Juan in China

by Eric Linklater

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Kuo, with a tremor in her voice.

  ‘Proteus,’ said Juan, getting out of bed and putting an arm round Kuo to comfort her. ‘Or Hikohoki. Tell me what you’ve heard about him.’

  Suddenly Kuo, turning her face to his shoulder, began bitterly to cry. Her thin shoulders moved convulsively, and through his pyjama Juan could feel her warm breath, the moisture of her tears. He was filled with remorse. He had hurt her feelings with laughter that was like a slap on the face. He had laughed at her when her anxiety had been all for him, when she was tired and worn-out with travelling and Heaven knew what nonsensical making-up of plots and plans. He was a brute and a blackguard. He begged her to be easy, to stop crying, to forgive him, to be happy, to tell him what he could do to please her, and he would do it on the instant. He swore he would never laugh at her again. He was serious as she was about this wretched war, and everything connected with it. He would enlist to-morrow in the Conquering Youth or the Death-Defying Corps of whatever-they-called-themselves if only that would content her. He loved her, she was sun, moon, and stars to him, and a thorn in his heart when she was sad. He would even be serious about Hikohoki for her sake.

  ‘He really is dangerous,’ she sobbed, but more quietly now, weeping in comparative comfort.

  ‘Yes, I know. Lots of things are dangerous, but it doesn’t do to worry about them.’

  ‘You say that because you’re so brave.’

  ‘No, I’m hanged if I am. When I got mixed up in the war the other night I ran like a scalded cat.’

  ‘You were fighting?’

  ‘Well, hardly fighting. You remember that pistol you gave me? Unfortunately I forgot to load it, but I chucked it at a Japanese fellow who was just going to shoot a prisoner, and knocked him for six. Then I set a course for home and did the hundred in ten and a fifth.’

  Juan, I do love you. Don’t laugh at me again.’

  ‘Honeyheart,’ said Juan. ‘Look here, your feet are cold. Let me take off your shoes and stockings, and then put on a dressing-gown and make yourself comfortable, and we’ll have breakfast. You must be hungry. How did you get back from Nanking?’

  ‘We flew. There were no trains running, but some military aeroplanes were sent here, and they let Min Cho-fu and me come with them. It was very cold. Then we had to wall; for two miles, till we found rickshaws.’

  Juan ordered breakfast, and Kuo Kuo, returning to the mirror, said wistfully, ‘I look perfectly hideous.’

  ‘You’re lovelier than a five-pound note in time of trouble. By the way, I’d a letter from my mother the day before yesterday. She sent another cheque. The family’s doing well at present. England’s herself again, she says. Roaring business in the bucket-shops, and all the banks building marble palaces for a happy people’s surplus wealth. How arc you feeling now?’

  Kuo ate with a good appetite, and her spirits returned. Her visit to Nanking had been more successful than she had dared to hope. It was going to have results of the very greatest importance. Everybody in Nanking was full of indignation, patriotism, and excitement. Japan had gone too far, and forced into them at last a realization of national injury, wakened with intolerable wounds their slumbering pride. The hour was ripe for a campaign that would unite all China, and a plan of campaign, which was also the canons of action and a new creed, was in their hands.

  Kuo paused expectantly, but Juan, buttering a piece of toast, missed his cue.

  ‘That’s splendid,’ he said. ‘And what exactly did you find out about Hikohoki?’

  Kuo, whose voice had been quickening to a curbed excitement, grew sober at once and she spoke with the utmost gravity. ‘We must leave this hotel, Juan. Hikohoki has been watching you ever since we came here, and Min Cho-fu was positive that we were being followed when we went to Nanking. I know you think that spying is some-thing to laugh at, but you’re wrong, and Hikohoki is truly a most dangerous person. He tried to murder Colonel Rocco when he was here a few days ago, and only failed because the Colonel is a very good shot – he carries two revolvers – and got out of the trap that Hikohoki had laid for him.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ asked Juan weakly.

