5
The Book Taster’s Teahouse
Six had been left all alone at Mr Guan’s job centre when Five had left. Three had gone back to work, and the man from the teahouse who was coming to collect her had telephoned to say he had got stuck in a traffic jam. To her relief, Mr Guan had suggested she come into his office to wait. All his staff were so busy they didn’t have time to look after her, he said, but she could spend the time looking at his books.
Books were precious to Six. There were none in her village and she hadn’t owned one until she had started attending the middle school an hour’s walk from the village, and been given a textbook. After that she would sometimes go to her teachers’ houses to look at their books, since the school didn’t have a library. But, until now, she had never seen a collection of books as large as Guan Buyu’s. The shelves in his office were filled, from floor to ceiling, with hundreds of volumes and, for a moment, Six had no idea where to start. In the end she decided to pick the one with the most eye-catching spine to look at first. Pulling out a book with a painting of a woman’s face on the spine, she saw that it was a novel called Jane Eyre by an English writer called Charlotte Brontë. It looked quite long and complicated so she put it back and continued browsing. The next volume to catch her attention was a book with the title Sexual Love – A Basic Human Need written in red. She was astonished to see that a man like Guan Buyu had something like this on his shelves. Her teacher had warned her that books with the word ‘sex’ in the title were dirty, and that she should steer clear of them if she didn’t want to end up in prison. Looking away rapidly, Six cast her eye further along the shelf until she noticed something called My Books. Attracted by the title, she took it down and discovered that it was written by a French student who had come to study in China in the fifties. In it the student had listed all the books that he liked best and written descriptions of them. Without quite knowing why, Six didn’t put this book back but kept it in her hand as she looked along the other shelves. Ulysses – A Reader’s Guide, Rodin’s Art, On Plato, Nietzsche … There were rows and rows of books on subjects she had never heard of, as well as many volumes called things like Zen and Enlightenment, The Study of Daoism, and The Hundred Scholars of Early Confucianism. She was struck by how many books had the word ‘beauty’ in the title, or had titles that mixed the Chinese character for ‘study’ with the character for ‘beauty’ (which she later learned meant ‘Aesthetics’): Thoughts on Aesthetics, Analysis of Western Aesthetics, Communication and Aesthetics … What was a city man doing openly reading books on such a female subject? Perhaps there was more respect for the idea of beauty in the city. Six thought sadly about the girls who had been to primary school with her and were now all married. If they tried to make themselves look beautiful, they became a laughing stock. It simply wasn’t done. Maybe now that she had escaped her village, she would have a little more time for beauty …
Six lost all track of time as she stood in front of Guan Buyu’s bookshelves. She was neither hungry nor thirsty, but drunk on the knowledge around her.
‘Six, have you still not seen enough?’ said Mr Guan, poking his head around the door. ‘It looks like you’re really fond of books! How much of what’s here can you understand? You’ll be able to read lots of books at Shu Tian’s teahouse. You’ll have to tip me off if any interesting new titles come in. I go there often myself. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to throw you out of my office now: your lift’s here. Shu Tian says he’s three hours late because there was a traffic jam. Honestly … In the days when no one had cars, they used to blame their alarm clocks for not going off, but now traffic jams are eveyone’s favourite excuse for being late. People really are lamentable: instead of owning up to their faults, they treat other people like idiots who’ll believe their lies. Ah, the baseness of human nature! Come on, let’s go. If you like that book you’ve got in your hand, you can borrow it. Just make a note of it here so I won’t forget who’s got it.’
It seemed that Guan Buyu often lent books to people because he had a little noticeboard on the wall with lots of pieces of paper pinned to it giving the titles of books. When Six had written her note, he added it to the board. She felt a sense of pride that her own handwriting had joined the words of so many scholars – and in such a grand office too! Then she pocketed the book and followed Guan Buyu.
Outside stood a man who looked like a teacher. He had glasses as thick as the bottoms of soy sauce bottles and a traditional Chinese black jacket that fastened down the front. He walked up to her, bowed politely and shook her hand.
