by John Harris
‘Do you know anything about the stuff? Its value? That sort of thing? I don’t.’
She thought for a moment. ‘Yes. Not its value, of course. That’s something we’d have to find out. But it seems to be very valuable if it’s sold somewhere other than in China. And I was interested in it while I was here. I read it up a bit.’
‘Would it cost much to buy this stuff?’
‘They almost give it away. I don’t think the Chinese know its value and money’s more important to them. They live a pretty primitive life and the most important thing is feeding themselves. If we could give them money, I think they’d sell all right.’
Willie took her hands in his. ‘Ab,’ he said. ‘I think you might have got something. We could take a few suitcases full of these things home. Pack ’em ourselves to save money. Perhaps even a crate or two. Take ’em to London or somewhere–’
‘You could go to London and I could go to San Francisco. That way we’d find the best market.’
He looked at her, one arm round her slender waist. ‘You ever been in business before, Ab?’ he asked.
‘My uncle kept a store. I had to help in it. I learned a bit about buying and selling.’
‘And I learned a bit about book-keeping because I was an accounts clerk. Ab, I think we’ve got a business. But it would mean going back to Shantu.’
He wasn’t very keen on such a journey. He’d met a Frenchman called Pierre Loti, who was a reporter for one of the French newspapers, who had told him of the horrors he’d seen committed by Allied troops in Tungchow, only twelve miles to the east of Peking, and the memory of the massacre near Shantu was still vivid in his mind.
‘Not just me,’ he went on. ‘You, too. Because I don’t know anything about these things or where to find ’em. You’d have to show me. Could you do that?’
She looked at him quickly, nervously. ‘They – all those people – they wouldn’t still be there, would they?’
‘No, Ab. They’ll all have been taken away and buried by now.’
‘I don’t think I–’ she paused and her chin came up ‘–yes, Willie, I guess I could force myself to go up there with you.’
‘It’d be primitive.’
‘There couldn’t be anything more primitive than the mission.’
‘We’d have to live in all sorts of places.’
‘Do you want me to?’
He stared up at her and took her hand in his. ‘Yes, Ab, I do.’
‘Okay, then, I’ll come.’
His hand caressed her fingers. ‘Ab,’ he said. ‘You’re beautiful.’
‘Because I’ll go to Shantu with you?’
‘You’re always beautiful. You’ve got nice eyes and a nice mouth. But I think most of it comes from inside.’
She blushed. ‘You shouldn’t say those things, Willie.’
Willie’s other arm encircled her and he pulled her to him. For a second they stayed together, their faces only an inch or two apart, then his hand slipped underneath the army shirt she was still wearing. Above the cotton trousers he felt the warm skin in the hollow of her back, and the sudden quivering tension of her body.
She shuddered again, then suddenly she was murmuring soft endearments to him, her face hidden in the curve of his neck, her fingers digging into his muscles.
‘Oh, Willie!’
At her cry, Willie’s arm tightened round her, holding her to him until the shaking stopped. As she allowed herself to relax, he could hear her whispering and for a while he lay motionless, his arm round her quivering frame. Then, moving on the bed, he allowed her to slip down and lay alongside him, before reaching up and pulling the blanket over them both. As he reached for her, she caught at his hands, but not to put them away. As she pulled him to her she was mouthing little pleading sounds in his ear.
For a long time they lay still, in the silence of the darkening room, then Abigail gave a little giggle. ‘I’m lost, Willie,’ she whispered. ‘I’m a lost woman.’
The sheet had slipped to the floor and Willie was far away. Their lovemaking had been clumsy because he was young and she was innocent and a little afraid. But there had been bells. There had definitely been bells. Emmeline had been older and experienced and more skilful, but there had never been bells. Not even a tiny tinkle.
‘Willie–’
‘What?’ He realised she was addressing him. ‘What is it, Ab?’
‘I said I’m a lost woman.’
‘No, you’re not.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps, in fact, you just found yourself.’
‘But that’s what they always said about it,’ she went on in a quiet, troubled voice. There was a long pause. ‘That you’re lost when you do that. They warned us against it.’
