‘God damn you,’ she cried. ‘Damn you to hell, and get to hell out of here!’
‘That’s all very well,’ gasped Juan, ‘but…’
‘That bloody pony… blast your soul… why the hell don’t you learn to ride?’
She struck furiously at Chang, but the orange pony merely tossed his headin a villainous sort of horse-chuckle, and rubbed closer than ever.
Juan, while not wholly sympathizing with Chang’s behaviour, was yet conscious of a certain admiration for him. His independence of mind, and the steely strength of his neck were both remarkable, and the taut arc of his neck had a certain beauty. Quite suddenly Juan remembered the name – the horseman’s name – for the disobedient muscle.
‘It’s his paxwax,’ he shouted. ‘It’s dextro-rotary!’
This explanation seemed to infuriate the lady more than ever. ‘Paxwax be !!! !’ she screamed, and dealt a furious blow at Chang’s head. The violence of this action, however, combined with an extra nudge from Chang, upset her balance and the last Juan saw of her was her well-booted heels in the air. She landed quite comfortably on squelchy plough!and.
Snorting with pleasure, Chang swerved sharply to the left and charged the tailing field. Fannay-Brown had told the simple truth when he said that Chang was fit to go all day, for he was clearly gathering strength with every yard, and Juan, perceiving there was little to be gained from trying to steer a course, sat back and rode him philosophically.
In front of them, riding laboriously towards another of the innumerable ditches that intersected the flat country, was the nervous young man on the splay-footed dun that Chang had already bitten. With great cunning Chang headed for exactly the same point to which the young man was riding, and his diagonal course brought him to the ditch half a length in front of the dun. He cleared it with another of his scalded-cat saltations, but the dun, balked at his take-off, stiffened his fore-legs and pitched his unhappy rider into three feet of cold water and oozy mud.
As though satisfied by this clever piece of work, Chang modified his pace, gave a little to the rem, and galloped with flattering docility in the paper-strewn wake of the hunt. Their diagonal course had lost them a lot of ground, and there were now only three or four people behind them. But forty yards ahead was the familiar figure of Fannay-Brown. He also had fallen, for his back was dark with mud, and he was flapping like a new-risen heron in his efforts to regain his place among the leaders.
No sooner had Chang recognized his stable-mate than he joined the race again. The tremendous working of his loins was suddenly like the plunging of giant pistons, and the forty yards lessened in as many strides to thirty, to twenty, and ten. Then he neighed his challenge, shrill though a trifle breathless, and Fannay-Brown, badly startled, looked over his shoulder.
‘Get him by the head,’ he cried.
‘Sauve qui pent!’ shouted Juan, and nerved himself for the shock.
But Chang, abruptly changing his mind, thought of something better to do. The paper-trail skirted a little group of grave-mounds tall green barrows, made cheerful with a few willows – and swerving violently towards them he tucked his legs under his belly, went up and over, down and up again, and tossed his head with obvious disgust to find that Juan was still on top of him.
A road lay ahead of them. Chang scrambled up the bank, and cantered loosely – but with the bit between his teeth – along its muddy surface. He seemed undecided what to do next.
Juan, who had felt a little seasick during his passage over the grave-mounds, was thankful for an interval of level going. But not for long. The road was cut by a series of wooden bridges, their planks loose, greasy and hidden by mud. They rattled as Chang crossed, and he pretended to be frightened. At the next bridge he shot out his forefeet, sat on his rump, and slid. Juan remained on the bridge, and Chang, getting nimbly to his feet again, walked casually away till he came to some grass, which he nibbled with an air of admirable indifference.
But he kept a wary eye on Juan, and showed great unwillngness to be caught. He would let Juan approach within a few feet, and then with a snort, a flirting of his big head, and a flyaway flourish of his hooves, he would leap or sidle away, and put another fifty yards between them. He led Juan along the road for perhaps half a mile, and then, with the mildest manner in the world, trotted quietly through a double gate that opened into a large and well-tended garden.
