China Seas

by John Harris

  ‘If they let you go. They search every ship that leaves port for Tsarist refugees.’

  ‘We’ll get over that. How soon can you be ready?’

  She gave a little laugh. It was brittle and faintly hysterical. ‘I can leave now,’ she said. ‘But they’ll not let me take anything.’

  ‘Have you no money?’

  ‘A little. I transferred it to Hong Kong while I could. But the rouble had already lost its value, so I haven’t as much as I expected.’

  ‘Anything else? Anything of value we can take with us?’

  She smiled. ‘I remembered the trade we did. There are some small things of value I was going to send to your wife. When the Bolsheviki came everything stopped, though. Even the post, because they thought people were sending money out. The letter I sent I had to give to a ship’s captain whom I had to bribe. I thought it hadn’t reached you.’

  ‘It nearly didn’t. Have you much?’

  She managed a wry smile. ‘A surprising amount.’ She gestured at a group of shabby suitcases in the corner of the room. ‘It’s all in there. Kursin thinks it’s curtains and clothes.’

  ‘Can you hide it about you? My overcoat has deep pockets. What about you.

  ‘I have a coat. Not a fur. People daren’t wear furs these days or you’re accused of being a bourzhuki.’

  ‘I’ll bring George Kee. As businessmen, we can carry attaché cases. We’ll get as much out as we can. As for now, I’d better not stay in case someone becomes suspicious.’

  As he rose to go, she rose with him and he put his arms round her and kissed her. She looked up at him.

  ‘What about your wife?’ she asked. ‘Does she know you’re here?’

  ‘Abigail’s in America,’ he said shortly.

  She paused. ‘How is it between you?’ she asked.

  ‘As it should be. I’ll come back tomorrow with George Kee, with the ship’s manifest and God knows what else to flourish in the face of our friend downstairs. Just be ready, that’s all. But nothing except what you can carry.’

  As she unlocked and opened the door, he pushed his cap on his head. ‘It’s no good, Mademoiselle Kourganova,’ he said loudly. ‘I can’t do business with you.’

  She was staring at him with a worried expression and he noticed Kursin waiting on the landing. On the stairs were other residents, all watching and listening.

  ‘I can’t do business with Monsieur Chelynin either without your signature on the papers,’ he went on loudly. ‘I shall need your signature to indicate that you no longer carry on business as A N Kourganov, then I can take it to Comrade Chelynin and get his signature and we can go ahead from there. I’ll bring my chief clerk with me tomorrow so I hope you’re not thinking of disappearing.’

  He made his voice harsh and domineering, then turned to Kursin. ‘Just see that no one talks to her,’ he said, offering a Shanghai dollar. ‘Not even you. I want her here when I come, not on a train to Moscow or somewhere.’

  Kursin touched his cap. ‘She’ll be here, Tovarich. Have no fear.’

  Returning to the Lady Roberts, Willie noticed that a string of railway waggons had been moved alongside and that a hoist had been rigged.

  ‘I think we’ve sold the coal,’ Kee said as he climbed the gangplank. ‘A gentleman who said he represented someone called Chelynin appeared. He offered cash.’

  ‘Roubles?’

  ‘American dollars. I snatched his hand off.’

  Willie grinned. ‘It seems somebody can still do business in Russia.’

  ‘There’s just one thing,’ Kee went on. ‘We had one of their officials prowling around. He noticed we’d painted over the name of the ship and wanted to know why. I told him that Yang’s had changed her name because they’d bought her from a British firm that had gone bust. Yours. He thoroughly approved of British firms being taken over by Chinese.’

  Willie grinned. ‘Well done, George. What’s your overcoat like? Large pockets?’

  Kee grinned. ‘Big enough to get your hands well down.’

  ‘Let’s have Captain Yeh in.’

  Yeh had served on British ships all his life and was willing to help. He had ideas, too, and dressed in his heavy overcoat and cap and wearing a leather belt and the bolstered revolver all captains working Chinese waters carried against pirates, he looked like a policeman. Removing the badge from his cap, he gestured with it to Willie. ‘I can go one better,’ he said. ‘I can have a star made in the engine room and paint it red with the paint we use for the port side reflector.’

