INCARNATION

by Daniel Easterman

  From a board at the top he took down a silk robe, an antique from the middle Ching Dynasty, black silk embroidered in black. The same motif was repeated in various sizes across front and back: the circle of yin and yang, male and female, day and night. He tied the slender waist-cord and returned to the seat.

  Facing him was a long calligraphic scroll, white paper painted with jet-black letters, the brushmarks bold and precise. The quotation was from the "Analects": "The Master spoke of the Shao music. It was, he said, perfectly beautiful in form and perfectly good in its influence".

  He sat and meditated on the words. All the time, his thoughts came back to the girl. Would she truly take his breath away? he wondered.

  The door opened without a sound, and the Master Lu entered. He knelt in one corner and unwrapped the ch ‘in, a long, zither-like instrument in whose art he was a master. Anthony observed him closely. In all the years he had been coming here, the Master seemed never to have changed. They had never addressed a single word to one another, though Farrar had numerous questions he wanted to put to him. It was reputed that, within the narrow circle of scholar-musicians who played the ch’in, Master Lu was undisputedly supreme. Farrar had also heard it rumoured that the salary he received from the Hui Hou was several times that of a well-known film star who had been turned down more than once for entry to the lotus house in Los Angeles.

  It was well known that the Hui Hou treated their servants well. In return they demanded nothing less than absolute devotion, absolute loyalty. While they lived, they and their families received all they needed, according to their status. If they broke their vows of allegiance, the penalty was swift and condign. The Hui Hou made grim use of the ancient punishment known as mie jiuzu: not only would the traitor be painfully killed, but his family to the ninth degree, and his friends, his teachers, his students, his pets.

  Of the thirteen living masters of the ch ‘in, seven lived in the lotus houses of the Hui Hou. They seldom played anywhere else, unless one of the ruling circle asked them to perform for them, or for a specially invited guest.

  Without preamble, Master Lu began to play in the pitch of the Ming Dynasty. Farrar sat still, blotting out from his mind everything but the gentle, dulcimer-like tones of the instrument. He lost track of time. In the lotus houses of the Hui Hou, time was of no importance.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Cadogan Place, London

  ‘What a surprise. And what has wafted you so fragrantly to my door, Laurence?’

  ‘You might let me in, Lizzie. I’ve walked bloody miles to get here.’

  ‘Weren’t there any taxis?’

  ‘At this time of night?’

  She peered out into the dark street.

  ‘Where’s Anthony?’

  He looked surprised.

  ‘I thought he was here with you. He’s been gone long enough.’

  ‘I thought he was out boozing with you. Oh, come on in, for God’s sake.’

  They went to the living room. A cigarette still burned on a marble ashtray set on an enormous coffee table in the shape of an upturned hand. Near it stood an almost-empty glass and, on top of the Chinese drinks cabinet, an odd-looking bottle.

  ‘What the hell’s that?’ asked Laurence, nodding in the direction of the bottle.

  ‘Marc de Bourgogne, of course. Freddie brings it back with him. You know Freddie, don’t you, dear?’

  He flung himself down on a sofa. Over the years he’d only been here before with Farrar, and found it odd to be in the room with his sister. Freddie Poole was an old friend of their father’s, a doddering old roue who kept a crumbling house in Burgundy, complete with a French mistress of about the same age. She wore amazingly scarlet lipstick and tight skirts, and it was said she’d been a chanteuse in Paris before the War.

  ‘I most certainly do. He’s a bloody fool. And you’re a bloody fool to drink that stuff. It must be a hundred and twenty per cent at least.’

  ‘That’s why I drink it. Do you have any idea how pure this is?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Like a virgin’s inner tubing.’ She sat down in a Mackintosh chair opposite him. It was her favourite chair. It wasn’t just an original. It was the original.

  ‘Not something you’d know much about.’ He paused. Sometimes banter like this could go on for hours. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘I did see Anthony tonight. We had dinner at the East China.’

  ‘Yes, I rather thought that was it. And how did you boys get on? You weren’t nasty to one another, were you?’

