“How good will you be, Monsieur Kellner, at gouging out the eyes of Chinese converts who die?” asked Devraux in a voice thickened by drink. “Will you be able to manage that?”
At that moment the Tomeko Maru tipped abruptly into another deep trough and Devraux dropped heavily into the empty chair beside Jakob. Some of the contents of his glass spilled down his jacket front and he cursed softly in his own language, dabbing perfunctorily at the stain with a handkerchief before lifting his gaze to Jakob again.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean,” said Jakob slowly, putting his book aside.
“No, I don’t suppose you do.” A humorless smile spread across Devraux’s face. “But perhaps you’re in luck. By chance I’m able to give you some vital information that every young missionary ought to have before he sets foot in China.” The Frenchman took a cheaply printed booklet from an inside pocket of his smoking jacket and flourished it theatrically in Jakob’s direction. “It’s all in here.”
Jakob could see Chinese characters on the flimsy cover but his knowledge of the language was not sufficient for him to translate them. “What exactly is that, Monsieur Devraux?” he asked uncertainly.
“It has a very quaint title. It’s called ‘Deal a Death Blow to a Corrupt Doctrine’ — the ‘corrupt doctrine’ in question, of course, is Christianity.” Devraux laughed unpleasantly. “Calling Christianity a corrupt doctrine is just about the nicest thing this book can find to say about the subject. That’s why your college teachers didn’t tell you about it.”
“Perhaps the college has never heard of it.” Jakob leaned forward to inspect the booklet and saw that scribbled translations into English were written in the margins. “Where does it come from?”
“They’ve heard of it, all right,” said Devraux, pausing to raise his glass to his lips again. “It’s a notorious publication. It was first printed fifty or sixty years ago, before the Boxer Rebellion — to turn the people against your predecessors.”
“Then it’s just ancient history.”
Devraux shook his head exaggeratedly from side to side. “No, not at all. Freshly printed copies have been turning up all over Hunan and Kweichow in the last year or two.”
“Who do you think has been circulating it?”
“Almost certainly the Reds, Monsieur Kellner. But whoever it is, rest assured they’re no friends of yours.”
Devraux drained his glass and wiped his mouth elaborately with the back of his hand; then he raised the book to read and leaned closer to Jakob again to make himself heard above the noise of the wind. “They say in the introduction that all Christian missionaries ‘implement their evil designs by gouging out the eyes of dead converts, doing bodily injury to little boys and girls, and concealing the hair and nails of women under doormats.’”
He paused and leafed clumsily through several pages before reading again.
“Later they get into the more complimentary details They say that at the age of three months you give the male offspring of converts special treatment. ‘Hollow tubes are inserted into their bodies to make them dilate. This helps to facilitate sodomy. . . . At the junction of spring and summer young boys procure and smear female menses on their faces before going to worship. Then fathers, sons, and brothers all join their vital forces and sodomize with one another. . . . Are the Christians not worse than beasts?’
A feeling of revulsion rose in Jakob but he managed to conceal it. “Those are terrible, ugly lies, Monsieur Devraux,” he said calmly.
If he heard Jakob’s reply the Frenchman gave no sign. Instead he smiled crookedly and snapped his fingers peremptorily in the direction of a passing Japanese steward to order another drink. “It gets better as it goes on, Monsieur Kellner, so listen carefully.” He flicked over several more pages and continued to read, laying exaggerated emphasis as before on the more lurid expressions.” ‘Sunday services:
the old, the young, males and females alike, all take part in these services. Invariably the proceedings end in mass copulation in which the whole congregation participate
Jakob drew away from Devraux and half rose from his seat, intending to move away — but the Frenchman reached out and placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Wait! That’s not the worst of it. In case you’re still in doubt about whether the Communists will make you welcome in China, I’ll read you just one more extract.” Again he flicked at the pages. “Ah yes, here we are . . . ‘All Westerners regard the menstrual flow of women as the most precious gift of God. That is why they vie with one another to obtain and drink it. This accounts for the unbearable stench some of them have!’
