Barbara Faith - Kiss of the dragon

by mag

  When she awoke she saw the tailor standing next to a one-burner hot plate. "Are you all right?" she asked as she got quickly to her feet.

  He spoke quickly, bowed several times, then handed her a cup of tea. Smiling her thanks, Bethany took the cup. It was black tea, strong and good, and with each sip she felt the strength flow back into her body. She knew now where she and the dragon would be safe. The monastery, she'd go to the monastery, and some way, from there, she'd get word to Tiger.

  After the tea was finished Bethany thanked the old tailor, even though she knew he didn't understand.

  He bowed and spoke. His meaning was lost to Bethany, but she took his hand and by her expression tried to show him how grateful she was for his kindness.

  He went to the door and peered out. With a nod he motioned her forward.

  "Thank you," she said again, as she picked up the basket and stepped out into the passageway.

  A late afternoon gloom had settled over the city as cautiously, head lowered, Bethany went down the alley. When she reached the street she merged with the people who were walking there. The monastery, she thought, I've got to get to the monastery. She raised her eyes and looked at the distant hills.

  She had no money so she'd have to go on foot. The golden dragon was heavy. She walked for blocks until she reached the edge of town, then began to climb. An hour later, too exhausted to go on, she stopped beneath a tree and sinking to the ground, rested. Soon it would be dark. She closed her eyes for a moment, then with a sigh got to her feet.

  The road wound up the high hill. It was quiet here away from the noise of the city. Bethany wiped the perspiration from her face and shifted the basket to her other hand. With the last rays of sun she could see the Yangtze River. She leaned her back against a tree and flexed her arms that ached from the weight of the dragon. She didn't know how much farther she had to go.

  When night closed in around Bethany, she stayed at the edge of the road. One step at a time, she told herself. The stars came out, a quarter moon appeared. She rested again, and without meaning to closed her eyes. Then jerking awake, she made herself get up and go on.

  "We'll make it," she said to the dragon as she staggered to her feet. "You'll be safe tonight and tomorrow we'll take you to the museum, and all of us who have ever loved will see you there and know that your love, that all true love is eternal."

  She fell to her knees and when she raised her head she saw through the darkness the flickering lights of the monastery. With a glad cry she stood up and with both hands lifted the heavy basket.

  Her gaze on the lights ahead, Bethany marched on. An hour passed. Her legs and arms trembled with fatigue. The lights grew closer, the air grew chill. She went on without thinking, one foot ahead of the other, one weary step at a time. Suddenly the tall iron gate loomed in front of her, and for a reason she could not explain, she began to weep. She reached for the bell rope and at the sound of the bell sank slowly to the ground.

  A monk bent over her. He held a cup of steaming soup to her lips.

  "Where am I? What... ?" Bethany tried to sit up but he restrained her.

  "Drink," the monk said in English.

  Bethany did as she was told. The broth tasted of chicken and noodles. When she'd finished half of it she said, "Thank you. I feel better now."

  She was in a clean, small room, resting on a straw mat. The wicker basket had been placed on the floor beside her.

  "We found you at the gate," another monk said from the only chair in the room. "You were unable to walk and we brought you here. You must finish your soup and then you will sleep."

  "I have to get word to someone."

  "In the morning."

  "But he'll be frantic with worry. Please. His name is Malone, Tiger Malone. He's at the Hotel of the Swallows in room 402. You must get word to him."

  The monk beside her turned to look at the other man. "I will ask Saka Muni Buddha," he said as he rose to his feet. To Bethany he said, "Sleep now, my child. I will leave the candle so that you are not alone in the dark."

  Before Bethany could protest, the two monks went out and closed the door.

  She was alone in this silent room. "Tiger," she whispered. What had he thought when he returned to the hotel to find her gone? Was he safe? My God, what if the two men who had been after her had attacked him? She covered her face with her arm. Oh please, she prayed, let him be safe. Let Tiger be safe.

