Mandarin

by Elegant, Robert;

  “Saul, is there some news?” Sarah persisted. “Good news? Is Gabriel coming back soon? Maybe David or Aaron coming to visit?”

  “There is news,” he replied. “You remember I wrote a few months ago to tell the Khartoons it was time to cut our connection? Well, they’ve agreed. I just got a letter from young Solomon Khartoon. He’s sending a new manager out. I’ll get him started, but in six months we’ll be on our own.”

  “That’s good, Saul—but you don’t look happy. Is young Solomon asking too much for his share of the old godown?”

  “His terms are stiffish, but not as stiff as I’d feared.”

  “Then why is your face so long? Oh, Saul, it’s wonderful news. We should be celebrating.”

  “I’m not sure,” he said abruptly, “I can find the money.”

  “Not find the money? How ridiculous. You reckoned young Solomon couldn’t ask more than a hundred fifty thousand taels. And now it’s less.”

  “Actually seventy-five thousand taels, maybe ninety with incidentals. Say thirty thousand sterling.”

  “But you’re afraid you can’t find the money? You’re talking as if we were paupers. Why, two tenements in the American Settlement would bring more. And you must have a dozen.”

  “A few dozen, actually.”

  “Then what’s the trouble?”

  “There are no buyers for land or houses. The bottom’s dropped out of the market. Maybe I could sell five or six tenements for ten or fifteen thousand taels, but I’d have to be lucky.”

  “I don’t understand, my dear. No funds and no market for property when Shanghai’s never been more crowded? Only a week ago you told me not to worry about how much we were spending on the new house. You must have put a quarter of a million taels into Jade House already.”

  “Sarah,” Saul said irritably, “let’s not start that debate again.”

  “My dear, what is wrong? I haven’t seen you so disturbed since you finally told me about your troubles with that rascal—with Lionel’s silver loan, God rest his soul. But you managed all right in the end.”

  “After you and I talked it over. It was brilliant—your idea to refinance in London, where money was cheaper.”

  “Why can’t you do the same now?”

  “I can’t, Sarah, not this time. I’ve got no collateral.”

  “No collateral, with all your property? And what else is bothering you?”

  “This time even your lightning inspiration can’t find a way out.”

  “Tell me, Saul, what is this terrible business? Don’t keep dodging around the barn.”

  “As I’ve been telling you I feared for weeks, Judah Benjamin’s just failed—and there’s talk of legal proceedings. Just one matter among many—fraud against Sassoons for a quarter of a million taels.”

  “Saul, I must go to Rebecca Benjamin. How awful for her!”

  “It is terrible, but first hear me out. Benjamin owes me nearly two hundred thousand taels. That’s seventy thousand sterling I’ll never see.”

  “Saul, isn’t that the biggest loss we’ve ever taken?”

  “Undoubtedly the biggest, my dear, with no hope of ever seeing a copper. We could weather that—not easily, but we could.”

  The merchant stopped in mid-sentence as the lean houseboy brought in the silver tea service on an oval tray encircled with silver roses and placed it on the round marble table.

  “I may have to resign from the Municipal Council,” he declared gloomily when the door closed behind the servant. “It may be the only honorable thing.”

  “Now you’re really talking nonsense,” she chided. “It’s not the end of the world yet. Besides, how could the only Jew on the council resign?”

  “That’s just it, my dear. I may have to resign because I’m the only Jew. The whole community will be smeared by this scandal. I can smell anti-Semitism rising like a black fog.”

  “Next you’ll be talking about pogroms—in Shanghai! My dear, you know you see everything too black when a few things go wrong at the same time. Sit down and tell me straight out, instead of talking like a Jeremiah. We’ll think of something. We always do.”

  “Always in the past.” Saul wrapped himself in his gloom. “But not this time.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. Let’s start at the beginning. Why is there no collateral for a loan?”

  “When somebody pulls a keystone out of a foundation, even an immense building comes toppling down.”

  “I’m tired of smears and black fogs and toppling buildings,” she exclaimed. “Sit down and drink your tea and let’s get things straight.”

  Smiling at her vehemence, Saul subsided into a cane chair, fished a Burma cheroot from his pocket, and struck a Lucifer. When the cheroot was alight, he poured a cup of tea and stirred in a dollop of strawberry jam. When the tip of the cheroot glowed and smoke wreathed his head, he spoke with forced calmness.

