“Kui loh, Kui loh, Kui loh.” Robert stared at a group of adolescent boys on the other side of the street. They had called him a foreign devil. He was the only Westerner on the street and considering the state of affairs in Canton, he’d just put himself into a dangerous, life threatening situation. He remembered the murdered British sailor.
He glanced at the spot where the messenger boy had stood and discovered he was gone.
The pistol was not in Robert’s pocket. A ball of fear blossomed inside his gut. Ayaou’s letter had so excited him that he hadn’t thought to get his revolver and bring it with him. What a stupid thing to do?
With his stomach churning, he walked toward the river. He was not going to show his fear by running. His back felt as if it were crawling with wasps. He examined all the beached sampans and was careful to pick a boat person. He hoped that a boat person would not be connected to the rebels because of their low status.
He heard a noise and looked over his shoulder. The boys were picking up rocks. Robert slipped his hand into a pocket and lifted that corner of his jacket as if a weapon were there and his finger the barrel. He put a menacing look on his face and took two steps toward the gang. The five adolescents looked from his face to the pocket as if a pistol were inside. They dropped their rocks and ran.
Robert stepped into the sampan.
He knew Ayaou when he saw her. She was standing near the junk’s stern in the shadow of one of the masts. It was the way she tilted her head and her posture, which was tattooed in his memory. The only difference was that she was dressed like everyone else in the baggy, threadbare rags of a boat person. It was smart that she had not dressed in the clothing he’d bought her in Ningpo.
“Go around to the other side,” he said, afraid someone onshore might notice that a foreign devil had gone aboard this junk. The sampan moved around to the far side and bumped against the larger boat’s hull. He was so nervous he almost fell in the water when he missed the knotted rope tossed down.
His legs were shaky and weak from anticipation. He managed to take hold of the rope and climb. Tempted to look down, he closed his eyes instead, reached for the next knot in the rope, and pulled himself toward the deck.
“Master.” It was Guan-jiah’s voice. Robert opened his eyes. The eunuch’s smiling face hung above him. The servant took his hand and pulled him aboard. Robert shrugged off a desire to throw his arms around the eunuch. Another man, looking like a younger Uncle Bark, stood next to Guan-jiah.
“This is Cousin Weed, Uncle Bark’s only surviving son,” Guan-jiah said.
Robert nodded to Weed, who nodded back. “How is your father’s health?” Robert asked.
“He is well. He’s waiting to see you.”
Robert forced an iron band around his heart in an effort to be polite. He was trying to see Ayaou without looking obvious. She wasn’t where he’d first spotted her from the sampan.
No matter how eager he was to be with her, he felt it only proper to see Uncle Bark first and pay his respects. After all, the old man had been instrumental in helping Robert survive his darkest hours.
He was ushered into a large cabin at the stern of the junk where Uncle Bark waited. He still looked like the old toothless man Robert had first met in Ningpo. Bark’s skin was the color of dried leather and looked as if it had shrunk to fit against the bones of his skull making his head look like a shriveled apple. He was close to eighty, yet Robert knew this old man was strong. He remembered how easily Bark had killed men half his age during the fight that saved Ayaou’s life.
Guan-jiah had already steeped the chrysanthemum tea. The cabin was filled with the flowery scent. There was also a bowl of Shan-tung red dates. “Sit,” Uncle Bark said. He held out a hand to guide Robert to the floor mat in the center of the cabin. A serving tray with the tea and dates sat between them.
Robert reached for the teapot. Uncle Bark said, “Allow me.” The old man poured the tea into two cups without spilling a drop. His hands looked like dried roots but did not tremble.
“I see you are in good health,” Robert said.
“Early in the morning when I open my eyes, I stare at the stars before the sun chases them from the sky and feel as I did when I was a young man. Then I move, and the stiffness reminds me how long I have been eating bitterness.” He shrugged and studied Robert’s face with shrewd eyes. “How have you been?”
“My days are busy. The rebels make life challenging. I do not have much time to think.”
