The Russian Concubine

by Kate Furnivall

  ‘Open your eyes, Tan Wah, leave your dreams. Join me in the world where the taste of honey is a rich man’s pleasure and a maiden’s smile a million li away from this dung heap.’

  ‘Chang An Lo, you young son of a wolf. My friend, forgive the poison of my words. I ask the gods to lift my curse and I invite you to enter my fine palace.’

  Chang crouched down, slipped inside the foul-smelling hovel, and sat cross-legged on a bamboo mat that looked as if it had been chewed by rats. In the dim interior he could make out a figure wrapped in layers of newspaper lying on the damp earth floor, his head propped on an old car seat cushion as a pillow.

  ‘My humble apologies for disturbing your dreams, Tan Wah, but I need some information from you.’

  The man in the cocoon of newspaper struggled to sit up. Chang could see he was little more than a handful of bones, his skin the telltale yellow of the opium addict. Beside him lay a long-stemmed clay pipe, which was the source of the sickly smell that choked the airless hut.

  ‘Information costs money, my friend,’ he said, his eyes barely open. ‘I am sorry but it is so.’

  ‘Who has money these days?’ Chang demanded. ‘Here, I bring you this instead.’ He placed a large salmon on the ground between them, its scales bright as a rainbow in the dingy kennel. ‘It swam from the creek straight into my arms this morning when it knew I was coming to see you.’

  Tan Wah did not touch it. But the narrow slits of his eyes were already calculating its weight in the black paste that would bring the moon and the stars into his home. ‘Ask what you will, Chang An Lo, and I will kick my worthless brain until it finds what you wish to know.’

  ‘You have a cousin who works at the fanqui’s big club.’

  ‘At the Ulysses?’

  ‘That is the one.’

  ‘Yes, my stupid cousin, Yuen Dun, a cub still with his milk teeth, yet he is growing fat on the foreigners’ dollars while I . . .’ He closed his mouth and his eyes.

  ‘My friend, if you would eat the fish instead of trading it for dreams, you might also grow fat.’

  The man said nothing but lay back on the floor, picked up the pipe, and cradled it on his chest like a child.

  ‘Tell me, Tan Wah, where does this stupid cousin of yours live?’

  There was a silence, filled only by the sound of fingers stroking the clay stem. Chang waited patiently.

  ‘In the Street of the Five Frogs.’ It was a faint murmur. ‘Next to the rope maker.’

  ‘A thousand thanks for your words. I wish you good health, Tan Wah.’ In one swift movement he was crouching on his feet ready to leave. ‘A thousand deaths,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘A thousand deaths,’ came the response.

  ‘To the piss-drinking general from Nanking.’

  A chuckle, more like a rattle, issued from the newspapers. ‘And to the donkey-fucking Foreign Devils on our shore.’

  ‘Stay alive, friend. China needs its people.’

  But as Chang pushed away the cloth flap, Tan Wah whispered urgently, ‘They are hunting you, Chang An Lo. Do not turn your back.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It is not good to cross the Black Snake brotherhood. You look as if they have already fed your face to their chow-chows to chew on. I hear that you stole a girl from them and crushed the life out of one of their guardians.’

  ‘I bruised his ribs. No more.’

  A sigh drifted through the heavy air. ‘Foolish one. Why risk so much for a miserable slug of a white girl?’

  Chang let the cloth fall back in place behind him and slipped away.

  He let his knife do the talking. It pressed hard against the young boy’s throat.

  ‘Your badge?’ Chang demanded.

  ‘It’s . . . in . . . in my belt.’

  The boy’s face was grey with fear. Already he had pissed himself when dragged into the dark doorway. Chang could feel the thick flesh on his bones as he removed the identity badge and see the sleek sheen on his skin like a well-fed concubine.

  ‘What part of the club do you work in?’

  ‘The kitchens.’

  ‘Ah. So you steal food for your family?’

  ‘No, no. Never.’

  The knife tightened and a trickle of blood mingled with the boy’s sweat.

  ‘Yes,’ he screamed, ‘yes, I admit, sometimes I do.’