  As the first light of dawn crept in through the window above her head, Bethany opened her eyes. Before she could sit up there was a knock. When she said, "Come in," the same monk who had given her the broth the night before entered with a cup of tea.

  "Drink this," he said, "then I will take you to Saka Muni Buddha."

  Bethany ran her fingers through her tousled hair. "Has Mr. Malone been told that I'm here?"

  "I believe he has." The monk folded his arms inside the wide sleeves of his robe and did not speak again until Bethany had finished her tea. "Please come," he said then.

  She picked up the wicker basket and followed him out to the long, silent hall and the open corridor that bordered a flower-filled patio. The early morning air was cool, and a mist hung over the garden. It was so quiet here, so peaceful and beautiful. In spite of her concern for Tiger, Bethany felt that peace penetrate her very being.

  The monk stopped before the tall, carved door, knocked and when a voice spoke he opened the door.

  The old monk once again looked at Bethany from behind his desk. "You have come back. I knew that you would." He motioned her to a chair and said, "I have sent word to Mr. Malone. He will be here soon."

  "He's all right then." Bethany half rose from her chair. "Thank God."

  "You have brought the statue?"

  "Yes, I have." Her arms tightened around the basket.

  "You are protective of it." The old eyes narrowed as he measured her. "You are afraid someone will steal it and you know it is worth a great deal of money."

  "I'm afraid someone will steal it," Bethany said, "but not because of money."

  "Then why?" His eyes burned into hers.

  "Because his value is priceless."

  "Ah."

  "His value to China. Because of what he represents."

  In a voice that crackled with age the monk said, "You refer to a statue, an object, as he. I find that strange." His lips formed a mocking smile. "And what does he represent?"

  "Love."

  The monk looked at her from across his desk. "Just so," he whispered. "Just so."

  "We have decided to give the dragon to the museum here. He doesn't belong to us, he belongs to China."

  It was silent in the room, but the silence was strangely comforting. From a distance Bethany heard the bell at the gate. She took a deep breath and knew that it was Tiger and that he was safe. When at last she heard footsteps in the corridor she stood and faced the door. A monk opened it and she saw Tiger.

  "Bethany!" He reached her in three strides. "You're all right! They didn't hurt you?"

  "No, Tiger, I'm all right."

  "When I got back to the hotel and found you gone..." He put his arms on her shoulders and looked at her. "I thought they had you," he murmured. "I was crazy with worry until early this morning when a messenger arrived."

  Tiger let her go and turning to the old monk said, "I'm sorry, sir. Forgive my rudeness. Thank you for giving refuge to Miss Adams."

  "This is a place of refuge." The old man smiled. "I expected you sooner."

  Holding Bethany's hand, Tiger approached the desk and said, "The men who were after Miss Adams were at the hotel when I returned yesterday afternoon. They were waiting for me in the room."

  He looked at Bethany. "I started to open the door. I had my hand on the knob, and I sensed something... something I can't explain. I spoke your name, Bethany, so low that even I could barely hear it. And I knew, I knew something wasn't right. I pulled back, then I ran in, low. The man from the train was behind the door. He had a gun. I grabbed it and wre
stled him to the floor before his partner jumped me."

  Tiger put his hand against Bethany's cheek. "I went crazy," he said. "All I could think about was what they had done with you. I wanted to kill them."

  "But you did not," the monk said.

  "No, I didn't. I managed to overpower them and send for the police. They're in custody now."

  "Thank God." Bethany sank down onto a chair. "Who were they, Tiger? How did they know about the dragon?"

  "It all goes back a long time, Bethany, back to the warlord who gave it to our fathers, to the men who tortured and killed him. The police told me there was a whole group of them in those days, a kind of Chinese Mafia that specialized in stealing works of art and ancient artifacts." He looked at the monk. "But it's over now, they're behind bars. And so is their leader, Weng Tsan Tsi."

  "Weng Tsan Tsi!" The monk rose from his chair. "He is a scourge, a vulture. He has fed off the heritage of China for decades."

  "Not anymore," Tiger said. "He was apprehended in Beijing this morning."

