INCARNATION (28 page)

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.

A
lthough 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.

She took the left-hand heap in her left hand and took from it bundles of four. Three stalks were left in the end. These were placed between her ringers with the other stalk.

He watched her fingers manipulate the stalks. Her hands were long and graceful, their movements economical. The stalks moved in and out, were divided and sub-divided. The results were counted off and written down on the slip of paper. Slowly, the hexagram took shape.

She looked up.

‘Hsien,’ she said, speaking the name of the hexagram. She opened the book and leafed through the pages. ‘The judgement reads: “Influence. Success. Perseverance furthers. To take a maiden to wife brings good fortune.”’ She paused, passing her eye down the lines. ‘“Nine in the fourth place means: Perseverance brings good fortune. Remorse disappears.”’

It seemed a good omen. He smiled. She put away the book and stalks and jar, then closed the cupboard. She returned to the couch and reached up and let down her hair. It fell into place softly, with a gentle shake of her head.

‘Shall I recite for you?’ she asked.

He nodded.

‘What shall I recite?’

He was impressed. Only the most intelligent girl would ever open herself to the charge of not knowing a poem selected by a guest. At the same time, only a boorish or pedantic guest would choose a poem by a little-known writer.

‘Do you know the poetry of Li Shang-Yin?’ he asked. 

‘Very well. He is often recited here.’ 

‘Do you know “The Walls of Emerald”?’ 

‘Of course. It is my favourite poem.’ 

‘Do you mean that, Meihua?’

‘Yes. It frightens me. However often I read it, its meaning still escapes me. Yet I’m sure it has meaning.’

‘I believe it has. But not for the likes of you or me.’ He paused. ‘You are very beautiful, Meihua.’

‘I am glad I please you.’

‘You do more than please me.’

‘Shall I undress for you?’

He shook his head. There was an order in all this. It was why he came.

‘Not in this room,’ he said. ‘This room’s pleasures are all I ask of it.’

‘Would you like to smoke while I recite?’

He nodded.

She clapped her hands once, and the door opened. The girl with the rose entered. She was completely naked now. In her hands she held a large opium pipe and a bowl containing pure opium mixed with three other drugs and seven powerful herbs. She set these down on a low table next to him, and went out again. He put the pipe to his lips and began to smoke. Very softly, a scented smoke wreathed itself about his head.