The Wake of the Lorelei Lee: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, On Her Way to Botany Bay

by Louis A. Meyer

  Yes, there are a few astonished Hai!s from assorted personnel about the rigging, but neither Cheng Shih nor Brother Arcangelo seems to notice.

  "Nei ho mah, Cheng Shih," I say.

  She whips around to see me standing there looking, I hope, like any wet and comely mermaid—minus the green fishy tail, of course. For that, my pink one will have to serve. I hold up the coin and put on my foxy grin.

  The shock on her face is slowly replaced by a smile. She reaches out and takes me by the hand and leads me back into her cabin.

  It's been a wild day, but I think I have done myself a world of good. Hope so, anyway...

  Chapter 57

  A grinning Chinese man comes toward me, brandishing what looks to be a very sharp razor. I shrink back against the bulkhead.

  "Do not worry, Miss. He will not hurt you in any way," assures Brother Arcangelo, again scribbling away at his desk. "It is only Chi-chi. He is a eunuch, and he is here to make you more ... presentable ... for Cheng Shih. Go with him, please."

  Presentable? Where have I heard that before...?

  With Ravi at my heels, I follow the creature out the door, down a passageway, and into yet another room. This one is bare except for several benches and a large tub full of hot water. It is plainly a bathhouse, and it is also plain the Chinese have a much higher opinion of cleanliness than do my fellow Europeans. Chi-chi gestures for me to disrobe, and, what-the-heck, I do it. He holds out his hand to guide me into the bath, and I slide in.

  Ahhhh ... Now this isn't so bad...

  Ravi stands by, his dark eyes wide.

  "Get in here, Ravi. It ain't the holy waters of Mother Ulhas, but it'll do for me and you."

  He shyly complies, dropping clothing and crawling in with me. He may not be completely at ease, but at least I have not heard "happy puppy" for a while. I position him between my knees, facing away, and dunk him under.

  Chi-chi hands me a cake of soap and I apply it to Ravi's head.

  "Missy Memsahib! Please! Ravi's eyes stinging so bad..."

  "Oh, hush up, boy, and enjoy. Not long ago you were asking your heathen gods for deliverance from gruesome death and here you are now, still alive and being scrubbed by a reasonably handsome maid."

  I lather up his shiny black hair, dunk him again to rinse, then wash the rest of the slippery little fellow.

  "Out with you now, lad," I order, giving his little brown rump a light slap on its way out. Chi-chi hands him a towel and he wraps himself in it. "My turn now." I lean back and luxuriate in the warm, sudsy water. Ummm...

  My Chinese attendant begins with my hair, first taking it out of my pigtail and washing it, his fingers working wondrously soothingly at my scalp. That done, he takes scissors and trims my forelocks down to stubble, back to a line running from my left ear across the top of my head to my right one. Yes, my poor hair does seem to suffer a lot as I travel this world. It's a wonder it even bothers growing back in after so many shearings. Then he soaps me up again and brings that wicked razor to bear and renders everything up there smooth as ... as ... as an eggshell, I decide, after he is done and I reach my hand up to place it on my now naked skull. Ah, Higgins, you should see me now...

  Chi-chi chatters away in a very high-pitched voice as he goes about his work, and I understand not a word of it. He shaves around my ears and the back of my neck. Then he has me stand in the tub and takes his razor to the rest of me—legs, armpits, and ... other parts as well... Too bad... I sigh to myself... But, hey...

  Then I am dried, powdered, pampered, perfumed, and dressed in new clothing. Silken drawers, silken pantaloons, silken shirt, all bound up with a silken sash wound about my waist. All bright yellows and reds, cool whites with bold slashes of deepest black. By this time, my hair, what's left of it, is dry enough to be braided into a pigtail. Chi-chi takes me to a mirror and I regard myself. I am astounded. I twirl around to make the silks swish about me.

  Tonda-lay-o, Queen of the Ocean Sea, indeed. Well, it is what you wished for, girl, and now you've got it—Bombay Rats and Cathay Cats ... and all the rest...

