‘Good evening, sir. May I be assistance to you?’
‘That dress on the tailor’s dummy, how much is it?’
‘I so sorry, sir, it not for sale.’
‘Why not?’
‘It for display purpose only. To showcase family business.’
The woman interrupted with a question: Pak answered her.
‘Have you got any more?’ Israel asked.
‘Unfortunately no, sir.’
‘I’ll give you a good price for it.’
Pak spoke to the woman, whom Israel assumed was his mother. She in turn spoke to the man who stood quietly, his hands hidden inside his voluminous sleeves. He gave a short, sharp answer.
‘My father say can only sell for fifteen pounds sterling.’
Fifteen pounds! For Christ’s sake. That was nearly a quarter of his yearly wage. They were having him on. He looked the dress over again. It was pretty, though, even he could see that. It was a lovely greenish-blue colour, like you got on a peacock, though of course it could be quite different in the light of day, with embroidery all over the top and around the hem, and had a round neck and fitted sleeves. He peeked behind it to make sure it hadn’t been made for a woman the size of a cow and gathered in with a peg.
‘What’s it made of?
‘Silk from only best cocoons.’
Israel crossed his arms. ‘Fifteen pounds is far too much. I’ll give you three.’
Pak looked aghast. His mother fired a question at him and shook her head violently when he replied.
Pak’s father stepped forward and held up his hands, digits splayed, then again with three fingers.
‘Thirteen?’ Israel asked Pak.
A nod.
‘No. I’ll go to five.’
Pak relayed the offer.
Up came the hands again, plus just one finger this time. Israel sighed. This might take all night. ‘Six.’
Eventually they settled on eight. The dress was removed from the dummy, wrapped in paper and tied with string. Israel also bought two plain shirts for himself and handed over the money feeling quite pleased. He was sure Amber would like the dress and although the purchase had definitely dented his finances, he still had quite a lot left.
From Wellington Street he made his way onto Queen’s Road. As he was about to cross the street to enter a market, he witnessed something even he found disturbing. On his right a sedan chair was approaching carrying a white man, who was leaning comfortably back, elbows on the arm rests, a valise resting on his lap. In the gloom the bearer at the front stumbled, went down on one knee, and the chair tilted forwards, spilling the valise onto the dusty ground. In an apparently instant rage, and before the bearer even had time to regain his footing, the passenger launched himself from the chair and set about him with an umbrella, whacking the Chinese man repeatedly around the head with the handle end and finishing his performance with several kicks to the man’s torso. Then he snatched up his valise and marched off, broken umbrella dangling from his hand, and hailed another sedan chair.
Israel wondered whether he should offer to help the wounded bearer, who was now sitting up and spitting out what might be bits of broken teeth, but decided not to: he had his mate there and anyway it wasn’t any of his business. He crossed the road and went into the market.
He still had such a lot to purchase. Within half an hour he’d bought toilet items for himself, plus a hairbrush with an ivory handle, soap, a facecloth (towels were supplied at the lodging house), a toothbrush and tooth powder, hair ribbons, and a very beautiful ivory and painted paper fan for Amber. He couldn’t really afford fripperies, but he knew she’d like it. He also purchased, much against his better judgment, a suit of basic Chinese women’s clothing for her, and a pair of flat shoes. The suit consisted of a short robe that closed under the arm and down the side, and a pair of baggy trousers, both of which he thought were bloody ugly but the material, cotton he presumed, was a nice dark rose colour. To his ongoing disappointment he had no idea what sort of underthings she favoured but thought he might allow her some money so that, when she’d settled down after he’d given her the bad news, she could buy her own.
It was then that he had a horrible thought. What if she was close to her time of the month? If she was she’d need rags, which he knew all about because a row of them always flapped from the Katipo’s rigging once a month and they all knew what they were but no one ever commented, and he couldn’t let her out while she was weeping and wailing so he’d have to buy them for her. Did you buy or make them? he wondered. Surely you could make them. But from what? God. Who could he ask? Not Amber: he’d die of embarrassment.
