by Basu, Kanal
“Where’s Saldanha?” Antonio expected to see him brought to the station.
“Shh!” Chris quietened him with a finger on his lips. “There’ll be trouble if word gets around that one more foreigner has come to Fengtai.” He whispered to the cart driver, instructing him about their destination.
“What trouble?” Antonio peeked through the covers to catch a glimpse of the crowded street they were passing through. He heard more than he saw. A bullhorn blared out slogans, and marchers stomped on the road, banging on the doors of closed shop-houses. The sound of shattering glass mixed with Chris’s trembling voice.
“Boxers have stirred everyone up against us. One small mistake and we’d be finished.” He pushed Antonio’s surgical box under the seat. “They mustn’t catch us with this, or they might take the contents as dangerous.”
Antonio thought the reporter was suffering from an unfortunate attack of anxiety. “Don’t be foolish. How can anyone think a syringe or two could hurt them?”
“They’ll believe anything. They might take your tools to be the tools of black magic.” He drew Antonio away from the covers. “Nothing can be ruled out after what happened last night.”
They felt trapped as the marchers surrounded their carriage, slowing it down. Their driver got into an argument with some of them. Sitting inside, they sensed they were being spied upon through the slats by a set of eyes. The carriage started to shake as if the crowd was trying to force them off the street.
Antonio tried to calm Chris down, by getting him to talk about Joaquim Saldanha. “What brings you here?”
“I came to check if the rumors being spread by the Boxers were true.” Chris twitched nervously on his seat.
“What rumors?”
“That the Pascals, Simone and Jean-Paul, the owners of the French orphanage, had insulted their servants by cutting off their pigtails.”
“Is it true?” Antonio asked.
“No! Their Chinese servants were all converted Christians who had rid themselves of their pigtails long ago. It was a ploy really, to scare away the French couple and recruit the orphans into their army.”
“Did they attack the orphanage last night?”
Chris nodded. “They incited a mob and surrounded the compound, lit bonfires, stormed the gates, and hurled rocks that narrowly missed the orphans inside. We didn’t know if they were bursting bombs or firecrackers, but the sound scared the children and made them wail all night.”
“And the Pascals?”
“They were scared too. All of us huddled inside the building, and waited sheeplike for the end.” Memory of the night made him shiver.
“And then?”
“At midnight they sent in an emissary. He demanded money in exchange for the children. Money and guns, that the French were claimed to be hiding in the orphanage.”
“Where was Saldanha in all this?”
“He was our only hope. He was known to be visiting Fengtai, and the Pascals sent him word through a secret network of Christians.”
“Word for what?” Antonio tried hard to follow Campbell.
“They wanted him to negotiate with the Boxers and secure their release.”
Antonio caught a glance of the Marco Polo Bridge through the slats. He was relieved at the nearness of their destination. Chris Campbell seemed to recover from his nervous twitching, but just as they were about to cross the bridge a bomb exploded a few yards from the carriage. A huge cloud of dust engulfed them. The mule let out a sharp neigh, lunging to one side, and almost toppled the cart over. In the mad dash that followed, their driver managed to turn the animal around and cross the bridge, shouting at the top of his voice to warn the marchers in front of him. Keeping their heads down, Campbell and Antonio held on to each other to steady themselves inside the hurtling carriage. Once they were on the other side of the river, the crowd seemed to thin and they left the banks to enter a road that was quiet except for the distant sound of fireworks.
“They’re celebrating the Boxers’ victory over the French.” Chris Campbell muttered, after he had recovered from the shock.
“Did they kill the couple?” Antonio asked with a grim face.
“No. Their lives were spared in exchange for the orphans.”
“You mean …” Antonio clenched his teeth, expecting to hear the report of a grisly massacre.
“It was agreed that the children would be set free, the orphanage turned into a Boxer temple, and the Pascals pledge never to set foot on Fengtai again.”
Antonio breathed a sighed of relief. So no one was killed … Chris went on with an ashen face. “The crowd wanted more. They demanded blood; tried to set the orphanage on fire. Rumors went around that Saldanha had been killed, that he had confessed to planting the cross in Chinese temples, tricking the innocents into praying to a foreign god.”
