My Splendid Concubine--Chapter Four

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Some of the men around the table laughed. The stories had gone on for what felt like hours.

 

“We were scared for our lives,” Patridge said. “In 1842, I worked on a ship carrying opium along the coast of China. A monsoon struck, and my ship and another were wrecked on the island of Formosa. The crews consisted of 180 Bengalis and thirteen white men. The natives captured us and immediately beheaded the Bengalis. There I was with my hands tied behind my back watching all those heads hit the ground. I was terrified.

 

“The thirteen of us who remained alive felt we were doomed until the ship’s carpenter had a great idea. He said that we should kowtow to the governor of Formosa by standing on our heads." He paused and looked around the table. "And we did."

“Gentlemen, it worked. This governor was so impressed that he spared our lives and kept us in prison instead. Eventually we gained our freedom, and I’m sitting here today telling you about the time I came a chop away from the grave.” He put his hands around his neck, stretched it and crossed his eyes.

 

Robert had trouble believing the tale, so he allowed his mind to drift to other thoughts. He never had enjoyed these types of stories. If he had to put up with this to escape the isolation and stifling heat of Ningpo, he would do it. It was a small price to pay for people that spoke his language. On the other hand, if the story was true, he might be able to learn something. It wasn’t that important to listen though. Robert didn’t expect to be shipwrecked anytime soon.

 

Patridge’s house was on the western end of Zhoushan Island with the mainland about five miles away. It squatted on a hill close to a hundred feet above sea level. Robert wasn’t the only houseguest. The Maryann’s captain, a man named Roundtree, had come ashore too and was staying in the house with three of his officers.

At dinner that first night, Patridge, Captain Roundtree, his officers and Robert sat at a table on the veranda while concubines served food. The first course was a delicious soup made from lily flowers, black mushrooms and sea delicacies. Robert sipped from a glass of red wine and listened to the conversation instead of taking part. Sometimes his mind drifted from the conversation when he didn’t find it interesting.

 

From the veranda, Robert saw the track they had used to reach the house. It looked like a brown string winding its way through thick stands of trees and checkered green farmlands toward the top of the hill. When typhoons roared in from the Pacific, raced across the East China Sea and slammed into the island, the twenty miles of hills slowed the impact of the storms.

Ningpo was about fifty miles to the south. Shanghai was a bit farther to the north. If you sailed west into the bay, you eventually reached the city of Hangzhou. Robert recalled a conversation he and Guan-jiah had. It took place during the trek toward the house that morning with the others from the Maryann.

 

“Guan-jiah,” Robert said, “before I came to China I read The Travels of Marco Polo. Do you know who he was?”

 

“No, Master,” Guan-jiah replied.

 

“He came to China from Europe more than six hundred years ago and served under Kublai Khan during the Yuan Dynasty. Polo wrote that Hangzhou was the finest and noblest city in the world.”

“Hangzhou was the capital of the Southern Sung Dynasty, Master,” Guan-jiah said. “I’ve heard it is beautiful. Sung philosophy says that we have the power in our minds to overcome our emotions.”

 

“Marco Polo believed it was God’s will that he came back from China so others in the West might know what he’d seen.” Robert turned to his servant, who was the last one in line. “Do you believe in this Sung philosophy, Guan-jiah?”

 

“The Sung said that if you know yourself and others, you would be able to adjust to the most unfavorable circumstances and prevail over them.”

 

“That’s admirable, Guan-jiah. You never mentioned you were a scholar. If the Sung Dynasty was that wise, I want to see Hangzhou one day.”

 

“I am no scholar, Master, but I must believe in the Sung philosophy to survive. I have read and contemplated much literature. However, I am like a peasant and have never mastered calligraphy. It is a skill that has eluded me.”

 

“How old were you when you studied this philosophy?”

 

“I was eleven, Master, two years after I was sent to Peking.”

 

That meant Guan-jiah had been neutered at nine. How unfortunate. Robert didn’t want to offend the eunuch, but he was curious. “Why were you sent to Peking?” he asked.

 

“To work, Master. My family was starving. It was the only way that I could help, but I failed.” He stared at his feet in shame.

 

“How can you say you failed?” Robert said. “After all, you are paid well compared to most Chinese peasants. Your family does not go hungry, and they have shelter.”

 

“But they suffered for many years,” Guan-jiah said, “and that is my burden. After I failed in Peking, I went into a Buddhist monastery. One of the older monks spoke English, and he became my teacher. When I was fourteen, I returned to Ningpo and went to work for the foreign merchants. Now I work in the consulate for you.”

 

Roundtree’s voice intruded on Robert’s thoughts and brought his focus back to the dinner table. “I heard that you spelled your name differently with another ‘r’ in front of the ‘t’. If that’s true, why did you change it?”

