The Shallow Seas

by Dawn Farnham

  Leaving the Chinese garden she discovered an animal sanctuary with small, tufted-eared ruddy bears and a family of monkeys. Robert showed her Whampoa’s orange pet orang-utan, tonight confined and seemingly asleep. There were ponds with lotus, an aviary with peacocks. She found it impressive if somewhat overstuffed.

  This perambulation, with its discoveries, steadied her nerves, and she was happy now to go inside the house and renew acquaintance with the charming Rajah Brooke. As the hall began to fill with people, Tigran was again whisked away by some merchants, and she sought a moment of quiet above the crowd and climbed the curved staircase to the balcony which overlooked the hall. Here a group of musicians were playing Chinese music. She did not care for its discordant tones. But it was soft and could, in any case, barely be heard above the roar of the crowd below. She fanned herself and gazed down.

  Then she saw him, across the courtyard standing in the moon gate. He wore a long, loose, black silk coat and trousers and high-soled Chinese shoes. Charlotte moved almost involuntarily into the shadow of a pillar, for she was suddenly afraid. She could see Tigran talking to the Governor and Mr Church. Did she really want this renewal? Before the previous morning she had been sure of her composure, but now, she doubted her self-control. She watched as Zhen came into the room, his eyes scanning the crowd. Suddenly he moved forward, and she saw him approach Robert. Her heart lurched wildly; she knew he was seeking her.

  She looked at him properly, from a distance, drinking him in with her eyes. He was scarcely changed—only more elegant, and still inexpressibly handsome. She watched as Robert greeted him, it was clear that they knew each other well. Zhen bent his head to talk into Robert’s ear, and she saw her brother look around, shaking his head a little.

  Charlotte jumped as voices squealed behind her. Isabel and Isobel da Souza now came up to her and, taking her by the hands, jumped and jiggled their delight at seeing her again. As she embraced these twins, friends from her previous time in Singapore, she looked down and realised that Robert and Zhen were looking up at her; the noise had gained their attention. Tigran, too, had raised his head at the noise and smiled at his wife. Her eyes met Zhen’s. Then the two girls took her hands and dragged her away from the balcony and down the stairs to meet their family. Zhen followed her with his eyes as she descended.

  A moment later his father-in-law came up to his side with several other Baba merchants, and Zhen lost sight of her. Now she was here in this house. He felt his heart return to normal.

  Baba Tan eyed his son-in-law quietly. He was quite sure that this young man had had a relationship with Miss Mah Crow, now Mrs Mah Nuk, around the time Zhen had married his own daughter. Fortunately, that young lady had gone away, and nothing had interrupted the nuptials and subsequent good fortune of the birth of two children. No son, of course, but that would come. Zhen knew his duty.

  Zhen did not live permanently under Tan’s roof and only slept irregularly with his wife. Tan’s new villa at River Valley was complete, and he had moved there with his old wife and two unmarried daughters, as well as his young concubine and their baby daughter. The mansion on Market Street was for Zhen and his wife and children. They shared it with his second daughter and her new husband.

  Tan hoped that this might mean that Zhen would spend more time with his family, for he knew that Noan, Zhen’s wife, was often unhappy at her husband’s absences. On this matter, however, Tan would not interfere. Zhen was master of his own family, and despite Tan’s love for his eldest daughter, he felt it was Zhen’s right as a man to be free to pursue his own pleasures, just as Tan himself had done.

  After a year, Tan had gradually come to the realisation that he loved Zhen like his own son, the two men sharing the pleasures of business; Zhen’s Chinese was quite useful in negotiations with his native country. Zhen’s medicine shop had proved very profitable, and Zhen had helped with the Tan family’s occasional ailments. Both Baba Tan and son-in-law shared a considerable enjoyment in playing wei qi, which Zhen had learned from his own father and taught to his father-in-law.

  Tan knew he indulged Zhen, but he could not help it. So long as Zhen was sensible and discreet, Tan would never object to his son-in-law’s choices. He liked his company too much, his strength and resourcefulness, his good nature; Zhen was the son he wished he’d had.