“Did the French couple manage to get away in the end?”
Chris chuckled bitterly. “Yes, but first they fought over what to take with them and what to leave behind, getting angry at each other and throwing their favorite things around.”
“What happened to Saldanha?”
“He managed to save us all, but suffered some injuries himself.”
“What sort of injuries?”
“You’ll see …”
When they reached a makeshift camp near the Marco Polo Bridge, Antonio found his friend sleeping. Jean-Paul had injected him with morphine. Dead exhausted, Simone was sleeping too. A young Chinese servant kept watch on the iron bridge for a sighting of the Tientsin train steaming its way to Peking.
“He said he had cut himself on rubble and rocks at night.” Chris Campbell whispered. Jean-Paul puffed on his pipe and gazed wistfully at the orphanage across the river. Antonio unwrapped the bloody strips of cloth. His friend winced in his sleep. They appeared to be more than accidental cuts. Second degree burns had blackened the soles of his feet, going up to the ankles and calves. The flesh looked raw where it had split from the bones. On the priest’s back, he found a maze of razor cuts like a beehive of dark blood.
“Not an accident. He has been tortured.”
Chris Campbell gasped. “So this …”
“This was the price paid.” Antonio looked up at Jean-Louis, who stood outside the tent and peered in. “Did you know that he’d negotiate with his body?”
An angry welt circled Saldanha’s neck like a necklace. This one must’ve saved the orphans. … A hot iron had singed the hair on his chest and arms. And this for Simone, saving her from certain rape. The padre must’ve clenched his teeth and vouched for her innocence, then spelled out the terms of surrender.
His patient must be moved urgently where he could treat him properly. Antonio barked out his orders to the young attendant to fetch a litter – the typically Chinese box carriage supported by poles on the backs of two animals. Simone woke up and started to argue with Antonio over the timing of the Peking train.
“It’s easier to take the train.” Simone scowled. Jean-Paul agreed with her. “It’ll take five hours on a litter, whereas …”
Antonio cut him off. “You go by train. I can’t risk my patient by waiting for a train that might never come.” Chris had mentioned reports of Boxers blowing up rail lines and bridges. “Can’t let gangrene set in, which will force me to amputate his legs.”
“Why don’t we all go on litters then?” Simone pressed Antonio. “Why should we be stuck here while you disappear with your patient?”
“Because he almost died saving you. Can’t let him die a second time.” Antonio wrapped Joachim’s legs in a blanket, and raised him on a mule litter with Chris’s help then jumped up to sit next to the driver. “You can follow on foot if you like or wait for the train,” he shouted back at the quarrelling Pascals and the Times reporter looking as confused as ever.
The five-hour journey seemed to last five days. The litter plodded through dried swamps studded with corn shoots, like a minefield of spears sticking out from the ground. They passed villages deserted
only a short while before, wooden stoves still burning in abandoned kitchens and tea warm in the kettles. Talking to the few invalids forced to stay behind, it was unclear if the residents had fled the advancing Boxers or for fear of European soldiers who were thought to be on their way, marching into Peking from Tientsin to guard the foreign Legation against a rebel attack. With wells too few in number, the short supply of water alarmed Antonio. His patient would dehydrate very soon, and a cold compress was the only way of keeping the fever at bay. Passing the empty fields, their driver was scared of being fired upon by scared villagers from treetops and spurred the mules on. It would also be unwise to travel after sunset for fear of bandits roaming the lawless country. The river slowed them, turning a bend when it was least expected, and forcing a change in direction that added more miles to their journey.