‘Pleased to meet you. I am Shu Tian.’
‘My name is Six. Please be so kind as to look after me.’ This was the first time in Six’s life she’d introduced herself so formally.
‘Mr Shu is the boss of the Book Taster’s Teahouse, ’Guan Buyu explained. ‘I’m sure you’re going to enjoy working there, but if you’re worried about anything, don’t hesitate to come and find me here by the big willow. You must treat this place as your own home, is that clear?’ Then he turned to his friend. ‘Six is a real bookworm, Old Shu. You did her a favour by coming three hours late: she got the chance to go through my bookshelves. She may be young, but she’s got the makings of a great reader.’
‘Thank you, Old Guan. You always know how to find the right person for the job. The last thing my teahouse needs is a good worker who doesn’t like books. The place would be like a prison to them. And her youth isn’t a problem at all. I’ll make sure I look after her. Come on, Six, let’s go.’
With a last nod of gratitude to Mr Guan, Six followed Thick Glasses down the street to his waiting car.
Six had never been in a car before. In fact she had only ever been in a bus four times: once to travel to the local town and back to represent her school in an essay competition, once when she had gone with Aunt Two to visit Uncle Three (his son had given them a lift back on his tractor), and the fourth time to come to Nanjing. As soon as Thick Glasses turned the ignition key, sweat broke out on Six’s palms. The ramshackle car juddered and roared like a tractor, then set off at such a pace that it seemed to Six they were in danger of hitting every pedestrian who crossed the road. She managed to stop herself from crying out loud – she didn’t want Mr Thick Glasses to think country people were cowards – but she opened her eyes wide, breathing in great gulps of air, and very soon she realised she had got the hiccups.
‘Six, here’s some water. Take ten sips and you’ll be fine.’
Thick Glasses took one hand off the steering wheel to hold out a bottle.
‘I’m fine – hic – I know how to stop – hic – hiccups … You just have to pinch the nail of the fourth finger hard – hic – and you’re fine …’
Six pinched with all her might, but somehow it didn’t work. How strange. At home she always managed to stop her hiccups like this …
‘Quick, take a few sips of water. It hurts just listening to you.’
Six couldn’t see how she was going to manage to hold the bottle of water. She had put her meagre luggage on the back seat of the car, but the book she had borrowed from Mr Guan was still clasped between her legs and she was clinging tightly to the seatbelt with both hands, not daring to take her eyes off the street or the people rushing towards her. It was as if she herself were driving, and she was afraid that if she were to close her eyes for an instant, the car would hit something.
A pedestrian suddenly stepped into the middle of the road, and Thick Glasses braked sharply. Six could not suppress a cry of terror, and for the first time her driver noticed that she had both eyes screwed shut and beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. Out of consideration, he decided to turn into a small side lane, but he had barely twisted the steering wheel when someone in the car behind shouted, ‘Hey, you in front, don’t you know how to use your indicator? Go home and walk, if you don’t know how to drive!’ Shu Tian braked for a moment in confusion, which only encouraged the man in the car behind to lean out of his window and con
tinue his harangue. ‘This road isn’t your private property, you know! There are rules … Look at that heap you’re in. No one’s driving Xialis these days. I suppose you want to have an accident so you can collect the insurance money and buy yourself a decent car …’
Six could vaguely hear the voice shouting, but she had no idea what it was saying. She was barely even aware that they were now going down a quieter road. It was not until Thick Glasses had tapped her on the shoulder several times that she opened her eyes. She saw that he was now driving much more slowly, breathed a sigh of relief, and felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over her.
But her trials were not over. Before long, they got stuck behind an old lady who was tottering down the middle of the road with her walking stick, an empty basket on her arm. The old lady glanced behind her at the car, then continued as she was, ambling unhurriedly down the lane. Thick Glasses gave a quick toot of his horn, at which the old lady jumped, turned round and, eyes full of rage, jabbed at the bonnet of the car with her walking stick.