‘Who did?’
‘In Sunday School. At church. The wages of sin is death, they kept saying. Romans, 6, 23. And that, they reckoned, was the worst sin of all. They said it was worse than that, in fact.’ She paused. ‘Is it always like this, Willie?’
He almost put his foot in it and, thinking of Emmeline, nearly said, yes, it was. But he caught himself in time. ‘I suppose it is,’ he said, injecting a great deal of thought into the comment as though he were extremely doubtful but still full of hope.
‘Does it get better?’
Willie was more cautious this time. ‘I reckon so,’ he said. ‘Experience and all that. Especially if you always do it with the same person.’ He felt old and wise. ‘Love and trust have got to come into it, I reckon.’
‘Do you trust me, Willie?’
‘I’d trust you with my last farthing.’
‘What about love?’
He paused before he answered ‘yes’ and she looked quickly at him. ‘Aren’t you sure?’
He laughed. ‘I’m sure,’ he said. ‘I was just considering it to make certain. It’s an important question.’
‘It sure is.’
‘But I’m sure.’
She was silent for a moment. She was older than Willie and to him she was wise and womanly in a way Emmeline had never been. But, after the arid life she had lived at Shantu, she had felt she had known nothing of the outside world beyond the mission. Yet she guessed Willie was lonely and, for once, a bit lost, but at the mission she had begun to feel she would never know love and was conscious of a deep motherly feeling towards this young man into whose company she had fallen. She was glowing with life and, inspired by his warmth, when he had put his hand to her throat, she had caught it and put it to her bosom. Conscious of his kisses and the hands that tugged at her clothing she had pressed him to her.
‘How old are you, Willie?’ she asked.
‘Twenty-four,’ he lied.
‘No, you’re not. I saw it written on a paper on your bed in the hospital.’
He flushed, looking very young. ‘Well, no,’ he admitted. ‘Not exactly.’
‘You’re a lot younger than I am, aren’t you? It’s not usual for a man to be younger than the woman. Would it matter?’
‘Don’t see why it should.’
‘I’d need to feel loved, Willie. I wouldn’t want a man just to use me.’
He put his arm round her and drew her close. The affection in the gesture was implicit and she was silent for a moment. Then she spoke slowly.
‘It sure was nice,’ she said. ‘I guess you’ll have to marry me now, to make me an honest woman.’
‘I reckon we’re already as much married as we’ll ever be,’ Willie said sagely.
‘I guess we are. Do you want to marry me, Willie?’
‘I’ll marry you tomorrow if that’s what you want.’
She gave another little giggle. ‘I’m not sure it’s worth it. My uncle and aunt never seemed to get much fun out of being married. And, as you say, we’re as much married as we’ll ever be. Besides, gettin’ married costs money, doesn’t it? Let’s save it to buy more things from Shantu to sell in the States.’
‘Okay. So now we’re married.’ Willie made a circle of his thumb and forefinger and, taking her left han
d, shaped it round the second finger. ‘With this ring I thee wed,’ he said. ‘How’s that?’
‘Say it all.’
‘For richer, for poorer. In sickness in health. As long as we both shall live. Now you.’
‘Okay. Forsaking all others, me only unto thee, so long as we both shall live.’
She sat up, her back curved as she bent over him, her small breasts warm against his chest, a wing of black hair across her face. She was silent for so long he sat up with her.
‘What’s the matter, Ab?’ he asked.
‘I’ve never seen a man without his clothes before.’ She paused. ‘Well, no, I guess that’s not right. I’ve seen the coolies bathing in the river at the mission. But that’s different. They always hid themselves as much as they could and, besides, they’re not white like us. You’re beautiful, too, Willie.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes. Strong. Able.’ She suddenly seemed to realise she was naked, too, and covered her breasts, then she lowered her hands. ‘I guess it doesn’t matter now,’ she said. ‘Seeing each other without clothes. Not now we’re married.’
Willie smiled. ‘We ought to celebrate,’ he suggested. ‘You don’t get married every day.’