  Actually, he felt that this young man was truly his son. When the time came, Tan intended to leave the trading house and his businesses in Zhen’s capable hands, and this thought was an enormous comfort to him. Zhen had taken the Tan name, and he knew that this young man would carry out the rites for him with diligence and affection, a knowledge that gave peace to his heart. So many other merchants had useless or profligate sons or greedy and stupid sons-in-law who would gamble or smoke away a fortune in no time. Tan felt blessed.

  There was a vast difference, however, between taking a second or third wife or a string of concubines and carrying on with the white wife of one of the richest men in the South Seas. Baba Tan considered that difference now. Surely Zhen realised it as well.

  Zhen took a drink of porter, one of the English things for which he had developed a taste. He would find her later. For now he wanted to meet the man who was her husband, and together, he and Baba Tan they made their way over to the Governor’s side.

  Tigran knew Baba Tan; they had had business dealings through one of the rich Chinese sugar merchants in Semarang. This was the first time he had met his son-in-law, though, a young Chinese who was introduced simply as such. There was something unaccountably familiar about him which he could not put his finger on. Had he met a merchant in Batavia who resembled him? Then he forgot it. Tigran congratulated them both on the recent birth of a new child, spoke of his own impending happiness, looked around for Charlotte but could not see her. As they talked, Baba Tan expressed his desire to renew his acquaintance with Mrs Mah Nouk and spoke briefly of his pleasure at her company when she had first arrived in Singapore. He did not mention that Charlotte had been the English teacher of his son-in-law, Zhen, and Zhen’s best friend, Qian.

  Zhen contemplated this man who was Charlotte’s husband. She was pregnant: this “impending happiness” he understood—his English teacher had taught him these strange subtleties, as elusive as Taoist poetry.

  It was unexpected and galling. He was annoyed that the man, though old, was good-looking and strong. He felt his fist curl as he thought of him lying with her, pleasing her perhaps, a small quiet fury in his chest. He knew he should not think of this. She had as little choice as him. But he could not stop himself. Fortunately, at this moment they were abruptly interrupted by a loud gong, and dinner was announced.

  Dinner was a torment. Charlotte was seated, unaccountably, next to the Governor, who throughout the meal recounted anecdotes of all his famous acquaintance, particularly Lord Ellenborough, Governor of India, and Prince someone-or-other, from time to time stopping to enquire whether Charlotte knew them. At least his enquiries almost never required an answer. The occasional smile and nod of the head were sufficient encouragement for him to continue.

  Tigran was seated half-way down the table next to, of all people, Lilian Aratoon, who had once been madly in love with Tigran and who, despite her recent fiançailles, clearly still felt some affection in that quarter. Lilian engaged his constant attention, and occasionally he sought Charlotte’s eyes beseechingly. Charlotte, however, could not stop herself looking from beneath lowered eyes at Zhen, who was seated at a second long table. Only once did he look in her direction, and she felt her heart race as they locked eyes. He did not look away, impassive, and at last Charlotte, fearful that her face would reveal the violent emotion inhabiting her body, looked down and did not dare look at him again for the remainder of the meal.

  Finally came the toasts and speeches, and the Chinese band began an oriental rendition of a polka. Zhen had disappeared. Charlotte sat with Isobel and Isabel da Souza, who chattered incessantly and asked her interminable questions about Batavia. To her relief,
they were claimed by some young men for a dance, and she was joined by Robert.

  “Kitt, I have misgivings about this.”

  Charlotte looked at her brother, frowning.

  “What do you mean Robbie? About what?”

  He handed her a note. She opened it and read: Xia Lou, please meet me in the garden by the rocks. Her hand went to her throat. She looked at Robert, who was looking rather grim.

  “He wants to talk to me in the garden at the rockery. Will you take me, please?” She begged him with her eyes, and he sighed. She looked around for Tigran but could not see him over the press of dancers. Rising, she took Robert’s hand and led him into the garden, its darkness punctuated here and there by pools of light from firebrands.

