Jade Island

by Elizabeth Lowell

  “Good,” Lianne murmured. “Full-spectrum daylight. The color you see now is what you’ll see at noon tomorrow somewhere else.”

  “You sure? This is pretty much a Mediterranean style of light. I can change the mix to pure Pacific Northwest.”

  Shaking her head, Lianne picked up the first jade, which rested on a card with the number 1 on it. The piece was a pendant half the size of her palm. The exterior of the pendant was a medium-green jade lattice of peach leaves and twigs. Inside the lattice was a peach that was a mottled white-green. The natural indentation of the peach had been exaggerated so that it was an accurate, if rather graceless, representation of a vulva.

  “You’re supposed to be thinking out loud,” Kyle said. “Remember?”

  Lianne nodded. She was also remembering that everything she said or did was being taped.

  “So what are you thinking?” Kyle asked.

  “I can see why Seng is editing this piece out of his collection.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s an example of how a collector’s particular passion can limit the quality of the pieces he collects.”

  Kyle looked at the pendant. “I’m listening.”

  “Han Seng has chosen to collect Chinese jade erotica from all dynasties. It’s a difficult choice. Even though erotica was an accepted and expected part of Chinese life—at least until Christianity and the People’s Republic—the vast majority of Chinese erotic art was in paintings.”

  “Visual aids, huh? Not much new there.”

  “Some things transcend cultural differences,” Lianne agreed dryly. “Unless an emperor or a prince or a very wealthy bureaucrat commissioned jade erotic objects, they simply weren’t made, or they were made by average craftsmen from average stone.”

  “Like the pendant you’re holding?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it’s not the subject matter that’s the problem?”

  “That’s your Puritan cultural background talking,” Lianne said, smiling slightly. “Puritanism was a very late comer to China’s cultural mix. The fact that Western museums display only Chinese household goods and landscape paintings says more about our society’s reluctance to address sexuality than China’s. China has a long and rich history of erotica.”

  “Most societies do.”

  “But China’s wasn’t kept in the closet. The frequency and duration of an emperor’s visits to his wives and concubines were as much a source of public concern and discussion as his imperial decrees. In fact, satyriasis was a condition much admired in a ruler.”

  Eyebrows raised, Kyle looked down the row of jade artifacts depicting variations on the theme of human sexuality.

  “Shocked?” she asked, watching him from the corner of her eye.

  He smiled slowly. “Just thinking about what would happen if a museum put these jades in the lobby. Bet attendance would go through the roof.”

  “So would the local politicians.”

  “Yeah. As you say, different cultures.” Kyle looked back at the pendant. “So the only problem with this is in the execution and the quality of the stone, not the subject matter?”

  Lianne nodded. “The Tang family has many exquisite variations of the peach leaves-and-fruit theme. The pieces are very sensual, suggesting the pleasure to be found within a woman’s body, as well as fertility with its promise of a man’s immortality through his sons.”

  “Well, the carver got the sex part of the pendant right. But the rest…” Kyle shrugged. “It’s more clinical than evocative.”

  “Exactly. I wish I could show you one of the pendants in the Tang vault. It’s this size and a bit better in color, but the skill of the carver was incredible. He used every minute variation in the jade’s natural color to enhance the theme. In fact, the first time I saw that pendant, I wondered if the fruit in Eden wasn’t a peach rather than an apple.”

  “You sure that’s supposed to be a peach?” Kyle said, eyeing the pendant Seng hoped to get rid of. “Looks more like a body part.”

  Lianne gave him a sideways look. “In China, the peach is a symbol of the vulva.”

  “A jade peach for a jade stem, is that it?”

  “Actually, the feminine form is more often called a jade pavilion. ‘Pleasure pavilion’ is another favorite. ‘The one square inch’ is also common.”

  Kyle tried to think of something neutral to say. He couldn’t. Of all the conversations he had expected to have with Lianne today, this wasn’t one of them.

  “In any case,” Lianne continued, “the pendant is supposed to be a Sung dynasty ornament for a concubine.”

