The Island Where Time Stands Still

by Dennis Wheatley

  Despite the apparent bareness of the landscape, it was never deserted. Scores, and sometimes hundreds, of China’s teeming millions who drew a meagre living from her soil were always to be seen. Some in flat straw hats tending their rice fields; others with a yard-square net suspended from four curved sticks attached to a pole, patiently dipping from the river bank for enough small fishes to make a meal; others again ploughing with lean cattle, or, as a family group, dragging the plough themselves. Occasionally a two or three-tiered pagoda could be seen on the horizon, or, nearer too, a circular thatched open-sided erection like a summer house, in the shade of which a bullock was moving slowly round and round, drawing water up to irrigate a field.

  The waterway too never stretched emptily ahead. There was always another sampan in sight or a few crudely-made punts and rowing boats, many of the latter with owners who could not afford proper oars, so propelled themselves with two stout stakes to the ends of which they had tied short lengths of board from an old packing-case. And every mile or so there was another village, each indistinguishable from the last, a festering sore under the still scorching autumn sun, with its quota of wrinkled crones grown old before their time, old men whose ribs stood out like curved bars under the taut yellow skin, cripples with sickeningly distorted limbs, and children whose eyes were crawling with flies.

  For six days the sampan wound its way bewilderingly round a series of bends that led south, west and north, but actually made a great arc ending in a fairly straight course somewhat north of westward; and on their seventh day out from Antung-Ku they came to Su-chow, where they went ashore on another shopping expedition.

  Like most Chinese cities it had suffered sadly from brutal bombings by the Japanese, who had brought more havoc there in a few days than the sackings of a hundred Chinese War Lords had done in fifty centuries. Most of its modern buildings and many of its ancient ones had been destroyed, and during the years of war and strife that followed there had not been the resources to rebuild them; but as a once-flourishing city of the ‘fu’ rank it had a large railway station, and several good streets. Along them trams were running and lorries honked their way through hordes of cyclists and pedestrians, while occasionally a car, occupied by one or more khaki-clad officials was to be seen.

  Here, in the city centre, there was ample evidence of the new regime. From nearly all the brick and concrete buildings fluttered the five-starred flag of the People’s Republic; the big gold star in its centre representing the Communist Party, the four smaller ones the workers, peasants and—typical of the Chinese mentality but hardly in keeping with that of Karl Marx—the bourgeoisie and ‘patriotic’ capitalists, respectively. Huge posters carrying propaganda slogans by the so-called ‘Liberators’ occupied nine-tenths of the hoardings, and at nearly every street corner stood a khaki figure armed with a revolver. As the place seethed with life there was no great risk of the shopping party being singled out and asked to show their papers; but, all the same, they made their purchase of a new supply of tinned goods, and got away from the main streets as soon as possible.

  In the meaner parts of the city little evidence of bombing remained. The flimsy houses had burnt like tinder and wherever a shower of incendiaries had fallen whole districts had been consumed by roaring sheets of flame. The loss of life had been appalling, but rapid breeding had soon restored the numbers of the population; and as most of the houses had only paper-covered walls of bamboo or rice-straw, the devastated areas had resumed their age-old appearance within a few months.

  While passing down one street they had to stand aside to let a funeral procession go by. It was preceded by men carrying gaudy banners of all shapes and sizes; then came the score of professional mourners in white, bearing, by long poles on their shoulders, a lacquered and gilded casket as large as a small room, with a sacred crane on top to fly away with the dead man’s soul; and lastly, among the crowd of wailing people who followed it, were two youths almost buried under stacks of imitation paper money, which would be burnt so that the deceased might be rich in heaven.

  As A-lu-te wished to see more of the city, but was already tired because she had not walked any distance for so long, they hired a sedan-chair for her, and continued their explorations. The result was disappointing, for it was almost impossible to tell one section from another. One human ant-heap merged imperceptibly into the next. In every narrow bazaar the merchants were haggling with their customers over little cups of tea, or doing complicated sums on beads of a generations-old abacus. Blind beggars tapped their way along, poor wretches grovelled on the ground displaying their revolting sores as they whined for alms, and human scarecrows patiently turned over the contents of the dustbins, hoping to come upon some edible morsel, or a broken crock that they might piece together and sell.

  Now and then a soothsayer called to them from his booth to come and have their fortunes told; or a usurer, with hundreds of copper cash strung on strings dangling from his neck, and great wads of People’s Republic dollar bills—which could be bought by the thousand for a £1 note—eyed them speculatively. In nearly every place where alleys intersected and the buildings were more than twenty feet apart a juggler, conjurer or pair of acrobats was performing; and the poor but generous crowd laughing or amazed at their antics, gave their mites willingly to support these free-lance entertainers. Vendors carrying trays of sweet-meats, little cakes or roast peanuts pushed their way hither and thither, crying their wares; and occasionally, followed by a servant, a lady passed, wearing a jewel made from gleaming kingfisher feathers in her hair.

