Anna and the King of Siam

by Margaret Landon

  “Mama, we’re here! Where’s the Palace, Mama? I want to see it. Can we see it today?”

  She smiled and drew him to the window.

  “Kneel down, Louis, and we’ll ask our Heavenly Father to take care of us in this new place.”

  His childish voice joined hers: “Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.” The smooth old words rolled out with their endless comfort, and she prayed silently in her heart: “Lord, Lord, have mercy! Boy is so young! The shadows are so black! Does it need this bitter baptism to purify his young soul?” … “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.”

  When they were ready they went into the outer room where Mrs. Bush met them en déshabillé, not beautiful as she had seemed to them the night before, but with the same pleasant smile. She led them to a breakfast table spread with a cloth and set with fruits and tea. As they sat down a servant brought bowls of steaming rice and soup. The hot food was good.

  Before they had finished Captain Bush joined them.

  “Well, well, and how are you?” he asked heartily. “Another day, eh? Do things look better this morning? Of course they do, of course they do. The prince had you pretty badly frightened, didn’t he?” Anna smiled wanly and Captain Bush went off into a long description of what had happened. His wife listened attentively, only interpolating a word now and then, and smiling at them reassuringly. In the yard below two of her sons in wet sarongs were running about laughing and shouting, then plunging into the river that flowed past the house. Louis could hardly wait to join them.

  “Really, though,” said the captain, turning back to Anna, “he’s not a bad sort, Prince Wongsa. The foreigners here like him. He has a reputation for decency and liberality. You’ll see after a while.”

  “That may be,” said Anna uncertainly, “but in the darkness he looked like a bear. The real question is, what shall I do next?”

  “Do!” expostulated the captain. “Don’t do anything. This is Siam. You mustn’t be rushing out and doing things. The important point here is to be able to wait until things come to you. Don’t worry! The King’s put out money for your passage. He’ll demand your services in good time.”

  “But the King doesn’t even know where I am,” she objected.

  “Of course he does. The King knows everything that goes on here. You didn’t expect him to meet you personally, did you? No, no, of course not. The Kralahome will send for you in due time.”

  “The who will send for me?”

  “The Kralahome, you know. The premier who met you on the ship yesterday. The most important man in the kingdom. Everybody calls him by his Siamese title. He’ll send for you when he’s decided what to do with you!”

  Breakfast was hardly over when this prophecy came true. The Kralahome’s boat drew up at the landing. The interpreter told her that she was to bring her servants and her luggage and come to his master’s palace at once.

  The work of packing was quickly finished, and the little party stowed in the long swift boat.

  “Now don’t worry,” Mrs. Bush urged Anna, patting her on the shoulder. “Everything is going to be all right. Just you give it time.”

  “Thank you so much for all you’ve done for us,” Anna said gratefully. “I can never tell you how much I appreciate your graciousness to a stranger.”

  “Good-by. God be with you.” The captain waved a plump red hand, and the boat with its many rowers shot out into the river, which was even busier in the daylight. Boats of all sorts and sizes were darting back and forth. Big junks with staring eyes pulled at their anchors.

  In about a quarter of an hour the Kralahome’s boat had crossed the river and drawn up at a stone quay in a small canal. Staying close together, Anna in the lead, Beebe with Louis, Moonshee and the dog Bessy, the little party walked across the quay to a low gateway, which opened into a courtyard paved with rough-hewn slabs of stone. Two stone mandarins of ferocious aspect, mounted on horses, guarded the entrance. Farther on, a pair of men-at-arms in bas-relief challenged them. Near these stood live sentries, dressed in European uniforms but barefoot. On the left was a pavilion for theatrical performances, the whole back wall of which was covered with a mural. On the right was the Kralahome’s palace, with a large semicircular façade. In the background was an extensive range of buildings.

