by Gay Courter
“And what is that?”
“You were jealous.”
“I might have been, but crimes of passion are not planned.”
He was right. Ladders weren't purchased, or knives, or chloroform. Yet if you loved someone and had decided you had to kill her, chloroform would have been a kindness. The doctor had thought Luna had not cried out because she had not felt the pain. The memories of her wounds rose up like tentacles and clutched me, pulling me down.
“Then you were angry with my mother for something she did to you,” I guessed in a subdued voice.
“Not really.”
I pursued him. “You arranged for Chachuk to kill her for a reason. She refused to see you anymore. There was another man”— I was groping blindly—”my father was returning . . .” Sadka allowed me to struggle on. “You were worried she would tell someone else, tell my father . . .” There! A shadow passed in front of Sadka's heavy-lidded eyes. The irises opened wide and wondering. I pointed a finger at him. “You were frightened she would . . .” Glassy buttons of sweat beaded on his brow as he removed his silk cap and revealed a shiny bald head. He was twitching. The vulnerable spot had been pressed. Sadka reached over the table and opened a tiny box. He popped something in his mouth and closed his eyes momentarily.
The sight sickened me. As I backed farther away, a piece of furniture— the divan—tripped me. Gulliver reached to catch me, but I sat right down. For a few seconds I held my head in my hands. I could not force the truth. My only hope was to coax it, but how? There is a soothing tone mothers revert to when mollifying angry children. I harnessed it like a lifeline and looked up. “How terrible for you. You must have been concerned that somehow she could hurt you. Is that what it was?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he rasped.
“She knew about . . .” I prompted.
“About my business dealings. We had shared many pipes of opium, many glasses of wine, many nights of love. She was easy to be with, undemanding, amusing, but silly. She lacked common sense. One day she tired of me. I am not certain why. I had not tired of her. On the contrary, the rejection excited me. She became more of a challenge. I determined to win her back, and for a while I did. Then she told me not to return. I was impulsive. I pressed her too hard. She became unhinged—women do at times like those—and told me . . . no, threatened me . . . to stay away. And if I did not . . .” With sinister speed he came around the table and loomed over me.
“Yes,” I said, forcing myself not to shrink from his bulk.
“She warned that she would tell what she knew. I became deranged. In those days I was afraid of the police. I had smuggled, had dealt in stolen goods. In retrospect, I doubt she would have said anything to anyone, because she would have had to tell how she knew. Why would she want to compromise herself? But I was young, scared. And my friend Chachuk was alarmed. He stood to lose even more.”
How ordinary he made it sound. A woman knew too much about his illegal dealings. She did not want to see him anymore. He pressed her. She frightened him. He had her killed. I fought my mounting fury. “You admit this freely now. Why didn't the judge—?”
“By then I had learned about sprinkling rupees.”
“You couldn't bribe a High Court justice!”
“Everyone has a price. His was less than you might imagine.” Sadka's tone was tinged with pride.
My head pounded. There was something else I had to know. “Where is Moosa Chachuk?”
Sadka shook his head. “Such an idiotic man. He could never learn to stay out of trouble. About five years ago he was killed in a brawl in Singapore in some dispute over a woman. Doesn't that come as a relief to you? As far as you are concerned, the sad business is over. We were found not guilty by a court of law and the perpetrator is dead. Now, let me make this up to you in a deal that will be advantageous to us both.” His lips curled with a smile of satisfaction.
My forbearance exploded. Sadka was near enough for me to grab, and this I did by leaping up and throwing myself at him. I pummeled his shoulders, his chest. Noticing Gulliver's hand hovering near mine, I defiantly pushed him away with one hand. “No! This is for me to do!” With the other hand I continued to pelt Sadka. The heavyset man was more muscular than flabby. He accepted a few blows, then pushed me aside roughly, making it impossible for me to encircle his thick, corded neck. I fell against his table, gasped for a breath, and started back to claw him.
“Dinah . . .” Sadka warned harshly. He raised a knee to ward me off while his arms slapped at invisible insects. I was too hysterical to remember I was dealing with a man in an opium stupor. Some moments he had been lucid, others crazed. My fingernails grazed his cheek before he raised his leg. His swift kick to my abdomen stunned me for a second.