  This, Gregory felt, with the benighted villages, the paddy fields, and the teeming life on the great rivers, was China as it had existed for five thousand years; and it seemed that the Communists had done no more than scratch the surface of it.

  That afternoon they continued on their way. Five days later they reached the town of Lan-yi, where the old bed of the river meets its parent stream. Next morning they passed north of the city of Kai-feng, but as it lay a few miles from the bank they saw nothing of it except the waterfront through which most of its commerce passed. A veritable forest of sampan masts hid the shore, and hundreds of small boats plied their way to and fro. On many of them whole families lived and died, having no other home. Their children learned to swim before they could even walk, and scores of them splashed round the sampan shouting for cash to be thrown into the water so that they might dive for the little coins.

  Now that they were truly on the mighty Yellow River, it was far broader, so that at times its banks almost disappeared in the distance; but in many places it was still very shallow; and on several occasions they had to engage a score of sweating coolies to drag the boat with tow ropes through the turgid yellow waters of low rapids.

  Another eight days and they at last reached Tung-kwan, where their water journey ended; so Kâo paid Mai-lee-long off, adding a very generous tip to the amount on his promising to keep his own mouth, and those of his crew, shut about the place at which he had picked up his passengers.

  During the past week the paddy fields had been left behind and the villages gradually grown more infrequent. The country had become more undulating with ranges of hills in the distance, and the rich black earth had given way to brown dusty soil. In the town, too although it was obviously a product of the same civilisation, they saw marked differences as soon as they landed.

  There were the same poverty-stricken Chinese families living twelve in a single unfurnished room, old men smoking three-foot-long pipes, itinerant musicians with flutes and guitars, children with rickets or bald patches on their heads where the hair had fallen out, and coolies carrying huge burdens by means of shoulder poles: but the tempo of the town was slower than of those further east. It had suffered little damage in the wars and its streets were wider. Down them, with slowly swaying humps, clopped strings of laden camels, and shaggy-haired ponies with big panniers at their sides. Here, there were very few Chinese wearing European dress, whereas among the passers-by there w
as quite a number of yellow-robed Buddhist priests and fur-clad Mongolians.

  The ancient hostelry to which they went had a glazed tile roof with up-curved corners and glaring dragons to drive off evil spirits; but fundamentally it had a marked similarity to the great English inns of coaching days. It was two-storied and built round a big courtyard in which caravans assembled and departed, while behind its main block lay a large enclosed garden that, although dusty, had a number of fine trees growing in it. A balcony ran right round the upper storey and Kâo secured rooms for them opening out on to it at the back. They were sparsely furnished, each having only a cot and a primitive-looking wash-stand; but the outlook was pleasant, and with the bedding, etc., they had brought themselves, they soon made them reasonably comfortable.

  They had hardly got settled when the landlord sent a servant up to tell them that an official was below asking to see them. So far, having mingled inconspicuously with the broad stream of life that never ceased to pulse on the great water highway had saved them from being called on to produce their papers; and they thought it the most evil luck that, after reaching almost the outskirts of China, they must now face the risk of being questioned. But there was no alternative; so, in considerable trepidation, they went downstairs.

  The official was a lean, bespectacled young man dressed in the khaki uniform that the Communists affected. With the ill-grace of one whose head has been turned by the grant of power beyond his mental capacity, he abruptly demanded their papers.

  Kâo produced the papers of his party, but with a cunning that showed his ability as a negotiator, did not at once hand them over. Instead he complimented the young man on his smart appearance and said how much credit officials of his type did to the regime. He then went on to speak of their journey, implying that they had come from Nan-king, and casually referring by name to several well-known Communist leaders as if they were his personal friends. He then held out the papers in a bunch as though they were of little importance.

  As soon as the young official began to sort them out they saw with relief that his degree of literacy was distinctly on the low side; so in a fatherly manner, Kâo set about helping him. The descriptions on the permits to travel bore only a vague resemblance to the travellers, and some of the dates on them had been not very skilfully altered; but the fat and jolly Kâo had a ready answer for everything, and after an extremely anxious twenty minutes, the Communist expressed himself as satisfied. It was now in order for Kâo to make him a present for his trouble in coming to see them; and, as it was on the handsome side without being suspiciously generous, he made no difficulty about issuing them with new permits to proceed to Yen-an. That done, he solemnly bowed himself out and, in great relief, they returned to their rooms.

  After sleeping through the hottest part of the day Kâo went out to arrange for his party to join a caravan, taking P’ei with him. Gregory then suggested to A-lu-te that they should have a walk in the garden. As Su-sen was already sitting on the balcony which overlooked it, mending some of her mistress’s clothes, her presence there could reasonably be counted as sufficient chaperonage in the event of Kâo’s returning unexpectedly; so A-lu-te smilingly agreed.

