Tai-Pan

by James Clavell

  “That all you’ll have?”

  “Yes. It’s the most delicate part.” Chen bowed. “Thank you again.” He walked off.

  McKay went over to the sailor. “You all right, mate?”

  “I oughta cut yor bugger heart out. Is he yor Chinee doxy, McKay?”

  “Keep yor voice down, mon. That Chinee’s to be left alone. If you want to pick on a heathen bastard, there’s plenty others. But not him, by God. He’s the Tai-Pan’s bastard, that’s what.”

  “Then why don’t he wear a bleeding sign—or cut his bleeding hair?” Ramsey dropped his voice and leered. “I hear tell they’s different—Chinee doxies. Built different.”

  “I don’t know. Never be’d near one of th’ scum. There’s enough of our own kind in Macao.”

  ——

  Struan was watching a sampan anchored offshore. It was a small boat with a snug cabin fashioned from thin mats of woven rattan stretched over bamboo hoops. The fisherman and his family were Hoklos, boat people who lived all their lives afloat and rarely, if ever, went ashore. He could see that there were four adults and eight children in the sampan. Some of the infants were tied to the boat by ropes around their waists. These would be sons. Daughters were not tied, for they were of no value.

  “When do you think we can return to Macao, Mr. Struan?”

  He turned around and smiled at Horatio. “I imagine tomorrow, laddie. But I suppose His Excellency will need you for the meeting with Ti-sen. There’ll be more documents to translate.”

  “When’s the meeting?”

  “In three days, I believe.”

  “If you have a ship going to Macao, would you give my sister passage? Poor Mary’s been aboard for two months.”

  “Glad to.” Struan wondered what Horatio would do when he found out about Mary. Struan had learned the truth about her a little over three years ago….

  He had been in a crowded marketplace at Macao, and a Chinese had suddenly pushed a piece of paper into his hand and darted away. It was a note written in Chinese. He had shown the paper to Wolfgang Mauss.

  “They’re directions to a house, Mr. Struan. And a message: ‘The Tai-Pan of The Noble House needs special information for the sake of his house. Come secretly to the side entrance at the Hour of the Monkey.’”

  “When’s the Hour of the Monkey?”

  “Three o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “Where’s the house?”

  Wolfgang told him and then added, “Don’t go. It’s a trap, hein? Remember there’s a hundred thousand taels’ reward on your head.”

  “The house is na in the Chinese quarter,” Struan had said. “In daylight it’d na be a trap. Get my boat’s crew together. If I’m na out safely in one hour, come and find me.”

  So he had gone, leaving Wolfgang and the armed boat’s crew close by and ready if necessary. The house was joined to others in a row on a quiet, tree-lined street. Struan had entered through a door in the high wall and found himself in a garden. A Chinese woman servant was awaiting him. She was neatly dressed in black trousers and black coat, and her hair was arranged in a bun. She bowed and motioned him to be quiet and to follow her. She led the way through the garden and into the house and up a flight of private stairs and into a room. He followed cautiously, ready for trouble.

  The room was richly furnished and the paneled walls were hung with tapestries. There were chairs and a table and Chinese teak furniture. The room smelled strangely clean with the faintest suggestion of a subtle incense. There was one window which overlooked the garden.

  The woman went to the far end of a side wall and carefully moved a strip of paneling. There was a tiny peephole in the wall. She peered through it, then motioned him to do the same. He knew that it was an old Chinese trick to dupe an enemy into putting his eye to such a hole in a wall while someone waited on the other side with a needle. So he kept his eye a few inches from the hole. Still he could see the other room clearly.

  It was a bedroom. Wang Chu, the chief mandarin of Macao, was on the bed nude and corpulent and snoring. Mary was naked beside him. Her head was propped on her arms and she was staring at the ceiling.

  Struan watched with fascinated horror. Mary languorously nudged Wang Chu and stroked him awake and laughed and talked with him. Struan had been unaware that she could speak Chinese, and he knew her as well as anyone—except her brother. She rang a small bell, and a maid came in and began to help the mandarin dress. Wang Chu could not dress himself for his nails were four inches long and protected with jeweled sheaths. Struan turned away filled with loathing.

