New Subjects

LET THE FEMALE CHIEFTAIN be the victor. That’s what was necessary, and that’s what I did.

Then I started making preparations for something else. I mentioned before that my brother should not have built a fort on the border. The Maichi estate was a fortress, but it had been built at a time when the family was under constant attack, when there were no machine guns, grenades, or cannons. Now times had changed, and what went around came around. The Maichi family no longer lived with the constant fear of attack, as before, not even when we settled at the borders. Now it was the other families’ turn to fear us. All I had to do was meddle in others’ battles, and I could decide the outcome beforehand. Of course our northern neighbors couldn’t know that they were fighting a war whose outcome was already determined.

It took no effort on my part; I just had to wait for the female chieftain to send her people so I could load their horses with grain and supply bullets for the machine gunners. When the prospects were that good, so was the mood; even an idiot was smarter than usual at such times, his every action a stroke of genius.

All right, then, let me get down to what I was planning to do.

I told Dolma to set up five cauldrons along the river, then pour in some barley, add a bit of salt and some aged butter, and roast the grain at a high temperature, spreading the salivating aroma into the distance under a clear sky. I was sending the hungry people a feeding signal. Within half a day, the famine victims who had faded away returned. When they reached the nearby creek, they lay down on the ground, as if content just to confirm the source of the aroma. Dolma waved her ladle, and shouted, “Get up. Anyone who’s lying down won’t get any.”

They got to their feet and forded the creek like sleepwalkers.

Each of them received a big ladleful of barley roasted in butter.

Now Dolma had gotten a taste of power. I think she liked it; otherwise, she wouldn’t have kept wielding the charitable ladle even after she was tired and drenched in sweat. If she’d stayed on the estate, she’d never have experienced such a wonderful feeling. Only with me could she wave her ladle with such style in front of a mob of starving people who were staring hungrily at her hand.

“One ladleful each, no more, no less,” she repeatedly yelled with gusto. “Those who want another meal will have to work. Work for our benevolent and generous young master.”

Lha Shopa’s people, after eating the buttery barley, were now coming to work for me.

Following my instructions, the steward had them tear a wall down from our boxy fort.

I wanted to take down the row of rooms facing east, so the morning sun would shine its glorious rays on us unhindered. In the meantime, the building, now with its open yard, would be connected with the vast fields. The crippled steward asked if he should build a wall somewhere with the rubble, but I told him that wasn’t necessary. I believed I’d seen the future, in which it made no difference whether there was a wall by the gate or not.

“Can’t you see what lies in the future?” I asked him.

“Yes, I can,” he said.

“Okay, then, tell me what you’ve seen.”

“We are using machine guns to wipe out an attacking force, like a cavalry charge, in the open field.”

I had to laugh at that. Yes, machine guns could easily repel an attack, like slaughtering sheep. But that wasn’t what I had in mind. Opium had enriched Chieftain Maichi and brought him machine guns, while wreaking havoc on the other chieftains. It was all a matter of timeliness. So why should we box ourselves in?

It took no more than four or five days to demolish one side of the fort, which was now a mansion, a magnificent edifice.

Dolma asked if she should continue to cook. I told her to keep it up for five more days, during which time the famine victims hauled adobe blocks and rocks over to the creek; as it soaked in the water, the adobe slowly disintegrated, turning the water muddy for several days, until there was nothing left but exposed rocks that shone in the water. Those that settled to the bottom created sprays and ripples on the surface. Yes, with those rocks, the creek was now more like a river.

On that day, I told myself that river water ought to be clear.

But I was amazed by what I saw before I even had a chance to go down to look at the water.

The compound facing the open fields was filled with starving people who had torn down the wall. After the demolition work was completed, Dolma led servants down to the creek to retrieve the cauldrons. The famine victims then left the area and stayed away for several days; I assumed they wouldn’t return. But no, they had just gone home to summon their families; they now spilled out of the compound and filled the meadow between the house and the creek.

They fell to their knees as soon as I appeared.

I’d never seen so many people at one time. They neither did nor said anything, but such a huge mob of people exerted tremendous pressure by its presence alone.

The steward asked me what we should do.

I told him I had no idea.

So they spread out and sat outside, a sea of black. When I wasn’t around, they sat or stood doing nothing; when I made an appearance, they fell to their knees. Now I regretted taking down the wall.

One day had passed, and the second day was nearly over, but they were still out there, getting hungrier by the minute. When their hunger grew unbearable, they went down to the creek to drink. Normally, people don’t drink that much water. That’s what cows and horses do—bury their heads in the water and drink until they can hardly breathe, until their bellies swell up with all the water sloshing around inside. Now these people were drinking like cows and horses. Even in my dreams, I could hear them gasping for air after nearly choking themselves, and I could hear water sloshing around in their bellies. I knew they weren’t intentionally disturbing someone as kind as I; if they had been, they wouldn’t have wrapped their arms around their bellies when they walked.

On the third day, when they went down to the creek, some of them toppled into the water. Unable to pick themselves up, they drowned in the shallows. It took the better part of a day for them to swell up like sacks and be carried off by the flowing water. People who didn’t go down to drink died too; they were picked up and dumped into the creek to float off to the edge of heaven.

