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camwynY'all can ignore this if you want to. Been a little twitchy with VicMage.Asia ideas lately, so I figured I'd go back and put some of Zheng He's early life story together.
If I believed in the Gods or in my ancestors, I would be asking their blessing now. But they stopped believing in me eight years ago, so why should I imagine tonight would move their hearts to pity? They don't care. I'm on my own.
I don't think they'd help anyway. Is there a God of Fire Drug? Little Hong just made the stuff. I think. I don't remember. . . I don't know. And my family's been blacksmiths since - well - since ever. I don't think they ever did stuff like this. Cannons maybe. I don't . . . Baba never told me.
I wonder if he remembers me. I wonder if he's even still alive.
The people here call me Inu. My first master had a split bamboo that he brought down on my shoulders if I didn't answer when he called me that, so I'm used to it, but my name is Zheng He. And it'll be that way until I die. It's all I've got left from my parents. There was a pirate raid on our village years ago, when I was eight. I was in school, we were reading. Huang Laoshi was trying to get Little Hong to recite a poem in Cantonese, which wasn't easy because most of us spoke Hokkien first. There was a bang and a flash and the windows shattered and Huang Laoshi fell down with half his head missing and then there was smoke everywhere and it stunk like Fire Drug. Somebody screamed. . .
I remember running and I remember the smoke burning my lungs, and I remember seeing legs and thinking it was maybe one of the city guard, so I ran that way. Couldn't see in the smoke, though. I tripped and fell, and someone grabbed the back of my tunic and hauled me up. The man had - he was- he had blue lines crawling all over his face, like some kind of demon mask, and he had a beard and it came all the way down to his chest and his hair was curly and he had this sword in his other hand that was so sharp you could see it cutting through the smoke. He held the point up right next to my face and he said, in the worst Cantonese I ever heard, "You stay quiet or I make quiet!"
He was Ainu, one of their bushi - the spirit-warriors. That was the last time I saw my village. They hauled us from the school to their boats, along with some of the other village people, and they - all the buildings - I think they burned the whole village. It looked like that. It was such a lot of smoke, I don't think it could've been anything less. But we were all crying and screaming and holding onto each other and getting hit, so it all kind of blurs together in my mind. They weren't at the village long; they took what they wanted - us - and got out of there, and the next thing I remember after all the screaming was when they came onto the boat with spears and guns and pushed us into the dark part under the deck.
The rest of it all runs together, from the darkness to the blazing light to the spears again when we got herded onto the biggest raft I ever saw. There was another bushi there, a short, quick man with hair and beard even longer than the one at the school. Only he had a drum, too, and he had the strangest thing I'd ever seen on, a huge black bearskin, claws and all, with a band of pure gold fur around its neck. Nobody was speaking Cantonese here, not even to us - Huang Laoshi's son tried to say something and they hit him with the butt end of a spear - so we didn't know anything at all. The man just started drumming, loud and fast, so fast it got into your skull and under your skin - and even when he stopped drumming and screamed the beat was still there, so strong you couldn't move at all. He came around to each of us from the village, clamped his hands over our eyes and said something, then went on. The men with the spears started cheering and thumping their spears on the raft under our feet. Someone came up with a mirror and shoved it at a woman from the village - she looked into it, screamed, and fainted. So we all started looking at each other and that's when we saw it, saw our eyes. . . they'd gone grey. Or beige. Or a mucky sort of very light blue, like when old people get the film and can't see any more. Every single one of us.
That was the start of slavery. You can't hide eyes like that. You can't ever pretend to be free, you can't sleep with your hair wrapped around sticks and pretend to be Ainu, you can't do anything - one look at your face and they know. The Sun Bear shaman's magic saw to that. It's been like that ever since. I've seen one or two slaves who joined the Ainu, they survived the iyomante ceremony and Sent Back the Bear, but even their eyes stayed the same. They got the tattoos and grew their hair back in, that's all. It stays with you forever and ever.