‘Impatient, are we? Think this old lady’s too slow? Go and drive on the main road if you’re such a big shot. I’ve seen your sort before. Running around with young girls and siphoning off public money for your dirty practices like you’re above the law of the land. Do you have no shame – flaunting your filthy behaviour like that?!’
The more the old lady cursed the angrier she got, and the more confused Six became. Thick Glasses’s face went from pale to red and back again. The little lane, which had been almost deserted, was suddenly filled with a crowd of people, who clustered around the car and peered in through the windows. It was just the same in the village: whenever there was a family argument, people flocked to watch. But it had never occurred to Six that, on her first day in the big city, she’d be cursed in public. Not knowing how big Nanjing was, Six was thrown into despair by the idea that, from now on, she would be recognised and gossiped about wherever she went. She shot a look at Thick Glasses. Why wasn’t he defending her? But he merely gave a helpless gesture.
‘There’s nothing I can do, Six. A good man doesn’t fight women. And, anyway, a bookish intellectual is no match for a toothless old lady. We’ll just have to wait until she gets it out of her system.’
Just then, a man walked from out of the crowd.
‘All right, old woman. That’s enough. I saw the whole thing and this guy hasn’t done anything wrong. You were wandering right down the middle of the road. What was he supposed to do? Crawl along behind you? Besides, not everybody who drives a car is necessarily a bent official. Look at his thick glasses. Does he seem like a wicked man? And how many officials drive knackered old Xialis? You should think carefully before you accuse an honest person falsely. Come on now, be off with you. They say, “Good health underlies Revolution”. Save your good health and righteous indignation for someone who’s really corrupt.’
‘Thank you, kind sir!’ shouted Thick Glasses, raising his bottom from the seat to bow in a way that made Six smile, even though she was still shaking with fear. Their saviour led the old lady away and Thick Glasses set off down the lane again, sighing with relief.
They drove along back lanes for another twenty minutes before returning to the main street and pulling up in front of a small row of shops, of which one was a beautiful old building in the traditional Nanjing style, with white walls, grey roof tiles and flying eaves. Six looked at the shopfront with awe, admiring the large black-and-gold sign under the eaves that read ‘The Book Taster’s Teahouse’, and beneath, in smaller letters, ‘In Memory of Lu and Lu’. Walking towards the entrance to the shop, she noticed that the door was decorated with an intricately carved panel of two men playing chess.
But if Six had been taken with the front of the shop, she was even more delighted when she saw the interior. It was just like the pictures of ancient teahouses she had seen in her teachers’ books, with about a dozen circular mahogany tables dotted around the room, and benches in the same wood along the side walls. But it also had the air of an old library, with low bookshelves dividing the room into four to give the tables a feeling of intimacy. To the right of the doorway stood a lovely tall table for the preparation of tea that looked like the ones in old paintings where beautiful women held their sleeves out of the way as they warmed cups with hot water and poured tea from delicate porcelain pots. Behind this table hung a blue batik curtain on which the Chinese character for ‘Tea’ stood out in white. To the left of the entrance there was a a square old-fashioned writing desk, with a full set of calligraphy brushes, slabs of ink (with a stone for grinding it), paper and, beneath it, a big china urn to hold scrolls of paper and larger calligraphy brushes. Along the back wall was a classical zither, a display cabinet of tea sets and, between them, a beautiful wall-hanging painted with the character for ‘peace’. The ceiling was hung with calligraphy brushes for wall painting, so large they almost looked as if they could be used to sweep the floor.
Six was struck dumb by the beauty of the room. She felt she had not enough eyes to take it all in.
‘Do you like it?’ Thick Glasses asked her.
‘I love it!’ Six murmured. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would set foot in such a lovely place.
Thick Glasses began turning on lamps.
‘These are replicas of ancient table lamps,’ he said. ‘The ones on the bookcases are imitation Ming palace lamps in eggshell porcelain. They both provide the right kind of light for reading and appreciating paintings. These days plenty of people know about buying art and putting it on display, but they’ve failed to grasp that you need soft lighting to appreciate it. Ah well, that’s what it’s like today … People are interested in money, not art. Such a pity …’
‘Why is there nobody here?’ Six asked. Surely a teahouse like this should be the most popular place in Nanjing, she thought to herself.