  There was a sudden chatter of singsong voices from the garden and he cautiously looked out the window. Wang’s guards were assembling in the garden; they would block his exit. The servant woman motioned him not to worry but to wait. She went to the table and poured him tea; then she bowed and left.

  In half an hour the men left the garden and Struan saw them form up in front of a sedan chair on the street. Wang Chu was helped into the sedan chair and carried away.

  “Hello, Tai-Pan.”

  Struan spun around, drawing his knife. Mary was standing in a doorway which had been concealed in the wall. She wore a gossamer robe which hid none of her. She had long, fair hair and blue eyes and a dimpled chin; long legs and tiny waist and small, firm breasts. A priceless piece of carved jade hung from a gold chain around her neck. Mary was studying Struan with a curious, flat smile.

  “You can put the knife away, Tai-Pan. You’re in no danger.” Her voice was calm and mocking.

  “You ought to be horsewhipped,” he said.

  “I know all about whipping, don’t you remember?” She motioned to the bedroom. “We’ll be more comfortable in here.” She went to a bureau and poured brandy into two glasses.

  “What’s the matter?” she said with the same perverse smile. “Haven’t you been in a girl’s bedroom before?”

  “You mean a whore’s bedroom?”

  She handed him a glass and he took it. “We’re both the same, Tai-Pan. We both prefer Chinese bedmates.”

  “By God, you damned bitch, you—”

  “Don’t play the hypocrite; it doesn’t suit you. You’re married and you’ve children. Yet you’ve many other women. Chinese women. I know all about them. I’ve made it my business to find out.”

  “It’s impossible for you to be Mary Sinclair,” he said half to himself.

  “Not impossible. Surprising, yes.” She sipped her brandy calmly. “I sent for you because I wanted you to see me as I am.”

  “Why?”

  “First you’d better dismiss your men.”

  “How do you know about them?”

  “You’re very careful. Like me. You wouldn’t come here secretly without a bodyguard.” Her eyes were mocking him.

  “What are you up to?”

  “How long did you tell your men to wait?”

  “An hour.”

  “I need more of your time. Dismiss them.” She laughed. “I’ll wait.”

  “You’d better. And put some clothes on.”

  He left the house and told Wolfgang to wait for another two hours and then to come and find him. He told him about the secret door but not about Mary.

  When he returned, Mary was lying on the bed. “Please close the door, Tai-Pan,” she said.

  “I told you to put some clothes on.”

  “I told you to close the door.”

  Angrily he slammed it. Mary took off the filmy robe and tossed it aside. “Do you find me attractive?”

  “No. You disgust me.”

  “You don’t disgust me, Tai-Pan. You’re the only man I admire in the world.”

  “Horatio should see you now.”

  “Ah, Horatio,” she said cryptically. “How long did you tell your men to wait this time?”

  “Two hours.”

  “You told them about the secret door. But not about me.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “I know you, Tai-Pan. That’s why I trust yo
u with my secret.” She toyed with the brandy glass, her eyes lowered. “Had we finished when you looked through the peephole?”

  “God’s blood! You’d better—”

  “Be patient with me, Tai-Pan,” she said. “Had we?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m glad. Glad and sorry. I wanted you to be sure.”

  “I dinna understand.”

  “I wanted you to be sure that Wang Chu was my lover.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve information that you can use. You’d never believe me unless you’d seen that I was his woman.”

  “What information?”

  “I’ve lots of information you can use, Tai-Pan. I’ve many lovers. Chen Sheng comes here sometimes. Many of the mandarins from Canton. Old Jin-qua once.” Her eyes frosted and seemed to change color. “I don’t disgust them. They like the color of my skin and I please them. They please me. I have to tell you these things, Tai-Pan. I’m only repaying my debt to you.”

  “What debt?”