  ‘Colonel Rocco himself. He is an American. He was a very distinguished soldier in France, and now he is Military Adviser to Wu Tu-fu. We were talking a good deal to him in Nanking. He had been in Shanghai to obtain new tanks for the Tank Corps, and Hikohoki first of all tried to bribe him, and then, because of course Colonel Rocco refused to sell the tanks to Japan, Hikohoki arranged to kill him. The Colonel was attacked, by at least twenty people, he says, in a very lonely place. But he drew his revolver and killed seven or eight oi them, and escaped, though he was seriously wounded. He had a large piece of sticking-plaster on his forehead when I saw him, and his left arm in a sling.’

  By prodigious self-control Juan kept a front of serious attention. He himself had invented Hikohoki’s trap, and now Rocco had shot his way out of it, and Hikohoki was become a master-criminal. His mind bubbled like a pot on the boil, but he dared not laugh again, for Kuo could no more stand it than ripe crops could suffer hail. She was as full of her touchy love for China as an ear of wheat in August, and laughter was like hailstones to beat it out. But Rocco’s revolvers and the plaster on his forehead! Making a final effort, Juan put the thought away from him. He had turned a little pale with the severity of his inward struggle, and there was sweat on his forehead. He walked to the window and pulled it open.

  ‘So you see,’ said Kuo, ‘I was right after all.’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ said Juan humbly.

  ‘And you must go into hiding at once.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Or you’ll be the next one that Hikohoki tries to murder.’

  ‘But he didn’t… Well, anyway there’s all the difference in the world. I’m of no importance. There’d be no point in murdering me.’

  ‘Hikohoki knows you are my lover, and he will think you know all about the plan.’

  ‘What plan? And why should that make him want to murder me?’

  ‘Well, he might kidnap you, and force you to tell him about it.’

  ‘And how could I tell him about it, when I don’t even know what it is?’

  ‘That’s because you wouldn’t listen. I was going to explain the whole thing, but you interrupted me and asked about something else.’

  ‘Sweetheart,’ said Juan desperately, ‘I love you very much and always shall, but for heaven’s sake tell me what you’re talking about.’

  ‘The plan that Min Cho-fu and I brought back from Nanking, of course. The plan that’s going to unite all China, and teach us how to defeat the Japanese, and live noble, useful, and peaceful lives.’

  ‘That’s fairly ambitious, isn’t it?’

  ‘We are ambitious,’ said Kuo proudly, ‘and our ambition is both good and wise.’

  ‘Who’s the author of this plan?’

  ‘An old man called Lo Yu, who lives on a mountain. Oh, it’s a wonderful story, and you must listen to it with faith and understanding. You know it is the custom for many Chinese, when they are growing old and have seen plenty of life, to retire to some lonely place, and spend their time in meditation? That is what Lo Yu has done. He used to be a bandit, and then a famous general, but he fell into disgrace because he sold all the rifles belonging to his army to another general. So he became a hermit, and for many years he lived alone, studying the sages, and seeking the truth. He is now well known for his piety and wisdom, and thousands of people go to him for help and advice. It was a friend of Min Cho-fu who went to him and asked: “What can we do to save China?” Lo Yu answered: “The world has fallen into decay, and right principles have disappeared. Wicked discourse and oppressive deeds are rife”.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Juan, ‘but it isn’t really constructive criticism, is it?’

  ‘You don’t understand. He was quoting Mencius, who described in those words the condition of China in Confuci
us’s time. So Min Cho-fu’s friend waited, and presently Lo Yu said: “I am frightened by what I have seen, and therefore I have considered the work of reformation.” Then he explained that the work must be undertaken by the youth of China, for only youth has both strength and faith, and the understanding which it lacks would be supplied by Lo Yu. At one time, he said, he had thought of revealing his plan to the Young Men’s Buddhist Association, but he consulted the Book of Changes, and the stick that fell out was unfavourable. So he was waiting till events should declare who were the proper people to be his executives. Min Cho-fu’s friend therefore suggested the Conquering Youth and the National Salvation Association, and when Lo Yu again consulted the Book of Changes the answer was affirmative. He said therefore he would wait till a propitious time, and then give the plan to suitable representatives of those societies. That is why Min Cho-fu and I postponed our idea of an immediate attack upon the Japanese, and went to Nanking, where we met Lo Yu and got the plan. We thought a plan would be better. Of course there were many other people with whom we wanted to talk about the state of affairs in Shanghai, but meeting Lo Yu was the really important thing. He’s a very little and very old man with a thin grey beard.’