  “All right, point by point: First, Benjamin’s failed. The two hundred thousand he owes me is a bagatelle beside his other bad loans. Four or five million, most to the banks. Without funds he can’t develop his property, maybe a twentieth of the Settlement’s land. And he can’t sell it off, even cheap, because there’s so much land up for sale no one’ll buy. Share prices have tumbled, and the Chinese investors are panicking. And I was hoping to float a stock issue to really set Haleevie and Lee up. But I can’t now. Worse, I’m badly overextended with Jade House, pledges for the new synagogue, and my investment in the China Merchants’ Steamship Company. Also, Derwents is shaky, and I’ve got cooperative ventures with them. Finally, I can’t find even ninety thousand taels to cut loose from Khartoons, but I can’t go back on my word now. So Khartoons will be in competition with us. Just imagine what Aisek Lee would say.”

  “What would he say?”

  “That I’ve made a fool of myself without his guidance. He was always more reckless than I, but he pretended to weigh every move.”

  “Aisek’s not going to appear tomorrow morning, is he, Saul?”

  “Hardly. David’s still trying for a pardon, but there’s not much hope. God forgive me, but in a way I’m glad.”

  “Glad your friend isn’t coming back from exile?”

  “Has it occurred to you that Aisek could claim half of everything we own if he came back?”

  “But he’s got no legal claim. We own everything outright legally.”

  “Maybe no legal claim, but I have a moral obligation to Aisek I can’t repudiate. It would ruin me with the Chinese merchants. They know I took his property over so it wouldn’t be confiscated. If Aisek returns, he could beggar us.”

  Leaving her plants, Sarah slipped behind Saul, put her arms around his neck, and kissed the top of his head. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table.

  “Saul, aside from Aisek’s returning, which he won’t, what’s the worst that can happen?” She pointlessly stirred her unsugared tea. “Will we be paupers without anywhere to live or anything to eat?”

  “We’re a long way from that,” he acknowledged. “But six months or a year from now, when my bank loans come due, there’s danger of bankruptcy if the markets all stay depressed.”

  “Will they?”

  “Perhaps not,” he pondered. “But there could also be total panic.”

  “Why don’t we worry about what could happen when it happens? Mean-while, let’s stop pouring money into Jade House. Even put it up for sale as it stands. I don’t need the finest residence in the Settlement. Also call whatever loans you can collect and cut down our charitable contributions, even the synagogue. God will hear us just as well in the old one.”

  “All right, Sarah,” he conceded. “I’ll stop building on Jade House, but I won’t put it on the market when no one will buy at a realistic price. Anyway, if I did, everyone would say I was going under too. Also, I can’t stop our charities. If I retrench too heavily, they’ll think I’m finished—and I will be.”

  “Also, please, Saul, write your brother Solomon in London
and ask him to see Samuelsons. Maybe he also has a few pennies to spare.”

  “I need three to four hundred thousand taels to tide me over,” the merchant mused. “Say a hundred to a hundred fifty thousand sterling. It’s a lot of money, but not a fortune.”

  “A hundred fifty thousand pounds no fortune?” Sarah laughed. “You see, Saul, it’s not so bad. I remember when a thousand pounds was a fortune to us. Whoever thought we’d have that much?”

  “My dear, in London a butler gets maybe £90 a year. A hundred fifty thousand’s hardly a bagatelle.”

  “And you’re not a butler. Also, you can tell Solomon to assure Samuelsons the situation here is fundamentally sound. If Judah Benjamin owns a twentieth of the land, you own more. So you can tell them there’s collateral.”

  “I suppose we’ve got a tenth of the Settlement,” he said hesitantly. “At rock bottom we’re sound.”

  Sarah leaned across the table and kissed his lips. Sitting back, she poured two cups of tea while Saul reclaimed his cheroot from the blue porcelain ashtray.

  “So it’ll be all right, won’t it?” she insisted.

