My Splendid Concubine

by Lofthouse, Lloyd

  After the greetings, Guan-jiah led Robert forward, away from Chou-Luk. “Where did he get the money to buy the second girl?” he asked. He suspected the truth and feared he was right.

  “Ayaou took it from the money you sent.”

  Blood rushed to his head. God, forgive me, he thought. Light headed, he grabbed the railing to keep from losing his balance.

  “And the rest?” His stomach felt as if it were full of snails, shells and all. He feared the answer. What if she had given it to the fortuneteller?

  “It went to Cousin Weed. He used it on repairs for the junk. I made sure of that, Master.”

  “Thank you, Guan-jiah.” He felt like he was going to lose his breakfast. It sickened him to think that some of his money had been used to buy Chou Luk another young girl. The girls were no beauties, but what a horrible fate. He wondered what would happen to them after Chou Luk died. Would Cousin Weed take care of them or sell them to someone else?

  His reunion with Ayaou was strained from the start. She’d given birth two months earlier, and Robert was relieved to learn that she had gone through the delivery without difficulty since he’d worried she might die during childbirth.

  He had not forgotten about the child—a memory that only magnified his guilt. Since he was not married to Ayaou, he was betraying everything he’d been taught as a Christian.

  The baby was a girl with dark skin and fluffy brown hair. Although still beautiful, Ayaou looked tired. “Robert,” she said, “it needs a name.”

  “She’s two months old and doesn’t have a name yet?” He couldn’t take his eyes off the child. “I don’t understand.”

  “You are the father,” she said. “You name it.”

  He did not want to give the baby a name. If he named her, he was accepting responsibility for her. He stared at the child and hated himself. He was starting to think too much like a Chinese man.

  Although he admired much about Chinese culture, that was one aspect he refused to adopt. “I’ll name her Anna,” he said. He decided Anna should have his last name. He didn’t want her to hear the word ‘bastard’ during her life. “Her name will be Anna Hart.”

  “If you hadn’t come, I would have named it after Uncle Bark.”

  “You’re not serious,” he said. Could she have been that cruel? He didn’t want to believe it.

  “Is Uncle Bark here?” he asked.

  “Uncle Bark is dead,” she said.

  Later, Robert asked Guan-jiah. “Is it true that Uncle Bark is gone?”

  “Yes, Master. He died like a ripe fruit dropping from a tree. It was peaceful and natural, a good death.”

  Losing Uncle Bark reminded him of his own mortality and that life could end any time. He’d miss Uncle Bark and would never forget him. If it hadn’t been for that old man, Robert would already be dead. He would have killed himself or Ward would have done it.

  Bark Hart, he thought. It was a good name but not for his daughter. He looked at the timbers above his head. I am sorry, Uncle Bark. I’m sure you would understand that it would not be fair to Anna.

  It didn’t take long for Anna to capture his heart. He forgot about his discomfort at giving the child his last name. Happy moments arrived when he held her and looked into her chubby face. He marveled at how tiny every part of her was. It thrilled him when she wrapped her hand around one of his fingers and held on.

  He swore that he would never abandon the child God gave him.

  He trembled and a slight chill raced along the surface of his skin. Startled, he sucked in a breath and listened for something in the silence.

  Surely, God was sending him a message. If that is what it was, he had to be a good father.

  Robert worked alongside everyone else wanting to impress Ayaou.

  “I protest,” cousin Weed said. “I cannot have a guest working as if he were a peasant.”

  Robert detected approval in his eyes. Cousin Weed looked like a younger Uncle Bark with the same features and leather skin.

  “I insist,” Robert replied. “It is my duty to share the work, and Chou Luk called me his son-in-law. Surely, I must earn the right to be part of this family.”

  Cousin Weed put Robert to work pumping water out of the bilge or moving cargo on and off the junk. Ayaou did sweaty, backbreaking work alongside him with Anna strapped to her chest.

  Cousin Weed’s junk had two large sails made of bamboo. Because the bamboo was so strong, there weren’t many ropes. The boat’s design reminded Robert of the interior structure of bamboo with multiple compartments separated by hatches and ladders. The stern was horseshoe-shaped. The bottom was flat with no keel.