  Chi-chi is finished with me now and he takes me by the hand to lead me out of the bathhouse, but he does not take me back to Brother Arcangelo Rossetti's room, oh, no, he does not. He takes me to Cheng Shih's cabin and opens the door.

  I enter and see that she is seated on a cushion before a low table. There is another pillow beside her and on the table there is an elegantly shaped bottle and two ornate cups.

  I enter and go to my knees before her. I put my forehead to the deck.

  "Nei ho mah, Cheng Shih," I say. And then, in English, "I hope my appearance pleases you."

  In spite of the language barrier, I think she catches my drift. She puts her hand gently under my chin and lifts my face and smiles. Then she points to the cushion beside her and I rise and go to it. I sit down.

  Cheng Shih gestures to Chi-chi and he pours two cups of the dark purple liquid. She takes hers and lifts it to her lips. I do the same with mine. It is very good. I like it a lot. I take another nervous sip. Soon I am less nervous. When she puts her hand lightly on my arm, I do not flinch nor pull away.

  I look over across the room, at her bed. I know that her sheets are of the finest silk, and her bed will be very soft ... and I know that I will sleep there this night, and many nights after.

  So, Jaimy ... I am now ... well ... the pet ... of a notorious Chinese pirate. Imagine that ... Little Mary from the slums of Cheapside, now dressed in silks and satins. What a strange and wonderful world. I hope you are well and in good spirits, love, and, as for me ... I am ... not so awfully bad off...

  Worry not for me, dear one, but only keep yourself safe...

  Love,

  Jacky

  Chapter 58

  James Emerson Fletcher

  Commander, the Pirate Cerberus

  Becalmed in the Java Sea

  Jacky Faber

  Somewhere, as always,

  Up ahead of me

  Dear Jacky,

  The damned wind will not blow.

  We lie dead in the water, well to the south of Batavia, where we had hoped to put in to buy arms and otherwise equip ourselves for our final push to Australia and wherever else this ship will go. My men go about the decks, sweating in the heat, their lips pursed, trying to "whistle up the wind." That old superstition doesn't work, at least not this time. The air lies fetid and still all about us. I am reminded of the Sargasso Sea, through which I once sailed, and, if memory serves, so did you.

  We have brought up fifteen more men from below, trustables, to help us man the ship, and they have worked out well. Those remaining below have been told their rations will improve now that we have taken over, and there will be a daily tot of rum, as long as the stores hold out. They are mollified, grateful even, after the treatment they have received so far, but it is hot down there and I fear that gaol fever—typhus—might soon rage.

  Oh, for a cool breeze, Jacky! Some of that good old damp London foggy mist!

  The Irish lads are hot to take some prizes—born pirates, all of them—but until we can arm ourselves, no prizes can be taken. We can do nothing but sit here in the sweltering heat. Captain Griswold's gold stash will hold us in good stead if we could just get to port!

  I worry about our situation—we have spotted some strange-looking craft off on the horizon. They appear and then they are gone. One of the men brought up from below, who has been in this region of the world before, believes they are Chinese junks. Why they come to gaze upon us and then disappear, I do not know. But I do not like it.

  I am sure you are already in Australia, or at least close to it, and for that I am glad. It will afford some protection for you at least.

  Meanwhile, we look out for better weather.

  Hoping you have winds more fair...

  I am,

  Your most loving, devoted & etc.,

  Jaimy

  Chapter 59

  "What does Ju kau-jing yi mean?" I ask of Brother
Arcangelo. We are out on deck, waiting to be called in to Cheng Shih's presence. "She has taken to calling me that, is why I ask."

  It is a beautiful day and I gaze up at the set of the huge sails. I have been here about a week, and I continue to marvel at the skill of these Chinese mariners. The ship's name is Sheng Feng, which is Divine Wind, and she is fast, for all her size. I think the Lorelei Lee could take her in a race in a good stiff breeze, but it would be close.

  "It means 'little round-eyed barbarian,'" replies the priest.

  "Barbarian?"

  He laughs. "To the Chinese we Europeans are all barbarians—they call us 'hairy apes'—very clever apes, to be sure, but apes all the same. You must remember that their culture is a lot more ancient than ours."