She lay back and reached out to him her face suffused with pleasure.
‘It’s just as it says in the Good Book, Willie,’ she said. ‘Ecclesiastes. There’s a time for every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born. A time to lie. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to weep. A time to laugh, a time to embrace, a time to love.’ She pulled him down to her. ‘Oh, Willie,’ she said. ‘I’m not lonely any more. I’m so happy. I sure am happy and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate getting married than in the way we’re celebrating it already.’
She looked at him tenderly, aware of his straight nose, crisp dark hair and steady brown eyes. Even when he was bewildered and puzzled, uncertain of himself, he had a capable look, the look even, she thought delightedly, of a buccaneer, some modern John Paul Jones. Suddenly she felt incredibly fortunate. Her life had often been lonely and frustrating and, in the last few years, empty, so that she had begun to come to the conclusion that it would always be solitary. But here was this young man – good-looking by any standards – sweeping her away, wanting to share his life with her.
He grinned at her. ‘We ought to tell the Sumters,’ he said. ‘Will they mind?’
‘Not they.’
‘Let’s tell ’em then.’
As he made to move away, she was caught by a feeling of overpowering love and warmth towards him and wanted nothing more than to prove it to him.
Holding on to him, she pulled him closer. ‘Later,’ she said. ‘Later.’
Nine
The road to Shantu had been cleared, but the mission had been razed to the ground.
There was nothing left except a broken cart, a half-wild cat and the charred beams and timbers of what had once been buildings, resting on blackened stones. Her face bleak, Abigail stared about her, trying to pick out where the forge had been, where the cooking had been done, the quarters where she had slept and eaten, the house where the mission superintendent had lived with his family. The memory brought back the pictures of the massacre on the road to Peking and that night she shuddered in Willie’s arms.
It had cost her more than Willie realised to go back, but the looting and murder the foreign troops had exacted on the Chinese as a means of working off their vengeance after the relief had cowed the countryside. The Empress had gone, the Boxers were scattered, and, because no one was prepared to show defiance, everything was quieter than they had ever expected. And while other Europeans, remembering the butchery in and around Peking, had preferred to remain within a safe distance of their own troops, Willie and Abigail, taking a chance, found they were first in the field by a long way, with Abigail’s six years’ experience of China and its dialects an added advantage.
The next morning, she put her fears behind her and behaved as if nothing had happened as they bartered for the little ivory figures she remembered – Taoist saints in rose, sandal and peach wood, Shishi lions and dogs, mandarin ducks and Senkyo mythological men, cosmetic boxes and red lacquer tables. They even found engraved Chinese swords, but Abigail steadfastly refused to handle them and it was left to Willie to do that part of the business. It surprised them how much was available, but, though Shantu was a small town of no great importance, in the past it had been the centre of business, wealth and some culture and it was possible to pick up articles easily in the narrow streets.
When they returned to Peking, the Allied troops were still arrogantly in occupation, but the looting was far from over. Unaware of its value, soldiers had destroyed priceless porcelain as they looked for treasure, and there was a story going the rounds about an American soldier holding up a fur coat. ‘That’s a fine sable coat,’ his friend had said. ‘There’s a Chink inside it.’ ‘Okay. Give it a shake. He’ll fall out.’ It summed up the attitude. Anything was fair game.
At once they found there was a ready market for what they’d found. Officers due to go home wanted souvenirs to show their families and it wasn’t difficult to arrange with the Sumters to allow them to use part of their premises to display what they’d acquired. It was always assumed that what they had to sell was loot and the questions were always the same.
‘Where did you pick it up?’ they were asked again and again.
‘Shensi province.’
‘Pinch it?’
‘We bought it.’
‘You mean you went up there and bought it?’
‘Yes.’ Willie preened himself a little. ‘We know China, you see.’
‘Well, old boy, rather you than me. I wouldn’t trust myself with these treacherous yellow bastards for a bit of loot.’
