The Red Thread

by Dawn Farnham

  Zhen was becoming frantic; he had to find her. Then he noticed the mark on the tree, the three red lines. There was a trail through there! Taking Robert’s arm, he motioned him to follow. Robert took a sword from the carriage and gave it to Zhen. Then, with two pistols in his belt and his rifle cocked, he told him to lead the way. The jemadar and two of the peons made up the rear.

  They followed the trail markers deeper into the jungle. Then Zhen stopped abruptly; he had heard voices speaking Chinese. Signalling to Robert to make no noise, he advanced quietly. Two men were crouched by the side of the trail in the low bushes. They looked up as Zhen and Robert rushed on them and tried to leap away, howling with fear. Zhen boxed one of them on the ears as Robert held the other.

  ‘Tell me quickly, or you are a dead man. Where is the white woman?’ Zhen snarled.

  The coolie was terrified. He had seen the gang go by with the Chinese padre, the boy and the woman. He thought they were going to the bangsal, about ten minutes from here. Releasing him and telling them both to shut up, Zhen said to Robert,

  ‘Yes, Xia Lou near. Bangsal but—umm, er, dog.’

  Robert understood. He knew what a bangsal was. Zhen meant that there would be dogs to bark an alarm. It would be difficult to approach without raising a racket. There was nothing for it but simply to rush in and see what happened.

  With the two coolies in tow, they advanced towards the bangsal. They saw two huts ahead in the clearing. As predicted, a pack of four dogs ran out, wildly barking, and rushed towards them. Zhen threw one of the coolies onto two of them and they set about viciously biting him. With his sword he dispatched a third, and Robert shot the fourth. At the sound of the gun the two other dogs gave up their prey and ran off into the jungle.

  Two men emerged from one of the huts and Zhen, now in a fury, advanced on them. When they saw the upraised sword, his face and the policemen behind, they took off as fast as their legs would carry them. Zhen flung open the door of the first hut.

  A man was cowering in the corner next to Father Lee, who was bound and badly beaten. Zhang picked him up by the scruff of his neck.

  ‘The white woman!’ he shouted into the man’s dirty blackened face.

  The terrified coolie pointed to the jungle.

  Dropping him to the floor, Zhen raced in the direction the coolie had pointed. Men were running away from a place behind a huge tree trunk. Zhen’s heart was in his throat. It was not a good sign if they had taken her into the jungle. Robert shouted some orders to his men and now took off after Zhen.

  Coming round the tree he saw her, lying on the ground, her hands tied above her head to the trunk of a tree. Her hair was a wild and tangled bush covered in dust. Her eyes were closed; her clothes had been ripped and he saw her exposed breasts and thighs. There were black smears on her white skin. Her legs were covered in cuts and bruises, her face smeared with dirt.

  Letting out a great roar, he raced up to her. She was barely conscious. Taking his sword he cut her bonds; then taking off his jacket, he wrapped her in it, pulled down her skirt and lifted her from the ground, cradling her gently against him.

  Had they raped her? He threw a look of such pain at Robert as the Englishman came into sight that Robert was astounded. He motioned for Zhen to put her down, but Zhen merely shook his head and began carrying her towards the bangsal. Robert was surprised and not a little irritated. It was his sister! Who did he think he was, this Chinaman, to ignore his orders?

  Then he saw the boy on the other side of the clearing, and almost gagged. The boy’s naked body was lying on its side tied hands-to-feet, like a bundle. His throat had been cut, and it was obvious that he had been assaulted horribly, for his lower body was covered in blood. Zhen had taken a step forward, but Robert motioned him to stop. Charlotte must not see this, though he felt sure she must have heard it.

  He followed Zhen back to the huts. Here, in the shade of a tree, Zhen lowered her gently to the ground. He took her hands and cut the bamboo cords which had bitten into her skin. He went to get some water, and when he returned Robert was kneeling by her side.

  She drank some of the water and opened her eyes with pain as he began washing the raw skin of her wrists. She saw a Chinese head and let out a scream. Zhen looked up into her terrified eyes.

  Him! What was going on? Then she saw Robert and let out a whimper of relief.