They reached Peking finally and made their way over to the Summer Palace. His attendants helped Antonio carry Joachim Saldanha from the litter into the lodge. Tian screwed up his nose, smelling the pus-filled bandages. Wangsheng ran back and forth to the kitchen with pots of boiling water, and set fire to the soiled wrappings. His friend hadn’t lost consciousness, Antonio was relieved to see. Burn shock could’ve set his temperature roaring, and spread infection throughout the body. For a whole week, he bathed and treated the wounds, taking turns with his attendants to stay up at night. He was happy that he had brought the antidotes along, fearing a fire breaking out onboard ship. “The doctor must be prepared for burns, cuts and broken bones!” Dr. Martin had taught them at the Faculdade. It was no use treating him for a serious condition, if the patient bled to death from a simple cut.
Joachim Saldanha slept fitfully, staying awake during the night, muttering to himself but didn’t complain of pain. Antonio knew he was suffering. It was the worst kind of pain, worse than a deep cut or shattered bones, and he debated whether or not to help him with morphine. The recovery could take a month, and he wished to avoid sedating his patient too much lest he should become weak. The padre didn’t speak much, simply nodding at Antonio when he asked him if the pain had lessened with the treatment. Within a fortnight, he showed real signs of recovery, regaining enough strength in the legs to hobble around.
“The litter saved my life!” Joachim Saldanha said, giving a glimpse of his tiger’s appetite as he gulped down Wangsheng’s specialty – bowls of noodle soup smelling of herbs. “You were smart to bring me over on one. The train to Peking wouldn’t come. Rioters burnt it down not far from Marco Polo Bridge. They’d looted the brass nuts and bolts, torn up and buried the rails and sleepers. I learned all this while they were busy torturing me.”
“They didn’t know, of course, that they were dealing with a padre who was easy to torture but impossible to kill.”
Joachim Saldanha grinned. “It was closer this time than before.” He stroked the pink baby skin covering up the ugly blotches on his legs.
“And it’ll be closer still, Boxer or no Boxer, if we don’t cure your rotten tummy.” Antonio warned him.
Living rough and going without proper meals had given the traveling padre a condition or two, and Antonio took the opportunity to examine him as he rested in the lodge. He had started by placing his friend’s left palm down on the pillow and applying pressure on the wrist with his fingers. A low cough made him look toward the window. Fumi was watching him. As he continued with his pulse reading, she came in and sat beside him, observing his patient. Then, without speaking a word, she placed her fingers too on Joachim Saldanha’s wrist to confirm what Antonio had heard.
“It’s the Chimai,” he whispered to her, meaning the deeper pulse. “It seems to have lost its rhythm. The flow of qi through the liver is weak.” She nodded. “The stomach channel is blocked too,” he went on.
“And so?”
“So not enough bile is being released for digestion. That’s why he complains of cramps, and his belly swells up after his giant meals.”
“Could the spleen be injured as well, given his irregular habits?”
“No,” he disagreed with her. “The spleen is simply suffering in sympathy with the troubled liver. It’s nothing but a coincidence.” He released Joachim Saldanha’s wrist. “One mustn’t mistake the accident for the essence.”
Fumi smiled, hearing Antonio recite her very own words back to her. She looked on approvingly as he spelled out the medicines for Wangsheng to fetch from the palace’s store. Joachim Saldanha raised his hand to greet Fumi, and offered her the bowl of grapes by his side. She refused politely, and praised Antonio for bringing his patient back to the pavilion quickly. Burns were a nightmare for the Chinese doctor too. She was surprised that Joachim Saldanha’s were healing so well. Then she rose to leave, closing the lodge’s door after her.
“Wait!”
He breathed a sigh of relief when he found her under the plum tree, waiting for him and looking just like the peasant girl when he’d seen her first. Does she hate me for my loose words? Maybe she’d become wary of his moods and his acid tongue, scared even for her own safety given how close she’d become to a foreigner.
She shut his mouth before he could say anything. “I know why you’re angry with Xu. He hasn’t kept his promise to you yet. But he’s not what your friends think. He won’t betray you, not even if he had to die.”
“Why did you stop coming to the lodge?”
“Because your friend is here with you. You must look after him now.”
He ran his finger along her chin, “But I must see you too. How’d I know if you’re safe?”
“It was risky for you to go to Fengtai,” Fumi said. “It’s a Boxer stronghold. Your attendants told me when I’d come, and I wanted Xu to go with me to find you there.”
