Mandarin-Gold (3 page)

Griggs called to the men.

'Liberty boat will return to
Trelawney
at' nine .o'clock tonight. Anyone not here will be left behind. Any of you lot ever landed here before?'

'Yes, sir,' called a young man with a fresh country face.

'Well, you know the place, but to the others I'll give you this advice. Keep off those flower boats. You'll only catch the pox, and more than likely you'll also lose your wallets. With your money, you'll be worth a year's income to them.

'And if you must go in the grog shops, keep near the door. Otherwise, if there's a fight, you'll be dragged out the back way. Last voyage, we lost two men like that. Never saw 'em again. Any questions?'

They went off, followed by a crowd of children, hands out for coins, and old beggars with swollen legs and bloated trunks, propelling themselves along painfully on wooden trolleys.

A handful of Englishmen in light trousers, black jackets and black stove-pipe hats walked down from the factories along the quay. Behind came a retinue of servants; small tough men, heads entirely shaved except on the crowns from which sprouted strong thick black hair, fibrous as a horse's tail, and plaited in a pigtail to their waists. Some wore cone-shaped rattan hats against the heat, but most were bareheaded, wearing nothing but cotton drawers. Already, junks were unloading bales of cargo on the hard, trodden earth of the quay. Chinese supervisors marked off each item on scrolls of paper. Servants held umbrellas over them to shield them from the sun.

Gunn saw one supervisor beckon to a servant and incline his head briefly. The servant produced a small square of paper from a. pouch, and held it up to the supervisor's nose. He blew into it. The servant folded it up and threw it away. Then the servant began to feel in his master's clothes for nits and lice. He held up an insect triumphantly. The supervisor put it in his mouth, ground it between his teeth and swallowed it; the unloading continued.

On all sides, women and. children were scrambling about on hands and knees for scraps of grain that burst from a loose bag. Several boys dived into the filthy water to rescue crusts and apple peelings. Yet they all looked bland and cheerful. They might be poor beyond anything Gunn had ever imagined, but, incredibly, poverty did not mark their character. They laughed and joked and shouted at each other in high spirits.

'No point in hanging about here, with just these slit-eyed swine to look at,' said Griggs, wrinkling his nose. 'Let us have a drink. Pity it's not allowed to go into Canton.'

'Mixtures. Served in the gin shops. Old Jemmy Apoo. Tom Bowline. Old Sam's Brother. Jolly Jack. You can see their signs written up in English, as well as Chinee characters. Each sells his own speciality. Some of their drinks are so strong we've had men go blind or mad, or just stay drunk for days—and no wonder.

'What they call their first chop rum number one curio is about a pint of neat rum, with aphrodisiacs, alcohol, tobacco juice, sugar and a touch of arsenic to give it colour and tang.'

'And you are suggesting we drink here?' asked Gunn with a grin.

'Look behind you,' Griggs said sharply, ignoring his question. 'There's a mandarin coming past. Get back to the side of the road. Quickly. He's the Hoppo.'

Gunn turned, surprised at the urgency of Grigg's voice, and shaded his eyes against the blazing sun. A dozen servants carried a palanquin on long gilded poles through the crowd. Their bodies were bent double by the weight, for the mandarin was not a slim man. Giant moths, flies and mosquitoes fluttered and buzzed about their sweating flesh as they trudged in step to the beating of a brass gong.

Ahead of them, on either side, walked lictors with long moustaches, wielding leather whips and staves at everyone in their path to force them down on their knees.'

The Hoppo was plump and squat, his face impassive as a bladder of lard; mouth small and pursed, eyes dark slits in shining skin. His hands were folded in front of his paunch, and his fingernails, an inch long, were especially sharpened to show that he never condescended to physical labour.

He wore a heavily embroidered gown of purple and gold with the design of a quail worked on its back and front. On his head he had a round hat, like an inverted plate, with a gold button on the top.

'That's one of the high ranks,' whispered Griggs. 'The only one better is a prince of the blood. The lowest mandarins wear a crane embroidered on their coat and a red button in their caps. This fellow has bought his way up, of course. Not born to it.'

Gunn was fascinated by the instant attitudes of respect that the Hoppo's approach had caused. Shopkeepers were flinging themselves down on the filthy road, faces pressed eagerly into the dirt. Others already on their knees turned away, as though the passage of such privilege was too much for their eyes to bear.

'How rich is he?' he asked.

'Impossible to say. But his predecessor amassed one of the largest commercial fortunes in the world. His gold was not just a button in his hat! He had the equivalent of
ten million pounds sterling.
'

'But how
could
he have done, out here?'

'By applying himself to all the opportunities of his post, that's how. Remember, doctor, he takes a cut on every item that comes ashore from the ships
and
every item that goes back on board. Even drinking water. Of, course, he makes most out of opium. Turning a Nelson eye to a trade he should be stamping out.'

'Only
is hardly the word I would use, doctor, especially round here. Some, of these fellows know more English than they admit. The Hoppo is
the
most important man in the East. And everyone in these factories—the Americans, Parsees, Russians, Austrians and ourselves included—would do almost anything rather than offend him.

'You really have no conception how absolute this man's power is. Some years ago, a British ship, the
Lady Hughes,
fired a gun in salute on some Chinese holiday—and the shot accidentally, killed a Chinese boatman noone had seen.

'At once, the Hoppo threatened to stop all trade with
every
Western country unless the British sailor who had fired the shot was delivered over to them. So he was. The Chinese gave him a secret trial, and sentenced him. The poor devil was ceremoniously strangled by an iron chain—and all through an accident.

