Not even the threat of a typhoon could dampen their spirits. People cheered when the typhoon warning flag was raised so drunk were they on peace. Despite the wind, the nitric firecracker smoke of victory hung in the air late into the summer evening. Leah stood on the corner of the Rua do Campo with a group of bystanders watching workmen perched on a bamboo scaffold build the ornamental victory arch. The workmen laughed and good-humouredly disagreed on the colours as the crowd shouted their advice.People radiated happiness; it saturated the very air.Everything was wonderful. Happiness or hope magically plumped out the thin faces of the very poor. An urchin in hessian charity clothes threw down a string of firecrackers, making people jump. The men on the arch whooped their disapproval. Chang emerged from the crowd, grabbed the boy by the arm and shook him hard. The boy looked contrite. Chang eased his grip, allowing the boy to wriggle free. He ran off, laughing, as if it were the biggest joke in the world as he ducked past Leah. Chang waved and moved closer.
“I’ve been looking for you.We leave at dawn tomorrow,”Chang said in a low voice as she stared at the men high above her.
“The typhoon,” said Leah. “It’s dangerous.”
“We must get to Hong Kong before the British bureaucracy reassembles and before the Japanese rats escape. Don’t come if you are afraid. Just give me the papers.We don’t need you.”
“You need me.Without me, the rice will be seized to prevent black marketeering. You won’t see a penny. They might even impound the junk.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
The men on the scaffold let out a cheer, signalling the arch was completed. Leah joined in the clapping as the men bowed. “I’ll be there,” she declared.
“Good,” he shouted over the crowd noise and walked away, holding onto his hat, the legs of his suit billowing in the rising wind.
LEAH tugged a small brown rucksack from under the bed and blew away the dust, coughing. It was ridiculously small. Well, she wasn’t going to take much. She hoisted up the end of the mattress and neatly cut the white stitching to feel among the lumps of cotton for the forged bills of lading, customs forms, and her new legitimate hardcover blue passport. She slipped the forged documents into the concealed pockets inside the rucksack, packed three sets of underwear, two silk dresses and pair of sandals, then placed her passport on top. She looked around the flat. Someone else could have the slip figurine. She didn’t want to explain how she had come by it, besides it didn’t look anything like her now. The L-shaped room seemed darker and dingier. The green-black mould had spread its hungry fingers up the blue tiled wall, making it bow and loosening the tiles. Twelve tiles now lay neatly stacked. She’d always intended to buy grout or mastic to reattach them. Now, she never would. The damp or the heat had caused two of the Chinese ladies’ faces to crack and turn ghostly pale.They seemed to be urging her to get away. But first, she must explain her sudden departure to Albemarle. She owed him that.
Dear Stephen,
It may take weeks to get the ferries going—I can’t wait. A fisherman and his family have agreed to take me back to Hong Kong. Don’t worry.They are good people. I will not swim to shore this time.
I feel I must return to Hong Kong. I have had only one postcard from Jonathan. I am so worried. We both have heard such dreadful rumours.
I don’t know how to thank you for all your kindness and understanding. You and I have had a good war. I am sorry that Mr. Talbot and I were not able to get along better. It must have been very wearisome for you in the midst of your own real worries and difficulties. I am so grateful.
I hope you will be very happy in England with your family.Should your boat home stop in Hong Kong, please do visit. I don’t know where I we will be staying, but Hong Kong is like a village for Europeans and I’m sure you will be able to contact us.
Ever in your debt,
Leah (Miss L. Kolbe)
Despite her resolve, she couldn’t sleep. Images of Tokai flooded her brain. Had she loved him? How much time had they spent together? Was it even a month? Perhaps, she reasoned, it was like dog years—one for seven—a day in wartime was precious and counted for more.A month of love and betrayal equalled a lifetime of peace. She felt sorry for Joji. She would have a terrible loveless life with Tokai. Tokai would be miserable. She was glad. Leaving everything behind was like sealing up a tomb. Nothing could touch her now. She must think only about the future. Desperately, she wished she were already in Hong Kong, welcoming Jonathan home, in his arms, in his bed. Only she had to do this one last thing. It might set them up for life, a new beginning. If she did, Vasiliev had promised to tell her how Theo had been killed and why. One last dangerous thing and she would be free.