The house was in a lonely position, its nearest neighbour being several hundred yards away. It was well built in European style, and in the garden, of some two or three acres, was a flagstaff which drooped, in the still air, the sunrise ensign of Japan.
Though he realized that no one could quarrel with him for pursuing a loose horse, Juan could not help hoping that he would be able to get Chang out of the garden unobserved. But Chang trotted quietly towards the front door and Juan followed with irritation and a certain feeling of anxiety.
The drive was horseshoe-shaped and led to another gate, which was closed. Chang turned, quickening his movements, and continuing across the lawn, cleared an empty flower-bed with easy precision. Juan, now very angry, was about to continue the pursuit when, running down the drive, he saw two squat, khaki-clad Japanese soldiers.
There was, he told himself, no possible cause for alarm. He, as an Englishman, had no quarrel with Japan, and Japan could have no quarrel with him, unless his very modest and trifling association with people of anti-Japanese sentiments had been noted and thought of any importance. Which was absurd to suppose. He began to explain to the soldiers his unwilling presence in the garden.
They spoke no English but indicated their desire that he should come with them. This he was not eager to do, but before he could make up his mind he saw a slim trim figure in civilian dress – presumably the owner of the house – come hurrying down the drive; and recognized Hikohoki.
He was smiling with evident but ambiguous pleasure. ‘Mr Motley,’ he cried. ‘I am rejoiced to see you! I observed you from the windows of my indifferent library, and sent these two fellows to detain you. Come, let us go in and talk. I have much to say to you.’
Though he had always derided Kuo’s belief that Hikohoki was a sinister and mysterious figure, Juan had not been wholly impervious to her ideas, and now his mind was suddenly filled with doubt and fear. In Shanghai, on neutral ground, he had been willing enough to meet Hikohoki. But here, in this lonely place, with soldiers at his command, it was a very different matter. Perhaps Kuo had been right Hikohoki had certainly stolen Lo Yu’s plan – and why, if he was only an insurance agent, the proprietor of a couple of night-clubs, and the owner of the Dernier Cri Antique Store, why had he soldiers to guard his house?
These and kindred thoughts came and went with little less than the speed of light; and Juan made up his mind
Taking a swift step he swung a left hook to the nearer soldier’s iaw – a pretty punch that lifted the Japanese off his feet – and aimed a tremendous blow at the other man. But his right fist met insubstantial air, his forward movement was strangely accelerated, he rose abruptly from the ground, and somersaulted perforce over the soldier’s right shoulder. Then, before he could recover his breath, he felt the extremely painful pressure of a thumb on his Adam’s apple, an equally uncomfortable knee on his solar plexus, and an agonizing grip that threatened to break his wrist. Through the fog of pain that dimmed his senses, he heard the distracted voice of Hikohoki, and slowly understood that he was not merely pleading, with sorrow in his voice, for an explanation of Juan’s assault upon his bodyguard, but reiterating with mournful prolixity his great friendship for Juan, his gratitude for some unstated kindness, and his desire to serve him.
So extreme was Hikohoki’s agitation that he never thought of ordering Juan’s release; but Juan, fortunately remembering a demonstration of jiu-jitsu that he had once seen at school, summoned enough strength to tap with his free hand on the ground, whereupon the soldier very obligingly got up, and courteously helped Juan also to rise.
Hikoho
ki continued to protest, to apologize, and proclaim his undying devotion to Mr Motley. Unceasingly voluble, he led the way to his house, and Juan, supported by the two soldiers, willy-willy followed.
Chapter 16
Hikohoki proved an expert host. His house was furnished in a happy blend of great comfort and good taste, and little more than an hour after succumbing to the jiu-jitsu expert, Juan was eating sole Cardinale, caneton en grenadin, and a cheese souffle of superlative flavour and ethereal consistency. He regarded Hikohoki with a new respect. The sole, with its auxiliary prawns and mushrooms, had been exquisite; the duckling was a gastrosoph’s darling; and the souffle the most delicate of sensualities. Nor had these triumphs of collaboration between nature and the kitchen – between farmyard and the sea and the cunning benignity of man – gone unattended by wine. They had drunk a white Hermitage, a Château-Lafite, and a glass or two of Cockburn’s port.
