The Concubine's Daughter

by null

  Siu-Sing wanted to cry out, I have no interest in the wealth and fame of such a man. I have been taught by the wisest of all teachers to choose my own mountain and to climb it alone if I must. From him, from the spirit of my mother and the father that awaits me, I have learned what it is to be alone but not lonely … to face great danger yet be unafraid. Those were the thoughts and beliefs of Siu-Sing, disciple of the White Crane, but the words she spoke were those of Topaz, the Silver Sister. “I will do all that I can to earn such confidence.”

  They walked across the bridge to another small pavilion. It too was lined with shelves of scrolls and books, along with many pieces of sculpture in precious stone. A raised bench stood in its center, covered by a sheet of exquisitely embroidered silk. The Golden One pulled the sheet away. “Behold, the perfect man,” she said dramatically. “The Grand Duke of the Sacred Persimmon. He was carved three thousand years ago by Chen-Lao, the finest sculptor China has ever produced, from the rarest, most precious of woods … ebony, the sacred heart of the persimmon tree.”

  The naked figure she revealed was the perfect life-size effigy of a splendidly handsome young man, its glossy hue like no other Siu-Sing had seen—in places purplish black as a ripe plum, in others the deep sheen of burnished bronze, seamed with veins of palest yellow. He lay on his back in a posture of complete relaxation, his eyes closed, his hands by his sides, as though deep in meditation. In his left hand he held the glowing orb of a succulent persimmon that seemed to be made from solid gold.

  “You may touch him,” said the Golden One. Siu-Sing reached out to place her fingertips upon the smooth chest. Its patina felt so real she withdrew her hand quickly. Tamiko-san laughed. “Don’t be afraid. You will come to know every inch of him before we part.” She took Siu-Sing’s hand and placed it firmly on his shapely thigh, guiding it gently downward over the contours of well-defined muscle, to his knee and back again.

  “Explore him. Feel his beauty.” She chuckled wickedly, pleased and amused by her student’s caution. “He will not awaken. But does he not cast a spell?”

  She watched Siu-Sing’s small hand trace the lines of the duke’s noble face, gliding over the planes and hollows of chest and shoulders, arms and hands, abdomen and back to thighs, calves, and feet. The figure had the touch of cool marble and was slippery as silk. Tamiko-san’s amusement increased as Siu-Sing’s fingers delicately skirted the empty socket above the scrotum modeled in minute detail.

  “Our duke hides many secrets.” The Golden One smiled. “Take his hand.” Siu-Sing did so. “Now spread his fingers.” Each joint moved as though the hand were alive. When she looked closely, Siu-Sing saw that the knuckles and joints were intricately tooled to move independently.

  “Now bend his elbow, raise his arm.” The Golden One stepped across to demonstrate, lifting first one leg, then the other, letting them fall back into a natural position. “Open his eyes that he may see his new mistress.” Gingerly, Sing laid her fingertips on the duke’s eyelids. At her slightest touch they rolled smoothly upward to reveal eyes so real they caused her to step back.

  The Golden One laughed aloud. “He cannot see you. His eyes are of finest onyx, set in ivory. But look closely. He speaks to us.” She pointed to his finely sculpted ear. When Sing bent closer, tiny Chinese characters became apparent, meticulously inscribed over every fold and turn of the ear.

  “And here, and here and here,” said Tamiko-san, pointing with the tip of her long fingernail. Sing realized that every inch of the model was covered in tiny pinholes bearing inscriptions so finely drawn they were almost indiscernible. “They tell us all his innermost secrets.” A small frown of concentration creased Sing’s brow as she tried to read them.

  “They are in a tongue long buried,” said the Golden One. “I will teach them to you in time.”

  She slid open a shallow drawer beneath the reclining figure, to withdraw a long flat box, its lid inlaid with characters and symbols in the same ancient hand. “Now we will make him whole.” Inside the box, carved from the same exquisite wood, were two rows of lifelike phalluses of different sizes and shapes. “We will begin modestly.” Tamiko-san surveyed the arrangement as critically as a duelist choosing a weapon. “But not too modestly,” she concluded, selecting one of medium size and slotting it into the socket. “See. It also moves.” The penis, its plum-shaped head gleaming, moved smoothly back and forth between Tamikosan’s fingers.