“But when you try to sleep, you feel an emptiness,” Uncle Bark said. “Do you remember when you were sitting at your kitchen table in Ningpo with the loaded pistol between your hands?”
“Yes, it was after Shao-mei’s funeral. It was a dark moment and you took the pistol away before I made a horrible mistake. I was desperate. Ward’s laughter haunted me.”
“And what did I say?”
“You told me about the five women and twenty-two children you lost during your life. You said that Ayaou was going to be a living, dead thing if I didn’t go to her. I had to be the rock she could cling to while the river of life flowed around us.”
Uncle Bark nodded. “I often think of Shao-mei’s burial ceremony. Do you remember what I said about the incense I gave you?”
“That I could say anything I wished.”
“I left before I could hear your words. What did you say?”
Robert recited the poem he had taught Shao-mei—the one she had memorized. “Like molten gold appears the setting sun. Clouds at evening like jade-blocks pieced into one. Where is the one close and dear to my heart from whom without mental pain, I cannot part?” He felt a twinge of agony but managed to keep it from showing. Why was Uncle Bark dredging up memoires Robert wanted to bury?
The old man studied him. “You have recovered better than Ayaou. She has been deeply wounded as the land after a typhoon uproots trees and blows houses away. It takes a great effort to rebuild. For Ayaou to heal, you must be the manure and water that her roots need. It is the only way. She fears the future.”
“I still love her,” Robert said. “How could she doubt that?”
“When you were working at the consulate, Shao-mei and Ayaou were inseparable. For Ayaou to heal she must find a balance where she is yin and you are yang like a pair of Mandarin love ducks. She will recover knowing you are always there.”
“She has doubts?”
“When you left for Canton, she was not ready for the separation. Be patient. When her tongue tests you, remember the good times before Ward murdered Shao-mei. It is the only way that the darkness might be pushed back and for her light to shine again.” Uncle Bark waved a hand. “Go to her. We can sip tea another time.”
Instead of speaking, Robert grasped Uncle Bark’s hand in a warm embrace. He didn’t trust his tongue to say what he was thinking. He blushed and cursed himself for this sign of weakness.
Once he was outside, Guan-jiah said, “Go down that ladder, Master.” The eunuch indicated a rectangular, black hole in the deck. “Ayaou is waiting.”
He hurried to the hole and remembered the first time he had been intimate with Ayaou. He’d dropped into a similar opening not knowing what to expect. This time he didn’t feel the same misgivings. In his rush, he half slipped on the ladder and almost ended in a pile at the bottom. It was gloomy and musty like Ward’s cellar the first time he’d been with her. He squinted to see.
Then he saw her and stepped forward. He couldn’t describe how it felt holding her again. His throat swelled with emotion. His eyes watered. He could have missed this moment if he’d been killed on shore. He did not want to let go. He smelled the warm, ocean scent clinging to her hair, and Uncle Bark’s warning was forgotten—for now.
“Let us go to our house,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.
He heard the hunger in her raspy voice. His heart beat faster with anticipation. “There is no house,” he said. “I didn’t have time. The situation here is dangerous. After I leave, send Guan-jiah to fi
nd a house. Even with all the English and French soldiers in Canton, the wives of Westerners are staying in Hong Kong or Macao. People are killed daily. Many have fled.”
“I see,” she said. The following silence indicated she wasn’t pleased.
“Once we have a suitable place, I’ll come in the night,” he said. “I will have to leave in the morning before sunrise. Until it is safer, that is how we will meet. Tell Guan-jiah to send the same boy with the location of the house.”
“Poetry cannot take your place in my heart,” she said, and stared into his eyes as if she were trying to read words there. She brushed his hand aside and pressed against him. He felt the rise and fall of her breasts, and her heart was beating fast like his.
“It sounds like you have been missing me, Ayaou.” His eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He lifted her chin to see her face and kissed away the tears.
“I do one thing when I miss you too much,” she said.
