by F. M. Parker
A slow wind drifted in from the south. The sky was clear except for a single pile of storm clouds miles away on the sea beyond the coast hills.
Lian watched the cloud mass. It appeared to be growing and moving in the direction of the land.
She gathered some twigs that had fallen from the trees in the orchard and went into the house to prepare the beans for boiling. Fifteen slender lengths of green beans, she counted. Five for each member of the family, unless her mother refused to eat as she often did.
A puff of wind darted in through the window opening. There was a bite of coolness about it. Lian went to draw a cover over her mother.
“Thank you, daughter.”
“Rest and save your strength. Soon we will have a little food.”
“I am not very hungry,” said her mother.
“You will be when you taste how good it is.”
Lian had watched the sturdy body of her mother grow thin and waste away. The bones of her chest were sharply etched through her skin. Every feeble pulse of blood was starkly visible in the blue vein in her neck.
Lian straightened and walked to the window to look outward and over the top of the orchard. The gray cloud bank had increased in size and was climbing the seaward side of the coast hills. The cloud had become darker, reminding her of the smoke that accumulated in the temple when the many candles for the dead were lighted.
“Father, the storm moves swiftly. It is coining in this direction.”
Gee came to stand beside her. “This is not the season for storms. Yet, I have seen the sea grow them at odd times. It will soon die over the steep hills.”
Lian did not believe this storm would die. If anything, it was growing tall and strong and its speed was quickening.
She crossed the room to the stove and added a frugal quantity of twigs to the fire beneath the beans. Then drawn by the storm, she returned to the window.
The dark clouds hurried down the landward side of the coast hills and ran along the meandering course of the Pearl River.
Lian, gripped by the inexorable march of the storm, watched it leave the valley and sweep up the front of the inland hills. It had not deviated one degree from a course directly toward her.
She stared at the intense boiling, churning gray moisture forms within the storm cloud. Did she imagine, just for a moment there in the turbulent depths, a wicked, malevolent face of some strange creature glaring out at her?
“Oh, Father, we are to be greatly harmed by the storm,” cried Lian.
Before Gee Ah could answer, hail, large as the stones that boys throw, began to fall.
“Stop! Stop!” Lian shouted as the hard, white spheres crushed down upon the orchard.
The noise of the ice fall rose to a deafening roar. A thousand blows a second drummed upon the roof of the house. A million ice stones pounded the trees, shattering the limbs, beating the green fruit and stripping them from their tender hold on the mother trees.
White ice balls struck the ground and bounced high as Lian’s waist. Leaves fell like crippled green butterflies. The blanket of hail on the ground built swiftly, two inches, three inches, six inches deep.
The damp wind poured into the house. Lian shivered and not all from the cold. She wrapped her arms about her breasts and swayed back and forth, emitting short moans of despair as the orchard was devastated.
She turned to her father. Their eyes met. Both began to cry. There was no need to speak what both knew. That Lian was now forfeit so that the family could survive.
The storm reluctantly ceased its ravaging of the orange trees and pulled away. The rain of hail dwindled and the size of the stones decreased.
Lian ran from the house and into the orange grove. The aftermath of destruction, the white hail, unripened fruit, and the garnish of broken limbs formed an ugly, unwholesome pudding.
Lian stomped the mixture savagely under her feet. She cursed the damnable, uncaring gods that would wreak such destruction upon innocent, blameless people. She grabbed up a broken branch and beat at the icy mass on the ground.
Finally she ceased her useless attack and looked around. Her father turned away from watching her. He walked down the hill through the melting ice toward the village.
Lian controlled her anger and sobs. The time for such emotion was past. A painful, abrupt turn had been made in her life. She threw the club from her. Never again would she curse the fates, for that was a useless action. She looked in the direction her father had gone.
In her mind’s eye she could see him in the village. There on the wall of the public building, he would post a notice.
