Mandarin

by Elegant, Robert;

  Some five months after their discovery of each other on the anchored cutter, Fronah and Gabriel were still gripped by “almost indecent passion and haste,” as she sometimes said with a laugh. They strove to conceal the intensity of their feeling in public—and naïvely believed they succeeded. When they were alone, they yearned to touch each other. Light caresses invariably led to more profound embraces when they felt safe from interruption, though that danger spiced their lovemaking. They were often alone, since Fronah was her own mistress in the Nest of Joy.

  That autumn afternoon, her son Judah was intently studying Hebrew in his grandfather’s office. Knowing her father would keep her son far beyond the appointed two hours to continue his initiation into the mysteries of trade on the China coast, Fronah had told Maylu she wanted to nap. Beaming with conspiratorial delight, the concubine swore she would keep the servants from disturbing her Small Lady’s rest.

  “Young Saunders finally produced the photograph.” Gabriel traced the curve of her hip with his fingertips. “Not a bad likeness of the cutter, I’d say.”

  “You beast!” Fronah threw off the sheet and darted across the bedroom to scrabble in his coat pocket. “You know I want to see how you came out.”

  “I like you that way, darling.” Gabriel grinned at the naked figure bending over the rosewood chest. “Even better than in your new green dress.”

  “That frock is pretty, isn’t it?” She stopped searching for a moment. “Oh, Gabriel, it’s so nice to be foolish and only think about frocks sometimes.”

  “You’ve improved,” he said complacently. “No doubt about it.”

  “All due to you, of course?”

  “Well, I deserve a little credit, don’t I?”

  “My darling, you deserve all the credit.” She was grave for an instant. “It’s really lovely, you and me, together. But where’s the damned picture?”

  “You’re beginning to sound like a hardcase Yankee bosun, my sweet. Try the inside pocket.”

  Fronah studied the sepia print, remembering that they had posed for two hours in the cockpit of the moored cutter before the young English photographer was satisfied. Ten years after first seeing a daguerreotype, she still marveled at the extraordinary likenesses captured on the glass plates inside the big wooden box with the glaring lens.

  “It’s very good of you, Gabriel,” she finally pronounced. “Though I wish he’d caught your dimple. But I look a mess.”

  “Well, at least the boat looks good. She didn’t have to smile. But, truly, it’s a beautiful picture of you.”

  “You really think so, Gabriel? Isn’t the tip of my nose too round? Perhaps it’s not too bad. I do want one.”

  “I’ve asked young Saunders to frame a copy for you. This one I’m taking with me. Now stop admiring yourself and come back to bed.”

  “Have you got another present for me, Gabriel?” She coquetted, holding the photograph before her nakedness in a parody of modesty.

  “My other present will take a few minutes more to be ready. Maybe less if you really want it … and help it develop. But come back to bed anyway. I want you near me.”

  Fronah laid the picture on the side table and slid down onto the bed. Throwing off the sheet, Gabriel pulled her head down on his shoulder.

  “We’re shamelessly abandoned, aren’t we, darling?” She chuckled. “But very comfortable.”

  “Maybe it’s superstitious, but I have a feeling I’m just too comfortable. I’m tempting fate, taking without giving. Welcomed in your parents’ house and welcomed in your bed. I don’t give much in return.”

  “My darling, you give me everything—everything I ever wanted in my bed or out of bed.” Fronah’s tone was light. “As for the parents, keep your eyes open when you go north. A few really good porcelains would be much appreciated. Of course they know about us. I won’t pretend they’re overjoyed, but they understand. They’re not medieval, you know.”

  “I hate leaving you again, Fronah. It’s bound to be several months.”

  “I’m not overjoyed myself, you know. But what can we do?”

  “You could come with me.”

  Fronah wriggled free of his arm and sat up against the pillows. Picking up the photograph, she studied their images before replying.

  “Gabriel, my darling, you are being foolish now. How could I leave my work? And just think of the scandal.”