“What’s that?” he asked. He loved listening to her silky voice. It reminded him of the evenings he’d spent teaching her and Shao-mei to read.
“I read books. I still have trouble believing I can read. Books are blocks between us. Every time I remove one, I am one-step closer to you. See, it is true. I am here.”
“How did you get here so fast?” he asked.
“This junk belongs to Cousin Weed,” she replied. “When I received your letter, I went to Uncle Bark for advice and discovered his son had delivered a cargo to Shanghai and was returning to Macao. We sailed with him.”
The sensuous way her lips moved as she talked captivated him. He did not want to go ashore and return to his empty, cold bed.
“Would you like to stay tonight?” she asked. “I have been practicing on eggplants, so I would not forget how you like to be kissed.”
“Eggplants?” He felt like laughing but looked serious instead. “The first time we were together, you told me your father made you practice on carrots.”
“Carrots are hard,” she replied. “Boiled eggplant is soft like your lips.” He had a hard time imagining that his lips felt like eggplant. It was not a flattering image.
She took his hand and led him to a lower deck where the headspace was restricted. He had to walk bent over, and he wasn’t a tall man. His thoughts were lost in a bedlam of emotions. He worried that if he didn’t return quickly to the commission his absence would be noticed. What would Parkes say if he knew about Ayaou? The first voice in his head said to leave before he was missed. A second voice said to stay—it won.
The smell of mildew and rot was strong. Bales of cargo crowded the space. She pulled him between the bales, pushed past a burlap curtain and into a narrow space filled with quilted pads and blankets. It reminded him of their first time together in the root cellar under Ward’s house.
Thinking of Ward reminded him that while the mercenary lived, he was a threat to Robert’s happiness and Ayaou’s safety. Canton might not be a safe place for Ayaou, but it was a long way from Ward, which brought Robert some comfort. The further they were from the Devil Soldier, the safer he felt.
She took both his hands in hers and pulled him down beside her. Their lips fed on each other. “This is much better than eggplant,” she said.
“That’s nice,” he replied.
“Be quiet,” she said.
It was a night to remember. They didn’t sleep.
Robert went ashore before dawn and made his way through the dark streets back to the commission. He hated leaving the junk. Ayaou’s scent clung to his clothes. As much as he wanted to keep her smell as a reminder of their night together, he didn’t want anyone else to discover it and guess where he’d been.
In his room, he washed his upper torso, arms and face. He changed clothing. The cramped space seemed colder and lonelier than before.
At the commission, it was hard to focus on his work. His concentration dissolved every time someone entered the room. When the messenger boy wasn’t there, his heart sank and the hours dragged. He could barely contain himself.
Guan-jiah’s note arrived late in the afternoon when a soldier escorted the same boy to Robert. The note said Guan-jiah found a small house hidden in a spider-web of streets. When darkness fell, the boy guided him there. Before he knocked, Robert gave the boy another yuan. The boy smiled and popped it in his mouth before he ran off.
The house was nothing like the one in Ningpo. It was old and smelled of oil, garlic and hot peppercorns. Over the years, the odor of cooking had soaked into the boards. The place crawled with cockroaches and other vermin. There were rat and mice droppings everywhere. During the night, he heard them inside the walls.
“Make sure this place gets a thorough scrubbing.” He told Guan-jiah the next morning before he returned to the barracks. It wasn’t the kind of place he wanted to spend with the woman he loved.
But he had no choice. Anything more luxurious might gain the attention of the wrong people. Even a place like this was preferable to death or being discovered by Parkes.
Dressed in a Chinese disguise, he hid his face under a cone shaped, woven bamboo hat with a large brim and made his way to the house each night. It was the same type of disguise he’d used to avoid capture from the Taipings after that horrible battle where he almost died.
Under the robe, his sweaty hands held the revolver while his eyes searched the shadows. Every suspicious sound he heard caused him to leap around inside his skin. Each morning when the roosters crowed, he made his way back to the commission before sunrise.
