by Gay Courter
“Did you stop all at once?”
“No. I tried the Chinese method.”
“What did that entail?” I asked slowly, guessing it had been torturous.
“The doctor dissolved opium ash, or yen tshi, in sherry wine, and I took a tablespoonful three times a day, each time adding wine to the bottle. Soon I was taking only clear wine.”
“And you didn't become ill . . .”
“On the contrary. I underwent a horrible spectrum of incapacitating symptoms. There were stomach pains, diarrhea. My eyes ran perpetually and my nose would tickle, causing attacks of sneezing by the hour. The whole time I felt itchy, restless. I could not sit still. When I tried to rest, my body would twitch, almost convulse. I prayed for sleep and yet could not. Exhausted, I lay prostrate in my bed. If I dozed, there were the nightmares of monsters and murder—straight out of De Quincey. Even more frightening was the lack of control over my sex. Sometimes I would feel myself spurting for no reason, although even that was devoid of pleasure.”
“Oh, my poor darling ...” I clutched at him and stroked his face. “How do you feel now?”
“As if I have plunged out of the darkness and burst into the light.”
“Is it over?”
“Yes, but I must be vigilant. There may be times when my body will ache for solace. I must resist every temptation.”
“Can I help?”
“Yes.”
“I will do anything . . .”
“My requirements are simple.”
“Tell me.”
“Love me.”
There was an awkward moment of mutual hesitation. Where to begin? A tentative touch. A kiss. A button undone. A petticoat drawn over the head. A gathering confidence narrowed the channel and we melted together, like well-trained dancers. The merging was so natural I could not imagine life without it ever again. He exhausted me with his insistence on my pleasure, which was propelled by the imposition of his own.
In the stillness that followed, we were silent for a long while. My mind brimmed with the infinite possibilities. I did not yet realize that ten months after the night of my return, our fourth child—and only daughter—would be born there in the brocaded bed. We would name her Clara Luna Salem. When I look at her now, I think I must have, in some small measure, known about her on that glorious night when almost simultaneously some mysterious stirring had us again reaching for each other and we began anew.
I lifted myself atop Edwin and he drew me onto him. We kissed fervently. I arched my back and opened my eyes. Tiny lights, like diwali lamps floating in a misty current, sprinkled the room. Blinking at the fantastic vision, I moaned, “Never, never have I felt like this before.”
“What do you mean?” he mumbled as he kissed my breasts.
“Every time you touch me, I see bright lights,” I murmured in awe.
He glanced around. “I cannot take the credit for that.” His chest and pelvis heaved with laughter. “Fireflies have arrived to welcome you home.” He plunged even deeper into me.
Closing my eyes to the luminescence, I gave myself up to the concentric circles of pleasure that crested over me. In the pause between the mild and violent bursts, my thoughts wandered back in time to the days after our wedding on the country boat, and I realized that we had known nothing compared with this. It was miraculous that something this precious could be renewed. Memories, splendid memories, could be revived. Pains, hideous pains, could be buried. My fingers burrowed into his back. His face nestled in the curve of my neck. I marveled in the forgetfulness of love. This is what endures, nothing else. Only this. Banishing Luna and Sadka and Amar and Edwin's addiction and my intransigence, I released a flood of adoration from every pore. Hungrily we grappled with each other, dispelling ghosts and renewing pledges.
Edwin shuddered. “I love you!”
“Yes, me too,” I gasped as, expertly, with measured bursts of force and release, we satisfied each other again. And again. And again.
The story continued, but my record ends today, the last day of May 1953, because there is no more time. Outside the window I can see the last of the furniture from the hall being carried out in the crates destined for London. Following in the footsteps of my children, my family, my friends, and so many members of the Jewish community in Calcutta, I am leaving Theatre Road and Calcutta. In less than an hour they will be coming for the bed in which Clara Luna was conceived and born. Soon they will be carrying the Clive desk halfway around the world. What will happen in the future seems of little consequence compared with what we accomplished in the past.
