The Concubine's Daughter (51 page)

Siu-Sing was put to work among oily woks and endless baskets of vegetables in the great echoing kitchen. Sides of bacon, cured hams, and pickled pigs’ heads hung from the ceiling, together with ropes of garlic, bunches of dried herbs, and rows of cured ducks. Ah-Soo, the cook, showed Siu-Sing her sleeping place adjoining the storeroom. The wooden stretcher that was her bed was covered with a thin quilt. A calendar hung on one wall, the only touch of brightness in a confined and windowless space. A single candlestick threw unsteady light into corners stacked with sacks of rice and baskets of vegetables, shelves crammed with earthen pots and jars of wine, pickles, and preserves.

A smoke-blackened image of Tsao-Wang, the kitchen god beside his heavenly horse, looked down from its grimy niche—the sole witness to the hiding place Siu-Sing found for the Tanka sling. On the first night in this new place so far from all she had known, she held the orange-peel finger jade tightly in the palm of her hand and sought the voice of Master To and the twinkling eye of the Fish. They were instantly with her, reminding her that they had taught her not to let obstacles or treachery stand in her way.

By the light of the candle, she considered her position. Restricted to the kitchen and its small yard, the jade amahs ever watchful, she would not escape easily. The walls of Double Happiness were unassailable, the gates locked and guarded. Ah-Kwok the gatekeeper and his monkey-skull rod would welcome any attempt to evade them. This was a time for observation, for patience and strategy.

One of Siu-Sing’s duties as
mooi-jai
was to be Fan Lu-Wei’s official food taster. In the small private room where he who was once a mandarin took his meals, he watched impatiently as the array of dishes was laid before her on a side table. Beside them, resting upon an ivory tablet, was a pair of silver chopsticks. Under the watchful eyes of the jade amahs she was ordered to use the chopsticks to taste a single mouthful from each dish. The chopsticks were thin and heavy to her fingers, the food like none she had known but filled with rich and pleasant flavors as she chewed and swallowed each morsel. This done, she was sent back to the kitchen without a further word.

“He is a cautious man,” Ah-Soo said when Siu-Sing returned in some confusion. “It was the way of all mandarins to have their food tasted by one whose life was of no importance. Chopsticks of solid silver will turn black if they touch the slightest impurity.” The cook laughed secretively. “Don’t worry, I will not poison him, and neither will the jade amahs as long as he pays them well. He eats apart from Madam Fan and the rest of his family because he thinks some of them would kill him for his fortune.”

Siu-Sing fetched water from the pump, prepared vegetables, cleaned cooking pots, scrubbed tables, and mopped floors. She worked hard and
without complaint, learning much from Ah-Soo, who soon recognized a trusted ear and was glad of her company. The cook spoke cautiously of Fat Fan, as though listening for the creak of his wheeled throne, or the soft footfall of the jade amahs.

“He who was once a mandarin is no longer seen as one of noble birth and great power. Now he is a dealer in offal and dead flesh, as bloated as the pigs he fattens. How proud he is to be the greatest of all sausage makers. His secret family recipe makes the great Fan-Lu-Wei one of the richest merchants in Macao.

“Those sacred hairs that sprout from his chin,” she whispered, “are his heavenly luck—given him, he believes, by Lu-Hsing, the star god of affluence. He bathes them three times a day in oil of roses; and at festival time, on the birthday of the star god, they are coated in liquid gold.” Ah-Soo tossed a sizzling wok on her roaring stove. “Fat Fan lives only to eat, drink brandy, fornicate, and smoke the pig-bone pipe.”

They were seated on the kitchen doorstep, drinking tea in a moment of rest. Ah-Soo’s voice took on a tone of closest confidence. “I neither believe nor disbelieve your story of the rich taipan you seek. Our past and our future should be our own affair and not the business of others. But even such as we are entitled to our dreams.”

Ah-Soo paused for a moment, tossing a handful of grain to the chickens pecking for worms among the cabbages. “Did the one who claimed to be your brother speak the truth … that you are untouched?”

Siu-Sing could only nod her head. “I am from Lake Tung-Ting in Hunan. I have lived my life protected by two who loved me. I know nothing of men and before leaving had met none but my master and the one who betrayed me. But it is true; my father is a foreign taipan and I have come to find him on the Golden Hill.”

“Then be ready. Fat Fan will send for you; it is his way with all
mooi-jai
. Because he owns your
sung-tip
, he also owns your body and your soul … but there is a way to use them in your favor. I have seen a dozen girls no older than you come and go through those iron gates. If they pleased him well, their lives were bearable, but when he tired of them he sold them as I would sell a chicken or a duck.”

Ah-Soo looked over her shoulder, to check that they were truly alone. “Listen to me carefully; we cannot speak of this again. Fat Fan is stupid and lazy; he seldom leaves this place. The making of sausages is left to Ah-Kwok, Keeper of the Gate. Business matters are in the hands of Fan-Tai, the first wife, who dies slowly from consumption. He is afraid of her and awaits her death with great impatience. The pipe has taken his courage as surely as the fall of the Ching has taken his dignity, and he is easily beaten. He would not know a jewel’s value if it were held in the palm of his greedy hand.”

Ah-Soo lowered her voice still further. “There is one in this city of Macao who seeks such jewels in many distant places, and is an expert in their valuation. She has grown rich in gold five times her weight, they say, and to those who matter, she is also widely respected. She is known to them as Tamiko-san, the Golden One, who owns the Tavern of Cascading Jewels. She will pay well for one as rare as you.”

“How can this help me to find my father?”

