"I am Ju kau-jing yi, beloved of the great Cheng Shih," I say, in case the latter name has any import in this area. "Who are you?"
He is plainly startled by my announcement and my appearance but does not seem overly cowed and I find that good.
"My name is Arun," he says with a slight bow of his head.
"I am pleased to meet you, Arun," I say with a bow of my own head. "Thank you for receiving me so graciously into your home."
"What I have is yours," he says, gesturing to the meager contents of the rude hut. He is plainly still guardedly feeling me and my intentions out.
"My thanks, Arun," I say, my head still down. "And what this unworthy one has is yours ... but you can see that what I have is nothing..."
Then I lift my eyes and go on. "But I may still be of some use to you."
"Ah. And how is that, strange girl?"
"I have heard that you were to marry a girl of this village, and that she is young and shy and fair of face and beloved of you and beloved by you in return," I say, cutting right to the chase. "What is her name, if this stranger girl may be so bold to ask?"
His face darkens.
"Her name is Sanda."
"And..."
"And the headman Ohnmar will take her for his own."
"When will that happen?"
"The day after tomorrow."
I can see his fists clench and unclench over and over again in the semidarkness of the hut.
"And you will do nothing about it?"
"Do? What should I do?" he asks, his voice a strangled hiss. "I would kill him if I could, but I cannot! He is just too strong! Run away? Yes, Sanda has agreed to run with me into the jungle and hide in the bush and sleep wrapped in each other's arms, but there are tigers there. How could I protect her from them? How could I provide for her in the woods? I am a fisherman, not a woodsman. How could I—"
There is a murmur from the old woman and Arun says, plainly embarrassed, "Pardon me, Ju kau-jing yi. My mother informs me I am without manners and am being rude to a guest and she is right. Please forgive me and eat."
The woman places a single bowl before us and we each dip in our fingertips and scoop out some of the food. I bring it to my mouth and find it simple but good. Ummm. A mixture of grain and fish and spices gathered from the forest around us. It would probably be a lot richer if the badmash Ohnmar and his crew weren't taking their cut of the catch.
We eat and I, for one, am grateful for it. At least it's not raw clams.
Cups of coconut milk are set out and we sip it and find it good. Then I get back to business.
"Why have you not rid yourself of this man?"
"Rid the village of him? Ohnmar and his men have weapons! My friends and I have none!" He stands and glares down at me.
Ah, so you do have some friends...
"Oh, but I think you do have weapons, Arun. My poor eyes see that you are clean-shaven. That means you at least have knives. Why have you not defended yourselves and your women?"
He looks down, ashamed, and then again he sits.
"Yes. True. We have knives. All fishermen have knives. But little knives are not broadswords. I ... I tried to fight but..."
I reach out and place my hand upon his arm. "I have heard that you were very brave in standing up to Ohnmar. I did not mean to shame you."
He is quiet then, his dark eyes hooded. I observe that he is a very handsome lad, tall and straight, with glossy black hair and deep brown eyes. I suspect that Ravi will look a lot like him when he grows up.
"And you do have other weapons, friend Arun, but maybe you do not consider them such. May I tell you something of a land and the warlike games that are played there?"
He nods, and I begin...
"In this land, a faraway place called Roma, there are games held, very barbaric games in a great ... open space"—I do not think he could grasp the idea of something like the Coliseum—"and men fight each other to the death and they are called gladiators. Some of these gladiators wear suits of armor and bear great broadswords, and some have bows and arrows ... but some, dear Arun, are armed only with net and trident."
He listens, amazed. "But how can that be? They must be quickly killed!"
I know that Ravi must be having a hell of a time translating all this, but he does seem to be getting the meaning of my words across the language barrier.
"Nay, gentle Arun, they are not—they have as much chance as any other gladiator on that bloody ground."
"But how?"
"Because a well-thrown net can ensnare a sword such that it cannot be swung, and if the bearer of that sword is so entangled that he cannot move, then the simple trident becomes very deadly. You and your friends do have tridents, don't you, for the spearing of fish?"