  "Is it over?" Bethany asked. "Is it really over? Will the dragon be safe now?"

  "It will be safe," Tiger said. "And so will we." He looked down at her, then with a frown asked, "But I don't understand, Bethany. How did you know they were after us? How did you escape from the hotel?"

  "I saw them from the window when you left. Tiger, I was so afraid because I thought they meant to follow you. But they didn't. One of them, the man from the train, came into the hotel, the other man waited outside. I didn't know what to do so I grabbed the dragon and ran down the back stairs."

  Bethany paused to get her breath. "They almost caught me. I ran into a shop and a tailor helped me— he hid me." She looked up at Tiger. "I want to see him again. I want to thank him for what he did for me."

  "But how did you get here, Bethany?"

  "I walked."

  "You walked?" Tiger stared at her, disbelieving. "You carried the golden dragon all the way up here?"

  Bethany nodded. "I knew he'd be safe here."

  "But the statue is almost too heavy for me. How did you manage?"

  "She managed with love," the old monk said as he smiled at Bethany.

  And Bethany smiled back, because in some strange way he knew, this ancient Saka Muni Buddha with the skin like old parchment knew how she felt about the golden dragon.

  Then she looked at Tiger. She went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Now we must give the dragon back," she said, "back to the people of China."

  Chapter 19

  The morning was bright and clear when Bethany and Tiger climbed the hill of Eternal Spring. The road was bordered by tall white birch and pink mimosa trees. Scarlet peonies circled a pond where water lilies sparkled in the sunlight.

  "This is where he should be," Bethany said.

  Tiger looked at her. He didn't understand this feeling Bethany had for the dragon, but he knew that Bethany had fallen under its spell from the moment she'd seen it. Her gray eyes had widened with shock, her fingers had trembled when she touched it.

  He too had been stunned by the statue's beauty and its value. But Bethany hadn't seen the value, she'd seen only the beauty and its connection with the legend his mother had told them that evening in the garden at Tsingyun—the legend of the young girl named Flowering Peach and of the poet who had played to her on his lute and told her of his love.

  Tiger looked down at Bethany as she moved a little away from him to stand in the shade of one of the mimosa trees. She'd taken the cap off, and the sun shone on her face. Suddenly, chokingly, Tiger's heart was so filled with love that it almost overwhelmed him. He put down the heavy box and went to her. Before she could speak he put his arms around her and drew her close.

  "I love you, Bethany," he said. "I will always love you."

  She touched his face. "As I will always love you," she whispered. She closed her eyes and rested her face against his chest.

  They stood like that for a moment in the shade of the tree. Tiger looked at her for another moment, then he picked up the box and together they walked the final steps to the museum.

  The curator received them in his office. A middle-aged man with a sensitive, ascetic face, he looked to Bethany like a Mandarin scholar. He stood and bowed, and in careful English said to her, "You are not Chinese?"

  "No, I'm American."

  He nodded, then looking from one to the other of them asked, "How may I help you?"

  "We have brought something that we would like to give to your museum—if you would like to have it." Tiger placed the box on the curator's desk.

  "I see." The curator motioned for them to be seated. "That is most kind of you, sir and lady. We have in this museum only the finest artifacts of our ancient Chinese civilization." He hesitated. "From time to time people wish to donate. I do not like to seem ungrateful, but we do not accept everything that is offered."

  "I understand," Tiger said. "May I show you what we have brought?"

  "Of course." The curator leaned back in his chair, his long, slender fingers pointed together in a pyramid shape, his jet-black eyes on the box.

  Tiger opened the box, folded back the silk, and taking the golden dragon in both his hands, placed it on the desk.

  The curator's gasp was audible in the silent room. He did not speak as he got slowly to his feet. He murmured something in Chinese and ran his hands over the statue. "It is the dragon." His voice was awed. "The golden dragon." He looked from Tiger to Bethany. "Where... ? How did you get it?"

  "It came into our fathers' possession during the war with the Japanese," Tiger said. "It has been hidden away for forty years."