  The unloading of the coal was finished by evening, too late to move the ship, and an official in a black leather coat and astrakhan cap exchanged documents and informed them they would be inspected before the weekend. Yeh took the ship from the quayside the following morning and anchored her offshore in the bay. There were several other ships there, all loaded and waiting for Russian officialdom to provide the necessary papers so they could leave.

  During the afternoon, leaving the ship under the command of the engineer with instructions to have steam up, they were rowed ashore, three tall bulky men in heavy overcoats, carrying leather attaché cases, Yeh more like a policeman than ever now that he had attached a red metal star to his cap.

  They found a droshky and headed for the Marizliyevskaya. A group of young people were throwing snowballs at each other and laughing, and it seemed a symbol that all was not evil in Russia. Kursin met them at the door, smiling broadly. ‘She’s still here, Comrade. She didn’t get away.’

  Despite the equality everybody preached, he wasn’t against accepting another tip, and the three of them marched up the stairs and hammered on Nadya’s door.

  Not waiting for an answer, Willie pushed the door open. He saw that Nadya had lit two wax candles in front of an ikon to the Mother of God and was kneeling before it. As she rose to her feet, he started shouting at once.

  ‘I’m not satisfied with these documents, Mademoiselle,’ he roared. ‘I think there are some deficiencies and more than a little falsehood. I’ve brought the police.’

  As Kee slammed the door in the face of Kursin, he turned back to Nadya, who was staring at Yeh with an alarmed expression on her features.

  ‘Captain Yeh,’ Willie introduced. ‘And George Kee, my manager. Are you ready?’

  She swayed, almost fainting with relief. ‘I really thought they were the police,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’m ready.’

  Willie jerked a hand at Yeh. ‘Tell that gadget outside to find us transport, Captain,’ he said.

  Yeh opened the door and began to jabber at Kursin, who touched his cap and scuttled off, but not before getting a good view of Willie flourishing a handful of documents in Nadya’s face. As the door slammed again the act was terminated at once and small objects wrapped in handkerchiefs or tissue paper began to disappear into pockets.

  ‘There’s still a suitcase,’ she said when their pockets were full.

  ‘We’ll take it with us.’

  A scratching at the door told them that Kursin was back. ‘Transport’s outside, Comrade Captain,’ he announced.

  ‘Right,’ Willie said, hoisting up the suitcase. ‘I’m going to take this with me as evidence, Mademoiselle. And I’m going to insist you accompany me to the Comrade Captain’s headquarters. We need to talk a little more.’

  The crowd in the corridor and on the staircase fell back before them as they marched down to the hall, Willie leading, Nadya between Yeh and George Kee.

  It was already dark with the darkness of a northern winter and there had been more snow during the night so that the place had an arctic look about it, the buildings black against the whiteness. A group of men in fur caps and heavy dark coats crossed with cartridge belts watched them from the street corner where they stood round a fire built on the pavement, but there was no attempt to stop them as they pushed Nadya roughly into a cab.

  Reaching the main road, they joined a string of country carts and droshkies in a suburb that had been wrecked when the Red Army had
arrived. There was a stark atmosphere of neglect among the houses, with broken windows hung with sacking or old blankets, even occasional stone chimneys smoke-blackened in the middle of the heap of ruins. In some they could see sabre-slashed drapings and broken furniture full of bullet holes.

  Leaving the cab near the docks, they began to move among the narrow streets towards the water’s edge. Occasionally soldiers moved past them, but Yeh’s bulk and the red star on his cap was sufficient to prevent questions being asked. They passed boarded shop windows and found themselves pushing among carts, perambulators and barrows. But the looting had long since finished and there was only apathy now.

  As they left the crowds behind they stopped in a street that was full of burned-out houses and Yeh held up his hand.

  ‘I will find a boat,’ he said. ‘Wait here.’

  They waited against the wall in one of the ruined corner properties while Yeh vanished. Just ahead of them they could see the glint of water and light flurries of snow against a leaden sky.