"Yes," he says, hope beginning to dawn in his eyes.
"And nets ... small nets?"
"Yes, our small, round cast nets that we fling over schools of fish that swim close to shore."
"The badmash Ohnmar and his men will be close to shore," I say with a level gaze at Arun's dark eyes.
He stands up and says to the little girl, who has been avidly hanging about, "Naing! Go get Nanda, Dara, and Chankrisna!"
The girl flies out the door and soon after, three young men slip into the hut and crouch about the hearth.
When all are settled, I begin to recite:
Yes, these special kind of Roman gladiators were called the Retiarii, and they fought strong armored swordsmen while they themselves were small, quick, and quite naked—no helmets, no armor, nothing but their nets, their tridents ... and their quickness and bravery...
They all sit rapt and are soon firm in their resolve...
"It is settled, then," I say. "Give to me one of your fine cast nets and I shall make the first move. Watch for my signal. Sleep well, for tomorrow a new day will dawn."
As all fade off into the night, I wonder if they will follow through. I do not know, but tomorrow we shall certainly see.
For tonight, Ravi and I get to curl up together in a corner of the dwelling, protected, at least, from tigers.
And thank you, Mr. Yale, for your fine lectures on Ancient Rome, which so many of us at the Lawson Peabody thought were ever so boring...
Chapter 8
It had been decided last night, by myself and my fellow conspirators, that we would make our move in the afternoon, when the boats returned for the day, since then all the fishermen would be on the beach at once, unlike the morning, when the boats went out at irregular intervals.
Waiting for the fishing fleet to come back, I practice with the cast net I was given. The girl Naing has come along to teach me, all the boys of the village—those able to walk at least—being out with their dads on the ocean. She is very good at it, making the thing soar like an opening flower in the bright morning air. I believe that she has taken a bit of a shine to Ravi, who does not seem to have noticed.
To make the thing work, the net is arranged in neat folds and laid across the left arm, the lead weights at the bottom hanging down. A long thin line goes from the bottom of the net to the top of the net for gathering it up after it is thrown. The lower edge is picked up and placed between the teeth. One's body twists at the waist to fling it, hoping for the best. My first few tries at casting are pathetic, but I get the hang of it after a while.
After practicing on the open beach for a while, I wade into the water to try. The net flies out in a nice but not perfect circle and sinks. I even catch a few minnows. What a marvelous thing! I decide that I shall have to equip each of Faber Shipping's watercraft with some of these, should the opportunity arise and I ever get back to that side of the world.
This done, we wait for the fleet to return.
I slap the heavy turnbuckle into the palm of my hand, the buckle that Ravi and I had previously taken along with a part of the sail from the broken foremast. I do not want to bring it down on anybody's head, but it is comforting to have it handy. Although the plan does not call for its use, I carry it as backup in ca
se things go wrong, as they so often do. Ravi, seeing me handle the deadly thing, expresses doubt.
"Sweet Missy plans something nasty? Ravi hopes not."
"Look, lad," I reply. "We've got to have a boat for lots of reasons, and I mean to get us one. Number one, we can't travel overland because of those big toothy striped devils out there in the woods. Moreover, we've got many rivers to cross on our way northward, and make our way we must." I pause as I stand to look out over the ocean, once again to see nothing. Then I continue. "Being ashore, we have no way of making money, and the sea has always provided for me. I am just not comfortable if I don't have a ship, no matter how small. And most important, we've got to help these poor people get out from under the heel of that cruel bastard."
"So Memsahib will steal boat?"
"Yes, Ravi, I plan to steal the badmash's boat. I like the color, and if things turn out as I hope, he will no longer have a use for it."
"I fear I must give up on any thought of becoming happy puppy in future life if you do this and I help you. I suspect my state will slip from happy puppy to garden slug."
"Could I perhaps write you a note addressed to Lord Ganesh, explaining that it was not your fault that you fell in with me?"
"Missy makes fun now..."
"I am sorry, Ravi, but I'm sure your inner good nature will win out over my evil influence when all comes to account."