  Meals consisted of fish, seaweed and rice, while toasted watermelon seeds were always available as a snack. Years later, he remembered the sound of Ayaou cracking the seeds as she squatted on the deck beside him.

  When they worked together, he often took a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes and tucked it behind an ear. In the past, she smiled when he did that. This time there was no response. She kept right on working as if nothing had happened.

  His heart shriveled.

  When the ten days ended, he had no choice but to return to Canton. “I should be going with you,” she said.

  “It’s too dangerous,” he replied. “We have Anna to think about now. Macao is a safer place for her. Most of China is dangerous what with the Taipings, bandits and the smaller rebellions here and there.”

  “I should be sharing the risk with you.” The spark he missed was back in her eyes, and he regretted leaving. She said, “Cousin Weed’s wife will take care of Anna. Have you forgotten that I fought beside you against the Longhaired Bandits and saved your life?”

  “My answer is still no,” he said, and walked away as he had in Canton. He felt her eyes staring at his back, and his stomach twisted itself into a painful knot as if he had eaten spoiled salt pork.

  He wanted to hold her and tell her she could come with him, but his legs refused to cooperate. He kept walking until he was off the boat and ashore. He regretted that he hadn’t spent enough time alone with her.

  The last thing he saw was Guan-jiah standing aft watching him. His servant held Anna in his arms. He took her little hand and made it wave goodbye. When Ayaou did not appear, a stab of deep pain and regret twisted his guts.

  Guan-jiah was doing his job being a father to his child. The eunuch was more of a man than he was.

  Thinking like that was dangerous. As the man of the family, he had to earn the money. His job was in Canton, a place too dangerous for the woman and child he loved.

  Back in Canton, there were many sleepless nights where he thought of the Ayaou he’d known and loved in Ningpo. He lay awake on the narrow bunk in his cramped quarters while the sounds of rockets and rifle fire crackled in the distance. He dreamed of returning to Ningpo and the time when he had been teaching Shao-mei and Ayaou how to read.

  Why couldn’t life be like that all the time? he thought. The buzz-saw snore of the major in the next cubbyhole vibrated the wall between them and Robert covered his ears.

  He remembered how Ayaou had helped guide his Chinese teacher, Master Ping, in the language lessons. He recalled with fondness the discussions late into the night that he had with the girls about the meanings buried in the books and poems they read together.

  What he missed most was the sound of Ayaou’s voice—of her singing in the morning when she cooked.

  He wondered if he would live to see Ayaou and Anna again. He wrapped the pillow around his head to cover his ears. He couldn’t even be miserable. The major’s snoring intruded on his suffering.

  Chapter 36

  A few months before Robert went to Canton, Master Tee Lee Ping taught him about China’s dynasties. They met at the house in Ningpo where the lessons took place.

  “My mind is famished,” Robert said.

  Tee Lee Ping arranged his robe and sat on the bench in the parlor. “You are not talking about food.” His nose wrinkled. He sniffed. The
crackle of oil popping and the scent of ginger and garlic came from the kitchen.

  “No.”

  “However, I am,” Ping replied. “Your concubine is a great cook. I love simple food soaked with flavor.”

  Robert smiled. “That’s why she’s cooking. I’m going to squeeze you dry tonight. I want to deviate from our regular literature and language lesson. I want to know about China’s dynasties.”

  “So, once again, I must go beyond improving your perfect pronunciation of Mandarin.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, I will earn the meal Ayaou is cooking.” He smacked his lips.

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “The first dynasty started with the Yellow Emperor thousands of years before the birth of your Jesus Christ,” Ping said. “No one knows if the Yellow Emperor really existed, because we have no writing from that time. Only myths.”

  “And how many dynasties were there if we count the Yellow Emperor?”

  “More than twenty.”

  “It sounds as if I’m not going to get my money’s worth. Should I tell Ayaou to stop cooking?”

  “Of course not.” Ping stuck his squashed nose in the air and sniffed. “My mouth is watering. We should move to the kitchen and eat while we talk.”