After the second glass Juan stated, without verbosity yet with agreeable addition to the mere skeleton of fact, his appreciation of host whose gracious nature and savour vivre were so admirably wedded as Hikohoki’s.
‘The home,’ said Hikohoki, with comparable expansion, ‘is the orbit of the soul, and it is my delightful ambition that my soul should have perfect surroundings whenever possible. In the world of commerce and affairs, of course, that is not possible. One must labour the earth and cull the fruit in the torrid heat of competitive trade. But in the home there should be only what may soothe the senses and expand the heart or soul. That picture of a mountain – it is by Hiroshige cost me fourteen hundred yen, and this port wine was also most expensive. But I grudge no luxury either to my soul or to my guests.’
Juan found much to admire in these sentiments, and he thought of Hikohoki with growing affection; who had indeed done everything to make him comfortable. While his clothes, muddied by the fall on the bridge, were being dried and brushed, he had bathed and rested, and though Hikohoki could not give him a clean shirt – for his own were too small – he had offered Juan a very handsome tie to replace that which the jiu-jitsu expert had spoiled. It was a dark blue tie with a pale blue stripe, and Hikohoki explained that he had chosen it because in London he had observed that it was a pattern which appealed to many of the best people. Juan accepted it with proper reverence.
He had apologized for his attack on the soldiers by an ingenious fiction. In his youth, he said, he had had an unfortunate experience with some military men, and ever since then he had been liable to sudden and uncontrollable fits of violent stratophobia. Generally, of course, he could endure the sight of a uniform without turning a hair; but every now and then it filled him with rage and fear. Hence his ridiculous assault, for which he apologized most humbly.
Hikohoki begged him to drink no more about it. The soldiers, he said, were rude uncultivated men who cared nothing for a blow. If Juan would enjoy another rough-and-tumble, they were at his disposal.
They exchanged some further courtesies, and passed the port. Hikohoki mentioned again his great indebtedness to Juan, and Juan begged to be told the reason for it.
Hikohoki was very much surprised. ‘Had it not been for you,’ he protested, ‘I should have been a bereaved and hapless person. It cannot be that you have forgotten that night when our Chinese friends so treacherously began this accursed war? That night when you so bravely rescued the two Misses Karamazov?’
‘But of course! They’re your protegees, aren’t they? Where are they now?’
‘Where else but here? Thanks to you they are alive and happy, and eagerly anticipating the triumphs that await them.’ ‘I’d like to see them again.’
‘You shall, Mr Motley. But meanwhile they are engaged in the daily regimen necessary for their forthcoming career.’
Having offered Juan a cigar, and very elaborate paraphernalia with which to cut and light it, Hikohoki presently ushered him into another room, furnished in European style, and artistically decorated in a shade of blue that was cleverly subservient to several very good colour-prints by Hokusai, Hiroshige, and other masters.
‘It is a rare and respectable art,’ said Hikohoki when Juan expressed his admiration of a deep blue bend – dark trees above it – of the Sumida River. ‘In Japan we are all like Hiroshige. We can naturally be moved by him and feel with his art as if our own creation. You would undoubtedly be surprised if I told you what I had paid for that picture.’
But artistic conversation did not occupy them for long, Hikohoki being more eager to talk about the Sisters Karamazov.
‘Are they not the most delicious of young ladies?’ he exclaimed. ‘They are so fascinately refreshing in all their habits. They are indeed a bundle of charms, and I am devoted to them. Their genius is also remarkable, though in need of certain trainings, and already I am making a plan for presenting them in the best theatres of London, Paris, and New York. They will enjoy an artistic triumph, and the pecuniary profits will be very great. That is a most satisfactory state of affairs when, by giving to humanity, like Hiroshige, something that is truly beautiful and of poetical essence, one can also make lump sums of money.’