“Boxers could’ve killed you both if they’d known you’d come to save me.”
She took a quick look at the kitchen. “I hope your attendants aren’t telling others about us, or scheming with your enemies behind your back.”
Antonio started to laugh. “You mean Wangsheng the Boxer!”
She scowled and moved away from him. “One day you’ll know. …”
“My friend won’t mind you coming here. He needs you more than I do. Maybe you could teach me how to use the Chinese needles to open up his stomach channel.”
Fumi beamed. “Acupuncture is best to help the body heal itself.”
“It’ll help my body too, if you stop your self-imposed exile.”
She kissed him and left quickly before he could go on any further.
When Antonio returned to the lodge, Joachim Saldanha lowered his head in a mock bow. “You’ve become a real Chinese doctor, I see.” He had managed to get up and eat the early rice, shoveling it down expertly with his chopsticks. “Your friend thinks so too, doesn’t she?”
“A Chinese doctor who’s ignorant of the pox.” Antonio spoke glumly.
Saldanha tried to cheer him up. “It’ll take you four full seasons, as I recall, and we aren’t past two yet. Didn’t Fumi say that you’re doing even better than a Chinese doctor?”
He knows about her. … Antonio wondered if it was his attendants who had told the padre about Fumi, or if he had heard about Xu’s assistant from another source. He must know about us too, how could he not, seeing us the way we were together?
“What if I have to leave before the four seasons are up? What if Boxers cut short my lessons?”
Joachim Saldanha stopped eating to think. “It’s a different China now to the one we’ve known, but some things haven’t changed, will never change.”
“Like what?”
“Xu has promised to teach you the cure for syphilis. He’d rather die than go back on his word.”
Antonio was struck by his friend and Fumi both vouching for Xu. “But he’s rumored to be more than a doctor. Some claim him to be a Boxer in disguise, and the empress’s spy. He’s known too for his disappearing tricks, and hasn’t kept his word yet taking me to see a pox victim.”
Joachim Saldanha thought over Antonio’s
complaints, then offered his advice. “He might well be all those things, but without Xu it’s impossible for you to achieve your mission. You must become his friend. You should go to his home and see for yourself how a Chinese doctor lives. If you fight him, he’ll fight back. It’s best to take from him what you want, and leave the rest behind.” He smiled at Antonio, “Fumi can tell you what his weaknesses are, for you to be aware of your strengths.”
Weaknesses …? He stopped himself from pressing on about Xu, and asked his friend instead about his treatment at the hands of the Boxers, unable to control his curiosity. “Is it true that foreigners had cut off Manchu pigtails in Fengtai?”
“Yes!” Joachim Saldanha laughed. “It wasn’t the pigtail of a servant though, but Simone’s. She had cut her hair and flung the locks from her window only for them to be discovered by her neighbors!”
With Fumi visiting regularly, the pavilion was transformed into a happy family home. The day started with Joachim Saldanha waking everyone up with his loud calls for breakfast porridge. A cold wind howled across the lake, making Tian shiver as he stoked the oven and muttered curses under his breath. Fumi came early and helped the attendants prepare medicine for the patient, boiling herbs that spread a pungent cloud over the courtyard. Antonio would rise to find her chatting with Joachim Saldanha. She dressed his wounds and advised him on his eating habits, making the padre laugh.
“I’ll take you with me when I leave. That way you can rule over my stomach!” He teased Fumi like a kind uncle, teased Antonio too for growing a monk’s beard. “They’ll take you for a pirate if you return home looking like this! Your patients, especially ladies, will be afraid to visit you!”
Wangsheng reminded everyone of the rites of the Chinese New Year that was fast approaching. Paper cut-outs of the fortune gods had started to appear on the kitchen window, red silk tassels hung from door hooks and bowls of mandarin oranges appeared with the meals. Much to Antonio’s dismay, the eunuchs began to open every door and window of the pavilion to expel the stale air of the past year and fill the rooms with the icy breeze of the new, serving fresh air with dumplings to sweeten the year of the rat.