  “Supposed to be? Don’t you think it is?”

  Lianne hesitated, remembering that everything she said or did was being monitored. She set down the pendant, rummaged in her shoulder bag, and pulled out a magnifying glass that came with a battery-powered light.

  “What are you looking for?” Kyle asked. “Tool marks?”

  “After a fashion. Before the age of machine power tools, the work went quite slowly. As a result, the designs were very clean, very distinct. Power gets the job done quicker, but not better. Overlapping corners in designs are a common result. The incised curves aren’t as clean or as smooth.”

  “Couldn’t stop the machinery before they overshot the mark, is that it?”

  “Yes. Look here, just inside the lip of the peach. It should be a single sensual curve. But it isn’t. It’s more a notchy ripple than a true curve.”

  Kyle picked up the magnifying glass and the pendant, looked, and saw the ragged incised line.

  “I think this piece was turned out by modern technology,” Lianne said, “not Sung dynasty craftsmen working with foot treadles and crushed garnet abrasive.”

  “So what do you think this jade is worth?”

  “A hundred dollars if you’re too busy to bargain. Ten if you find a hungry shop owner. There are stores in Hong Kong and Shanghai that stock racks of similar stuff. All modern.”

  “New jade. That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? Anything made after the nineteenth century.”

  “New jade,” she agreed, then smiled wryly. “Even if it’s a century old.”

  “That’s a quarter of American history.”

  “And, depending on how you count it, a fiftieth of China’s history,” she said, taking back the pendant. “To confuse matters even more, there are many Chinese who call all jade after the Han period ‘modern.’”

  “Everything for nearly the last two thousand years is modern?”

  “To the Chinese, yes.”

  Lianne set down the pendant, made notations on her tablet, and went on to the next jade. She worked quickly, efficiently, talking in phrases and single Chinese words that spoke volumes of her knowledge. “Pih, moss green. No particular artistry. Good polish. Subject not unusual.”

  “It looks like a man with his hand up a woman’s dress,” Kyle commented.

  “As I said, not unusual.” She picked up another jade, using both hands, for the piece was as big as a cantaloupe. “Several shades lighter than pih. Good artistry. Good-to-excellent use of the natural variation of the stone. Good polish, though modern. Too bad. If the polish had been done the old-fashioned way, by hand rubbing, the piece would be worth more. Hand rubbing gives a deeper luster.”

  “What about the subject?”

  “Not unusual.” Lianne set the jade aside, made notes, and continued down the table.

  Kyle stared at the jade she had just put back. Both figures were fully robed. The woman lay on her back in a languid posture, her hips in the lap of her lover and her legs over his shoulders. Something about the woman’s face suggested that she liked the position. The man certainly did. His head was tilted back as he climaxed.

  By the time Kyle caught up with Lianne, she was five jades ahead of him.

  “Pi, indigo,” Lianne muttered, translating for Kyle’s benefit. “Good color, very good carving. Unfortunately, the overall impact is static rather than dynamic. I’l
l tentatively accept a Tang date.”

  While she made notes, Kyle glanced at the jade. It was another maiden with her toes pointed to the sky. From the look on her face, the man between her thighs could have been giving her a pelvic exam. He didn’t look too thrilled, either.

  Kyle took the magnifying glass from Lianne and examined the sculpture more closely. Despite its lack of artistic or emotional impact, it was a beautifully carved piece. The curves were even. When a design turned a corner, it turned cleanly, no overshooting or overlapping with previous designs.

  “Kau,” Lianne said.

  “What was that?” Kyle asked, looking up.

  “Yellow. Not the best example of the color. The carving is after the style of Three Kingdoms, but the symbolism and subject matter are more common to the Sung dynasty.”

  “Meaning?”

  “During the Sung dynasty, there was a revival of Three Dynasties styles. Perhaps this piece came from that time. Perhaps it’s more recent. May I have that back?”

  Kyle handed over Lianne’s magnifying glass.

  “Quite modern,” she said after a moment. “It’s hardly cooled from the mechanical polishing process.”

