OneMy imperial life began with a smell. A rotten smell that came from my fathers coffin-he had been dead for two months and we were still carrying him, trying to reach Peking, his birthplace, for burial. My mother was frustrated. "My husband was the governor of Wuhu," she said to the footmen whom we had hired to bear the coffin. "Yes, madam," the head footman answered humbly, "and we sincerely wish the governor a good journey home." In my memory, my father was not a happy man. He had been repeatedly demoted because of his poor performance in the suppression of the Taiping peasant uprisings. Not until later did I learn that my father was not totally to blame. For years China had been dogged by famine and foreign aggression. Anyone who tried on my fathers shoes would understand that carrying out the Emperors order to restore peace in the countryside was impossible-peasants saw their lives as no better than death. I witnessed my fathers struggles and sufferings at a young age. I was born and raised in Anhwei, the poorest province in China. We didnt live in poverty, but I was aware that my neighbors had eaten earthworms for dinner and had sold their children to pay off debts. My fathers slow journey to hell and my mothers effort to fight it occupied my childhood. Like a long- armed cricket my mother tried to block a carriage from running over her family. The summer heat baked the path. The coffin was carried in a tilted position because the footmen were of different heights. Mother imagined how uncomfortable my father must be lying inside. We walked in silence and listened to the sound of our broken shoes tapping the dirt. Swarms of flies chased the coffin. Each time the footmen paused for a break the flies covered the lid like a blanket. Mother asked my sister Rong, my brother Kuei Hsiang and me to keep the flies away. But we were too exhausted to lift our arms. We had been traveling north along the Grand Canal on foot because we had no money to hire a boat. My feet were covered with blisters. The landscape on both sides of the path was bleak. The water in the canal was low and dirt- brown. Beyond it were barren hills, which extended mile after mile. There were fewer inns to be seen. The ones that we did come upon were infested with lice. "Youd better pay us," the head footman said to Mother when he heard her complaint that her wallet was near empty, "or you will have to carry the coffin yourselves, madam." Mother began to sob again and said that her husband didnt deserve this. She gained no sympathy. The next dawn the footmen abandoned the coffin. Mother sat down on a rock by the road. She had a ring of sores sprouting around her mouth. Rong and Kuei Hsiang discussed burying our father where he was. I didnt have the heart to leave him in a place without a tree in sight. Although I was not my fathers favorite at first -he was disappointed that I, his firstborn, was not a son-he did his best in raising me. I Excerpted from Empress Orchid: A Novel by Anchee Min All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