  “Only if you tell me about the Ch’ing Dynasty.”

  “Such a curious student.”

  “And knowledge is the food I crave. I am willing to trade Ayaou’s cooking for that.”

  Ping laughed. “I will help, but it is getting late. If I do not eat soon, I must be on my way. My wife will have dinner ready. She cooks for the family now.” He sighed. His bushy eyebrows lowered making his frog-like face look sad. “Alas, my wife needs cooking lessons. It seems her mother never taught her. She shrivels the vegetables and the rice is like eating pebbles. My mother criticizes her, but it does no good.”

  “Bring your wife next time,” Ayaou said. She stood in the kitchen doorway holding a wooden cooking utensil. “While you two talk, I will teach her tricks that will make your mother happy.”

  “A good idea,” Ping said. “What you are cooking smells delightful.”

  “Master Ping, tell me as much as you can about the Ch’ing Dynasty, and we will fill your belly before you leave.” Robert led the way to the kitchen.

  They played this game often. He acted curious and begged for knowledge, and Ping, with a sparkle in his eyes, said it was getting late while being pleased he had such a curious student. Of course, stuffing him with Ayaou’s cooking helped.

  “The first Manchu emperor sat on the Dragon throne in 1644. However, the Manchu are not Han Chinese. They are horse people from north of the Great Wall. They came to power by accident. It is amazing they have ruled so long. They can be brutal even when unnecessary.” He stopped talking to fill his mouth.

  “How did this Manchu accident happen?”

  Ping swallowed and patted his lips dry. “They conquered China with cleverness. An opportunity presented itself and Prince Dorgon, the Manchu regent, plucked the moment as if it were a ripe peach.”

  “Details,” Robert said.

  Ayaou placed a platter of steamed buns filled with a sweat bean paste on the table. Ping took one between his chopsticks and held it in front of his mouth. “It is a long story,” he said. “After the last Ming emperor hung himself, two Chinese generals named Wu and Li met in battle with their armies to see who would sit on the Dragon throne. General Wu made a mistake by seeking help from the Manchu.”

  Ping tore off half the bun with his teeth and sucked at the beans paste that filled the hollow space inside. “Robert, you are a lucky man,” he said, as he finished the steamed bun.

  “Don’t forget, I’m trading Ayaou’s food to learn about the Ch’ing Dynasty.”

  “Of course.” Ping popped a ribbon of seaweed into his mouth. There were three types of tofu on the table. He selected a piece of each. “Dorgon, the commander of the Manchu army, waited until the armies of Li and Wu were battered senseless. When the earth was soaked with Han blood, Dorgon’s army slaughtered the survivors.

  “When Dorgon arrived in Peking, he claimed the throne for his six-year-old Khan, and Shunzhi became emperor of China instead of just the Manchu people.”

  Ayaou set a bowl on the table filled with fresh green beans she had stir fried with peanut oil, ginger and garlic. Master Ping used his chopsticks to pick one. “So fresh. So crunchy. So much flavor.” He rolled his eyes as he chewed. His chopsticks flashed back and forth from the bowl to his wide mouth.

  “You can’t leave me hanging like this,” Robert said. “I want to know the rest.”

  Ayaou poured Master Ping a cup of jasmine tea. He drank half. “The Manchu hold power for three reasons. The first is the fighting skills and brutality of the eight Manchu banner armies, which maintain the harmony in China.”

  A steamed fish arrived, head and all. Ping used his chopsticks to peel back the skin and selected pieces of the white meat that the chopsticks plucked from the bones.

  “The second reason is that the Manchu leaders adopted Han ways.

  “The third is that Taoism and Confucianism influences the way the Han Chinese think. Because of that, the Manchu are allowed to rule China.”

  Master Ping leaned back in his chair, patted his swollen belly and belched. He looked contented. “I am stuffed,” he said. “Ayaou, you are trying to make me into a fat man.” He stifled a yawn.

