by Frank Owen
Now the tea-house of Lum Lee was called, “The Tea House of the Peony Gate,” a favorite loitering place for merchants. Lum Lee was a Tea-Master. His father before him had been a tea-master. For generations the family had been engaged in the same noble task. And when Lum Lee poured tea he made a ritual of it. It must be served in cups of finest porcelain, fragile as flower petals. To bring out the best that is in tea it must be handled with reverence. Lum Lee never served customers when there were harsh noises filtering into the shop. For tea is sensitive. It can only give of its best when it is serene. Tea is liquid poetry. It is music. It is the soul of China.
Everyone who entered the tea-house talked in hushed whispers. No man was ever served unless he was suitably attired for the occasion. Lum Lee kept extra suits which he loaned to his guests when necessary. And the windows of the tea-house opened upon a garden. Through the room floated the mingled perfumes of peach blossoms, wisteria and sandalwood. Tea drinking is a religion. To the man who has faith, tea gives much. Dreams, contentment, rest.
On this day the tea-house was deserted except by the five merchants who were strangers to each other. They sat at separate tables and sipped the amber beverage. And then they were no longer strangers, for the aroma of the tea rose from all their cups until it mingled with the perfume of the room. Lee Lum noticed that they were beginning to nod to one another. Impulsively he did something which had never before been done in the history of his house. He invited them all to sit about a common table, a round table that was the pivot of the room.
“Tea makes all men brothers,” he said, as they eagerly complied with their host’s suggestion. While he withdrew to bring new cups, they conversed in whispers with one another.
“I am Ling Yoong,” said the first. “I am a jewel merchant. I have been on a long journey. Now I am returning to the woman I love who dwells in Canton.”
“I am Dien Lee,” said the second, “a merchant in tapestry and silks. I, too, am returning to Canton to the woman I love.”
“I am Chu Kai,” said the third, “a flower merchant. I deal in chrysanthemums. Like the others, I am returning to Canton to the home of the mistress whom I adore.”
“I am Chu Chen,” said the fourth, “a rice merchant and strange though it may seem, I, too, am on a love mission to Canton. My beloved is of a beauty that no painter could portray.”
“I am Voong Wo,” said the fifth and last of the merchants. “It is fitting that I should pause at this house for I deal in tea, tea of a hundred different flavors and countless different blends. But no tea has a flavor sweeter than the lips of her whom I worship. I am even now en route to her house in Canton.”
Now Lum Lee had returned with the new tea. He placed a cup before each of the merchants.
“In truth,” mused Chu Kai, “it seems that we are in a manner brothers even though we have only met this hour. For each of us is being drawn to Canton by the vibrations of love. And now we become even closer. It is an invisible tie binding us together.”
Then in silence they sipped their tea, while the perfume of wisteria and roses floated in from the garden and the wind sighed softly through the treetops. And the aroma from each cup swirled upward until it formed a golden spiral, a staircase down which a beloved woman walked.
And each of the merchants beheld the tea-vision and recognized the woman as the girl whom he loved above all other women. And now slowly she commenced to dance. She cast aside her thin draperies until she danced on the table before them, a glorious golden girl, with glowing slender body. On and on she danced until the tea grew cold. Then the vision faded, melted into the air as did the aroma of the tea. Nor did any of the merchants at the table explain to the others what he had seen.
For a few moments in a lifetime these men were brothers, held together by the alchemy of tea.
Now they separated. They had little to say. They were lost in dreams and purple splendour.
And each took the road to Canton which he preferred, the road that would take him most quickly to the house of his lady.
Two days later, the five merchants met again. This time they met before the gateway to the garden of Mai-da who was the favored one of Ling Yoong, so naturally he was annoyed. Still he was Chinese and he had learned to hide his true feelings beyond a mask-like expression. But now there was no cordiality among the merchants. They lacked the tea of Lum Lee to make them brothers, to hold them together in a common bond. They gazed at each other askance, as one might peer at thieves. There was hatred in their eyes whereas but a few days before there had been naught but dreams and brotherly love. They hesitated for a while, each hoping that the others would depart. But as no such thing happened, at last reluctantly they passed through “The Gate of Welcome” like warriors returning from a lost battle. There was no lightness in their step. There was no friendliness. They were no longer brothers. They walked around the spirit screen, then into the spacious gardens of Mai-da, gardens in which there were Moon Bridges over a running stream in which ducks and swans swam gracefully about. Among all the white birds there was one black swan. Each merchant noticed it and cursed, imagining that it was an evil omen.
And now they beheld Mai-da coming down a marble path. Each merchant stepped forward. “Beloved!” he cried. But the ducks and swans were making such a clamor she did not hear them. Nor did she even notice their approach. Her arms were held out to a young man who was stepping out of a small boat at the tiny river’s edge. The next moment she was in his arms.