  As Zhen ripped some cloth from his trousers and began bandaging her wrists, Robert kissed her gently on her forehead.

  ‘Kitt, darling. You’re safe now. Don’t be frightened. Did they … hurt you?’

  She knew what he meant. Why didn’t he just say so? Of course they had hurt her. She looked at Zhen, tying up her left wrist, and tears welled up in her eyes. They had rubbed their filthy hands on her breasts and sucked on her mouth, but, she realised, they had not had time to carry out the fullness of their plans. Thanks to Zhen. She had made this journey because she had been angry with him, but he had saved her. She put out a hand and stroked his cheek just once, with infinite tenderness.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Zhen looked into her violet eyes. It was as if they were completely alone.

  Robert looked on, uncomprehending. What was going on between his sister and this man?

  ‘Kitt, darling. Answer me please,’ he said. ‘What did they do?’

  Charlotte pulled her gaze away from Zhen and looked at her brother. She wiped away her tears and took another drink of water.

  ‘I’m all right, Robbie. But, oh, Robbie, they did something horrible to that poor boy. I could hear his screams, and then he stopped.’ She began to sob again.

  ‘Then they all smoked those pipes. I think they had decided to save me for later. My God, Robbie, thank heaven you came in time.’

  Charlotte stopped and put her face in her hands, remembering—realising how close she had come. Robert looked grim-faced.

  She took a deep breath and said jaggedly, ‘They didn’t get time to finish their business. Just roughed me up a little. I think we can thank Zhen for that.’

  Robert was relieved. He let out a loud sigh. ‘Oh, Kitt. Thank heaven. This is bad enough.’

  Zhen did not understand what they were saying, but he knew from Robert’s expression that she had not been raped. He had arrived in time. He said a silent prayer to all the gods in heaven, in which he did not believe, or whatever it was that had helped him get to her in time. Then he took some more water to her and sat on his heels by her side. She looked at his chest. It was so smooth, and there was a picture there. How odd. She wanted to reach out and touch the bearded face of this fierce-eyed Chinese man, but suddenly she felt too weak to even raise her arm.

  Robert and the policemen were tending to Father Lee. All the coolies had disappeared into the jungle, and he wasn’t going to start looking for them. He ordered the body of the boy brought from the jungle, and they dug a shallow grave and laid him in it. Father Lee, despite his wounds, gave him the last rites and said a prayer. He was stricken with grief and guilt at the fate of this child.

  Zhen picked up Charlotte in his arms. Robert didn’t even think of trying to stop him; someone had to carry his sister, and this fellow looked determined that no one else was going to do it.

  With Zhen leading the way they retraced their steps. The policeman at the carriage gave a hoot of relief when he saw the group emerge from the jungle path. The two peons got Father Lee into the back beside his compatriot, and then Zhen passed Charlotte to Robert before springing up into the carriage and motioning Robert to pass her back to him. He settled down in the corner, holding her tightly on his lap. She sighed and let her head rest on the face of Guan Di.

  They set off at a fast pace and, before long, Robert saw approaching on horseback the familiar figure of Lieutenant Gold in his scarlet jacket,with a platoon of soldiers following. He breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  Lieutenant Gold cantered up to the carriage and saw Charlotte: the state of her hair and face, the cotton coolie jacket, the bare c
hest and the arms around her.

  ‘Miss Macleod, you are safe. Thank the Lord! This is most terrible. Come onto my horse. I will take you quickly to Dr Montgomerie. Unhand her, fellow.’

  This last was snarled at Zhen. Charlotte made to get unsteadily to her feet and Zhen rose with her, holding her arm. He did not know what this puffed-up soldier had said, but he didn’t like his face or his tone.

  ‘Auch, no need for that tone, William,’ said Robert. ‘This fellow saved her life. Charlotte, sit down. William, accompany us back to the settlement, please, for we must talk to the colonel and the governor. There is something terrible afoot; I’m sure of it. We must get some protection for the Chinese Christians, or there will be a blood bath.’

  William Gold scowled at Zhen and waited until Charlotte had settled. She sat at a distance from Zhen this time, next to the jemadar, as they proceeded into town. When they arrived at the outskirts of the settlement, Zhen sprang from the carriage and, without a word, disappeared around Bukit Larangan.

