A Drink Of Water

Mao Jin waved his hand. "You can go now, Madame Shen."

She nodded and bowed as she dusted off her hands and picked up her bundle. "Good evening then, young sir. I hope the food is to your liking."

He said nothing, only nodded impatiently, and she hurriedly went on her way, stealing a glance back at him, half admiringly, half uncomfortably.

"He's a strange man," she muttered to herself. "A fine young gentleman like him ought to be living sumptuously in the city, with his fill of entertainment. Why he bothers to stay out here on the fringes is beyond me. And yet they say he's well-born. Maybe he's committed a crime, or something."

Madame Shen was a practical woman. She worked hard and she did not bother to think too much, for she had five children to feed. All she knew was that she was paid to clean and cook for the young gentleman living on his own in this house alone in the woods, and honestly that was all that mattered. Mao Gongzi was quiet and well-mannered, and she had finally managed to suit her cooking to his taste. When all was said and done it was a good job with good pay--and that was all she cared about--but after a month it was only natural that she would start to feel a little curious about him.

Oblivious of the dark thoughts Madame Shen was having about him, Mao Jin stood at the threshold of his gate and breathed in the cool air. Evening was coming and there was a most refreshing breeze. He played with the idea of taking a short walk before dinner, but decided against it as the sky looked a little dark and cloudy.

It was only a month since he had moved in here, but already it felt like he had been here for years. The quiet, isolated location was soothing after the bustle of the city. Here, no one knew who he was, and he could always give a false name if he had to. It gave him a healing sense of freedom.

His brows knitted together unconsciously as he thought of the city. He had hated every moment of his time there when his father had sent him off to study. Everyone knew who he was, even people he didn't know. Already when they looked at him he could see them assessing him, smiling to themselves, purring. Mao Yuan's son, but a concubine's child, that was all. He read that in their smug faces as clearly as if it had been written across their foreheads with a brush. He was important enough for them to recognize, but not important enough for them to care. And always, everywhere he turned, watching. The manservant assigned to him by his father had been a burden. Mao Jin had seized the first chance to get rid of him, sending the man off with some money, and breathed a sigh of relief. The noise, the smells, the rude jostling and pushing, and always the gawking, staring, bulging eyes, full of vulgar curiousity. He had been so glad to escape from all of that. He knew that Madame Shen was not a longterm solution, but he could not bring himself yet to disturb this lovely solitude and freedom by having a servant staying with him.

Life was simple and good here. He studied for his examinations and wrote poetry in his free time. He did not need to hear about what was going on in the city, what his father had been doing.

Well, it was time to see what Madame Shen had made for dinner today. He was about to turn into the house and latch the gate when a white figure appeared over the edge of the path.

Mao Jin frowned. Now and then there would be travellers passing by on their way to town, but it was late now. Could it be Madame Shen had forgotten something? He leaned forward to get a better look.

A woman, without any bundle or baggage with her. Walking with a slight lurch in her step, and one hand pressed to her side as if she was in pain.

As she came closer he saw with surprise through the gloom that she was young and beautiful, but so haggard she could have been a ghost, in her white robes. The hair hung disheveled about her face and her eyes had a set, glassy look to them as if her thoughts were not on the path she walked on.

She did not even seem to see him as she approached his house, though he was tall and stood right at the gate. To his surprise, though he could not tear his eyes off her face, she did not even turn once in his direction. At a steady pace she walked past him and he wondered uneasily if she knew that the road ahead led away from the town. She could not possibly make it out of the woods by nightfall. Was she lost? But why didn't she ask for directions? What was stranger--why did she not have anything with her, and why was she not even dressed for travelling, on her own as she was?

He stepped forward, his curiousity getting the better of him, even though half of him wanted to go back and shut the door--it was not his business after all. It had always been his rule not to get involved with things that might cause him trouble in the future. As a concubine's son, someone with connections yet without any real power, this was the only way to survive.

Suddenly she stopped short. Mao Jin, watching, saw her turn slowly and face him, her eyes gradually taking in the walls and gate of his house, and finally fall on him. Retracing her steps, she came and stood a short distance away, and bowed slightly.

"I am thirsty. May I have some water?"

Her voice was clear and low, and did not sound as exhausted or breathless as her appearance seemed to indicate. There was also a dignity he did not expect; beggars did not make requests like that.

Taken a back, he said quickly, "But of course. If the lady would wait here a moment, I will get it for you."

When he returned, she was still standing there, erect and motionless like a soldier at his post. She took the water from him with both hands, and drank it rapidly without stopping for breath.

Handing the empty bowl back to him, she smiled at him, a smile that moved her lips only. "Thank you."

And then she turned and walked away. Mao Jin watched in silent disbelief as she went steadily onwards.

"She'll turn back again," he muttered to himself absently. "She must, if she knows what she's doing."