  “You stopped the beatings. You stopped them too late, but that wasn’t your fault.” She got up from the bed and put on a heavy robe. “I won’t tease you any more. Please hear me out and then you can do what you like.”

  “What do you want to tell me?”

  “The emperor has appointed a new viceroy to Canton. This Viceroy Ling carries an imperial edict to stop opium smuggling. He will arrive in two weeks, and within three weeks he will surround the Settlement at Canton. No European will be let out of Canton until all the opium has been surrendered.”

  Struan laughed contemptuously. “I dinna believe it.”

  “If the opium is given up and destroyed, anyone with cargoes of opium outside of Canton will make a fortune,” Mary said.

  “It will na be given up.”

  “Say the whole Settlement was ransomed for opium. What could you do? There are no warships here. You’re defenseless. Aren’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Send a ship to Calcutta with orders to buy opium, all you can, two months after it arrives. If my information is false, that gives you plenty of time to cancel the order.”

  “Wang told you this?”

  “Only about the viceroy. The other was my idea. I wanted to repay my debt to you.”

  “You owe me nothing.”

  “You were never whipped.”

  “Why did you na send someone to tell me secretly? Why bring me here? To see you like this? Why make me go through this—this horror?”

  “I wanted to tell you. Myself. I wanted someone other than me to know what I was. You’re the only man I trust,” she said with an unexpected, childlike innocence.

  “You’re mad. You should be locked up.”

  “Because I like going to bed with Chinese?”

  “By the Cross! Do you na understand what you are?”

  “Yes. A disgrace to England.” Anger swept her face, hardening it, aging it. “You men do what you please, but we women can’t. Good Christ, how can I go to bed with a European? They couldn’t wait to tell others and shame me before all of you. This way no one’s harmed. Except me, perhaps, and that happened a long time ago.”

  “What did?”

  “You’d better know a fact of life, Tai-Pan. A woman needs men just as much as man needs women. Why should we be satisfied with one man? Why?”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since I was fourteen. Don’t be so shocked! How old was May-may when you bought her?”

  “That was different.”

  “It’s always different for a man.” Mary sat down at the table in front of the mirror and began to brush her hair. “Brock is secretly negotiating with the Spaniards in Manila for the sugar crop. He’s offered Carlos de Silvera ten percent for the monopoly.”

  Struan felt a surge of fury. If Brock could work that trick with sugar, he could dominate the whole Philippine market. “How do you know?”

  “His compradore, Sze-tsin, told me.”

  “He’s another of your—clients?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me?”

  “You could make a hundred thousand taels of silver from what I’ve told you.”

  “Have you finished?”

  “Yes.”

  Struan got up.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Tell your brother. You’d better be sent back to England.”

  “Leave me to my own life, Tai-Pan. I enjoy what I am and I’ll never change. No Europeans—and few Chinese—know I speak Cantonese and Mandarin except Horatio and now you. But only you know the real me. I promise I will be very, very useful to you.”

  “You’re off home, out of Asia.”

  “Asia is my home.” Her brow furrowed and her eyes seemed to soften. “Please leave me as I am. Nothing has changed. Two days ago we met on the street and you were kind and gentle. I’m still the same Mary.”

  “You’re na the same. You call all this nothing?”

  “We’re all different people at the same time. This is one me, and the other girl—the sweet, innocent virgin nothing, who makes silly conversation and adores the Church and the harpsichord and singing and needlework—is also me. I don’t know why, but that’s true. You’re Tai-Pan Struan—devil, smuggler, prince, murderer, husband, fornicator, saint and a hundred other people. Which is the real you?”

  “I’ll na tell Horatio. You can just go home. I’ll give you the money.”

  “I’ve money enough for my own passage, Tai-Pan. I earn many presents. I own this house and the one next door. And I’ll go when I choose in the manner I choose. Please, leave me to my own joss, Tai-Pan. I am what I am, and nothing you can do will change it. Once you could have helped me. No, that’s not honest either. No one could have helped me. I like what I am. I swear I will never change. I will be what I am: either secretly, and no one knowing except you and me—or openly. So why hurt others? Why hurt Horatio?”