  ‘And what is his plan?’

  ‘It is written on a scroll, and he put it into a section of bamboo and sealed it with wax. Min Cho-fu has it, and we are going to read it as soon as we can have a meeting of our two committees.’

  ‘So you don’t know yet what the plan is?’

  ‘Not the details of it. But it must be good because Lo Yu has all the characteristics of a Superior Person. He has sought what he needs in himself, and he has cultivated himself so as to confer peace and prosperity on the whole people.’

  ‘A quotation from Confucius?’ asked Juan.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it true that Confucius wouldn’t shoot a sitting bird?’

  ‘Quite true.’

  ‘I’m really fond of China,’ said Juan. ‘It’s very like the Church of England. It has all the proper ideas, and it doesn’t go about worrying people to put them into practice. It’s a gentleman’s country, or was before it was spoilt. But don’t you see that your interesting story makes it quite unnecessary for me to go away and hide? Because all I know about the plan is what you know about it yourself, which is precisely nothing, and that is all I could tell Hikohoki if he were silly enough to kidnap me.’

  ‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that.’

  ‘Then he’s a very poor spy.’

  ‘He nearly murdered Colonel Rocco.’

  Juan walked up and down the room in irritating perplexity. The joke was losing its freshness. It had been amusing enough to create a sinister figure in Hikohoki’s likeness, so as to frighten Rocco and help Flanders to get his money, and delightful indeed to hear how Rocco had decorated his creation. It was, however, by no means funny to be compelled to leave this very comfortable hotel and lurk in some obscure retreat for fear of a creature of his own invention. But Kuo Kuo was not only as sensitive as a fiddle-string but as obstinate as a limpet. He dare not laugh at her fears, and if he tried to dispel them by telling her the whole story of Flanders and the tanks she would either refuse to believe him or find in it new confirmation of her reading of Hikohoki’s character. He shrank, in any case, from the labour of so long an explanation. The easiest way, after all, might be to agree to her ridiculous proposal and live quietly for a day or two.

  ‘You don’t want me to go anywhere that’s horribly unncomfortable, do you?’ he asked gloomily.

  ‘No, it won’t really be uncomfortable, though you can’t expect it to be as nice as this hotel. But you’ll be safe, and that’s what really matters. I’m going to take you to a Buddhist monastery in the Chinese City. It was Min who suggested it, because he knows the abbot. He was to go there this morning and make arrangements for you.’

  Juan looked at her in dismay, but before he could speak Kuo had put her arms round his neck and was murmuring, in swift words that fell warmly on his cheek, how glad she was, how greatly relieved because he would be safe, and how much she loved him. Her arms imprisoned him, and against his will he smelt with pleasure the sweetness of her hair. It was unjust, he thought, to call love blind. Rather was it cock-eyed, for having importuned love in order to obtain your will, you were compelled perpetually to go contrary to your will, and to find pleasure perversely in doing what displeased you. He kissed the ivory-smooth side of her neck. ‘Take me to the monastery,’ he said philosophically. ‘It would have been more broadminded to offer me a nunnery, but perhaps you know best.’

  Chapter 8

  Juan stood in the Hall of the Five Hundred Lohan with a feeling of uncomfortable singularity. Most of the brassy statues, of gods, godlings, saints, or seraphim – he knew nothing of the Buddhist theocracy - had a family likeness of chubby cheeks, heavy eyelids, and placid impersonality. He alone was strikingly different, his cheeks being lean, his eyes wide-open; while so far from feeling calm, he was uncommonly ill at ease. It was, of course, ridiculous to be disconcerted by statues, but there were so many of them, they sat on their tall pedestals with such ponderous immobility, and in the huge gloomy hall they shone with a sinister yellow light. There was rank after rank of them, not in the simplicity of a battalion on parade, but rather in the pattern of a maze, so that one might walk for a long time among them till their numbers were doubled and redoubled in a frantic multiplication of similar features.

