Flowers in the Blood (73 page)

I had not expected the doctor would make me almost as defensive as Edwin had. “I realize opium for medicinal purposes might be essential, but he also told me it made men happy. What do you think about people who use opium purely for pleasure?” I asked as I fought to control my voice's timbre.

“The quantity consumed by the masses is immense, as you well know, and yet in the end, we doctors find it does not do irreparable harm to the majority who use it. There is no disease directly caused by moderate use, and although some physicians say the course of one's life is shortened, how can this be proved?”

I wondered whether my perspiring forehead was a symptom of my emotional anguish at the thought of Edwin's perpetual dependence or from the new drug inside my body. “So you would argue that opium is a harmless substance.”

“My own conviction is that if someone chooses to take a stimulant, the juice of the poppy is as benign as any other artificial source of excitement. At least it never makes a man foolish, it never casts him into a ditch or under the table, it never deprives him of his wits or his limbs. Frankly, opium permits a man to be a gentleman.”

I tried again. “The visions . . .”

“Yes, it may give him visions, but these visions create no noise, no riots. They deal no blows to himself or to his fellows. To a man who is despondent, if offers an unoffending relief to his miseries.”

“What if a man is not miserable and takes it only out of habit?”

Dr. Hyam wheeled around. “Why this sudden interest? Anything to do with your voyage abroad?”

“Not exactly.”

I accepted his outstretched hand and stepped down from the table. “Would you prefer to continue this discussion in my office?”

“Yes, I would.” My bottom was aching, but I did not care as I took the hard seat in the Lower Chitpur Road clinic office. This is where so much of what I am today began, I thought as I looked around the familiar room where I had first tried my hand at keeping account books.

“Now, what is this about?” the doctor asked in a genial yet probing manner.

Anger overcame my reticence. “This is about my husband,” I replied. “Edwin has been smoking for years and years and refuses to give it up.”

Dr. Hyam shook his head with disbelief. “How long have you known this?”

“I discovered it quite recently.”

“How many years?”

“Since before we married. Somehow he hid it from me the whole time. How could I have been so blind?”

“Don't berate yourself. Didn't I mention earlier the opium user does not display the disgusting habits of the imbiber? He smokes a pipe, is that right?”

“Yes, I saw him myself.”

“Perhaps it will alleviate some of your distress to know that opium smokers, unlike opium eaters, have the mildest form of dependence.”

“Why are you defending Edwin?” I jumped up and started for the door.

“Dinah, please . . .” The rotund man came around to my side of the desk and took my hands in his plump ones. “You must not leave for an hour, in case you have a reaction to the vaccine. In any case, we have not arranged your medicines for the journey.” He took the seat next to mine and waited until I seemed calmer. “I gather you have asked your husband to abandon this habit and he has refused.”

“Yes, he thinks the only obstacle is my objection.”

“Edwin does not even think he has a problem. He wonders why you have bothered to excite yourself over the matter.”

The doctor's accuracy alarmed me. “Have you spoken to Edwin about this already?”

“No, this is experience speaking. For your part, you cannot understand why, if he loves you and the children, he will not refrain from what is, after all, a useless vice.”

Deflated, I sighed. “I want him to be healthy.”

“In my opinion, there seem to be other reasons you object. You do not want him to be a slave to another mistress. You do not want him pursuing an activity that you perceive is out of your sphere of control.”

Was I so monstrous? My shoulders sagged and my chin dropped as though a weight were pressing me from all around. I stared at my feet.

“Even before you came into the Luddy fortune or had to confront the Lanyados, you were a determined young lady. That is not meant as criticism, rather as a compliment.” He leaned away from me, his bald head tilting backward. “I remember you after the death of your poor mother, and I recall myself thinking: This is the strongest child I have ever known. I wonder, though, if that strength has not made it impossible for you to bend.”

“I cannot see how I could be at fault—” I choked. “Edwin began smoking when he was a boy. Also, if this habit is innocuous, why did he hide it from me?”