‘We’re not opening until next week,’ Thick Glasses explained. ‘We decorated the place just before Spring Festival and then, over the holiday, we invited some of our bookworm friends to come for tea and snacks so they could give us ideas. I need all the help I can get. I’ve spent my whole life working in a publishing company editing a youth magazine and doing a bit of English translation on the side, so running a business is new to me. My wife and I have put everything we own into this teahouse, with some help from our son. If it succeeds we’ll set up more like it; if it falls through we’ll just have to shut up shop and find freelance work where we can. If I can’t be a chicken’s head and run my own business, I’ll just have to settle for being a phoenix’s tail and working for someone else …’
As Thick Glasses spoke, he stroked the books on the shelves.
‘I picked up all these books myself from markets and bookstalls. I’ve just about read them all, or at least had a quick flick through. Once we open, I’ll get more. And I hope a few like-minded people will donate books. Then we’ll be pretty well set up. This is the teahouse of my dreams, I just want to …’
‘Bookworm, you’re back! How many hours have you taken to collect her? If you think that you can run a business as slowly as you drink tea, we’ll soon have to sell all those books of yours just to break even. Quickly now, why aren’t you giving me a hand? I thought it would be easy to pop over to the supermarket to get some snacks, but on the way back the food seemed to get heavier with every step. My fingers are nearly bent right off!’
A middle-aged woman dressed in bright red had burst in through the door, her hands full of plastic bags.
‘Ow, gosh – take them. That’s right, there’s one on each finger. Kang’s coming along in a moment with some heavier stuff. Hello, hello, new friend. Sorry, I can’t shake your hand, I’ve got my arms full. My name’s Meng as in “Dream”. What’s yours?’
‘Liu’er as in “Six”,’ Six replied brightly.
‘Six? That’s quite a coincidence. Last week we had someone in the teahouse called Nine. At first I thought her name was “Wine” so I asked her if she came from a f
amily of wine-lovers. Take me, for instance, my mother used to say my father was a dreamer whose daydreams never came to anything until he produced a daughter. What do you think of that? Pull back that curtain for me, will you please, so that I can put these bags into our storeroom? Thanks! Look at this, they’ve dug big creases into my hands … Anyway, the woman told me her name was Nine, not Wine. I’ve got a small brain, you see. Still, it’s wonderful to have a girl with a lucky number for a name working for us. We’ll all reap the benefits. Now, have you and the Bookworm had anything to eat? No? Gracious, it’s nearly five. You silly old bookworm, it’s one thing for you not to eat, but how could you let her go hungry? You really are the limit. Oh, never mind, forget it, I’ve just bought some little pastries for the opening. You two can have some to keep you going and then we’ll have a proper family meal later. You’ll have to take care of yourself Six, when you’re working with him. My husband’s a decent chap, with a good heart and a solid brain, but his eyesight and memory are useless. If he sees a little black dog by the side of the road, he thinks someone’s hat has blown off. He tries to “eliminate the four pests”, as our great leaders once told us to, by swatting nails on the wall mistaking them for flies, but then he’ll go and think a ladybird is a nail and try to hang a bag of eggs on it …’
Six burst out laughing.
‘Don’t think I’m just poking fun for the hell of it,’ continued Meng with a smile. ‘Everything I say is true. We’ve been married twenty-six years, and I’ve got enough jokes about him to fill a book! If you don’t believe me, you’ll find out soon enough. And as for his memory … Ever since I met him, I’ve watched him bump around the room looking for his glasses when he’s holding them in his hand. If I phone him to ask if he’s eaten, he tells me he’ll have to go into the kitchen to see if there are any unwashed dishes. I never believe that stuff of his about traffic jams. He just doesn’t know where he’s going … Go on, eat, you must be starving! Here Bookworm, you have these. I’m sorry, but I have to warn Six about your lunacy (or should I say genius) so that you don’t scare her to death.’