The Way of the Tigress 1-4
Page 43
"I tell you this," she continued, her gaze hard. "The horse does not leave. And if it does, you have lost a most powerful ally." She turned back to her class, her tone softening as she settled into the rhythm of her speech.
"The Tigress tames the horse. She masters it slowly and gently, first by familiarizing herself with its body. This allows her to understand how the horse moves. Second, she learns by feeling the horse, by touching all its aspects so the horse becomes accustomed to her presence. In this way the Tigress learns how the horse thinks. Then, lastly, she becomes one with the horse so that she can mount it and ride it to Heaven. Only in this way can a Tigress—or a Dragon—find immortality."
Joanna listened to Shi Po's voice, half mesmerized by its cadence. The fluid tones of her words were like beautiful music, their meaning nothing to the beauty of their sound. But to lose herself in the sound was to miss the point. So Joanna focused, making an effort to understand.
Unfortunately, she realized, like many religions the Tigress cult spoke in metaphors. Shi Po's words were beautiful, but in the end there was no obvious practical application. How did one "feel one's sexual nature"? "Touch all aspects of it as one would a horse"? It wasn't possible, and so Joanna sighed, bored.
Then Shi Po unrolled a scroll, and in bold black ink was a drawing of a male organ. Beside it, and of an equal size, was a man's face. He was smiling normally, but there was a glint in his eye. In truth, it was not an unattractive image of a man's face. But beside it was the other drawing, and that other drawing was large and colored and so... very, very there.
No one moved. Not even the monk, who had flushed a dark red. And into the silence Shi Po continued her instruction, unrolling her scroll inch by inch to reveal a long succession of images, one after the other, of the man's organ growing and his face becoming pinched and red.
"This is a man's dragon," Shi Po said. "See how it hides in its tunnel, shy and withdrawn. And see here the man's face. Though he appears content and restrained, he is always aware of the dragon. Like the wild horse, his dragon constantly torments him, waking him from sleep, filling him with lust whenever a beautiful girl walks by." The Tigress lifted her chin, turning to look directly at the monk. "Is that not so?"
Everyone twisted, even the guards, all looking to see how he would respond. Most men would have flushed a brighter red. Joanna's father probably would have stammered out some sort of hot denial, adding that this topic was inappropriate for discussion. The monk's color calmed and his expression became somewhat amused, and he bowed his head slightly.
"A man's dragon is a fearsome beast that he must learn to control," he said.
"Control?" Shi Po challenged. "Or hide? Only to have it roar out of its cave at the slightest provocation?"
Joanna recalled the monk's exercises from the previous night. Indeed, his dragon had pushed out into his hand, seemingly demanding attention.
But the monk merely shrugged. "Each man manages his dragon in his own way."
Joanna's gaze settled on his face, studying his expression closely. She longed to ask him questions. How did he manage his dragon? Just how powerful was its hunger? Was a woman's tigress equally demanding, once awoken?
Unfortunately, Joanna could not ask these things. And Shi Po was apparently uninterested in pushing further. Instead the woman returned to her lecture and her series of pictures. She described the dragon's stages, along with the depicted facial expressions. She explained how the dragon pushed out of its cave, longing for a drink from the pool inside a woman's cinnabar cave. She pointed out the places where the dragon was most sensitive, and how it finally contorted and spewed white cloud.
She pointed to places on the diagram where the dragon could be pushed to interrupt cloud flow, and she explained that it took a man of great power and focus to control his dragon.
"Such a man," she said, "would be a truly intimidating creature—a jade dragon. Such a man, when waking his dragon, stirs the yang fires, making them hot and strong. But by keeping his natural essence inside of him, he maintains his yang power and grows stronger each time his dragon stirs." Shi Po smiled, her gaze again finding the monk. "But few men have such discipline. And so we Tigresses catch their power, taking it into ourselves to strengthen us, to make our horses hardy enough to carry us to Heaven."