On the day Edwin and I were reunited, I did not know that the stand I would take to diversify the Sassoon investments would be in line with the most progressive thinking of the era. A few years later, an International Opium Commission would meet in Shanghai. To forestall criticism at home, the British government would decide to reduce the export of opium from India by one-tenth each year after 1907, if China would reduce her home-produced opium by the same amount. In 1908 the government of Hong Kong would be ordered to close the opium divans in the colony. By then the Sassoons were out of the flower business entirely and were prospering with a galaxy of other investments that have sustained the family until now and, with prudent management, should suffice for generations to come.
How pleased I would have been to know that Jonah and Wu Bing would marry and return to Hong Kong to raise a family of eight. Eventually they would control enormous parcels of prime real estate. The leader who emerged in the next generation of Sassoons turned out to be Yedid, convincing me that people who have experienced pain and loss in childhood learn they can rise above other difficulties to accomplish great deeds. Although no parent wishes to subject his child to the agonies that Yedid or I suffered, he might consider the advantages in not sheltering his offspring from absolutely all the world's woes.
Together Edwin and I would watch our children strike off in directions we might not have selected for them, but which led them to adventures, sorrows, and fulfillments of their own. And while our family expanded and progressed, we also endured the upheavals that accompanied two wars, the finale of the British raj, and India's struggle for independence and its bloody aftermath. As was true for Jews around the world, the formation of, the state of Israel united us in a different direction. Thousands of us—Baghdadis and Bene Israels and Cochinis—from across the subcontinent chose to make aliya and return to our restored homeland. Others sought to protect our prosperity in London and New York. Unlike many other places in the world, India had always welcomed Jews. Edwin used to say the various religious and political factions of Indians had no time to hate us, for they were too busy hating one another.
I never wanted to leave Calcutta, but there is no one left for me. The house echoes with emptiness. The choice has been made. The hour is here. With this task completed, I can rest knowing my story has been chronicled by me and not merely conjectured by someone else. Now that the tale has filled these notebooks, it seems not very different from the secrets that other families keep. My beloved Edwin has been gone for over five years now. During the period of his illness, I blamed his pulmonary problems on the years he had been addicted to opium, although no physician suggested this was the cause. When he required pain relief, Edwin rejected morphine. I dared not encourage him lest he think his case was hopeless. The longer one lives, the more paradoxical our positions become, for in the end I secretly laced Edwin's tea with tears of the poppy and he died peacefully in my arms.
Almost everyone else has died, but what happened to them and what they did about it will live on in this memoir. What now to do with my inept scratchings? This record of that time in my life is everything I intend to say. I leave this as my explanation for who I was and what I did. Others may have a different version of the same events. I cannot relate anyone else's perspective. This is how I lived it, how I saw it, and yes, how I choose to remember it. And once my pen is put away, this is all I will tell. I do not want to answer questions. Befor
e I close the lid of Clive's bureau, I shall lock this memoir inside for safekeeping. What happens when it is found will be someone else's concern.
Clara Luna Weiss
605 Park Avenue
New York, New York
20 July 1960
Aaron S. Salem
11 Alwyne Place
London N1
Dear Aaron,
You all guessed wrong! The mysterious bundle contained an extraordinary memoir Mother must have written—or at least completed—during the last months she lived in Calcutta. Since it ends before I was born, there is a frustrating gap. Although it covers some familiar ground, there are myriad questions satisfied. For instance, haven't you always wondered why Mother would never visit Cochin or Travancore or what the truth was behind our grandmother's murder? Also explained is how Uncle Jonah got his start in Hong Kong and the true origins of the enigmatic Wu Bing, who has left us that legacy of lawsuits. Best of all, here is our parents' story and it is the tale of true love we always suspected. There are a few disconcerting revelations about Papa. However, knowing them helped me to understand so much more.
Please ask Mr. Jhirad in exactly which drawer in the Clive desk he found the manuscript. This is of significance^ as you will learn when you read the copy I am enclosing for you. I have also forwarded one to Zachariah, who should be back in Israel by now, and I will save one for when Jeremiah returns from his circumnavigation on Luna Two.