Hikohoki, it appeared, was undertaking the education of Varya and Masha in the most serious and determined fashion. Having watched them closely and listened attentively to several of their performances at the night-club – before the interruption of the war – he had acquired a lively ambition and inordinate faith in their con-unctive talent; but he also perceived that their fashion of singing required radical correction, and they would be the better of a more extensive repertoire. He had therefore prescribed a very thorough course of training, and they were now working eight hours a day, under competent instruction, at singing, dancing, French, and exercises for beautifying the bust, fencing, elocution, and American wisecracking. When summer came they would also be taught swimming and fancy diving. There was no end, said Hikohoki, to their potential accomplishment, and when they were fully trained they would be an attraction unique in the whole world of entertainment. They would tour America and the capitals of Europe, and wherever they went he would be able to command a salary exceeding that of movie stars and prima donnas. He would, of course, give up all his other interests, and devote his whole life to the Sisters Karamazov.
‘For too long I have been dissipating my energy in many directions,’ he said, ‘but now I shall concentrate and specialize.’
Though abundantly aware of the money-making power of Varya and Masha, Hikohoki’s interest in them was clearly not limited to that. He was proud and fond of them, as proud and affectionate as their Uncle Georgy had been. Like a doting parent he told little stories about their clever behaviour and quaint remarks. Wiping a tear from his eye, he repeated, ‘They are a bundle of charms. No, they are two bundles, and each is perfect. And it is to you, Mr Motley, that I owe their salvation from the flames and inconvenience of war.’
A little later, with many apologies, Hikohoki begged that Juan would excuse him. He had a most urgent business appointment, and he would be compelled to dine away from home. But he insisted that Juan should stay. The two Misses Karamazov were most anxious to see him, and their company at dinner would more than compensate for his absence. At present – he looked at his watch – they were taking a motor-drive. They had been confined to the house for several days, and fresh air was so beneficial, was it not? But they would be back in an hour or so, and broken-hearted if they found Mr Motley had gone.
Juan, who had nothing else to do, said he would be delighted to stay and dine with Varya and Masha.
‘They are the two apples of my eyes,’ said Hikohoki, and got up to go.
‘By the way,’ said Juan, ‘there’s a friend of mine who’s very anxious to get hold of that piece of bamboo you found in Peony Sun’s house in Chapei.’
Hikohoki was genuinely surprised, and betrayed it by a poker-face. Till then his expression had been animated, his eyes kindly, his smile sincere. But now his smile became a mask, his eyes blank.
‘I did not know th
at you were a friend of Miss Sun,’ he said.
‘I’ve met her. But the piece of bamboo is what I’m interested in.
It is only a curio. I bought it from Miss Sun.’ ‘How much do you want for it?’
It is worth very little. I shall give you more better things if you are collector of curios.’
‘I’m not. But I should very much like to have the bamboo.’
Hikohoki shrugged his shoulders. ‘If you want it, I shall make you a present of it.’
He went out and returned in a minute or two with a short thick piece of prettily speckled bamboo. It was about the size of a prettily speckled bamboo. It was about the size of a policeman’s truncheon, carved on one side with a red-lacquered dragon, and sealed at one end with red wax. He gave it to Juan with a bland impenetrable smile.
Peony said she’d never seen it,’ said Juan. ‘She was pretty thoroughly doped, but she’d have remembered selling it to you. Especially as it didn’t belong to her.’
‘I have made a mistake. It was her father who sold it. He is very old.’
‘He’s dead now.’
‘Aah! We were not much acquainted, but it is always melancholy to hear of death.’
Juan turned the piece of bamboo and looked at the red dragon. He wondered if Lo Yu’s plan were still in it.
Would it be impertinent,’ said Hikohoki, ‘to ask why you so much wanted that simple thing?’
‘It has a certain sentimental value. A friend of mine lost it…’
‘Miss Kuo?’
‘Yes.’
‘There is a written scroll inside.’
‘So I understand,’
‘But I do not. I do not understand at all, either why she wants it or how you knew that I had bought it. But you are my friend and benefactor, so what does it matter? Take it. You are satisfied?’
‘Yes. And thank you very much.’
Juan in China Page 21