“He was ashamed. He did not want to appear weak, which he would have, at least in comparison with you. 'Admiration' is the word I would use as regards your husband, my dear. The loss of the ship might have shattered a lesser man. He swallowed his pride and got on with it. And now look where he is, where you both are, today. You two are the most esteemed couple in Calcutta.”

“That is not true,” I objected.

“Rarely do we see ourselves as others see us.”

“Then you don't think he should discontinue the vice.”

“To my mind, there is but one difficulty with smoking opium: the loss of free will. Alas, my dear, your husband cannot throw his pipe out the window any more than you can agree to go without food.”

“That is an unfair comparison. Food is a requirement for life.”

“Is it?” The doctor tilted his head. “What if I were to offer you a tablet that contained everything you needed to sustain yourself each day. Wouldn't you continue to crave food? Wouldn't delicious odors tempt you? Could you resist your favorite sweets, which are certainly unnecessary? You see, my dear, there are two reasons that people take opium: either to restore themselves to the condition they regard as normal, such as to take away pains or symptoms or disease, or to liberate themselves from normality—to change their mood, to make them feel more excited or more relaxed, actually to alter their perceptions of normalcy. If, as you say, Edwin has been taking the pipe for many years, normalcy to him includes the opiate in his bloodstream.”

“He doesn't think about it like that.”

“Not in his conscious mind perhaps, yet his body sends powerful signals to his brain warning him not to tamper with the status quo.”

“Could he stop if he really wanted to?”

“I would guess he may have tried on his own—most sensible people do at one time or another—and knows the unpleasant sequelae that follow.”

“Would he get very sick?”

“Yes, for a short time. At least that is the case with most smokers. He would have respiratory problems. His eyes would discharge tears and mucus. He would have ringing in his ears and severe intestinal colic. There would be vomiting, purging, chills followed by flashes of heat—much like the terrors of malaria—tearing pains in the legs, the loins, between the shoulders. He would find no relief in sleep for months. Frankly, most people who try to break themselves seldom carry the struggle to a successful conclusion.”

“Couldn't you assist him?”

“If he wished it. There are ways to manage the distress. One treatment consists of the use of capsicum, digitalis, and cannabis Indica tincture in large doses. If there is much reflex nervous trouble, potassium and sodium may be given. There are also several methods that diminish the effect of the drug slowly.”

“If only he would try it!”

“I could offer him the treatment, but it is more complicated than I have made it sound. Dozens of medicines must be employed to counteract the various symptoms: catechu in large doses for the diarrhea, chloride of gold and soda for the pains in the limbs, oxide of zinc for the profuse perspiration, and more. He would have to submit to my regimen religiously and be watched and restrained for at least two weeks. From what you have said, I doubt he would be willing.”

My moment of exhilaration was crushed. “You are right. There is no hope.”

“Don't say that. There are further possibilities. Unless you have been a brilliant actress, I believe you have been a very happy wife. Why not go on as you were?”

“That is impossible.”

Dr. Hyam shook his gleaming head. “I fear you are also suffering from an addiction—the addiction of having your own way.” There was no rancor in his voice, but the spike that continued to lodge in my heart was driven deeper.

“Perhaps if I am away, I will appreciate what I have,” I said as tears blurred my view of the doctor's concerned face. “The discovery of the pipe was a shock. Everything since the earthquake has been a shock.” I sobbed openly. “How has everything gone so wrong?”

“I agree that you both might benefit from perspective. How long have you been together?”

“Almost seven years.”

“Often a time when men and women tire of each other.”

“I haven't tired of Edwin! Not for a second! If it weren't for the opium, everything would be perfect.”

“If it weren't for the opium, you might be paupers.”

“I know,” I replied soberly, “and that is a matter I will confront after the journey,” I said, standing.

“No ill effects from the vaccine. Good.”