Gulliver moved forward to block me as I heard Godfrey's hiss from the far corner of the room. “My God, Dinah! Stop!”
Wheeling around, I caught a glimpse of him cowering and then shot a look back to Sadka. His face was bleeding from the one long scratch I had managed to inflict. He was pointing a pistol at me. Where had it come from? He might have armed himself behind the table or he might have had it in his pocket the entire time.
My mind calculated the threat with a peculiar precision: Sadka had no idea who else knew I was there. My brother, my servants, even Governor Robinson could know my whereabouts. “You wouldn't be foolish enough to kill me . . .” I took a long, shuddering breath as I tried to tell myself the weapon was his way of settling me down, warning me off. “. . . or Mr. Troyte.”
“I can control Godfrey without a pistol. Bad boys can't afford to tell tales out of school, can they?” Sadka gave a wicked laugh.
The man was impaired. Best not to incite him further, I told myself. I backed away from the barrel in the direction where I sensed Gulliver had been standing.
“That is better. Don't want you to lose control of yourself,” he said soothingly. “Godfrey said you were a sensible lass. Must be to have been given so much authority.” He grinned patronizingly. “Another child might have been ruined by what happened.” The barrel of the pistol drooped in his lazy fist. For a second my hate melted like the ebb of a strong tide before it yawned up in an immense wave and crashed down, crushing me. “Yes,” I whispered as I continued to move away. My arm brushed Gulliver's rough coat. Now he stood in front of me, kukri in hand.
Sadka laughed. “Down, boy, down.” He brandished the pistol as a malevolent reminder. “A bullet will beat a Gurkha. Tell him to put it away.” He pointed his weapon in the direction of Gulliver's scabbard.
My belief in my own safety did not extend to Gulliver, who was frozen in position. Sadka could claim self-defense against an overzealous guard. “Gulliver,” I began gently. “Please. Everything will be all right now.” Unthinking, I moved in front of Gulliver to shield him.
Sadka's mouth distorted viciously. “Tell him!” His order had the sting of a whiplash. Just then firecrackers rumbled among the hills. The lights in the sky were like flashes from faraway storms. Nobody flinched.
“What a foolish girl. Like mother . . .” Sadka released the safety on the pistol. The tiny metallic click reverberated in the silence.
“Gulliver!” I cried in desperation, and moved aside.
Gulliver had been coiled like a spring: every muscle wound, concentration honed on his target. My cry released him. Bending his knees, he rose from the floor in an impossible arc. The dazzling kukri echoed the movement in the air and it was this metallic gleam that my eyes followed as it sliced through the air, met a brief resistance, then came full circle in front of his white waistcoat.
I looked down. Blood pooled from the pointed sword's tip like tears.
“Aiii!” swelled Sadka's gruesome cry.
Something skidded across the floor “What. . .?” I sputtered. It was the pistol—attached to what had been Sadka's right hand.
“Aiii!” Sadka held up his bloody stump and gawked in disbelief.
At the sound of their master screaming,
three servants burst into the room. The sight of the spurting arm stunned them. Gulliver spun around and flashed his kukri, ending their advance.
At that moment Sadka rallied. He lunged forward, bellowing curses at me from a face contorted by pain and fear, rage and revenge. Again he lifted his leg—he's trained in martial arts, I realized—and delivered a sharp blow to the side of my head. I recoiled from the wave of pain, only to realize he was on top of me. His remaining hand pressed into my throat. Gagging, I tried to push him away with hands slippery with his blood. Fighting to protect myself, I did not notice that Gulliver's knees were bent again. Or that his elbows were drawn in. Or that his chin was close to his chest. There was a swishing sound before the shining steel caught my eye. The kukri had begun its second spin.
Seeing it coming at him for the second time, Sadka flung himself against a pillar and held his one whole arm across his face to fend it off. But Gulliver had picked out his mark long before. The tapered edge of the elegantly angled blade completed its destined trajectory and cupped Nissim Sadka's neck.