  “It won’t necessarily be all right. We’ll need a lot of luck.” He spread two newspapers on the marble table. “Remember I said I smelled anti-Semitism? Listen to what the Shanghai Courier has to say: ‘It was a boast of Judah Benjamin that the Rothschilds, the Sassoons, and the Benjamins would finally exercise predominant influence on the finances of all the world, while all Indian banks and all foreign banks in China would come under their complete control. Besides, what of the shadowy figure of Saul Haleevie, the great independent? With his collaboration, a Hebrew consortium could hold complete dominion over Shanghai.’ If they only knew how I was struggling!”

  “You’re not shadowy, dear. You’re rather substantial. I must cut down on those heavy lunches.”

  “It’s not funny, Sarah. Not when the Cathay Post’s being biblical: ‘First verse: And Benjamin in obedience to the word of his God Mammon came down from the land of his forefathers, leaving kith and kin, and without goods or chattels settled in a strange land among strange people. Second Verse: And the God Mammon was pleased with his servant Benjamin and gave strength to his hand, so that he waxed fat and prosperous. Third verse: But Benjamin later displeased his God Mammon, so that He forsook His servant Benjamin, for Benjamin had done some snivvey (Hebrew untranslatable) things. Fourth verse: And Benjamin lost all his flocks and herds; and his vineyards and houses had monkeys in them.’”

  Saul ground the stub of his cheroot against the blue porcelain bowl and searched his pockets for a replacement. Finding none, he placed his palms on the marble table. “Don’t laugh, Sarah,” he said. “It’s the stench of anti-Semitism.”

  “I’m sorry, dear, but it’s also funny. We’ve faced real anti-Semitism before—and survived it. Now I’m going to see Rebecca Benjamin.”

  CHAPTER 68

  April 16, 1873

  THE YANGTZE ABOVE CHUNGMING ISLAND

  The cutter was running before the wind, the sails bellying on either side like the snowy wings of an enormous swan skimming the muddy surface of the Long River. It was almost like flying, their gliding downstream toward the sea, Fronah reflected, with the sails set, as Gabriel described them with nautical precision, wing-in-wing. The surrounding silence was accentuated by the creaking of the rigging and the hiss of coffee-colored foam along the cutter’s canary-yellow flanks.

  Fronah leaned back against the deckhouse and stretched her legs out on the teak bench of the cockpit. Tucking her rebellious skirts under her ankles, she looked fondly at Gabriel, who appeared unaware of her scrutiny. His eyes flickered from the sails to the green and red wisps of silk tied to the stays supporting the mast, while he guided the cutter with slight movements of the tiller. He was otherwise immobile, completely relaxed in white duck trousers and a blue shirt, his feet bare.

  His gaze momentarily left the sails, and he grinned when the wind ballooned her skirt. The white dimity, sprigged with scarlet that matched her satin sash, billowed to reveal her bare knees. She laughed as she subdued the wind-blown fabric, though she should have been embarrassed. During the three weeks since his return from Tientsin, they had regained the easy camaraderie they knew before Lionel Henriques arrived in Shanghai to charm her parents—and herself. She was no more discomfited at her skirts’ indiscretion than she would have been had Gabriel been a favorite young uncle.

  “You used to have a dress just like that one, didn’t you?” he asked. “I remember you wore one like it at Jardines’ picnic the summer of ’56.”

  “It’s the same frock, Gabriel. I couldn’t find anything else for boating. But Maylu dug this up from the back of my cupboard.”

  Suffused with quick affection for Gabriel because he remembered the old frock, Fronah did not boast of her pleasure at discovering that it still fit her. She could not, of course, tell him she was doubly pleased to find she didn’t need even the light summer corset of lace, silk, and slivers of whalebone she had once worn under that frock. She felt deliciously unfettered and free.

  When Margaret MacGregor’s messenger told them that she and her husband could not, after all, join them, Gabriel had proposed abandoning the outing. But Fronah had insisted that they go ahead without their chaperones, rather than waste the beautiful Sunday and the bulging picnic basket.

  “The old devil-may-care Fronah,” Gabriel had said and laughed.

  “I don’t care what the gossips say,” she had replied firmly. “Besides, you’re not planning to rape me, are you?”

  “You are forthright, aren’t you?” he had said, reluctantly casting off the mooring lines. “I’d just be happier with another man to help if the weather changes. But no, I’m not planning anything drastic—despite the temptation. You’re looking wonderful.”