“If Edwin would make the attempt . . .” My mind cleared. “Yes, if Edwin tried to shake the habit—even if he failed—I would agree to turn the other way. It's the attempt that matters to me. If his constitution does not allow him to relinquish the drug, then I will bow to the inevitable. Does that sound reasonable?” My voice was as childish as my desire for the doctor's acceptance.

“Very. Why don't you tell him how you feel?”

“I can't. He won't listen. Not any longer. I surrendered my chance when I reacted violently. Besides, he has lost his common sense.”

“You both are armored by anger. Do you know the prime disadvantage of armor?” He smiled benevolently. “When you fall down, you cannot stand again without assistance.”

“Would you . . . ?”

“I'll see what I can do. After you have gone, I will make it a point to speak with him. I will say you left the matter in my hands.”

“That will infuriate him.”

“I think not. My prodding will hardly persuade him, but his love for you might.”

“If any love remains.”

“While I am not a physician of the heart, I can assure you this rift could not shake the foundations of a marriage as rooted in compatibility as yours.”

Heading back to Theatre Road, I tried fervently to believe the doctor was right, but my own doubts crowded out his parting words. Whatever Edwin decided, whatever happened with his cure, the shell of perfection had shattered. Mended, we might continue, but the flawlessness we had shared in the past was gone forever.

49

 

Hong Kong, 1898

 

D
are I admit it was a relief to depart for China? I kissed the tender necks of my sons—but not the lips of my husband—and walked up the gangplank of the China and Manila Steamship Company's most luxurious steamship, the
Zafiro
, without looking back.

As I stood at the rail of the ship, staring at the fading coastline of India, I believed every mile passed was a marker on a much longer journey, one that would not end with my arrival in China. I had no idea whether I would be successful selling our chests in Hong Kong or with my long-range plan to wean our family's dependence from the opium trade. Nevertheless, I reminded myself that small steps, one after the other, could cover a distance as well as leaps. Besides, leaps would be foolhardy when I knew nothing of what waited on the opposite shore.

My bitterness toward Edwin's obstinacy solidified my determination to obliterate opium from my life. The knowledge that my mother had been corrupted by that flower intermingled sourly with an acceptance that the same substance had sustained me in luxury. This dichotomy had never been reconciled despite conversations with Silas and my own lofty ideals. Edwin knew this. No wonder he had accused me of duplicity. How quickly I had condemned him! How easily I had absolved myself! Why should I have expected him to relinquish his physical dependence on the substance when I had been unwilling to extricate myself from the spoils of the trade?

Much in the manner of a cork being dislodged from an ancient bottle of wine, the tossing of the ship loosened something in my mind. I saw clearly what must be done. I would liberate the Sassoons from the opium trade, yet not at once. Just as the body could not take the assault of sudden withdrawal, neither could the enterprise. The Chinese were producing more and more of their own supply. Soon it would be unprofitable to compete with them. Also, there were moralists in England who were trying to persuade the government to curtail Indian production. One of these days the Sassoons might awaken to find that our one and only commodity had been taken from us. If we planned ahead, we could pick and choose from investments in products that would increase in value. Tea was one area where the Sassoons might thrive alongside the Luddys, and there were other alternatives: cotton, jute, even ships. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Edwin could put the
Luna Sassoon
behind him and control the fleet of his dreams? I suspected there would be discord at first, but eventually the family would see the merit of my proposition.

If I remained sensible, I would be able to find solutions as each problem presented itself. With or without Edwin, I would settle each question. The realization that I might not have dared attempt to control the auction without his prompting, and might flinch from other bold yet essential decisions, was banished with resolutions to pursue my aims with single-minded diligence. With a sure and steady pace I would reach my goal, I concluded confidently as I turned eastward, the direction of the rising sun.

Thanks to the dependability of the mild northeasterly winds, we made the passage past Siam, through the South China Sea, and into the immense bowl of Hong Kong's harbor in less than two weeks. The ship slowed as the vessel approached the myriad islands that punctuated the approach to the harbor. Alongside came a native ship, and a pilot was hoisted on board. “Jardine's Lookout,” a sailor on the flag mast called out when he sighted a purple peak that struggled out of the mist like a finger pointing to the sky.