Leaving the poor man to wither and die, Joanna thought. It was an odd idea, and obviously not true. She knew relatively little of men's dragons, but she did understand that few men died of carnal relations. If they did, some of her father's friends would never have made it through their adolescence.
Still, Shi Po's attitude brought on the thought. It was as if sexuality were a means of conquest where the woman gained every time a man lost. And Shi Po, apparently, had bested many, many men.
The lecture continued. Or rather, the challenge continued, as Shi Po once again drew all attention to the monk.
"Do you have that power, monk? Can you hold your yang essence within you, or has your qi withered and died from neglect?"
All about the room, the women tittered. No man would claim his strength had withered from neglect, and yet yesterday he had been unable to contain his dragon cloud. Hearing the laughter, Joanna guessed everyone here knew of his failure.
Still, the monk did not appear disturbed. Instead he bowed slightly to Shi Po, his voice respectful even if Joanna was close enough to see that his eyes were not. "Only a fool would claim greater wisdom than his teacher, especially on his first day of instruction."
Shi Po frowned; then she too dipped her head. "You speak wisely, monk, for in learning to control the wild horse, you men have much work to do." She lifted her chin, a coy smile on her face. "Our young Tigress cubs require a demonstration. Will you make yourself an example for them?"
The monk's expression finally broke. Joanna watched as his eyes widened, emotion darkening his skin. And as the Tigress's meaning sank in, Joanna felt her own jaw drop.
Did she mean he was to demonstrate what was in the diagrams? To show himself in all those separate states as Shi Po brought him to the point of releasing his dragon cloud? The thought was appalling. And intriguing. Joanna felt her face heat with equal parts shame and interest.
Meanwhile the monk swallowed, words momentarily deserting him. The Tigress grunted in satisfaction. "See here the untrained reaction. Though his dragon may be roaring in his belly for release, the civilized man denies its existence. But any man who denies the power of his dragon can be used by it, controlled by it, and dominated by it. See our ghost barbarian as well. Her shame floods her face and she longs to flee, and yet the Tigress within her salivates with hunger."
Joanna stiffened at the statement, appalled to realize Shi Po spoke the truth. She was ashamed. And she was titillated. She wanted to see the monk's dragon again. She wanted to know what he was like just before release. But not so interested that she would embarrass him like this to learn the answers! Indeed, she was appalled by the way their so-called teacher was treating them.
But then, Shi Po wasn't really their teacher; she was their jailer. So Joanna straightened, lifting her chin and putting on as much aristocratic disdain as she could summon. Let them call her a barbarian and try to humiliate her. She wasn't the one making sport of another.
Too bad her show of defiance was ignored. Shi Po began speaking again, and attention shifted back to her. "The Tigress knows a man's dragon and a woman's tigress are just that wild horse that needs to be tamed. There is no shame in understanding it. In enjoying its beauty. In trying to ride it. There is only use and the ultimate goal: immortality. Riding the horse to immortality."
It was a mixed metaphor to be sure, but one that made sense to Joanna. And it apparently made sense to the many women there. One particularly lovely girl stepped forward, bowing before Shi Po.
"I will demonstrate for the cubs," she said, her voice melodic and soft.
Shi Po nodded, but her eyes went once again to the monk. "How old do you think Little Pearl is?" she asked.
"Little Pearl turned thirty this New Year."
Joanna started. It couldn't be. And yet, the girl—the woman—nodded her head in agreement.
Beside Joanna, the monk also narrowed his eyes, clearly disbelieving. But all around them the ladies bobbed their heads. And then, one by one, they stepped forward, giving their ages. Not all of their years seemed completely preposterous, but all were beautiful women with youthful skin and supple figures.
That alone was remarkable enough, if one believed their statements. But something else struck Joanna, something she had been aware of from the first moment she had seen these ladies, but only now began to comprehend: Each of these women had a quiet strength about them. All of them spoke and smiled and moved with innate confidence, as if they had a focus in life, a purpose that brought them serenity.