  Struan looked down at her. He knew that she meant what she said. “Do you know the danger you’re in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say you have a child.”

  “Danger adds spice to life, Tai-Pan.” She looked deeply at him, a shadow in her blue eyes. “Only one thing I regret about bringing you here. Now I can never be your woman. I would like to have been your woman.”

  Struan had left her to her joss. She had a right to live as she pleased, and exposing her to the community would solve nothing. Worse, it would destroy her devoted brother.

  He had used her information to immense profit. Because of Mary, The

  Noble House had almost a total monopoly of all opium trade for a year, and more than made back the cost of their share of the opium—twelve thousand cases—that had ransomed the Settlement. And Mary’s information about Brock had been correct and Brock had been stopped. Struan had opened a secret account for Mary in England and paid into the account a proportion of the profit. She had thanked him but had never seemed interested in the money. From time to time she gave him more information. But she would never tell him how she started her double life, or why. Great God in Heaven, he thought, I’ll never understand people….

  And now, on the beach, he was wondering what Horatio would do when he found out. Impossible for Mary to keep her second life secret—she was sure to make a mistake.

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Struan?” Horatio said.

  “Nothing, lad. Just thinking.”

  “Do you have a ship leaving today or tomorrow?”

  “What?”

  “Going to Macao,” Horatio said with a laugh. “To take Mary to Macao.”

  “Oh, yes. Mary.” Struan collected himself. “Tomorrow, probably. I’ll let you know, lad.”

  He shoved his way through the merchants, heading for Robb, who was standing near one of the tables, staring out to sea.

  “What’s next, Mr. Struan?” Skinner called out.

  “Eh?”

  “We’ve the island. What�
�s the next move of The Noble House?”

  “Build, of course. The first to build’ll be the first to profit, Mr. Skinner.” Struan nodded good-naturedly and continued his way. He wondered what the other merchants—even Robb—would say if they knew he was the owner of the Oriental Times and that Skinner was his employee.

  “Na eating, Robb?”

  “Later, Dirk. There’s time enough.”

  “Tea?”

  “Thanks.”

  Cooper wandered over to them and lifted his glass. “To ‘Struan’s Folly’?”

  “If it is, Jeff,” Struan said, “you’ll all come down the sewer with us.”

  “Aye,” Robb said. “And it’ll be an expensive sewer if Struan’s has anything to do with it.”

  “The Noble House does do things in style! Perfect whisky, brandy, champagne. And Venetian glass.” Cooper tapped the glass with his fingernail, and the note it made was pure. “Beautiful.”

  “Made in Birmingham. They’ve just discovered a new process. One factory’s already turning them out a thousand a week. Within a year there’ll be a dozen factories.” Struan paused a moment. “I’ll deliver any number you want in Boston. Ten cents American a glass.”

  Cooper examined the glass more closely. “Ten thousand. Six cents.”

  “Ten cents. Brock’ll charge you twelve.”

  “Fifteen thousand at seven cents.”

  “Done—with a guaranteed order for thirty thousand at the same price a year from today and a guarantee you’ll only import through Struan’s.”

  “Done—if you’ll freight a cargo of cotton by the same ship from New Orleans to Liverpool.”

  “How many tons?”

  “Three hundred. Usual terms.”

  “Done—if you’ll act as our agent in Canton for this season’s tea. If necessary.”

  Cooper was instantly on guard. “But the war’s over. Why should you need an agent?”

  “Is it a deal?”

  Cooper’s mind was working like a keg of weevils. The Treaty of Cheunpi opened up Canton immediately to trade. On the morrow they were all going back to the Settlement in Canton to take up residence again. They would take over their factories—or hongs, as their business houses in the Orient were called—and stay in the Settlement as always until May when the season’s business was over. But for The Noble House to need an agent now in Canton was as foolish as saying the United States of America needed a royal family.