The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (3 page)

Part One

One

Bandits came in the night and stole our mule.

How will we transport the crops at harvest?

 

Dr Airton was describing the exploits of the Hole in the Wall Gang to the Mandarin. ‘Outlaw he may be, but Mr Butch Cassidy is not an uneducated man,' said the doctor, fumbling in his waistcoat for a match and his briar pipe. The Mandarin, reclining on the
kang
(he had already smoked two opium pipes and was comfortably replete after a light luncheon and an hour with his third, and favourite, concubine) gazed complacently at the frock-coated foreigner sitting on a stool beside him. With a rustle of silk and a tinkle of ornament, a maid leaned over his shoulder and carefully poured tea into porcelain cups. In a fluid motion she replaced the pot in a wickerwork warmer, and bowed her way out of the study.

‘Thank you, my dear,' said Dr Airton, nodding after her graceful figure. Smoke rings drifted round his head. ‘You may be surprised to hear that Butch Cassidy comes of a good English family,' he continued. ‘His father, though a Mormon, was born in Accrington in Lancashire. Young Butch might not have had the fortune to be sent to good schools on the East Coast, but clearly he was educated. It takes aptitude of mind, after all, to plan and execute such successful train robberies.'

His last words were drowned in an altercation that erupted from the courtyard outside the Mandarin's study, angry voices barking and screaming through the sunlit windowpanes. It was the cook and the maidservant, thought the doctor, quarrelling again. It amazed him that the minions of a magisterial household could feel free to argue quite so loudly in front of their master; he could not imagine such going-ons in the home of an English judge. The Mandarin showed no rancour, but waited patiently for the noise to subside.

‘It is difficult, then, to rob a train?' he murmured.

‘Oh, yes,' said the doctor. ‘Takes lots of planning beforehand—knowledge of timetables, spies in the station, a convincing obstacle on the track, dynamite, skill with the lariat and a good getaway plan. And a certain amount of discipline in your gang. Unruly ruffians, cowboys.'

‘I must teach my soldiers to beware of such robbers when the railway track is completed,' said the Mandarin.

Dr Airton chuckled. The idea of pigtailed Chinese wearing masks and sombreros, wielding six-guns and galloping to catch a moving train appealed to his sense of whimsy. ‘I don't think you'll really ever have a problem on that score, Da Ren.' He used the courtesy title for a mandarin, literally ‘Great One'. Although they were now friends, the doctor was punctilious in using the correct term of address for local officials. In return he expected to be addressed as Yisheng, ‘Physician' or Daifu, ‘Doctor'. He knew that he was described in a less flattering way in the town but no one had yet called him Chi Laoshu, or ‘the Rat-eater' to his face. He was, however, proud of this nickname, which he had earned four years previously during the bubonic-plague epidemic that had first brought him to Shishan. Shortly after his arrival he had sent criers round the streets announcing that he would pay the princely sum of ten cash for every rat brought to him, dead or alive. This had earned him an eccentric reputation and convinced all those who did not already know it that foreigners were touched in the head; but the subsequent hunt for rodents had decimated the population of disease-bearing
Rattus rattus,
and materially assisted the elimination of plague. The Mandarin's memorial in his praise and the rumoured award of a medal from the Great Ch'ing Emperor for his work as a wondrous healer had somewhat restored his character, but the nickname had stuck, and even today he was often waylaid by peasants bearing baskets of dead mice, hoping to appeal to his gourmet tastes.

The Mandarin leaned forward and delicately sipped his tea. Relaxed in his study he was in a state of undress, his grey pigtail coiled round his neck, his loose white pyjamas rolled to the knees. His blue robe of office and jade-buttoned cap hung neatly on a wooden frame to the side. Above the
kang
were his bookshelves, stretching to the carved and painted ceiling, each shelf covered by yellow silk curtains, behind which were stacked wooden-leafed copies of the Chinese classics, as well as more popular works and an assortment of scrolls. Dr Airton knew that these included a prized collection of pornographic prints. The Mandarin had once shown him the crude pictures, laughing boisterously at the doctor's embarrassment.