Jonah turned his back to the wind. “Father explained it was named the lookout because in the days before the Opium War, the clipper ships would circle until the smugglers received a signal that the moment was right to proceed across to Chuanpei Bay and into the Pearl River.”

“Why? Would they be attacked or impounded?”

Jonah threw back his head and laughed. “No, the 'danger' was the opium price on Lintin Island was too low. Only when the supplies were so diminished that the Chinese would pay a premium would they tell the ships that it was 'safe' to head into port. In that, they were hardly any different from us.”

The bustling harbor, filled with every size ship from ocean steamers to large sailing clippers, reminded me of Calcutta, except for the junks and sampans moored so closely to each other that they seemed an extension of the land itself.

“Today Hong Kong thrives on the spoils of entrepôt trade, but when Lord Palmerston first saw it, he was disappointed because the barren island had hardly a house upon it. Just look at it fifty years later.” Jonah went on to point out the government buildings, commercial structures, and warehouses, including the most impressive: Jardine, Matheson's.

“So this is the prize won in the Opium War,” I said, astonished at the prosperous port.

I remained on board until Jonah and Gulliver had seen to our luggage and had found us transportation.

“What took so long?” I said after they were done, cross because of the chilly wind and raw smells of the wharf.

“I had to find something suitable.” Jonah pointed out the closed black-and-silver sedan chair that shone in the sun. Beside it, six liveried Chinese laborers stood at alert.

“Lavishness was not necessary,” I chided.

“That is where you have made your first mistake, my dear sister. If you want the Chinese to respect you, your arrival must herald your status as the head—or as they would say, the
taipan
—of the Sassoon clan. Anyhow, the better class of Chinese women rarely are seen in public.”

“What do they do with them?”

“They are hidden behind their garden walls and the curtains of their palanquins.”

“Is that what I am expected to do?”

“Not exactly. From time to time they may catch a glimpse of you, but never so much as to make too many assumptions. Already tongues will wag from Kowloon to Aberdeen. They must think of you of as powerful and elusive—the Chinese love secrets.”

“I will not be locked away,” I said with good-natured peevishness in my tone, since my father had made a similar suggestion.

“That will hardly be the case. Tomorrow night you will be a guest at the governor's home. On Friday you will meet the cream of Hong Kong's Chinese society. By Monday your position should be well-established.”

“That will not make me elusive.”

“If a woman keeps her eyes open and her mouth shut, the technique can be mastered,” Jonah said, ducking playfully as I pretended to swat him.

“What do you know about women?”

“More than you think, less than I would like.”

I ruffled my brother's hair, thinking how much I liked him. A half-head taller than I and even more slender, he had a wiry yet not extremely masculine appearance. His face was pale, his bone structure delicate. Although nobody dared mention it, he most resembled our mother. He had inherited her oval face and chiseled chin, long eyelashes, and pink bow mouth. At twenty-two, many young men had a mature demeanor, but my brother had not lost his youthful softness. As much as I was charmed by his boyishness, I worried that this, added to the irrevocable fact of my sex, would handicap our negotiations. Fortunately, my brother did have a pragmatic streak.

How much better an appearance Edwin would have made, and how much I would miss his nimbleness and ability to recall precisely what he had heard or read! However, Edwin was not here, I thought with an immense longing I had not felt since I had left India. At least Jonah had been to Hong Kong previously. And, I reminded myself, we were controlling more than six thousand chests of opium—three-quarters of the current crop—opium the Chinese wanted dearly. Opium that accounted for one-sixth of the colony's revenues. My resolve stiffened. Together we could do this.

Together we had to do this.

