The Last Empress Part 13

I stopped the eunuch and asked Sun Pao-tien to continue.

"My colleague and I found out that Her Majesty's breathing has been constricted by phlegm. We have been trying to find a way to suck it out."

"It was not working!" all the eunuchs cried in unison.

I asked why I hadn't been informed.

"My lady didn't want the court, and especially you, to be told. She believed that she would be fine in no time."

"Have you any proof?"

"Here." The eunuch fumbled in his pockets and produced a piece of wrinkled paper. "My lady signed the instructions." Tears and mucus had gathered at the tip of the eunuch's nose and dripped. "She came back miraculously last time. So we thought she would get over this attack."

"Last time? What do you mean? This has happened before?" What do you mean? This has happened before?"

"Yes. The first time was when my lady was twenty-six years old, and then again when she was thirty-three. This time I am afraid she will not survive."

When I rushed to Nuharoo's palace, sounds of crying filled the air. The courtyard was packed with people. Seeing me, the crowd made way. I arrived at Nuharoo's bedside and found her practically buried in fresh gardenias. Doctor Sun Pao-tien was at her side.

It shocked me how illness had changed her appearance. Her eyebrows were in the shape of a big knot and her mouth sagged to one side. Her breathing was labored and there was a gurgling noise in her throat.

"Take away the flowers," I ordered.

None of the attendants moved.

"How can she breathe with the flowers weighing on her chest?"

The eunuchs threw themselves down. "It is what Her Majesty wanted."

"Nuharoo," I whispered.

"She can't hear you," said the doctor.

"How can this be? For years she was not ill for even a day!"

"Her duties at court have worn her out," the doctor explained. "She may not last the night."

A few minutes later Nuharoo opened her eyes. "You came in time, Yehonala," she said. "I get to say goodbye."

"Nonsense, Nuharoo." I bent down. When I touched her pale, thin shoulder, my tears came.

"Bury me with my gardenias," she said. "The court will want to bury me their way. You make sure that I don't get bullied in death."

"Whatever you say, Nuharoo. But you are not going to die."

"My way is the only way, Yehonala."

"Oh, my dear Nuharoo, you promised that you wouldn't drive yourself so."

"I didn't." She closed her eyes. A eunuch wiped her face with a towel. "I didn't quit because I didn't want to embarra.s.s myself."

"What is there to be embarra.s.sed about?"

"I wanted to show ... that I was as good as you."

"But you are, Nuharoo."

"That's a lousy lie, Yehonala. You are happy because I am going to be out of your way for good."

"Please, Nuharoo..."

"You can order the eunuchs to get rid of their brooms now."

"What are you talking about?"

"You can collect the fall leaves, pile them as high as you want in the courtyards. The h.e.l.l with stains on the marble."

I listened and wept.

"Buddha is on the other side waiting for me."

"Nuharoo..."

She raised her hand. "Stop, Yehonala. Death is ugly. I've got nothing left."

I held her hand. It was cold, and her fingers felt like a bundle of chopsticks.

"There is honor, Nuharoo."

"You would think I care."

"You have saved up plenty of virtue, Nuharoo. Your next life will be a splendid one."

"I have been living inside these walls..." Her voice drifted. "Only the dusty winds of the desert penetrated..." She turned slowly to face the ceiling. "Two and a half miles of walls and the two hundred and fifty acres enclosed have been my world and yours, Yehonala. I will not call you Orchid. I promised myself."

"Of course not, Nuharoo."

"No more rehearsing the protocols ... the endless comedy of manners..." She paused to catch her breath. "Only a practiced ear could detect the real meaning of a word wrapped in filigree ... the idea hidden in amber."

"Oh, yes, Empress Nuharoo."

A half hour later, Nuharoo ordered that she be left alone with me.

When the room was cleared, I pulled over two thick pillows and sat her up. Her neck, her hair and her inner robe were sweat-soaked.

"Will you," she began, "forgive me?"

"For what?"

"For ... for driving Hsien Feng out of your bed."

I asked if she meant the concubines whom she had brought in to seduce Hsien Feng during my pregnancy.

She nodded.

I told her not to worry. "It was only a matter of time until Hsien Feng abandoned me."

"I will be punished in my next life if you don't forgive me, Lady Yehonala."

"All right, Nuharoo, I forgive you."

"Also, I plotted your miscarriage." She wouldn't stop.

"I knew. You didn't succeed, though."

A tear streamed down from the corner of her eye. "You are kind, Yehonala."

"No more, please, Nuharoo."

"But there is more I'd like to confess."

"I don't want to hear it."

"I must, Yehonala."

"Tomorrow, Nuharoo."

"I might not ... have the chance."

"I promise to come tomorrow morning."

She decided to go ahead anyway. "I ... gave permission for An-te-hai's murder."

