Murder in Canton

VI

After Chiao Tai and Mr Yau had left the Council Hall, the former quickly went to the armoury, doffed his martial dress, and put on a light robe of thin grey cotton and a cap of black gauze. Then he joined Mr Yau in the gatehouse of the palace. Yau proposed that they call at his own house, for he too wanted to change before going to the party. They were carried in Yau's comfortable well-cushioned palankeen to his mansion, a large building to the west of the palace, near the Kwang-Siao Temple.

While Chiao Tai was waiting for Yau in the spacious reception room, he looked dubiously at the vulgar luxury displayed there. The wall tables were loaded with glittering silver vases filled with artificial flowers made of wax, and red scrolls inscribed with texts extolling Yau's wealth and importance decorated the walls. The maidservant who brought him his tea was sedately dressed, but her heavy make-up and the frankly appraising look she gave him indicated a former dancing-girl.

Soon Yau came to fetch him. He had put on a thin blue robe, and he wore his simple black cap at a jaunty angle. 'Let's get along!' he said briskly. 'I am rather busy tonight, you know. After dinner I have an urgent affair to attend to. Fortunately these Arab parties end rather early.'

'What do we get there?' Chiao Tai asked, as their palankeen was carried down the street.

'Rather simple fare, but quite appetizing in its own way. Not a patch on our Chinese kitchen, needless to say. Have you tried our Cantonese stewed octopus yet? Or eels?'

He started with a detailed explanation of these dishes that made Chiao Tai's mouth water, then gave an eloquent discourse on the local wine and liqueur. Evidently he does himself well, Chiao Tai thought. Although Yau was a rather vulgar upstart, he was a pleasant fellow all the same.

When they were descending from the palankeen in front of a plain whitewashed gatehouse, Chiao Tai exclaimed:

'I had my noon rice early today, and your talk has made me ravenous! I could devour a whole roasted pig, I tell you!’

'Hush!’ Yau warned quickly, 'don't mention pork! The Mos­lems aren't allowed to even touch it; the meat is considered un­clean. They aren't allowed to drink wine either, but they have another liquor that tastes rather nice.' So speaking, he knocked on the door, which was decorated with iron bosses shaped like fishes.

It was opened by an old Arab hunchback with a striped turban. He led them through a small courtyard to a rectangular garden, planted with low flowering shrubs in an unusual pattern. A tall lean man came to meet them. His turban and flowing long gown were very white in the moonlight. Chiao Tai recognized him. It was the same man he had seen scolding the Arab sailors on the quay.

'Peace on you, Mansur!’ Yau exclaimed jovially. 'I took the liberty of bringing a friend, Colonel Chiao, from our capital.'

The Arab fixed his large, flashing eyes on Chiao Tai. The whites of them stood out clearly against his dark-brown skin. He spoke in a sonorous voice, in slow but good Chinese:

'Peace on all true believers!’

Chiao Tai reasoned that if the salutation was limited to Mos­lems, it did not include Yau and himself and thus was rather rude. But by the time he had thought this out, the Arab and Yau, bent over a shrub, were already deep in a discussion on raising plants.

'The noble Mansur is a great lover of flowers, just like me,' Yau explained as he righted himself. 'These fragrant plants he brought along all the way from his own country.'

Chiao Tai noticed the delicate scent drifting about in the garden, but what with the insolent greeting and his empty stomach he was not in the proper mood for flowers. He sourly surveyed the low house in the rear. Seeing behind it the minaret of the mosque outlined against the moonlit sky, he concluded that Mansur's house could not be far from his inn.

At last Mansur led his two guests into the large airy room at the back of the garden. Its faзade consisted of a row of high open arches of a quaint, pointed shape. Upon entering, Chiao Tai noticed to his dismay that there was no furniture at all, let alone a dining-table. The floor was covered by a thick blue pile carpet, and in the corners lay a few stuffed silken pillows. From the ceiling hung a brass lamp with eight wicks. All across the back wall ran a curtain of a type he had never seen before: it was attached with brass rings to a pole close to the ceiling, instead of being sewn to a bamboo stick, as it should be.

Mansur and Yau sat down cross-legged on the floor, and after some hesitation Chiao Tai followed their example. Apparently Mansur had seen his annoyed look, for he now addressed him in his measured voice:

'I trust the honoured guest doesn't object to sitting on the floor, instead of in a chair.'

'As a soldier,' Chiao Tai said gruffly, 'I am accustomed to rough­ing it.'

'We consider our manner of living quite comfortable,' his host remarked coldly.