  "Umm ... and what does Chi-chi's name mean?" I see the chubby little eunuch hovering by Cheng Shih's door, waiting for the summons.

  "It means, well...'Silly-silly' is as close as I can translate it."

  "Poor fellow, to have such a name ... and to have had that awful thing done to him."

  "You mean the castration? Let it not bother you, dear. It is done to them when they are very young—most don't remember it being done. We have them in Italy, you know—the castrati, they are called. If a boy is found to have a fine voice, then snip! and his life is set for him. They are used for choruses and as soloists; they are singers with high, pure voices powered by massive grown-up lungs. I have heard them—they are quite impressive."

  "I don't like it. There's plenty of good music around without doing that to little boys. It's ... it's barbaric, is what it is," I say, running my fingers through Ravi's black locks. The boy stands by my side, attentive, as always, to what is going on. I have found, from the times he has sung along when I play my pennywhistle, that he has an excellent high soprano singing voice. But to preserve that voice in its present state by ... No, I cannot even think of it.

  I look over to see that Cheng Pao, Shih's husband, is standing on the quarterdeck, gazing down upon us, arms crossed on his chest. His eyes meet mine and then he turns and says something to the men there with him. All erupt into laughter.

  My ears burn a bit, like they always do when I know I'm being talked about.

  "Tell me, Brother, why does Cheng Pao not get angry over my enjoying his wife's company and not him?"

  "He probably thinks it's a harmless bit of sport. Believe me, if he thought otherwise, there would be great trouble." Brother Arcangelo chuckles. "It could be that the poor man welcomes a bit of a rest from the side of his fierce bride. I am sure you have found her most ... energetic?"

  I nod. She is that.

  Early on I played the big-eyed fearful little waif when alone with Cheng Shih—it seemed to please her to take pity on her winsome captive and treat me gently. For all her reputation as the most fearsome pirate that roams the China Sea, with me she is kind. I am reminded of Mam'selle Claudelle, sort of...

  I have learned many new Chinese words in my time with her—words for love ... kiss ... touch ... soft ... beloved ... tender, words like that.

  She has bestowed on me many presents—silk dresses, slippers, fine pieces of carved jade, and even a sword and scabbard like hers, and some instruction in how to wield it. The hilt is wrapped in gold thread, and the blade is of the sharpest beaten and tempered steel. I am amazed.

  In return for this generosity, I do what I have always done when presents need to be given and I have the ways or means to procure them—I paint miniature portraits. There are plenty of watercolors, brushes, and fine paper aboard. Yes, they are a cultured people, and, as a matter of fact, Cheng Shih herself is quite good at painting. She has given me a fine painting of a fanciful fish that I shall treasure as long as I'm around to treasure things. I have done a portrait of Cheng Shih and she pronounced herself delighted with it and now demands one of me. There is a mirror in her cabin, and I am to start on it this very afternoon, after lunch.

  "Why do you think she enjoys me so, Brother?" I ask of my companion.

  He looks off, considering. "It seems that you do intrigue her, as your head is still on your neck. I think she finds you fascinating for being so very different from Chinese women. The way you carry yourself, the way you laugh and smile ... and the very obvious fairness of your skin and hair."

  He considers further. I reach up and put my arm through his and stand close to him. I have become quite fond of Brother Arcangelo Rossetti, as I have found him to be a good and kind man.

  "For another instance, you should know that Chinese women are very modest when it comes to exposing their bodies," he continues. "From your diving performance on your first day here, you do not seem to share that modesty. I know you shocked Cheng Shih to her core."

  "It seemed a wise thing to do at the time. I did have to prove myself."

  "Perhaps. But anyway, you have only to look at Chinese art—very seldom will you see a nude female portrayed. Unlike us Italians. Have you ever been to the Vatican, child? No? Well, I can tell you the walls are virtually covered with nude bodies gamboling about ... and that is a church, not a brothel, no matter what you heretics might say or think. Ah, here is Chi-chi. I believe we are being called."

