by Dawn Farnham
Charlotte had finally made sense of what was happening with him. Some other fellows had been paying court to Teresa, who was now seventeen and very pretty. He had, with the greatest trepidation, finally told Teresa about Shilah, for he had decided he could no longer submit to blackmail. Be damned! he’d said. If she was shocked and wouldn’t have him, then so be it! Better to know right away.
And to his amazement, Teresa had told him it was all right. She was not as innocent as that. Most men had one of these women, and children and so on. You couldn’t live in a family of scores of cousins and dozens of aunts and uncles and not know a thing or two. At least three of her cousins, to her knowledge, kept such a girl. She did not like it, though. It must stop, she had said. He had agreed. She was tired of waiting. They would get engaged immediately and marry as soon as possible. He had nodded vehemently. And she had kissed him passionately and told him she was very tired of being a virgin. He had dropped his jaw, and she had patted his hand.
Charlotte smiled. Teresa had set her sights on Robert, and now he was hers. They would be a good couple. Teresa was just right for Robert. Charlotte had vague forebodings about Shilah, however, for she knew that Shilah loved Robert and would very much resent this marriage and his subsequent withdrawal of affection. But she could not worry about that now.
She stood and looked along the river towards the Chinese town. It was not visible from here, for the river made a bend, but she could feel its bustling energy bursting over the waters. Throughout the Chinese New Year period she had not seen Zhen. He had been intensely involved in the celebrations with his family, his wife and children. It was impossible to ignore the festivities, for the deafening noise floated across the whole town. This, more than anything else, had reaffirmed the impossibility of a life, other than this transient life, with him. She could not share his world. For these months she had tried to justify it, reconcile it, write mental treatises about it, but there it was. She lived in one world and he in another and, like the cowherd and the weaver girl in the Chinese love story, they could only meet over the magpie bridge.
She had not yet said good-bye to Zhen; she was going to him now. Charlotte walked down onto the riverside and hailed a sampan to take her there, to his house.
He was waiting for her. She entered his house and took a look around. Love’s last adieu, she thought. It was like a tormenting refrain. She put her hand to his cheek and, without a word, climbed the stairs. The last time. It bit into her brain. She did not want to speak to him. She disrobed, leaving only the pearl necklace, and started to climb up on the high bed awkwardly, her belly getting in the way. She wanted to watch him take off his clothes. Zhen smiled and teased her a little, patting her bottom, pretending she was too heavy for him to move, and she turned and scolded him. He laughed and picked her up easily in his strong arms and put his lips to hers and placed her on the bed. She lay back. The thought of robbing her eyes of his beauty caused her physical pain.
She was big now with her child, and he lay next to her and brought her head into his shoulder, moving her so she was nestled in his arm, her leg over his to rest her belly. He had bathed before she came, and his skin was cool and fragrant. He knew her husband had come to take her away, that this was farewell. He caressed her hair. Charlotte traced with her fingers the tattooed image of Guan Di on his chest, and they lay silently together for a long time.
He put his hand onto her belly and felt the movements of the child. With Noan’s first pregnancy, he had been aloof, uncaring, he knew, trying to live somehow after Charlotte had left. With the second child, it had been different. He loved his pretty little black-eyed daughter more than he thought he would. He had found a pleasant affection for his wife. She adored him, and he had taken an interest in the growing belly. He had not made love to Noan during her pregnancy, for it was forbidden. It was with Charlotte he had learned how to give pleasure even as her physical abilities changed. Now that they could no longer make the extended and sometimes violent love of the last months, he wanted to pleasure Charlotte, maybe this one last time.
Cradling her, he turned her back to him, placing her bent leg on a porcelain pillow so that her belly was supported. He put a little oil on his fingers and rubbed her gently, moving on the lips and then onto the little bump which was already raised. Charlotte relaxed, knowing his touch, knowing his skill, revelling already, loose, in the almost unbearable sexual pleasure she knew he would give her. She no longer felt any guilt being with him. He had changed her. An aspect of their life together would be over soon. Perhaps they would not meet again this way. But the life force, this uncontainable vitality he had unlocked in her would always be there. It was outside of will, outside of thought. Magical, ecstatic, mysterious. Truly deep, truly loving. She would take it, if she could, and give it to Tigran.