 

“What?” Robert asked, thinking the question was directed at him. With his attention focused on the conversation, he realized that it had been directed at Patridge. No one noticed that he’d spoken.

 

“I never changed my name,” Patridge responded. “Why would I do that?”

 

“I’ve heard it said that a man named Partridge caused some mischief about 1841 back in London, and he dropped that first ‘r’ so his name would become Patridge making it harder to be tracked down.”

 

Patridge shook his head with a look of feigned innocence on his face. “Nothing happened to cause me to change my name. It’s always been Patridge.”

Robert wondered what that was about. Right then the main course arrived, and he was distracted. He was so hungry that he forgot what he’d been thinking. Dinner consisted mainly of a leg of boiled mutton, several roast pheasants, roasted goose, and a juicy piece of bacon.

 

“Here’s another story,” Patridge said, pounding the table for emphasis and bursting out in laughter.

This was like the food Robert ate at home in Ireland. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed the taste of food like this. Saliva filled Robert’s mouth, and he reached for the platter of meat. As he was spearing the meat with his fork, his eyes searched the table taking in the mashed potatoes and the bowl of brown gravy. His stomach grumbled in anticipation.

 

After Patridge regained his composure, he said, “We were halfway between Hong Kong and Shanghai becalmed in a small cove. Just a mile from us, but closer to the beach, were the pirates who’d been chasing us.”

“Are you talking about the Iona?” Robert asked.

“Or course,” Patridge said. His eyes opened wider. “You were there too.”

Robert vaguely remembered seeing him on board the schooner, but he had not seen him once during the pirate episode.

 

“Chinese pirates are devils,” Roundtree complained. “You’d think the blasted Imperial navy would do something about them.”

 

“If Sir John Bowring wasn’t handing out licenses to fly the British flag to every smuggler and pirate along the coast, maybe the Chinese navy might be able to do something about it,” Robert said.

 

A stunned silence settled around the table until one man cleared his throat. Robert squirmed in his seat. He wondered what he had said to cause this type of response. Maybe it was best to keep his mouth shut and just listen.

 

“It doesn’t matter what Sir John is doing,” Patridge said, breaking the uneasy silence. “We didn’t need the Chinese Imperial navy on the Iona. A little adventure adds flavor to life if it doesn’t hurt profits. Don’t you remember me telling the captain to lower the ship’s boats so we could row over and give those pirates a fight?”

 

“I must have been below deck when that happened,” Robert replied. He decided to say nothing more on the subject. He didn’t care much for braggarts. After all, Patridge wasn’t a bad sort. The meal was a feast, and Robert was stuffing himself. No need to embarrass his host.

 

“That blasted captain said the water was too choppy,” Patridge continued, “and when that calm ended, we set sail. Very disappointing. I was looking forward to a good fight.”

If Patridge was changing the facts to suit his storytelling, what else was he embellishing? Robert shrugged it off. If the man wanted to make himself sound like a lion, who was Robert to complain?

 

The warm but fresh air, the conversation, the bounty of good food and the lovely concubines made for a satisfying evening. Patridge treated his concubines like servants. Robert was confused. He wasn’t sure what the status of a concubine was yet. Maybe it was a combination of things besides keeping a bed warm at night.

 

After a while, Robert noticed that the same concubine served the same man. There were six men at the table and there were six concubines, one standing behind each man.

 

Patridge started another story about a merchant at a port in China. “This merchant was lonely, so he bought a Chinese woman for seventy-two yuan. The girl was warranted to be sound, virgin, and respectably connected. After sometime, the merchant heard her speak English and Bengali. It turned out that she’d been a common w***e for the commonest sailors, and the merchant ended with syphilis!” Patridge burst out laughing.

 

All the men joined in except Robert. He didn’t see the humor. The merchant had been cheated, and syphilis wasn’t fun. Hart knew all about it. While still in college, he came down with an illness the doctor identified as syphilis. He was first prescribed Guajacum and then mercury. They were administered to the infection in a paste, which Robert had to rub on.

 

“He paid too much,” Roundtree said, after the laughter died down. “He should've had a virgin princess for that much. Since you can buy most girls for much less, it sounds like he was a fool.”

 

More like a victim, Robert thought, but anyone who trafficked in flesh deserved whatever he got. He sipped slowly on his second glass of wine. Everyone else was starting on a fourth or fifth glass.

The concubine serving Robert was called Willow, and she brought him plum pudding, mince pie and tarts. Robert wondered how he was going to eat it all. He decided to take it slow, one bite at a time. He was not going to pass up eating any of this food.

