The Shallow Seas

by Dawn Farnham

  She just wanted to see inside this shop, she told herself. It would only take a minute. She walked to the door. The pungent and unmistakable aroma of Chinese herbs hit her as she stood looking inside.

  It was sombre after the brightness of the street, and she could not make out its occupants. She lowered her parasol and went in, her heart beating wildly. As her eyes adjusted, she saw six or seven Chinese customers, who turned to stare at her. The herbalist looked up from his task. The clerk, seated at his high counter, stopped counting on his abacus and she felt utterly ill at ease.

  She turned to look at the fragrant sacks of roots and herbs which stood to one side. The abacus began its clack again, to her relief, and several customers began chattering. She looked around his shop, admiring its clean and prosperous aspect. Dozens of shiny, tall glass jars of strange shaped roots, crabs, squids and what looked like preserved baby snakes and shelled sea creatures lined the walls. She wondered briefly what curative purpose the sweet little bodies of sea horses could serve. A tall, carved cabinet with a hundred drawers stood to one side of the shop, each drawer painted with gold characters. Before a shiny, black-tiled counter lay trays and sacks of black and brown fungus, seaweeds, dried fish, herbs, buds, pods, berries, preserved fruits and plants. The variety was overwhelming. The sun was slanting in through the open doorway, casting shadows on the gleaming tiled floor. She felt happy for him, for his prosperity.

  Then, as she was about to turn, to leave, a shadow fell across the sun on the tiles, and she knew, instantly, that it was him. He did not move. She too could not move, her breath in her throat. The abacus had stopped again, and she sensed that everyone in the store was now staring at them. Somewhere there was a faint buzzing of an insect, and the ticking of the clock seemed to have assumed a cavernous sonority. Then the shadow changed. The sun returned to its position on the floor as he came in front of her. Her head lowered, she gazed at his high-soled Chinese shoes, felt his proximity like heat, could not look up.

  Zhen stood motionless, gazed down at her, the wisps of black hair against her cheeks, the curve of her neck.

  “Xia Lou,” he whispered. She drew in her breath sharply, her heart beating so much she dared not move. The sound of his voice saying her name in his Chinese way—that was all it took for her to know she was still madly in love with him. The customers were staring at them even more intently.

  She saw his hand move tentatively towards hers, then withdraw. He was shaking. Then he made a fist to calm his hand and bowed to her.

  “I have not seen you for long time,” he said in English, and she felt the effort he was making to keep calm.

  Charlotte curtsied briefly to him. Then looked up.

  “Yes, it has been … a long time,” she faltered as her eyes met his.

  Zhen saw the tenderness in her eyes, saw the love she still had for him. These white people, he thought—he had found that for a long time now he could not think of her or her brother as an ang moh, a devil. These white people, so difficult to disguise their feelings. He smiled inside, glad of it, and she, knowing him, read his eyes, though his face had shown no emotion.

  They stood unmoving, aware of the stares, wanting to touch. He felt a calm come over him.

  “We cannot talk here. I want to meet you. Tonight, come here. Yes?” he said in a low tone.

  Charlotte walked over to a tray of herbs and roots. Picking up a thick root shaped almost like a man, she said, “I cannot come here, Zhen.

  Moving next to her, he took up a handful of small buds and herbs. Charlotte stared at his hands and felt a flush of heat, of desire for him so strong that she began to shake. He saw it and put down the herbs.

  “Where? Tell me,” he said quietly.

  Charlotte tried to think, to calm down. “Whampoa is giving a dinner at his house. Can you come?”

  Zhen’s face remained impassive, but inside he smiled. He was already invited to this dinner, together with his father-in law. “Yes,” I can come,” he said. He bowed to her, knowing she must leave. The customers had relaxed a little, gone about their business, but one old woman was watching intently.

  “Ever hard to meet, as hard to part,” he said, very low, before rising from his bow and looking into her eyes.

  It was a poem, she knew it because she knew him: a line from a Chinese poem which she did not know. He said it in the most perfect English. She sensed the effort he had taken to learn this strange language, to translate this poem from his own tongue into hers. She felt her lips tremble.