Calmed, she slept until the bleat of the alarm sounded. She sat bolt upright and heard the wind rattle the flat’s wooden window frames.There was a loud crack of thunder and she jumped. Let it come. She wasn’t going to let the storm take away her chance to have money and Jonathan. She pulled on dark trousers and a blouse, then slid her feet into soft Chinese slippers. She locked the door for the last time and sealed the key into Albe-marle’s envelope. No regrets, she decided, and hurried into the grey dawn.
On Avenida De Rocha, under a verandah away from the wind, a sleepy teenage boy sat hunched, watching Leah push the letter through the mail slot. By the boy’s side was a bicycle with hardly any spokes but two new tires. The wind was gusting hard.
“Strange time for a walk,” the boy mocked in Cantonese.
“May I borrow you bike?” asked Leah.
The boy shook his head. “Hire only.”
Leah emptied her pockets of patacas. They made an odd couple: Leah perched on the hard seat, a rucksack on her back, pedaling at a steady pace, the breathless boy running alongside, begging her to slow down.
Nearing the Inner Harbour, she handed the bike back.The boy rode slowly away, but driven by curiosity, he turned back to look. The European woman was waving to a tall Chinese man as five workers strained under ropes, hauling a wagon laden with sacks of rice to a waiting junk. It was a strange sight; he was certain he should forget what he had seen. The sky was an ominous smoky grey, the wind stiff. It was difficult to pedal against such a headwind. He got off and pushed, buffeted by the wind.
Chang only grunted at Leah when she clambered aboard the junk. He was busy arguing with the junk captain, Mr. Lee, a jowly man with liver spots on his face who was very worried. The rice was weighing the junk down and in this weather . . . It wouldn’t be manoeuvrable, wouldn’t be able to sail over mines. They’d be blown smithereens and then no one would profit. “Please,” Mr. Lee pleaded, “no more.”
“A few less sacks won’t matter,” interjected Leah.
Chang ignored her. “You’ve been well paid. No.” Chang signalled to Lee’s two sons overseeing the loading to hurry up. “We can outrun the storm. It will veer off.”
Lee looked at him as if he were crazy.
Chang dismissed the look and demanded to see Leah’s documents.
“They’re packed. In this wind . . .”
“Later, then,” said Chang.To Leah, it sounded like a threat.
Vasiliev pulled himself up the ladder from the cabin and walked across the deck. “It will be a rough crossing,” he said as a greeting. “It’s not too late to stay in Macau and wait for us to get in touch.”
Leah undid the top strap of the rucksack and took out her passport. “You need me.”
Chang plucked it out of her hand, his eyes focusing on the words: The bearer is part ofHis Britannic majesty’s Diplomatic Service due all attendant rights, privileges and courtesies.
“I have to be the one to show it,” she said with cunning.
“Keep it safe,” he said.
Both men stared as she fought the wind to keep her packed clothes from blowing away and tucked the passport in securely. Then she buckled the rucksack onto her back and went off to find a space protected from the wind by the rising stacks of rice. Sitting on the hard deck, she watched the thick cl
ouds scudding across the oily grey sky. Loading was done. The Inner Harbour grew smaller and the pastel houses shrank. She felt the terrible dread of déjà vu. Again, she was leaving with people she didn’t trust and in weather no sane person would sail in. She must be mad.
21
VASILIEV ROAMED AROUND the deck, a small canvas fold-up stool in his hand. “Found you,” he said to Leah with a stupid grin and opened the stool, levering himself down with a grunt to sit with his thick legs apart. “I’m used to better.”
The junk headed out to sea under motor power, belching smoke. Vasiliev squinted at Lee. “Tough as nails. He’ll see us through,” he said, but his voice had edge to it. His face matched the grey sky as he held his belly between his hands as if to stop it jumping as the boat ploughed through the unsettled sea, and muttered little yelps of surprise when it dipped. “It will take twice as long to get there now,” he complained. “We’ll have earned our money.” His face was tinged with green. “You seem all right.”
