The Shallow Seas (44 page)

“I am going to put these needles in your ear.” He lifted her head and kissed her, softly, deeply, willing her surrender. “Sounds strange but works very well. Yes?”

Charlotte nodded, obeying him. His kiss was like honey, almost better than opium.

“First kiss me more,” she said, and he smiled at her.

“Later, after the needles, I will kiss you until you say stop.” He took up the hair-thin needles he had placed on the bedside table. Holding her head gently, he put them into her ear, manipulating them. Her ear began to tingle, and a feeling of warmth and relaxation spread down her body. He lay her back on the bed, covered her and moved beside her, holding her hand. He began to tell her of his father's addiction, what it had done to him and their family, how he hated it. An hour later, he took out the needles and gave Charlotte another drink. He explained what she could expect over the next few days.

She turned into his body, snuggling into his arm, still trembling. It would take time but he knew, now, it would be well. The addiction was of short duration. She would obey him, and the cravings would go. In four or five days the worst would be over. Then he would talk to Tigran. This situation had a remedy for this moment, but not for the years ahead.

When he came down with her in the afternoon, Tigran could see that whatever Zhen had said or done, she had surrendered to him. He had been right to bring this man. His love and his knowledge would get her over this. Even as he thought it, a feeling of leaden resentment filled his veins.

At dinner, Charlotte ate little, shivering, her nose and eyes streaming. When she became agitated, Zhen gave her the drink, which she gulped down. He carried out the acupuncture five times a day.

On the fifth day, he found Tigran when Charlotte had gone to sleep. Soon she would be well. It was time to deal with the cause.

“I must speak to you” Zhen said.

Tigran nodded. He had found a certain annoying respect for this fellow.

“Xia Lou will soon be well enough. I have explained the medicine to your woman. She knows herbs, she understands the treatment must continue many months. In three days, I will leave. This is problem I think. When I leave.”

Tigran nodded again.

“Yes, that will be a problem. What do you propose?”

Zhen went up to Tigran, stood near, wanting to speak man to man.

“You are good man I think. I am not bad man. You love Xia Lou. I love Xia Lou. She is woman, Yin, tender, like flower, not strong like man. Sometimes when woman lose love, she can be very sad, more sad than man.”

Zhen shook his head slightly. He could not quite explain his thoughts in English. Tigran knew very well his meaning. His thoughts had flown to Surya. But he was not going to help the man out.

“I think she love me, want to be with me. I want to take her back to Singapore with me. I am not rich like you, but I can give her a house, always love her,” Zhen said.

“As your concubine, you mean? And what of our children?”

Zhen frowned. “Yes, children, this is big problem.” It was a hideous, insurmountable problem. Zhen was Confucian enough to respect the bonds of family.

“Yes,” said Tigran, the thought that Alexander was this man's child filling his mind. He turned away.

One thing was certain. When she was well, Charlotte must choose.

39

One morning Charlotte awoke and realised that she had no pain, no ache. She felt refreshed—not necessarily better than when she took opium, but somehow more aware of herself. The memories of what had driven her to this had surfaced, bright, without the dulling edge of the drug, but seeing Tigran and Zhen together had reassured her. The feeling of utter hopelessness had evaporated. She knew she must take the medicine for a long time, but it did not matter. She wanted, now, to see her children. Poor baby, little Adam, that she knew not at all. She could not even recall his face.

Zhen, too, had risen when he heard her. He went to her bedside, and she put up her arms and drew him to her. Ah! Lovely, lovely, to be in his arms. She still didn't know whether to tell him about Alexander. This admission seemed too shattering to utter. She knew the way the Chinese men felt about their sons. Knew, too, the way Tigran felt about Alexander.

Zhen sat beside her. She moved her hand under his soft jacket and ran it over the silkiness of his skin. She felt her desire for him return. She sat and put her lips to his.

He rose, for the first time pulling away from her. She felt his tension.

“Tomorrow I will leave. Xia Lou, you must talk to him.”

