by Jeannie Lin
Ming-fen continued on. I ducked under a line of hanging laundry to follow and saw her come to a halt midway down the lane. A well of heat wafted into the alley from the open door.
“Uncle Chu!” she called out, shouting to be heard above the pounding of metal on metal.
The hammering stopped. A muffled voice from inside relayed her greeting and, moments later, an elderly man in a leather apron stepped out into the street. He wore a thick set of goggles, which he pulled up, leaving a pale outline around his eyes.
“The physician is here.”
The man looked over to me, blinking curiously. His was of medium height with arms that were thick with muscle.
“Yishi,” he greeted. Then proceeded to describe his ailments. Swollen and stiff joints that made it difficult to move. An ache in his bones that wouldn’t go away.
A younger man with a family resemblance appeared. The son, I presumed. He brought out a bench so the blacksmith could sit as I felt his pulse and examined his hands where the pain was worst. I listened carefully, asking questions about how long he’d experienced the symptoms and were there times when the pain lessened or worsened?
It was likely gout. A hot compress soaked with ginger root over his joints would help for the pain and I promised to return with my acupuncture needles. As soon as our consultation was done, the lady across the alley had a young child with a cough. The blacksmith’s son brought out tea and more neighbors gathered. Ming-fen distributed the supplies she had brought and the mood took on almost a festival atmosphere.
In a few cases, I was able to dispense the Western medicines. Essence of willow bark came in small pills. There were various oils and ointments that, between Ming-fen’s ability to read Yingyu and my knowledge of remedies, we were able to decipher the uses for. For the common ailments, I tried to prescribe household treatments. There was no herbal shop within the settlement where people could go to purchase hard-to-find ingredients.
I was reminded of the days back in our village when I was Physician Lo’s assistant. I’d travel from one end of the village to the other, out to the farthest plot of farmland, addressing all of the day-to-day aches and pains. Villagers complained of too little energy or, occasionally, too much, leading to restlessness and anxiety. Eat melon soup, I’d suggest, if one needed to cool the blood. Chicken with ginseng for warming.
At the Factories, I’d had to put all of that aside. Instead of cultivating overall health, there were torn bodies to mend. Bruises and broken bones and pain. No thought toward internal balance and long-term well-being.
“It’s good you came,” Ming-fen said once the inhabitants of Ironware Alley had had all their ailments addressed. “A couple of weeks ago there was someone selling snake wine as a cure-all and aphrodisiac. Before that there was a man claiming to be a Taoist sorcerer.”
The children had gathered on one side of the alley to play a made-up game with the empty biscuit tin. Though the crowd had dissipated, a feeling of brightness remained in the air. Laughter sounded down the lane. A stream of friendly chatter floated from the doorways. Ironware Alley bid us farewell in good spirits.
“Jie-jie,” I said, meaning it this time. “You have a sharp tongue but a kind heart.”
“It’s force of habit,” she denied curtly. “In Old Shanghai, there were so many groups and gangs and bullies. It was my elder brother who believed in protecting the weak.”
“Your brother?”
“His name was Ren.” A look of sadness flickered across her eyes. “I haven’t seen him since Shanghai fell.”
It was the first time I’d heard her mention a brother. I started to ask her more about him, but was interrupted by a young boy of around ten years running toward us. His long skinny legs bounded forward like a cricket’s and he was out of breath when he came to a stop at my feet.
“Are you the yishi?” His slender face made his eyes appear especially large as he stared up at me.
“I am,” I replied.
“Please come!”
We followed him as he hurried out of Ironware Alley into another narrow lane several streets away.
“It’s my father, Yishi,” the boy said, pushing forward while checking back over his shoulder to make sure we were following. “My mother told me to go get you when she heard there was a physician who had come by.”
Word traveled quickly through the lilong neighborhoods.
He brought me to a closed door. A heavy lock had been placed onto it.
“Is this where you live?”
“My father is inside. Mother had the lock attached two days ago,” the boy explained.
Suddenly something crashed against the door from the other side. I jumped back, startled.
A wail came from down the alley. “He’s gone mad. His mind is gone.”
A middle-aged woman appeared. She pushed the hair away from her eyes, revealing dark circles beneath them. “We haven’t been able to go inside. Does it look like mad dog sickness?”
A heavy weight thudded against the inside of the doors again, rattling the iron lock.
I backed a few steps away. “Was your husband bitten recently by a stray dog or any animal?”
“No,” she insisted. “Never.”
I’d seen something like this before. In Changsha, they had locked people who had become enraged due to an infection. Not knowing any better, the physicians had also diagnosed the condition as mad dog sickness.
“Does your husband use opium?” I asked the woman.
I could smell an opium pipe nearby. It was a deceptively sweet burn, like sugar left on the stove too long. I’d grown up with that smell in our house. I knew the moment Ming-fen recognized it as well. Her gaze moved to a shadowy doorway two hovels down.
Of course, there was opium in the lilong alleyways. Shanghai was the drug’s primary gateway into the empire.