Indeed, of all of them, Shi Po was the one who seemed the most disturbed, the most agitated in her surroundings. Which seemed odd, as she was unquestionably the most beautiful, the most graceful of all.
How Joanna longed for innate confidence. How she wished she had the simple assurance that she was on the right path, that she was being taught the secrets she needed to accomplish whatever it was she was supposed to do with her life. These women had that. However bizarre their beliefs, they clearly knew peace. And beauty.
"You are interested, aren't you, barbarian?"
Joanna's gaze cut to Shi Po, to the challenge she saw in the Tigress's posture. It was fortunate that her throat was still too injured to answer, for indeed, she didn't know what to say. To blush and turn away would be to admit she feared her own inner tigress. But to step forward and claim interest in these secrets would be too bold, too rash a step. She was intrigued. But did she truly wish to embrace this strange religion?
Shi Po smiled. "Come then, barbarian, and stand beside me. We will watch Little Pearl as she practices with her green Dragon."
Joanna hesitated, unsure what to do. Then the monk touched her lightly on the back. He didn't speak, but one glance at his face and she understood. She could go with the Tigress and it would be safe.
Why she trusted his unspoken comment, she wasn't sure. But she did, and so she slowly moved forward, walking beside Shi Po, who led the class to a dark and rather shabby-looking building in the back of her compound. Everyone followed except Little Pearl. That young woman disappeared through a side doorway, her steps as silent as they had been confident.
Shi Po led them all into a tiny chamber dominated by a bed. The center area was lit with many bright candles that gave off a cloying perfume, but the surrounding walls were shrouded in darkness and several thick tapestries. It was a cozy room obviously meant for a rendezvous, and one look at the tiny space told Joanna that they all would not fit inside.
Except they did.
Moving with a silence that stunned her, the ladies slid surreptitiously behind the tapestries. They disappeared on all sides, and when they were gone the wall hangings fell back into place, their heavy fabric stilling with a speed that surprised her. Stepping forward, she pushed one hanging aside to see a tight line of women staring back at her. They all stood like statues, and the room was obviously much larger than it appeared.
"In here, barbarian," called Shi Po from behind a tapestry. "And remember to be as silent as a ghost." Then she grinned at her joke, even as she pulled Joanna into the recessed alcove. It was only when the tapestry dropped back into place that she saw the truth.
The fabric was laced with dozens of tiny holes through which an audience could view the chamber. She turned, looking over her shoulder at Shi Po, her unspoken question obvious. The Tigress nodded, gesturing.
"A Tigress must practice. She often finds green Dragons, men who wish to release their seed to her without thought to their immortality or even their youth." The woman paused, shifting slightly so that she had a better view inside the chamber. "And sometimes other Tigresses watch. To learn." She shifted her gaze to Joanna. "There is much to be discovered here, barbarian. If you have the wit to understand."
Joanna swallowed, knowing the Tigress spoke the truth she believed. There was a great deal here to be learned. But to what point? Immortality? Her Christian upbringing told her that immortality came only from God, after death, through a belief in Jesus Christ. Now these people believed it came through sexual skill? And though she knew no logical reason, she had a vague feeling that watching someone else perform sexual acts was somehow immoral.
And yet, despite all Joanna's uneasiness, Shi Po's earlier words were clear in her head. She did have a sexual nature. Didn't everyone? And what if she wanted to explore it? God would not have made carnal relations pleasurable unless He meant them to be enjoyed. And what if there was something spiritual to be learned from sexuality? What if—
A tap on her shoulder made her jump, scattering her thoughts like so many leaves in a storm. She jerked sideways as she turned and nearly fell forward into the tapestry. But strong hands cupped her elbows, holding her steady.
The monk.