He left the market and followed Queen’s Road back towards the lodging house, laden with parcels. The feeling of dread he’d had when they’d arrived back from Lamma Island was creeping up on him again like a fox stalking a rabbit, and this time he knew he couldn’t postpone the inevitable with a lie. And then it struck him. No, he couldn’t put if off forever, but he could for at least a few more days.
Enormously relieved to have come to this conclusion he strode happily on, then stopped in his tracks as a flaw in his new plan revealed itself. If Amber wasn’t going to be prostrate from grief, how was he going to stop her from running around the city? She was bound to bump into someone from the Katipo or see the ship tied up at the wharf. Bugger.
He walked on, thinking hard, and when he came to a Chinese apothecary he stopped again and went in. The stink was unbelievable. He left his shopping in a pile on the floor and prowled around, his handkerchief over his mouth and nose, looking for what he wanted.
Most of the smell was coming from fly-covered animal parts displayed on a table near the rear of the shop. Bear paws, dead snakes, bones, organs in congealed blood, dried seahorses, horns, the hides of some scaly animal, and various other articles he couldn’t recognise. Having spotted them he gave the table a wide berth.
One wall of the little shop was covered from floor to ceiling with cabinets piled on each other containing tiny drawers, all labelled, naturally, in Chinese. On another table was arranged a display of plasters and pellets, pills and powders, teas, wines and oils, behind them a pyramid of packets and tins presented in the most beautiful and eye-catching packaging. Together with a set of brass scales and a mortar and pestle, on the counter sat bowls containing dried plant materials, and a row of jars in which floated more innards (presumably animal).
There was, however, also quite a range of European preparations for sale, obviously intended for the British population, though Israel couldn’t see many English ladies choosing to shop here. There were medicines even he recognised, such as Freeman’s Chlorodyne, Beecham’s Pills, Congreve’s Elixir and what have you. He thought about the Freeman’s Chlorodyne, which he’d used himself, not that he’d had cholera but it was good for stopping the shits, but suspected he might need something that worked to its full effect more quickly.
‘Do you have tincture of opium?’ he asked the man behind the counter, hoping he could speak English.
A stupid question really, in China.
A nod.
‘Give me about eight ounces. No, better make it ten. Er, what strength is it normally?’
‘’Bout three and one half ounces opium to one and a half pint alcohol. You want stronger?’
Israel hesitated. ‘Just a little bit.’
‘What for?’
‘My wife. Very bad stomach.’ Israel rubbed his belly.
‘I do little stronger.’
The man turned away and busied himself preparing the tincture. On finishing he wedged a cork in the bottle, wiped it down, applied a written label and named his price. Very reasonable, Israel thought as he paid.
‘Thank you.’
‘Two teaspoon only,’ the apothecary said. ‘Is strong. If no good, bad luck. No more ’til four more hour.’
Israel took the bottle. He’d be the judge of whether it was too strong or not.
*
Amber wondered
where Israel was; he’d been gone ages.
She felt awful – despondent, frustrated, perplexed and bloody well annoyed. How could Tahi have just sailed off and left her like that? Why hadn’t he collected her from Longwei’s ship? And if not him, why not her father? It all seemed very strange. And her mother could easily have stayed here in Hong Kong: they didn’t need her to sail to Shanghai.
She pulled her legs up and looked idly at the skin on her knees, surprised she hadn’t turned into a prune, she’d been in the bath that long. Some man had knocked on the door half an hour back and when she hadn’t responded had hammered like hell until she’d shouted at him to go away. Then Mrs Whittle, the woman from behind the counter, the owner, had come along and told her through the door her time was up, and she’d had to promise to get out.
She supposed she’d better. The water was cold now, anyway. She set her hands on the edges of the bath and pushed herself up, surprised as always by the way she felt so much heavier after a long soak. It was as if she got in weighing eight stone and got out weighing ten. Perhaps, if you were in water long enough, you absorbed some of it.