  Charlotte watched him go discreetly, her face half-buried in his jacket. William Gold was looking at her intently, and she decided she did not like the lieutenant half as much as she had thought.

  28

  It was Robert’s worst nightmare. Over the next three days, wounded and exhausted men poured into the town and made for the Catholic chapel. Stories of bloody murder, looting and burning abounded. The schoolhouse took the worst cases; men were in the chapel and spread out around the garden. Father Baudrel kept a night vigil and prayers were said constantly.

  Robert had been to see the governor, but Bonham had not been convinced of the seriousness of the matter. Colonel Murchison would not hear of involving the army: this was a civilian matter. The colonel was a staunch Protestant and did not approve of popish ways, in any case.

  Not until six of Robert’s Malay policemen died in an ambush did the governor consider the matter with gravity. Within a week hundreds of coolies had come in from the interior. Carroll, the Canadian huntsman, had become a common sight, helping groups to get to the town, telling Robert of farmers murdered, their farms destroyed.

  Coleman came to see him. He had given Robert a hundred of his Indian convicts, and the casualties amongst these gallant men had been too high. He would put no more of them in danger. ‘Get in the army!’ he demanded. Colonel Murchison, however, would not hear of it, and he and Coleman exchanged angry words.

  Robert had been to see the Chen Long, who had received him affably and assured him that this was all the work of ruffians and thieves, elements over whom he had no authority. There was little he could do. The trouble was that many people in the Chinese community did not like these Christians and the meddlesome priests who interfered in the time-honoured traditions of China. Robert was as certain as he could be that this elegant and smooth-talking man was behind the attacks, but without proof there was nothing he could do.

  Chen Long had called Zhen to give him an account. Zhen had simply told him that the woman was the sister of the police chief and his teacher of English. He had felt it unwise for her to be abused or killed, for that would surely bring about the involvement of the military. As for Father Lee, he had had no control over his rescue with the police chief present. Chen Long had agreed. It was a great pity about the padre, for he was influential with these stupid coolies. The white woman, though. Yes, it was right she should not die, for there would be too much trouble. The government here did nothing so long as trade continued and white men were left untouched.

  Robert went to see Charlotte, who looked much better. She had taken a long bath in one of Takouhi’s luxurious bathrooms, her Javanese maids gently washing her hair and skin of the detritus and dust of the jungle and the hands and tongues of the foul-smelling men. Dr Montgomerie had bound her cuts and pronounced her well enough. She had slept for almost two whole days. The da Silva girls, Mrs Keaseberry, Miss Aratoun and most of her acquaintance had called and expressed their horror and sympathy. Isobel and Isabel were dying to ask for details but felt restrained by Charlotte Keaseberry’s countenance. Takouhi, to set aside any indelicate questions, had assured them later that Charlotte was ‘all right’. The men had been interrupted before any truly grave violation could take place. The da Silva twins were vaguely disappointed, but still longed to hear the whole story.

  Robert told his sister of the attacks, the numbers of wounded and dying men turning up every day. After he left, Charlotte walked the short distance from Tir Uaidhne to the chapel. She was aghast at the site. Ashen-faced and listless bodies lay over seemingly every inch of the gardens. Hacked and bloody men lay dying in the schoolhouse. Father Baudrel was administering the last rites to one expiring soul. She could hear him intoning the words, see him kissing the cross. The scene at the poor boy’s graveside in the jungle came fresh to her mind.

  The smell of blood and gore in the heat was overpowering, and she left the room, seeking the fresher air outside. The army had supplied some tents, and these were raised at one corner of the garden. Charlotte could see Evangeline ministering to a group of women.

  She was surprised. She had not thought there were any women in the interior. Going up to Evangeline, she kissed her friend and made enquiries. These were slave women, Evangeline explained. The poor things were sold to be whores. Evangeline had tears in her eyes. The evil that men do. But they are safe now; they will come to Christ and be saved in his infinite mercy. Dieu soit loué. The women eyed these white women curiously and gulped down the water Evangeline was distributing.