In secret, Willie had felt much the same as they had set off for Shensi, but he still had the revolver he’d taken from Zychov’s sergeant. It was a huge weapon and he always kept it handy, while Abigail carried in her pocket a small Italian weapon they had bought. She had been troubled at first at being away from Peking, but somehow seemed to find security in Willie’s presence and was never afraid when he was near. She little knew how much comfort he drew from her presence.
The years she had spent in China and her knowledge of buying and selling had proved invaluable and they sold every one of the articles they brought back. And, as the news of what they were dealing in spread, they found other things being offered to them, even in Peking. Shifty-eyed soldiers – British, American, French, German and Russians – appeared on their doorstep offering small looted articles which they were anxious to exchange for money for drink.
During the relief, in the welter of vengeance that had taken place, with corpses still in the streets, brocade and porcelain had spilled out of the broken fronts of shops, and among the things that appeared were objets d’art of every kind, candlesticks of gold, porcelain vases, jade animals, enamels, stones, snuff boxes, gold coins, silks, carvings, lacquers, and miniatures which had lain undisturbed, watching the Manchu emperors pass, for hundreds of years. The pillaging and raping had gone on unabashed. One soldier offered a Louis XIV gold belt buckle, another gold ear-rings. There were gold vases, lacquered coffers, gold embroidery, jade imperial seals, necklaces, brooches, fur coats, and a long robe of Amur River sables, all going for the price of a drink or two.
By selling as fast as things were offered and using the money they gained, they were able to acquire most of what they were shown and the supply seemed endless, because everybody had helped themselves; the Russian general was said to have got away with ten trunks of valuables and gold and silver bars. Buying cheaply and selling quickly, they found their profit margin enormous, especially where there was some hint that what they offered had come from inside the Forbidden City. Despite the orders to respect it, some people, even some women, had got into the palace and brought out reports of what they had found, and one of the Empress’ jewelled shoes was said to have already disap
peared to Europe and was likely to be sold for thousands of pounds. It pushed up the prices still further and when they were asked, as they often were, if the articles had come from the Empress’ palace, they said neither ‘yes’ nor ‘no’ because it seemed more honest. But it was always assumed that they had, and they didn’t go out of their way to disillusion anyone.
By the time several weeks had passed, it began to seem possible to move further from Peking. The countryside was safe again, commerce was starting up and Allied soldiers were never far away.
‘I reckon we ought to try towards Sian,’ Willie suggested.
Abigail looked shocked. ‘Willie, it’s three hundred miles or more!’
‘Nothing’ll happen, Ab. After what’s been going on here, nobody would dare lift a finger against us. We could pick up stuff worth a fortune.’
‘I’d be scared.’
‘With a gun? There’s more to you than that.’
Sensing huge profits, in the end they hired a junk with a sound captain and recruited bodyguards they could trust and, putting them under the command of a young ex-soldier, sailed upriver towards Tung Kwan, buying everything in reach. Because they were dedicated, they were unafraid, and they didn’t attempt to defraud the sellers, because, as Abigail said, they had to make a reputation, both as purchasers as well as vendors. Eventually they found people were actually bringing things for them to see.
It was while they were at Yang Chih, at the junction of the Wei and King rivers, that it dawned on them they were close to where the Imperial Court was supposed to have settled. Its power gone, it had left Peking in a caravan of carts unnoticed in the rain, the shabbily dressed occupants without luggage or spare clothes. They had headed south and west by a roundabout route, forced to drink rainwater because wells had been fouled by bodies, and food was scarce because the Boxers and the fleeing Imperial army had looted the villages.
Every little township Willie and Abigail passed through seemed to have news of them. The small caravan had grown rapidly, the reactionary officials who had managed to escape joining it because they couldn’t imagine life away from the court. The rough food they had been obliged to eat at first had soon changed for the better and the Peking carts had been changed for sedan chairs and as, to their surprise, they realised that the foreign barbarians had no intention – as they would have had – of seeking vengeance on them, the court and its officials settled down and intrigue and corruption started again. They were finally believed to have discovered a refuge near the River Wei and the allied powers were still endeavouring to find them to get peace negotiations under way. Because there had been a war, there had to be a peace, and it had to be official.