Jakob freed himself from the Frenchman’s grip and stood up. The floor of the saloon was heaving, making balance difficult, and he had to hold on to a chair back to steady himself as he picked up his sheets of piano music from the low table. Devraux was already holding a fresh glass of brandy and soda which the steward had brought him and he watched Jakob over the brim, still smiling crookedly, as he drank.
“You must excuse mc, Monsieur Devraux. “Jakob gestured toward the folios in his hand. “I think some music might help pass the time for us more pleasantly.”
Turning his back on Devraux, Jakob made his way unsteadily across the saloon. As he went, a long, low rumbling sound was heard from the direction of the afterdeck; this was followed by a series of grinding thuds and a new burst of squealing from the hogs. Jakob swung around to stare in alarm at the windows facing the stern and all the other passengers fell silent, following his gaze. But nothing could be seen in the howling blackness beyond the glass and, fighting down his apprehension, Jakob continued to pick his way among the tables until he reached the settee where Lu Mei-ling was seated.
“Good evening, Miss Lu,” he said hesitantly, holding the folios toward her. “I’ve brought the music I told you about.”
K small frown furrowed Mei-ling’s brow and for a moment she did not reply. Then she turned and spoke in English to her companion. “This is Jakob Kellner. He’s a missionary on his way to take up his first post in China.”
“My name is Lu Chiao, Mr. Kellner! I’m Mei-ling’s brother.”
The Chinese who sprang up smiling to offer his hand was brisk and energetic. About six or seven years older than Jakob and almost as tall, he showed no outward sign of being afraid of the storm, and his direct manner bore no trace of the self-effacing humility traditionally cultivated by his educated countrymen. He had strong, regular features, wore a small modern moustache still rare among Chinese, and he seized Jakob’s hand in a grip that was firm and confident.
“I’m very glad to know you,” responded Jakob, warming to the friendly greeting. “Your sister told me earlier she knew some Christian hymns and I was hoping she might play for us.” He turned and motioned toward a small upright piano at the end of the saloon. “I’ve brought some hymn music from my cabin. I thought we might all sing ‘Eternal Father’ — it might help us through the storm.”
“Although Mei-ling and I had a missionary school education in Shanghai, we no longer believe in Christianity,” said Chiao firmly, still smiling at Jakob. “But please sit down for a moment with us. I remember the hymn. It has a fine tune.” He turned to his sister with a smile as he took his seat again. “Do you remember ‘Eternal Father’?”
Mei-ling thought for a moment. “Yes, I think so.”
Leaning forward eagerly in his chair, Jakob picked out the music and offered it to her. “Then will you consider playing it for us?”
Mei-ling reached out to take the music from him and began looking through it. Their eyes met for only an instant but again Jakob felt the same strange exhilaration he had experienced at the rail of the ship after their first encounter that afternoon. Although she held her head proudly, there seemed to be a faint shimmer of a smile in Mei— ling’s expression and again the beguiling slant of her eyes and the soft ocher tint of her skin had an almost mesmerizing effect on him. He sensed suddenly that during that brief glance he had caught a
fleeting glimpse of the very soul of the Chinese girl and that she in some indefinable way had shared in his awareness of a rare moment.
“If you wish it,” said Mei-ling quietly without raising her eyes from the music, “I will play the hymn.”
“It will give you more pleasure, I hope, Mr. Kellner, than your talk with the French passenger who seems suspicious even of his own shadow,” said Chiao jocularly. “I couldn’t help noticing that you weren’t enjoying his company.”
For a moment Jakob again felt confused and flustered: he wondered whether somehow his uncomfortable conversation with Devraux had been overheard. Then he realized it would have been impossible above the noise of the storm, and looking up, he found Chiao smiling at him good-humoredly.