  ‘Not in the least. Why would you think that? Fact is, we got on awfully well. Anthony was in good form. Pity they won’t let women into the club: you’d have enjoyed the meal.’

  ‘I doubt it. And, speaking of Anthony, where the hell is the bastard?’

  ‘Not sure, really. I rather thought he’d headed on home. He’ll be back soon, I imagine.’

  ‘Probably gone off to some whorehouse. He does that from time to time, you know. You do know that, don’t you?’

  The Marc de Bourgogne had trickled down all her little red lanes a bit too fast.

  ‘Lizzie, I’d rather not know about Anthony’s peccadilloes.’

  ‘Don’t see why not, he’s got enough of them. He’ll pick up a peccadillo at the least opportunity. He hasn’t fucked me in days, but he’s happy enough to put his pecker in a pickled peccadillo.’

  She stepped to the table and picked up her glass.

  ‘For God’s sake, Lizzie, put down the bloody glass. If anyone’s pickled round here, you are. I want to have a proper conversation with you. There are some serious things we have to talk about.’

  ‘Really?’ Her hand hovered near the glass, then drifted away, and she resumed her seat. The tall back made her appear regal, or so she thought.

  He told her about his conversation with Anthony, how he had been urged to put her back on the board and give her some real work to do. Laurence was not altogether a fool. He knew his sister had abilities that were seriously under-used, and he knew that, if she made a fuss about it, she was legally entitled to use her seat on the board. Royle International was still a family firm, and it was Laurence’s intention that it stay that way.

  She listened with only half her mind. She’d expected the conversation, but not quite so soon. Anthony must have done his work well.

  ‘But you have to agree to go easy on the sauce. I mean it, Lizzie. They won’t stand for it.’

  ‘Who won’t stand for it?’

  ‘The board. You know perfectly well. You’re not popular, Lizzie. If you want to impress them, you have to turn up sober and stay sober all day. If you’re given responsibilities, you’ll carry them out, and you won’t let Anthony’s peccadilloes or your own peccadilloes get in your way.’

  ‘You know, Laurence, I never did like your lecturing. You got in a year or two ahead of me, and you’ve never stopped rubbing it in my face since. I’m a big girl now. I can handle my sex-life and my drink-life and my drug-life, without any help from anybody.’

  She stood and made for the table. Her hand went to the glass. No more hesitation. She was in control.

  ‘I’m not preaching, Lizzie. I just want this to work out for you. You don’t always handle things that smartly. Maddie, for one thing.’

  ‘What the precise fuck do you mean?’ She lifted the glass and downed a mouthful of the spirit without flinching. He watched her and said nothing.

  'I mean, if you think there’s something wrong with Maddie, why don’t you come out and say it? Maddie’s fine, she’s over her trouble. Rose got her over it.’

  ‘Calm down, Lizzie. I’m not accusing you of anything. Forget I said anything.’

  ‘No, you did say something. You said I didn’t handle things too smartly. Maddie for one. That’s what you said.’ Laurence sighed. He was having very serious doubts about bringing Lizzie back. But he made allowances for the fact that she’d been left alone all night, and that Anthony still hadn’t made an appearance
by the early hours of the morning.

  ‘Anthony told me about this recent problem. I asked him why Maddie hadn’t been at Sam’s funeral, and he was very honest with me.’

  'Was he?’

  ‘He’s actually quite concerned for the girl. He says she’s back with that man Rose.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. He’s not a bad man. Rose. His prices are a bit steep, but they say he’s the business. Maddie signed herself in.’

  ‘Anthony said it might have been because of you leaving David. You think that could be true?’

  ‘How should I know? I saw her a few nights ago. She was fine. I expect she’ll be out in a day or two. Bugger all wrong with her, really.’

  She took the bottle and filled her glass again.

  ‘Sure you don’t want some of this, Laurie? It’s first class.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘No, thanks. I’ve got to get home.’