  ‘Then next time, you dog-faced turd, take some to your cousin, Tan Wah, or his spirit will come and feed on your fat stomach and burrow into your liver, where it will suck out all the thick rich oil and you will die.’

  The boy’s whole body started to shake and when Chang released him, he vomited over his smart leather boots.

  11

  ‘You know, Theo, he was extraordinarily foolish, that Russian last night. Leaving it in his overcoat pocket like that.’

  ‘The necklace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Theo Willoughby and Alfred Parker were playing chess on the terrace at the Ulysses Club. Theo would have preferred cards, a sharp game of poker, but it was Sunday and Alfred was strict about things like that. No gambling on the Sabbath. Theo thought it absurd. Why not no umbrellas on the Sabbath, or no teeth picking? It made as much sense. Or as little. He moved his bishop and took out one of the pawns from Alfred’s defensive triangle.

  Alfred frowned. He removed his spectacles and cleaned them meticulously on a starched white handkerchief. He had a round, good-humoured face with thoughtful brown eyes, a solid fellow who took his time about things, which was surprising, really, in a journalist. But there was a certain tightness around the mouth that always made Theo suspect that his friend was on the verge of panic. Maybe China wasn’t quite what he expected it to be. Above them a fierce blue sky was leeching the energy out of the day. Even the feathery leaves on the wisteria seemed to hang in exhausted indolence, but over on the tennis court two young women in delightful tennis whites were scampering after a ball. Theo watched them with only casual interest.

  ‘It serves him right,’ he said, ‘that Russian, I mean. I honestly don’t give a damn about it. I know old Lacock and Sir Edward are incandescent with fury that it should happen right under their noses, but really . . .’ He shrugged and lit a cigarette. ‘I have other things on my mind.’

  Parker lifted his eyes from the board, stared at his companion, and then nodded and moved his queen’s knight.

  ‘There are rumours,’ he said, ‘that the Russian was an agent sent by Stalin to negotiate with General Chiang Kai-shek. The general has come up from Nanking and is reported to be in Peking at the moment.’

  ‘There are always rumours in this place.’

  ‘The necklace was supposed to be a gift for Mai-ling, Chiang Kai-shek’s wife. Rubies from the dead tsarina’s collection of fabulous jewels, they say.’

  ‘Is that so? You are remarkably well informed, Alfred.’ Theo gave a rough laugh. ‘Fitting that it should pass from one despot’s wife to another, I suppose, but whoever has it now will find it worthless.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, no one, not even a Chinese fence, would risk handling that piece now. It’s more of a noose than a necklace. It’s too well known, too dangerous. So the thief can’t sell it. Word is out, and he will find his head up in one of those bamboo cages hanging from the lampposts if he so much as breathes a whisper about rubies.’

  ‘Barbaric practice,’ Parker shuddered.

  ‘You have a lot to learn.’

  They played in silence for the next half hour. Just the chime of a grandfather clock somewhere inside and the alarm cry of a goldfinch disturbed their thoughts. Then Theo, on edge and tired of the game, sprang his trap and Parker’s king fell.

  ‘Well done, old boy. You got me fair and square.’ Parker leaned back in the cane chair, untroubled by the loss, and took his time lighting up his beloved briar pipe. ‘So why have you called me over here today? I know you hate this place. It’s not just for chess, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well?�
��

  ‘I’m having a spot of trouble with Mason.’

  ‘The education department johnny? The one with the loud mouth and the quiet wife.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘Alfred, listen to me. I need to find out something about him, something dirty in his past. Something I can use to get the swine off my back. You’re a journalist, you have contacts and know how to dig around.’

  Parker looked shocked. He drew on his pipe and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke that caught a passing butterfly. ‘Sounds bad, old chap. What’s he up to?’

  Theo kept it short. ‘I owe Courtney Bank a fair sum. For the expansion of my school last year. Mason is a director of the bank - you know how he puts himself about - and he’s threatening to call in the loan unless . . .’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless I oblige him.’

  Parker coughed awkwardly. ‘Good God, man, what does that mean?’

  Theo stubbed out his cigarette, grinding it into dust. ‘It means he wants to make use of Li Mei.’