"It is to be hoped, Memsahib," he answers tremulously. "Look! The boats return!"
And indeed they do.
"Right. Let's get ready, lad."
As the girl Naing scurries down the beach, ready to greet her brother's boat and help with the day's catch, Ravi and I hang the turnbuckle on a length of rope that loops about my waist such that it sits behind me on my rump, the rope being tied with a slipknot. Then I carefully arrange the cast net over my arm.
Peering out through the bushes, I see that the prow of Ohnmar's yellow boat has touched the shore and dropped its sail.
"Let's go, Ravi. You know what to do."
He nods, mumbling what I suppose to be prayers.
Taking his cue, I offer up one myself. God, please make this work—if not for me, then for these poor people!
We walk toward the yellow boat, where the badmash is once again laying out curses and kicks for all who are near him.
As we get closer, I turn my head to the side, putting on an idiot's grin. Then a thought occurs to me, so I whip my pigtail around and shove it into my mouth. I chew upon it and cross my eyes and put on a severe left leg limp.
"Lay it on, Ravi," I whisper through the hair in my teeth. "Make it good." I see Arun standing ready on the beach a little ways down from us, his net and trident in hand.
Ravi runs up to the man and puts out his begging hands and lets fly a string of gibberish that I take to be an Urdu plea for alms. Ravi is good at it. His whine hits a high pitch and tears pour out of his big dark eyes while he gestures toward his unfortunate sister as she limps, cross-eyed, up to the boat. I manage to work up a bit of drool and make some moronic sounds.
All of which has no effect whatsoever on the badmash. He spits out something guttural, which I suspect translates as Sod off, you filthy little buggers!
That would be all right, except he is still on his boat and I cannot swing the net because the mast is in the way... Damn! It's always somethin'!
"Ravi!" I hiss. "We've got to get him out of the boat or all is lost!"
Ravi nods, takes a deep breath, then shouts, "Kanjoos boodar!" He then works up a good big gob of untouchable spit and lays it on the yellow prow of the badmash boat. Then he gives the boat a very disrespectful kick.
That does the trick.
Ohnmar leaps out of the boat. "Rukhsat hona!" he roars, swinging his big arm at Ravi. "Rukhsat hona, naaraaz'qi!"
His arm catches Ravi at the shoulders and the boy pitches to the ground. I take this opportunity to slip up behind the man and begin swinging my cast net.
As the badmash is aiming a kick at Ravi's belly, I let it fly and the beautiful net floats over the oppressor man and settles down, light as a feather around his head, shoulders, and then the rest of him.
He looks about, through the netting, amazed that anyone would have the nerve to—
"AZAADI!" I shout at the top of my lungs. "AZAADI!"
It means "FREEDOM!" and it is the signal that the revolt is on in earnest and there is no turning back. I am glad to hear AZAADI! coming from other throats farther up the beach, and am even gladder to see other cast nets blossoming in the evening air.
"Ravi! Go!" I say, tossing the lad the end of the cast net line, and as planned, he grabs it and begins running around and around the roaring bad man, further pinning him into the netting.
I look up the beach. Already several trident shafts stick straight up, quivering over horizontal, and now quite still, forms.
Well, they did have it comin'...
There is a shout and I turn to see that one of the toadies has gotten away from the formerly meek villagers and rushes down to help his master, his cutlass out and held over his head.
Uh-oh...
I whip out my shiv and crouch before him, narrowing my eyes and hissing like a snake. The sight of the knife-bearing pigtailed apparition is enough to make him pull up, amazed for a moment, but long enough for yet another billowing cast net to descend over his head, and then a trident is raised and thrust down and he is no more trouble to me or anybody else, ever again.
I turn back to Ravi and his struggling captive, and I find that the badmash is not yet done.
With the help of a small knife the strongman had in his belt, he has managed to cut through the netting, enough to free his sword arm. As Ravi passes with his entwining rope in front of him, Ohnmar lifts his sword.