I closed my eyes and heard voices from the past: “Papa, what will they do to them?” And my father's face, solemnly promising, “In the Bible it says, 'Eye for eye, tooth for tooth . . .' “ And me wondering, “How?” And the images of amputations and his response: “They shall hang by the neck until they are dead. . . .”
There was a bump. I looked down. Sadka slumped toward the floor. At first it appeared he had gone to sleep. When his buttocks landed, however, his head, attached by a slender rope of sinew, flopped over to one side like a child's broken toy. Sadka's servants thundered out, screeching. I turned away. Behind a screen Godfrey retched. I pivoted back. Gulliver stood erect, kukri raised, waiting to take on anyone who dared approach us.
Again I glanced down at Sadka.
I stared at the face that in death held the twisted paroxysm of his final seconds. The mouth gaped, the tongue lolled. His glazed eyes bulged like those of the giant carp. I felt nothing—not loathing, not disgust, not regret, not dread. It was as if I were floating above him: remote, detached, as though I had come from a long, long way to see this, and would journey on.
Someone was speaking. I heard the voice, but I did not understand it. At last it broke through the shimmering barrier. It was Godfrey and he was saying we had to leave. He tugged my sleeve and we followed Gulliver out. The grisly kukri led the procession. Nobody detained us.
Once outside, I ran past the tiger statues. Shadows had not cast an illusion. Their mouths did drip painted blood. I made it to the carriage. The wind carried an acrid smell of gunpowder. Godfrey jumped beside the terrified driver, who whipped the horses. We burst through the gate. Away we rushed, away from the walled enclosure, which I hoped would confine the evil spirits in, rather than out.
Happy Valley was plunged in darkness. Most of the lanterns had been extinguished. The children had run out of fuses to light. The solitary sound was the hooves of the horses blasting against the hardness of the rim road.
The Year of the Dog had begun.
52
“Now what do we do?” I asked when I had caught my breath.
“We go directly to Government House,” Godfrey replied thickly.
“How can we?” I noticed a metallic odor permeating the carriage. My skirt was encrusted in blood. “I must change my clothes first.”
“No, you mustn't.”
My mind swirled with other thoughts. I was haunted by my own childish cries after the trial of “Not fair . . . not fair . . .” and my farfetched vow to settle the score with Nissim Sadka. And as I considered the biblical injunctions about vengeance belonging to the Lord, I marveled at the events which had spiraled out of my control, even though justice had been served at last.
Thinking that my silence meant I might not agree with him, Godfrey continued, “If your man is to be vindicated, the governor must see the horror you faced.”
Too exhausted to argue and too stunned to know what would ensue, I allowed him to orchestrate the events of the next hours.
We roused Governor Robinson from his bed. By the time the first morning of the new year dawned, many more authorities were sobered from their revels by the crime. Over and over Godfrey explained what he had witnessed: Nissim Sadka, formerly of Calcutta and known in Hong Kong as Song Kung Ni, had asked to meet with me to discuss purchasing a quantity of opium. Godfrey had taken me to his home in Happy Valley, ignorant that Sadka had had prior dealings with the Sassoons. Upon my realization that Sadka had been an accomplice to the murder of my mother—and Sadka's confession of the same—a struggle between the two of us had ensued. Sadka had pulled a gun, pointed it at me, and undone the safety catch. My bodyguard had acted swiftly to protect me, by cutting off the man's offending arm. When this did not halt his attack, Gulliver had swung his kukri a second time to scare him off, accidentally decapitating him.
“No point in suggesting that Gulliver wanted to kill the man. Since Song was disarmed, a case could be made against Gulliver,” Godfrey had explained before we saw the governor. Even though I was dazed, I had seen the sense in this. Besides, I was not certain what had happened. Part of the time my eyes had been closed.
Pity at my plight was the universal reaction. Lady Robinson bathed me herself and put me to bed. My stained clothes were turned over to the police.