  “This,” Tamiko-san said with playful reverence, “is the erect penis … the jade stem … the ivory staff … the golden rod; call it what you will. To tired wives and mothers, it is no more than a ridiculous appendage, far more trouble than it is worth. This is why their husbands come to us.”

  One evening each week, the Golden One descended among them in the glittering pavilion they called the Palace of Lights. It was the place of entertainment for those who were guests of the tavern and served by the Silver Sisters. Its domed ceiling was inlaid with thousands of tiny convex mirrors, with a chandelier of five hundred candles that filled the space with cascades of shimmering light. Beneath it, a central fountain fed a pool of green marble. The Silver Sisters swam naked, playing like children in its emerald waters. Around its edge, tables were spread with tempting foods and flasks of the golden nectar. Beyond them were divans of great splendor and comfort where the sleeping dragons could rest and smoke a pipe.

  The Golden One reclined on the most elaborate divan, clad in the scarlet robes of a geisha with an obi of gold silk, smoking from the golden bowl of a pipe fashioned in the shape of a peony. Her face was chalk white, her honeyed eyes thickly lined with kohl, her mouth red as blood on virgin snow. She invited each of the Sisters to take the stage and entertain. Some sang, danced, or played music; others told stories or recited poetry. Some displayed secrets of sensuality practiced only by their people, alone or with a chosen partner. As the evening wore on and the flasks were emptied, most of the Sisters reached a languorous state of abandon.

  From shadowed balconies set around the circular walls, the richest and most important of Tamiko-san’s guests could observe at their leisure in curtained privacy.

  “They may watch,” explained Ruby when Siu-Sing asked, “but they may not touch. This is where they may choose a pipe-maker. If she pleases him sufficiently, he will pay much so that she is kept only for him.” She placed a butterfly kiss on the tip of Siu-Sing’s nose. “I must dance now.” A flashing red gem set in her navel, a string of silver bells around her waist, Ruby performed an exotic dance that commanded attention, her hips and belly gyrating to the fevered music of the bazaar and the rhythmic clapping of the Silver Sisters.

  When Siu-Sing was called to the stage, she played the songs of the silver nightingale on the er-hu. There was silence as the music of the mountains filled the glittering hall; for those moments, Siu-Sing felt as if she sat alone at the jade table in the Place of Clear Water.

  In the private balcony reserved for a taipan of great power and wealth, the lone occupant sat back, his fingers idly twisting the stem of the brandy balloon on the table before him. His eyes were closed, enchanted by the pure notes of unknown music that seemed written only for him. It was played by a girl no more than a child, with hair thick and glossy as the mane of a thoroughbred from his stables, and a body that moved with grace and hidden strength. Through small mother-of-pearl opera glasses, he had studied her for an hour, seen the wild beauty of her face, the deep copper lights in her hair, and the rare coloring of her large eyes.

  The entertainment in the Palace of Lights continued until dawn, and the following day was one of rest. Ruby took Siu-Sing’s hand, holding it closely to her cheek for a moment. “You belong here now, and to her. She thinks you are her property, as this house and all things within it are her property. When it pleases her, you will be sold to the great taipan, J. T. Ching, but that will not be soon. We have time to plan, but you must heed her warning … her punishment is permanent.”

  The pipe-maker’s fingertips traced the fain
t white line across her own cheek. “If you escape her, she will find you. She will take away your happiness forever, so simply, so finally, as she has taken mine … with the flick of a fan.”

  Ruby unwound the silken sari from around her body. Stepping into the candlelight, she stood naked before Siu-Sing for the first time. Her limbs were scarred by the same puckered lines that crossed her cheeks … as thin and deliberate as though made with the point of a rapier.

  Ruby lifted her arms above her head and turned slowly. The white scars were everywhere—on her back, her buttocks, her legs, marking every part of her body. Quickly, she picked up the silk as though to cover her shame.