I think you will agree this is a record of the singular life of a woman and her times. After the family has read it, we might consider having the book published (perhaps deleting the intimacies that might embarrass some), either by my publishing firm or another, depending on the offers we receive. Besides, with so few of us left in India, it does chronicle a society that—at the rate it is going—will soon disappear and will never be again.
Somehow I think that must have been what Mother had in mind when she directed that it be sent to me.
Love to you, Nancy, and the children,
Clara
P.S. As to the “bureau,” please have a firm accustomed to crating and shipping valuable furniture prepare the desk for transport to New York.
Author's Note
The fictional murder of Luna Sassoon on the first of October 1878 is based on the real murder of Leah Judah on the first of October 1858. Like Luna, Leah was a member of Calcutta's Baghdadi Jewish community, her husband was an opium trader who traveled to China much of the time, and she was killed by a jealous suitor who had been rejected. Two men were arrested for the murder: Ezekiel Shurbanee on a charge of willful murder and Nissim Gubbay as his accomplice. The trial that ensued was much like the one described in the novel, and the verdict, despite much evidence and the sworn testimony of servants, identical. Afterward, both freed men fled Calcutta. In the Jewish cemetery in Calcutta, the murdered woman's tombstone describes her as Leah, daughter of Abigedor Ezriel, not as her husband's wife, for he had disowned her in death. Years later it was rumored that Nissim Gubbay met a violent end in a Hong Kong opium den. This tale is covered in Turning Back the Pages, A Chronicle of Calcutta Jewry, by Esmond David Ezra, and Remarkable Criminal Trials in Bengal, by the pseudonymous “Lex,” who is thought to be Robert Reid.
The Arabic-speaking Jewish community of India did have as two of its progenitors Shalom Cohen of Aleppo (1762-1836), who is regarded as the founder of the community in Calcutta; and Sheikh Sason Ben Sason of Baghdad (1750-1830). The latter never went to India, but his son David Sassoon did settle in Bombay and built up the family fortune. These men, and a few of their descendants, including David Sassoon (1792-1864), Abdullah Sassoon (1818-1896), who moved to England, and Flora Sassoon (1859-1936), have been mentioned for historical purposes. The real names of the Baghdadi Jews of Calcutta add to the confusing line between fact and fiction. Often the Jews who came from the Middle East did not have surnames. Elias Ezra Aaron would be Elias, the son of Ezra, the son of Aaron. As the names became longer through the generations, those at the end would be dropped. Eventually, any common connection was lost, and because many biblical names were used repeatedly, genealogies in different families have almost identical names. To assist the reader, I have given families surnames and have tried not to duplicate names, but since I have attempted to use mostly typical names of the period, I may have inadvertently named a fictional character after a real one. Nevertheless, all other descendants of those clans described in the novel are entirely fictional.
This was a unique culture, which can hardly be reproduced in a novel with any accuracy. For the most part the Calcutta Jews were rather unsophisticated in their language. Among themselves, the older characters would have spoken Arabic, interspersed with Hindustani and English. And while the opium trade was practiced by a few members of the community, a majority of the Jews plied a variety of professions. Also, opium, which was perfectly legal in India at the time, was traded by Indians themselves as well as British and other merchant groups.
While few had the financial resources of my fictional family, many real Sassoons went on to become leaders of the Jewish community in Bombay. One extraordinary woman, Flora Sassoon, was a scholar, philanthropist, and famed hostess, and for many years was managing partner of the firm's Bombay office. The fictional Dinah's life was not based on any of Flora's experiences, only inspired by her successful example.
The princely state of Travancore (in the area now called Kerala) did exist. It was matrilineal and headed by a maharajah. However, Amar and his family are entirely imaginary and are not based on any real persons in Travancore or elsewhere. Except for a few other people mentioned in their historical context, every other character is fictional and any resemblance to those living or dead is coincidental.