She nodded, and he left the room.

She went to
la seraille
and took a long warm bath, inhaling the scent of the petals and fragrant oils. Ah! Java, she thought, so sensuous and rich. Why couldn't they just all stay here? Tigran and Zhen. She could love them both. As the thought strayed across her mind, she knew today she must make a choice.

She dressed, enjoying every simple gesture. Brushing her hair, looking at herself in the mirror, things she had forgotten she liked. She looked good; she had gained weight, and her skin was plumper and prettier. She had been too thin.

She went to breakfast. Zhen was not there, and a momentary flare of anxiety hit her.

Tigran saw her eyes. “He is walking, in the hills. They remind him of his home. He is a good man. You owe him a great deal, Charlotte,” Tigran said honestly.

She sat, poured coffee. Did she owe him a great deal? Perhaps Tigran owed him a great deal. They had both conspired to rid her of her “habit”, which she had rather enjoyed. But she had heard Zhen's story of his father, the overwhelming outpouring of the anxiety and resentment towards the sufferings opium had brought on him and his family, the hatred and contempt he had for it. Fiercely, imperiously, he had made her swear she would not go back, and she had understood and made him this promise.

“Since you like him so much, perhaps I should depart the scene and leave you two together,” Charlotte teased.

Tigran smiled. She had found her nature again. No matter what, he was glad.

“Charlotte,” he began, “I see you have found your wits. In that case, it is time for us to talk. I cannot bear ever to go through this again, and doubtless neither can you. We are not children, and we must find a solution.”

He looked her in the eyes. His throat became dry, for he had absolutely no wish for what he was about to propose. He took a drink of coffee and steeled himself. “If you want a divorce, I will give you one.”

He looked down and took a breath to calm his feelings.

“Dutch law requires a five-year separation before any official divorce. In the meantime, you need have no fear about money. The house in Singapore, a settlement, all can be arranged. You will be independent; you may choose your own way. I love you and our children. I would never see you in financial difficulty, of this you can be sure.”

He felt drained. He had poured out these sentences as quickly as he could, before he could think any more about what he was saying. Charlotte made a
moue
and looked out over the hazy purple hills.

“The children, where would they live?”

“In Brieswijk. You cannot expect me to give up the children to a life of uncertainty. Alexander is my son, Charlotte, as much as Adam.” He softened his tone. “But you could stay and be with them as much as you liked. I am offering you your freedom. The freedom to be with him.”

Charlotte looked at Tigran. He would not give up the children; she saw it in his face. She had wanted him to love Zan, and he did; she could not reproach him for it now. All the reasons she had needed him before were still there. She loved Zhen, with an insane, desperate love. But she needed Tigran, though this love was of a different kind. She sighed.

When Zhen returned, she took his hand and they walked to the terrace wall, down to where the mountains kissed the valley, and asked him what their life would be together. He told her of the land on the hill, his plans to build a house. It would not be a conventional life for her, he could not offer that. But he would be hers forever; they would be together. Even as he heard himself say these words, he knew it was hopeless. But he had to ask her and hear the response from her lips.

She stood looking down over the shifting shades of endless cloud which wrapped this place and told him what he feared, although he understood as well as any sensible man could. Ties were here. He could not offer her marriage, social respectability, a proper home for her children. These things were important, he knew. He was Chinese.

He left the next day. He was angry, expressing in his manner a silent, hardly discernible sullenness. Angry at her or himself she was not sure. Again they would part in anguish.

Well, so, he said, she had made her choice. He faced her and took her by the arms, and she felt the force of his fingers gripping her. But, he said, do not come to me again unless it is forever. He dropped his hands and stood looking down at her.

“Unless you can accept this way, do not see me again. You understand, Xia Lou.”