Jonah and the compradore arrived to manage the details. The case absorbed several days, although it seemed the officials were merely going through the motions. Nobody doubted that I had been in mortal danger. Gulliver had to appear before a judge, and statements were sworn. Known to be exceptional members of the British military, Gurkhas' loyalty was unquestioned. Sadka's servants, who all had conveniently disappeared, were never questioned. Publicly, the chief magistrate ruled that Sadka had been killed accidentally in the defense of my life, commenting that Gulliver, in acting on my behalf, was “a fine example of his people.” Privately, he commented that Gulliver had served the colony as well, for Song Kung Ni, whose dealings skirted the fringes of the law, had been a thorn in his side. In police circles Gulliver was a hero. He would have received a medal if there had been any to give.
Anxious to leave for India as soon as possible, I spent my days sequestered at Mount Gough, while my brother and the compradore attended to the legal and company affairs.
“A representative of the Co-Hong merchants has accepted our rise in rates without a quarrel,” Jonah reported to me. I was sitting in the green leather armchair, staring out at the low black clouds that swirled above the harbor in an eerie counterclockwise motion that looked as if a giant was stirring a steaming caldron.
I should have been elated, but I was merely relieved. Now we could go home! I listened patiently while Jonah described the favorable terms of the deal. “For the finest triple-A Patna they have agreed to a twenty-three-percent increase,” my brother said, preening. “The average was eighteen percent. For the least expensive chests we've conceded to a twelve-percent rise. Even so, there will be no reason to lower those rates next season. That means we'll make up the difference by the end of the year, with a tidy profit.” My expression did not reflect the excitement he exuded. “We've done it, Dinah! Mr. Ming was astonished. He said he had never seen the merchants agree to anything that quickly.”
“Why do you think they assented?”
“Perhaps in gratitude. Sadka's tactics had squeezed profits from them as well.” He touched my shoulder. “Aren't you pleased?”
“They settled because they were afraid of us. I do not think fear should be the basis of negotiations. Goodwill and a handshake should be our calling cards, not murder and blood—” I choked on my words.
“It is over, Dinah. Can't you forget it?”
“You weren't there! You don't know!” Tears flooded my eyes. For days they had welled up at the slightest provocation. Jonah had no recollection of our mother, let alone the vivid memories of her bludgeoned body. He had not been to Happy Valley and had no images of Sadka's menaci
ng face taunting me in life—and death.
Perching on the chair arm, he took my hand in his. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. Nobody can help me now.”
“Edwin should be here with you.”
“What difference would that make? I am floundering in a nightmare of my own creation. Most of the time I feel as if I am stumbling in a thick fog. Now and then, when it lifts, I catch sight of something unspeakably horrible.”
Fortunately, my brother did not press the point. He gave a hopeless sigh, moved away from my chair, and paced in front of the windows. I was too engrossed in my own misery to realize that another matter racked him.
At last he spoke. His voice rang out clear, bold, and compelling. “Believe me, I am sympathetic to you, Dinah. I don't want to diminish your troubles, but the fact of the matter is that everything is settled. It has come full circle. By some quirk of fate, you have avenged our mother's murder. With your diligence and cleverness you have succeeded in clobbering Uncle Samuel and salvaging the company. In a few days we will be on our way back to Calcutta and you will be crowned for your latest triumph.” He whirled around and gave me an opaque stare. His dark eyes reflected the sky like mirrors. “Yes, your triumph. I feel privileged to have been your assistant, your brother, and I hope your friend.” Swallowing hard, he pursued his objective. “All I ask is that you widen your circle to include me and my predicament. I would not make this request, not after everything you have endured, if it were not essential to my happiness.”
“What is this about?” I asked foolishly. The color drained from his face. His lips looked as if they had been outlined in chalk. “Wu Bing?”
“Yes,” he murmured, “Wu Bing.” The words fell from his mouth like the peal of a bell.
“You will be sad to leave her.”
“I cannot leave her.”
My heart pounded in empathy with his dilemma. “Jonah, how terrible for you!”
“Not terrible, wonderful. While you were in Happy Valley, I spent the evening with her. We managed to be alone for hours, and she is everything I have ever wanted—and more, far more!”