The Willow Pattern

V

Ma Joong scowled at the wine-cup he held in his large hand.

'Tavern of the Five Blessings, they call this hole!’ he muttered to himself. 'Brother Chiao could've chosen a more lively spot. But lively spots are hard to come by, nowadays, that's true enough.' He took a sip of the cheap, raw liquor, winced, and set the cup down hard. He stretched himself with a prodigious yawn; he had not had more than a few hours sleep every night, during the last weeks. He was an extraordinarily strong man, however, taller even than Chiao Tai. Heavy muscles rippled under his tight-fitting coat of mail. He did not wear the golden colonel's badge on his breast, having stuffed it under his helmet, to save himself the bother of answering the salute of every soldier he met in the street.

Folding his arms, he bestowed a sombre look on the long, narrow taproom, lit by only one oil-lamp of cheap earthen­ware, on the counter of roughly hewn boards. Cobwebs hung from the low, raftered ceiling, and the smell of rancid fat and stale liquor mingled in the close, hot air. The inn­keeper, a surly hunchback, had disappeared into the back room as soon as he had served Ma Joong.

The only other customer was an elderly man who was sitting alone at the corner table. Studiously ignoring Ma Joong, he seemed engrossed in the contemplation of the gaudily dressed marionette he held in his hand. Two other puppets were lying on the table in front of him. He was shabbily dressed in a pair of patched trousers and jacket of blue cotton, which matched the faded blue of the wallcurtain behind him. His tousled grey head was covered by a greasy black skull-cap.

The small brown monkey perched on his right shoulder seemed to resent Ma Joong's stare. It lifted its brow so that the tight skin turned white and its black crest stood on end. Baring its teeth, the small animal curled its furry tail round its master's neck, and made a sharp, hissing sound. Now the man raised his head. Fixing Ma Joong with a quizzical look, he said in a deep, educated voice:

'If you want another cup, soldier, just shout. The inn­keeper is in the back room, comforting his old woman. She is upset, because they took away three dead from the house opposite half an hour ago.'

'He can go on comforting her,' Ma Joong said curtly. 'One cup of this rotgut will serve me for a long time to come.'

'Quiet!' the other scolded the monkey softly. Patting its small round head, he said: 'This tavern caters for simple tastes, soldier, and for slender purses. But it's conveniently located, just in between up- and downtown.'

'Takes lots of cheek to call it after the Five Blessings,' Ma Joong remarked sourly.

'The Five Blessings,' the other repeated pensively. 'Money, high office, long life, good health and many children. Why not call this tavern after them, soldier? It's built against the back wall of the last big house of this quarter. Across the streets the slums begin. So this tavern is a boundary stone, so to speak, dividing the five blessings between the rich and the poor. Money, high office, long life and good health for the rich. Many children, too many, for the poor. Four to one. But the poor don't complain, not they! One is enough and to spare — for them!’

He put the puppet down, and detached its head from the rump, with a few deft movements of his long, sensitive fingers. Ma Joong got up and walked over to his table. Sitting down on the chair opposite he remarked:

'Nice business you are in. I always like a good puppet show. Wonderful how you people can make warriors fence! What are you looking for?’ The other was rummaging about in the bamboo basket of puppets by his side.

'I can't find the right head!’ the puppeteer remarked peevishly. 'I want a real, true to life villain. The body I have here is fine, as you see. Big, strong fellow, with strong appetites. But I can't find the right head.'

'Hell, that's easy! All our stage villains have a face like this.' Ma Joong puffed out his cheeks, rolled his eyes fero­ciously, and contorted his mouth into a snarl.

The puppeteer gave him a scornful look.

'That's because they are only stage villains. In the theatre, all actors and actresses are sharply divided into good and bad characters. But my puppets are more than actors, soldier. I want them to be real human beings in miniature. Therefore I don't want a stage villain. Do you get me?'

'Frankly, no. But since you are an expert, I suppose you know what you are talking about. What's your name, by the way?'

'I am called Yuan, Yuan the puppeteer. Of the old city.' He threw the puppet back into the basket and asked: 'Do you know the old city?'

'Not too well. I am going there tonight.'

'Have a good look at how people live there, soldier! In dark, damp slums, in abandoned cellars, half underground. Yet I prefer those to the fine houses of the rich. Any time!’ Scratching the furry back of the monkey, he added pensively: 'The poor are always busy trying to fill their stomachs, too busy to think up cruel pastimes to whet their jaded appetites. Like the richards do, in the large house behind us!' He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder.

'What would you know about that?' Ma Joong asked idly. The fellow was a bore. He wished that Chiao Tai would come soon.

'More than you'd think, soldier,' Yuan said. There happens to be a crack in the wall behind the curtain here. It shows you part of the inner courtyards. A gallery, as a matter of fact. You may see strange happenings there, on occasion.'

'Nonsense!’ Ma Joong said testily.

The other shrugged his narrow shoulders.

'See for yourself!’

He half-turned on his stool, opened the blue wall-curtain to a narrow slit, and peered through it. Looking round at Ma Joong he said dryly:

'Watch the rich amusing themselves!’

Curious despite himself, Ma Joong got up and put his face to the slit the puppeteer held open for him. Involun­tarily he drew in his breath. Through a narrow, jagged crack in the brick wall he looked into a semi-dark, red-tiled gallery. In the back was a kind of portico, its broad windows screened by bamboo curtains. To the left and right was a row of red-lacquered pillars. In speechless horror Ma Joong stared at the tall, thin man who stood in the centre, his back towards him. He was clad in a black silk gown, and in his right hand he held a long whip. With a queer, measured movement he was flogging a stark naked woman who was lying face down, spreadeagled on a low couch. Her long black hair hung down on to the red flagstones, her back and hips were covered with blood. Suddenly the man stopped, his arm with the whip remained motionless in the air. Two large birds came floating along the pillars, with a leisurely flapping of their long, brightly coloured wings.

With a curse Ma Joong turned round.

'Come along, we'll get the bastard!’ he barked. Shaking off the puppeteer, who grabbed his arm, he added quickly: 'Don't worry, I am a colonel of the guards.'

'No need to hurry,' the puppeteer said placidly. 'Your man is right here.' With a deft gesture he parted the blue curtain from top to bottom. It had concealed a square box that stood against the wall on a high tripod. Along the front of the box ran a narrow slit.

'That's my little peepshow,' Yuan explained. He watched Ma Joong's disconcerted face with an amused smile.

'I'll be damned!’ the tall man exploded.

The other felt with his hand behind the box. 'I have more than thirty pictures in here. All scenes from olden times. Have another look!’

When Ma Joong had pressed his face close to the slit, he saw an elegant villa built on the bank of a river, lined by willow trees. Their long, graceful branches wafted to and fro in the breeze. Then a small boat appeared. A man wear­ing a large round straw hat sculled it slowly along the bank. A beautiful young girl was sitting in the stern. Suddenly the door of the balcony on the villa's upper floor opened, and a man with a long white beard came outside. Then everything went dark.

'The candle inside has burned out and the performance is over. Since it was so brief, it was gratis.'

'How can you make those figures so lifelike? And how the hell do you make them move?'

'I cut them out of cardboard, but I add a peculiar kind of shading, you know, and a special kind of perspective. In­ventions of my own. And I make the figures move by means of horsehairs attached to them. You need nimble fingers, but apart from that ...'

He suddenly checked himself and looked round. The door had swung open, and a tall, slender girl came inside.