Chiao Tai instinctively disliked the man, but he had to admit that he was an impressive figure. He had a regular, clean-cut face, with a thin beaked nose, and a long moustache, the ends of which curled up in foreign fashion. He carried his shoulders very straight, and flat muscles rippled smoothly under his thin white gown. Evidently he was a man capable of great feats of endurance.

To break the awkward silence, Chiao Tai pointed at the band of intricate design that ran all along the top of the wall and asked:

'What do those curlicues mean?'

'It's Arab writing,' Yau explained hastily. 'It's a holy text.'

'How many letters do you have?' Chiao Tai asked Mansur.

'Twenty-eight,' he replied curtly.

'Holy heaven!' Chiao Tai exclaimed. 'Is that all? We have more than twenty thousand, you know!’

Mansur's lips curved in a contemptuous smile. He turned round and clapped his hands.

'How in hell can they express their thoughts in only twenty-eight letters?' Chiao Tai asked Yau in an undertone.

'They haven't got so many thoughts to express!' Yau whis­pered with a thin smile. 'Here comes the food!'

An Arab youth entered carrying a large round tray of engraved brass. On it lay several fried chickens, and a jug and three goblets of coloured enamel. After the boy had poured out a colourless liquor, he withdrew. Mansur lifted his goblet and said gravely:

'Welcome to my house!'

Chiao Tai drank and found the strong liquor flavoured with aniseed rather good. The chickens smelled nice, but he was at a loss how to eat them, for he saw no chopsticks. After a few more rounds, Mansur and Yau tore a chicken apart with their fingers, and he followed their example. He took a bite from the leg and found it excellent. After the chicken came a platter heaped with saffron rice, fried with sliced lamb, raisins and almonds. Chiao Tai liked that too; he ate it as the others did, kneading the rice into lumps with his fingers. After he had washed his hands in scented water from the basin that the servant presented to him, he leaned back against the pillow and said with a contented grin:

'Very good indeed! Let's have another round!' After they had emptied their goblets, he said to Mansur:

'We are neighbours, you know! I am staying in the Five Immortals' Inn. Tell me, are all your countrymen living in this particular quarter?'

'Most of them do. We like to be near our place of worship. Our prayers are announced from the top of the minaret, and when one of our ships enters the estuary, we light a beacon fire there and say prayers for a safe landing.' He took a long draught, then went on: 'About fifty years ago a relative of our Prophet — the peace of Allah be upon him! — came to this city and died in his abode outside the north-east gate. Many true believers settled down in that holy place, to tend to his tomb. Further, our sailors live as a rule in the six large hostels, not far from the custom-house.'

'I met here a Chinese sea captain,' Chiao Tai resumed, 'who speaks your language. Fellow called Nee.'

Mansur gave him a wary look. He said in a level voice:

'Nee's father was a Chinese, but his mother a Persian. The Per­sians are no good. Our valiant warriors, led by our great Khalif, made mincemeat out of them. Forty years ago, at the battle of Nehavent.'

Yau proposed another round, then asked:

'Is it true that to the west of the Khalif's domain there live white-skinned people, with blue eyes and yellow hair?'

'There can't be real men like that!’ Chiao Tai protested. 'Must be ghosts or devils!’

'They do indeed exist,' Mansur said gravely. 'They fight well, too. They can even write, but the wrong way round, from left to right.'

'That clinches it!’ Chiao Tai said with satisfaction. 'They are ghosts! In the Nether World everything is done exactly the other way round as in the world of men.'

Mansur emptied his goblet.

'Some have red hair,' he remarked.

Chiao Tai gave him a searching look. Since the man was talking such arrant nonsense, he must be getting very drunk.

'What about some Arab dances now, eh Mansur?' Yau asked with a broad grin. And to Chiao Tai, 'Ever seen Arab dancing girls, colonel?'

'Never! Do they dance as well as ours?’

Mansur sat up.

'By Allah!’ he exclaimed. 'Your question betrays your ignor­ance!’ He clapped his hands, and barked an order at the servant in Arabic.

'Watch the curtain!’ Yau whispered excitedly. 'If we are lucky, it'll be a real treat!’

A woman appeared in the curtain opening. She was just over medium height, and naked but for a narrow fringed black band round her hips. It hung so low that it left her belly completely bare, and its smooth rounded surface set off with disconcerting clarity the glittering emerald inserted into her navel. Her slender waist made her round breasts seem very large, her voluptuous thighs too heavy. She had a beautiful, golden-brown skin, but her face, though very expressive, did not correspond to Chinese stan­dards of feminine beauty. Her eyes with their kohl-tinted rims seemed too wide, her scarlet lips too full, and there were curious kinks in her shiny blue-black hair. These un-Chinese features re­pelled but, at the same time, strangely fascinated Chiao Tai. As she was standing there observing the company with slightly raised eyebrows, her large, moist eyes suddenly reminded Chiao Tai of those of a doe he had killed by mistake while hunting, many years ago.

