The Shallow Seas

by Dawn Farnham

  He crushed out the cigar.

  “I know Maria thinks she loves me. She is young, and I like her. She has known no other man. If I thought at all, I suppose I thought we could have a pleasant life together. All this was very well until I saw Takouhi on the shore, the parasol, the hat with the emerald feathers. Ah, lovely girl, she’d made herself a vision for my eyes. It was like seeing her for the first time at her father’s house in Batavia. The same firebolt. Nothing had changed.”

  He rose and faced her, looking down.

  “We parted once, and it almost killed me. I lost my daughter; I lost Meda, and she is gone, I cannot have her back though I would give up my soul for it. But I can have Takouhi. Did you hear yourself? You said you have to find a way to go home. You know that this Chinese man is pro tempore, hard to give up, perhaps, but impermanent.”

  George stopped and looked at her more intently, his green eyes sombre, his voice quiet. “But, you see, dear Kitt, I am home. There is no other for me but her. If I lose her again, I will die.”

  He turned to walk away, then stopped and came back to her. “I will take care of Maria and the child. When Maria is recovered, I will tell her. If she wishes it, I will seek an annulment in the Ecclesiastical Court and petition Westminster for a parliamentary divorce. It’s long, it’s a mess, but it is not impossible.”

  He smiled slightly. “I do believe Billy would like Maria for himself. What a tangle we all get into, eh?”

  Then he left, and Charlotte sat, not knowing anymore what to think.

  27

  Baba Tan was spending the evening with his young concubine. His little son had bowed to him and been taken to bed. He was very well pleased with the cool and elegant house that had been built from George Coleman’s designs for Dr Oxley’s mansion at Killiney. His wife had not been difficult about the matter of the second concubine, who was a beautiful, desirable creature. She was happy to entertain family and friends in this splendid country mansion which had been filled with her purchases: French clocks, Venetian mirrors and glass, Chinese porcelain. He had supplied a sumptuous carriage for her to visit the town and go to the temple. He had bought a gold sireh set which she could display to the envy of her companions. His younger daughters were approaching marriage age. His two granddaughters were healthy, and it only lacked a grandson for his world to be entirely pleasing.

  But he was less pleased with the news that he had been given only this morning. His second daughter, Lilin, had come to visit her mother. The story she had related was troubling in several respects. First, Tan did not like the interference of his second daughter in Zhen’s business. She took much too close an interest in her sister’s marriage. Her own marriage seemed to interest her not at all. She had been married for almost three months, but was still not with child. Noan, by contrast, had been pregnant in the first month of her marriage. Really, he had made a good choice in Zhen. The man was like a younger version of himself, he reflected, full of sexual vitality. He knew his duty, and two children had been safely born within two years. A son was only a matter of time.

  The interference, however, on this occasion seemed somewhat justified. Lilin had told her mother that Zhen had not slept at the house in Market Street for many weeks. Noan, she said, was upset, the more so because there was talk that Zhen had been spending time at his shophouse with a white woman. Tan would not ordinarily have been bothered about these absences from the marital bed. He knew Zhen would be back to see Noan. The second child had only been born three months ago. It did not do to exhaust his wife. He knew his business, and a son was high on the list of his priorities. However, this news of a white woman was a concern, for Tan was entirely convinced that the woman was Mrs Mah Nuk. Why Zhen could simply not take a second wife or a pretty concubine was mystifying, but he suspected it was, unfortunately, not an affair of pleasure alone, but of love.

  Tan sighed. He believed he had never known love. His wife he had learned to care for. The concubines were a pleasant diversion. But love? No, he could not say he had ever loved anyone.

  Tan had known Miss Xia Lou Mah Crow when she first came to Singapore. He liked her a great deal. She was, surprisingly for an ang moh woman, very attractive, with a willowy figure and delicate features, skin like warm white jade, beautiful eyes and long black hair. She reminded him of a painting he had seen once of the ill-fated Yang Gui Fei, the beloved imperial concubine of Xuanzong, the Tang emperor, the most beautiful woman in China, who had turned the emperor from his duties and caused the downfall of a dynasty. She was a delightful girl. When she curtsied to him, the way the young English ladies did, with her eyes down in that submissive way, it was the most charming thing. Yes, he could see that she could turn a man’s head and had long suspected that Zhen was utterly smitten. Time apart had clearly not changed his son-in-law’s feelings.