A blue and white Tientsin carpet covered the stone floor below the
kang,
half lit by the sunlight, which tentatively penetrated the room. In the gloom beyond were tables and chairs in the plain Ming style, and a desk, untidily strewn with paper, ink stone and brushes in their porcelain jars. Several scrolls of calligraphy were hanging in the shadows of the back wall—gifts from teachers, painters and other officials. A grandfather clock ticked loudly in a corner. The thin rays of light by the doors and windows caught the coils of blue smoke as they twisted like dragons from the doctor's pipe, weaving through the motes of hanging dust, a thin layer of which covered every surface. The smell of the tobacco mingled with the vague scent of incense and old perfume, must and dirt. It was a small room, reminding Airton of a clipper's cabin, but he enjoyed the snug, fuggy atmosphere. It was a sign of the intimacy which had grown up between the two men that the Mandarin would invite him to drink tea with him in this private part of the mansion.

The Mandarin himself was short and inclined to fat, but his broad face and muscular physique gave him a presence that belied his size. ‘Rugger-player's shoulders,' the doctor had once described to his wife, ‘and butcher's hands. You can imagine him in his robe of office at the
yamen,
with a black frown on his face and his executioner with his snickersnee behind, and the poor felons in their
cangues
licking the dust in front of him, wondering if it's going to be a hundred lashes with the rod or off-with-your-head. Oh, he's a Tartar all right, my dear, quite the Tartar, with a cold, dead eye and a heart of blood. As fearsome a rogue as you'll ever meet, albeit he's amiable to me.'

‘But you told me he's an old man, Edward, did you not?' Nellie had asked him nervously.

‘Aye, he is. He may be sixty or eighty, for all I know, but he's remarkably preserved, and fit as a sailor for all his floppy belly and fleshy chin. A powerful man in every way. Still rides to hunt, and practises archery, and once I came early to his courtyard and saw him doing exercises with a sword. Great big cleaver, which he swung around his head as if it was a feather, moving his feet and body like an acrobat in slow motion. I suppose it was the
t'ai chi
—you've seen the people doing their exercises by the river, but never have I seen anyone wield a monster piece of iron like that before. Showed it to me afterwards. I could hardly lift it. Told me it was the sword of a Taiping general whom he slew as a boy, beautiful jade-encrusted handle and the cutting edge of a razor. Wonder how many heads that's lopped in its time.'

‘I think you should be cautious,' his wife had said. ‘I know you like to amuse yourself by saying things to frighten me and the bairns. It's your humour, which I don't pretend to understand. But this sounds like a terrible man, Edward, and it can't be good that you—'

‘He's my friend, Nellie,' the doctor had told her.

He seriously believed that. Both men were of a philosophical frame of mind, men of ideas and culture. Added to that, the Mandarin seemed to have an inexhaustible interest in everything to do with the outside world, and he, the doctor, was in a position to inform him about England, the empire and Europe, the balance of the powers, the developments of science and technology, and even about armaments. Surely these exchanges were to the benefit of a greater understanding and cooperation, good for China, good for Great Britain, good for all. Not to mention for the success of the hospital. And the railway too. Now he had become the appointed medical officer to the railway, he had a duty to curry the support of the local officials who could do so much to help, and also to harm, the progress of this useful project.

Dr Airton sighed. He was conscious that he had allowed his mind to wander. This often happened during the long, meditative pauses of the Mandarin's conversation. What were they discussing? The railway, of course, and he had been telling the Mandarin about the Hole in the Wall Gang, which had been the subject of one of the western shockers to which he subscribed, and which came with the monthly packet from the mission's headquarters in Edinburgh, along with his medical supplies, journals, English newspapers,
Blackwood's
magazine and domestic articles for his wife. He was pleased that the Mandarin had asked about the big continental railway schemes that were being completed in America. It gave him a lead in to the subject of bandits, which at the moment was one of his chief concerns. He felt the Mandarin's hooded eyes surveying him contemplatively.

‘I am surprised that a scholar such as yourself, my dear Daifu, can speak in admiring terms of a bandit and call such a one educated. The path of learning leads towards virtue. I see no virtue in the pillaging of a train, however skilful the task might be. I cannot think much of a country that ascribes merit to its criminals, even if, as you tell me, this America is only a new country.'

‘But surely in China you have legends of famous bandits and outlaws? Pirate kings? Why, last week in the marketplace I was watching with pleasure a travelling troupe putting on scenes from your great classic
The Water Margin
. Terrific costumes and stunning acrobatics, but the story was Robin Hood. Exiled heroes standing up for the common people against injustice and tyranny. Isn't that the stuff of great romance?'

‘I behead bandits and pirates,' said the Mandarin, ‘and it is I who protect the common people.'