  Alfred Parker turned bright red, even the tip of his nose. ‘I say, Theo, that’s not on, old chap. I don’t think I want to hear any more.’ He glanced away and his eyes followed a native servant in white tunic as he approached the veranda with a small tray in his hand.

  Theo leaned forward and tapped Parker’s knee sharply. ‘Don’t be a fool, Alfred. That’s not what I mean. What do you take me for? Li Mei is my . . .’ He stopped when Parker’s gaze turned accusingly on him.

  ‘Your what, Theo? Your partner in adultery? Your whore?’

  Theo became very still, only the whiteness of his lips betraying him. ‘That is an insult to Li Mei, Alfred. I ask you to withdraw it.’

  ‘I can’t. It’s true.’

  Theo stood up with a jerky motion. ‘The sooner England abandons the racist and religious straitjackets that paralyse men like you and Sir Edward and all the other damned social misfits that cram into this club, the sooner our people and the people of China will be free. Free to think. Free to live. Free to . . .’

  ‘Whoa, my friend. We are all out here to do our duty by king and country. Just because you’ve gone native doesn’t mean you can suddenly assume that the rest of us should forget the laws of God, the need for clearly defined lines of good and evil, of right and wrong. God knows, in this cruel and heathen country His Word is their only hope. His Word and the British Army.’

  ‘China was civilised hundreds of years before Britain was even thought of.’

  ‘You can’t call this civilised.’

  Theo said nothing. Stood stiffly. Eyes directed at, but not seeing, the two couples who had just taken to the lawn for a game of croquet.

  ‘Sit down, Theo,’ Parker said quietly.

  He disguised the awkwardness of the moment by digging around in his pipe and rapping its bowl with his forefinger. From the lawn came the crack of one ball against another and a cry of ‘I say, Corky, that’s a bit rum.’

  Suddenly Theo shook himself. Like a dog shakes off water. His eyes half closed, he looked down at his companion. ‘Alfred, if I believed you were right, I’d leave Junchow tomorrow. But I have faith in these people, in what you call this “cruel and heathen country.”’ He sat down again, stretching out his long legs in an imitation of relaxation, and waved a hand at the Chinese servant with the tray. In perfect Mandarin he said, ‘A whisky, please.’ He turned back to Alfred and smiled. ‘Let us agree to differ. You know I’m what Mason calls a Chink lover.’

  Alfred was meant to laugh. But he didn’t.

  ‘You can’t have it both ways, Theo. Neither fish nor fowl. You want the Establishment to send you their children to educate, yet you go out of your way to parade your disdain for their parents. How can it . . . ?’ He stopped. Stared at the retreating figure of the servant as he crossed the veranda. ‘Boy, come back here immediately.’

  ‘What’s up, Alfred?’

  But Parker was on his feet.

  The servant was standing looking at them but came no nearer. Alfred strode over to him.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing here?’ he demanded.

  The Chinese said nothing.

  Theo went over to them. What the hell had got into Alfred?

  ‘Something is not right here,’ Parker said, prodding his pipe toward the servant. ‘Look at him.’

  Theo looked. Neat white tunic and tray in hand. ‘Seems fine to me.’

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish. His face is beaten up.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘And his trousers are all wrong. Black but not the regulation uniform. And the bandaged foot, shoes a mess. The club would never let someone looking like that serve the members here. This boy is an intruder.’

  ‘I work.’ The servant held up the tray. ‘Drinks.’

  But now that Theo considered it, he could see what Alfred meant. He was right, this boy was not like the others. His eyes were not a servant’s eyes. They stared straight back at you, as if he wanted to strike out at you, to hang your head in one of those cursed bamboo cages.

  ‘Who are you?’ Theo asked in Mandarin.

  But Alfred was pointing at the boy’s trouser pocket, which bulged at his side. ‘Empty that out. Right now.’

  The boy flicked his gaze insolently from Parker’s panama hat to his polished brogue shoes and didn’t move.

  ‘Do as you are told,’ Theo said in Mandarin. ‘Empty your pockets or you’ll be whipped like a gutter dog.’

  ‘Fetch the security guards,’ Parker shouted. ‘We had a robbery here last night. This person is . . .’

  ‘Empty your pockets,’ Theo repeated sharply.