  Tan shook his head. What was he to do with this information? Such adultery would be a scandal; it would reflect badly on him and his relations with the English merchants and the government here in Singapore. He sighed. He would have to speak to Zhen.

  The next day at the godown on Boat Quay, Tan called Zhen into his office. The two men worked happily together. Zhen’s medicine shop had become a very profitable business and was ably managed by his herbalist partner, a man he trusted. Zhen was thinking of opening another shop in Kampong Glam and taking leases on some new properties there.

  Zhen had recently suggested investment in the tin mines on the mainland. A marriage perhaps between Tan’s third daughter and the son of the Chinese Kapitan at Perak might be fortuitous. Or there was also the son of the Kapitan at Batavia, who was also of marriageable age and, he had heard, in need of capital to expand his sugar factories. The fourth daughter, both Zhen and Tan had destined to marry the son of Inchek Sang, the richest man in Singapore, who had died and left his vast fortune to his eleven-year-old adopted child. This child was, at present, in the care of Zhen’s best friend, Qian, who had married Sang’s second daughter and assumed control of the business.

  Zhen wanted to talk to Tan of the new steamships which he had seen in the harbour, for he saw the future of the seas in these vessels. He had taken a lease on twenty-five acres at Bukit Jagoh, on the southern side of Telok Blangah Hill. The views from this property were spectacular, the eye tumbling from the trees down over the shore and out to the smudgy islands in the vast blue sea. Zhen had never thought of having such a place. A mere four years ago he had been a penniless youth in a grim and tumbledown village in China. Singapore had given him this, and her, and he never wanted to leave. Of this, he did not want to talk to Tan. Here he wanted to build a house like the rich white men’s houses, designed by the foreign architect. One day, he was certain, he would need this house for Xia Lou. Both she and he were barely twenty-two years old. Her husband could not live forever; he was at least twenty years older than her. It was just a matter of time.

  Tan motioned Zhen to sit, and Zhen bowed to his father-in-law, this man whose name he had taken, who was like a second father. Tan liked Zhen’s old-fashioned Chinese manners. He always paid him the utmost respect. That made this conversation all the more difficult. They spoke in English, for Zhen’s Baba Malay had never become really proficient and Tan’s Hokkien was too rudimentary.

  “Something has … come to my attention,” Tan began.

  Zhen knew exactly what was coming and sat, silently, waiting.

  “It is the matter of a woman. I have heard you are seeing a white woman.” Tan looked at Zhen and decided to be straightforward. “I think you are seeing Mrs Mah Nuk. Is that true?”

  Zhen looked Tan directly in the eye. “Yes,” he said.

  Tan was a little taken aback and paused. He rather envied Zhen, but was not going to say so. He took on a severe tone. “It must stop. This kind of scandal will affect our business. You can see that.”

  “Yes. I do see that. It will stop. She will leave soon. She will return to Batavia to have her child. Her husband will come soon, I am sure of it. When her h
usband comes to take her away, it will stop.”

  Zhen paused and narrowed his eyes very slightly. “It will stop when she goes away.”

  Tan sighed. He could see Zhen was adamant. There was no point in arguing.

  “This news has come from second daughter. She must have heard of it from somewhere. The women never stop gossiping. You must be more discreet. Don’t forget who you are.” Tan raised a hand.

  Zhen rose and bowed to his father-in-law. The subject was at an end. Tan was right, of course. Just as before, this had to end before there was a scandal. The second daughter had gone to her father. Zhen reflected on this woman, this sister of his wife. She was a very pretty girl. Everyone called her Lilin, which meant “candle” in Malay. She had been called that because of her white complexion. She was a spoilt brat, Zhen could see that. She had been fussed over and indulged for her looks all her life. Everyone in the house but him was a little afraid of her, for she had a ferocious temper. From the moment he had entered the Tan household, she had been trouble. At fourteen, a few days after his marriage to Noan, she had come to him and lifted her sarong, revealing herself, wanting him to touch her. Since then, she found every opportunity to be alone with him, put her hand to his body, his hair. Zhen had pushed her away from him once, held her arms, and she had almost fainted, fallen to her knees and put her face into his groin.