  “My father was a wealthy Parsee merchant in Bombay, my mother a French tutor who schooled his younger children. He made her pregnant, and his memsahib had her beaten and driven from her house. I was born in the gutters of Bombay. So you see, I am also of mixed blood. In India, I am a chi-chi … a half-caste, an untouchable.

  “I loved a boy once,” Ruby whispered. “He worked here in the garden. At first we loved at a distance, more with looks and thoughts than with words. He would come to my window at night. For the first time someone cared for me without condition, and I tasted happiness. We left through the gardener’s gate and took the ferry to Hong Kong. I worked in a bar and he sold newspapers not far away. We found a rented sleeping place and shared it together. I carried his child, and the bar would not let me stay. We were often hungry.

  “I had his son in our bed. It was a fine boy, but when he cried they told us we had to leave. I was caught and taken back to the Golden One. She marked me so that no man would desire me, to be sure that I would not leave again, or if I did, I would be easier to find. They took the boy and my baby away and I have never seen or heard of them again. I thought many times of ending my life, but she had use for me and I have stayed.”

  Siu-Sing looked with deep compassion at the little pipe-maker who had so willingly become her friend. Delicately, she pulled the drift of silk away to touch the scars on Ruby’s shoulders with infinite tenderness.

  “She spared my arms and belly,” said Ruby bitterly. “You cannot hide the arms when making a pipe, or the belly when dancing. Such scars are unsightly for those she entertains.”

  “She is a monster, but you are wrong,” Siu-Sing said firmly. “She could not spoil your loveliness.”

  Ruby smiled sadly. “That is as may be. My life within these walls has been bearable but without hope … until now. But you are different—you do not belong here, and I will help you to escape.”

  Ruby shed no tears, looking into Siu-Sing’s eyes with the spark of a spirit that had once been strong. “I have acquaintances in the district of Wan Chai on Hong Kong Island, people who would pay you well and ask no questions. They know much about the gwai-lo soldiers and sailors who spend their money there. Also the rich foreigners who seek the company of women. When we are ready, we will find them.”

  They began to plot their escape. “It must not be hurried,” Siu-Sing said. “Ah-Jin is teaching me the language of my father and other things I must know. I will take all the knowledge that I can from her and from those that teach me their special skills. But I will not become the whore of any taipan.”

  When she was not being taught to speak English, to move and dance like a courtesan, and to observe all the finer points of both Chinese and English etiquette, Sing was learning the refinements of eroticism from each of the Silver Sisters. The pipe-makers were all virgins, girls of around her own age, spectacularly beautiful and highly skilled in the arts of pleasing men and each other. Originally from many nations, each was given the name of a jewel, with Ruby the head pipe-maker overseeing them all. Each Sister had her own small room, decorated in the way of her culture and with a shrine of her own making to worship the gods of her people.

  According to the custom for apprentice pipe-makers, Sing shared a room for a month with each of the Sisters: Amber from Japan, famous for her magic feet, tiny as a child’s but with toes of steel, who taught Sing to massage the body of a man with feet more soothing than the most experienced hands. Sing learned to step lightly as a bird upon a dragon’s back—to find and isolate the muscle and sinew, to tell from each breath the delicate boundaries of pleasure and pain.

  Sapphire, from Siam, taught her the secrets of blending fragrant oils to stimulate or subdue the senses. Emerald, from Africa, was a teller of fortunes and a weaver of spells, able to divine a man’s needs and expectations at a glance.

  Jade was the only pure Chinese among them. Hers were the arts of hidden energy, the ancient techniques of acupressure. Pearl, from Arabia, had perfected the pleasures of the bath; Coral, from the Philippines, could use her mouth and tongue with astonishing skill. Crystal, a white Russian, was mistress of the erotic arts that were taught to the women of the tsars; and Turquoise, from Tibet, studied the dark stars and could see into a man’s soul.

  The Sisters welcomed Topaz and shared their most intimate secrets, but Siu-Sing was more interested in their stories of distant lands, eager to learn all she could about the wide world that awaited her.