Gee Ah makes this announcement. Daughter for sale. Seventeen years. Obedient. Hard-working.
Lian wondered if he would use other words. Some fathers added pretty or beautiful. Or did her father think her ugly? He had never said.
* * *
A tiny, wizened man came early the next morning. He was standing in the yard waiting when the sun showed the round red orb of its body. He talked with her father a short time. Lian was called from the house into the yard.
The little man circled her, making brief notes on a fold of paper he carried in his hand. He nodded as if pleased by what he saw. He spoke again to Gee Ah. Reaching an understanding, they bowed to each other. The stranger left, almost at a run.
Three days later, the old man in silk and the warrior wearing maroon cotton and a sword came to the house of Gee Ah.
CHAPTER 4
The American merchant schooner The Orient Traveler arrived at Lintin Island in the mouth of the Pearl River after ninety-seven days at sea. As the ship furled its sails and dropped anchor, three trading junks “scrambling dragons” pulled alongside. The cargo from the foreign ship was transferred to the holds and upon the decks of the junks and lashed down. The captain of the schooner and his quartermaster went aboard one of the “scrambling dragons” and sailed upriver with its crew to Canton City.
The three riverboats tied up at a long pier on the east side of the city. The American captain immediately hired one of the Chinese seamen to deliver a packet to Yow Ho, a lawyer and elder of the Clan of Ho. Then the captain and the quartermaster went to bargain for space in one of the warehouses so they could show their cargo for bidding by the Chinese merchants.
Yow received the parcel from the seaman and went into his office. Within the packet was one thousand dollars in American gold and a message from Sigh Ho, a nephew who was far away in the Gum Shan, Mountain of Gold, the land of California. To accompany such a large sum of money, the message was very brief:
Honorable Uncle Yow,
Buy a woman, hopefully a pretty one, and send her over the big sea to me. She would brighten my days in this strange and lonely land until I have dug my fortune from the earth and return home.
Other relatives of our family will be coming to the Gum Shan. Have one of them see that shearrives without harm. Once they have landed in San Francisco, find the merchant, Quan Ing, on Dupont Street. He will find lodging for her until I arrive. I will meet her in the time the Americans call March.
Your Obedient Nephew,
Sigh Ho
Yow Ho smiled. Sigh was a man of deeds and not words. Yow at once prepared an announcement that he desired to purchase a strong, young woman. He sent the message to men he knew in several villages lying at the base of the inland mountains.
On the fourth day, a dusty runner came to Yow’s office. He carried word from the broker of women in the village of Hsia Pin Li. A farmer of the name Gee Ah has a daughter for sale. She is beautiful. Hurry if you wish a bargain.
Yow went immediately and spoke with Pak Ho. “I am traveling to the village of Hsia Pin Li and beyond that up into the mountains. I hope to buy a woman for your cousin Sigh. I will be carrying much gold. There are bandits in those mountains and I want you to go and keep me and the gold safe.”
“Uncle, I should not leave now. Thieves are after the valuable trade goods of the Howqua. Only last night, they tried to rob him and I had
to kill two of them.”
“This is a family matter. It is your responsibility to accompany me.”
Pak knew Yow was correct. He brushed aside thoughts of the many tasks that should be done. The duties of the warrior line of the family had been passed down from his father, and from his father’s father, and before that backward into time for a hundred generations.
In these days of unrest and war, the authority of the local government administrators was weak and the Imperial authorities were far away. The fighting strength of the clan warriors was badly needed to keep the members safe from those who schemed to harm them.
Pak said, “The hill people have the most beautiful women.”
“They also know the least about the true value of things. Perhaps we can buy much beauty for little money. I will hire a horse and carriage. We can leave within an hour.”
“I will be ready,” responded Pak. He strode off to find Sin, his second in command. That man was worthy and would make a good temporary captain of the guards of the Howqua.
* * *
Pak and Yow traveled swiftly behind the trotting horse. In the afternoon they made their way through the path of destruction cut by the storm of two days before.