  ‘I’d drive you over, only I’ve got to hang on for Anthony. He can’t be much longer. Even the best whore couldn’t keep him on the boil indefinitely. Actually, he comes quite quickly, you know. Too bloody quick for me, I can tell you. What about you, Laurie? How long’s it take you?’

  Laurence got to his feet.

  ‘Where’s your car, Lizzie?’

  ‘The Merc? God knows. No, He doesn’t. It’s at the front. Why?’

  ‘Give us the keys like a love. I’ll have somebody bring it round in the morning.’

  ‘They’re over there,’ she said. ‘In the fruit dish.’

  He fished them out and thanked her. There was a stillness between them. He hated Elizabeth, but he was sorry for her too, sorry for all her unhappiness. And Sam’s death had unhinged her a little. Maybe Anthony was right. She needed responsibility, and she needed to get out and see people.

  ‘Come over tomorrow for lunch,’ he said. ‘Come on your own. Tamsin’s invited a couple of old friends. You don’t know them, nobody special. But we could have a proper chat about the board. When you’re feeling more yourself.’

  ‘I’d like that, Laurie. That’s a very good idea. Take care driving back.’

  She got up and kissed him on both cheeks, rather in the French style, which he abhorred. But he stood his ground, and she sent him on his way. She leaned against the door after it closed. ‘Ta ta,’ she said. ‘Toodle-oo. Bye-bye. Cheerio.’ And slowly she slid down the door until she was crumpled at its foot. She’d wait until Anthony came home, and give him a piece of her mind. And then she’d see about Maddie.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Although it was late, he did not fall asleep. The purpose of the music was to calm without actually dulling the senses. Master Lu plucked the strings with the greatest precision, interpreting the successive pieces in a cautious manner, dampening desire, yet priming it for the night and day to come.

  ‘Lo mei hsi wu sheng,’ the Master sang in a low voice. ‘Yu ch’ih hsi ch’en sheng.’

  No more her silken sleeves rustle and brush the ground. In the Courtyard of Jade, dust lies thick as fallen leaves.

  It was a lament by the Emperor Wu of Han, for a dead concubine. Farrar knew it by heart. It was one of the first Chinese poems he had learned. The Master Lu had never sung it for him before.

  The music went on. A girl with a rose in her hair came in and set a small table before Farrar. A second brought a cup and poured chrysanthemum tea into it from a Yishing-ware pot. When the tea had settled in the pot, the first girl returned, bringing incense on a small stand. She set it to Farrar’s left, and lit it. The girls left him and the Master alone again.

  He drank the tea slowly, meditating on the poem. ‘Her empty room lies cold and still.’

  When the pot had been emptied, Master Lu bowed and stopped playing. He wrapped his instrument and got to his feet. As he went to the door, he turned, and for the first time spoke to Farrar.

  ‘I have seen her,’ he said. ‘There has never been one like her here before. Take care she does not bewitch you.’

  He drew the door shut behind him, and for a time there was silence. Then the girls came and took away the pot, the cup, and the lacquered table. He sat alone, waiting.

  The door opened, and Master Wei entered, carrying a wooden box. He was a small man, slightly plump, quite different in personality to the music master.

  ‘How you been, Mista Fah-la? Maybe two years since you last here.’

  ‘Longer than that.’

  ‘You performing your exercises like I tell you?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Sometimes not good enough. Tai ch’i chu’an every morning. Ch’iang chuang kung every evening. Most important. Show tongue, please.’

  Farrar let the doctor examine his tongue, then his pulses. Wei Chiao was reputed to be able to diagnose an illness two years before it made its first appearance. He had treated more ailing heads of state than any of the world’s hospitals. He was a humble, unassuming man, the last in a long line of court physicians. His personal fortune was reputed to amount to more than that of most of the great men he treated.

  ‘What pitch Master Lu play in?’

  ‘Ming.’

  ‘And what did he sing?’

  ‘The lament of the Emperor Wu of Han.’

  ‘Spit in bowl, please.’

  Farrar spat.

  ‘When you last make love?’

  ‘Four days ago, I think.’