  Awed a little, they climbed the stairs to the palace. They moved softly after the interpreter, through spacious saloons in ascending tiers, all carpeted. At the windows were luxurious draperies. Crystal candelabra hung from the ceilings. A superb vase of silver, embossed and burnished, stood on a table inlaid with mother-of-pearl and chased with silver. Flowers of great variety and beauty filled the rooms with a languorous and slightly oppressive fragrance. On every side were rare vases, jeweled cups and boxes, burnished chalices, statuettes, Oriental and European, antique and modern.

  They came at last to the audience chamber where their guide stopped. Anna caught sight of a number of young girls peeping at them from behind the velvet curtains which hung from ceiling to floor. A large group of male attendants crouched in the antechamber. Some were in the poor clothing of servants or slaves. Others were handsomely dressed and seemed to be younger relatives of the Kralahome. There was a subdued bustle of excitement, the peering of many dark eyes, and the little party of aliens stood in the middle of it, uncertain, apprehensive, and wholly bewildered by the magnificence and strangeness of what they had seen.

  Suddenly the curtains parted and the Kralahome stood before them, semi-nude as on the night before. The murmuring ceased instantly. A wave of unreasoning fear overwhelmed Anna. She gritted her teeth. This man was powerful and what he decided would affect all her future life. He was acting for the King, that was obvious. But while she needed to concentrate her faculties on what was to be said a mist of repugnance clouded her mind. She found herself unable to think clearly. Then, too, she was uncomfortably aware of his naked torso. She had never before done business with a half-clothed man. Some sixth sense acquired from long years in the Orient suggested that the absence of a jacket indicated an absence of respect for her and for the position that she was to fill. In all that room there was not a friendly face. In all Siam there was no one to whom she could appeal for help. An impulse to bolt came over her. She half turned to run, back through the antechambers, tier on tier, out through the garden to the quay—but then where?

  The Kralahome held out his hand. “Good morning, sir,” he said in careful English. “Take a seat, sir.”

  She grasped the proffered hand, and smiled involuntarily at the “sir.” Its incongruousness diverted her from her fears for the moment and restored a measure of balance to her thoughts.

  “Thank you,” she said, and sat down a little stiffly on a carved bench.

  The noble, oblivious of the embarrassment that his scanty costume created in the Englishwoman, approached her with an expression of pleased curiosity, and patted her small son on the head.

  “What is your name, little boy?” he asked.

  But Louis cried in alarm, “Mama, come home! Please, Mama, come home!”

  “Be quiet, Louis! Hush, dear! This is no way to act. Tell the prince your name!” But the child was in a paroxysm of frightened weeping. When he was calm at last Anna said nervously to the interpreter who crouched beside her on the floor: “Will you ask your master if he will be so kind as to present my request for a quiet house or apartment to His Majesty as soon as possible? I should like to settle my belongings before my work begins. The King has promised me a residence near the Palace. I should like a place where I could be free from intrusion before and after school hours.”

  When this request was interpreted to the Kralahome, seemingly in monosyllables, he stood smiling and looking at her as if surprised and amused that she should have ideas on the subject of freedom. This look changed quickly to one in which shrewdness, inquisitiveness, and puzzled conjecture blended. After a care
ful study of her face and person he spoke directly to her, “You are not married?”

  She bowed slightly. “My husband is dead.”

  “Then where will you go in the evening?”

  “Not anywhere, Your Excellency,” she answered shortly, pricked by the insinuation. “I simply desire to secure for myself and my child some privacy and rest when my duties have been fulfilled.”

  “How many years your husband has been dead?” he insisted, apparently unconvinced of her virtuous purpose.

  A cold still look passed over her face. Any lingering fear had been frozen into icy resentment. She turned to the interpreter. “Tell your master that his rights do not extend to the point of prying into my domestic concerns. His business with me is in my capacity of governess only. On other subjects I decline conversation.”

