Poets and Murder
- Автор: ван Гулик Роберт Ханс
- Серия: Judge Dee #16
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Poets and Murder». Краткое содержание книги:
Master detective Judge Dee sets out to solve a puzzling double murder and discovers that complicated passions lurk beneath the seemingly tranquil landscape of academic life. A student has been murdered; a beautiful poetess is accused of whipping her maidservant to death; and further mysteries lie in the shadows of the Shrine of the Black Fox.
'Tell'm to take that tray back, Dee! And send those fiddlers away too. We've had plenty to eat, and plenty of music! Now we can start to drink in earnest!’
The Court Poet proposed another toast, then Sexton Loo, and Judge Dee toasted the three guests on behalf of their absent host. The Academician involved the poet in a complicated discussion of the merits of classical prose as compared with modern styles. This permitted the judge to engage Sexton Loo in conversation. The sexton had been drinking heavily; his vows evidently didn't include abstinence from wine. The film of moisture covering his coarse face made him resemble a toad more than ever. Judge Dee began:
'Before dinner you said you were not a Buddhist, sir. Why then do you retain the title of sexton?'
'The rank was bestowed upon me when I was young, and it stuck,' the other replied gruffly. 'Undeservedly, I admit. For I leave it to the dead to bury their own.' He emptied his cup in one draught.
'There seem to be many Buddhists in this district. I noticed a street lined by half a dozen Buddhist temples. Had only time to look at one, the Temple of Subtle Insight. What denomination does it belong to?'
The sexton looked him over with his bulging eyes which now had a curious reddish gleam.
'To none. They have found that the shortest way to the ultimate truth lies in one's own self. We don't need the Buddha to tell us where and how to discover it. There are no gaudy altars, no holy books, no noisy religious services. It's a quiet place and I always stay there when I come here.'
'Hey, Sexton!’ the Academician called out. 'Chang here tells me that his own poems are getting shorter all the time! He'll end up by writing some of two lines only, just like you!’
'I wish I could!’ the poet said wistfully. His cheeks were flushed. The judge thought Chang couldn't stand his drinks as well as the Academician, whose heavy-jowled, pale face was as impassive as ever. Shaking his head, the poet went on, 'At first sight your lines seem trite, Sexton; sometimes they don't even seem to make sense! Yet you can't put them out of your mind, and one day you suddenly see the point. A special toast to our great couplet poet, gentlemen!’
After they had emptied their cups, the poet resumed:
'Now that we have the place to ourselves, so to speak, why don't you inscribe that screen for our host, eh, Sexton? Your unrivalled calligraphy'll compensate Lo for all the good toasts he is missing!’
The ugly monk set down his wine cup.
'I'll dispense with your levity, Chang,' he said coldly. 'I take my work seriously.'
'Ho ho, Sexton!' the Academician shouted. 'We'll have none of your excuses. You don't dare to write, because you've had too much. I bet your legs are getting wobbly already! Come on, it's now or never!’
The Court Poet burst out laughing. Ignoring him, the sexton told the judge quietly:
'It'll be quite a job to get that big screen down, and the servants are all in a dither. If you get me a sheet of paper, I'll write a poem for our host here at the table.'
'All right!’ the Academician told him. 'We are magnanimous! Since you are too drunk to write your enormous characters, we'll let you off with one tiny little inscription. Tell those chaps to bring ink and paper, Dee!’
Two servants cleared the table, and a maid brought a roll of blank paper and a tray with writing implements. Judge Dee selected a sheet of thick white paper of five by two feet and smoothed it out on the table while the sexton rubbed the ink, mumbling something with his thick lips. When the fat monk took up the writing-brush, the judge put his hands on the upper end of the paper to keep it steady.
The sexton rose. He stared for one brief moment at the paper, then his hand shot out and he wrote two lines, each in practically one sweep of the brush, as quickly and surely as the lash of a whip.
'By heaven!' the Academician exclaimed. 'This is indeed what the ancients called inspired writing! Can't say I care much for the content, but the calligraphy is worthy of being engraved into stone, for posterity!’
The Court Poet read the lines aloud:
' "We all return to where we came from: Where the flame went of the doused candle." Care to explain the meaning, Sexton?'
'I don't.' The sexton selected a smaller brush, and dedicated the poem to Magistrate Lo, signing it in one flourish: 'Old Man Loo'.
Judge Dee told the maids to stick the sheet up on the central panel of the wall screen. It struck him that it was an apt epitaph for the young dancer whose dead body was lying in the room behind.
Counsellor Kao came in. Bending over, he whispered something in Judge Dee's ear. The judge nodded and said:
'My colleague told me to inform you, gentlemen, that to his profound regret he has to forego the honour of attending upon you. The poetess Yoo-lan asks to be excused also, for she has a splitting headache. I hope that the distinguished company will kindly consent to make do with me as deputy host.'
The Academician emptied his cup. Wiping his moustache, he said:
'You are doing very well, Dee, but I think we'll call it a day, eh, gentlemen?' He got up. 'We'll thank Lo tomorrow morning, when we view the Moon altar together.' Judge Dee conducted him to the broad staircase, the counsellor following them with the poet and the sexton. Going down, Shao said with a broad smile:
'Next time the two of us must have a longer talk, Dee! Eager to hear your views on administrative problems. I am always interested in hearing what younger officials have to say about ...' Suddenly he gave the judge a doubtful look, as if debating whether he hadn't already said all this. He solved the problem by concluding jovially, 'Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow! Good night!’
After Judge Dee and Counsellor Kao had seen the three guests off and taken leave of them with many low bows, the judge asked:
'Where's the magistrate, Mr Kao?'
'In the anteroom down here in the main hall, sir. I'll lead the way.'
The small magistrate was sitting at the tea-table, hunched up in an armchair, his elbows on the table, head bent. Hearing the judge come inside, he looked up with haggard eyes. His round face was drawn; even his moustache was drooping.
'I am lost, Dee,' he said hoarsely. 'Ruined completely. For good!'
XII
Judge Dee pulled up another chair and sat down opposite his colleague.
'It can hardly be as bad as all that,' he said soothingly. 'It's never pleasant to have a murder in your own residence, of course, but such things happen. As to the motive of this brazen murder, it'll interest you that the flute-player downtown, whom I consulted about Soong's musical score, told me that Small Phoenix was an expert in fleecing her customers. A girl who encourages men, then refuses them at the last moment, is liable to make bitter enemies. I suppose one of those utilized the bustle of caterers and tradesmen going in and out of here for slipping inside unnoticed, and reached the green-room by that dark flight of stairs I noticed opposite the door.'
Lo had hardly listened. Now, however, he lifted his head and said wearily:
The door at the bottom of that staircase has been locked as long as I've lived here. My womenfolk aren't always as obedient as one would wish, but I am still far removed from putting the Consort's Staircase to use.'
'A consort's staircase? What on earth is that?'
'Ah, well, you don't read modern poetry, do you? Fact is that the notorious Ninth Prince who resided here twenty years ago was not only a traitor, but a henpecked husband to boot. Some say it was the goading and nagging of his consort that made him attempt his ill-fated rebellion. It was she who ruled "from behind the screen", as the saying goes. She had that room behind the banquet hall built, and the flight of stairs, which connects down below with a corridor leading straight to the women's quarters. There was a high screen standing in the rear of the hall, then as now. When the prince was sitting on his throne in front of the screen, holding an audience, his consort went to that room and stood herself behind the screen, listening to the proceedings. If she knocked on the screen once, the prince knew he had to say no, if twice he could say yes. The story became so well known that the term "consort's staircase" is now widely used as a literary allusion, meaning a henpecked husband.'