Just look at how well behaved Lha Shopa’s people are: even in the grip of hopeless misery, they don’t utter a sound of protest, pinning what hope is left on a kind person who isn’t even their master.

I was that kind person.

Not a single grain of barley had seeped through my fingers during those three days, but the people didn’t complain. How could they, since I wasn’t their master? When they first appeared, I often heard the buzzing of muted prayers, but that had stopped. Now they simply died, one after another. They died by the creek and were baked by the sun, swelled up like bloated sacks that were carried on the water to the edge of heaven.

On the third evening the nightmares began. Before I even opened my eyes on that fourth day, I knew the people were still outside, their hair damp from early-morning dew; none of them had left. The stillness enshrouding such a vast collection of humanity was decidedly not tranquil; rather, it exuded tremendous pressure.

“I can’t stand it!” I screamed. “I can’t stand any more of this!”

Since I’d never missed a meal in my life, the force of my shout carried my words far into the misty morning. The famine victims raised their heads from between their knees, as the sun leaped above the horizon and drove away the mist. Yes, I was overcome by their patience and by the might of their hopelessness, which was more powerful than all the other forces of the world combined. Too weak to get out of bed, I moaned, and ordered the servants, “Cook something, cook something for them to eat. Make them talk, make them cry, let them do whatever they want.”

My servants, the steward, Dolma, my two young slaves, and many others had already made those very preparations, without telling me. They were just waiting for my order before lighting the kindling under the cauldrons.

My people cheered when the fire was lit, but the starving people didn’t make a sound. They remained quiet even when the food was being distributed. I couldn’t say if I was fond of these subjects or afraid of them.

So I shouted again, “Tell them only this one meal, just this one. After they’ve eaten, they’ll have the strength to get on the road and return to where they came from.”

My words were relayed to them by the servers.

Tears streamed down Dolma’s face as she said to them, “Don’t trouble our kind master. Go back to your homes. Return to your own masters. Didn’t heaven give each of us a master?”

Meanwhile, their masters weren’t having such an easy time either.

Now that they had been fed, Chieftain Rongong’s people were running down Lha Shopa’s people. One could say that I had found people to fight for the Maichi family at the northern border. My brother, who was more competent than I, personally led his people in attacking the enemy in the southern mountains, which were hotter and more rugged than here.

More and more people were thinking that while he was the smart one, good luck was always on the side of his idiot brother. That’s how I felt too. Good fortune followed me like a shadow. Once or twice, when I sensed that that mysterious thing was close by, I turned and stomped my foot. But it was a shadow, not a dog that could be frightened off. You can’t shoo away your shadow.

Aryi asked me what I was trying to frighten off when I stomped my foot.

“A shadow,” I said.

He smiled, and said, “Not a shadow.” Then my future executioner’s bloodless face began to glow, and I knew what he wanted to say. As an executioner, he was keenly interested in the netherworld. Sure enough, he said excitedly, “You can’t scare away ghosts by stomping your foot. You have to spit at them.”

He showed me how to do it by spitting behind me. “Like that.”

I couldn’t let an executioner spit like that. If good fortune were indeed following me day and night, wouldn’t his exorcism scare it off? So I slapped him. “I’d let you sear my mouth shut with a red-hot branding iron if I spit behind me. What makes a slave like you think he can do it?”

The light in Aryi’s face went out.

I said, “Go down there and work a ladle for a while.”

Even the poorest of my servants experienced the sweet taste of dispensing charity that day. In this world, people who give to others are the lucky ones. So I made sure that everyone had a chance to ladle out food and feel how wonderful it was to give. I could hear their silent shouts: Long live Second Young Master.

But those other people continued to occupy the open field, even after they were fed.

“It’s time to wrap it up,” I shouted to the smiling steward, who walked up dragging his gimpy leg. “Tell them to leave. Send them away.”

He had waited until the last person had slurped down the final ladleful of barley congee before coming upstairs, looking contented. With my shout still hanging in the air, he said, “They’re going to leave now. They promised me they would.”

At that very moment, the mob began to move. Although they were silent, their feet had regained enough strength to make the ground speak. The combined sound of each faint footstep, given the magnitude of the crowd, caused the earth to tremble slightly. A billowing cloud of dust followed them; by the time the dust cleared, they had already walked to the opposite bank of the creek.

A long sigh of relief escaped from my mouth.

But then they stopped in the field across the creek, where the men left their women and children to form a separate group. What were they doing? Were they planning to attack us now that their bellies were full? If so, I hoped they’d start right away, because I really didn’t have anything to do between sunset and bedtime. If they attacked now, we’d open fire, and it would all be over in time for me to go to bed. That way, a situation no chieftain had ever encountered before would be quickly wrapped up. Yet there must have been a chieftain sometime who’d faced a similar situation!

The men sat down and stayed put for a long time, until a minor disturbance erupted among them. With the afternoon sun shining in my eyes, I could see only the center of the disturbance, like a tiny eddy that disappeared as quickly as it had come. A few of the men emerged from the crowd and waded back across the creek, heading toward us. Behind them, the others stood up to watch.