  She made another note, picked up another piece, and turned it slowly in her hands. “Chiung,” she said. Then, before Kyle could ask: “Cinnabar red. Unusual subject matter. I suspect this piece, too, is quite modern.”

  Kyle looked at the piece slowly revolving in Lianne’s strong, slender hands. The people’s robes were in disarray. The man’s head was between the woman’s thighs.

  “Excellent form,” she said blandly. “Wonderful polish. Not at all static. Outstanding technique. That’s one happy concubine.”

  Kyle laughed out loud. “How do you know she isn’t his wife?”

  “She won’t get pregnant that way.”

  “But she sure will be pleased,” he retorted.

  “If you listed the ten things that were most important to traditional Chinese males,” Lianne said, making notes quickly, “the sexual pleasure of their wives would be number thirty.”

  She set aside her notes and concentrated on the next piece of jade, and then the next and the next. The pieces were invariably modern. The quality varied from good to fair, with much more of the latter.

  Yet at least three of the jades Lianne had brought with her from the Tang vault, the three she had appraised herself, were excellent to superb. Whatever trade the Tangs were making was going to be very one-sided.

  And her name would be the one signed on both Han and Tang appraisal sheets.

  Unease rolled heavily in Lianne’s stomach. Her skin prickled. Sweat condensed coldly in her palms, down her spine. She told herself that she was overreacting; she was simply following the instructions of her client. Whatever trade Han Seng and the Tangs had worked out was none of her business.

  But her name would be on the bottom line just the same.

  Chapter 15

  “Is he really sucking on her foot?” Kyle asked.

  Lianne jerked, took a breath, and focused on the jade piece she had been looking at without really seeing. The man indeed had the woman’s tiny, carefully maimed foot between his lips. The other foot was half unwrapped and pointed toward the sky.

  “He really is,” she said. “During the centuries that the Chinese practiced foot-binding, ‘golden lilies’ were considered the most sexually exciting part of a woman’s body.”

  “Golden lilies? Her feet?”

  “Not just any feet. Golden lilies were the culmination of a lifetime of pain. When a girl was four or five, her toes were bent down and bound to her heels, breaking the arch of the foot. In adulthood, the result was a maimed foot no bigger than a lily bud just before it opens. Three to four inches, max.”

  Kyle blinked. “This was sexually exciting?”

  “To a Chinese male of those times, yes. The golden lilies were the only part of a woman’s body she didn’t bare in the presence of others, even the servants who attended her bath. The only exception was a woman’s husband or, if she was a prostitute, a particularly favored client.”

  Kyle whistled tunelessly. “Well, that sexual stimulus doesn’t transcend cultural differences for this boy.”

  “You’d feel different if it were her breasts.”

  “I sure as hell would.”

  “That’s cultural.”

  “God bless America.”

  Lianne smiled despite the anxiety that was closing clammy fingers around her stomach. As she picked up the next jade, she hoped that the rest of the pieces Seng was trading to the Tangs weren’t as lackluster as the batch she had already seen.

  “Soochow,” she said instantly. Then, under her breath: “Damn.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “The older a piece is, the less likely it is to actually be jade,” Lianne said. “Historically, the Chinese categorized stones based on their color rather than on the chemical composition of the stone itself. A lot of green stones were called jade, from soapstone to serpentine.”

  “They’re easier to carve than jade,” Kyle pointed out. “A whole bunch easier, in the case of soapstone.”

  “And the carvings don’t last as long. Time softens the edges, the designs, until not much is left. Like wax left in the sun. Especially with soapstone. And nothing takes a polish like true jade.”

  “Is that jade you’re holding?”

  “After a fashion. It’s called Soochow jade. Do you know the difference?”

  “Soochow jade is serpentine, not nephrite,” Kyle said. “Serpentine is softer than nephrite, has a lower specific gravity, and is more fragile.”

  “Should I assume that you understand the distinction between nephrite and jadeite?”