She stepped into the room, her golden ankle-rings making a faint, tinkling sound. Completely unconcerned about her naked­ness, she made a bow in front of Mansur, touching her breast briefly with her right hand, then inclined her head to Yau and Chiao Tai. She kneeled facing Mansur, keeping her knees close together. When she folded her slender hands in her lap, Chiao Tai noticed with astonishment that her palms and nails had been painted with a bright red pigment.

Seeing Chiao Tai's admiring stare, Mansur's lips curved in a satisfied smile.

'This is Zumurrud, the Smaragdine dancer,' he said quietly. 'She will now show you a dance of our country.'

Again he clapped his hands. Two Arabs clad in wide gowns came from behind the curtain and squatted down in the farthest corner. One began to thumb a large wooden drum, the other tuned his fiddle, drawing the long curved rattan bow across the strings.

Mansur looked at the woman fixedly with his large, smoulder­ing eyes. After a casual glance at him she half-turned on her knees, and surveyed Yau and Chiao Tai with an insolent stare. When Mansur saw that she was about to address Mr Yau, he shouted an order at the musicians.

MANSUR ENTERTAINS HIS GUESTS

As the fiddle started upon a low, wailing tune, Zumurrud folded her hands behind her head, and began to sway her torso to the slow rhythm. While doing so she leaned backwards, lower and lower, till her head was resting against the floor, on her folded arms. Her breasts pointed upward, nipples taut, while her curly locks spilled out over her shapely arms. She closed her eyes, the lashes forming two long fringes across her smooth cheeks.

The fiddler now moved his bow in a quicker rhythm; dull beats of the drum accentuated the melody. Chiao Tai expected her to get up now and commence her dance, but she remained motion­less. Suddenly he noticed with a start that the emerald in the centre of her bare belly was moving slowly to and fro. The rest of her arched body remained completely still; only her belly moved, up and down, left and right, in a strange, staccato movement. The drumbeat quickened: now the emerald began to describe circles, which gradually became larger. Chiao Tai's eyes were riveted upon the green stone which glittered viciously in the lamplight. The blood pounded heavily inside him; his throat felt constricted. Perspiration came streaming down his face, but he did not notice it.

He woke up from his trance when the drum stopped suddenly. The fiddle ended with a few strident notes. In the dead silence that followed, the dancer raised herself to a kneeling position with the lithe grace of a wild animal and put her hair in order with a few deft gestures. Her bosom was heaving; a thin film of moisture covered her naked body. Chiao Tai now noticed the strong musk perfume she used; it was mixed with a strange, slightly pungent body-smell. Although he told himself that it was repugnant, at the same time it stirred some elemental feeling deep inside him, made him remember certain wild, animal smells of hun­ting, of sweating horses and red, hot blood at the height of battle.

'Mashallah!’ Mansur cried out admiringly. He took a foreign gold coin from his belt and placed it on the floor in front of the kneeling woman. She picked it up and without giving it a second glance threw it across the room towards the two musicians. Then she turned round on her knees and asked Chiao Tai in fluent Chinese:

'Has the stranger come from afar?'

Chiao Tai swallowed; his throat felt tight. He hastily took a sip from the goblet, and replied as casually as he could:

'I am from the capital. My name is Chiao Tai.'

She gave him a long look from her large liquid eyes. Then she turned to his neighbour and said listlessly:

'You are looking well, Mr Yau.'

The merchant smiled broadly. He said, imitating the Arab custom:

'I am in good health, praise be to Allah!’ Staring at her bosom, he said with a leer to Mansur, 'As one of our Chinese poets put it: The tree bends under the weight of the ripe fruit!’

Mansur's face fell. He watched Zumurrud sharply as she refilled Yau's and Chiao Tai's goblets. When she leaned forward to Chiao Tai, her strong, nearly animal smell gave him a tense feeling in the pit of his stomach. He clenched his large fists in an effort to control his surging blood. She bent her head close to him, a slow smile revealing her perfect teeth, and said in an undertone:

'I live on the first boat in the fourth row.'

'Come here!’ Mansur shouted.

As she turned to him, he hissed something at her in Arabic.

She languidly raised her eyebrows, then replied haughtily in Chinese:

'I converse with whom I please, oh master of many ships.'

Mansur's face contorted in an angry scowl. The whites of his eyes flashed as he barked:

'Bow and apologize for your insulting remark!'

She spat on the floor, right in front of him.