  He avoided her wherever possible. He had hoped all this would end with her marriage, but it had not. She took no notice of her husband. Zhen was not even sure if she allowed him to have sex with her. He was a thin, shy young man, extremely clever but unassertive. Zhen knew Lilin was jealous of Noan. It was a bad situation, made worse by Tan moving out. Now only the two sisters and his children were in the house at Market Street.

  Now this. Zhen shook his head. Perhaps he should suggest to Tan that Lilin and her husband go and live with her father. The house was huge. But Tan would not welcome this suggestion, he knew. Lilin’s toughness, the arguments with her mother, bothered him. He had been happy to have her married, hoping this would settle her. No, Tan would not like it at all. So something else had to be done.

  And then, he thought, it would be hard on Noan. Despite Lilin’s nature, Noan cared for her sister. He knew he had been neglecting Noan, this woman who loved him so much, who was gently and quietly a good wife. When Xia Lou had gone, he would lie with her more often. It was not good to have her frustrated. Giving a woman sexual joy was a central tenet of the Taoist art of the bedchamber. They would make more children, have a son. He would build the house on Bukit Jagoh, and he would wait for Xia Lou to be free. His love for her, he recognised, was inalterable.

  That evening he went back to the house in Market Street for dinner. When she saw him, Lilin smiled. Zhen ignored her and went through to the living room. Lilin’s husband, Ah Teo, was in the sitting room, reading the English newspaper. He was, like Zhen, from a village in Fujian province, and the two men shared a common language and often talked about their families back home. Zhen had noticed him working at the godown of Bousteads, one of the big English merchants. His English was already quite good, and he knew his business. He was older than Zhen, had been in Singapore for over four years. He had travelled the region on Chinese junks, keeping the accounts, learning Malay and English, for two years before that. He had a half-brother and nephews in Cochin-China and cousins in Manila and Bangkok. He brought guanxi to the Tan business network in many different countries, influence with family business partners whom Tan could trust. This guanxiwang, a clannish network of human relations, formed the backbone of all Chinese commerce, and a marriage was the glue which kept it together. Daughters were there for this sole purpose. When the prospect of marriage into the Tan family empire had been proposed, Ah Teo had agreed immediately. Ah Teo had met Zhen’s wife several times before the wedding and been taken by her quiet nature and sweet charm. She treated Zhen as if he was a god, and Zhen’s daughter was a pretty and loving child. Nothing at all had prepared him for Lilin.

  She was lovely, the prettiest of Tan’s daughters, and when he had lifted the veil on their wedding day, he could hardly believe his good luck. Their wedding night, however, had been a disaster. Lilin would simply not let him touch her, and he had not known how to react. His experiences with women were few and usually for money. When her mother had been presented with the sheet the next morning, and seen the virgin white perfection of it, she had taken Lilin aside and given her a good talking-to. The following night, Lilin had lain back on the pillow and, unmoving, allowed him to consummate the marriage. He had not the slightest idea of what to expect from a wife and presumed that this was an activity which women of good breeding simply did not enjoy.

  Zhen suspected all this, though Ah Teo had, of course, said nothing. Something had to change. He did not like to interfere in the man’s private life, but if things went on like this, Lilin would never get pregnant, and without a satisfying life in the bedroom, she would never leave him alone. Zhen knew that whilst this fellow was, in almost every other respect, a perfect addition to the Tan family, he was probably not the sort of strong hand Lilin needed. Zhen was fully aware of Lilin’s feelings for him. Though Ah Teo was older than Zhen, as Tan’s adopted son, husband of his first daughter and his heir, he had precedence, and it was part of his duties to the family to straighten this matter out.

  “Brother, can we talk?” he began.

  Ah Teo put down the paper, happy to chat to Zhen, whom he liked a great deal. Zhen came right to the point, knowing that no one in the house would understand what they were saying.