  Despite Gabriel’s automatic gallantry, she felt completely comfortable with him. She was spontaneously happy—as she had not been for longer than she could remember. Gabriel had spoken of the wind’s veering in the afternoon to carry them home, but she was not concerned about such technical matters. She felt quite secure with him.

  Gabriel would never possess Lionel’s inborn self-assurance, which made other men appear gauche. Nor could his black hair, deep-blue eyes, and straight nose ever move her as had Lionel’s aquiline fairness. Still, she felt tranquil with Gabriel, as she had never quite felt with Lionel.

  The inherent strain between herself and her husband had been exciting, but trying as well. She would, of course, be overjoyed should Lionel suddenly reappear. It was so long since his disappearance that her reason insisted he must have perished. But her heart refused to accept the verdict of her logic.

  Why, she wondered, had she ever thought the dark American dashing? He was a rock of dependability, not a devil-may-care cavalier, a soldier of fortune by profession but not by nature. He went to war as matter-of-factly as a banker went to his office. No, Gabriel was hardly her ideal of a fascinating lover, though she had been drawn to him when she was a romantic girl. After the battle of Soochow Creek ten years ago, he had been a wounded hero and she a pale angel of mercy. Those stock figures were as remote from reality as they were distant in time. The galvanic spark that had leaped between them would never flare again.

  She was, nonetheless, not pleased that the Mandarin Li Hung-chang had kept Gabriel so long in the North. True, the administration of the Viceroyalty of Chihli had been disrupted for months by the coronation of the Tung Chih Emperor in February, when even Yehenala’s wiles could no longer prevent the Court Astronomers’ designating the auspicious day.

  “Tientsin was like a three-ring circus,” Gabriel had explained. “So much to do around the new Shanghai shipyard: mounting cannon on the new Taku Fort; testing the new high-speed gunboats; and drawing up specifications for the big ironclads that’ll be the striking force of the North China Fleet.”

  He had, Gabriel admitted artlessly, been reluctant to leave when the Mandarin ordered him south again. A
nd, much as he enjoyed being with Fronah, he was not totally unhappy about his imminent return to Tientsin.

  “The atmosphere’s electric,” he mused. “We’re doing great things, just as you said. I’ve never seen such hard work and buoyant optimism in China. Your brother David is even optimistic about his father. The Mandarin has promised to get him a pardon, and this time he’s really pressing.”

  “I’d love to see Uncle Aisek again,” Fronah said. “It’s been so long. If he does come back, you must come, too. Papa will give the biggest party Shanghai’s ever seen.”

  She was piqued by Gabriel’s readiness to depart again. For the past three weeks, his constant company at dances and dinner parties given by hostesses who previously despaired of enticing her had been a delight. Though not exciting, he was reassuring. It was delightful to feel attractive and pampered, yet pressed by no emotional demands. His freely offered and undemanding companionship did not divert her from her vital work for the Mandarin and China. She would be very sorry when he left.

  Still, he would be returning regularly to Shanghai, which was the focal point of foreign influence in China. Gabriel’s chief utility to the Mandarin was dealing with the foreigners and their deadly inventions. Fronah stretched contentedly, her eyes half-closed.

  “It’s lovely, Gabriel,” she exclaimed when the cutter slipped around a junk struggling upstream. “I’ve never seen such perfect weather.”

  “Glad you came, then?” he asked. “Even if we are going to scandalize the old biddies?”

  “I told you I didn’t care. Just look at that vista.”

  The morning sun warmed her bare arms and glowed on the ripples of the broad Yangtze, its heat not yet oppressive in mid-April. The villages on the banks were Chinese toy towns, and the junks were storybook galleons under a sky of blue taffeta tufted with cotton-wool clouds. Though a black thunderhead hovered above the rim of the horizon, its theatrical menace was drifting away.

  Apparently as lazily content as herself, Gabriel spoke little. Their normal banter was suspended, her occasional acerbity and his habitual jocularity muted. They exchanged a few words as they sipped a mild punch, poured cold from a sweating earthenware jug. Twice he warned her to duck as he jibbed around bends and the mainsail slammed across the cockpit on its heavy boom. He then allowed her to hold the tiller while he transferred the Genoa jib on its long pole to the opposite side. The cutter was still running wing-and-wing, its sails spread vulnerably before the following wind.