When Willow wasn’t getting food or drink, she stood close behind Robert, and he felt the heat from her body. She was petite with a small mouth and a set of leaf shaped eyes. Her nose was almost a blade it was so thin. Her long black hair was tied up in a bun on the back of her head. A wooden pin with bright colored hanging glass decorations held the bun together. When her head tilted this way or that, the glass tinkled like a wind chime. Her skin was the color of pure ivory, and she glided gracefully when she moved. She reminded Robert of a fragile porcelain statuette he’d seen in a museum.

After coffee, the six men took a walk along the top of the hill. Captain Patridge had a string of fruit trees bordering a trail along the ridge leading from his hill to the top of the next one. They walked in the shade of the trees as the sun started to set in a blaze of orange and purple fire along the western horizon. Fruit hung heavy in the trees. Robert smelled the sweet, ripening scent of peaches, plums and apricots. If he hadn’t been so full, he would have picked one or two to eat while walking.

 

Willow walked behind him. She didn’t speak a word of English, and she kept her gaze on the ground. When she answered his questions, he had to strain to hear her whisper. Her village dialect confused him. She never asked a question and at times could not answer some of Robert’s. His tongue still found the Mandarin he was learning cumbersome to speak. Though she didn’t say that she couldn’t understand him, he saw her nodding at the wrong times. Was it possible that she didn’t understand the Ningpo and Shanghai style of Mandarin Robert was learning? This bothered him. He was curious to know more about her. China was a strange land with one written language and many spoken ones.

 

After the walk, they gathered on the veranda to enjoy the soothing breeze. The temperature, though humid and warm, was lower than in Ningpo. The greatest blessing was that there were no mosquitoes. Robert didn’t miss Ningpo in the slightest. He was glad he’d come even if he had to put up with Patridge’s outrageous stories.

 

Patridge’s summerhouse was built in a Mediterranean style with a wide, covered veranda overlooking the ocean. From the veranda streams were visible running down from the hills. The walls were made of thick, plastered stone, which kept the house cool on the hottest days. Blue glazed tiles covered the roof. An open garden in the Roman style was located at the center of the rectangular house. All the outside doors were made of thick sturdy timbers and the windows had shutters that could be barred from the inside.

A natural spring fed into a storage tank, which took up half the kitchen. The water tasted fresh and was worth the trip by itself since the water in Ningpo always tasted so bad.

When Patridge had guests, which was often, he entertained in a large room that faced west. He slept with his concubine of the moment in a large bedroom office combination on the north side of the courtyard. The guest bedrooms were on the south side. All the rooms, except the servant and concubine quarters, had doors that opened on the enclosed garden. The Chinese servants and about a dozen concubines lived in a separate building behind the kitchen. That’s where Patridge had sent Guan-jiah.

The stables were built against the servants’ quarters, and those rooms smelled of manure and horse piss. This building was taller than the house and offered a windbreak when storms came howling across the island from the east.

 

Robert thought that if he ever had a house like this, he would build the stables so no one had to smell the animals. He had to admit that Patridge had done well for himself in China. He wondered if he would match the man’s success.

 

Captain Patridge passed around a box of gold tipped Egyptian Shah cigarettes for an after dinner smoke. Robert searched his pockets for a match, but Willow was there first with a candle. He took hold of her hand to steady the flame. Her skin was warm and smooth. He didn’t want to let go. With the sun gone, the sounds of frogs and crickets filled the night with their mating calls. One of the other concubines lit a half-dozen lanterns along the veranda. The dim, flickering lights drew in some moths and a few beetles.

 

“It’s been a good day, gentlemen,” Captain Roundtree said, as he stubbed out his cigarette and stood. “There were no pirates, we have women to keep us warm and none of us is hungry or broke. I’m going to turn in. It was a long, hard trip from Hong Kong. The weather was a beast.” Captain Roundtree left with the concubine who’d been serving him through dinner. His third officer and the two midshipmen also excused themselves and left with their concubines.

 

“Where can I find a supply of these?” Robert asked, holding up the cigarette.

 

“I’ll connect you with the man I buy them from,” Captain Patridge replied. He put a hand over his mouth to cover a yawn before continuing. “He lives in Shanghai but will have no problem getting some to you in Ningpo.”

There was one lantern glowing now. The concubine who’d lit them had extinguished the others. Captain Patridge’s concubine had already gone inside.

 

Patridge stood and looked down at Robert. “How does this compare to Ningpo?”

 

“You were right about everything. I’m grateful for your invitation to spend the summer here.”

 

“Take advantage of Willow,” Patridge said. “Although she doesn’t play musical instruments or dance, she’ll make your night pleasant. After you’ve finished with her, I’m sure you will sleep soundly.” He squeezed Robert’s shoulder. “Let me know at breakfast if you’re happy with her. I have others if she isn’t satisfactory.”