  As she spoke those words, Fronah knew that her feigned fear of scandal was merely a pretext for turning aside his suit. She had, naturally, pondered her response to the proposal of marriage she had felt certain he would in time offer. In part, she acknowledged to herself, she was deterred by the possibility that Lionel might still be alive somewhere, though the likelihood was not great. However, her husband had become a shadowy figure in her mind. Moreover, the sweeping tide of sensuality released by her profoundly satisfying physical relationship with Gabriel had virtually erased the memory of that single overwhelming night when Lionel returned so briefly and she first discovered the ecstasy of the senses. But loving the American—and making love to him—were wholly different from marrying him. However she reveled in their full-blown and mature love, she simply could not commit herself to Gabriel.

  She had, Fronah knew, found her true purpose in her service to the orphans and to China. She had also found her own true nature and the independence for which she had always longed. She was not prepared to surrender those deep satisfactions in order to become an appendage of another man, however deeply loved. For a moment she regretted Gabriel’s having brought her to full knowledge of the physical as well as the emotional ecstasies a woman and a man could discover together. For a moment she almost hated her own compelling sensuality.

  But she would not cast aside the immense fulfillment she had found in her duty to China by a hasty marriage. Besides, the man was always the master—and Gabriel would undoubtedly wish to return to the United States some day. How could she promise to “honor and obey” when she knew that her responsibilities would never permit her to leave China?

  “Maylu’s practically running the children’s home,” Gabriel argued. “And the Grand Mandarin says he’s got plenty for you to do in Tientsin. So why not come? Besides, everyone already knows about us.”

  “It’s not the same thing. Going north with you would be a public declaration. Open defiance would be improper.”

  “You’re always saying you don’t care about propriety.” He paused and, heavily casual, added: “You could marry me, you know. That would satisfy propriety.”

  “Gabriel, you know I can’t,” she protested. “I’ve explained so many times. I’ve still got a husband, even if I don’t know where. And there are … other things.”

  Gabriel sat up abruptly and reached for his cheroot case, almost knocking over the earthenware water jug on the side table. He deliberately lit the brown cylinder and vigorously fanned out the match, furiously attempting to subdue his surge of anger.

  “For God’s sake, Fronah, be sensible!” he finally exploded. “Lionel can’t be alive. For God’s sake, Fronah, he must be dead after all this time. Besides, he deserted you.”

  “Perhaps he isn’t alive, but I don’t know. And I can’t divorce him. Under Talmudic law, a wife can’t divorce. Only a husband. It’s unfair, but there it is. Besides, there’s the British law. It would be difficult, almost impossible, I’m told.”

  “You’ve inquired then? I’m glad of that.”

  “Of course I have, Gabriel. What do you take me for? But it’s a very big step. And there are other reasons.”

  “What other reasons?” he demanded brusquely. “What are these other reasons? Fronah, I can’t bear to think about losing you.”

  “And I couldn’t bear losing you, my darling. I think it would be the end for me. Let’s talk about it very seriously when you come back. We couldn’t now, anyway. Even without the complications, we couldn’t get married in the two days before you go.”

  He nodded curtly and morosely blew a plump
smoke ring. He was angered by her evasiveness, but, he cautioned himself, he must not give way to his anger. His violent temper had decisively altered the course of his life once. He must not allow that to happen again—and, perhaps, blight the greatest happiness he had ever known by losing her. He nodded curtly for the second time and forced himself to remain silent. When she ran her fingertips along his arm, he smiled despite his anger.

  “You won’t catch me so easily,” he said. “You can’t have your other present till I’m good and ready. Anyway, you’re just trying to change the subject.”

  “That same old present? Who needs it? Of course I’m trying to change the subject. You know you never told me why you left the Navy all those years ago. Everybody thought you must be a secret agent for the Americans.”

  Gabriel looked at her in frank astonishment. She truly did not know, he realized, and she was justifiably curious.

  “By God, I guess the U.S. Navy kept its secret better than I believed. I really thought all Shanghai knew about my contretemps, but I see I was wrong!” he exclaimed. “I’m amazed that you don’t.”

  “Then tell me, even if I’m the last to know.”