“I don’t get seasick,” said Leah,waiting for the right moment to quiz him.
“Ha!” he said. “You will.” He pulled himself up, ran in a clumsy waddle to the stern of the boat and was sick. One of Lee’s sons laughed.
“I’m going below,”called Vasiliev.“Don’t let my seat blow away.”
She pillowed her head against her rucksack and used the stool upside down as a back support. In time, she dozed. She was awakened by a violent thunderclap. Vasiliev was hanging over the side, vomiting. He looked like a blow up doll losing air.He shuffled back and flopped down heavily. “It’s worse down below,” he managed. He closed his eyes as the junk slammed down. “Oh, God, we’re going to die.”
“Tell me about Theo. If we’re going to die, I want to know.”
Large raindrops hit them.Lee’s sons ran nimbly around the deck in bare feet securing tarpaulins over the rice. Out of pity, one of the sons handed Leah a tarpaulin and Vasiliev squeezed closer. She smelt his sour breath.
“Where’s Chang?” she asked.
“He brought a raincoat with him.He’s helping with the rudder,” said Vasiliev. “He could have brought two.”
“You sail?”
“That’s not the point.We’re partners.” He looked put out. “The Chinese only look after themselves.”
“When did you meet Theo? I want to know everything.”
Vasiliev stuck his head out of the tarp. “Chang is still working the rudder. In these seas, it takes two.” It seemed to give him the impetus to begin. He talked rapidly, his Russian accent thickening until whole sentences were in Russian.
Lost in a maze of language,Leah interrupted. “Speak slower. Speak English.”
Vasiliev backtracked and the story altered.
Leah had the distinct impression he was changing the facts or only telling some of the truth, embellishing his role to make himself central to the drama, but she didn’t raise any questions, afraid to stop the words tumbling out in English and because he seemed very concerned to speak without Chang overhearing. The rain came down in sheets and the junk juddered through the heavy seas, weighed down with rice.
Leah’s brain worked overtime, piecing together Vasiliev’s story and judging it against what she suspected, what Theo had told her, and what An-li had hinted at. Vasiliev insisted he was a distant cousin of her Russian mother Vestna. As children, they had played together in Odessa. Vasiliev had worshipped Vestna. She was a beautiful child, full of energy and high spirits and very daring for a girl. Vestna called him her toad. Leah pictured him as a podgy boy, yearning to be petted by her beautiful mother. Certainly, he was an ugly man. He must have been a grotesque, ungainly child with his oversized head, lizard eyes. They had lost touch during the Great War. Separately, each escaped east to avoid the wrath of the Red Army, languishing in poverty in China and finally managing to reach Hong Kong. They rediscovered each other, eking out a living in the Colony, at the bottom rung of European society. Vestna traded on her beauty. Vasiliev was silent awhile, his face full of memories that narrowed his eyes. He wanted to go into salacious detail.
“Don’t,” Leah cut in fiercely.
He retreated, saying feebly, “We did what we had to do to get by.”Vasiliev took credit for introducing Vestna to Theo.Theo was already deeply involved his antiquities business and Vasiliev had certain contacts. He rolled his eyes and looked coy. “One hand washes the other,” said Vasiliev, letting go of the billowing tarp to let rain into their snug as he rubbed his large paws together, greed and calculation in his eyes.
There was something missing from his story-telling. Vestna’s opium addiction. Theo had told her about it. He kept no pictures of Vestna, as if the memory were too painful to document, the descent of beauty into addiction.Tapping his heart, Theo had said, She lives in here. Leah had no memories. The only mother she knew was her amah, An-li. An-li lived in her heart. Leah could see Vasiliev as a procurer, as the person supplying Vestna with opium although Vestna could have found it on her own, or had it supplied by a Chinese lover, visited an opium den, or even bought the drug from a pharmacy.
“Anyway,” Vasiliev concluded, “I don’t think Vestna could have ever been happy. It isn’t in the Russian nature. Fate.”
He looked smaller, more human, his big body hunched over, the rain soaking his good leather shoes. He sighed and threw off his fatalism, pressing his fat thighs against hers, looking for sympathy. She inched away.