I asked the man who calls himself my master now about iyomante once, a year after he bought me. He said it's as much honor as anyone not a bushi can ever hope to have. They send some people onto land to capture a bear cub and they take him back to the raft where they live, and then they raise the bear until he's all but grown. They take care of him just like one of their own children, and people come and tell him all the things that happen in the clan so that he feels like he's part of it. Then when he's old enough, they take him out to a special part of the raft, and they bring out four or five warriors with spears. Their job is to send him back to the God Who Possesses The Mountains, to tell him his people are still faithful even three thousand years after Amaterasu took their lands away. A man who lives through the ceremony and sends the bear back is honored above everyone else in his clan but the bushi. A slave whose master lets him participate is set free, and gets the tattoo marks of a free man. In fact, he even gets a free Ainu woman to wife to mark his new status.
My current master said that only applies to intact slaves. After my first master there's no point in me even trying. I might live, I might even get a strike in, but. . . well, my voice will never change and my beard will never sprout, so what would be the point? He said it's better this way. Said it's better to be a respected man's slave, the clan physician's right hand and a speaker to Nyimi, than a worthless free eunuch who'd sink from the world with not even a stone's ripples when he dies. He'd keep me, or maybe sell me to another physician in need of a competent assistant, but he wouldn't leave me to that fate.
He thought he was being kind when he said that. It's the only time I ever wanted to kill him.
I've been stealing from him and the other Ainu for three years. Nothing much, not even enough to be missed. He has a good supply of charcoal, some of which I've had to make myself - it's good to swallow if you've drunk or eaten poison, as long as it's not a strong poison. He's got the yellow stuff that smells like eggs gone wrong; that gets ground up into poultices for the Nyimi, who get skin problems sometimes even though they're supposed to be spirits. And, well, slaves are supposed to clean the midden-heap. Just not too much or too often, they'd notice that. That's why it's taken so long - well, that, and trying to mix the stuff up right. Little Hong only ever made it once that I saw, so it took a long time to get it right. I had to try during thunderstorms, so that no one noticed the bang when I set off the test batches. I had to work out other things, too, like how to pack it and how long to make the fuse. But it's been three years now. I've got it done. The rest of the charges are set, I planted them all over the raft - isn't it great how people trust the physician's slave? They've got extra-long fuses, but I've hidden them pretty well. I don't think anyone will notice, and if they do the other ones will still be burning. And even if all they do is muster half the warriors to start searching for charges, that'll be enough. As long as they're not looking, as long as they're not near the docking place outside the ring of houses. That's all I want. That's all I care about. If the Gods bothered to hear me that's all I'd ask them to do. Just keep the warriors somewhere else tonight.
The midden-heap, I think. It'll hide pretty well under a basketload of night soil, and it's not like they don't see me there often enough. The trick will be keeping the fuse something close to dry and giving it enough air to keep burning, without setting off gas bubbles in the rest of the heap. They get nervous about fire around that thing and I don't blame them one bit. I. . . damn it, there are warriors there, what are they doing? Warriors don't ever come to the heap, it's supposed to be beneath them. Why are - oh, gods, they must suspect, they-
"What are you doing, boy?" The one on the left has a mouthful of yellow teeth and a mustache that he must've glued on. The one on the right is a little shorter, with glittering eyes like a cormorant's. There are others, but these two are staring at me.
"Just dumping a basket, honorable sirs." I set the basket down in front of me and bow until I'm bent double, several times. "This unworthy slave has been asked by his master to clean out the privy."
"Lot of shit you've got there." Bird Eyes is peering at my basket.
I try not to swallow. You'd think after eight years being flogged every time I used Hokkien or Cantonese, the Ainu words would come easier… "Yes, honored sirs, it's an awful lot. We have been tending two of the Good Spirits in their human forms, and they cannot leave their beds yet. Master cannot leave their sides right now."
At the mention of the Nyimi, Mustache makes a good-fortune gesture with his free hand. "Any babies?" asks Bird Eyes.
What? "Why. . . why no, honorable sirs." Bird Eyes grunts. "This unworthy slave has not . . . there are no babies with them, no."
"Human babies, boy," says Mustache. "Walking. With hair like yours." Slaves get a child's haircut as well as the eyes.
"No, honorable sirs. Nothing of the kind. No one has brought us a baby today or yesterday, Master has only had the Nyimi to treat. . ."
Mustache shakes his head, turning to look at the heap, and I realize the other warriors are actually rummaging through the stuff. "The Chief's lost his first bear tooth, and the shaman says someone's brat swallowed it. Can't get any more from the spirits than that. So-" He looks at my basket with narrowed eyes. "We're searching."