  “A commander named Staughton on the Susquehanna kept riding me. Nothing I did could ever satisfy him. To hear him talk, you’d think I made a complete mess of all my duties. One day he reached the limit.”

  “What was that, darling?” she prompted.

  “He forced a confrontation by calling me a vile name. Maybe I acted stupidly, but I was very young and very hotheaded. At least I didn’t strike a superior officer. That’s what he wanted. But he’d made a tactical error—insulted me in front of two other officers. In my rage, I did the only thing I could. I challenged him—forced a duel with cutlasses.”

  “Of course you weren’t hurt. How could you be?” Fronah remembered her brother David’s admiration of her lover’s lethal skill with the heavy naval cutlass. “What happened to Commander Staughton?”

  “I only pinked him. Thank God I had the sense to let him off lightly, though I wanted to kill him.”

  “Then what was the crime?” she persisted. “Two gentlemen—well, one gentleman and a cad—fought a duel. Honor was satisfied, and no one was badly hurt. Why did you leave the Navy?”

  “You could say,” he said, smiling, “the Navy left me.”

  “I don’t understand, Gabriel.”

  “Dueling between officers is forbidden. It’s a court-martial offense to force a duel on a senior officer.”

  “I never heard you were court-martialed.”

  “I wasn’t. The Navy was embarrassed because of the insult. The Commodore didn’t want to rake the matter over. So they didn’t try me. They compromised—placed me on ‘extended leave.’”

  “What was the insult, Gabriel? Why was the Navy embarrassed?”

  “It still rankles, Fronah. I couldn’t take it lying down. He called me a pushy kike—a dirty, lazy Jewish swine.”

  “How ridiculous, Gabriel! Why were you insulted? If somebody called me a filthy Hottentot bitch, I’d just laugh.”

  Gabriel laid his cheroot in the ashtray and stared at her in astonishment again.

  “You mean you don’t know, Fronah? I always assumed you knew. My mother was Jewish. She was a Poole from the old Sephardic family.”

  “That’s funny, Gabriel. I know it was terrible for you, but I can’t help laughing. It is funny. All along, I thought … It’s very funny.” She finally controlled her laughter. “So that’s why you were so curious about my name at the ball, when we first met.”

  “Of course. And it never occurred to me you didn’t know. All these years, I never thought to tell you. Those other reasons for not marrying me? Were they because …”

  “Yes, of course. I never dreamed you were Jewish. I suppose you’re not, really, but technically you are because your mother was. If it were your father, no. You see …”

  “I know about Hebrew matrilineality, my dear. Who knows better that Jews are very practical about blood lines and property? A father could be anyone. But there’s no doubt who the mother is. So a Jew is anyone born of a Jewish mother.”

  “You are well informed, darling.”

  “And it makes a difference, even to you? I can see that your parents would care, but you, too? Then there’s no real obstacle now.”

  “I’m afraid it did make a small difference to me, Gabriel,” she confessed. “It’s not enlightened, I know. But it made a difference. And to my parents, of course.”

  “Then it’s all right, now, isn’t it? Promise you’ll marry me, darling!”

  “My love, I want to. I really want to. But there’s still Lionel—what’s become of him. I don’t know whether I’m a married woman or not. But I promise I’ll think hard about it. When you come back, we’ll see.”

  “That’s not good enough. Promise me now.”

  “I can’t. Really I can’t. But when you come back, I’ll certainly …” Her prevarication trailed off. “Right now, I want something else from you. I’m glad you want to make me an honest woman. Right now, just make me a contented woman.”

  Her arms twined around his neck and pulled him down onto the pillows. He turned joyously to her and slipped his arm around her back.

  “Give me that present now,” she whispered. “I want it now.”

  CHAPTER 71

  October 8, 1873

  The Imperial Jade Mines

  KANSU PROVINCE

  The rotund figure in the sheepskin coat leaned toward the fire burning under the gridiron, his blunt fingers holding charred bamboo chopsticks. When the strips of mutton crackled brown, the long chopsticks swept them into an earthenware bowl containing a sauce pungent with dried chilis and thick with peanut paste. He shoveled the mixture into his mouth and bit a chunk off a long bun studded with sesame seeds. Still chewing, he sipped the powerful sorghum spirits called bai-garh, white and dry, from a cracked cup.