Mansur uttered an oath. He sprang up, grabbed her hair with one hand and pulled her roughly to her feet. Ripping off with the other the fringed band from her hips, he turned her round so that she faced his two guests and shouted in a strangled voice:

'Have a good look at the harlot's charms! They are for sale!'

She tried to shake herself loose, but he swung her round again with a savage jerk. Forcing her down on her knees and pressing her head to the floor, he barked an order at the musicians. The man with the fiddle rose quickly and handed Mansur the long rattan bow.

Chiao Tai averted his eyes from the crouching woman. He addressed Mansur coldly:

'Better settle your squabbles in private, Mansur. You are em­barrassing your guests.'

Mansur gave him a furious look. He opened his mouth, then checked himself. Biting his lips, he lowered the raised rattan and let go of the woman's hair. He sat down again, muttering some­thing under his breath.

The dancer came to her feet. She picked up the torn fringe, then turned to Chiao Tai and Yau and hissed with blazing eyes:

'Mark what he said. I am available to the highest bidder!'

Tossing back her head, she went to the curtain and disappeared. The two musicians hurriedly followed her.

'Spirited wench!' Yau said with a grin to Mansur. 'Quite a handful, I dare say!' He refilled Mansur's goblet, and added as he raised his own, 'Many thanks for this lavish entertainment!'

Mansur silently inclined his head. Yau got up and Chiao Tai followed his example. He wanted to say a few words of thanks too, but thought better of it when he saw the burning hatred in Mansur's eyes. Their host led them across the scented garden to the gate, and took leave of them with a few barely audible phrases.

Yau's palankeen bearers scrambled to their feet, but Chiao Tai shook his head at them.

'Let's walk a little,' he said to Yau. 'The air was very close in there and that foreign liquor has gone to my head.'

'I am a well-known man,' the fat merchant said doubtfully. 'I am not really supposed to move about on foot.'

'Neither is a colonel of the guard Chiao Tai said dryly. 'Since the streets are deserted, no one'll see us. Come along!'

They walked towards the corner, the palankeen bearers follow­ing at some distance.

'The food was good,' Chiao Tai muttered, 'but the fellow shouldn't have made that disgraceful scene.'

'What can you expect from barbarians?' Yau said with a shrug. 'It was a pity you stopped him, though. She's giving herself airs, nowadays, and a sore bottom would have done her good. She's not a pure Arab, you know. Her mother belonged to the Tanka, the waterfolk, and that makes her doubly savage. Anyway he wouldn't have dared to give her a real good whipping, one that draws blood and leaves scars.'

He wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue. Chiao Tai gave him a sour look. He revised his former favourable opinion. The fellow had a nasty streak in him. He said coldly:

'Mansur seemed fully intent on doing just that. And why shouldn't he dare to mark her?'

The question apparently embarrassed Yau. He hesitated for a while before he replied:

'Well, Mansur doesn't own her — as far as I know, that is. I assume that she has a powerful patron, somewhere. And although such fellows don't mind their women earning a little pin-money by dancing at parties, they don't like to get 'em back with a broken skin.'

'But Mansur said she was for sale!'

'Oh, that was only to humiliate her. Don't let that give you ideas, colonel! I wouldn't recommend those black women, any­way. They are rather crude in their ways, you know, like beasts of the field. Well, I'd like to take my palankeen now, if you don't mind. I have to keep an appointment in a er ... private establish­ment of mine.'

'Don't miss it!' Chiao Tai said gruffly. 'I'll manage.'

Yau looked at him askance; he seemed to have noticed the change in his companion's attitude. He laid his podgy hand on Chiao Tai's arm and said with an ingratiating grin:

'I'll take you there some other night, colonel! The lady I put in charge is very discreet, and the amenities are er ... exceptional. I go there regularly — for the sake of variety, you understand! It's not that I am not served well at home. Very well, I may say. Ought to be, seeing the amount of money I spend on my wives and concubines. That cosy little place of mine is conveniently located, not too far from my residence. On the corner of the second street south of the Kwang-siao Temple, as a matter of fact. I'd take you there right now, only the lady I am due to meet there is rather shy, you see…Not so easy to get! We have a hobby in common and that'll help, I trust, but if she saw me coming with a stranger, she might...'

'Quite,' Chiao Tai interrupted him. 'Don't keep her waiting, she might run away!' Walking on, he muttered to himself, 'Would be the wisest thing for her to do, too, I think!'

In the next street he hailed a litter and told the bearers to take him to the palace. As the men trotted off, he leaned back in the seat and tried to get a brief nap. But as soon as he had closed his eyes he saw the sinuous figure of the Arab dancer, and remem­bered again that heady smell.