Suddenly feeling dizzy she bent over and gripped the enamel until the feeling passed. When had she last eaten? This morning? Cautiously she stepped out and reached for her towel, which was threadbare but clean.
Another knock came at the door.
‘Yes, all right! I’m getting out now, if you don’t mind!’
‘It’s me, Israel.’
‘Oh.’ At last. ‘Just give me a few minutes and I’ll come to your room.’
‘Don’t be long. I’ve got food. It’ll get cold.’
Amber dried herself, swept her damp hair back off her face, then dressed in the stiff, saltwater-stained clothes she’d been wearing all day. In her hurry to leave the Kaili she’d left behind her few possessions, including the dress she’d had on the night Lo Fang’s men had abducted her from Cebu, which was no great loss as it was quite the worse for wear now, but it did mean she had barely a stitch to her name until the Katipo returned. Her chemise top and drawers were still serviceable but, frankly, they needed a good wash.
Israel let her into his room, which smelled divine. ‘Mmm, I’m starving. What did you get us?’
He nodded towards two covered ceramic bowls sitting on a chest of drawers. ‘I could only find Chinese food.’
‘Which you don’t like.’
Israel shrugged. ‘Noodles with chicken and beef, and some sort of sauce. I had to buy the bowls.’
‘Did you get cutlery?’
‘No, but there’re chopsticks.’
Amber made a face. She wasn’t the most adept with chopsticks, especially when it came to rice and noodles. They ate in messy silence.
‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked.
Israel was staring into his bowl, scowling. ‘What? Nothing.’
‘Didn’t look like nothing.’
‘Well, it was. Have you finished?’
Amber showed him her empty bowl.
‘I bought some things for you,’ he said, going red.
‘A toothbrush, I hope.’
‘Yes, and a few other bits and pieces.’ He handed her the parcel containing the toiletries he’d chosen for her.
She opened it. ‘This is really thoughtful of you, Israel, thank you. Oh, and look at this. How lovely.’ She flicked open the fan and fluttered it.
‘And this,’ he said, giving her another package.
Feeling a little embarrassed Amber opened that too, revealing a tunic and trousers, and a pair of shoes.
‘I thought you didn’t approve of me wearing Chinese clothes?’
Israel shrugged yet again. ‘I hope the shoes fit. I had to guess the size.’
‘Well, they’re very nice. Pretty colour. Thank you.’
Israel reached behind him. ‘And one more.’
Oh, for God’s sake, Amber thought, really embarrassed now. She left the parcel sitting on the bed between them.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Open it.’
Stifling a sigh, she did. It was a dress, a really pretty one. ‘God, Israel, where did you find this?’
‘Don’t you like it?’
He looked so crestfallen.
‘It’s lovely. It really is. But I can’t accept something like this from you. It isn’t . . . Well, what will Tahi think?’
For a second Israel looked quite . . . wild. Startled, Amber stared at him. He stared back.
A sensation of uneasiness crept slowly but very surely across her. She and Israel were friends, and crewmates, and nothing more. They never would be. He knew that. He was Tahi’s best mate. She did need clothes but why would he buy her such a fancy gown? Surely any old thing would do? And the Chinese outfit was perfect.
Finally he said, ‘You needed clothes and now you’ve got some.’ He poked at a parcel on the floor with his foot. ‘I got clothes too, see? Shirts.’
For some reason the fact that he’d also shopped for himself made her feel better. ‘Didn’t you pack a bag?’
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. ‘I did but the bloody thing fell overboard off the sampan.’
Amber knew she’d hurt his feelings. He was trying to cheer her up, and she’d bitten his head off. ‘I really do like the dress. It’s beautiful. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
He smiled and she felt even better still. Well, relieved, at least.
She said, ‘I’ll wear it tomorrow when we go out.’
‘Out? Why do you want to go out?’
His smile had slipped and again he looked like the weight of the entire world had settled on his shoulders. What was wrong with him?
‘Well, we can’t sit around here all day, can we? We’ll be bored out of our brains doing nothing.’
‘I thought we could, I don’t know, play cards or something. Anyway it looks like it’s going to rain.’