 

“Thank you, Captain,” Robert said. He couldn’t look Patridge in the eye, and his ears burned from embarrassment. He was glad when Patridge went inside.

 

Willow’s presence in the darkness behind Robert worked like a magnet arousing his sexual cravings. What was he to do? When the Sabbath came, there was no church to attend and no minister to bolster his resolve not to stray from the path he’d chosen. His heightened desire reminded him that he’d failed once with Me-ta-tae, and he didn’t want to fail again. Every time he had strayed, he paid a price. With Me-ta-tae, he’d made an enemy of Hollister. In Ireland, he’d embarrassed himself and his family. Why didn’t he have the strength to wait until he found a proper wife?

 

The lone glowing lantern hung from a rafter to his left. The breeze buffeted it about causing it to make creaking sounds and to cast strange shifting shadows over the table. The chair Robert sat on felt hard, and he squirmed about attempting to find a more comfortable position. Due to the silence, he heard Willow’s shallow breathing. He wanted to look at her but didn’t allow it. He cursed his libido.

The food and wine made him feel lazy. His eyes drifted shut. He thought of the large corner room that Captain Patridge had made available for him. The room at the consulate had been smothering and cramped. The room here had a wide-open window facing the ocean and mosquito netting around the bed to keep him safe from the bloodsuckers. He wondered if that net protected him from Willow.

Patridge said there were other women implying that if Willow did not please him, another would take her place. Just the idea caused his heart to become excited and palpitate as if it had a life of its own. The constant struggle was exhausting.

 

In an attempt to get his mind off the woman standing behind him, Robert focused on the brig sitting at its anchorage in the small cove. Lights glowed from the aft windows. He heard a bell ringing from the ship marking the time. He counted eleven. It was late. He was tired, but he couldn’t move. Willow’s presence was like an anchor holding him in the chair. He wanted to take her with him, but his conscience said it was wrong. It was like he was part of a painting. He didn’t know why, but it reminded him of Rembrandt’s The Night Watch. It was all so dark except for two people dressed in white and glowing as if they were lit from within like Willow and Robert on that veranda.

 

“Do you need anything, Master?” It was Guan-jiah, who must have been in the shadows watching.

 

“No.” Robert was so drowsy that his tongue felt thick and heavy.

 

“Master, in China we believe that we have found the true meaning of life and understand it. For us, the end of life lies not in life after death, for the idea that we live to die, as taught by Christianity, is baffling and makes no sense. The true end, as we Chinese believe it, is the enjoyment of a simple life and in harmonious social relationships while we are alive.”

 

“Are you a philosopher too?” Robert asked, impressed. He knew what Guan-jiah was doing. He was telling Robert it was all right to spend the night with Willow. Was Guan-jiah reading his mind? Robert narrowed his eyes and studied his servant wondering if the eunuch was up to something else.

 

“No Master, but I have had much time to contemplate life and its mysteries. I have sought answers to my questions for many years.”

 

“And this contemplation must have started when you were in that Buddhist monastery?”

He nodded. “Have I offended you, Master?”

 

“No. I value your advice. Thank you. You may go now.” Guan-jiah walked off into the darkness. With a sluggish effort, Robert stood to go inside. Willow blew out the last lantern and quietly followed.

Once in his room, Willow came to take off his shirt. Kneeling, she slipped off his shoes, unbuckled his belt and pulled down his trousers. He stepped out of his pants and stood watching her undress. The sight of her naked body thrilled him. He found that he had trouble drawing in a full breath. Then she blew out the candles plunging the room into gloom. He listened to her climb onto the bed.

Robert was glad that the darkness hid his guilt and his erection. A long moment passed while he listened to the only sounds in the room—the pounding of his heart and the breathing of two people. He decided to accept what Willow offered. After all, he was a traveler on a lonely journey, who occasionally embraced human affections the same way that he took the sun and water.

It was as if there were two people inside him. The first person was the man who had come from Ireland running away from his sins. The second man was the one who’d come from Ningpo. That man felt lonely and tired, but there was no despair like there’d been in the first man when he’d arrived in China. If Guan-jiah hadn’t stepped out of the darkness and talked to him, Robert was sure that he would have slept alone. His servant had awakened the second person inside him—the one that was suppressed.

 

He was still nervous, so Robert turned away from the bed to the washbasin sitting on top the small three-legged table in the corner. After rinsing his hands several times more than he needed, he searched in the darkness for a towel.

_____

 

There are twelve more excerpts in this preivew for My Splendid Concubine.

 

Author's Note

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