“I would guess he is some kind of colonial policeman, am I right, Mr. Kellner? He spent a lot of time watching us have a casual talk with a deck coolie today. He seems to think nothing has an innocent explanation. He probably makes many remarks about the dangers of Communism in Asia. And believes his role is to rescue the whole continent from revolutionaries and the ‘Red Menace.’ Am I correct?”
Jakob smiled and nodded in mystification. “I’m not sure — perhaps you are.”
“And what about you, Mr. Kellner?” continued Chiao. “Why did you choose to come to China?”
“I’ve wanted to come to your country since I was ten years old,” replied Jakob quietly. “I heard a missionary talking about China. I was fascinated and after that I never wanted to do anything else.”
Two years at the training college in London had softened and blurred Jakob’s northern accent without removing every trace of Lancashire from his speech — while his manner was not polished, he conducted himself with a natural courtesy that hinted at inner strength, and sensing this, Chiao sat forward in his seat, looking at him with greater interest.
“And are you from an old colonial family, Mr. Kellner?”
“No, nobody in my family has ever traveled outside Europe before. My father works in a cotton mill in the north of England. I was an apprentice at the same factory for three years while I was waiting to go to missionary college. .
Another ominous rumbling sound from the (leek interrupted Jakob and again everyone in the saloon turned to stare out apprehensively into the night. As the passengers watched, the shadowy figure of the deck coolie became dimly visible, scrambling with difficulty across the pitching deck, clutching at loose hog cages. All the time the noise made by the frightened animals was continuing without letup and Jakob noticed that the faces of many of the passengers around him were growing more tense. Even Chiao’s expression had grown serious as he peered out through the windows.
“You told me just now you no longer believed in Christianity,” said Jakob, restarting the conversation to distract attention from the storm. “May I ask what made you change your mind?”
“China, unfortunately, is a very sick country, Mr. Kellner,” replied Chiao, lowering his voice. “My father is among the lucky few. He owns several textile factories in Shanghai. That’s why he sent me and my sister to a Christian missionary school. But I came to realize long ago that Christianity can’t cure China’s illness.”
“What do you think can?”
A guarded look came into Chiao’s eyes. “Great political changes are required, Mr. Kellner,” he said shortly. “But this is not the place to discuss them.” He glanced at his sister, who was still holding the piano music in her lap. “Perhaps it would be a good idea now to take up Mr. Kellner’s suggestion to play the piano. That hymn has a rousing chorus, if remember. Whether we’re Christians or not, it would be good for everybody to sing and drown out the storm, wouldn’t it?”
Chiao stood up and motioned them toward the piano. As Mei-ling got to her feet, the ship lurched sharply and Jakob reached out to steady her, placing one hand under her left elbow. Escorting her to the piano, he became keenly aware of the warmth of her flesh through the thin silk sleeve of her dress and he relinquished his hold reluctantly at the piano stool.
When Jakob announced to the saloon that the hymn was to be sung, most of the European and American men and women left their seats and crossed the tilting floor to join the little group around the piano. The rumbling noise from the afterdeck began again as the typhoon tore at the Tomeko Maru with renewed fury, but the moment Mei-ling played the stirring opening chords, the little group of singers launched spiritedly into the hymn.
“Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm doth bind the restless wave,
Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep,
Its own appointed limits keep . .
Mei-ling, to Jakob’s surprise, struck the keys with all the force and slow deliberation that the sonorous seafaring hymn of praise demanded; although her hands were small and delicate, she seemed to sense intuitively in the mighty chords the hymn’s deep feeling of yearning and supplication offered at the brink of awful calamity. Standing by her side, Jakob felt himself drawn to her anew — all sense of danger evaporated momentarily as his eyes took in her slim shoulders, the youthful curve of her neck, the sheen of the pale turquoise silk that concealed her small breasts. In her playing of the hymn, too, there was a passion which her rejection of its religious sentiments did nothing to diminish. In the core of the typhoon she was giving something vital of herself, and quite illogically, Jakob suddenly felt in his heart that he was the chief recipient of her gift. It seemed as if the tempestuous seas, the Tomeko Maru, and all sailing in her had been assembled and brought together just so that he might feel and know the intensity of this dizzying emotion. Beside him, Chiao was singing every line with great gusto and Jakob, feeling a joyousness well up within him, sang with all the power of his lungs, drowning out momentarily even the wind’s roar and the terror of the hogs.