  “It is getting late. I must be on my way.” He walked to the front door where he stopped, and said, “The Manchu fear the Han will depose the Ch’ing Dynasty. That is the reason so few Han hold important positions in the government and army.

  “The Ch’ing often hires foreigners to run important parts of the government and to command elements of the imperial army as General Ward does near Shanghai. If you stay in China, you will see for yourself. The Manchu may even offer you a position.”

  “Does the Dynasty pay more than I earn as an interpreter for the British Consulate?”

  Ping’s bushy eyebrows danced. “Robert, I have heard that foreigners working for China are well rewarded. I do not know how much. Are you planning to work for the Dynasty?”

  “It was a thought.”

  “The emperor would be lucky to have you. You understand the Chinese and do not judge them like most foreigners. You do not want to exploit China or convert the Chinese to become Christians. I appreciate the fact that you have always treated me as an equal. No other Westerner has done that.”

  Months later in mid 1859, Robert was not surprised when he was approached by Heng-ch’i, the Hoppo for Canton, along with Imperial Governor General Lao Ch’ung-kuang.

  They offered him a position as the new Deputy Commissioner of Customs for Canton, the same job Horatio Lay held in Shanghai.

  He’d met Horatio in 1854, and the man had recently left the British consulate in Shanghai to go to work for the Manchu Dynasty.

  If Robert accepted the position, his pay would leap from five hundred to fifteen hundred pounds a year—a three-hundred percent increase.

  On May 29, 1859, he turned in his resignation to the British Consul in Canton.

  Horatio Lay, who Robert had not seen for several years, came south to help set up the new Custom’s house in Canton. Horatio stayed into 1860 before returning to Shanghai.

  It didn’t take long for Robert to be reminded that Horatio still held a low opinion of the Chinese.

  “Has Patridge been to see you?” Horatio asked. They were going over manifests and computing the duties that were to be paid to the Chinese by the foreign ships anchored in the river.

  “I haven’t talked to Patridge for months,” Robert replied.

  “Well,” Horatio said, “don’t be surprised if the scoundrel walks into your office in an attempt to buy you off so his ships won’t have to pay duties.” His brows lowered, and he started to storm about the crowded office knocking papers to floor. Robert knelt to retrieve them. It seemed that Horatio’s temper hadn’t ch
anged either.

  “He had the audacity to offer me a bribe,” Horatio said. “I sent him packing after I gave him a piece of my mind. The gall of that man to treat me like a thief he could buy.”

  Robert was still gathering papers from the floor. He avoided eye contact with his superior, thinking of the services he had provided for Patridge while still living in Ningpo. Should he tell Horatio? What would Horatio think if he found out about the money Patridge had paid him to do exactly what Horatio was angry about?

  “This goes no further,” Horatio said. “What I have to tell you stays between us. Agreed?”

  “What stays between us?” Robert asked.

  “Do you agree?”

  He was reluctant to agree to something he knew nothing about. What if Horatio was going to confess to murdering someone? On the other hand, he might learn something. He remembered the advice the Governor of Hong Kong, Sir John Bowring, had given him soon after he arrived in China.

  “Take everything that happens and learn from it,” Sir Bowring had said. “In the end you will be a better, stronger person. Don’t shy away from understanding things even if you disagree with them.” That advice had served Robert well so far.

  He overruled his sense of caution, and asked, “What is it?”

  “Only if you agree that what I tell you does not leave this room.”

  It irritated him to be thrust into a situation like this.

  “Look at me. I want to see the sincerity in your eyes.”

  Robert realized he was not being given a choice. If he refused, Horatio would never trust him.

  The mask he had worked hard to perfect slid into place. He looked into Horatio’s eyes confident his expression would hide his true feelings. “I agree.”

  “Good,” Horatio said. “I’ve heard you can be trusted. While I was working with the British Consulate in Shanghai, Patridge bribed me to help with his shipments. However, the situation in China has changed. The last treaty between Britain and China forced the emperor to create a uniform Imperial Customs Service throughout the empire. The provincial governors will no longer be allowed to collect taxes for imported goods and keep the money. Those duties will go to the imperial treasury. Do you know the reason for that?”