Cat Country by Lao She Page A

and their vocal cords produced a sound like that of a man choking on his food. To them, this was a most unsatisfactory way of resolving things. As for the dead soldier, I told Scorpion to indemnify his family to the tune of one hundred National Souls. He agreed. I asked the soldiers where this man’s family lived, but not one of them said anything. The Cat People were not accustomed to helping in anything that might be beneficial to someone else, even if that help only cost them a few words. That’s something else that I didn’t learn until I had lived in Cat Country for several months. Since we couldn’t find out where the man’s family was, Scorpion lucked out again and was saved a hundred National Souls.

BEING A FOREIGNER DOES HAVE ITS ADVANTAGES
    T HE REVERIE leaves were all harvested. There was a breeze every day now and the temperature had gone down by ten degrees. From time to time black clouds floated across the grey sky, but there was no rain at all. It was at the beginning of the active season that the landlords took the reverie leaves into the city. Although deep down in his heart he was something less than happy with me, Scorpion had to feign friendliness in order to get me to accompany him into the city. Without me, he knew he wouldn’t be safe and might well lose his life in protecting the leaves.
    The reverie leaves were all sun-dried and baled. A team of two soldiers was responsible for transporting each bale, which they took turns carrying on their heads. Scorpion led the way, carried by four soldiers. His spine was flattened out so as to rest on the four heads of the troops. Two tall soldiers held his feet in place, while another man brought up the rear, propping up his neck. In Cat Country this mode of travel was the most prestigious, if not the most comfortable. The twenty bodyguard-musicians marched on either side of the column with their musical instruments in their hands. If any of the soldiers did anything out of order, such as tearing a hole in one of the bales in order to enjoy the aroma of the leaves, then one of the bodyguards would musically signal the fact to Scorpion. (Everything in Cat Country must have a practical application, and music is no exception, for musicians double as spies.)
    My position was at the very centre of the column so I could keep an eye on those to my fore and aft. Originally Scorpion had seven bearers set aside for me too, but I told him I’d much rather walk and had no desire for this kind of special treatment. But Scorpion wouldn’t give in so easily. He quoted the Cat Country Classics at me, ‘And of bearers, our emperor shall have two score and one; our feudal lords, three times five; and our nobles, seven . . .’ He informed me this was a custom that had been passed down from ancient times as a way of marking social distinctions. To destroy such a custom would be unthinkable and, furthermore, he just wouldn’t permit it. However, I remained adamant. Then he quoted a folk saying at me:
    When a noble on his feet must go,
    In shame his ancestors’ faces hang low.
    I told him that my ancestors wouldn’t feel the least bit ashamed. Then, on the verge of tears, he quoted two lines of their Poetry Classic :
    Raise high your face the blessed leaf to eat,
    And spend your life as one of our elite.
    ‘To hell with you and your nobles!’ I couldn’t think of a suitable line of poetry to quote back and was reduced to this uncouth reply. Scorpion sighed. I am sure that within the narrow confines of his heart he was swearing me into a bloody pulp, but he didn’t dare express such critical sentiments openly.
    We wasted almost two and a half hours just on lining up. Altogether Scorpion must have got up on, and down from, his bearers’ heads at least seven times. It seemed that the cat-soldiers were determined not to get into an orderly formation. They must have been aware by now that I was not entirely on Scorpion’s side, and for that reason, Scorpion no longer