  Aisek Lee sighed with satisfaction and laid his chopsticks down. He lit his pipe after stuffing its tiny bowl with shredded tobacco. Replenishing his cup, he sipped and smoked in replete silence. The stunted Moslem who owned the eating shop offered another helping of grilled mutton, but the exile waved him away.

  “Chih-pao-la …” he said in the rough dialect that was the lingua franca of the frontier town. “I’m stuffed. Couldn’t eat another mouthful. But thanks, old fellow.”

  “It’s nothing, sir,” the Moslem replied. “I’d only hate to see a gentleman of your standing go hungry.”

  “No danger of that, old fellow.” Aisek grinned. “Though my standing’s hardly very high.”

  “The chief foreman of the Imperial Jade Mines,” the cook said humbly, “is undoubtedly a gentleman of high standing.”

  “If you say so.” Aisek grinned again. “But there’s them that’d disagree. We’re all in the shit together out here.”

  The wind, cold off the snow-dusted hills, teased the canvas flap covering the entrance to the clapboard shop. Aside from the glow of the fire, banked low to conserve fuel, the smoky interior was dimly lit by hanks of wool floating in saucers of sheep grease. Neither their acrid smoke nor the reek of sheepskin garments half-cured in urine troubled Aisek Lee after nearly two decades in the frontier town where the Imperial jade was mined by exiles like himself.

  He was, he reflected, as comfortable as he could be. Despite his sons’ occasional encouraging letters, he no longer indulged in the folly of hoping that his exile would be ended by a second act of Imperial clemency. Since he must spend the rest of his days in the wild Northwest, he must simply endure its barbarous way of life.

  Meanwhile, there was comfort in a full stomach, a glowing pipe, and the warming bai-garh—as well as solace from the Uigur girl who waited in his felt yurt. He had lost count of the number of willing girls he had known. Though he enjoyed their bodies and their solicitude, he had never had the heart to enter into a regular liaison like most of his fellow exiles. Still yearning after Maylu, he could not bring
himself to live permanently with a tribes-woman, though the practice was sanctioned by both law and custom.

  The twisted wool wicks flared when the wind flapped the canvas strip over the doorway. In the glare, Aisek’s round face, seamed with fine wrinkles, glowed copper-red. Even his massive bald head was burned bronze by the sun and the wind of arid Kansu Province, some two thousand miles from the refined pleasures of his native Shanghai. Broadened by years of hard, labor, his shoulders were powerful under the greasy sheepskin coat, which he wore with the pelt turned inward. As chief foreman, an eminence attained because of his skill in accounting, he no longer toiled in the mines—and he lived as comfortably as a civilized man could among barbarians.

  The canvas flap flew open, and a wizened man wearing the unadorned round hat of a yamen clerk entered the eating shop. Aisek glanced up while the Moslem cook bowed and scrambled to set out eating utensils for the newcomer. His minuscule establishment was rarely honored by the Governor’s minions in the evening, since they preferred the comfort of their stone-built quarters in the yamen. The clerk ignored both the proprietor’s abject greeting and the proffered food.

  “Ni, chia-huo …” He addressed Aisek curtly, for the voluntary exiles of the yamen staff naturally despised the involuntarily exiled criminals. “You, fellow, come with me. His Excellency urgently requires your presence.”

  Aisek resignedly knotted the strings of his coat and followed the runner into the star-laced night. Shuffling through the dusty street, he wondered uneasily why the Governor had summoned him at such a late hour. Some irregularity in the accounts, perhaps. But he had meticulously ensured that no possible irregularity could be discovered. Although his accounts were in perfect order, he felt a thrill of apprehension as he entered the courtyard of the yamen. Taken to the Governor immediately, he was fearful. That bumbling Mandarin of the Sixth Grade habitually kept his convict charges waiting to demonstrate his power, for he had himself been assigned to the wilderness after the discovery of clumsy speculation his superiors thought not worth a formal trial.