  It was, thought Juan, about five hours since Kuo Kuo had left him at the monastery; but looking at his watch he saw that it was only an hour and a quarter. They had taken rickshaws at the hotel, and running south through the Settlement, and through part of the French Concession, had come to the edge of the Chinese City, which lay hidden like a stone in a plum, solid and self-contained and unexpected within its modern envelope. Leaving the rickshaws, they had walked down a narrow street and a narrower lane, one side of which was the monastery wall. An arched doorway opened on to a long stone corridor, from which at right angles passages led to courtyards and temples, and stone stairways to upper apartments. In the corridor were many small groups of people, some quietly sitting with bundles beside them, others excitedly arguing, who from their appearance were probably refugees. From one of the several temples came the sound of chanting, and Juan caught sight of grey-robed monks, bare-headed, who walked in endless circular procession, intoning their monotonous hymn. One of them, leaving the leisurely gyration, came into the neighbouring courtyard, raucously cleared his throat, and profusely spat. He looked incuriously at Juan and Kuo Kuo, and having exchanged a word or two with a loafing spectator, returned to his vertiginous ritual.

  Presently Kuo found a monk, unoccupied and amiable, who consented to inform the abbot of their arrival. He returned in a little while to say that the abbot was busily engaged, but the foreign visitor was expected, and welcome to their hospitality. He would find a room on one of the upper floors.

  The monk, silent-footed while Juan trod the stone floors with resounding steps, led them by corridor after corridor, past scenes of diverse activity – past a warm kitchen, a room for silent meditation, a room where monks were entertaining their several friends to – tea to a small cell naked of ail furniture but a pallet on the floor. This, he said, the foreigner could regard as his own.

  ‘How long do you want me to stay here?’ asked Juan, considering the apartment without much pleasure.

  ‘Only till we have made sure that you are no longer in danger,’ said Kuo. ‘Hikohoki will lose your trail – he will never be able to find you here – and then perhaps he will go away, or become busy with other matters.’

  Kuo had left him a few minutes later. She was anxious to see Min Cho-fu, at whose house she was going to stay.

  ‘Give my love to his sister,’ said Juan. ‘If it hadn’t been for her I’d have got nothing to eat at that dinner-party in the Mei-sum restaurant.’

  He was, he thought, sitting lonely on his pallet, unlikely to get much to e
at here, and the kitchen they had passed did not look very clean. But his stomach was healthy, and could deal with any but the most virulent of infections. Man, he reminded himself, was not only infinitely adaptable, but almost as capable of new growth as a coral reef. Perhaps, in this environment of prayer and contemplation, he might permanently enrich himself with new depths of thought and perceptions of reality. He pulled up his trousers and thoughtfully scratched his right leg. He had already acquired a Buddhist flea.

  Then he set out to explore the monastery, and was a little troubled as to whether he should salute in some fashion, or politely ignore, the monks whom he passed walking casually in the corridor. They, for their part, showed no curiosity in him, except five or six in dirty saffron robes, wildish-looking men, slit-eyed, with wrinkled faces hairier than the others’, whom he took to be visitors from Tibet. But the local monks, grey-gowned, their shaven heads scarred with ritual burning, paid no attention to him except, when tentatively he bowed, to return his bow with a little flickering smile.

  The Hall of the Five Hundred Lohan, when he came to it, was deserted except for the gods and a small shuffling figure who slowly inspected their ranks and with seemingly haphazard choice lit a joss-stick in front of one in every thirty or so. He finished his devotions, and Juan was alone with the supernal army.

  For some time he considered the brassy jowl and somnolent eyes of a plump godling who hugged his knees and looked blandly over Juan’s head. Then, turning quickly with the feeling that he was being watched, he confronted a long score of cousin-gods – fat-chested, broad of shoulder – whose yellow eyes, though now above the level of his, so smugly reflected some superior kind of amazement that he felt they must, while his back was turned to them, have been quizzing his strange clothes and the reach-me-down tailoring of his suit. He felt like some new-found anthropoid before a committee of the stoutest, most scholarly, and socially elevated Fellows of the Zoological Society; like a poor candidate, up for his viva, tongue-tied before the awful knowledge of five hundred stall-fed co-examiners; like a burglar, with the jewels in his pocket, compelled to walk between endless rows of heavyweight policemen.