'Odd for an Empire as strong as ours to submit to that blackmail, eh? But so much money is involved— and the hope of millions, more if only we can extend trade throughout the country with an ambassador in Peking, and the use of other ports—that we tolerate all kinds of indignities rather than jeopardize our chances.'

'Maybe,' replied Gunn, grimly. 'But I'm still not going down on my knees for anyone, except to pray to God.'

'As you wish,' said Griggs, 'but at least, salute. It's a matter of courtesy, remember. You'd do the same for the Lord Mayor of London if he passed.'

Reluctantly, Gunn's right hand went up to his cap and down again. The Hoppo turned and looked at him. He gave no indication that he had seen the salute; his eyes did not widen and no shadow of feeling or interest crossed his face, which was impassive as a painted mask. All the same, Gunn felt a strange shiver in his spine, as though dead hands had touched him. It seemed—quite absurdly, of course—that the mandarin had looked at him closely because he wished to recognize him again. But—why? Or was he imagining the incident?

The procession passed by, the shopkeepers stood up, and returned to their booths and stalls.

'What do we do now?' Gunn asked. To have set foot in the world's most remote and secret country, and then just to stand bowing—
kowtowing,
as the Chinese said—to some native merchant, seemed an absurd anti-climax. He yearned for excitement to purge from his mind the memory of Marion and his father's letter. He could imagine the shopkeeper's pale hands about her body, exploring secrets he had never known, for he was innocent of such things, imprisoned by his own strict upbringing. He shook his head sharply to rid himself of these torturing images.

'That drink,' said Griggs, watching hjm closely. 'First drink ashore is always the best. Like the first girl.'

'But you've just said they'd offer us arsenic'

‘That's only for sailors. They'll drink anything. I'll take you where they serve Chinese wine and food you can trust—not old pig pulled out of the river!'

They walked up a narrow alley off Hog Lane, where singing birds jumped frantically in tiny bamboo cages, and into a wooden building. A gilded dragon breathed painted fire above the doorway. A screen hung in the opening, with space to pass on either side.

'That's to keep the demons out,' Griggs explained 'The Chinese believe demons can only go forward and back, like the shuttle on a loom. They can't slip round the side like the rest of us.'

Scrubbed wooden tables with benches were set out inside. In the far corner, Chinese women in shapeless black trousers and blouses sat smoking clay pipes and chattering together. They did not even turn to look at them. A roly-poly Chinese man, his huge paunch held in by a red sash with tassels, bowed to them. His feet flickered like mice under his robe, so that he appeared to glide rather than walk.

'Chop, chop. Fetchee good number one wine, all clean cup. Number one nice chow, heap big fellow - prawns. Quicklee running,' said Griggs, and then turning to Gunn he added proudly: 'It helps to speak their lingo.

'Of course,' he admitted, 'that's only pidgin. When we first started trading here, years ago, the Chinks couldn't pronounce the word "business." They called it "pidginess." So since then this cudd lingo we talk when we're discussing business with them has been called pidgin.'

'They eat with chopsticks,' Griggs explained. 'Chop means food—or, any business of any description. And China is full of bamboo sticks, which are a lot cheaper than knives and forks.'

Beggars and touts for peep-shows, tailors, cobblers, and men carrying trays of nuts and beakers of hot tea pushed hopeful faces in at the door, eager for trade.

'Trouble here is that you buy something from one man, and you're immediately surrounded by dozens of others. And in the middle of all the crush, someone else lifts your wallet. They've got the world's lightest fingers in Canton.'

The chop-house man reappeared with a tray piled with bowls of grilled prawns, plovers' eggs and roasted snails and rice, and porcelain cups of pale wine made from green peas, with a china spoon for Gunn and chopsticks for Griggs. As he set this down, with special silver stands to hold the cups, a great beating of brass gongs boomed outside.

2

In Which a Parsee Makes an Unusual Proposal

Through the bamboo screen at the door, Gunn could see men on the quay lighting fireworks and strips of red paper, and throwing them up into the air like leaves. A ship was leaving harbour.

'They always do that,' Griggs explained condescendingly. 'It's to appease their heathen gods and give the _ ship safe passage. They call it chin-chinning joss. A bit of joss pidgin—which means God business. A kind of insurance, I suppose. They're great fellows for omens, here.'

The meal tasted surprisingly good, but as Gunn chewed the prawns, he suddenly remembered the coollies hauling up the bloated body of the pig; and thereafter none of the food held any further attraction for him.

He pushed away his bowl, and swallowed a cup of wine. It tasted sharp on his tongue. He had never drunk much wine; as a student, beer had been all he could afford. He decided he liked wine more, so poured himself a second cup; and then a third.

The room was filling up with Chinese coolies, bodies varnished with sweat, searching in folds of their clothes for clay pipes and pouches of tobacco.

Then some British sailors from another vessel came in, - and several better class Chinese, wearing wide, cone-shaped hats and robes, edged with gold thread. One glanced at Gunn, and instantly he had the same uneasy feeling as when the Hoppo had met his gaze; the man was watching him because he wished to recognize him again.

Gunn drank a fourth cup of wine. His nerves must have been affected by the news about Marion; he was imagining things. Maybe he should prescribe himself a dose of laudanum—or as they would call it here, opium, or mud. Jugs of Chinese wine and toddy were now appearing on other tables. Some of the sailors, who had already been drinking elsewhere, began to sing. Outside, the sun slid down the sky, and the brief Chinese dusk painted the quay with indigo. Within minutes, it would be dark.

Already, paper lanterns were glittering above shop fronts and over stalls; candle flames trembled in glass jars. It was suddenly and unexpectedly cool. The clatter and bustle had died with the heat of day; and with them, something else: the sense of adventure he had enjoyed on the quay.