The woman started crying when there was another crash against the door, stronger than the last. And then another, as if an enraged animal was trapped on the other side. She forced an answer through her sobs.
“My husband smokes. He was trying to stop.”
Chapter 21
There wasn’t much that could be done for the man. His wife spoke of his addiction, the withdrawal symptoms he suffered whenever he tried to quit. The tremors, the sweats.
Hearing the woman’s descriptions brought back those nights at our small house in Linhua where the walls were thin and I could hear my mother’s every moan and cry. Tian would open a book and stare fixedly at the page, trying to distract himself from the wailing that came from the next room.
The rattle of the lock brought me back to the present. Missionaries had come to the lane the week before. They were foreigners who brought teachings of the Western God, the same God that the Taipings worshiped. They’d offered food and prayer.
Her husband had fallen into a deep sleep after the visit. He’d slept for a long time and when he woke up, something sinister had taken hold of him.
I told them to leave food and water and not open the door. I promised to come back in a few days to check on him, though I didn’t know what I could do. This condition was beyond my experience.
The next day brought a visit to another neighborhood, called Seawall Alley due to its location by the river. Ming-fen appeared well-known there as well. She brought gossip from other neighborhoods, news about the workings of the foreign-run Municipal Council. Someone asked about the Old City and she grew quiet.
“No news from the old neighborhood,” she murmured.
A municipal police patrol passed by while Ming-fen and I were sharing fried dumplings stuffed with fermented beans from a street seller. A momentary hush fell over the alley at the sight of the pale-skinned foreigners. Ming-fen leaned against the wall, tracking the patrol with her eyes.
“Those men aren’t here to protect us,” she remarked once the patrol had moved on. “The longer Old Shanghai remains under rebel control, the more powerful the foreign settlement becomes. Not that I particu
larly liked Taotai Wu’s administration.”
“It’s a matter of balance,” I conceded.
Ming-fen nodded slowly. “Balance.”
“Did your brother help maintain balance?”
She hesitated before answering. “Ren always had such a strong sense of justice.” Her face took on a wistful expression, just as it had the first time she’d mentioned him. “When our father and mother disappeared, I was taken in by the missionaries, but Ren was left on his own. He was too old for the orphanage, too young to take care of a little sister. It was years before I would see him again. He came to the school, said he was family. They refused to let me go with him, vagabond that he was. So, I climbed out of the window in the middle of the night to join him.”
“Is he still in Old Shanghai?” I asked.
She was taken aback by the question.
“You said you hadn’t seen him since the city fell,” I pressed. “I thought that meant you must have been together before it did.”
“He’s behind those walls now, I’m certain of it.”
“Could you get a message to him? To let him know you’re alright.”
Her lips quirked. “It’s complicated. There is more than a city wall between us.”
Ming-fen had some business that afternoon to attend to with Burton and I had some supplies to deliver to the warehouse. I hailed a rickshaw and was surprised to see I recognized the puller from nearby Ironware Alley. We were able to exchange some minor gossip and I offered to bring him an ointment to help with his sore muscles the next time I came by.
That was when I thought of the opium addict who had been boarded up a few lanes away. There had been nothing I could offer to the poor family. They had cut a hole in the door to provide food and water, but the man was senseless and snarling when I’d tried to peer inside. His tongue was as black as ink.
The wife was unaware of whether he’d taken any opium cessation pills. There were no dispensaries that anyone knew of in the foreign concession or in Old Shanghai. Could it be possible the missionaries had brought him something thinking to help?
If this sickness was somehow connected to the cessation pills, then the cure was worse than the disease. I prayed my letter would reach my mother quickly to warn her.
The rickshaw reached the warehouse district by the wharf and the puller offered to wait so he could take me back. I rang the bell at the front door and it took some time before the door opened. Kai’s face brightened when he saw me. His hands were stained with grease.
“Engineer Chen is putting you to work,” I said.
“It’s not so different from bone-setting,” he said cheerfully.
Assembling the automatons involved connecting sockets and joints and artificial limbs. If his bone-setting knowledge was of use, then all the better. The main warehouse floor was empty, which meant everyone was working underground. Kai held the trapdoor open and I tucked the delivery bundle beneath my arm before descending the stairs.
The hidden basement was far from empty now. The line was running in full force with workmen assigned to different stations. There were automatons in various states of assembly. Chang-wei walked among the stations to inspect the work. As soon as he saw me, he broke away.
“Soling.”
From the distant look in his eyes, I could see his mind was still focused on his work, but I was accustomed to that. We retreated to the corner for some semblance of privacy.
“I have the supplies you needed,” I began.
“You smell like camphor.”
“Oh, that must be from…uh…muscle ointment,” I explained, blushing. I didn’t realize I smelled like a medicine cabinet.
“I don’t mind it.” His hand brushed mine as he took the wrapped bundle.
I froze as I looked over his shoulder. Standing there was one of the fully assembled automatons, the empty void of its face staring into nothingness. I didn’t know if they would look more eerie with a face or not, but the sight of it looming over us, almost human, sent a shiver through me. The last time I’d seen one moving, it was rampaging in the citadel. It had crushed the skull of one of Chang-wei’s engineers as if he were made of paper.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Chang-wei suggested, sensing my discomfort.