  ‘You worried about something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Liver ch’i very weak. Will strengthen. Remove robe.’

  Farrar took off the black robe. Chiao took four needles from the box and inserted them in the points named ch ‘u-ch ‘ih, pai-hui, feng-ch ‘ih, and tsu-san-li.

  ‘I make herbs. You wait here.’

  The doctor left. Farrar relaxed, letting the needles do their work. Already he could feel the ch ‘i moving through his body, relaxing and revitalizing him at the same time.

  Half an hour later, when the needles had been removed and he had taken his herbs, Farrar stood and replaced his robe. He already felt much better than he had on leaving the East China Club. There was a loud click, and the third door opened. Smiling, he passed through.

  A pink-coloured corridor led him down to a green door on which the single character yu had been written. He placed his hand on the character, and the door opened of its own accord.

  The door closed softly behind him. Two stools faced one another. The walls were dressed in jade-coloured silk. Soft concealed lighting filled every corner. He counted the walls. Six. Cones of moxa herbs burned in each corner.

  He sat down on the couch bearing the characters nan ren, signifying "man". Nothing here was left to chance. He forced himself to breathe slowly. She would not appear yet. He was not ready for her.

  Somewhere, perhaps in the next room, a shiao flute began to play. Its gentle notes rose and fell like the wings of a butterfly crossing a broad lawn. He closed his eyes and let the music waft over him. Someone laughed, a young woman. He opened his eyes, but the room was still empty. He knew he was not listening to a recording. He sat quietly and waited.

  The girl laughed again, and her voice crossed that of a second, hushing her. It would be the two girls who had brought him tea, he thought. There was a brief silence, then her voice came again, amplified this time, a laugh, then a quick intake of breath, then the sound of steady breathing. Slowly, her breathing grew heavy and ragged, and soon it changed its pattern, acquiring the unmistakable tones of a woman being brought skilfully towards orgasm. The flute continued to play, its notes weaving in and out of her breath like a butterfly playing in the branches of a tall tree.

  She did not come quickly. The other woman knew how to hang her out, keep her on edge, and all the while she grew steadily more frantic, building and building, not in one crescendo, but several.

  As the girl’s last cries died down to gentle moans, Farrar became aware that the sound of her pleasure had given him a large erection. He stood in order to straighten his robe
. The fluttering of the flute faded to silence. At that moment, the door opened. She came in without ceremony, while he was still standing, and he looked at her and felt his heart break. Madame Zhou had not lied. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life. Not seen, not touched, not imagined, not dreamed. No one. No one like her.

  She stood just inside the doorway, so he could continue looking at her. Madame Zhou had been right about her age. Her face and body lay exactly poised between childhood and adulthood. She was tall and slim, and dressed in a long dress of black silk that accentuated her figure perfectly. A single glance told him she was naked underneath. Her long black hair had been lifted and combed into a low chignon, leaving her neck absolutely bare.

  ‘May I come in?’ she asked in Chinese, using the formal style.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered.

  She sat on the other couch, and Farrar returned to his.

  ‘My name is Meihua,’ she said. Her voice was soft and melodious.

  ‘Was that you playing?’ he asked.

  She smiled and nodded.

  ‘Did you watch?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Who cried out?’

  ‘The one with the rose. Her name is Junying. Would you like her to be with you instead of me?’

  ‘No,’ he smiled, ‘you will do very well.’

  She stood and went to a cupboard in the third wall, and from it she took a copy of the I Ching and a jar containing fifty long yarrow stalks. A low lacquer table followed, and this she set on the floor with the book resting on it. Beside it, she placed a slip of white paper. She knelt and removed the stalks from the jar, setting one aside - it would not be used again - and dividing the remainder.

  She took one stalk from the heap on her right hand and placed it between her ring finger and the little finger of her left hand.

  He watched her perform the ritual of consulting the oracle, but he barely noticed yarrow stalks or book. He could not take his eyes off her, her face above all. His erection was as hard as ever, and he felt feverish, desperate to have her.