The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure

by Adam Williams

  Frank had rented one courtyard of a small guesthouse, which had its own restaurant and laundry, and most of the facilities a bachelor needed. The staff had become accustomed to his habits so a mug of scalding coffee was waiting for him and a groom had been sent to get his horse from the stables. As the hot, sweet liquid suffused his body (it had taken Frank months of patient teaching to get them to make his coffee just right) his mind adjusted itself back to a semblance of normality. And as his thoughts cleared, the memory of his humiliating interview with Mother Liu came vividly back to him; he was overwhelmed by a sense of sadness and regret. The feeling stayed with him as he mounted his horse wearily and made his way through the side streets to the main avenue and out through the city gate. The appointment had been fixed at Babbit and Brenner’s godown near the proposed railhead so Mr Ding would have an opportunity to see the crystal-making processes in operation. It was a longish ride through farmland, but Frank was oblivious to the beauties of the rural scene around him, the threshing of the millet and the reddening leaves of the maple trees lining the road. He was locked in gloomy self-recriminations.

  He really had convinced himself that she loved him. That was the tragedy. What a fool. What a crazed, blind fool. He knew that what he had been proposing was undignified. There was always something seedy about a middle-aged man setting up house with a young girl, a reformed prostitute at that. Well, obviously not so reformed, he thought bitterly. Of course, the whole thing would have been extremely difficult to finesse anyway, with his daughter arriving in the next month. He had identified a suitable house he could buy for Shen Ping, and his intention had been to live apart from her until he could get Helen Frances used to the idea. Exactly how he was going to achieve that he hadn’t even thought. And now he wouldn’t have to. Perhaps it was for the best. What a dreamer he had been. He had fantasised that Helen Frances and Shen Ping, who were nearly the same age, would become the best of friends. He had imagined them all going out on picnics together. Picnics, for Heaven’s sake!

  How had she managed to pull the wool so skilfully over his eyes? Of course he should have known. What had he told Mother Liu? That he wasn’t born yesterday? That was a joke. He was a babe in arms. Lu Jincai and the others must despise him as a blithering idiot. Maybe not Lu Jincai. He had been sympathetic all along. A real friend. But how humiliating! How pathetic and humiliating! What had Mother Liu said? ‘There’s always dissimulation in the art of love.’ He had lapped up dissimulation in buckets. But he should have known. He should have known. Jin Shangui had as good as spelled it out to him before he first went to the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure. He remembered the conversation vividly to this very day.

  They had been sitting in Jin’s countinghouse drinking tea. Jin had leaned forward, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles, a big smile on his chubby face. ‘This is a very high class establishment,’ he had told him. ‘It’s not just a common whorehouse, you know, not like one of those places I’m told you have in Europe. You have to woo the girls. They won’t sleep with you the first time, nor the second, nor even the third or fourth. It’s a game, you see. They flatter you. You flatter them. You take them gifts. You have to court them.’

  ‘But what’s the point of that?’ Frank had asked. ‘It’s a brothel, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it’s a brothel. But where’s the pleasure in just buying a piece of meat? These are flower girls. They’re talented performers. Fairy spirits. They can sing, dance, play music, recite poetry.’

  ‘A load of Chinese poetry. That really does sound thrilling.’

  ‘You can listen to the music, then. Think about it, De Falang. If all you want to do is dip your jade stalk in the orchid boat I can take you to one of the places at the back of the temple any time. But what the flower girls give you is the illusion of love. And, like the best of love, it’s hard won. So after your wooing has been successful, and the girl finally agrees to submit to you and allows you to taste the flower, imagine the height of the pleasure, the ecstasy. It’s the long wait and the expectation that makes the final outcome like paradise. After that you’re a couple, and she is reserved for you every time you come. Like man and wife.’

  ‘I don’t want to go there and get married,’ said Frank.

  ‘I told you, it’s a game. When you tire of the girl you can talk to the Mama, and she will introduce another girl to you, and the delicious wooing process can start all over again.’

  ‘Sounds laborious to me,’ Frank had chuckled, ‘but when in Rome do as the Romans. I’m game for a try.’

  And, of course, he had fallen for it. Hook, line and bloody sinker. He had met Shen Ping that first night. She was shorter and plainer than the others, but she had a funny, laughing face and a river of nonsensical chatter. She and Frank had played drinking games into the evening. She had pretended to be terrified of his enormous moustache and joked about his big red nose, asking whether he was so big in all the other parts of his body. Then she had giggled behind her hands at her own temerity. Frank had been enchanted, and walked home, tipsy as a lord, chortling with pleasure at the very thought of her.

  It had taken ten visits over a month. Jin Shangui had been absolutely right. The wooing game itself not only seemed natural, it had also been enjoyable. Frank felt as if the years had fallen away and he was a young, bashful suitor again. Strangely, the expectation of bedding at the end of the wooing period had become less and less important to him. Frank found that he simply enjoyed Shen Ping’s company, the sound of her husky voice as she joked with him, the way she playfully pulled his moustache or giggled as she ruffled the hairs on the back of his hand. He enjoyed trying to teach her English folk tunes on her flute, with chaotic results that caused them both to collapse in fits of laughter. He found that he could talk to her about his life, his daughter in England, even his business, easily and quite unselfconsciously, and she would listen attentively. More often he was content to smile avuncularly as she chattered away, gossiping about the other girls, or greedily describing to him her favourite dishes, or telling him about the animals on the farm where she had grown up. How skilful she had been, he thought bitterly. How she had led him along.

