Chapter 33: An Unexpected Bonus

Zuo Gui too was delighted.

“I underestimated their generosity! I thought a purse this size couldn’t hold more than two hundred wen. Who would have guessed there was silver?”

He grinned.

“Yesterday I sent you and your mother to buy a quilt, and she says you refused. Looking at you today, I know you didn’t sleep well. That won’t do. We have some money now. Come, we’ll buy one.”

“No.”

Zuo Shaoyang stood his ground.

“Only if you buy another for yourselves. We each need an extra quilt in this weather. Otherwise I won’t have one, even if I freeze.”

“You boy!”

His father laughed, then sighed.

“All right. Two quilts. Only twenty wen. We can spare it. We must keep healthy. If we both fall ill, everything’s finished.”

Zuo Shaoyang was relieved. Another sleepless night might have broken him. Now he could stop dreading bedtime.

They went to the market, which sold quilts as well as other goods.

Determined to spend as little as possible, Zuo Gui asked everywhere before choosing the cheapest stall. Two lined kudzu-and-hemp quilts cost seventeen wen.

They were heavy, stitched in a grid rather like modern down jackets. The filling rustled beneath his touch.

“What’s inside?”

“Rice straw.”

“Straw?”

Of course. Two layers of coarse cloth alone could not make a quilt. Something had to fill them.

Cotton was still far from widespread in the Tang. Wealthy families used silk floss or animal fur, beyond ordinary people’s means. Poorer households used what they could afford: straw at the bottom, scraps of napped cloth a little better, and old, darkened silk floss better still.

The Zuo family had no choice.

Back home, his father sent him and Madam Liang to make another payment. Zuo Shaoyang quickly changed the trousers muddied by his fall and went with her.

Madam Zhao weighed the silver on her little scales: one tael and three qian. With the string of a hundred copper coins, she reckoned the total at fifteen hundred wen.

Two thousand one hundred remained.

Madam Liang begged again for more time. Madam Zhao was unyielding. She thanked Zuo Gui for curing her stomach pain, which was now much better, but would not shift the deadline.

Noon on New Year’s Eve. If the remaining two thousand one hundred were not paid, they must go, leaving the medicines. She would have those valued and pursue any debt left afterwards.

There was nothing to do but return to the shop.

Zuo Gui had thought this payment would make her more amenable. Only two thousand one hundred remained, after all. Her refusal disappointed them deeply.

Yet their day on the road had earned more than a thousand wen, a record for the shop. Such good fortune could not be counted on, but it gave him confidence. Even if they lost the premises, he could feed the family this way.

His gloom was less profound than before, and there was talk and laughter over supper.

Before eating, Zuo Shaoyang brought out the squirrel. It squeaked with hunger.

Huixiang laughed.

“Why bring that home? There isn’t even enough of it to eat. A rabbit would have been better.”

“Someone gave it to me. I’m keeping it as a pet.”

“We can scarcely feed ourselves, and you want a pet squirrel? Are you mad?”

“How much can it eat? It doesn’t need grain, only pine nuts and things.”

He took out the pine cones gathered on the way, cracked them with a hammer and offered a kernel.

The squirrel’s eyes were half closed. It clasped the kernel in its forepaws but did not bring it to its mouth.

“Eat, little fellow.”

He held it against the tiny mouth. Still nothing.

“Its eyes haven’t even opened properly,” Madam Liang said. “How would it know what to do? It needs milk.”

“Milk? Its mother was killed by an owl. Where can I find a mother squirrel?”

“Another animal’s milk,” Huixiang said. “A dog or cat. But one that’s just had young.”

“Of course!”

He brightened.

“I’ve heard of a tigress refusing to feed her cubs, so the keepers found a nursing dog and let them feed with her puppies.”

“Keepers? What keepers?”

He was thinking of odd zoo stories often seen in newspapers, magazines and online. Rather than explain, he changed the subject.

“Do you know anyone whose dog’s had puppies?”

“No. Haven’t heard of any.”

“What now?”

The squirrel worked its little mouth, its belly flat with hunger.

“It can’t eat nuts. We won’t find a nursing dog in a hurry.”

“Could you crush the pine nuts and feed it the juice?” his mother suggested.

His eyes lit up.

“Good idea!”

He cracked over a dozen cones, took out the kernels and found a pressing tool in the workroom. With a little water, he soon squeezed out a small amount of liquid.

But when he tried pouring it into the squirrel’s mouth, most ran down the sides. The little creature squeaked, moving its head and mouth in frustration.

“That won’t do. Let me.”

Huixiang ran to the kitchen and fetched a spring onion. She pinched off both ends, dipped one end of the hollow stalk into the cup and gently sucked liquid into it. Pinching the upper end shut, she took it from her mouth and placed the lower end between the squirrel’s lips.

Slowly releasing her fingers, she let the liquid flow in without wasting a drop.

“That’s brilliant, Sis! Let me try.”

She smiled with some pride. Soon the little portion was gone.

Now that they had a method, he cracked and pressed the remaining pine nuts. At last the squirrel drank its fill, smacked its mouth and fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Huixiang found a paper box and lined it with rags. He settled the squirrel into the nest.

“Our turn to eat,” Madam Liang smiled.

They sat and began chewing the hard buns mixed with mulberry bark.

“It’s the twenty-eighth today, Mother,” Huixiang said. “‘Wash away sickness on the twenty-seventh, wash off dirt on the twenty-eighth.’ Don’t forget to heat bathwater.”

“It’s on already. We can bathe after supper. Will you have one before going home?”

“No. They’re all waiting for me. I’ll wash after I’ve tidied up there.”

After the meal, a large pot of water was heated. A wooden tub half a person’s height stood in the kitchen for bathing.

Zuo Shaoyang insisted on his parents going first, then prepared to enjoy a long soak.

He loosened his topknot. Long hair fell about him, leaving him at a loss. He had seen long hair all his life, but never expected to have it himself. He longed to take scissors to it and leave a clean, short crop.

But body, skin and hair were gifts from one’s parents. Men and women alike could not cut their hair in this age; only monks shaved it. Cutting his off would earn him condemnation as an unfilial son.

He would have to keep it.

First it needed washing, or it would never dry before bed.

It was filthy and starting to tangle. Washing it in the tub would spoil his dream of a proper bath. He filled a basin instead, mixed hot water with cold using the gourd ladle, and looked for soap.

There could be no soap here in the Tang. He had heard that people used powdered honey locust pods. Sure enough, he found some on the washstand.

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