CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Two years after I first brought her to Hangchow, Qui began to menstruate. She was a woman now, able to bear children. The thought of children intrigued me. If her husband was healthy and intelligent, would their children inherit her brilliance? If so, then I could stay around, nurturing them also. In a couple of centuries, humanity could be blessed with a whole nation of geniuses.

That vision exhilarated and nauseated me. I felt like a dog owner, breeding for certain characteristics. Was I being too controlling? This was a difficult dilemma, respecting my daughter as a person as opposed to the potential benefits to all humanity. I resolved not to interfere with her ability to make choices. She was so eager to please, though; a result of her childhood. She knew gratitude in a way that most people can never achieve; that is, without a trace of resentment. She truly loved me as a father, and I loved her as the child that I had never had.

I could take a woman as my host and become pregnant, but I had no idea what the result might be. Would he or she be a natural child, with a mind of his own, or would the baby be another me? Until I knew the answer to that question, I would never try the experiment. And without an experiment, the answers were impossible to find.

No doubt Qui would one day want children. My intervention or encouragement was not necessary. Still, I kept my eye out for a suitable husband; by tradition, an arranged marriage was expected.

I recognized that the scholarly learning of the Chinese was only a small slice in a globe of possibilities. So much of their learning was rote memorization of classics, a trivial task for her. The intellectual climate was stagnant, not a fertile ground for great ideas or new thoughts.

Trading colonies of Jews, Moslems, and Hindus lived in the city. We became friends with these merchants and Qui learned their languages. I bought books and scrolls from them and she devoured different ways of thinking. This violated an analect of Confucius, “The study of strange doctrines is injurious indeed!” By this time, Qui had graduated beyond the preconceptions that limited most of her fellow scholars in Hangchow; she understood that the world was much more than just the Middle Kingdom.

She wanted to know more about the world, and during one evening, as we sat in the garden sipping tea, I told her about Europe, and the vast lands between East and West. She did not ask how I had acquired such knowledge or how old I really was; she enjoyed the thrill of having a mysterious father and did not want to spoil the spell. I described the court of the Japanese Emperor and the love of the Japanese nobility for their own unique kind of poetry. After that, she read The Tale of Genji and other great works of Japanese literature.

“I want to travel, father, to see these places for myself,” she said.

“That is an excellent idea,” I responded. For some time, I had been vexed by a harsh reality.

Qui was a peasant and no matter how hard she practiced her manners and learning, other people already knew her origins. She was also a girl. Sometimes qualified tutors were difficult to come by because they felt humiliated to teach such a lowly female, but they needed the money. The irony is that most of the money was spent on singing-girls, who were of lowly birth also.

One day the previous spring, Qui learned of the jealousy that others might feel of her gift. She had just bested a tutor in a debate and he paced about in a rage. He called my flower a “girl freak” and described the superiority of his own lineage as opposed to hers. His father had served as a minister to the previous Son of Heaven and her peasant father had tugged at shoots of rice. I sent him on his way.

Qui would never be accepted into one of the universities or academies, and in truth, there was not much reason for her to attend one. She had already learned what China had to offer her. I so much wanted her to accomplish something with her brilliance, something of long-lasting service to others. Of course, if she chose a different course, that was her prerogative, as I was not her master.

“Let’s go to Japan, then,” I said. “To Kyoto.” My years of residence there gave my host a certain amount of respect. In Japan her low birth would not be known and she could thrive. The Japanese still honored the Chinese culture, which they recognized as being much more ancient, and she would be respected as a representative of Sung China.

“Yes,” she said. “That sounds wonderful.”

We agreed to visit her family one last time, and then leave after I had arranged our finances.

Two nights later I went down to the river to visit with the merchants. A storm was coming in from the sea, creating whitecaps on the river that were visible even in the twilight of the sunset. This was an odd part of town. Channels of water crisscrossed the lowlands, forming shallow islands. Great warehouses built of stone, with roofs of clay tiles, dominated these islands. These moats protected the goods inside from thieves and fire. The rest of the city was made mostly of wood and bamboo.

The city was prepared for fire. Patrols of soldiers walked the streets at night, discouraging thieves, and looking for any smoke or open flame. People, whatever their rank, who left fires burning were brought before a magistrate the next morning. Eight towers were manned day and night, always watching. Two thousand troops in the city and twelve hundred more outside the walls were equipped with fire-resistant clothes, buckets, ropes, and hatchets. These were trained rescue troops. To help these specialists, there were always other soldiers available to fight against the consuming demon. These arrangements lent a feeling of security to the city.

At one of the warehouses, I found a certain merchant who was very successful and very corrupt. I placed my affairs in his hands and a fragmental within his body to ensure that my fortune would be healthy on our return from Japan. Already my intentions were forming into vague plans of taking Qui to India and Europe. Imagine, the greatest mind in the world touring the greatest centers of learning and culture.

The fire started near the Temple of the Imperial Ancestors. I never learned what started the fire, but it spread quickly. The soldiers rallied with buckets of water and hatchets to protect the Imperial Palace. The wind shifted, handing them an easy victory. Gusts from a dry storm sent the fire racing up the Imperial Way. Once I realized what was happening, I tried to make my way back to my home, but the fire created a barrier that I could not penetrate.

I found myself caught in the panicked crowds that swarmed through the streets like terrified rats. A large man slammed me up against a brick wall, bruising me. As he thundered by, I saw him push a child aside also. The child disappeared under the maelstrom of pounding feet. I dived forward to rescue her and struggled back out with numerous footprints on my body. My nose had been pushed into the pavement and blood poured from it. The child in my arms was already dead.

The night passed in flames and fear. At every turn, my efforts to reach my home were frustrated. The coming of dawn revealed that a third of the city had been consumed. Grimy soldiers slumped to the ground, their buckets and hatchets limp in their hands. People wailed in pain and loss, and I was often accosted by a distraught parent or sibling asking me if I had seen such and such a person. Hundreds of thousands of people, perhaps close to a million minds, had been packed into the city, and thousands had died.

The firestorm completely consumed my house. I found a few bones. They may have been Qui’s or a servant’s. For weeks, I camped out in the ashes of my home, dividing my fragmentals as much as possible to search among the refugees. She was nowhere to be found. She was lost, along with her chest of writings, paintings, and the other creations of a young artist. Such a useless loss.

A year later the charred city would fall to the Mongols, and barbarian rule would nibble at the Chinese, until they absorbed the Mongols as they had absorbed all earlier invaders. I was not there to see this. I used my finances to ensure the health of Qui’s family village, giving them as much security as is possible in this uncertain world. I know that Qui would have appreciated my concern.

As I left their village, resuming my journey to the west, I felt a profound sadness. I sank into the memories of festivals that my flower and I had attended in the city. Plays with elaborate masks and intricate dancing. Puppet shows. Jugglers and acrobats. Qui had once broken her leg trying to imitate the jump of an acrobat.

I sobbed.

It was time to return to Europe.