Now I really do have to swallow. Actually, I have to do something else. The Fire Drug is hidden in the bottom of the basket. "Didn't know the good spirits could shit," he says slowly.
"That's not kid shit, Isopo," says Bird Eyes suddenly.
"Oh, like you'd know?"
"Look at it, brother. Since when does a kid that doesn't even come up to your waist have turds that size?"
Mustache - Isopo - peers at the basket a little more closely. "You're right," he says at last. There's something going on behind those eyes of his, and while I can't say what it is, I can guess. It's about the chief being stupid enough to lose the tooth in the first place. It's about the kind of face you lose by being a warrior, sent to search shit. And it's about stuff that doesn't deserve to be found. "Go on, boy. Get rid of it."
"As you wish, great sirs."
"But not here." He points with the business end of his spear. "The last thing I need is more muck on the pile. Over the edge."
I start bowing again. "This worthless one will not give you further trouble."
And now I have to dump the damn stuff over the side of the raft, Fire Drug and all! Damn it. Damn, damn, damn it!
All right. Calm down. Dump the stuff, clean out the basket, clean off the hands, breathe. Just keep breathing. Just calm down. One loss. That's all. The others are still there. I hope they're still there. They'll be all right. It'll work. Look, there, the sky is getting dark in the south. That's thunderclouds. None of this would've happened without thunderclouds. That's a good sign. Please let it be a good sign.
It isn't going to work they're going to find out I am going to die and they will feed me to the fishes. . .
"Inu." It's my owner's voice, low and thin with age. I've made it back to his house even though I was too scared to see straight. "I was wondering where you had gone."
"I. . . the midden-heap, master." For the warriors I had to bow. For my owner I have to kneel, and keep my eyes on the floor. I’m used to it by now. It's not worth trying to cheat and peek up any more.
The edge of his blue robe, stitched in white by some grateful patient long since gone, flickers just in front of what I can see. "Was there trouble?"
I close my eyes and slowly, carefully, explain about the warriors. There's a chuckle from up above. "I see. One hopes they find what they're after. But no harm was done you?"
"Um. . . no, master."
"Good." That's odd, I don't normally hear that kind of relief in his voice. "You may rise."
When I come to his feet, he looks older than I've ever seen him before. He's at least sixty summers along, maybe more; he told me once they don't do horoscopes by birth time here, so they don't really care what year a child is born. Tonight he looks worn down, as if he'd been fighting with something. "Are the Nyimi all right, master?"
He passes a hand over his face wearily. "Yes. Yes, they are, Inu. Kouri will be returning to the sea tomorrow. . . Sit, please. I need to talk to you."
Something is wrong. He knows. Someone found a packet of Fire Drug. They told him. I’m going to die.
He settles himself down on the cushion he always uses, hands resting on his knees. I find a clean spot on the woven mat and sit down cross-legged. He can see I'm afraid. He's got to. "Inu. . . today a woman came to me from Snow Bear Clan."
Huh? What would a clan like that care about-
"She is from a bushi family. She cannot be a warrior, so she would be a physician to warriors."
So she didn't-
"And she said that there was no physician of higher repute in all the western clans than the physician to Sun Bear." His mouth twists up in something that I think was supposed to be a smile. "Even if he did have eta blood seven generations back."
My mouth is still dry but he's got me confused now. I guess it shows, because he waves a hand towards the sick-rooms. "She has gone to the better part of the raft for the night, Inu. She will come here again tomorrow, to begin her training." He pauses. "She would. . . Inu, she does not want you here."
I think he expects me to answer that. "Where should I go, Master?"
That strange smile again. "That will not be up to me," he says softly. "Inu, I am sorry. You have been a good slave and I am proud that you have learned so much from me. I could not have managed these years without you, but this woman . . . she does not want to share a roof with a hinin." It means non-person. It means Chinese.
There's a little twist in the pit of my stomach, and it's not what I thought it'd be. It's like someone had their hand wrapped around my guts and they've decided to let go. Like all the blood and chi's gone running back to the rest of my body. I can feel my face burning, but I can hear myself think again, too.
"I'm sorry, Inu, I have to sell you." He looks as if he really means it.
"Master," I say very quietly, "I understand."
Surprise in his voice. "You do?"
I'm nodding as I say it. "I will not bother you again."
