My Splendid Concubine (25 page)

Guan-jiah h
ad negotiated a great price and appeared pleased with himself. After they arrived at the house, the landlord became upset when he saw that his tenant was a foreigner. He turned to Guan-jiah and though Robert couldn’t tell much of what he was saying in his rapid fire Chinese, he did know the man was demanding more money.

Guan-jiah stood firm.
“You are a thief,” he said. “Who else but a foreigner would consider renting this horrible house? It is old, cold and damp. It smells. Besides, everyone knows it is full of evil spirits and only a foreigner could live here. The evil spirits will fear him. In his country, my master lives in a house the size of Ningpo. Imagine how he will feel if you demanded that he pay more than we agreed on. No, if you do not stick to our deal, I will find another house for him. As it is, he is paying twice what he should pay. Maybe the price should be lower.”

This went on for several mi
nutes. Robert had to admit he was glad to have Guan-jiah on his side. His servant was tough. Guan-jiah prevailed, and the landlord agreed.

The price was
three yuan a month. Robert signed the lease. He wasn’t happy with the house. It wasn’t what he had imagined, but when he compared it to where Guan-jiah lived with his large family, it was a mansion. Robert resolved to never let his servant know how he felt about the house. If the Chinese could put on a sunny face, so could he. Maybe Robert could get Guan-jiah to live with them. He dismissed that idea immediately. He didn’t want the eunuch lurking in the hallway upstairs watching him and Ayaou make love.

“
See that the house is thoroughly cleaned, Guan-jiah, and purchase a few pieces of furniture—a table, chairs, beds and three chamber pots. No, make that four. There will be times I’ll want you to sleep over when we’ve work to do from the consulate.”

Again,
Robert thought of Shao-mei and how he could put them together. Possibly, he could produce a dowry for Shao-mei to make her more attractive as a potential wife. There had to be a way to overcome Guan-jiah’s evident dislike of boat people. Another thought occurred to him. How would Shao-mei react when she discovered that he had married her off to a eunuch? Maybe it was a bad idea.

“
Not to worry, Master. I’ll take care of everything.”

The front door looked like it was full of dry rot. That was regre
ttable because the carvings were interesting. Around the sides were carvings of scholars sitting inside pavilions studying scrolls. At the top, there were two painted concubines serving tea to a master sitting at a table writing something. On either side of this setting were carvings of bamboo swaying in the wind. Robert traced the crude figures carved in the wood. “Does this mean anything?” he asked.

“
A poet once lived here years ago,” Guan-jiah said. “He killed himself when no one liked his poetry. If he hadn’t come from a wealthy family, he would have starved.”

Robert took a small knife out of his pocket and opened the blade. When he poked the pointed end into the wood, th
e tip sunk in as if the wood were soft clay. “This door is rotten, Guan-jiah, see that it is replaced with one made of thick solid timbers that can be soundly locked from the inside.”

“
Yes, Master,” he said, “I will see that it is done.”

Robert decided that Guan-jiah would make a good, depen
dable and trustworthy husband for some girl like Shao-mei. It didn’t matter to Robert if Guan-jiah couldn’t have intercourse with her. He wondered if people adopted children in China. He’d find out.

Before departing Ningpo, Robert stood insi
de the doorway and imagined what the place was going to look like once he returned with his new family. It was difficult seeing this old, stuffy place as something inviting and warm.

Making it come alive would be up to the sisters. If they could i
mpose their bubbly personalities on these drab walls, it would happen. Robert envisioned Guan-jiah moving in and living with Shao-mei. He hadn’t given up on the idea yet. He liked Guan-jiah. His loyalty was admirable. He imagined Guan-jiah and Shao-mei as if they were adopted children, who would develop a platonic relationship. Why, he could be the father and Ayaou the mother.

Lo
rd, what an idiot he was, he thought. Shao-mei was a curious and sensual girl. She’d probably kill herself if Robert married her off to a eunuch.

Gu
an-jiah’s family reminded him of his family back home in Portadown, in county Armagh where he’d been born. Thinking of home caused a sorrow born of loneliness to spread throughout his body like a disease that made him ache.

His father was a Wesleyan preacher and for a living he sold food and liquor from the family store. He
’d also managed to raise a family of twelve and Robert was the oldest. He had once hoped to join his father’s business, and if God found him worthy, to become a Wesleyan preacher too.

However, his drinking and womaniz
ing while in College had ruined that dream. Instead of joining his father, he’d run to China to escape what his family and friends thought of him. Soon after arriving in China, he’d resurrected that dream with plans to return to Northern Ireland after becoming a success.

It looked like
that wasn’t going to happen. Robert had found something with Ayaou and Shao-mei he did not want to lose. He was like a child cut off from candy that couldn’t live without it. Now he was in a place where he could have as much as he wanted unless someone like Ward came to take it from him.

Chapter 14

It didn’t take Ayaou and Shao-mei long to turn the four rooms into a home. Before they arrived, Guan-jiah had completed all the repairs Robert requested. Soon after moving in, Ayaou and Shao-mei went out during the day and found items that added Chinese touches to the house—crafted objects, carvings and ink paintings. Everything they did to decorate the house pleased Robert.

When he arrived home each evening, the first thing he saw was an inked wall hanging two feet wide and five feet long. It read
harmony and tranquility
in Chinese. It was printed on white rice paper. The calligraphy was in black ink, and a thin red border ran around the perimeter about three inches from the edge. There were several red ink stamps in the lower right-hand corner showing the name of the artist.