  For a moment he thought the boy was going to strike. Something in his eyes seemed to struggle free, something wild and angry, but then it was caged once more and the boy lowered his gaze. Without a word he tipped his pocket inside out, spilling its contents onto the tiled floor of the veranda. A large handful of salted peanuts skidded around their feet.

  Theo laughed. ‘So much for your jewel thief, Alfred. The boy’s just hungry.’

  But Parker was not ready to let go so easily. ‘And your other pockets.’

  The boy did as he was told. A length of bamboo twine, a fishing hook wrapped in clay, and a folded sheet of paper covered in Chinese character writing. Theo picked it up and scanned it briefly.

  ‘What is it?’ Parker asked.

  ‘Nothing much. A poster for a gathering of some sort.’

  But as the boy bent to retrieve his belongings, Theo caught a glimpse of the bone handle of a knife tucked into his belt, and suddenly he was frightened for his friend.

  ‘Let him go, Alfred. This is nothing to us. The boy was hungry. Most of China is hungry.’

  ‘A thief is a thief, Theo. Be it peanuts or jewels. Thou shalt not steal, remember?’ But he was no longer angry. His face looked sad, his spectacles sliding halfway down his nose. ‘We owe them that much, Theo. To teach them right from wrong, not just how to lay rail tracks and build factories.’

  He reached out to take hold of the boy’s arm, but Theo intervened. He seized Parker’s wrist.

  ‘Don’t, Alfred. Not this time.’ He turned to the silent figure with the black eyes full of hatred. ‘Go,’ he said quickly in Chinese. ‘And don’t come back.’

  The boy set off around the lawn, loping with an uneven stride into the trees that skirted the grounds, then he was gone. To Theo the image was of a creature returning to its jungle, and he wondered what had tempted it out into the open. Certainly not peanuts.

  ‘You might regret that,’ Parker said with an annoyed little shake of his head.

  ‘Mercy droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven,’ Theo said cynically and glanced again at the sheet of paper still in his hand. It was actually a Communist pamphlet.

  ‘Sha! Sha!’ it said. ‘Kill! Kill! Kill the hated imperialists. Kill the traitor Chiang Kai-shek. Long live the Chinese people.’

  The words worried Theo m
ore than he cared to admit. Chiang Kai-shek and his Kuomintang Nationalists had seized control and deserved now to be given a chance, if only the Western powers would back him against these troublemakers. The Communists would only do to China what Stalin was doing to Russia - turn it into a barren wasteland. China possessed too much beauty and too much soul to be stripped bare like a common whore. God preserve us from Communists. God and Chiang Kai-shek’s army.

  ‘Did he say yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Li Mei kissed the nape of his neck. ‘I am happy for you, Tiyo. Parker is a good friend to you.’

  She laid her cheek against his naked back, but her fingers did not cease their firm circular motion on each side of his spine, digging deep into the muscles. Theo was facedown flat on the floor in the bedroom while Li Mei massaged the tension from his body. He was always amazed at the strength of her fingers and how she knew just where to press the heel of her hand to release another demon from under his skin.

  ‘Yes, Alfred is a good friend, though some of his views are so narrow they would sit well on Oliver Cromwell.’

  ‘Oliver Cromwell? Tell me, who is this Oliver? Another friend?’

  Theo laughed and felt her pound his shoulder blade with her knuckles.

  ‘You joke at me, Tiyo.’

  ‘No, my love, I am in awe of you.’

  ‘Now you lie. Bad Tiyo.’ She pummelled his buttocks with tight little fists that sent the blood surging to his loins. He rolled over and held her wrists, then stood and scooped her naked body up into his arms. She smelled of sandalwood and somehow of ice cream. He started to carry her down the stairs.

  ‘Alfred was furious that Mason is so corrupt. Appalled that he was trying to force me to help him break into the opium cartel. I swore to Alfred that just because your father runs it, it doesn’t mean I’m involved in any way. You know how I feel about drugs.’

  ‘An abomination, that’s what you call opium.’

  He smiled and kissed her dark head. ‘Yes, my sweet one. An abomination. So he’s agreed to dig around in the bastard’s past and see if he can find anything that I can use to twist his arm.’