“O, bear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!”
At the moment that Mei-ling lifted her hands to begin the next verse, the rumbling on the afterdeck grew louder. In quick succession two thunderous blows were struck against the outer bulkhead of the saloon. A flare of crimson blood splattered across one window and those passengers who turned their eyes toward the sound quickly enough saw a grotesquely distorted animal face flatten itself against the thick glass; it remained visible for only an instant before whirling away upward into the night, followed by a despairing banshee wail. The second willow-withe cage shattered on impact with the bulkhead and its squirming, shrieking hog scudded bloodily along the whole length of the saloon’s windows before a great fist of wind plucked it up and hurled it into the boiling sea.
The noise from outside became a continuous roll of thunder as the mass of hog cages, which had broken free of their ropes, shifted and slid back and forth. Many cages were sucked intact over the rails: others broke open as they smashed together, releasing the imprisoned hogs for a few terrified moments of freedom on the slippery, wave-drenched mountainsides of the deck. The abrupt cessation of the hogs’ agonized wails as they were swallowed one after another into the heaving seas chilled the human listeners in the aft saloon.
Mute with horror, the group that had been singing around the piano backed toward the one solid bulkhead, staring at the windows. They all flinched whenever the wind smashed another cage or its squealing occupant against the ship’s superstructure, and they froze when they saw the deck coolie slide slowly into view. He was scrabbling desperately for a foothold on the seesawing deck, trapped amid a mass of fear-crazed hogs slithering back and forth in the slime that had been washed from the cages. A moment later he was struck by a moving wall of cages and a fierce gust of wind lifted him bodily into the air. The shuddering impact of his body against the saloon windows caused Mei-ling and some of the other passengers to cry out, and they could only watch helplessly as the coolie’s grimy hands clawed futilely at the slippery glass. Mei-ling turned and buried her face in her brother’s shoulder and Chiao’s face drained of all color as he watched. A moment before the coolie disappea
red, his mouth opened wide in a scream but the sound was lost among the shrieks of the dying hogs and the rush of water as he was swept away over the starboard rail with the shreds of the last cages.
Although he was pale and shaken, Jakob was the first to recover his composure when the terrible din ceased. After whispering to Mei-ling and her brother, he guided Mei-ling quickly back to the piano and propped another sheet of hymn music before her. She began shakily but Jakob led the singing of “0 God Our Help in Ages Past” in a firm voice and one by one the rest of the frightened passengers joined the gathering. The Tomeko Maru was still lurching and shuddering violently under the impact of the screaming wind, but the group around the piano sang one hymn after another, their voices waxing stronger as the feeling grew among them that they were at least offering some resistance, no matter how puny, to the vast and dreadful elemental forces howling all around the ship.
4
One last shuddering groan from the rudder and the noisy clank of chains echoing through his little aft cabin marked the end for Jakob of the Tomeko Maru’s long voyage to China early the next afternoon. The anxieties aroused by the typhoon had largely subsided but a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation made his fingers clumsy as he finished buckling his luggage and locking his cabin trunk. Already he could hear a clamor of shrill Shanghai voices growing louder as wooden-hulled sampans and lighters scraped and bumped along the freighter’s sides. Boat hooks clattered against the rails, bare feet pattered across the deck above his head in flurries, and amid the shouting he heard the creak of hatches and lockers being levered open.
Anthony Grey Page 4