“You don’t like poor Vasiliev who opens his soul to Theo’s daughter,” he whined.
“It’s uncomfortable on this hard deck.”
He thought about this, then said viciously: “Theo would have tired of Vestna anyway. He was only in love with lost things. He was so driven by his lust for antiquities. He had to have the best. It was a fever with him.That damn lawyer Everston used him. Everston knew his weaknesses. He became his private banker. It can take a long time to move old treasures. The lawyer was always upping his cut, raising the interest repayments. He was as greedy as the next man.”
“Theo was too shrewd,” Leah argued.
“You saw how Theo came alive whenever he got his hands on something rare and beautiful. Every man has his weakness. Before the Japs came, China was a riddled with archaeological digs supported by British, American or French financiers.There was a hole for everyone.” He gave a dirty laugh. “Everyone wanted a share. I was the conduit. The middle man.”He sat up straighter. “Even the Nationalists were in on it. Ask Chang, he knows. It set Chang’s father up for life. It was total shit about C241 returning China’s legacy to China after that little devil Pu Yi was made puppet king in Manchuria and he colluded with the Japs to steal the jewels. Not one bead would have gone to the cause. They’re all corrupt,” he said without irony.
To Leah, Vasiliev’s own corruption was so deep and black that by all rights his face should be a mass of boils and pus and his body riddled with pain like a sinner in a Hieronymus Bosch painting.
“Theo knew this. Knew they’d destroy the collection. If he’d gone to Manchukuo and not you, he’d have found a way to smuggle out the jewels to a third party without me. I couldn’t have that.”
“You killed him?” she gasped, her face bleached white with fury, one hand raised to push him out from under the flapping tarp and into the full force of the storm.
“Of course not,” said Vasiliev and stuck his big face close to hers, as if demanding she look into it and see his innocence. “Chang knew what I knew.”
Leah gagged.
“I have thought about this a great deal,” said Vasiliev. “We both know Theo was greedy.”
Leah opened her mouth to protest, but she had a vivid memory of Theo sitting in his study gloating over his latest acquisition, a jade pendant of a phoenix and quoting a poem about dragon seeds and phoenix birds guiding souls to heaven. It broke her heart.
“I can see from your face you agree. I think Theo’s plan was to keep the jewels and use his own networks. Not share with anyone. Afterwards he’d
keep Everston happy by paying off his debts. The lawyer didn’t care about the jewels, just money. If Theo succeeded then Chang would be the one in terrible trouble. Theo would have spread rumours that Chang had made off with the jewels and screwed the Kuomintang.Chang would have been blamed. Another Nationalist, a pissed off triad member, or even a patriotic Communist furious at China’s heritage being sold off to capitalistic pigs would have done for Chang.” Holding his hand like a gun, he pressed it to the back of his neck and fell sideways onto Leah, his big head falling into her lap as the junk reared up.
“Get off,” said Leah, pushing at his shoulders.
The boat rolled again, dipping down suddenly and banging hard against the force of the waves. Vasiliev gulped, then clamped his hands over his mouth. On his knees, he crawled outside to wash his hands and face in the pelting rain.
The tarp nearly blew away. She fought to control it in the drenching rain. Sickened and unsure of the state of her own stomach,Leah sat stunned, unable to make sense of what Vasiliev was telling her. It could be all lies, but parts of his story must be true. She had never liked the solicitous solicitor Everston. Even when she was young, she’d noticed how he looked at her. Theo had dismissed it as simple admiration. But she knew. Theo hadn’t seen it because he revered Everston, an educated Englishman, from an old family, heavy with history and with the right contacts in the tight-knit colonial community. Displaced immigrant American Theo glowed in his presence and often told Leah the man was a gold mine for connections. It wasn’t until after Theo’s death that she learned Theo had been paying through the nose for Everston’s help and reputation. In the end, Ever-ston had taken everything but the house on the Peak.
Vasiliev crawled back underneath the makeshift shelter, reeking, his nose red and shiny, his hair streaming. Leah made a face.
Deep Night Page 21