  He went quickly with her to the door. As she left the shop, he stayed looking down the street. She left rapidly, not turning, not daring to turn.

  22

  Takouhi was adjusting her hat. She had taken special pains about her appearance. Today a brig, Pantaloon, would bring George to Singapore. She and Robert had smiled and wondered if George had chosen this brig specifically for its nominal connections to the miserly and libidinous character from the commedia dell’arte. The signal flag with Pantaloon’s colours had been hoisted; she had been sighted, and soon the ship would be in the harbour. Billy Napier had told them all when George was coming. A ship recently arrived from Calcutta had brought a short message.

  Takouhi was dressed in pure European style today, autumn woodland colours, brown, green, dull gold: the colours of the legend of Tir Uaidhne. For her hat she had chosen a green which matched her dress, trimmed with black piping with two emerald feathers which emerged in a sweep from the side. The green of Ireland. Charlotte smiled at her friend, who looked so graceful and flushed with expectation of this meeting.

  Billy Napier paced the hall, constantly adjusting his cravat. Billy was a small man, with small eyes, a small moustache and slightly crooked teeth. The only thing about him that was tall was his hair, which he wore brushed from the slightly balding crown into two waves half the height of his head. How he contrived to do it was the subject of much amused prattle. He had extremely small feet, and when he walked it was with a kind of bouncing movement which made him appear to swagger. Perhaps because of this peculiarity of gait he always carried his head high and this, added to his coiffure, gave him an air of cocky superiority.

  George, and indeed almost everyone, called him Royal Billy. Charlotte joined him and, arm in arm with Takouhi, their parasols raised, they made their way to George’s fine black-and-gold phaeton carriage, which stood outside the gates. Billy, who had charge of George’s possessions in storage in Singapore, had agreed to allow it to be released for Takouhi’s use. Even the parasol Takouhi had chosen was particular to George, a gift purchased from the cargo of a Spanish ship in port on its way to Manila. It was of black lace, its crown dense, the rim soft with intricate and exquisite edging which the wind rilled and fluttered, casting shadows like sprites along her dress.

  The phaeton moved slowly down Coleman Street, around the Plain, past St. Andrew’s Cathedral and towards the shore. Tigran followed on his horse at a slow trot. The day was warm on the treeless plain, but a wind from the sea cooled their faces. As they arrived on the edge of the seashore, Billy, who was carrying his spyglass, saw the ship and with a great bouncing and a cry of pleasure, jumped down and swaggered to the jetty. Takouhi gripped Charlotte’s arm, and they smiled at each other. George would soon be here!

  Robert joined them as the ship made its final approach, and they all heard the splash of the anchor. Billy looked up at the flagstaff on Government Hill. His joy at the imminent arrival of his great friend and companion was touching. Other friends were there. John Connolly arrived in his gig, greeting Charlotte, as always, with a mixture of pleasure and anguish. Billy let out a whoop, for the flag on the hill had been raised, giving permission for this ship to disembark.

  They all watched, now, almost with bated breath, to catch a glimpse of George. The cutter was down. They could see men and women being lowered into it. Then Billy, his glass to his eye, suddenly caught sight of George and let out a great cry. He unfurled the flag he had carried and raised it, wavin
g it madly to and fro. It was the standard of the Singapore Free Press, the newspaper he and George had founded many years ago. A small figure raised his arm, and a great cheer went up from the jetty. Takouhi drew in her breath, and Charlotte sensed she was on the verge of tears.

  The cutter was full now, and the men began to row towards the shore. With each stroke Charlotte too felt her emotion rise. To see George again, this loving, amiable friend, after so long, was more than they could envisage with calm. The oars dipped and pulled three more times, and then Charlotte could see him. She got down from the carriage and moved forward next to Robert.

  George raised his arm once again, but, Charlotte thought, rather stiffly. Her heart raced. Was he hurt? Had something happened to him after all this time away that they knew nothing about? It was hideous, this thought, that after all the expectations, George would be ill. She looked back at Takouhi, who had remained in the carriage on the higher ground, standing now, her eyes glued to the boat.