‘So? We’ll buy ourselves umbrellas. I don’t want to sit inside all day, Israel. I’ve been locked inside for weeks. I’ve been a prisoner, remember?’
Israel nodded. ‘I know. You have. Let’s talk about it in the morning.’ He brightened. ‘I did buy one more thing.’
Christ almighty. What now?
He felt about under the bed then produced a bottle with a flourish. ‘Brandy, for a nightcap. Fancy one?’
‘I’m not going to bed yet!’ Amber declared, though she easily could. She was exhausted.
‘I am, I’m knackered. Fancy a drop anyway?’
Why not? she thought. Every muscle in her body was complaining after being hurled about in that stupid little sampan. What the hell possessed him to hire such a tiny boat when he could have chosen any number of bigger vessels? Brandy might be just the thing to ease her aches and pains. ‘Might as well.’
Israel took a tumbler from the bedside table and poured in several fingers of brandy. Then he had a good look around the room. ‘Can you see another tumbler?’
‘No, but there’s one in my room. I’ll get it.’
‘Go straight there and do not speak to anyone in the hallway.’
‘Yes, Pa.’ Amber picked up the cotton robe and trousers Israel had given her. ‘I’ll get changed into these while I’m at it and sleep in them. They look so comfortable.’
‘Damn. I forgot to get you a nightgown.’
Flapping a hand, she said, ‘Never mind. We’ll get one tomorrow.’
She sauntered from Israel’s room into hers, tempted to linger and chat loudly with anyone who came past but no one did, and got changed, leaving her dirty clothes in a heap on the floor. Then she collected the tumbler from her bedside table, and took her time wandering back. That’d teach him for ordering her around. When she sat down in his room he gave her the full tumbler, took the empty one and poured himself a few nips.
She took a sip, then another, then frowned. ‘What sort of brandy is it?’
He looked at the label. ‘It’s cognac, actually. Martell. Why?’
‘Tastes . . . rea
lly funny.’
‘Off?’ Israel tasted his. ‘Seems all right to me.’
Amber took another sip, then shrugged. ‘Who else does Pa have to talk to, apart from the people in Shanghai?’
Israel looked at her blankly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You said it was a condition of my release. He has to talk to some people.’
‘Oh! Right. Well, he’s already been to see that empress dowager woman.’
‘The Empress Dowager Cixi? Really? How did that go?’ Amber took another drink.
‘Not very well. Apparently she more or less ignored him and he annoyed the governor while he was at it.’
‘Good old Pa. Who else?’
‘Ah, the country traders?’
Amber raised her glass again. ‘Christ, all of them? That’d take months, if not years. They’re all over the place. What’s he supposed to be talking to them about?’
‘Stopping the opium trade.’
‘Tall order. Not a surprise, though. Longwei hates it. There was a crewman caught with opium on one of the junks when I was there and Longwei had him flogged then hanged as an example to the others.’
‘Hanged! Bloody hell, did you see it?’
‘No, but I heard about it.’ Amber swayed. ‘What’s happened to the lamp? It’s gone all flickery.’
‘More brandy?’
‘Just a little.’
‘Pass your tumbler.’
Amber did.
‘Why don’t you try on your new shoes?’ Israel suggested.
Amber moved to the edge of the bed, leant forwards to pick up the shoes, and found herself sliding to the floor. She sat there for a moment, wondering what had happened. The shoes lay near her bare feet but, honestly, they seemed miles away. Israel’s hand, huge like a giant’s, appeared in her peripheral vision, bearing her drink. She leant to the side so she could see it properly then reached for it, marvelling at how long her hand took to move from her lap to the tumbler.
‘Careful,’ she heard Israel say. ‘Don’t drop it.’
The tumbler was the most beautiful thing, the patterns cut into the glass at its base catching and reflecting the lamplight and turning it into an enormous diamond. ‘Pretty,’ she said, then wondered if she’d spoken aloud or only thought the word. She must be so tired.
The Cloud Leopard's Daughter Page 24