Thousands of men, women and children labored in haste to level the eroded grain fields and gardens. Other thousands carried heavy baskets of mud and dumped them where once stood the dikes that held the water to flood-irrigate the crops.
The women, calling out sharp orders to the children, placed and shaped the dark brown earth. Two women began to shout at each other in disagreement over the proper locations of a farm boundary. The husbands came up, found the remnants of the previous mud wall, and the wrangle ceased.
Yow waved his arm over the toiling throng. “Like a colony of ants rushing to rebuild after their ant hill has been kicked over. I am glad to not be a farmer.”
“I agree, Uncle. But they seem to endure forever. During those years when I fought in the rebellion in the Yangtze Valley, I saw ten million people slain and all the towns burned. The ravens and buzzards were so full of human flesh, they could not lift off from the ground. For days the birds merely sat among the corpses.
“When I returned a year later to the Yangtze, the country teemed with farmers. The population appeared as dense as before the killing.”
“It seems that in our land the people grow from the earth. Every square inch must have a family of farmers. And life is cheap, nephew, and you as a fighter must know that. You have slain many men.”
Pak did not reply. It was not wise for a professional fighter to reflect much upon the men he had killed. Those types of thoughts could weaken the most powerful sword arm.
“Look,” said Yow. He gestured ahead and off to the left to the mountains. “See the trees. A mighty hail storm has fallen there.”
“I see where you mean, Uncle. And there at the bottom of the hill is Hsia Pin Li.”
They met the broker of women in the village. “Do you want me to go with you?” asked the man.
“No need for that,” responded Yow. “I prefer to do my own bargaining. I will pay you for your services if I make a purchase. Please tell me how to find the father of the woman.”
The man pointed at a steep road leading up the flank of the mountain and gave the directions to the farm of Gee Ah.
Pak picked up the reins to start the horse. Yow laid his hand on his arm and stopped him. He spoke to the man of Hsia Pin Li. “You have not said how pretty the woman is.”
“More than pretty. She is beautiful. She stirred delightful thoughts even in a man as old as I am.”
Yow nodded and released his hold on Pak’s arm.
* * *
Ho Pak leaned against the wall just inside the door of the house of Gee Ah. Yow Ho and the farmer sat on stools facing each other across a small wooden table. They spoke in low, polite voices, negotiating the price of Gee Ah’s daughter.
Lian stood silently in the center of the room. A ray of evening sunlight shone upon the lower half of her. More of the light fell on the dirt floor and banished some of the shadows from the bleak house.
Now and then, Yow turned and openly and intently evaluated the slender girl. Pak also closely observed Lian.
She showed not the slightest awareness of either man’s scrutiny. Her gaze was directed out through the open window and into the little orchard of storm-damaged orange trees.
Gee spoke to Yow. “Please allow me a moment to consider your offer.”
“Time is without end,” replied Yow pleasantly. The negotiation was proceeding well. The farmer would accept the offered price for he was starving. His shoulders sagged and his arms rested heavily on the table. The wife was near death on a pallet near the cold cooking hearth. It was obvious that both parents had been denying themselves food so the girl might eat. She would bring a better price with her womanly curves rounded out.
Yow glanced at Pak and did not like the expression on his face. A warrior should never show such sadness for the plight of others.
Pak appraised the girl. Her black hair was drawn loosely back to fully expose the delicate curves and planes of her face. Her lips were full and curved neither up nor down. A mouth set firmly to meet an unpredictable and often violent world. The eyes were exceptionally large and almost black. Altogether a lovely countenance.
She was below average height and slender with her body clothed in a yellow silk blouse and trousers. Pak wondered where such a poor family had obtained the price of silk garments. However, they were not new, but rather appeared of an old fashion. Were they some long-hidden treasure of the mother, secreted away for a joyous trip one day? Instead, now to be used to display the beauty of her daughter for sale to unknown men?