  One night she had not been waiting in the drinking room where they normally met. Mother Liu was there instead, smiling archly and calling him a lucky devil, a powerful, attractive, irresistible man, and she had made other cruder innuendoes. With growing anticipation he had followed her up the stairs to the third floor, a part of the establishment to which he had never been before, and there she opened one of several doors in a long, gaudily decorated corridor. Shen Ping was already in bed. Her little head emerged from the sheets, her hair loose on the pillow. He had guessed that she was wearing nothing underneath. He was disturbed to see that one of her eyes was bruised as if she had been hit by a fist, but she explained that it was nothing. She had slipped on the stairs. She attempted to laugh but it sounded unusually forced. She appeared to be as nervous as he was. He worried then whether, despite their many hours together, there was a reluctance or repugnance to be in this final intimate position with a foreigner—he became suddenly aware of his own bulk and ugliness—but then she had reached out a hand and in a small voice called him to the bed. He sat on the side and entwined his fingers in hers. Her moist brown eyes, one of them stained and bruised, looked seriously up into his. There was a sad, almost questioning expression on her face. He remembered his own marriage night, so many years ago. He recalled the same nervous expression on the face of his young wife, a mixture of eagerness and trepidation. He could not believe that Shen Ping was a virgin. Not if she worked here. Yet suddenly the atmosphere really was that of the bridal chamber. That night he really did think of himself as the young husband and Shen Ping the virgin bride. Of course she was no virgin, but there had been the same sense of discovery, the magical intimacy of two lovers exploring new feelings and sensations for the first time. Now, of course, he knew better. After last night’s conversation with Mother Liu he could only congratulate
Shen Ping on the artful way she had managed to create this impression. On that evening he had felt only tenderness and affection, and he believed that it had been reciprocated. She had allowed him to lead her through the lovemaking, sighing quietly at the climax, then held him tightly, almost desperately until they both slept. He supposed now that that was as much of a dissimulation as all the rest.

  Mother Liu had humiliated him last night, probably deliberately—he was grateful: he had needed the rude awakening—when she had listed the various lovemaking positions which, over the last year, he and Shen Ping had indeed explored together. He had believed it was mutual discovery and mutually shared delight. Their own secret world of passion. Again, he now knew better. He realised that Shen Ping had only been following the manual, in consultation with the management. That had been embarrassing to accept, but it had not been the most hurtful of the blows he had received in short succession last night. It was not the lovemaking that was important to him. It wasn’t the sex that attracted him to Shen Ping. It was her friendship. And since it was clear that the dissimulation stretched even to this, he felt utterly betrayed.

  What a fool. What a fool. He could not blame her. He still felt fond of her. By her lights she had treated him very well. Conscientiously, as Mother Liu had said. By God, she had been conscientious. What a professional.

  They had rarely even made love on his last few visits. They had sat together holding hands and talking about the life they would lead together when Shen Ping had her release. He had talked about taking her to London, and she had asked him a hundred questions about where they would live and what they would do. They had kissed and cuddled. He had stroked her funny bound feet. He had found them strange and almost repulsive at first but he now saw them as much a part of her as the laughter lines round her eyes, which he loved. She had been so convincing. She had seemed eager and curious and excited about the world she would discover outside. Obviously this had all been as much a part of her well-learned technique as sucking on the jade stalk and all her other tricks.

  There’s no fool like an old fool, he thought. Well, he would be wiser in future. Yet even now there was a part of him that only wanted to rush over there and be with her. It would take time for him to get over this, he realised. Maybe he never would.

  Ahead of him he saw the sheds of Babbit and Brenner’s godown. Lu Jincai and Mr Ding were standing by the gate. They were both wearing the blue gowns, black caps and black silk waistcoats of the merchant class. Mr Ding was also sporting round tinted spectacles. The two black circles made his face more skull-like than usual. Lu Jincai, a smooth, boyish-looking man in his late thirties, hailed his friend. ‘De Falang Xiansheng, you’re late today. I think you must have had a very enjoyable night at the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure.’

  Lu Jincai and Mr Ding both laughed. They were in depressingly cheerful spirits. Frank climbed heavily off his horse. Lu patted him affectionately on the back. ‘Both Mr Ding and I are very eager to hear how your interview with the Dragon Lady went. Is the beautiful Miss Shen released? Mr Ding, I told you what an irresistible lover our De Falang Xiansheng is. Now we must congratulate him on winning the most beautiful girl in Shishan!’

