Lost on Planet China - J. Maarten Troost [100]
I had read about this earlier. In Naxi society, there is what is called the azhu system, which as far as I understood is similar to the Friends With Benefits system we have at home. A woman is free to choose her lovers and discard them as she pleases. Men provide support for any children they might sire, but otherwise paternity is insignificant. The child belongs to the mother.
“You know what she is, don’t you?” Jack said as we paid the bill. He grinned. “A Femi-Naxi.”
“Good one. Very good.”
Tam expressed his need for an afternoon nap, and so Jack and I wandered on through the enchanted streets of Lijiang, enchanted streets that could hardly be seen through the teeming crowds. Not so long ago, Lijiang was an idyllic hamlet with a unique culture, the sort of place I would have been very happy to spend weeks in, retracing the footsteps of Rock and Chatwin. But, as yet another consequence of China’s leap into the global economy, there are now 1.3 billion potential Chinese tourists. And when more than a billion people set their sights on something, invariably they crush it. There was little to do but give in, and soon we walked into a souvenir emporium specializing in leather, where Jack bought a cowboy hat. Every Chinese tourist in Lijiang wore one.
Eventually, we stopped at a café that overlooked the whimsical black-tiled roofs of the old town. In the distance, Jade Dragon Mountain pierced the swirling clouds that floated near its top. We ordered something to drink and sat back to appreciate the easy-listening sounds of Queen—not “We Are the Champions” Queen, but obscure Queen. A fan’s Queen.
Jack arched his eyebrow. “It’s not surprising, is it? You just knew that the Naxis would be into Queen.”
“Actually, I thought tonight we’d go to the Naxi Music Academy to listen to some traditional Naxi music.”
“You know what that’s going to be, don’t you?”
“No, what?”
“Wagner.”
It wasn’t Wagner, of course, though the musicians were probably of the same era. The Naxi Orchestra is the local equivalent of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band in New Orleans. They’re not the spryest bunch, most are in their eighties, but they are very cool with their wispy mustaches and long, flowing beards. The band was led by a charismatic man who spoke English.
“I am seventy-three, but look much younger. Happy spirit, but hard life. Twenty-one years in prison.”
His name was Xuen Ke, one of the Three Eccentrics of Lijiang, according to the locals, together with the Dr. Ho, immortalized by Chatwin, and He Zhigang, an armless calligrapher who paints with his mouth in a park next to a portrait of Prince Charles. Xuen Ke continued to talk. And talk some more. And then some more. Mostly, he spoke in English, which I thought was interesting since the vast majority of the audience was Chinese, and they sat there, impatiently tapping their feet and generally looking really, really annoyed.
“We hate that word—minority. We prefer tribe,” the bandleader said. And then he introduced the music. “And so the theme of this song is anger or hate.”
It was a little ditty about Kublai Khan, sung by a chorus of women. It was a very moving song, very powerful, and when it finished, I, too, felt anger and hatred, and wished only to set out on the warpath. But Xuen Ke toned the atmosphere down by introducing a song played during the Yi Torch Festival. It consisted of a girl playing a small mouth instrument, and as I listened to these trippy, warbling sounds, I thought this must be what ancient techno sounded like. This was followed by a Tibetan man, a former hunter who kissed the amulet around his neck and sang, a cappella, a gripping song about a friend.
“He sing from the heart,” Xuen Ke went on, “not from the face like Chinese pop singers. We hate them. This man only a grade-three education from mountain school. But his singing a Ph.D.”
I liked Xuen Ke. There was a cheekiness to him. He ended the performance with some sage advice. “Don’t eat the fish from the lake, or the heart of the animal. And don’t drink beer or spirits. Then smoking