  Robert called his name and waved again. This time George did not respond. He was staring, too, at the shore and Charlotte realised that he had seen Takouhi, recognised the carriage, the emerald feathers, her parasol. Of course, she was relieved to think, he is overcome with seeing her. Then with a loud bang, the cutter hit the jetty, driven forward by a wave, shaking its occupants. Billy moved quickly down the jetty to assist. Charlotte, too, made to go forward when Robert very suddenly took her arm. His eyes were on the boat, and she looked at him, not understanding. He bent and whispered into her ear, and her eyes flew to George, who was talking to a young woman sitting next to him in the boat, her arm through his.

  George climbed onto the jetty and Billy bounced forward to take his hand, talking wildly, overcome with excitement. George embraced his old friend and raised his hand to the gathered throng. Then he turned and put his hand down to the young woman in the boat, helping her with solicitude onto the jetty. She had great difficulty rising and climbing for, Charlotte could see, she was heavily pregnant. How kind, was Charlotte’s first thought, how like George to help a woman in such difficulty, even in this moment.

  The young woman, pretty, delicate featured and pale-skinned with dark brown hair, adjusted her dress after this somewhat rough arrival and George looked beyond his friends to Takouhi, who had not moved. Charlotte glanced back and saw her smile, a smile of such loving radiance that she too smiled, as one cannot help but do in the presence of love.

  Then the lady at George’s side linked arms with him, she too smiling on him with adoration, and Charlotte frowned. George walked a few steps and stopped. He looked away from Takouhi, and Charlotte saw his look of frowning distress. In a flash, she understood. Robert and Tigran, quicker than she, had grasped the situation, for Billy, bustling over to greet the couple, had bowed graciously over the hand of the woman next to George and they had all seen the gold band on her finger.

  Tigran moved back to the carriage and put his hand on Takouhi’s arm. Robert arrived on the other side of her and they locked her between them. Takouhi shook her head, annoyed. Charlotte too, ran back to Takouhi, who looked at her friend’s face and saw her deep distress.

  She stopped struggling and stood again, looking at George. She saw the woman holding George tightly against her, leaning on him, her support, her eyes on his face in trust and love; she saw the enormous belly. Takouhi froze and understood. She sat down very gently.

  George had seen Takouhi’s reaction and now whispered something urgently to Billy and John, then turned and spoke to his wife, for by now all present understood that this woman was George’s wife. She smiled and kissed George lovingly on his cheek and walked between John and Billy to the palky which stood ready to take her to their new home.

  George moved forward. His friends rushed around him, slapping him on the back, shaking his hand. Charlotte thought him hardly changed; in fact, he looked younger, refreshed from this period spent away from the tropical heat. His hair was a little greyer round the temples, perhaps, but he had always been a good-looking man. He turned his green eyes on his friends. Tigran moved forward and shook his hand, Robert too and Charlotte, unable to stop herself, threw herself into his arms and hugged him, tears running down her cheeks.

  “Oh George, how we missed you so,” she wept.

  George patted Charlotte and put his hand on her cheek. “Kitt, my sweet. Let me speak to Takouhi first.” His eyes flew up to her. They were still separated by a crowd and he could not get through. Their eyes met, and for long seconds they both simply looked at each other. Then, before he could move to her, she called for the carriage to depart. He moved Charlotte away and made to go forward, but it was too late and he could only stand and watch the carriage move away around the Plain.

  “I had no idea you would be here. No idea she would be here. My God, what have I done?” he said, running his hand through his hair.

  “George,” Charlotte said. “Are you married? Is that your wife, really?”

  George, distracted, was watching the two carriages, the small gig in front, the more poweful phaeton behind, make their way past all the places he had built. First they passed the Court House and then they turned to pass slowly in front of the three big houses on the Plain. He watched until he saw them turn into Coleman Street.

  “Charlotte, he said. “I must speak to her. Make her speak to me.”

  “My God, George, what happened? Who is she? When did you meet her?” Charlotte was so filled with curiosity that she was not listening to him.

  He took her by the hand, and she stopped talking. “Make her see me, Kitt, please,” he repeated.