We went to the office where Chang-wei unwrapped the delivery. There was a mass of copper wire wrapped as delicately as if it were silk lace among various other boxes and tins. Chang-wei’s eyes darted to a tin decorated with blue flowers. His face brightened as he reached for it.
“It’s been years,” he said, prying off the lid to reveal a row of small golden-brown parcels wrapped in waxed paper.
“Is it candy?”
He nodded and held one out to me. I squeezed the parcel between my fingers. “What is it made of?”
“Cooked sugar.” He thought for a moment. “And cream. It’s called ‘toffee.’”
I unwrapped the paper and took a bite. The candy was hard and sticky and incredibly sugary. Chang-wei popped the entire morsel into his mouth.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” he said, his words garbled.
I nodded gamely. My teeth were stuck together.
I was surprised when he dug back into the tin, but it wasn’t to grab another candy. Chang-wei fished around until he pulled a paper out from the bottom. Instead of hiding away, he opened it in front of me. My chest swelled just a little. Chang-wei at least trusted me in this.
He moved the toffee to the other side of his mouth, sucking on it as he read the communication.
“From Taotai Wu,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the note. “Can you get a map of Shanghai?”
I nodded. So, I was to be a go-between. Chang-wei didn’t say anything else about what was on the paper, but we stayed together for a little longer as I recounted my trip to alley neighborhoods with Wei Ming-fen. I told him about the afflicted man who’d been shut away. Chang-wei hadn’t seen as much of the mysterious opium disease as I’d had, but we’d been attacked once by a man suffering from that same sickness. He’d gone mad, tearing out someone’s throat with his teeth before he was shot.
“This is why we have to win this war quickly against the rebels,” he said, jaw tight. “So we can address these other problems.”
The scourge of opium. Losing our land to foreign devils. But the rebels weren’t a single force, a single beast to be slain. There were so many factions who hated the Emperor and the Qing government and they would keep on coming for us.
“Have you learned anything more about the mysterious Miss Wei?” he asked.
“Everyone does know her. She seems to be a do-gooder.”
“Like you,” Chang-wei said softly. He reached out to smooth a strand of hair away from my face. It was enough to warm my skin to the very fingertips.
I didn’t think of myself in such a way. Everything I’d ever done was to protect myself and the people I loved. I regarded Chang-wei now, looking silly with the candy bulging beneath his cheek, and realized he was one of those people. I loved him and wanted to be his wife.
Rationally and irrationally.
I went from the warehouse back to Ironware Alley. The rickshaw puller tried to refuse payment, but I insisted. We went back and forth the required number of times before he humbly accepted.
I’d brought my needles this time and went to call on the elderly blacksmith at his forge. He was grateful to see me and kept a steady expression, even though I could see how his hands were stiffer today than they’d been even the day before.
They allowed me into the narrow kitchen area to prepare the heated compress. I applied it to his arm outside, seated on the bench, with the heat of the furnaces at our backs. His son once again brought tea and we drank it while I waited for his muscles and joints to relax and loosen. Then I opened my case and started setting the needles into pressure points along his wrist and arm.
“Been working metal since I was a little boy,” the blacksmith said. “Probably won’t be able to much longer with these old hands. Do you kno
w I fitted parts into the first steamships that came to dock here?”
“A long time ago,” I murmured, focusing on the Waiguan pulse point at the left wrist. The needles were wire-thin, barely visible and produced hardly any physical sensation when inserted into the skin.
“Fifteen years. A long time ago,” he echoed. “The Yangguizi, they’re not so bad.”
I bit back a smile. If they weren’t so bad, I suppose he only called them foreign devils because everyone else did.
“Eastern. Western. What does it matter? Ships come and go. People come and go. Life goes on.”
I treated both of his arms and left the needles to give time for the points to enervate and open. It was the end of the double-hour by the time I removed the needles. The sun had started to lower in the sky and it was time for me to return to Burton’s shop.
After bidding farewell to the blacksmith and his sons, I remembered the wretched man whose family had locked him in not so far from here. There was enough time to check on him before sunset.
The walk there took less than half an hour and I felt accomplished being able to navigate the settlement so well on my own. As I approached the dwelling, I saw the son out in the alley.
“How is your father?” I inquired.
At first, I thought he didn’t remember me. He regarded me fearfully before mumbling his response. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
He started toward the door. Just yesterday, his father had been locked inside, throwing his full weight against it as if deranged. Now the boy was able to open the door without incident.
“Where did your father go?”
The boy slipped inside as I moved toward him. “They came and took him,” he said before pulling the door shut.
They?
Bewildered, I looked up and down the alley searching for someone who could answer questions. No one was about. I wandered to an open doorway, but no one came when I called. As luck would have it, I noticed movement at the end of the lane and decided to see if it was someone who could help. I went down there just in time to see Wei Ming-fen disappearing into a dark entranceway.