Her heart had contracted at these words, so firmly spoken, and she had felt a heaviness in her limbs, as if the blood in her veins had turned to molten lead. He meant it. He never said anything he did not mean. She bowed her head in sorrow, for what else was there to do? He stood silently looking at her. The fierceness dropped away like a discarded cloth, and he put his hand to her cheek. She felt doubt surface like bubbles. She nestled her head in his hand for a moment, and he held it still, as if to imprint the shape of her face on his palm. Then he turned and mounted the carriage, and in a second he was gone.

40

Tigran watched from the bedroom window as the carriage pulled away. It was over. She had made her choice. He dropped into a chair, half-drained, grateful she had chosen him. Tomorrow they would go back to the children in Batavia.

When she came upstairs and opened the door, he held out his arms. She sank onto his lap. She would never love him as she loved Zhen. It was unrealistic of him to ask it. Theirs was the love of first love, of youthful fire. She would be sad for a while, but not like before. He was glad he had given her a choice, glad she had chosen their family. Now it was time to be happy again.

When they arrived in Brieswijk, he knew that happiness was now a possibility. To his
babu
's annoyance, she picked up Adam and spent hours with him. Alexander, who had forgotten her, gradually came to know his mother, though he adored his father more than anyone.

One night she came to Tigran's room and climbed into his bed. He had been half-asleep, but as he felt her hand move around his waist and onto his chest, he had turned to her. She showed him the wedding band, which she had put back on her finger.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes,” she answered, putting her hands into his hair, and they smiled at each other.

Miriam became a regular visitor to Brieswijk, and Charlotte found a different side to her character. Without her overbearing husband, she had a gaiety and lightness which was charming. Takouhi and Charlotte convinced her to change her hair, dress more in fashion, and now they were all friends. Captain Palmer had leased an estate at Meester Cornelis to install his harem, and Miriam and Takouhi decided to turn the house at Nordwijk into a school for girls.

Nathanial had returned from the East, filled with anger for what he saw there. Famine was threatening in Cirebon. Villagers were fleeing the harsh constraints of this endless and, for them, profitless production. They were rounded up for punishment before being forced back to the regions they had fled. The Dutch, Nathanial fulminated, were turning the richest land on earth into a place of starvation and misery.

Nathanial and Charlotte began a tour of Brieswijk. Here, at least, he hoped to have some influence. The private estates had self-interest at heart; the needs of the Dutch state did not concern them. He engaged Charlotte and Tigran in talk of the policies of liberalisation which the Dutch government could not find, though they made the soundest economic sense. Indigo headed Nathanial's list of abhorrent manufactures. There had never been such a noxious and crushing agriculture as this was for the Javanese peasant. To prove it, he took her to see the blue people.

For the first time, Charlotte crossed the Japanese bridge to the other side of the river. She could hardly believe that she had never done this before. The path led past the rice fields, some yellowing and ready for harvest, some springing fresh and green. The villagers planted the fields at different times to ensure a constant supply of new rice, and she found this chequered carpet of green and yellow a reassuring promise of abundance. After
sawah
, the wet rice fields, came the
tegal
, the dry fields where cucumbers, long beans, luffa vines and amaranth grew. Between were the big fish ponds, with beds of floating, leafy
kangkong
, the indispensible green vegetable of Asia. Nestled into a grove of long-leaved banana trees was a
madrassah
, a simple hut of bamboo posts and an
atap
roof; from inside came the boys' voices, raised like the sleepy droning of bumble bees, in recitation of the Koran.

They walked on. Rising above the rice paddies was a vast field of head-high green plants covered in masses of pink and violet blossoms.

“Indigo,” said Nathanial. “The natives hate it because it is planted on the
tegal
fields where their vegetables and dry rice are usually grown. This crop here, on Tigran's land, is two years old and still close to the village. After it has been harvested, the field will be useless for years to come, for the plant exhausts the soil quickly. Nothing else will grow here. In the Eastern provinces, this means the villagers must move constantly, opening up new fields further and further from their homes, walking hours each day. Even on Brieswijk, next year's crop must be sown on the other side of the forest, and this land must be left to recuperate.”