If I believed in the Gods or in my ancestors, I would be asking their blessing now. But they stopped believing in me eight years ago, so why should I imagine tonight would move their hearts to pity? They don't care. I'm on my own.
I don't think they'd help anyway. Is there a God of Fire Drug? Little Hong just made the stuff. I think. I don't remember. . . I don't know. And my family's been blacksmiths since - well - since ever. I don't think they ever did stuff like this. Cannons maybe. I don't . . . Baba never told me.
I wonder if he remembers me. I wonder if he's even still alive.
The people here call me Inu. My first master had a split bamboo that he brought down on my shoulders if I didn't answer when he called me that, so I'm used to it, but my name is Zheng He. And it'll be that way until I die. It's all I've got left from my parents. There was a pirate raid on our village years ago, when I was eight. I was in school, we were reading. Huang Laoshi was trying to get Little Hong to recite a poem in Cantonese, which wasn't easy because most of us spoke Hokkien first. There was a bang and a flash and the windows shattered and Huang Laoshi fell down with half his head missing and then there was smoke everywhere and it stunk like Fire Drug. Somebody screamed. . .
I remember running and I remember the smoke burning my lungs, and I remember seeing legs and thinking it was maybe one of the city guard, so I ran that way. Couldn't see in the smoke, though. I tripped and fell, and someone grabbed the back of my tunic and hauled me up. The man had - he was- he had blue lines crawling all over his face, like some kind of demon mask, and he had a beard and it came all the way down to his chest and his hair was curly and he had this sword in his other hand that was so sharp you could see it cutting through the smoke. He held the point up right next to my face and he said, in the worst Cantonese I ever heard, "You stay quiet or I make quiet!"
He was Ainu, one of their bushi - the spirit-warriors. That was the last time I saw my village. They hauled us from the school to their boats, along with some of the other village people, and they - all the buildings - I think they burned the whole village. It looked like that. It was such a lot of smoke, I don't think it could've been anything less. But we were all crying and screaming and holding onto each other and getting hit, so it all kind of blurs together in my mind. They weren't at the village long; they took what they wanted - us - and got out of there, and the next thing I remember after all the screaming was when they came onto the boat with spears and guns and pushed us into the dark part under the deck.
The rest of it all runs together, from the darkness to the blazing light to the spears again when we got herded onto the biggest raft I ever saw. There was another bushi there, a short, quick man with hair and beard even longer than the one at the school. Only he had a drum, too, and he had the strangest thing I'd ever seen on, a huge black bearskin, claws and all, with a band of pure gold fur around its neck. Nobody was speaking Cantonese here, not even to us - Huang Laoshi's son tried to say something and they hit him with the butt end of a spear - so we didn't know anything at all. The man just started drumming, loud and fast, so fast it got into your skull and under your skin - and even when he stopped drumming and screamed the beat was still there, so strong you couldn't move at all. He came around to each of us from the village, clamped his hands over our eyes and said something, then went on. The men with the spears started cheering and thumping their spears on the raft under our feet. Someone came up with a mirror and shoved it at a woman from the village - she looked into it, screamed, and fainted. So we all started looking at each other and that's when we saw it, saw our eyes. . . they'd gone grey. Or beige. Or a mucky sort of very light blue, like when old people get the film and can't see any more. Every single one of us.
That was the start of slavery. You can't hide eyes like that. You can't ever pretend to be free, you can't sleep with your hair wrapped around sticks and pretend to be Ainu, you can't do anything - one look at your face and they know. The Sun Bear shaman's magic saw to that. It's been like that ever since. I've seen one or two slaves who joined the Ainu, they survived the iyomante ceremony and Sent Back the Bear, but even their eyes stayed the same. They got the tattoos and grew their hair back in, that's all. It stays with you forever and ever.
I asked the man who calls himself my master now about iyomante once, a year after he bought me. He said it's as much honor as anyone not a bushi can ever hope to have. They send some people onto land to capture a bear cub and they take him back to the raft where they live, and then they raise the bear until he's all but grown. They take care of him just like one of their own children, and people come and tell him all the things that happen in the clan so that he feels like he's part of it. Then when he's old enough, they take him out to a special part of the raft, and they bring out four or five warriors with spears. Their job is to send him back to the God Who Possesses The Mountains, to tell him his people are still faithful even three thousand years after Amaterasu took their lands away. A man who lives through the ceremony and sends the bear back is honored above everyone else in his clan but the bushi. A slave whose master lets him participate is set free, and gets the tattoo marks of a free man. In fact, he even gets a free Ainu woman to wife to mark his new status.