  Under the trees near the inn there were tables and benches where guests could take their meals in the open; but at this hour of the afternoon they were occupied by only half-a-dozen people, and the far end of the garden was deserted. While in the sampan the whole party had lived at such close quarters that Gregory and A-lu-te had never been out of ear-shot of one or more of their fellow travellers; so now, from force of habit, they spoke only of how long the last stage of the journey was likely to take and ways in which they might minimise its probable discomforts. It was not until they reached the bottom of the garden that, glancing up, Gregory noticed that several of the great trees there had solid platforms erected in their forks, with small tables on them, so that people could have light refreshments up among their leafy foliage. Pausing by one that had a short ladder propped against its lowest branch, he said:

  ‘These human birds’ nests are rather an amusing idea. Let’s go up and see if this one is comfortable to sit in.’

  A-lu-te hesitated only for a moment, then climbed the ladder. The roughly-circular platform was not much more than five feet in diameter, so there was room on it only for the table; for seats two small bamboo settees with carved backs had been wedged between pairs of the most conveniently placed branches. Each was just large enough to hold a couple, and they sat down together on the nearest.

  A short silence fell, during which Gregory suddenly remembered where he had seen a similar tree-tops restaurant. He had visited it only once, in the days of his hectic youth. It was a summer resort outside Paris, and he had been taken there by a pretty artist’s model who had been delightfully pagan in her morals. He recalled now that the restaurant itself had private rooms upstairs, and was the type of maison to which, in those days, Frenchmen took their mistresses on Sundays; so it was no place in which to entertain a respectable young lady. With these thoughts in mind he began to wonder if he had not been rather rash in bringing A-lu-te up to the secluded retreat.

  As he turned to look at her he saw that she was regarding him with a puzzled, slightly anxious smile, and she asked: ‘Why did you suggest coming up here? Do you not wish to drink the waters of my mouth?’

  It was an invitation that would have tempted any man, and to have refused it would obviously have hurt her cruelly. Consequences, he felt, must now take care of themselves; but she was not a child and he hoped that if he kept his love-making on the light side, she would not take it too seriously.

  His hopes were promptly and completely shattered. After their first long kiss she gave a sigh of happiness and whispered, ‘I am so glad you love me; for I have long made up my mind that we are perfectly suited to enter on marriage.’

  Gregory was a past-master at concealing his emotions in a crisis; so he managed to hide his consternation, and threw out only a subtle doubt which could not offend her. Kissing her hand he said earnestly: ‘My beautiful A-lu-te, I should be the happiest of men, but for one thing. It breaks my heart to admit it, but we must face the fact; I am much too old for you.’

  She gave a low laugh. ‘Nonsense, dear one! Age matters nothing. Chinese girls are often given in marriage to men old enough to be their fathers, and learn to love them. In our case I do not have to learn, because our minds are so wonderfully attuned already. For that reason alone I would still wish to marry you if your hair was white. As it is I count myself truly fortunate that you can give me joy with your body as well as your mind.’

  After her declaration there could be no question of finding a pretext for getting her down from the tree before giving her another foretaste of the joys she visualised; so Gregory again took her in his arms. His reluctance to do so had been based solely upon fears that her liking for him might develop into a passion; but now that control of the situation had become temporarily beyond him, he no longer hesitated to take full delight in her sweet breath, soft lips and scented hair.

  Presently they began to talk in low voices, and she praised the restraint he had shown in taking no risk which might have compromised her during their long journey from the coast. By vowing that he had hardly slept from the thought of her being so near yet inaccessible, he brought happy blushes to her cheeks; but, even as he spoke, he began uneasily to wonder what line of conduct she would expect him to pursue now that, willy-nilly, she had made him her betrothed. Loath as he was to commit himself still more deeply, he felt that he must ask:

  ‘What about your uncle? Would you like me to request a formal interview with him?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Our circumstances are so unusual that he could not give his consent to our engagement. It is better that he should remain in ignorance about our feelings; otherwise he might think it his duty to my father to take special measures against our even talking together. We must be more circumspect than ever and possess our hearts in patience. All will be we
ll in time, and I will bear you many fine sons.’

  In spite of this generous promise, Gregory was by no means sorry to learn that she wished to keep their engagement secret. He estimated that the best part of two months must elapse before they could get back to the island, and in that time much might happen. It seemed highly probable, too, that old Sze Hsüan would have the strongest objections to his most cherished daughter marrying a ship-wrecked foreigner. After a moment, he said:

  ‘Our circumstances certainly are unusual; and not very happy ones as far as your father is concerned. Naturally he must be expecting you to marry someone who is in the running as a future Mandarin. I’m afraid he’ll be far from pleased to learn that you wish to throw yourself away on a person of no consequence.’

  A-lu-te smiled up into his face. ‘You are quite wrong there. My father is a philosopher. He is both wise and kind. He knows that I have long outgrown the possibility of becoming a suitable wife to one of the young men of the Seven Families. Yet his fundamental belief in the yin and yang cannot have failed to make him aware that no woman is complete until she marries. That consideration will, I am sure, weigh with him beyond all else. And there is yet more to it. Normally, among us, when a girl marries she bids farewell to her family and becomes as much a member of her husband’s as if she had been born into it. But you have no family. So I believe that in you I will bring my father the son he has so long desired.’