  “Kitt,” he said in the darkness, “I will not do this again, you understand. I cannot betray Tigran, much as I love you. Do not ask this of me ever again please.”

  Charlotte kissed Robert on the cheek and nodded. Yes, it was not fair to put Robert in this matter.

  Robert took her to the bench at the edge of the rockery garden and waited. When he saw Zhen approach, he left quickly by a side path.

  Zhen came up to her, and she rose. He stopped in front of her, and she looked up into his face. She could hardly make out his eyes in the flickering light, but she felt them on her. Charlotte wanted to cry, was barely in control of herself. His physical presence was so powerful she was trembling. Zhen took her hand and led her into the deep darkness of the rockery. Without a word, he took her into his arms and dropped his lips to hers. They were again in the old orchard, the magic of that first kiss as great now as then. She coiled her arms round his neck and head. He lifted her again as before and worked the same alchemy. Charlotte began to cry, pulling her lips from his, looking into his eyes, then, unable to bear even this tiny separation, kissing him again, tears running down her cheeks, sobbing against his lips. Zhen kissed and kissed her until he felt her tears and his own tremblings subside. Then he released her to the ground.

  He led her to a seat where the light of a distant flame made grotesque shadows on the strange rocks. The high-pitched strains of the Chinese band came faintly from the house, and a querulous voice was raised in song.

  “Zhen, I am married. I have no right …” she began hoarsely.

  Zhen put a finger to her lips, then took her hand.

  “You live with another man, for the moment. When I think of this, my mind is like a raging wind. You understand, Xia Lou. Always I try not to think of this because must be this way now, at this time. But listen, xiao baobei. This is like a … tree falling in the river, only others put this tree in the water, not us. The river flows on, quietly seeking ways around, under, but it cannot ever stop. Eventually the wood will move, or rot and the river will open out, free again. You are married to me.”

  Zhen put his hands in her hair and moved her face to his and kissed her again, murmuring against her cheek, her lips. “You understand, Xia Lou, you are married to me. You are the wife of my heart. Nothing can ever change that, I told you. I write this many times to you.”

  Charlotte sank against his shoulder. Why was he always so sure, so able to convince her with these extraordinarily jesuitical arguments? How she had missed him!

  “Zhen, I have a son. Soon there will be another child. I have responsibilities,” she protested feebly. Charlotte was not sure what he would do if he knew that Alexander was his own son. She did not dare tell him.

  Then his words began to sink in. He had mentioned letters. More than one. “You wrote to me?” she said quietly. “I never received a letter. I waited so long. I would have given anything to receive a word from you.”

  He put a hand into his coat and drew out the paper, folded now and yellowing slightly. Charlotte looked at the letter in his hands, remembering that terrible morning, his anger and distress.

  “The day you went away I thought I would die, but your letter saved me,” he confessed. He opened the paper and read, not the Chinese, but a translation made long ago into English:

  Journeying is hard,

  Journeying is hard,

  There are many turnings.

  Which am I to follow?

  I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves

  And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea.

  Zhen folded the letter.

  “This is poem by Li Bai, Chinese poet. I did not know how you knew this poem, but it saved my heart. Then I know I have to write to you. Words can save us from this awful thing. So I write a lot. I sent the letters to this Mah Nuk house through Chinese merchant. I write in Chinese at first, then later in English. My English very good now, no?”

  He looked down at her, his pride boyish and charming. She smiled and brought his face down to hers again, kissing him, his soft full lips, his cheek, letting her tongue linger on the corner of his mouth. He smiled too, letting her love him, holding her tight against him, his hand in her hair.

  Charlotte remembered now about the letter she had given him. She had gone to Qian, Zhen’s greatest friend, and begged him to find some words which would give Zhen solace after she was gone. Nothing she could write in English would make any difference. Qian had tried to explain the poem he had copied for her, but she had not understood. Now she was grateful to him for his deep understanding of his friend. But more than this, she began to wonder about the many letters Zhen had written to her. Her face grew serious, and suspicions began to enter her mind.