A little squirt of wetness dripped from her, and Zhen kissed her neck, moved by her body’s response to him. He turned so that his head was between her legs and opened her lips with his fingers, putting his tongue to her. She instinctively raised her leg onto his shoulder, allowing him more access to her, and let out a long sigh. The first orgasm came slowly with his tongue; then he put his fingers inside her whilst she was still in spasm, finding her place and bringing on the second orgasm, greater than the first, liquid gushing from her onto his hand, into his mouth still against her. He drank, sipping the vast spring, licking her, prolonging the climax with his fingers. He listened to her sounds as she lost herself. Then he quickly came behind her, gently putting his penis inside her, not deep, taking over where his fingers had left off. He felt her spasm again, the waves gripping him between her legs. Slippery and soft, he moved, bringing on his own pleasure, feeling her all tight from passion, absorbing her yin essence. He felt as if he could do this for hours, the feeling of her so delicious he did not want to stop, but he knew he would exhaust her. He brought her to the last climax, then moved deeply inside her, careful of the pregnancy, and released his jing essence, nourishing her.
He held her, unmoving, as she trembled in his arms, closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair.
30
Tigran turned the handle of the door and went into the bedroom. He saw her in the half-light, sleeping, and went up to the bed. He threw off his boots and coat, lifted the cotton cover. She had gotten so big; he had been away too long. He moved into the bed and laid his body next to hers.
Charlotte opened her eyes and turned. She knew it was him. She let him take her into his arms, touching her belly, waiting for the movement of his child. She let him kiss and nuzzle her neck. Then, as he moved his lips against hers, suddenly, she could not bear it and she sat up, pulling the sheet up her body.
“Are you well, Tigran? Was the journey a safe one? Is Alexander well?”
Tigran was surprised at her coolness, but he had been away a long time, and she was now advanced in the pregnancy. Much as he wanted it, he would not have proposed sex. She was too far along and he feared a mischief to the child. But he would have liked to hold her, the way he had with Alexander.
Give it a little time, he thought. Don’t rush her. Pregnancy, he knew, could make women strange.
He got up, ringing the bell for some tea.
“All quite well,” he told her. Alexander will want to see you, I think. It has been a long time. And you, my lovely Charlotte. Are you well?”
Charlotte nodded and rose, taking a gown and putting it around her, tying it over her belly. Soon the tea arrived, and he threw open the shutters onto the garden, which was fresh from rain. He looked out for a few moments, then turned and sat.
“It was a terrible time with Josef,” he told Charlotte. “Thank the Lord, he has passed into greater hands. But he had a good deal of suffering. In the end, only laudanum kept him sane. It was horrible for Miriam. If I had not been there, I think she, too, would have died of distress.”
Charlotte said nothing, and he frowned.
“Is everything well with you, Charlotte? Are you in pain?”
Tigran took her hand, alarmed, and she gripped it. She was glad, of a sudden, that he was there. She had forgotten how reassuring his presence was and could see why Miriam had needed him in her moments of trial. This news of Josef was fearful.
“Last night we had word that George has taken very sick,” she announced. She told him of the trouble with George and Maria. Takouhi had not seen George since he had announced this business of the divorce to her. Now she was distraught, for Maria would not let her into the house. Billy Napier had relayed news between the two houses, as upset as anyone. He had talked to Maria, but she was adamant that Takouhi would not cross the threshold. George could not leave his bed. Dr Oxley attended him.
“Fever, he says, but then that is the response for every possible ailment that they know nothing about. What if it should be like Josef? Oh no; it is unbearable!” said Charlotte. She stared at Tigran and rose, distressed, and he rose with her and put his arms around her. She leaned against him.