  Charlotte nodded … but she knew her friend. It would not be easy, given Takouhi’s pride.

  Tigran had seen to the luggage, which had arrived on the jetty, and with a brief word to Charlotte returned to Tir Uaidhne to be with his sister. George turned to all his acquaintance and now began to greet them. Finally, with promises to see them all within a few days, he got into John’s gig, which had returned for him, and left for No.2 Coleman Street to rejoin his young wife.

  Robert and Charlotte set out along the seashore to Robert’s house on Beach Road, past the banyan tree which stood near the stone bridge over the freshwater stream, past the Institution, past the other big houses, discussing this extraordinary turn of events. They were filled with curiosity, glad to see George so well, and full of speculation.

  Chattering, they turned into the gates and there, on the broad verandah, lay a table set for supper. Robert had planned this supper to be a revival of the camaraderie of his friends, the joyous reunion of George with Takouhi, a renewal, after so long, of their happy life in Singapore. As they gazed now at this table, the full import of the situation hit them both: Takouhi would be heartbroken.

  When Charlotte returned to Tir Uaidhne, Takouhi was in her room. Charlotte knew it was pointless to try to speak to her at present. The shock was still too great. All the next day, too, though Takouhi appeared for lunch, she made it clear to Charlotte that she would not speak of it. Nor would she go to Whampoa’s dinner, which she had fully expected to do with George on her arm.

  Charlotte made no attempt to argue with Takouhi. She was, in any case, now filled with thoughts of the evening to come. She felt anxious, for this terrible blow of George’s marriage had filled her with dark foreboding.

  23

  Charlotte’s nerves were on edge as the carriage passed through the elaborate Chinese gate and into the courtyard of Whampoa’s new and magnificent mansion in Serangoon Road. This road had improved vastly since her departure, with new dwellings lining either side. There was a racecourse nearby at Farrer Park, and new streets. Other acquaintances would be there, of course, for Whampoa’s parties had, she learned, become famous for their lavish hospitality, as befitted one of the richest and most influential Chinese merchants in the town. Charlotte had to calm herself at the thought of meeting Zhen. Tigran would be by her side. She must contain herself. Also, she would not have Takouhi to lean on.

>   Charlotte worried for her friend. The shock of George’s new wife had been a great blow, despite her cool demeanour. But for now, Charlotte could not turn her mind to this matter. She felt her agitation at the prospect of seeing Zhen as keenly as she had at their first meetings behind the hill in the old orchard. Thank heaven Robert was following closely behind.

  Tigran helped her from the carriage, and they crossed the open garden and walked around a large pond filled with lotus and golden carp. Charlotte had dressed carefully, in ivory silk, her hair in a simple French twist. She was glad the pregnancy did not show much yet, but her dress was tight. Around her neck and in her ears were pure white diamonds, gifts from Tigran on their wedding day.

  As they climbed the tiled staircase to the moon gate, Charlotte saw Whampoa. He was still handsome, though a little heavier, and he greeted her with a bow. As Charlotte rose from her curtsey, he held out his hands and smiled a broad welcome. He was dressed in dark blue silk, his long queue threaded with red silk ribbons, his dark eyes so like those of Zhen that Charlotte had to grip his hands to stop her own shaking. Whampoa looked at her for a moment as he felt this trembling, then released her and shook the hand of her husband. Robert came up almost immediately, taking his sister’s hand, and Whampoa accompanied them inside the house.

  Charlotte momentarily forgot her nervousness in the extraordinary aspect of the house and its Chinese decorations. Tigran, to her slight relief, left her with Robert to greet the Armenian merchants who had gathered in a side gallery, and Whampoa too went back to his guests. They were alone, and, taking up some refreshments, Robert took her on a tour.

  The grounds of Whampoa’s mansion were expansive. A Chinese garden lay to one side, with ponds and large, strange-shaped rocks, animal topiaries and curious dwarf trees. She was intrigued by these tiny trees and Robert, who had been many times to the gardens, explained that it was a practice from Japan called bonsee and a damnable mutilation as far as he could see.