An outbreak of the plague occurred at approximately the date mentioned and was more severe in Bombay than in Calcutta. Flora Sassoon did assist Dr. Haffkine in his work to develop the first plague vaccine. The earthquake of 1897 is based on actual accounts of this disaster, which, though severe in Calcutta, was even more so in Darjeeling.
While I have attempted to place people and events in the approximate times they did occur, certain railways, schools, and less important events may not have been in operation or actually occurred exactly as recorded here. Usually there is less than a three-year discrepancy, if any. Please see scholarly works for any accurate information on the people and places described.
Today the fields of Patna continue to flower with opium poppies. India remains the world's largest—and only legitimate—poppy Producer. A United Nations treaty, signed by 116 nations, acknowledges the medicinal value of opium, while denouncing illegal poppy cultivation, which possibly doubles India's output and is usually converted to heroin. Even with the latest in modern pharmacology, the derivatives of. the poppy—morphine and codeine—are unrivaled in their ability to alleviate pain. If there is codeine in your medicine cabinet, it was probably processed by an authorized Indian company and grown in the fields that once supplied the Sassoons, the Jardines, and their compatriots.
In 1947, India's Jewish population reached a peak of about thirty thousand. The combined political influence of Indian and Israeli independence, which happened almost simultaneously, led to widespread emigration. The Baghdadi Jews, in particular, always thought of themselves as members of the European community and thus did not expect to thrive under the new regime. Also, they were influenced by the economic restrictions that were introduced, in the country and by regulations that affected dealings in foreign exchange. Many of the Calcutta Jews migrated to England, Canada, the United States, and Australia. Israel called to many other Jews. At first, those Cochin Jews who tried to emigrate were delayed due to Israel's concern for their endemic disease— elephantiasis. Once the disease was proved to be noncontagious, the Cochin Jews left en masse. Of the twenty-five hundred who once lived there, less than fifty Jews remain. Today, in the whole of India, fewer than five thousand Jews (mostly Bene Israel) are left. The once-thriving Jewish community of
Calcutta has dwindled to just about one hundred.
For readers curious to learn more about this culture and period, the following sources are recommended:
Elias, Blower, and Judith Ellis Cooper. The Jews of Calcutta. New York: Sephardic House, 1974.
Ezra, Esmond David. Turning Back the Pages, A Chronicle of Calcutta Jewry. London: Brookside. Press, 1986. (Includes a separate genealogy and tape recording.)
Jackson, Stanley. The Sassoons. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1968.
Musleah, Rabbi Ezekiel N. On the Banks of the Ganga—The Sojourn of Jews in Calcutta. North Quincey, Mass.: Christopher Publishing House, 1975.
Roland, Joan G. Jews in British India: Identity in a Colonial Era. Hanover, N.H. : University Press of New England, 1989.
Ross, Cecil. The Sassoon Dynasty. London: Robert Hale, 1941.
I am indebted, to experts in many fields who assisted with the research for this book. Members of the scattered Jewish community of India who were very generous to me include Ellis Jhirad, Daniel and Hannah Jhirad, Sam and Erna Daniel, Benjamin Hayeem, Vilma Hayeem-Ladani, Rabbi Ezekiel N. Musleah, Joseph Sargon, Zeke Barber, Sylvia Wisenfeld, Lionel Alroy, and the members of Congregation BINA, the organization of Indian Jewry settled in the United States, as well as several others who preferred to remain anonymous. Specialists who shared their expertise include food writer Copeland Marks; chemist Jim Cossey; Latin scholars Warren J. Myers, Marguerita Avellaneda, and Candace Hoflund; doctors Josh Madden, Mario Mendizabal, Dick Stewart, and Robin Weisman Madden; sailors Gerard Pesty and Don Corman; chess expert Leonard Weisman; Chinese queries were fielded by Adrienne, Kendall, and Jennifer Su. Of course all errors, omissions, and fictional digressions remain the responsibility of this author.