  “This is not a subject that I would ordinarily raise, but I feel I must say something. Father-in-law,” he lied, “is concerned that your wife is not yet pregnant. You understand your duty and hers?”

  Ah Teo looked startled and stared at his hands. “I …” he stumbled, “She …”

  “Yes, I understand. Some women take a little time, but you must take charge now. It has been three months. You are the man. You must insist she fulfill her wifely duties. That includes her duties in the bedchamber.”

  Ah Teo looked stricken, and Zhen softened his tone. “I do not mean you should hurt her, of course. But you must take charge of the situation. If she is refusing you, you cannot accept it. You must learn to tempt her, to give her joy. If you want the er-hu to make beautiful music, you must learn to play it well.”

  Ah Teo almost gagged with embarrassment. He could not believe his brother-in-law was saying these words. He blushed to the roots of his hair and rose, shaking. When he spoke, it was with a voice filled with horror.

  “This cannot be a proper subject of conversation—”

  Before he could finish, Zhen rose too. “I have said what I needed to. I did not mean to shock you. The subject of making children is a proper one for me to raise. Mencius said that of all the offences to filial piety, the most serious is depriving your family of posterity. You must speak to her of this, force her obedience. Lilin is strong-willed, but you must be stronger than her. There is no other way if you are her husband.”

  Zhen took a package from inside his coat and handed it to Ah Teo. “This may help,” he said. Zhen knew well that he was the man to tame Lilin’s violent passions. He had spent years learning these arts with the fourth concubine, who was adept beyond anything these women knew. He would have exacted her obedience in one minute—no, the second he stood in front of her. He was not sure Ah Teo was up to the task, but he had to try.

  Ah Teo stared at the package, and Zhen went out of the room.

  Noan was in the kitchen, directing the cooking. Lilin was there too, to scold the cooks. Both women looked up as Zhen came to the doorway. Ignoring Lilin, he motioned Noan to come to him.

  “I will stay tonight,” he said in Baba Malay. “Are you well?”

  Noan nodded, knowing his meaning, and felt her heart flutter. Tonight they would share the bed if she was not menstruating. She was feeling desperate to be with him. During the pregnancy, sex had been forbidden,
and her “sitting month” had lasted two. This part she hated: being confined to her room for forty days, unable to wash her hair or bathe properly in case she got cold and upset the qi balance. The smell of her unwashed body, the sireh leaves plastered on her forehead and her ears plugged with garlic. She was glad Zhen could not see her like this.

  They had slept together for only a few weeks, and there had been a long period when he had stayed away. She was dejected and worried by it. Now, though, she brightened and set about finishing his meal with a light step. She did not worry about pregnancy. She was breast feeding and, in any case, Zhen most often used his hands and mouth with her, for he had explained that the main purpose of most Taoist sexual practice was to conserve and build the qi. The man should give the woman many orgasms whilst retaining his semen and absorbing her sexual fluids. In this way both man and woman would be healthy and live long lives. She had quickly learned his ways, wanting to please him as he ecstatically pleased her.

  Childbirth had been relatively easy. Over some mild objections by her mother, Zhen had introduced a midwife who knew the art of zhen jiu and zhi ya, and the birth had been uncomplicated and the pain tolerable. She would have liked a thousand babies by him. Only the fact of him staying away gave her pause. But he controlled this aspect of their life together and had decided ideas on bodily health. When the baby was one year old, she knew they would make another. She wanted, more than any other thing, to give him a son. She went often to the shrine of Kuan Yin, Goddess of Compassion and Childbirth, to make offerings—for a son, for Zhen’s health and affection, for her parents, for a happy life—for a son.

  She had heard what Lilin had said about the ang moh woman. She did not believe what Lilin told her and asked her to stop such talk. Her husband had every right to do as he wished. He was a man who enjoyed sex for the health of his body. Over such a long period as pregnancy, it was natural for him to seek other outlets. She did not like to think about it, but she accepted it. In an uncharacteristic outburst of temper, she had told Lilin to pay attention to her own husband. Lilin had merely scowled.