  When the interpreter translated this a look of amazement passed over the face of the Kralahome, a look that gave her a short and bitter moment of pleasure, even though she doubted instantly the wisdom of having struck out so sharply. Her instinctive reaction had blinded her momentarily to the knowledge that Orientals usually opened a conversation with a series of personal questions, and that the Kralahome’s seeming impertinence may have implied nothing more than a conventional desire to be polite. Still, the words were said. It was important to establish her position at once, and her right to respect and privacy were integral parts of that. The Kralahome shrugged his shoulders slightly, “As you please.”

  He began to pace back and forth, but without turning his eyes from her face, as if he would discover for himself what she would not tell him. Apparently satisfied at last, he said something to his attendants. Five or six of them raised themselves on their knees with their eyes fixed on the carpet and crawled backward until they reached the steps, bobbed their heads and shoulders, started spasmodically to their feet and fled from the apartment. Anna was startled. Louis, awed and upset again, began to cry.

  There were more harsh gutturals, and another half dozen of the prostrate slaves arose and ran. The Kralahome resumed his promenade, still carefully keeping an eye on them, still smiling to himself, like a mysterious Buddha, all-seeing and all-knowing. So they sat for half an hour, until Louis, tortured beyond endurance, clutched Anna’s skirts and cried, “Come home, Mama! Why don’t you come home?” and dropping his voice, but not enough to escape the Kralahome’s ears, “I don’t like that man!”

  The Kralahome halted suddenly; sinking his own voice ominously he said, “You no can go!”

  He was teasing the child. But Louis clutched his mother’s dress in utter terror, and hid his face in her lap, where his sobs were somewhat smothered. And yet, attracted and fascinated, the child looked up, only to shudder and hide his face again. His mother, almost as frightened as he by the appalling vista of the work she had undertaken, still maintained her smoothly controlled exterior. She patted his head and comforted him with shreds of words.

  After what seemed an eternity the interpreter returned. He came across the floor on all fours, pushing one elbow out before the other as he crept along. As he reached his master he made such an abject salutation as might be offered deity. There were a few unintelligible sentences. The Kralahome bowed, turned, disappeared behind a mirror. All the curious peering eyes that had been directed at the central group from every nook and corner where a curtain hung vanished. At the same time sweet, wild music like the tinkling of silver bells could be heard in the distance.

  The interpreter stood up and yawned. With a swagger he approached one of the mirrors and gazed intently and admiringly at himself. He arranged the tuft of hair on the top of his head with cool coxcombry. This done he approached the Englishwoman.

  “Hello. Good morning. How are you?” he said with his bold eyes on her face.

  “Good morning,” she replied coldly. “I thought you were a servant.”

  He drew himself up offended. “I am the Kralahome’s half-brother.” He leered at her meaningly. “I think you should be nice to me.”

  She stood up. “I don’t ask any man to grovel at my feet as you do at your brother’s, but kindly remember that I do demand respect. I will not tolerate any familiarity from you.”

  “My brother often listens to what I say.” His look was malicious. “Come this way, please. Rooms have been prepared for you.”

  The little group followed him down long and beautiful corridors. There was again the bewildering collection of statues and vases, Persian rugs, flowers.

  “My friends, his friends. My enemies, his enemies,” their guide went on, grinning slyly. “I not ask much. I think you give.”

  Anna made no motion toward her purse, and he led them to two large rooms which had been prepared for them in the west end of the palace building. Their boxes and trunks had already been brought from the boat and were disposed around the wall. The rooms opened on a quiet piazza, shaded by fruit trees in blossom, and overlooking a small artificial lake stocked with colored fish. The Kralahome’s half-brother entered the rooms with them. As Anna stepped from the first into the second he crowded close to her. Her temper, already stretched taut by his impertinence, snapped. She stamped her foot and her face flushed scarlet: “Go! Go! You filthy creature! Get out of here!”

  The next instant he was kneeling in abject supplication in the half-open doorway. Rage, cunning, insolence struggled in his face. She stopped, astonished at the effect of her own words. He groveled before her as he had before his brother. “Mem, you will not tell my brother. I promise I not bother you again. Promise you not tell, Mem!”