  Yeh seemed to be away a long time and Willie shivered, uncertain whether it was with fear or the cold. Nadya stood close to him, and he could smell her perfume and the subtle fragrance she always seemed to carry with her. Kee’s face looked grey and strained with anxiety. In the darkness they were worried they wouldn’t find the Lady Roberts.

  ‘Dobry vecher!’

  The words made them swing round guiltily. At first they thought that the big figure in the dark clothes with the red star on his cap was Yeh, but it was a policeman, a flat-faced man with Mongol eyes. He wore a fur cap and stood with his feet apart, his thumbs hooked in his belt, and he was smiling.

  Willie recognised him at once.

  Eight

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  The words were barked at them and Willie answered as calmly as he could. ‘Looking for transport.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘The ship, Simbang. Registered at Tientsin. Chinese owned. We’ve unloaded coal.’

  Willie’s mind was working fast. If there were one person he didn’t wish to see now, it was this particular policeman. He made as if to move away but a revolver appeared and he found himself looking down the muzzle.

  ‘Stop! Halt! Nobody moves when Sergeant Mozhevsky tells them to stop.’

  Willie held his breath. The poisonous Mozhevsky wouldn’t fail to use his authority to stop what they were up to, he knew. He had clearly transferred his allegiance to the Bolsheviks as he had suggested he might.

  ‘I have the authority to question everybody,’ he was saying. ‘The Cheka is fighting counter-revolution and sabotage. It’s considered necessary for the survival of the country. They are right behind me.’

  He moved closer, his eyes suspicious. Peering at Nadya, he grinned. ‘Dobry vecher, baryshnia,’ he said. ‘Good evening, young lady.’ He gestured at the suitcase. ‘What’s in that?’ he demanded.

  ‘Just clothes,’ Willie said. ‘The young lady’s clothes. She’s been spending the night with me and we’re taking her back to her parents’ house.’

  ‘By sea?’

  ‘They live down the coast.’

  ‘Only a fool would travel by boat in weather like this, Tovarich. A fool – or a criminal. Open the case.’

  Willie studied the policeman, wondering if he could silence him without being shot. He noticed that Mozhevsky’s thumb was on the safety catch of the revolver and Mozhevsky looked so alert he couldn’t imagine getting away with anything. He wondered if he might offer a bribe. Perhaps if he opened the case, the policeman might be persuaded to go away with part of its contents. On the other hand, he might want the lot, and if it came to a scuffle, they were all so heavily laden with valuables it would be impossible to handle him.

  ‘I think you are a thief,’ Mozhevsky said, pointing the revolver at Willie’s head. ‘You,’ he said to Kee. ‘Against the wall with your hands above your head. Take the baryshnia with you. This is the one I suspect as the ringleader.’

  ‘Now, comrade,’ he grinned. ‘I think I know you. Policemen have good memories. Which is why I’m a sergeant now. I’ve met you before, haven’t I? I remember you from when you were working with the Imperialist British against the Supreme Soviet.’ He glanced at Nadya. ‘And this, I suspect, knowing you, is some bourzhuki criminal you’re about to smuggle out of the country.’ The revolver lifted. ‘Perhaps a bullet through the head will settle things, eh?’

  He stepped forward, but as he did so there was a movement behind him, like a shadow appearing from deeper shadows. A gloved hand was slapped over the policeman’s face so that he couldn’t shout and as his head was jerked back, there was the flash of a sailor’s knife and a red slit appeared across his throat with a horrifying gush of blood.

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ Willie said, and Nadya turned away, her face in her hands.

  Kee was standing petrified against the wall, his hands still in the air. Willie swallowed and forced himself to recover.

  ‘Put ’em down, George,’ he said.

  Yeh hadn’t spoken. He wiped the knife, bent over the policeman who was still making gurgling noises at his feet and, taking the revolver from his hand, hit him on the head with it so that he became limp and silent. Stuffing the revolver into his pocket, he took Mozhevsky’s feet and indicated that Willie should take his shoulders. Between them they carried him into one of the sour-smelling, burnt-out houses and dumped him there among the scraps of paper fluttering in the breeze, the old cans and bottles and the stink of human excrement.

  Straightening up, Yeh gestured to them to follow. He had a rowing boat tied up alongside the quay, a man waiting at the oars. Scrambling down the green slime-covered steps, they fell into it and Yeh pushed off.