He smiled reassuringly at her, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself. On her opposite side she knew the Tigress Shi Po watched everything they did, so she lowered her eyes, trying to appear shy and demure. But what she felt inside was a pounding in her heart and a rushing of her blood. Especially because, on the other side of the tapestry, the door opened and Little Pearl escorted a blind man into the room.
He was filthy, his hair matted, his clothing torn and wretched. Even his feet were encrusted with mud. The stench of the man made Joanna's eyes water and her skin crawl. But it wasn't until he scratched himself that she saw the worst. In truth, it embarrassed her that she had been so focused on the dirt that she hadn't fully seen the man. But she saw as he tried to scratch himself: He had no hands.
He didn't have unformed limbs, as sometimes happened with children. She had seen beggars who never developed hands. Their arms narrowed to a smooth point. But not this man. His arms were adult-sized, flowing smoothly down to what should have been normal wrists and hands. Except on him, his hands had been cut off. Abruptly. Cruelly.
The sight turned Joanna's stomach.
Little Pearl was bringing this man for intimate relations? She couldn't possibly! And yet one glance at the Tigress Shi Po, and Joanna knew it was true. Beautiful Little Pearl was undressing the blind man. She was gingerly pulling off his grimy shirt and untying the rope about his waist before tugging his coolie pants free. He stood before her, his only clothing a matted cloth about his loins and the dirt that encrusted his entire body. And she was going to...
Joanna blinked, unsure she was seeing things correctly.
Little Pearl was bathing the man.
With a bowed head and reverent touch, she was gently cleaning the wretched man's body. Starting with his face and using numerous cloths, she was brushing at his sores and slowly revealing clean skin. He seemed now human, where before he had been more like an animal.
Servants came and went, bearing away the man's clothing, bringing fresh water and clean cloths. And when his body was free of filth, they brought a razor and soap so that Little Pearl could shave his face and head. Now Joanna understood the need for the heavy scent, for as the man's body was cleansed, the perfumed candles covered all stench. And with each entrance and exit of the servants, fresh air filled the tiny room.
In time, both the man and the room became clean.
Little Pearl spoke little as she worked, her focus on the gentle slide of her hands, the smooth glide of the razor as she cut away the man's matted hair. Not so the man, for as she worked he began to speak. At first he called her "great mistress" and begged for a crumb of bread. The servants had brought that, too, and in between her ministrations, Little Pearl fed him fruit, bread, and
sweet tea.
Then, as his stomach was filled, he began to call her an angel, wondering if he had died. She indicated he had not. She explained that he was in a hospital, where she was caring for his ailments.
And then he began to speak of his life. He had been a great servant once, he said, for a rich Manchurian family in Peking. He had a wife and four children and was greatly admired by all, he said. Until one day his master had entertained an important eunuch of the dowager empress. The eunuch had been drunk, crashing about without thought or care. In his drunken stupor, he had broken a valuable vase of the Ming dynasty. But rather than take responsibility for his crime, he had blamed it on this man, this servant, claiming that he had seen him in the act of thieving.
The story made no sense, and his master knew it. But such was the fear of the Qin Empire, such was the terror in which these people lived, that the master had no choice. The servant's hands were chopped off. Worse, because of the anger and bitterness in the servant's eyes, the eunuch had demanded that his eyes be put out as well.
All this was done, but in one thing the master was merciful. Though the servant was tossed out to beg for whatever life he could find, his wife and children had remained at the great house, cared for, because of his years of honorable service.
He had a little money, and so this man had made his way to Shanghai, where his brother lived. But blind as he was, he had no way to find his brother once in the great, teeming city. And so he now survived off begging as best he could.
Joanna strained to understand his story, spoken as it was in thickly accented Shanghainese. Even when the words made sense to her, she wondered at their truth. She knew that the Chinese prided themselves on their civilization. With their great culture that spanned five thousand years, the Chinese were using parchment and ink when the Europeans were still squatting in mud huts. And yet, that this story could be true... It turned her stomach.