And the five merchants gazed upon the scene horrified. For of each, Mai-da was the beloved woman. No wonder she was magnificent to gaze upon, for each merchant had given up his best to her. She bloomed and became more gorgeous, fed on the worship of these prominent men. The beauty of women is painted with love. The adoration of many people creates the soft tones and color that bring out her perfection of grace and form.
Ling Yoong had always gazed upon her with eyes of enchantment. She was like a rare jewel. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds. Her lips were rubies. Her teeth were pearls. And her hands were pink coral. Now he saw her in the blackness of her duplicity. The fire died in her eyes. The glow of her lips faded. Her teeth became less white. Her hands lost their pink freshness. He was disenchanted. And he turned away.
Dien Lee had seen her body, silk-soft and glowing. He had loved to strip her nude that he might array her in fine silks. But now the silk-bloom had gone from her body. It would be sacrilege to array her in those rare silks he had brought with him. Her body was ordinary. It was a purchasable body. It could be used by any man who could pay the price. His silks deserved a better mistress than Mai-da. And he turned away. For the first time his vision was clear. He could see her as she really was.
And Chu Kai the dreamer and philosopher gazed upon her sadly. He had always thought of her as a lovely poem. There was music in her voice. There was fragrance on her lips. But now the poetry was harsh. It lacked design. Gone was all rhythm and harmony. No longer was there music mingled with her form. The allure was gone. Sadly he turned away.
Chu Chen had always loved the grace of Mai-da. The lovely manner in which she came toward him. She was like some sweet spirit of the hills. Her step was magic. But now he looked at her coldly. No longer did she have grace for him. When a woman shares her grace with all men it belongs to none. And Chu Chen turned away. Above all he was a business man. His business with Mai-da was done.
Then Voong Wo the tea merchant gazed upon her. Inasmuch as for years he had dealt in tea he was keenly sensitive to every change of mood. How he had loved to walk at night with Mai-da through the garden, his arm about her waist, his hand cupping the soft warm curve of her breast. And when she yielded to him he had imagined that something divine was happening to him. He was ennobled, transformed, transcended. Now he gazed at her with harsh eyes. There was really nothing extraordinary about her appearance. She was kissing the boatman in a vulgar manner. And Voong Wo, too, turned away.
Now once more the five merchants were on th
e road outside the garden of Mai-das house.
“Let us return to the tea-house of Lum Lee,” suggested Ling Yoong. “I feel as though I need the steadying influence of that divine beverage.”
“A good idea,” echoed Dien Lee.
“But,” mused Chu Kai, “will the aroma of the tea be as sweet now that there is no beloved woman for us to dream about?”
“After all,” declared Chu Chen, who was a clever, shrewd business man, “what is one woman more or less? Truly it has been well said by the philosophers that to educate a woman is to educate a monkey. To this should be added that to love seriously makes a man equally apelike. Women are like melons, to be plucked and eaten when they are ripe. They should be enjoyed quickly ere they spoil but if one proves to be tasteless or disappointing there are many more melons.”
And Voong Wo, the fifth merchant, who had traded much in tea and therefore was steeped in its lore said, “After all, we haven’t lost much. A single woman. Divided among the five of us there would hardly be enough for an evening’s enjoyment. We have lost her. What matter? Better far had she been destroyed as a child. She had a mother and father who were too genial. Now on the credit side, what have we gained? Each of us has found four brothers. We five are held together by the spirit of tea. As merchants we have all made good bargains, one treacherous woman for four brothers.”
And they continued onward together to the tea-house of Lum Lee.
Meanwhile in the garden of Mai-da’s house, the remaining lover who had come by boat stood gazing at her, much perplexed. What had he ever seen in this girl?
There was no fire in her eyes. Her teeth were not pretty. Her form was not graceful. She walked in an ugly fashion. Her voice was harsh and no longer were her lips fragrant. He must have been drunk when he fell in love with this girl on the preceding night as his boat drifted down the river past her garden. Perhaps the moon had etherealized her form as she bathed nude at the river’s edge. Under the moon the song she murmured had seemed sweetly plaintive. After all, he had enjoyed the night’s interlude. What matter that by day the girl was disappointing? And yet it was strange, she had seemed enticing as she had come walking down the path toward him. He must be growing prematurely old. He was no longer a good judge of women. As soon as he conveniently could, he made excuses and retired.
Mai-da did not mind his going, nor was she aware that five merchants had come to the garden and departed. She sighed softly. Perhaps Ling Yoong would soon be back with her. More jewels, more love. It was easy to put up with his embraces when he paid her so well.
She smiled complacently. Nor was she aware of the sorry condition into which her beauty had fallen. Each of the merchants had withdrawn the attributes of loveliness with which he had endowed her and naught but wreckage remained.
Although Mai-da did not know it, it was time for all her men to choose another melon.
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