‘Of course, of course, we're not talking about the run of thieves and criminals,' said the doctor. ‘But the ordinary man likes a bit of colour in his life and so often it is these heroes without the law who provide it. I don't suppose you've ever had the opportunity to read any of the novels by Sir Walter Scott?'

The Mandarin politely demurred.

‘How I would like to translate
Rob Roy
for you.'

‘It would be an exotic experience, dear Daifu—but if it is anything like
The Water Margin
I would be cautious in allowing a translation. You are correct when you say that the common man finds sensation in the exploits of heroes—this is harmless if it provides merely tales for children and vivid scenes for the opera—but it is the administrator's duty to ensure that the admiration of the common people is channelled to worthier causes. Never should anyone be encouraged to emulate a breaker of the law. I expect that the mandarins even in America are concerned about the undue praise given this herdsman who you tell me robs trains.'

‘He has certainly upset Mr Harriman and the board of the Union Pacific Railroad Company,' said Airton. ‘But, as you say, it is a wild, new country. I would hope that the Peking–Mukden Railway when it is extended to these parts will face no such problem, and we will have nothing to fear from the likes of Iron Man Wang and his band.'

A twitch of displeasure disturbed the Mandarin's composed features, like a ripple of wind across a smooth pond.

‘I wonder, dear Daifu, why you are continually fascinated by the so-called Iron Man Wang. I have told you on many occasions that such a man—if he exists—is merely one of a rabble of petty criminals who dwell in caves and provide minor annoyance to some of our merchants, if they are foolish enough to wander the roads at night. You have nothing to fear from such a creature.'

‘Of that I have no doubt, Da Ren. I only mention his name again because there is talk of him in the town, among the servants, some no doubt overblown stories…'

‘Exaggerations of whining merchants who invent bandits' deprivations as an excuse to hide their profits from my tax collectors,' said the Mandarin.

‘No doubt,' said the doctor carefully. ‘But all of us were very pleased, nevertheless—our railway engineers, my friend Mr Delamere…'

‘The soap merchant?'

‘Alkali, Da Ren. He manufactures alkali crystals. All of us were very pleased to hear that Major Lin will soon be departing with his troops for what we were told would be an expedition against the bandits in the Black Hills.'

‘Major Lin conducts all manner of training exercises for our Imperial soldiers. Occasionally this takes the form of marches into the Black Hills. If Major Lin and his troops were to stumble on felons in their path I am sure that they would do their duty and arrest them—but there is no question of an expedition against a bandit. I would only authorise such a thing if there was a bandit problem, which, as I have told you, we do not have.'

‘The attack on Mr Delamere's mule train in April—'

‘Was very unfortunate. An act of hooliganism and thievery, which embarrasses me. I caused the matter to be investigated and some criminal villagers were discovered and punished.'

‘There was a beheading, yes.'

‘And justice was accomplished. This was not the work of a mythical Iron Man Wang.'

The Mandarin's hooded eyes shifted and his mouth shaped itself into a wide smile. Dr Airton busied himself with his pipe. The Mandarin laughed and leaned forward to pat the doctor gently on the thigh. ‘Do not worry, my dear Daifu. You and your friends are my guests, and guests of the Emperor and the great Empress Dowager. No more talk of bandits and train robbers. Tell me, what news do you bring me about the railway itself? Is the work progressing well?'

Airton felt the weight of the fat hand resting on the inside of his thigh, the coolness of a jade ring through the cloth of his trousers. He was not perturbed. He recognised physical contact as a Chinese gesture of intimacy, the mark of one gentleman's friendship with another. He thought of Lin's fierce soldiers holding hands as they walked down the street off duty, and sometimes on duty. Some of Airton's missionary colleagues were quick to condemn the most innocent display of affection as incipient lasciviousness. Not for the first time he thought that the true faith might be better transmitted if its practitioners were not so unbending. He did not believe that he was an overly sensuous man but he liked to think of himself as a tolerant humanitarian. As a physician he had sympathy with the frailty of the flesh and was disinclined to judge others harshly for their peccadilloes or habits. On the other hand, as a Scotsman, he would have preferred it if the Mandarin had kept his hands off his leg. Having treated several of the Mandarin's concubines in his professional capacity, he had an unworthy vision of some plumper and certainly more attractive thighs that this same hand might recently have squeezed. With an effort he brought himself back to the subject.