Without conscious thought, Pak drew a deep breath. He smelled the old mud and grass that made the bricks of the walls of the house. The odor of the dead ashes in the open hearth of the kitchen wafted to him. A pleasant scent of a flower teased him. There were no flowers near the house. Had the girl obtained some blossoms and crushed them on her skin?
“Lian is my only child,” said Gee, once again starting the bargaining. “There will be no one to bring laughter into my home after she is gone.”
“A daughter is very pleasant in an old man’s life,” said Yow. “However, a son is more helpful.”
Yow reached into the folds of his clothing and brought out a leather pouch. He methodically extracted one fifty dollar gold piece at a time and placed four of them in a row on the table in front of the farmer.
Gee said, “She has never known a man. This amount of gold you offer is not enough. It should be twice as much.”
Yow looked penetratingly at Lian. She felt his stare and turned to gaze at him.
Pak watched the young woman meet the inquisition of the skilled negotiator. Her intelligent eyes, wide and luminous, did not waver. Her shoulders squared, pulling her blouse tight, imprinting the mounds of her bosom into the soft yellow silk.
Pak saw the beauty of Lian. He sensed the strength of her. His heart thudded within the cage of his chest—a strange reaction, for she meant nothing to him.
Stranger still, he found himself speaking. “Honorable Uncle, pay the price they have asked.”
Startled, Yow spun around. Anger flashed through him at the unheard of interruption. He was head of the Ho Clan. It was his duty to obtain the greatest value at the least cost. His tongue curled to lash out at the impudent Pak.
Yow caught himself. Pak was a powerful man in his own right. He was rising swiftly up through the ranks of the Triad warriors. In a recent battle in the hills above Canton, Pak had killed fourteen men in hand-to-hand combat. From a boy warrior in the Tai Ping rebellion, he had advanced now to a position where, with one word, he could summon half a hundred fighters. They would willingly go to their deaths upon his command.
“Pay them, great Uncle,” said Pak. “I will explain the price to Sigh myself.”
Yow said to Gee Ah, “Our young people speak when, in time
s past, it would have been unthinkable. But perhaps it is proper. Soon they will be the elders and must set the course and resolve the problems of the family.”
Yow brought out the leather pouch again. “Four hundred American dollars. A fortune.” He began to count gold coins out on the table.
Lian looked at the Ho fighter. She had been surprised at his outburst. He was taller than either her father or the elder Ho. His face was long, with large, somewhat bulbous eyes. They returned her examination with a steady, curious expression of their own.
A two-inch scar marred the left side of his face at the jaw bone. A smaller scar was above the left eye socket. Slightly lower and the blade making that injury would have blinded one eye.
His maroon clothing was cut more closely to his body than was the normal style, almost like a uniform. The column of his neck appeared strong, the muscles standing out like strong cords beneath his skin. His hands were broad and muscular, with callouses on knuckles and fingertips from thousands of strikes upon the toughening block. The mark of a fierce Triad fighter. She felt a shiver at the deadliness evident in him.
Yow extracted a roll of paper from an inner pocket. He separated the two sheets and spread them on the table. A brush and ink followed. Yow and Gee signed the contract.
“It is done, Lian,” said her father.
“Yes, father. I am very happy. Buy yourself a larger orchard and hire a poor peasant to work for you. Have the tailor in the village sew you new clothing. Then go and join the elders in study. Send mother to visit her people in Foochow.”
Gee arose and quickly went outside. Pak saw the hint of tears in the man’s eyes as he passed.
“I will get my belongings,” said Lian. She was now in bondage for life to the family Ho and was expected to go immediately and live with the elder man until he told her what was to be her task. She stooped and went through the low entry into a small adjoining room.
Pak moved to stand beside Yow. “You did not tell them she was to go on the long journey to the Land of Golden Hills.”
“That would have driven up the price. Even more than you so recklessly did.”