  Zhen put his cheek against her hair, filled with gratitude for this moment, remembering the day she had left; it still felt like a stab in his heart. When the brig had swung on the wind towards the south, he had raced along the beachside at Telok Ayer. The inhabitants had gaped at the extraordinary sight of a Chinese man running at full tilt.

  He had passed the temple and the houses and the fishing boats pulled up along the shore. Sweating, he had climbed up the steep path to the top of Mount Wallich. Hot and wretched, he had pulled off his jacket, needing the high, cool air on his fevered body.

  From here, the view opened out: the red-roofed town at his feet, the sapphire sea, the green islands. He saw the black brig and sank to his knees, watching until it disappeared. Groups of Malays who had been resting there gathered their belongings and fled. Then he had let his anguish and his anger show, pacing back and forth, punching the trees, hurling his misery to the wind. Zhen knew he must get this unbearable emotion out now, for soon he would have to return, impassive and calm, to his new family and his place in society. When he needed that release he had always come here.

  A gale goes ruffling down the stream

  The giants of the forest crack

  My thoughts are bitter—black as death—

  For she, my summer, comes not back.

  He had been bitter and black, and he knew he had been cold to his wife. But there was nothing he could do about it. He had thrown himself into commerce and medicine, worked longer than anyone. He had slept in the house in Circular Road, in the bed where he had first made love to her, and waited to hear from her. He never went again to the old spice orchard at the foot of Bukit Larangan, so filled with memories of them. He was grateful for Qian, his true friend, to whom he talked of her, with whom he wrote the letters in English. Qian, he knew, wished he would try to forget for his peace of mind, but it was simply not possible.

  “Charlotte, where are you?”

  A voice came out of the darkness. It was Robert, calling her to go back. She looked at Zhen, her eyes wide. Zhen, too, stiffened.

  “You stay in Singapore. Do not go away. I find you again,” he commanded. He rose with her in his arms, kissing her again, wanting her promise. Charlotte nodded, breathing in the scent of him, feeling his hard body under his clothes, tasting him on her lips. The time without him might not have existed.

  Zhen released her, turned and disappeared into the darkness of the garden. Charlotte called to Robert, and he shook his head at her mussed condition.

 
She sat on the bench, attempting to calm her pulse and the flutterings of tension in her stomach. Leaving him, even for this moment, even knowing they would meet again, was hard. She took a mirror and comb from her bag and tried to refashion her hair. Her hands were trembling so much she dropped her comb, and Robert, sighing, picked it up and sat with her until she had brought herself under control.

  When she returned, she looked for Tigran and told him she felt very tired. Actually she was tired, with the pregnancy, but also with the emotion of this encounter, these last few days of upheaval.

  Soon, they made their farewells and left. As she went to her room, she asked Tigran to excuse her: tonight she needed her rest and would like to be alone.

  Tigran put his arms around her, wanting her kiss. She put her lips to his briefly and then turned. He frowned but made no objection. He knew she had not wanted this pregnancy, and he occasionally felt a little guilty at coming to her as he had at the river. As he turned to leave her for the night, her maid arrived, and she closed her door.

  24

  George went through the huge double doors of the house into the hall. He was in a very bad temper. He had written notes to Takouhi, and she had answered none. Three days with no reply, but he had been patient. He had wanted everyone to have a chance to get over the shock, to settle Maria into her new home. Now he had just been stopped as he crossed the threshold of this house he had built for Takouhi and asked to present his card. He pushed the servant away and walked inside. He stood in the middle of the hall and called her name loudly. “Takouhi!”

  His voice reverberated around the circle of the hall, and he, momentarily and oddly, thought what a fine job he had done on this house. Sound rang out as in a concert hall. Then he called her again, louder, more angrily. “Takouhi, come out. I want to talk to you. If you hide, I will find you and I shall turn this house upside down to do it!”