  ‘I changed my mind,’ said Frank, shortly. ‘Thought better of it.’ He was trying to think of a way to make light of it. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but he had to maintain face with his friends. Lu Jincai’s face was already showing concern. Frank laughed as heartily as he could. ‘I’m too young to get permanently hitched again. Aren’t you always advising me to play the field? Well, old friend, I was on the brink. Then I decided to take your advice before it was too late. Who wants to be tied down? Ha-ha. No, it’s pastures new from now on.’

  Mr Ding grinned happily and Lu laughed politely. ‘Miss Shen must be very disappointed,’ he said, observing Frank closely.

  ‘Well, win some, lose some,’ said Frank. He felt that his heart was breaking. ‘All’s fair in the scales of love and war. Who wants to be tied down to a hairy old barbarian anyway? Plenty of other fish in the sea.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Ding, who was enjoying this roguish conversation. He had a slight stutter. ‘And wh-when you come to Tsitsihar, you must c-come fishing with me. Y-you have not b-been fishing till you’ve caught one of our n-nice M-Mongolian beauties.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what I want to hear!’ Somehow he managed a hearty voice. ‘Always knew you were a deep one, Mr Ding. Now, I’m sure our venture’s going to be a success.’

  ‘Not only a success. It will make our fortunes,’ said Lu, who had the tact to change the subject. ‘Mr Ding is eager to see you demonstrate your crystal-making process, De Falang Xiansheng.’

  ‘Nothing I’d like better,’ said Frank. He put his arm round the beaming Mr Ding and steered him in the direction of the godown. For the next two hours he absorbed himself in the intricacies of washing-soda manufacture, explaining the consistencies of alkali to water in the boiling pot, one picul of water to half a picul of soda ash, how to fire it, when to stir it, when to pour the dissolved mixture into the iron cooling pans full of liquor to help the crystal-forming process, how to separate the crystals from the liquid. Mr Ding followed behind him, peering into the pans laid out in the courtyard, taking copious notes. Frank then gave a cleaning demonstration, using his washing-powder crystals against ordinary untreated alkali to show the effectiveness of the new formula. Finally, over a cup of tea, they discussed the applications as they might affect Mr Ding’s dyeing processes. Mr Ding seemed satisfied and in principle they discussed the prospects of shipments starting in the late autumn. Frank told him that by then he would have a young assistant who would probably be able to accompany the first mule train.

  ‘But will you not be coming yourself, D-De Falang X-Xiansheng? R-Remember the M-Mongolian girls!’

  Frank, who had managed to numb his mind over the last two hours, felt his depression return with a vengeance, but Lu Jincai, solicitous of Frank’s position, already suspected that something had gone seriously wrong and managed to change the subject back to soda ash. Shortly afterwards he and Mr Ding left, to get back to town in time for lunch. Frank was left to his gloomy thoughts.

  He sat in his office and tried to do some paperwork but he found that he could not concentrate. All he could see in the piles of correspondence and reports was Shen Ping’s laughing face. He paced the room disconsolately, his head splitting with the pain of his hangover. He knew he had to get away, do something, or he would go mad. He made a sudden decision, strode out of his office and called for his horse. He would ride a mile down to the railway camp to check with Fischer whether he had had any word on the arrival of the party from Peking.

  Of course it would never really have worked out. He must have been mad to think that Helen Frances would ever accept it. She would probably have gone right back again on the next boat and never talked to her father again. Nellie Airton certainly wouldn’t have approved. He suspected that she disapproved enough of him as it was. He couldn’t imagine Nellie having Shen Ping round to tea with the nuns. It would all have been very uncomfortable. He was better out of it. It had worked out for the best.

  Obviously he could not see Shen Ping again. He could not bear it—not now that he knew what he did about her. It was not her fault. It was entirely his own foolishness. He hoped she would not mind losing a client, that it wouldn’t be a loss of face or anything for her. He would do the right thing. Send her round some expensive gift or some extra cash. Maybe a letter. He would have to ask Lu Jincai what was best in these circumstances. From what Mother Liu had told him she was obviously not short of other customers. Mother Liu had told him she was popular. He, of all people, knew why. He doubted that her other clients were naïve idiots like him. Or maybe she specialised in hopeless romantics. Had she despised him? Gossiped about him with the other flower girls? Laughed at him behind his back? Well, he deserved it.

  He supposed that he would go back to the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure. There was no way, real
ly, to avoid it. Every week Lu or Tang or one of the others would throw a banquet there. It was part of doing business in Shishan. There was no obligation to taste the flowers. Dr Airton was always telling him that he had to mend his behaviour. Perhaps the time had finally come for playboy Frank to tread the straight and narrow? The prospect of another liaison was not very attractive at the moment, but then again he knew his own weaknesses. Maybe there would come a day, if he ever got over Shen Ping, when he would wish to try it out with another girl. This time there would be no illusions. He would play the game as cynically as all the rest of them. At one point Mother Liu had seemed to be offering him Fan Yimei. She certainly was a beauty. Out of his league, he thought. But maybe not? Mother Liu had more or less said that all the girls were up for grabs. He didn’t fancy the prospect of tangling with Major Lin, but perhaps if that arrangement were ever to break up …