  He was not so powerful as he claimed then! Anna was glad that she had not stooped to bribing him. “I promise,” she said, not bothering to disguise the loathing in her voice. “But go now, right away!” With a backward glance of half-smothered resentment he ran.

  Hardly had he disappeared when the ladies of the Kralahome’s harem descended on her in force. Crowding in through the door she had neglected to shut, they came with eager curiosity, all trying to embrace her affectionately, all chattering in Siamese like a bedlam of parrots. They were young, nearly all delicately formed, attractive even to the fastidious Englishwoman, except for their black teeth and clipped hair.

  The youngest were children hardly more than fourteen years of age. All were dressed in rich materials, although the fashion of their clothes did not differ from that of their slaves, numbers of whom were behind them prostrate on the floors of the room and down the halls outside. Some of the girls satisfied Western ideas of beauty with their clear olive complexions and their dark almond-shaped eyes.

  One wretched crone shuffled through the noisy throng with an air of authority and, pointing to Louis, who had taken refuge in his mother’s lap, cried in the familiar syllables of the Malay language, “Moolay, moolay!” (Pretty, pretty.) The known words fell pleasantly on Anna’s ears. She addressed the woman in Malay: “It is good to hear the Malay language again. But how does a Malay woman happen to be here in a Siamese palace?”

  Instantly the visitors stopped their chatter and waited with interest. The old crone settled herself comfortably on a couch with the air of the confirmed raconteur.

  “I am a native of Kedah,” she began. “Sixty years ago my sister and I were working in the fields one day when we were captured by a party of Siamese adventurers. We were brought to Bangkok and sold for slaves, along with many other Malay girls who had been taken in the same way. At first I mourned my father and mother. Ah, that was bad, very bad! I was unhappy. But I was young and beautiful then. And I had been bought for the household of the Somdet Ong Yai, the father of my lord, the Kralahome. The prince noticed me, and I became his favorite. I bore him two lovely sons just as beautiful as this moolay, moolay boy. But they are dead. Alas, they are dead!” She wiped her eyes with the end of a soiled silk scarf. With the furtive tears in her eyes she seemed less ugly to Anna, who felt a quick surge of pity. She, too, knew the anguish of lost children. How alike women were everywhere!

  “And my gracious lo
rd is dead also. See, he gave me this beautiful gold betel-box!”

  Anna admired the box with a smile. “But how is it that you are still a slave?” she asked.

  “I am old and ugly and childless, and therefore to be trusted by my dead lord’s son, the beneficent noble upon whose head be blessings!” She clasped her withered hands and, turning toward that part of the palace where her lord was no doubt enjoying his siesta, bowed. “So now it is my privilege to watch and guard these favored ones, to see that they know no man but my lord.” The harem cycle, Anna thought with a shudder. Slavery, physical and spiritual!

  Now that her story was ended the old woman extracted some betel from her box and leaned back comfortably to chew it. The younger women, who had been quiet throughout, although they did not understand the Malay language that she spoke, could no longer suppress their merriment nor preserve the decorum that was apparently due her age and authority when she was speaking. They swarmed around Anna like bees, plying her with questions, which the old Malay translated.

  “How old are you?”

  “Have you a husband?”

  “Have you more children than this one?”

  “How many boys do you have?”

  “Are you rich?”

  “What country do you come from?”

  One pert minx leaned forward suddenly and said something quickly that made the rest laugh. The Malay woman translated faithfully:

  “She says, ‘Would you like to be the wife of our lord here? Don’t you think that would be better than being the wife of the Lord of Life?’ That is the King?”

  At this monstrous suggestion the Englishwoman was quite dumb. Did these stupid, vulgar girls think she was here to enter the King’s harem? With a shock she remembered that one of the solicitors in Singapore had long had a standing order for “an Englishwoman of beauty and good parentage” for the harem, which already was known to include, besides the Siamese girls of good family, many Chinese and Indian girls, purchased annually by agents stationed at Peking, Foochow, and different points in India. Without a word Anna stood up and retired into the inner chamber.