the desert. His labor
was to herd sheep to grass and water. Meanwhile,
in battle against the Mongols, Li Ling surrendered.
He was a valuable P.O.W.
because he could be forced to write letters
to Su Wu, and influence him to favor the enemy.
The 2 men carried on their correspondence
for 19 years, on paper and by wild goose.
“No matter I am in a foreign land.
No matter the hardship. My heart that loves
is always with Mother Earth / Land, China.”
My father wrote on the margin of my writing
on Wen-chi:
Su Wu
Li Ling
My biographies
I feel so bad. BaBa
lived in the Americas for over 60 years—
left for Cuba as a teenager, not
meaning to be gone forever—and never became
at home anywhere. He was a prisoner of barbarians. I
should’ve brought him with me to China. I’d gone
10, 12 times (counting Taiwan,
counting Hong Kong), but never thought
to ask him to come along. Because his papers
were fake. He was an illegal alien. We should’ve
chanced going, if only to join for a while
the hosts and hosts of people whose joy it is
to be a crowd walking along the river.
Without Father, without Mother, I traveled
to China, the Central Nation, and found out
that I myself am Empress of the Center. I
was bowed to; I was addressed “Your majesty.”
I walked down the steps of the music temple.
I walked with the crowd, my people, along
a stream of Pearl River. I felt the crowd full,
complete; they are all here—Wen-chi
and her retinues, Fa Mook Lan and her army,
the Vietnamese princess and her
celebrants, Chu Ping and the dragon boat
racers, the Long Marchers, John Mulligan
and the shopping cart soldiers, and old people
from long ago and from yesterday. All
these people belong to me. The ground
I’m walking belongs to me. I feel