My current master said that only applies to intact slaves. After my first master there's no point in me even trying. I might live, I might even get a strike in, but. . . well, my voice will never change and my beard will never sprout, so what would be the point? He said it's better this way. Said it's better to be a respected man's slave, the clan physician's right hand and a speaker to Nyimi, than a worthless free eunuch who'd sink from the world with not even a stone's ripples when he dies. He'd keep me, or maybe sell me to another physician in need of a competent assistant, but he wouldn't leave me to that fate.
He thought he was being kind when he said that. It's the only time I ever wanted to kill him.
I've been stealing from him and the other Ainu for three years. Nothing much, not even enough to be missed. He has a good supply of charcoal, some of which I've had to make myself - it's good to swallow if you've drunk or eaten poison, as long as it's not a strong poison. He's got the yellow stuff that smells like eggs gone wrong; that gets ground up into poultices for the Nyimi, who get skin problems sometimes even though they're supposed to be spirits. And, well, slaves are supposed to clean the midden-heap. Just not too much or too often, they'd notice that. That's why it's taken so long - well, that, and trying to mix the stuff up right. Little Hong only ever made it once that I saw, so it took a long time to get it right. I had to try during thunderstorms, so that no one noticed the bang when I set off the test batches. I had to work out other things, too, like how to pack it and how long to make the fuse. But it's been three years now. I've got it done. The rest of the charges are set, I planted them all over the raft - isn't it great how people trust the physician's slave? They've got extra-long fuses, but I've hidden them pretty well. I don't think anyone will notice, and if they do the other ones will still be burning. And even if all they do is muster half the warriors to start searching for charges, that'll be enough. As long as they're not looking, as long as they're not near the docking place outside the ring of houses. That's all I want. That's all I care about. If the Gods bothered to hear me that's all I'd ask them to do. Just keep the warriors somewhere else tonight.
The midden-heap, I think. It'll hide pretty well under a basketload of night soil, and it's not like they don't see me there often enough. The trick will be keeping the fuse something close to dry and giving it enough air to keep burning, without setting off gas bubbles in the rest of the heap. They get nervous about fire around that thing and I don't blame them one bit. I. . . damn it, there are warriors there, what are they doing? Warriors don't ever come to the heap, it's supposed to be beneath them. Why are - oh, gods, they must suspect, they-
"What are you doing, boy?" The one on the left has a mouthful of yellow teeth and a mustache that he must've glued on. The one on the right is a little shorter, with glittering eyes like a cormorant's. There are others, but these two are staring at me.
"Just dumping a basket, honorable sirs." I set the basket down in front of me and bow until I'm bent double, several times. "This unworthy slave has been asked by his master to clean out the privy."
"Lot of shit you've got there." Bird Eyes is peering at my basket.
I try not to swallow. You'd think after eight years being flogged every time I used Hokkien or Cantonese, the Ainu words would come easier… "Yes, honored sirs, it's an awful lot. We have been tending two of the Good Spirits in their human forms, and they cannot leave their beds yet. Master cannot leave their sides right now."
At the mention of the Nyimi, Mustache makes a good-fortune gesture with his free hand. "Any babies?" asks Bird Eyes.
What? "Why. . . why no, honorable sirs." Bird Eyes grunts. "This unworthy slave has not . . . there are no babies with them, no."
"Human babies, boy," says Mustache. "Walking. With hair like yours." Slaves get a child's haircut as well as the eyes.
"No, honorable sirs. Nothing of the kind. No one has brought us a baby today or yesterday, Master has only had the Nyimi to treat. . ."
Mustache shakes his head, turning to look at the heap, and I realize the other warriors are actually rummaging through the stuff. "The Chief's lost his first bear tooth, and the shaman says someone's brat swallowed it. Can't get any more from the spirits than that. So-" He looks at my basket with narrowed eyes. "We're searching."
Now I really do have to swallow. Actually, I have to do something else. The Fire Drug is hidden in the bottom of the basket. "Didn't know the good spirits could shit," he says slowly.