  The curator nodded. "I knew that it had disappeared." His gaze returned to the dragon. "I have heard about this statue all of my life but I never expected to have the good fortune to see it. When I was a boy in Guilin my mother told me a legend about the dragon. I have never forgotten it."

  "The story of Flowering Peach and the young poet," Bethany said.

  "You too know the story?"

  "I believe the story," she said.

  The curator's dark eyes softened. "I did, too, when I was a child. But when I grew older I realized it was just a story. Now... now I look at its beauty, its magnificence, and I must pause to wonder."

  "You will take it?" Tiger asked.

  The curator nodded. "Yes, most kind sir, I will take him."

  Him. Bethany took a deep breath and a feeling of peace settled upon her heart. She looked at the curator. "Thank you," she said.

  "It is I who thank you, dear lady." He came around his desk, and bowing, took Bethany's hand. "He will be safe here, his legend will live on."

  Tiger looked from the curator to Bethany. He didn't understand the almost mystical attraction that the dragon seemed to have for Bethany and the curator. He only knew that he loved Bethany and that parting with the dragon made her sad. But the face that turned to him wasn't sad, it was filled with happiness.

  I will never understand her, Tiger thought, but I will always love her.

  That evening, as the shadows lengthened over the Yangtze, Tiger and Bethany flew from Chungtai to Shanghai. They took a taxi to the International Hotel and were shown to a room that was the most luxurious they'd had since they left Tsingyun. It was furnished with a double bed, a dresser, a table and a chair, and had windows that looked out on the People's Park. When Bethany went to stand by the window, Tiger put his hands on her shoulders.

  Resting his chin against her hair he said, "We'll stay here for a few days, and I'll show you the city of Shanghai."

  "Can we go shopping tomorrow? I want to get out of these clothes before I actually turn into a boy."

  "I think there is little danger of that ever happening." Tiger put a finger under her chin and raised her face for his kiss. "Very little danger."

  He felt Bethany's lips curve in a smile and tightened his arms around her. We're safe now, he thought as he kissed her. No more running, no more looking over our shoulders. Her
lips were soft, her body warm against his.

  "I love you," Tiger said, then he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  When he had undressed her, and himself, they lay close, without speaking, content for the moment to let passion wait. Tiger brushed the hair back from her face and she said, "I'd like to find a beauty shop, one that can change my hair back to its natural color."

  He kissed the top of her head. "We'll find one tomorrow." Then he chuckled. "It would be a shock to Mother if she could see the way you looked now."

  "She's probably sick with worry. We must phone her."

  "We will tomorrow." Tiger turned her face up to his. "But tonight is ours, Bethany." He kissed her, and in his kiss there was love and longing and the promise of all the nights that were to come.

  Bethany's lips parted under his. Her arms crept around his neck to draw him closer as the sweet, familiar fire crept through her body. Her tongue darted to meet his, her hands tightened on his shoulders. She felt the whole wonderfully masculine length of his body against hers and her heart surged, knowing the pleasure that awaited her in his arms.

  Tiger rained kisses on her face and murmured her name. His hands were strong as they moved slowly down her body. He kissed her breasts and she whispered her pleasure, carried higher and higher on the wings of his love.

  "My dear love," he said as he joined his body to hers. Together then, clinging and close, they moved to a rhythm older than time, then soaring to the heights, they tumbled breathless back to the warmth of each other's arms.

  The next morning Tiger called Su Ching. "Bethany and I are in Shanghai," he said. "It's over, Mother, we're safe now."

  "Thank God." He heard the relief in his mother's voice. "When are you and Bethany coming home?"

  "In a few days. We're going to rest here in Shanghai."

  "You found the dragon? You have it now?"

  "We found it, Mother, but we don't have it."

  "I don't understand."

  "We gave it to a museum in Chungtai."

  The line was silent. When Su Ching spoke she was weeping. In a low voice she managed to say, "At last." Then she said, "I love you, Tiger. I am proud that you are my son."