away from him.

PORTRAITS

Only two official portraits

ever made of King Xau:

the one in the throne room

depicts him after he won his first war—

seventeen years old,

robed in red, crowned in gold,

no hint of triumph

on the boy’s stern face.

They caught Tian off guard.

She’d finished cleaning

the king’s rooms,

had an armful of dirty cloths

as she stepped out into the hall—

The king and his guards

were lined up along the wall.

They all bowed to her—

to her—

and led her into the breakfast room,

the table laid with plates,

tea bowls, a single mooncake.

King Xau pulled out a chair for her,

the king beaming, Tian speechless.

The king cut the mooncake

into little pieces, scattering crumbs.

He handed the first piece to her.

“Happy Birthday, Tian.”

Tian sniffed noisily

as the king gave bits of mooncake

to his guards, poured tea.

If she tried thanking the king,

she’d end up in tears.

So instead she gestured at the crumbs,

the plates, the bowls, said sharply,

“Who’ll clear all this up?”

“Captain Li will,” said Xau.

“He’s getting lazy.”

“The king will,” said Captain Li.

“I will incorporate the clean up

into today’s training session.”

“You see?” said Xau. “He’s lazy.”

The second portrait,

painted by the master Pei Tsu,

given, in a gesture of outlandish generosity,

to an elderly cleaning woman:

black ink wash on silk,

the king in profile,

smiling as if at a friend.

MONSTER: PUPPETEER

The splintered scrape of broken bone,

forced to and fro across sharp stone.

No one to see, no one to care

how slowly died the desert hare.

No accident, no slip, no trip,

its mind caught in a monster’s grip.

Six-eyed, six-mouthed, the monster foul

controlled each scraping move, each howl.

Hare and lizard, dove and sparrow,

lowly beasts he chose to harrow.

The monster’s link a ghastly chain

that bound his pleasure to their pain.

Year after year small prey he hunted,

till such thrills at length grew blunted.

In search of richer meat to snare,

he slithered, cautious, from his lair.

And trapped a child to his delight;

fed on her hurts, fed on her fright.

His will the whip that steered her hand

to all the evils he had planned—

The burning branch, the severed thumb,

the screams to make her mother come—

Then what rapture, what doubled joys!

Mother and child now both his toys.

Forced the girl to scar her mother,

each one aching for the other.

Watched the mother grope her daughter,

stronger fodder than mere slaughter.

Nothing ignored, nothing wasted,

such games sweetened all he tasted.

ELIGIBLE

Every day more invitations:

inked in gold or silver,

scented with peony and jasmine,

carved into rosewood, ivory, jade.

Notes from the king’s cousins,

from ministers, from magistrates.

Deputations from foreign powers,

direct or veiled in discretion.

Would King Xau attend a concert?

A festival? A tournament?

Would he name a ship?

Hunt tigers with the Ulixian court?