 

As we made our way along the quay, Gulliver, in full Gurkha regalia, caused quite a stir. Proudly he walked next to the sedan chair through the narrow streets along the wharf. Unsettled by the crowds of Orientals, he kept one hand on the scabbard of his kukri. In a short while we came to a tramway station. After a ten-minute uphill ride through a primeval forest, improbable mansions loomed along the high ridges seventeen hundred feet above the harbor. Jonah directed the sedan-chair bearers to Mount Gough, the Peak. The chair seemed to tip as we wound our way up a steep hillside path in so convoluted a manner I preferred to look at the verdant mountainside rather than the precipitous drop. At last we halted at a high gate.

“Best to walk from here,” my brother suggested as he helped me down. “The Sassoon company's pied-à-terre in Hong Kong,” he said with a sweeping gesture toward a small stone house that from the outside looked like a charming home for a fairy-tale character. A glimpse of the vertiginous drop on either side, though, made my heart lurch.

“Should be pied-à-ciel, if I recall my French,” I noted as I walked down the lane to the house perched high above Hong Kong harbor. A quick comparison to Xanadu extended the sinking feeling. Once inside, however, all similarities ended.

The Sassoons had purchased the house from a British banker whose wife's tastes ran to floral chintzes and lace curtains. Since our father spent little time in the house, he had not bothered to redecorate. Because nobody had known when to expect us, the house was tidy, but much too cold for that dank January day. No logs burned in the fireplaces. No flowers adorned the tables. Gulliver seemed determined to have matters put right, but his Nepalese-tinged English could not be understood by the Chinese servants: a skinny, solemn houseboy called Chen Ah Bun and a rotund, smiling lady who said she was Su Sum. Jonah found himself in the middle, interpreting clumsily between the bewildered retainers. Within an hour we were served a passable English-style tea and plans were under way for some sort of supper, although whether Chinese or Indian or English, I could not determine.

 

The next morning Mr. Ming Hien Chang, the
compradore
for Sassoon and Company's Hong Kong offices, called on us. Jonah explained the term came from the Portuguese
comprar
, or buyer, and referred to the Chinese agent used by the merchant houses to buy, sell, and negotiate with his own people.

“My sympathy on the death of your esteemed, honorable father,” Mr. Ming said, bowing to Jonah and ignoring me.

My brother introduced me. The compradore gave me a perfunctory bow and turned back to Jonah.

My brother cleared his throat. “Compradore, I do not think you understand. My elder sister, Dinah Sassoon Salem, is at present the taipan of Sassoon and Company.” His bemused smile perplexed Mr. Ming. His eyes darted back and forth. Was this boy joking with him? He watched my expression for a clue.

What should I do? If I permitted Jonah to explain further, my power could be compromised. If I spoke, I might sound defensive. Yet if I could not convince this man who was in our employ, there was little likelihood I would be respected anywhere else on the island. Slowly, and in the deeper register that made me sound more serious, I began. “Mr. Ming, I must ask for your agreement to hold much of what will be discussed here in the strictest confidence.”

I waited for Mr. Ming to face me before I went on.

“Our family has suffered from the actions of a greedy and dishonest relation. With the assistance of my father, my husband and I found the discrepancies and worked to make the situation right. Because I was successful in Calcutta, my family has selected me to represent them here in Hong Kong. I cannot be successful here, however, without your advice and assistance.”

Mr. Ming's eyes flicked back to Jonah. He noted my brother's youth, and once again focused on me. I had remained sitting. Now I stood. The man's head did not reach my shoulders. He looked up. I kept my face immobile, my hands at my side. This time he bowed to me.
“
I
am at your service, taipan.”

I offered him a seat. In a few minutes a Chinese-style tea was served in little round cups with no accompaniments of milk or sugar. Gulliver waited at attention behind my chair. Rain poured from the sky, obliterating the view. My bones began to ache with the dampness while I listened to the compradore's report on business enacted on behalf of the company. At first the man's accent was hard to follow, but soon I had caught the rhythm and was able to understand the words. The meanings behind them, though, were far more obtuse.