  Siu-Sing enjoyed the lessons in pipe-making, relishing the challenge of its need for precision. She learned to combine just the right amount of hemp and the root of the grass-cloth plant with tiny beads of opium no bigger than the eggs of a fat salmon. She would chop the mixture finely with a knife of tiger bone, then heat it in a small copper pan and add it to tobacco. Her knowledge of herbal medicine made such formulations second nature.

  At the Tavern of Cascading Jewels, each dragon, or client, had his own water pipe that was left in the pipe-maker’s care, some studded with gems, others chased with gold and silver or carved from ivory, while some preferred the simple pig-bone pipe of the workingman. The Sister would sit by the side of the sleeping dragon, ready with black Swatow tea and cool towels to clear his head when the passage to paradise was completed.

  CHAPTER 27

  The Taipan

  The years of apprenticeship were nearing their end when Siu-Sing was summoned alone to the Golden One’s lavish apartment.

  Tamiko-san was seated at a dressing table, closely inspecting her face in the mirror. She turned as Siu-Sing entered, returning her bow with a brief nod of the head. The mama-san, whom Siu-Sing had never seen without the intricate mask of her makeup or one of her magnificent wigs, was shorter and thinner than she had guessed.

  The Golden One turned from the mirror with an approving smile. “You have been chosen, as I had hoped, by the one I wish you to please. He has watched you in the Palace of Lights and found you interesting beyond all others. That you are a virgin was his only remaining concern, and that he has been assured of. He has honored you as his chosen pipe-maker, but I have told him you are not yet ready to become more than this to him. You will be available as soon as I consider your training to be complete, perhaps in a month or two. Meanwhile, he will grow impatient, which is my intention. During that time you will make his pipe and ensure his dreams are only accompanied by you.”

  Siu-Sing was not invited to reply, but listened dutifully to every word. To be traded without her consent strengthened her resolve to escape.

  “There is a private lodge within the grounds that was designed as my personal retreat, but he has paid me well to use it. You will take up residence there and await his pleasure.

  “There are simple rules you must remember. Never question him. What he wishes you to know, he will tell you. Your duties as his pipe-maker do not include his bed. Do whatever is in your power to make him desire you—charm him, enchant him—but resist his embrace until you belong to him. Do you understand?”

  Siu-Sing bowed, then asked, “And what, Gracious Mother, will I be when he holds my sung-tip? His servant? Will I be mistress, concubine, or tai-tai? Am I to bear his children, and if I do, where will I stand in his household?”

  The Golden One looked at her gravely. “This will be for him to decide and will depend upon your skills. If you use all you
have learned here wisely, you can be everything to him. He is no longer young, and should not be difficult to entice. You are not like the others, Topaz; your spirit resides on a different and I think a higher plane to theirs. I see in you all the signs of an adept. I also am an adept, and have shown you due respect by not questioning you. So I will break the rule of confidentiality to tell you this. He is one of Hong Kong’s richest and most feared taipans, born of a famous Hakka clan of landowners. Their fortunes were made in the distant hills of Yunan from the humble tea bush; from this he has built a legitimate international empire.”

  The Golden One reached for a gold box on the small table beside her, lifting its lid to select a thin black cigarette with a gold tip, tapping it on the lid. “He owns much of the Golden Hill and a great deal of land in the New Territories, including the garrison lines at Fanling, which he leases to the British Defense Forces. This gives him great powers of negotiation between the British rulers of Hong Kong and the Chinese government in Peking.”

  She sat back in the chair, fitting the cigarette into a long slim holder of white jade with studied attention. “Such a man has many secrets, important friends in the highest of places, and this brings the most dangerous of enemies. His name is Jack ‘Teagarden’ Ching, known to the business society as J. T. He does not choose pleasures lightly, nor is he easily pleased. If you are all that he hopes for, my time will not have been wasted and your future will know no bounds. If you disappoint him, he will return you to me. If you dare to betray him, you also betray me… . I must warn you. He is neither a patient man nor a particularly gentle one, but he is honorable and fair … until his face is questioned or his trust betrayed.” Tamiko-san said more with a shake of her head than words could have done.