Her voice was almost inaudible, but it hit me.

"Tell me you hate me, Yehonala."

I did, I hated her, but I couldn't say it.

Her lips trembled. "I need to depart with a clear conscience."

She squeezed my fingers. Her expression was sad and helpless. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"Offer your mercy, Yehonala."

I was not sure I had the right to forgive. I took my hand out of hers. "Get some rest, Nuharoo. I will see you tomorrow."

Using all her might she yelled, "My departure is irreversible!"

I pulled away and headed toward the door.

"You have wished my disappearance, Lady Yehonala, I know you have."

I stopped and turned around. "Yes, but I changed my mind. We haven't been the best partners, but I cannot imagine having no partner at all. I am used to you. You are the most wretched f.u.c.king demon I know!"

A faint smile crossed Nuharoo's face, and she murmured, "I hate you, Yehonala."

Nuharoo died the next morning. She was forty-four years old. Her last words to me were "He didn't touch me." I was stunned because I was sure she meant that Emperor Hsien Feng did not make love to her on their wedding night.

I followed Nuharoo's burial instructions and covered her with gardenias. Her coffin was carried to the royal tomb site and she was laid next to our husband. Luckily, it was April, the season for gardenias. I had no trouble s.h.i.+pping tons of flowers from the south. The farewell ceremony was held in a sea of gardenias in the Hall of Buddha Wors.h.i.+ping, attended by thousands. Hundreds of wreaths in all shapes and sizes arrived from around the country. The eunuchs piled them up, filling the hall.

Nuharoo's pa.s.sion for gardenias was new to me. The plant was not native to Peking; it was popular in southern China. From her eunuchs I learned that Nuharoo had never seen gardenias before her final illness. She had requested that gardenias be planted around her tomb, only to be told that they wouldn't survive the harsh northern weather. And the desert soil was unsuitable for them.

Nuharoo had surprised me with her feelings after all. I remembered how content she was when I first met her at sixteen. She believed that the world outside was a shabby thing compared to the "Great Within." I could only wonder how excited she would have been if she had traveled to the south and saw with her own eyes the green fertile plain-the land of gardenias.

Two thousand Buddhist monks attended the burial ceremony. They chanted around the clock. Guang-hsu and I stayed up late for the "soul ceremony," when Nuharoo's spirit was said to ascend to Heaven. Eunuchs placed the candles in folded-paper boats and floated them on Kun Ming Lake. Guang-hsu ran along the sh.o.r.e, following the drifting candles.

I sat on a flat boulder by the lake. Quietly I read a poem to wish Nuharoo a good journey to Heaven.

Gardenias fill the courtyard free from dust By climbing the trumpet vine, its fragrance reinforced; Softly they heighten the fresh green of spring, Gently they trail their perfume, ring on ring.

A light mist hides the winding path from view, From covered walks drips chill and verdant dew.

But who will celebrate the pool in song?

Lost in a dream, at peace, the poet sleeps long.

The foreign press described Nuharoo's death as "mysterious" and "suspicious" and speculated that I was the murderer. "It is generally believed that Tzu Hsi brought about the death of her colleague," a reputable English newspaper stated. "She made up her mind to kill because she was discovered by Nuharoo in bed with a leading man of the opera."

I was able to remain detached until Tung Chih was brought into the stories. "She Did It Again: Yehonala Sacrificed Her Own Child on the Altar of Her Ambition!" shouted one headline in the British press, and the story was picked up by the Chinese papers. The article stated, "When Emperor Tung Chih was critically ill, his mother, far from providing him with the proper medical care, allowed the disease to wreak havoc with his delicate const.i.tution. Should we have any reason to doubt that she had not allowed the same to happen to her coregent?" Another paper echoed, "Yehonala seemed intent on orchestrating the early death of her son and that of Nuharoo. Everyone at court knew that Tung Chih and Nuharoo would not live to see old age."

I felt defenseless. To justify further foreign encroachments in China, I had to be made into a monster.

"It is inconceivable that Yehonala did not know of the shameful exploits of her son and Nuharoo," one Chinese translation read, "and the fatal consequences of such adventures. It was within her power to forbid these revels, yet she did nothing to prevent them."

Day after day, slanderers from around the world poured their venom: "We see how complete was the Dowager Empress's estrangement from her son and how total her l.u.s.t for power."

"For the young girl from the poorest province in China, no price is too high to maintain her despotic grip on the Celestial Empire."

I dreamed that Yung Lu would come back to defend me. I cried at Tung Chih's altar and walked back in the middle of the night through the Hall of Spiritual Nurturing like a ghost. During the day's audiences, I would break down and weep like a schoolgirl. Guang-hsu kept pa.s.sing me handkerchiefs until he started to weep himself.