“I have never believed there is a God, and now I am sure of it,” she said in an agitated voice. “Such lives of sorrow and misery we mortals lead. But if I thought it would help George, I would pray for a hundred days to any God of any creed on earth.”
At that moment, there was a commotion downstairs, and Tigran went to the door and opened it.
Billy was in the hall, and Tigran went quickly down to him. Charlotte, her heart in her throat, stayed on the landing, and Takouhi opened her door. Charlotte was shocked: Takouhi looked like a wraith. She appeared to have aged a hundred years in one night. She went down the stairs like a ghostly spirit, and the two men turned. Tigran let out a cry of alarm at the sight of her and took her into his arms, but she only looked at Billy. He, too, was shocked. It was written on his face.
“George?” she asked, and it was like a tiny voice carried on the wind. Charlotte burst into tears.
Tigran did not know who to attend to, but his sister felt so frail in his arms that he stood still, holding on to her. They looked at Billy.
“He is still sick, a return of the swamp fever, brought on, Dr Oxley thinks, by a neglect of his health and too much sun. He went several days without eating or drinking and then went into the jungle. He has been given chinchona, and Oxley hopes that with careful nursing and more fluids he will recover.”
Takouhi let out a cry of anguish and slumped into her brother’s arms.
“Billy, you must tell her to let us see him. Look at my sister, for God’s sake. Look at my wife,” Tigran commanded.
Billy looked up at Charlotte, who was slowly descending the staircase. His face wore an expression of gaunt and sorrowful misery. “He is my best friend. I am fearful …” Billy could not finish his words, and he too looked on the verge of collapse.
Charlotte went up to him. She had stopped crying and found some resolution. “Get John, John Connolly,” she said firmly. “Maria likes him. He is a religious man. Though he is Catholic, she will listen to him. He will convince her. Seeing Takouhi will revive George’s spirits. If you love him, she must see him.”
Billy nodded and left the house
“Tigran, take Takouhi to her bedroom. I will give her something to calm her,” Charlotte said.
Charlotte had learned from Zhen something about Chinese medicine, and he had given her some herbs when she had, on occasion, been distressed. The brew had calmed her a great deal, and she had found sleep and solace. She went to the kitchen to brew some of these herbs for Takouhi.
When John Connolly arrived, Takouhi was asleep. He had seen George, who, though still feverish, was calm. He had talked to Maria, but she was adamant. Tomorrow he would return in the morning with Father Baudrel, for his influence was very great.
John looked at Charlotte. He still loved her. He still remembered the gash on his heart when she had refused him, the misery of her departure. He wished that this child she was carrying was his. He could not forget her and feared that now he would not marry. If he could do her this service, for her sake and George’s, he would try.
Charlotte put her hand on John’s arm and smiled her thanks.
That evening, dinner was gloomy. Charlotte had made Takouhi rise to bathe. She had been taken soup up to her friend, but Takouhi had refused to eat and had gone back to bed. Charlotte could see her friend was on the brink of an abyss. She paced the floor of the sitting room nervously. Tigran sat by the window, staring out. They were waiting for news of George.
Tigran rose and put his arm around Charlotte. “Rest, please. Think of your health, the baby.”
Charlotte stopped pacing and sat down, but when she heard Billy’s voice in the hall, she ran to the door.
Billy simply looked at her and shook his head.
Charlotte let out a great wail and sank to the floor. Tigran lifted her into his arms, filled with horror.
“Billy,” Tigran said, his voice tense, “What is the news? Is George—” He stopped, unable to utter the words in front of Charlotte. She leaned against him like a rag doll, sobbing.
“No, no.” Billy realised suddenly the awful effect of his actions. He came up to Charlotte and took her hand.
“No, Charlotte, no. He is alive. But he is very sick. Tomorrow may be too late.”
Charlotte put her hand to her mouth.
“John and all his friends have been to see him. Oxley and Edward White have been there for an hour. White has given George extreme unction. He seems peaceful. I will join them. After she was with him, I told Maria to keep to her room. She cannot refuse to let his friends see him in extremis.”