"Halaak keerha!" he shrieks, about to bring the blade down on poor Ravi, who stands helpless before him.
No! Ravi! Please, God! No!
The sword comes down, but it does not come down on Ravi. No, Arun now stands before Ohnmar, and as the sword descends, he raises his trident and the blade is caught between its forked tines. Arun quivers with the strain of holding back the stronger man's sword, and I figure the fight ain't quite fair, so I pull the slipknot on the rope that holds my turnbuckle, grab the heavy thing as it falls, then bring it down hard on the bad man's sword hand.
He howls and lets slip the sword and it falls to the sand.
Arun, seeing his chance, brings back his trident and plunges it into the belly of Ohnmar, the badmash, former terror of the village.
The great bully sinks to his knees and puts his hands around the shaft of the thing that sticks out of his body ... But he finds, as countless fish have found, there is no pulling out of a barb-tined trident. He gasps ... once ... twice ... and then falls over face first onto the sand.
I dash over and pick up the fallen sword and hold the hilt out to Arun, still dazed by the heat of the battle.
"Here!" I say. "Take this, Arun, and be a good headman to your people! Protect them and make sure no other badmash comes to oppress them and make them unhappy. May you and Sanda have many fine children, and may you now summon your brothers and have them push my boat into the water!" I point to the yellow boat and then out to sea. He takes my meaning.
"Nanda! Dara! Chankrisna!"
At his call, the three young men from last night's conspiracy come pounding down the sand, huge grins on their triumphant faces.
Arun barks out the command and the yellow boat is shoved into the water.
"Hop in, Ravi!" I shout, as the boat floats in the gentle surf. I throw my leg over the gunwale.
Ravi struggles aboard and I find an oar and stick it in the water to pole us backward.
"There's another paddle there! Take it! Help me push us out!"
We continue to push until I get enough water under us to raise the sail. We have a nice alongshore breeze and that is good. I see that there is a centerboard and I shove it down. Then I grab the main haul and pull, and the
sail goes up easily and fills with wind. I put the rudder down and throw over the tiller. We heel over, and we are off and away!
As we go, I wave at those who are gathered on the shore and they wave back. Then I grab Ravi and ecstatically plant kisses all over his face and exclaim, "Oh, Ravi, my brave, brave, brave little garden slug, we are away!"
Glory!
Chapter 9
Mr. John Higgins
Onboard the Nancy B. Alsop
Off the Coast of Siam
December 25, 1807
Mr. Ezra Pickering
Union Street
Boston, Massachusetts, USA
My Dear Mr. Pickering,
It is with regret that I must report the apparent loss of our dear friend Miss Jacky Faber, she being swept overboard off the Lorelei Lee during a violent storm on the South China Sea and lost. All here mourn her passing with heavy hearts.
I beg you to break this sad news as gently as you can to Miss Trevelyne and to Miss Faber's other friends at the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls. I know it will be a hard task and I do not envy you the role of bearer of extremely bad news, but I see no other way. I am truly sorry.
However, knowing Miss Faber as we did, I believe you will agree with me that she would wish that the Corporation bearing her name to continue, since so many people now depend on Faber Shipping Worldwide for their livelihood. That being the case, please persist in your efforts to carefully manage the assets of that Corporation. It is in that spirit that I herewith bring you up to date on events here in the Bay of Bengal.
I have attached to this letter a separate account of the events—various mutinies, naval engagements, and much travail, which led to our being at this spot on the globe at this particular time—and so will not include them in the contents of this letter.
Our fleet, which was comprised of the Lorelei Lee, commanded by Miss Faber; the Cerberus, Mr. James Fletcher commanding; and HMS Dart, captained by Lieutenant Joseph Jared, Royal Navy, left Australia in the month of November and was proceeding north when it encountered a typhoon of horrific dimensions. I have not words to describe the awesome power of that maelstrom. Suffice it to say that it was powerful enough to tear off the foremast of the Lorelei Lee and, taking with it, our own dear Miss Faber.
The Mark of the Golden Dragon Page 5