"That's not kid shit, Isopo," says Bird Eyes suddenly.
"Oh, like you'd know?"
"Look at it, brother. Since when does a kid that doesn't even come up to your waist have turds that size?"
Mustache - Isopo - peers at the basket a little more closely. "You're right," he says at last. There's something going on behind those eyes of his, and while I can't say what it is, I can guess. It's about the chief being stupid enough to lose the tooth in the first place. It's about the kind of face you lose by being a warrior, sent to search shit. And it's about stuff that doesn't deserve to be found. "Go on, boy. Get rid of it."
"As you wish, great sirs."
"But not here." He points with the business end of his spear. "The last thing I need is more muck on the pile. Over the edge."
I start bowing again. "This worthless one will not give you further trouble."
And now I have to dump the damn stuff over the side of the raft, Fire Drug and all! Damn it. Damn, damn, damn it!
All right. Calm down. Dump the stuff, clean out the basket, clean off the hands, breathe. Just keep breathing. Just calm down. One loss. That's all. The others are still there. I hope they're still there. They'll be all right. It'll work. Look, there, the sky is getting dark in the south. That's thunderclouds. None of this would've happened without thunderclouds. That's a good sign. Please let it be a good sign.
It isn't going to work they're going to find out I am going to die and they will feed me to the fishes. . .
"Inu." It's my owner's voice, low and thin with age. I've made it back to his house even though I was too scared to see straight. "I was wondering where you had gone."
"I. . . the midden-heap, master." For the warriors I had to bow. For my owner I have to kneel, and keep my eyes on the floor. I’m used to it by now. It's not worth trying to cheat and peek up any more.
The edge of his blue robe, stitched in white by some grateful patient long since gone, flickers just in front of what I can see. "Was there trouble?"
I close my eyes and slowly, carefully, explain about the warriors. There's a chuckle from up above. "I see. One hopes they find what they're after. But no harm was done you?"
"Um. . . no, master."
"Good." That's odd, I don't normally hear that kind of relief in his voice. "You may rise."
When I come to his feet, he looks older than I've ever seen him before. He's at least sixty summers along, maybe more; he told me once they don't do horoscopes by birth time here, so they don't really care what year a child is born. Tonight he looks worn down, as if he'd been fighting with something. "Are the Nyimi all right, master?"
He passes a hand over his face wearily. "Yes. Yes, they are, Inu. Kouri will be returning to the sea tomorrow. . . Sit, please. I need to talk to you."
Something is wrong. He knows. Someone found a packet of Fire Drug. They told him. I’m going to die.
He settles himself down on the cushion he always uses, hands resting on his knees. I find a clean spot on the woven mat and sit down cross-legged. He can see I'm afraid. He's got to. "Inu. . . today a woman came to me from Snow Bear Clan."
Huh? What would a clan like that care about-
"She is from a bushi family. She cannot be a warrior, so she would be a physician to warriors."
So she didn't-
"And she said that there was no physician of higher repute in all the western clans than the physician to Sun Bear." His mouth twists up in something that I think was supposed to be a smile. "Even if he did have eta blood seven generations back."
My mouth is still dry but he's got me confused now. I guess it shows, because he waves a hand towards the sick-rooms. "She has gone to the better part of the raft for the night, Inu. She will come here again tomorrow, to begin her training." He pauses. "She would. . . Inu, she does not want you here."
I think he expects me to answer that. "Where should I go, Master?"
That strange smile again. "That will not be up to me," he says softly. "Inu, I am sorry. You have been a good slave and I am proud that you have learned so much from me. I could not have managed these years without you, but this woman . . . she does not want to share a roof with a hinin." It means non-person. It means Chinese.
There's a little twist in the pit of my stomach, and it's not what I thought it'd be. It's like someone had their hand wrapped around my guts and they've decided to let go. Like all the blood and chi's gone running back to the rest of my body. I can feel my face burning, but I can hear myself think again, too.
"I'm sorry, Inu, I have to sell you." He looks as if he really means it.
"Master," I say very quietly, "I understand."
Surprise in his voice. "You do?"
I'm nodding as I say it. "I will not bother you again."
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Date: 2003-02-25 07:29 am (UTC)I hate you.
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Date: 2003-02-25 09:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-02-25 11:36 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-02-25 11:45 am (UTC)