Many Cantonese hated him because he was not Chinese. If he were discovered, they would take their time tearing his arms and legs out of their sockets. He would suffer a long and horrible death before they cut his head off and threw it in the river. The Chinese believed if you were not buried whole, your soul would be lost forever.
As much as he disliked sleeping alone at the commission, it was more comfortable than the bedroom he shared with Ayaou in that house. Guan-jiah could not find a suitable bed, so Ayaou and Robert slept and made love on old rice mats rolled out flat on the creaking, hardwood floor.
It didn’t take long to discover that the mats were infested with lice. Robert took daily baths and thought he was going to scrub his skin off to get rid of them. Guan-jiah and Ayaou worked hard to clean the place, but it seemed a losing battle. Every time they cleaned the floor of droppings, the creatures returned in the dark.
One night, a rat woke him. It was sitting on his chest licking the salt from his skin. He screamed. The rat leaped off. Robert grabbed his pistol and almost fired a round before it escaped into a hole in the wall he hadn’t noticed.
“Master, what is it?” Guan-jiah rushed into the room half-naked. He held his Colt revolver in one hand and a machete in the other. His eyes had a wild, dangerous look to them.
The eunuch kept his head shaved except for his queue. Robert was sure if his servant had hair, it would have been sticking in all directions. “Rats!” he said. “You have to rid this house of them, Guan-jiah.”
“Master, since so many people have left the city, the rats have no one to hunt them down and keep their population in control.”
“Find a way!”
Chapter 32
It rained for two weeks. His quarters were damp, both at the commission and at the house where he spent his nights with Ayaou.
To clean the house, Guan-jiah used boiled water with a vinegar-garlic solution to scrape the floors and wash the clothing. Robert didn’t know what was worse, the smell or the lice and rats.
The evening meal was always the same: a variety of beans, coarse bread, spinach and peas. “What happened to pork and beef?” he asked. “Is food so scarce that you can only find this?”
“No, Robert,” Ayaou replied. “With this food, the lice won’t like the way you taste. They will stay away.”
He stared at the half-empty plate, sighed and continued eating. He was getting tired of the same food every night but wasn’t going to argue. It wasn’t worth
it. Besides, maybe she was right.
Guan-jiah scoured the city and found sleeping mats that were lice free. The traps he set out and bated with a peanut paste caught scores of rats and mice. Before the month’s end, the rats and lice were gone.
“Guan-jiah,” he asked, “what’s wrong with your hands?” His servant’s hands looked bright red and raw. Scabs were forming.
Guan-jiah hid his hands behind his back. “Nothing, Master.”
“I told him not to keep the lice killing solution so hot,” Ayaou said. “I thought he was going to cook his hands.”
“Let me see your hands.” Guan-jiah stuck them out. “We have to do something,” Robert said. “I’ll see if I can find an ointment.”
Ayaou started to do little things for him that Shao-mei had done when she was alive. One thing that Ayaou did was to sew a bag for his ink stone to replace the one she had destroyed during an argument with Shao-mei. It was an exact duplicate. Robert didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t tell her it brought back the memories—the grief.
One night, Ayaou insisted they read together as they once did with Shao-mei. She wanted to read the poems that Shao-mei loved. He should have seen these changes in her behavior as warning signs, but the grief he was struggling to hide and the events taking place in and around the city were conspiring to keep him from seeing what was going on in the mind of his lover.
Early the next morning, Robert stumbled back to his quarters in the barracks and struggled to stay awake and do his job.
Around sunrise on May 30, shortly after he slipped back into his quarters at the commission, a large band of armed Chinese rebels attacked two policemen on duty at the city’s southwest gate. One of the policemen was cut in several places on the head but managed to escape. The left hand of the other policeman was almost severed from his arm.
“I heard that a Chinese shopkeeper saved the second policeman by leading him across roofs and over the city wall,” a British infantry lieutenant told Robert.
My Splendid Concubine Page 40