Ah-Soo’s reply was mildly impatient. “The Tavern of Cascading Jewels is the most famous opium house in all Macao. Only the richest taipans rest upon its golden divans and enjoy the favors of its precious jewels.”

“Are there foreigners—those of Western blood—among these taipans? Would I meet such people; could I speak to them? Could they lead me to my father?”

Ah-Soo thought for a moment, uncertain of the answer. “I am a worthless woman who has known little of the things you seek—the love and care of a family, a home and a future. I have nothing left to search for, but I see in you the light of hope. I cannot tell you who you may find or who you may not. I only know that I have heard in the market that men of power and great wealth seek the treasures of the tavern. Those that live on the Golden Hill of Hong Kong trust Tamiko-san with their secrets.”

Ah-Soo stood up to empty her cup among the cabbages and stretch her back. “I am not usually one to give advice.” She sighed wearily. “One stove is the same as another, and I am too old and too ugly for anything else. But you are young, and if what you say is true, your future may be
one of great fortune. You are
jarp-jung
, different in every way, and I do not envy you the way ahead … but I will tell what I know of escape. You must decide what you will.”

According to the kitchen calendar, Siu-Sing had been in the House of Double Happiness for three weeks when, without warning, the jade amahs came to fetch her. It was late, after a sumptuous dinner had been tasted and eaten. She was told to wash herself, given a simple robe of white cotton to wear and nothing more, then led without further word to the private chambers of Fan-Lu-Wei.

The corridor was stuffy with the trapped smells of food and absence of air, dimly lit by gaslights. Siu-Sing was not afraid, but ready to face the test to come.

“It is the new
mooi-jai
, Lo-Yeh.” One of the amahs spoke quietly into the shadows, the other silently crossing to the shrine of a reclining Buddha bathed in bloodred light. With great care, a blindfold was tied around its all-seeing eyes. With three deep bows, the amahs left, softly closing the door.

A gas lamp shed patterns of colored light upon the walls of the half-dark room that was heady with opium smoke. “There is no need to be afraid.” The thin, feminine voice of he who was once a mandarin reached out to her. “The gods cannot see us. This room is for moments of harmless pleasure. Come, let me see you. I have pickled ginger and plump dates.”

The sickly sweetness of the smoke found Siu-Sing’s throat. She hesitated, her stomach uneasy, the steady hiss of the gas mantle and the wheeze of his heavy breathing the only sounds.

As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she saw the richly curtained comfort of a divan in the center of the room. Splotches of moving color shivered over the mound of Fat Fan’s naked body. Propped on a pile of cushions, the folds of his flesh formed grotesque contours, his wasted legs tucked beneath him and his face in shadow, oily smoke curling from a long-stemmed pipe.

“Take off the gown and let me see what treasures I have purchased,” he wheedled, setting aside the pipe on an ornate stand. Siu-Sing paused to choose her words carefully.

“May I speak, Lo-Yeh? I have thought much upon this great honor and wish to see that it is to your greatest benefit… . I have a warning that must be heard. Your
tai-tai
, sir, what would she do if she was aware of your attentions to one so unworthy as I?”

He seemed not to hear her, his hand reaching for a sticky morsel from a dish at his side. “Troublesome
mooi-jai
are often known to seduce their masters, to gain favor over worn-out wives and tiresome concubines. So I suggest you curb your questions before I tire of them, and take off the gown.” He offered her a date, popping it into his mouth when she made no move to take it, the stone slipping from his pursed lips like a maggot.

“My honorable wives would not like it at all if I were disobeyed.” He giggled unpleasantly. “They care little who visits my divan so long as it is not them I call upon.” He chewed noisily, sucking his fingers. “So we must see that they do not hear of it or you will be flogged by Ah-Kwok. Enough prattle; come closer.” His hand closed tightly over her wrist, forcing her hand toward his doughy thighs.

“Wait, Lo-Yeh. I beg you to hear me. I am different from others honored by your interest in the past. I speak the truth. As you can see, I am of mixed blood… . I am
jarp-jung
, worthless in the eyes of many, but priceless in the eyes of some as long as I am untouched. If you take my innocence, it will bring you no more than a moment’s pleasure.” She waited, her words hanging in a tense moment of silence. “But you could sell my
sung-tip
for ten times the price you paid for it.”

The grip on her wrist tightened, forcing her closer. “And who will pay such a high price for a
jarp-jung
who claims to be the daughter of a foreign devil?”

His words were impatient as his bulk heaved upon her trapped hand.

“The Golden One … she will pay. Sell me, Lo-Yeh, to the Tavern of Cascading Jewels.”

It was clear he had smoked so much opium that his thinking was
unclear, his desires stronger than reason. Yet she persisted. “My services as a
mooi-jai
are of no importance and easily found. Let the Golden One decide my price. If it is not enough or she finds me of no value, I will serve you well and give no further trouble.

“I warn you, Lo-Yeh, these eyes that look upon you are the eyes of death and destruction. The man that takes me will be cursed forever with bad luck.” He did not hear her, his hands groping clumsily, his breath escaping like steam.

Siu-Sing reacted swiftly, grasping the straggle of hairs that sprouted from his chin. They came away in her hand as Fat Fan rolled crashing to the floor with a piercing squeal.

Siu-Sing sat straight backed on the edge of a black-wood chair, hands folded in her lap. She had been primped and powdered, stroked and smoothed as though awaiting audience with an empress. The jade amahs had wound her hair in the two circular plaits favored by Macao’s concubines of substance. From her ears, two teardrop pearls shivered at her slightest motion. They had dressed her in a rustling gown of emerald-green silk, tinted her lips deep red and her brows and lashes coal black. Scented powder extended to her throat and the swell of her breasts.