  From then on, Charlotte went every day to help Evangeline in treating the wounded and preparing the ever-increasing quantities of food needed to feed them. Mrs Keaseberry and Mrs van Heyde, Miss Aratoun, the twins and many other ladies of the town also volunteered their help, though, Charlotte thought, many of them came merely to gossip and served little purpose. Baba Tan and the other merchants donated sacks of rice, pork and chests of tea. Mrs Shastri gave vegetables, and the Arab merchants had brought cloth for clothes and bandages. Hajie Fatimah came personally to distribute to Father Baudrel the alms that the Muslim community had collected. Dr Oxford and Dr Montgomerie, Charlotte could see, were exhausted. Convicts from the gaol were sent over to help with the cooking and nursing and to stand guard around the walls of the chapel.

  In all of this collective concern, Charlotte noted the conspicuous absence of the army, who seemed to stand aloof from this human tragedy. Coleman was most vocal in his criticism. To have left a peaceful and industrious people to cope with such a monstrous event was beyond everything. The police were outnumbered, and the convicts could not be expected to give their lives. He wrote a long editorial in the newspaper. Charlotte had moved back to the police bungalow, and when Lieutenant Gold called to see her, she, too, was quick to tell him what she thought of the whole affair, and he, at least, had the good grace to look somewhat shame-faced.

  On Sundays Father Baudrel held an outdoor mass. On one occasion Charlotte was sitting at the back of the garden listening to the hymns when she saw Qian over the low wall. He came up to her.

  ‘Herro, Miss Xia Lou. Want see you well. You well?’

  Charlotte nodded. Her mind had turned to Zhen as soon as she had seen his friend.

  ‘I got message. Zhen say prease meet talk him.’

  ‘Yes.’ Charlotte’s response was instant. ‘Where? Qian, now?’

  He nodded. She ran to get her hat and joined him. He led her along to the stream by the Chinese paupers’ hospital and crossed the bridge. She followed him along the road to Government House. Within a minute, however, he branched off on a broken pathway which led around the base of the hill. They arrived at an old orchard long since abandoned, full of gnarled tree trunks and twisted branches standing like ancient sentinels. Beneath an ancient nutmeg tree, on a stone bench, sat Zhen. He rose as she approached him. As ever, her pulse quickened when she saw him, but since he had saved her she felt much easier in his company.

  He took her hands silently in h
is and gently kissed each white-bandaged wrist. He was apologising for her pain at the hands of his compatriots.

  ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘Not your fault. You saved me. Thank you.’

  She realised he might not understand what she was saying, so she called Qian, who had been standing awkwardly a little distance away, and explained that he would need to help her translate.

  Yes, if Zhen agreed.

  Zhen made a gesture with his hand and sat on the bench. Charlotte sat next to him. He began to tell her about his love for her. Qian knew the word ‘love’. He had looked it up in the dictionary Father Lee had given him, right after the word for ‘sex’, but that he had not yet found.

  Love! Charlotte looked at him. He loved her. Why, yes, of course he loved her, and she loved him. That was what this was. Not a game or some idle curiosity. How simple it all was.

  She watched his mouth move as he made the Chinese sounds. She liked the staccato tones of his language and the way it seemed to rise and fall like the undulations of some hilly countryside. His voice was deep and resonant. Putting out a finger, she could not resist touching his full lips. So luscious, she thought. He took her hand in his.

  ‘Marry,’ she heard the word. Marriage, marriage. Whose marriage? Ours? Mine, his? What on earth! She looked up at Qian. Zhen had stopped speaking.

  ‘Zhen must marry daughter Baba Tan. Cannot choose. Must marry on twelve day of eleven moon.’

  Qian searched his mind and mopped his brow. A little tic started by his left eye. ‘December. Zhen must marry.’

  Charlotte pulled her hand out of Zhen’s. He was getting married? Of course he was. They have arranged marriages just as we do. Why is he telling me this? What does he expect me to say, to do? She looked around the garden. Time seemed to have lost its cadence, and she could see the leaves of the trees, yellowing and wrinkled, fall through the air with infinite slowness, drifting down on the eddies of the invisible breeze. Through a distance she heard him say her name.