Billy squeezed Charlotte’s hand.
“George is my friend too, Charlotte, but we cannot collapse. He has given me his will. He knows Takouhi has no need of his money. He leaves everything to Maria and the baby. He has asked me to bring Takouhi. I cannot …” Billy’s voice broke, “refuse this last wish.”
Billy looked at Tigran. “It has been very sudden. He seemed to revive—well enough to speak to me. He asked Maria for her pardon. He has done everything a good man should. I am sorry I was angry with him. I will not deprive him of anything he wants. He has been my boon companion these many years.”
A tear slid down Billy’s cheek. “Please get Takouhi,” he said.
Tigran lowered Charlotte into a chair and went upstairs. Within a few minutes, Takouhi appeared on the landing, with such a frightful demeanour that Charlotte pulled herself together, rose quickly and went to her.
“We will go to George, Takouhi. Let’s get ready.”
She guided her friend to the dressing table, and they sat. Charlotte had never seen Takouhi look so beaten. Within a few days, her skin had become sallow, her eyes sunken and lifeless. Her bones protruded from her shoulders. She blamed herself for his illness, and nothing would give her solace.
“Takouhi, you must be beautiful to see George.”
Charlotte poured a glass of water and made her drink. Then she called the Javanese maids, who set about restoring their mistress to some semblance of beauty. Her hair, at least, had not lost all its lustre. As they began to apply kohl to her eyes, Charlotte went to the wardrobe and selected a plain white embroidered kebaya and an emerald green sarong. When she came back to the mirror, Takouhi took her hand.
“This is good-bye, eh, Charlotte? Good-bye to George.”
Charlotte sat next to her friend, and their eyes met in the mirror. She breathed deeply and spoke to herself words that helped her find a deep, calm place. She would need great strength and calm to see Takouhi through this trial.
“Yes, this is good-bye. We must be alus, Takouhi. We must not create isin. He is on his journey. Let him go.”
Takouhi looked back at Charlotte, nodded and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Charlotte could see that she had found the natural resignation which so characterised the Javanese and which
had carried her through the death of her only child.
Now she rose and dressed carefully. The maids put jasmine flowers in her hair, and then she turned and went out of the room.
George was awake, sitting up, waiting, when Charlotte went to him. She told him Takouhi was there, and a look of warmth and joy came into his eyes. Charlotte gasped at his appearance, for the illness seemed to have ravaged him in such a short time. But she could not believe he was dying. He looked sick and thin, sweating, the fever had eaten at him, it was clear, but his face showed a deep calm. She knew it was because Takouhi was coming.
Charlotte kissed him on his cheek and, despite all her admonitions to Takouhi, could not hold back tears. George raised his hand and touched her face.
“Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
Remember.”
Charlotte did remember. It was the poem, a strange American Indian poem from a captain on a clipper ship in port at the time. It had given him solace when Meda had died.
Charlotte smiled at him, and he took up a glass of porter which stood on a table to one side and raised it.
“Here’s to me and here’s to you;
And here’s to love and laughter;
I’ll be true as long as you
and not one moment after.”
Charlotte laughed, spontaneously, a jerking, crying laugh. It was one of his favourite drinking ditties. He drank a little and licked his lips.
“Ah! Not quite so tasty as quinine, but beggars can’t be choosers! I’d like a glass of porter every now and again after I’ve joined my Maker. Are there inns in heaven? I must ask the Reverend. Surely yes, for Jesus was born in one. Eh? Why does this important question not come up in theological discussion?”
He had begun to shake and sweat profusely. He smiled wanly. “Say God speed, Kitt, and let me see her.”
Her face crumpled into tears, and she held on to him. Robert came, put his hand in George’s for a moment. George squeezed it gently and nodded at him with a smile, and then Robert, trying so hard to keep a strong heart, turned quickly and took Charlotte. He called Takouhi.