  Cheng Shih sits on an ornately decorated cushion, and I lie next to her with my head in her lap. We have already eaten of the rice, meat, and vegetables—all of it wondrous good—but she enjoys putting sweetmeats to my lips and giving me little sips of plum wine from her glass. I do not find it at all unpleasant—hey, I could be in a tub of boiling oil instead of lying here, dressed in fine silk, and being fed treats from the hand of a beautiful Chinese woman. Yes, my head could be resting on a chopping block instead of reclining here on her lap, jasmine perfume swirling all about us, and her fingers—her very knowing fingers—gently tracing the lines of my face. No ... I ain't complaining.

  Presently, Cheng Shih places a kiss on my smooth brow and murmurs something to Brother Arcangelo.

  "She says it is time for you to do the portrait of yourself. She wants to see how you go about it. Observe your technique, as it were," he says, motioning for me to get up. I suppress a groan of pure laziness—yes, I quickly grow very used to luxury—and rise.

  The colors, brushes, and papers have been laid out on a small table in front of a mirror. There is a chair and I place my silk-covered bottom in it. I regard my image in the glass. Oh, Jaimy, if you could only see your girl now. Then I set to work.

  First I lay in the basic shape of my head with light pinkish-brown, and then put in the background colors—reds and yellows from the drapes hanging behind me. Then I put in some of the darker planes of my face, neck, and hair. The shadows in my eye sockets, alongside my nose, under my chin and lower lip. I think she is rather amazed at the speed with which I work—hey, spend a lot of time painting portraits of squirming children and you learn to be real fast.

  At length, I sit back and say, "It is now blocked in, but I must let it dry for a few moments before I put in the details, or else it will blur."

  Brother Arcangelo translates and Cheng Shih takes her hand from my shoulder where it had been resting and pours another cup of that delicious plum wine and hands it to me. Too much of this and I ain't gonna be paintin' nothin', I'm thinking.

  "Thank you, Beloved Shih," I say as I take a very cautious sip. That is how I have been addressing her in Chinese. She beams. Her little European trifle is learning to speak a cultured language, imagine that.

  As the painting dries, I cast my eyes about the room. There are various decorations—painted screens depicting great battles and lissome maids with fans and fancy hair, figurines, and a squat statue of a little fat man.

  "What is that?" I ask of Arcangelo.

  "Ah. That is a statue of the Buddha, the Great Teacher," he answers. "One of the major figures in Oriental religion."

  "He seems rather pleasant enough. Is that Cheng Shih's religion?"

  "No, actually she is, like most Chinese, a Confucian. She keeps that there to remind her of a debt unpaid."


  I lift my eyebrows, in question, and he turns and murmurs something to Cheng Shih, I guess keeping her informed of what we are talking about. Nobody likes to be left out of a conversation, and we certainly don't want to get that one mad.

  "Bueno. Here is the story. Last year, we visited a town on the coast of Java. As their town was being sacked, Buddhist monks residing therein succeeded in making off with an enormous statue of great worth—the Golden Buddha. They got it on a ship and were bound away, their sacred idol safe, they thought. Alas, they were wrong, as they were soon overtaken by the Divine Wind. Seeing that their efforts were in vain, the would-be rescuers of the Buddha threw him overboard and, in true Buddist monk tradition, all the monks threw themselves in after it to perish. I think they were smart to do that, as Cheng Shih was furious and she would have had them all killed in horrible ways. Attempts were made to raise the Buddha but all proved fruitless. It was just too deep—at least thirty-five fathoms down. Several divers died trying to get down to the statue, and others refused to go. Cheng Shih eventually gave up on it, but did mark the spot with bearings and buoys, and then she sailed off, fuming. She is still angry now. After all, it's a very valuable prize—solid gold and studded with jewels, and all that."

  The painting is dry enough now to resume work. I pick up the thinnest of the brushes and begin tightening up the forms, firming up the overall structure and putting in the details. All the while I am thinking...

  There it is ... a way to free myself, free Jaimy, and get my Lorelei back. Now, just how to present it to Cheng Shih...

  I blot the last strokes and hold the painting up to Cheng Shih. She clasps her hands in delight. To while away the afternoon, I take out my pennywhistle and begin on "The Sally Gardens," to lend Cheng Shih some enjoyment and to calm my churning mind.