It took a long time for them to cross the open field.

They came and knelt before me. They had killed the headmen and fortress leaders who were loyal to Lha Shopa and brought their heads to me. Staring at the heads lying at my feet, I asked, “Why are you doing this?”

They said that the Lha Shopa chieftain had lost his benevolence, as well as the intelligence and bearing necessary to judge a situation, a common trait among earlier Lha Shopa chieftains. So his subjects were deserting him. Chieftain Maichi would now rule an even vaster territory with many more subjects. It was destiny; it was also what the people desired.

I summoned Aryi and introduced him to these people, who had decided to pledge allegiance to us. Not every chieftain had an executioner, and even among those who did, none had such a long family line of them. They all gazed with curiosity at this long-limbed, pale-faced youngster.

“Who took the lead in killing your masters?” I asked them.

They all knelt down again; shrewd and brave, they shouldered the responsibility together. I liked them already, so I said, “Get up. I won’t kill any of you. There are so many of you, my executioner wouldn’t know where to begin.”

They laughed.

And so, several thousand of Chieftain Lha Shopa’s people came over to the Maichi family.

People said that Lha Shopa’s land was like a big tree, formed by many mountain ridges. A river that kept getting bigger and bigger washed down the mountain to create a widening valley, and that was the trunk. The roots were the area near the mouth of the river, which roared down like thunder, while the branches were the mountain ridges created by upstream tributaries. That night the steward brought me a map, which I studied under a lamp for a long time, finally discerning the vague shape of a tree from the twisting lines. Now I had lopped off two of the thickest branches. I anointed the people in front of me as new headmen. They asked me to give them a new leader, but I told them I would give them only barley, not a leader.

“You’ll be your own leaders,” I said, “and then I will be your leader.”

The next day was a busy one. I distributed enough grain to tide the people over for the year, and gave them seeds for the years to follow. But instead of leaving that night, they built bonfires by the creek. People who had stared death in the eye now displayed incredible passion; their cheers rumbled between heaven and earth like spring thunder when I waved to them from a distance. And when I went down among them, they knelt, stirring up so much dust that I choked. I still couldn’t believe that all those thousands of people had become mine so quickly. I really couldn’t. When the dust rose, my two slaves came up and stood by me, one on each side, afraid that someone might harm me. But I pushed them away; there was no need for that. We couldn’t begin to supply enough bite-sized pieces for all those people if they decided to turn on us. But they wouldn’t, for the simple reason that they were now part of the Maichi family. I was lucky, in that heaven was watching over me, as were the gods of fate, so no one could hurt me.

I wanted to say something, but was still choking on the dust stirred up by all the people; they were not fated to hear their new master’s voice. I simply waved them to their feet. Their foreheads, all of them, young and old, were smeared with dirt. They had deserted their master, but that did not mean they desired no master. That idea would never cross their minds. Even if someone tried to force it into their heads, they would simply frown and push it away with little effort. Look at those blank faces around the bonfires: their eyes shine, bright and lively, as they gaze at me, as if witnessing the miraculous appearance of a god. When they saw me off, it was as if they were watching a god returning to heaven.

They departed the next morning, leaving behind only the vastness of the creek banks. I felt an emptiness inside as things quieted down after all those hectic days. I also sensed a problem. But I didn’t bring it up; since, sooner or later, others invariably sensed any problem that worried me, it was always better to let them mention it first.

Sure enough, at breakfast, the steward said, “I hope those people weren’t sent by Chieftain Lha Shopa to trick us out of our grain. First Young Master would have a good laugh at our expense.”

Sonam Tserang said, “If you don’t believe in the second young master, go serve the first young master. We can take care of things here.”

“Just who do you think you are? What gives you the right to speak to me like that?” The steward raised his hand, but let it drop when he saw my face. Sonam Tserang smirked triumphantly.

The steward turned to Aryi. “Give him two hard slaps.”

Aryi slapped his friend twice but clearly not hard enough. So the steward was forced to punish the executioner. Yes, executioners punish others when they make mistakes, but when the executioners themselves are in the wrong, people above them mete out punishment to them. The steward hit him so hard that his hand stung. Sonam Tserang laughed again. I did too, but quickly changed my expression, and commanded Aryi, “Hit him.”

This time Aryi put everything into it. He may have looked frail, but one slap sent the brawny Sonam Tserang to the ground. Now everyone laughed. After the laughter died down, I told the steward to write to Chieftain Maichi and tell him that his territory had increased and that he had gained several thousand more subjects on the northern border. The steward wanted me to wait awhile before sending the letter, but he knew I’d been right so far, so he had the letter delivered.

The situation on the northern border was looking excellent, since the female chieftain, with my support, had Chieftain Lha Shopa’s army in complete disarray.

“What else can Chieftain Lha Shopa do?” I asked the steward.

“Chieftain Lha Shopa? I think he’ll have to come here again.” I laughed as the image of the fat Chieftain Lha Shopa, constantly wiping his sweaty face with a towel, came to mind.