  It was dark now and the overcast sky was growing darker by the minute. They had not gone more than a hundred yards from the quayside when it dawned on Willie that they were lost. The man on the oars kept turning his head and Yeh was peering out to sea, frowning. They could see the riding lights of ships in the bay but, with the darkness, the outlines of the vessels had disappeared and there was nothing to indicate which was the Lady Roberts.

  It started to snow. Willie could feel the flakes on his face and he reached out and touched Nadya’s hand. The cold seemed to strike up from the water and the wind had got up a little, to fling chilling wisps of spray over the bow. In no time they were all half-frozen and Yeh was muttering curses to himself in an undertone.

  Willie’s mind was clamped in an agony of anxiety. If they were found wandering around the harbour the following morning, one of the harbour boats operated by the Cheka would want to know why they had been out at night. And then they’d find the body of Mozhevsky and that would be the end of that. He glanced at Nadya, but it was impossible to see anything more of her face than a white blur. Perhaps the Cheka couldn’t touch him or Kee or Yeh, because they weren’t Russian nationals, but he dreaded to think what would happen to Nadya. The fear that the new Communist paradise would be overturned by subversion made them merciless. He was feeling weak with fear for her when suddenly Yeh thrust out an arm. ‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s the El Malek Fouad. She’s an Egyptian ship and she was right behind us.’

  The old man on the oars was half-collapsing with exhaustion and cold now and Willie and Yeh took his place, grabbing an oar each. In no time they came up under the overhanging stern of the Lady Roberts and for the first time since he’d owned her Willie regarded her with warmth. As the oars clattered in the rowlocks, a shout came from the deck and a torch shone on the ship’s ladder rigged over the side. They manoeuvred alongside with some difficulty because the tide was pushing the boat away from the ship, but they made it at last and Kee grasped the ladder with a frozen hand.

  Shipping his oar, Willie made fast the bow line and helped Nadya to the ladder. She was petrified with cold and could barely stand, but he managed to get her to the deck, followed by Kee and Yeh and the old boatman.

  In the ship’s ancient saloon, rum was produc
ed and Willie sat Nadya on a bench and held the glass to her white lips.

  As she swallowed the spirit, she began to cough and splutter but it seemed to bring her round. Then the cook appeared with a pot of soup. Though it was foul and smelled of cabbage, it was hot and brought colour back to their cheeks.

  ‘We should be leaving,’ Yeh said. ‘We don’t want to be here when that policeman’s found and questions are asked.’

  They remembered the old boatman, whom they could hardly take with them, but he had ignored the soup and gone for the rum and he was in a happy state of indifference and told them that if they put him in his boat with a bottle of what he’d been drinking, he’d survive without trouble.

  They filled a bottle from the rum cask and handed him a jar of the soup and half a loaf to take with him, then Willie gave him his overcoat to put over the ragged garment he was wearing. As he shoved money in his hand, the old man left happily and headed for the ladder.

  ‘I shall be all right, Gospodin Captain,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ll fill myself with the booze and drift with the tide until daylight then make for the shore.’

  As he vanished astern into the darkness, the winch started to clatter and the ship began to head for the open sea.

  Yeh gave up his cabin for Nadya. She was shivering, her fingers icy, and Willie undressed her quickly and lifted her to the bunk. She looked at him with enormous eyes, touching his cheek with her fingertips.

  ‘Don’t go, my William,’ she begged. ‘Stay with me.’

  Clutching her in the dark, he heard her whispering. ‘Sometimes, when it was very bad,’ she was saying, ‘I went to the church. I found the words of the final prayer after the Dies Irae and the Agnus Dei very comforting. I sang them to myself.’ Her voice changed and he realised she was chanting the Latin words. ‘Pax aeterna dona eis, Domine, et lux aeterna luceat ei…’

  For a long time after that she said nothing, clutching him with tensed fingers as though afraid he would slip away and she would lose him. ‘It was the dark chasm of death that frightened me,’ she whispered eventually. ‘But if death meant dwelling in eternal light I decided I could reconcile myself to dying. It was the thought also that one day I’d meet you again that helped.’