The girls also got rid of the stale, sour odor and replaced it with the smell of garlic, ginger and hot spices sautéing in the wok.
Almost every dish they ate came with these flavors until Robert grew so use to it that food tasted bland without them. Somehow, the rooms didn’t feel as small as they had the first day he inspected the place. The girls had breathed life into the small house.

“
Guan-jiah,” Robert said, “the evil spirits that lived here must have gone into hiding.”

Guan-jiah stood in the entrance to the house and looked around.
“Yes, Master, the evil is gone, or your girls caused the spirits to act agreeable.”

What they didn
’t know was that the evil had just gone into hiding and was waiting for the right moment to return.

The girls were cooking dinner, and Robert had invited his ser
vant to join them. “It could be the garlic,” Guan-jiah said. “That will also drive away evil spirits.” He walked over to the
tranquility and harmony
inked wall hanging and stood before it.

“
If I could only learn to paint calligraphy like this,” he said in a subdued, yearning tone, “but my hands are clumsy. They refuse to cooperate. Everything I paint looks like a cripple.”

“
It can’t be that difficult, Guan-jiah. It’s just Chinese writing but big.”

“
Oh no, Master. The horizontal lines in this painting are like a horsetail blowing in the wind. Can’t you see the force of it? The artist has watched horses running, and he has spent time studying oak trees. He has gone into the countryside many times until he discovered what works for him. He spent years developing these strokes.

“
There is swiftness in each horizontal stroke, but the vertical strokes are like the trunks of mighty oak trees that are anchored to the earth. See here where they look fat but solid. There is more to this than just the meanings of the words themselves. No artist is the same, Master. Some have no strength in their strokes. They are blind to what nature teaches us, but this artist is skillful in giving strength to his characters so they are fleshy. This is divine. Your concubines know what to look for.”

Robert had to step ba
ck to see what Guan-jiah was excited about, and he started to understand. It must have been expensive. Robert wondered how much the girls had spent.

It was because of Guan-jiah, Ayaou and Shao-mei that Ro
bert discovered the true meaning of Chinese art, and a new door opened for him. In his later years he developed a further love for Chinese art, crafts, antiques and calligraphy. Although he dressed in Western style clothing in public, his taste in things gradually changed to Chinese.

Guan-jiah questioned Ayaou and Shao-mei about the wall hanging. He discovered that the artist was seventy-four and had sold them the painting for five yuan, because they had flirted with him. And the reason they bought this one over hundreds of others
was exactly what Guan-jiah had said.

“
It may have taken minutes for the artist to paint,” Guan-jiah said, “but it took a lifetime to harmonize with nature and develop the talent—the ability to make the brush do what he wants.

“
You see, Master, the artist cannot erase mistakes. He has to have control of the brush and know what he is doing. Once the brush touches paper and the ink flows, it is over. The artist cannot fix mistakes. He has to throw out the paper and start again.”

Robert bought several books and started to devour the Chinese classics. His skills in reading Chinese had developed faster than speaking the language. He’d caught onto the writing because of the way it was divided into subjects. One example was trees. There was a basic symbol for a tree and anything to do with trees had that symbol in it with more ink strokes for a variety of meanings. There was a family of symbols for rain and another for house and on it went.

Robert suggested that the girls join him in the evenings, so they could read together.
“But we do not know how to read,” Ayaou confessed.

He was shocked and turned to the wall hanging that Guan-jiah had praised.
“If you can’t read, how did you select that?”

“
The artist told us what it said, and we loved the brushstrokes. He painted it for us as we watched.”

“
He wanted more from us than just the five yuan,” Shao-mei added, “but you do not have to worry, Robert. He is too old and there is no danger he will steal us from you.”

“
And what about the lyrics you both sing. They are sophisticated. Do you realize what you are singing? How did you learn the lyrics to the songs if you can’t read?”

“
Our father made us memorize them,” Shao-mei replied. She stood at the washbasin where she was cleaning the wok and bowls from the evening meal. “We go by the sound. We have good memories. Sometimes our father forgot we could not read, because we spoke so elegantly. We even mimicked court manners.”

“
What are you thinking, Robert?” Ayaou asked. “Are you disappointed that we do not read?”

“
No.” He put the book down and waved for them to sit with him. “I was wondering, Ayaou. Have you ever been curious about books? I mean did you ever want to read?”

Ayaou lowered her head as a trace of sadness crossed her face.
“Women do not read except a few daughters from rich families whose parents can afford private tutors.”

“
Not us. Not boat-girls,” Shao-mei said.

“
Boys go to school though,” Ayaou said, staring at the flickering candle flame, “and I envied them. I dreamed many times of being one of the ink-boys.”

“
What’s an ink-boy?”

“
Haven’t you seen the opera
The Butterfly-Lovers
?” Shao-mei said. “The ink-boys were the servants hired to carry the boys’ books and grind ink.”

“
Didn’t your father know your wish?”

“
She was punished for it,” Shao-mei said, before Ayaou could answer.

Robert studied
the girls and was sure they weren’t joking. “What kind of punishment?”

“
Father beat her when he discovered she was secretly teaching herself to read, but Ayaou did not quit,” Shao-mei said. “She went to the teahouse trying to learn a few words there. My father found out and was furious. He said,
Not willing to stay in her lot is a girl’s worse curse
. Father was ready to beat Ayaou to death to make her quit. And he almost did. He beat her until his stick broke, and she passed out.”

“
Then what happened?” Robert asked.

“
I was sent to the Bark Lee Tong, the herb shop, to buy Ayaou a bowl of ginseng soup to wake her. It took the last yuan father had.”