  “Nephrite is a silicate of calcium, magnesium, and iron. Also known as a tremolite-actinolite. Jadeite is a different kind of silicate. Aluminum, sodium, and iron. Also known as a pyroxene. When it is emerald colored and highly translucent, it’s called Burmese jade, imperial jade, jadeite, or fei-ts’yu. Does that cover the high points?”

  “And some of the low ones as well. Why are you hanging around me?”

  “I was a geologist before I got interested in jade. Chemistry is great for some things, but it lacks a sense of history. Chinese jade, no matter what its internal chemistry, is a condensation of Chinese history. In other words, I’m following you so I can find out how you know the woman in the sculpture you’re holding is a bride rather than a prostitute.”

  “Look at the designs on the stand.”

  Kyle moved closer, so close that he could sense the warmth of Lianne’s body. “Looks like carved, polished mahogany to me, the usual base for a Chinese jade sculpture.”

  “The wood is shaped to suggest a sleeping pallet. There are stylized bats on the ends—symbol of happiness as well as night—and her robe is etched with peonies, which symbolize renewal, spring, love, and happiness.”

  “Wedding stuff.”

  “Stuff? Spoken like a true Western bachelor,” Lianne said, laughing. “To the Chinese, weddings were a weaving together of families, villages, dynasties, and destinies. Weddings were the point where the past flowed through man into woman and created the future.”

  Kyle bent down to look more closely at the palm-sized sculpture Lianne held. The bride’s face was blank, barely differentiated from the stone. Beneath her hands, her robes divided just below her navel and rippled down the outside of her spread thighs. She wore no underclothes to conceal what awaited her bridegroom. The tightly folded vulva was much more detailed than anything else about the woman.

  “She’s ready for the future, all right,” Kyle said.

  “Or something. Again, the carver’s skill wasn’t up to the complex symbols and resonance of the culture. This is merely a woman with her legs spread.” Lianne set down the sculpture and moved on.

  “You know of a more, um, delicate variation of that theme?” Kyle asked.

  “The Tangs have a carving that is identical in size and subject,” L
ianne said absently, studying the next jade. “The effect is quite different. The girl obviously won the marital sweepstakes and got a man who cared about her pleasure. I call the sculpture Bride Dreaming, although I’m certain from her expression that the consummation has already occurred.”

  “How?”

  “What do you mean, how?” Lianne looked up at Kyle blankly. “The usual way, I suppose. Penetration followed by ejaculation.”

  He did a double take, then laughed in delight while red climbed her cheeks.

  “I figured out the mechanics shortly after kindergarten,” he said, stroking the back of his hand down her hot cheek. “What I meant was, how can you tell it was after rather than before?”

  Trying to act as though she wasn’t blushing like a bride or a first grader, Lianne leaned over the table and stared hard at another piece of jade. “It just…well, it just looked like it.”

  “Not much help there.” Kyle breathed deeply, inhaling Lianne’s scent. Between the jade erotica and the warm woman, his body was in testosterone overload. “Any chance I could further my education by getting into the Tang vault and comparing the jades?”

  She shook her head. “No one outside of immediate family—and me, of course—has ever been allowed into the vault. But I might be able to bring you a selection of erotica, if that’s what you want.”

  “I want to learn nuances. If erotica helps, I’m all eyes and tongue.”

  Lianne hid her smile and hoped Kyle couldn’t sense the too-rapid beating of her pulse. She had discussed and acquired erotica for several clients, including Han Seng, without being in the least disturbed by the nature of the pieces.

  It was different with Kyle. She didn’t know why. She just knew it was. Not that she was uncomfortable or embarrassed, except with her own unruly thoughts. She kept thinking about what it would be like to lie sated, watching Kyle as he admired the one square inch they had so recently enjoyed.

  “But I have to admit,” he said, “I’m having a hard time seeing Wen Zhi Tang as a collector of jade erotica.”

  “It isn’t his first passion, but he never passes up a chance to increase the breadth or upgrade the quality of his grandfather’s and his great-great-grandfather’s collection of erotica. They had superb taste, by the way. Many of their acquisitions are, quite simply, art.”