The Music Trilogy (4 page)

CHAPTER 4

Zhou, Lotus Blossom and their two grown sons were eating dinner.

“I have news,” Zhou said to his family.

“What is it, father?” The oldest son asked.

“The Emperor has appointed me Admiral and given me my own ship.”

“That is wonderful!” Lotus Blossom exclaimed.

“Yes, it is a great honor and I must soon leave on a voyage.”

“Where will you be going?”

“To the west, very far to the west, where no one has ever been before.”

“That sounds exciting!” The youngest son said.

“And dangerous,” Lotus Blossom said worriedly.

“I don’t mind that. It’s just that I’ll be away for a long time. I am also to take the vase with me, to show other people of the world the great craftsmanship of China.”

“My father would have been very proud.”

“Yes, I’m sorry he isn’t around anymore. Between him and the Emperor they elevated our culture. No one will ever forget what the Song Dynasty has been able to achieve: Great art and peace.”

Zhou stood on the bridge of his ship. She was in good shape and he was very pleased with his crew. They were good hard working men, devoted to their country, their Emperor and their Admiral. They kept the vessel in top shape and Zhou watched them from his perch as they went about their duties. He was fiercely proud of them, having sailed a long way together, from the southern tip of China, around Africa, and now into once again unknown waters intent on going still farther west. They had shown great bravery. They were heading toward what would eventually be known as the Americas. Even though in the pit of his stomach Zhou was excited about new discoveries and honored that he would be the one to introduce the great Chinese culture to the world, he missed his family terribly. He thought of lovely Lotus Blossom, now in her forties, still fresh and lovely—the love of his life. And his two sons, the youngest a great warrior like his father, the other, an amazing artist like his mother and grandfather. He was the one who had prepared the vase for the voyage. Zhou remembered how his oldest son lovingly covered the vase with several layers of thick wax and an extra coat of clay so that the vase would not break on the voyage. He also built a crate and laid it inside. As he did the young man held it close to his chest, as his grandfather once had, kissed it, and said a prayer to his beloved Quan Yin. Zhou had tears in his eyes. He could feel the love in his son’s heart and the closeness he had had with his grandfather. The older man had been the one who had taught his grandson about their Goddess and steered him toward his own superb artistic creativity.

One year later it would still bring a tear to Zhou’s eyes. He looked into the horizon. They had just left what is known today as the Cape Verde islands and were headed toward the west and the sunset. Almost three centuries later Columbus would sail the same route.

“Admiral! Admiral!” His pilot yelled, bringing him out of his reverie.

“What is it?” Zhou asked.

“There! Look!”

Zhou looked toward where the man was pointing. An ominously black sky loomed just ahead and was coming toward them horribly fast. Zhou swallowed hard. “Change course! North by northeast! Now! Typhoon heading straight towards us!” He shouted to his men. He thought that maybe they could outrun the worst of it and make it to the back of the islands where they had more protection. He knew the damage these storms could cause, and the tidal waves that were every sailor’s nightmare.

The sailors fought frantically. The pilot grabbed one of the spokes and spun the wheel with blinding speed; the men ran to their posts faster than they had ever run before, for they knew this one would be one of the worse storms yet. They lowered the sails, tied everything down that was loose, but it was no use—the hurricane was upon them faster than they anticipated and Zhou’s ship tossed around as if it were a small wooden chip instead of a graceful vessel. One by one the masts snapped like miniature chopsticks and fell into the sea dragging sailors with them. The waves towered over the ship, pounded it and washed most of the other men into the depths of the ocean. Zhou and a few of the crew that were left were thrown around mercilessly until the hurricane finally passed them by.

The men had been slapped by giant hands of water and wind, and the once proud ship was just as badly battered. Most of the crew was lost to the sea and the wreck had but one small sail to limp them along.

They drifted uncontrollably eastward for days, their navigational systems inoperable and their provisions of food and water completely depleted. One by one the few remaining sailors lost their will and their lives. Only Zhou and three of his top officers survived and they too were close to giving up. They had no idea where they were and the intense sun bore down on them, killing the last of their energy. Later that night the wind picked up a little, and the now unconscious men were hardly even aware of it. They drifted silently, floating between two great masses of land they never even saw, and entered an almost enclosed sea.

Zhou was dreaming, or at least he thought he was, of his family, his homeland and the life he had been honored to enjoy. He had no regrets, other than not being able to say a last farewell to his beloved wife and sons, and that he had not accomplished the mission he had set out on. He was also dreaming that another storm had come upon them, and was driving them below the sea. He saw himself drifting painlessly downward into the depths of the cold dark waters. He must be dying, he thought. Beloved Quan Yin, he prayed, take care of my family, and tell them how much I loved them and that I had a noble life. He watched himself drift even farther downward. This isn’t so bad, he mused. I really don’t want to die, but this isn’t so bad. Then he saw himself as a dolphin playing with other dolphins. He recognized them: his fellow officers and the sailors who had drowned. He frolicked and swam around, enjoying himself, happy to once again be among his men. And then he saw three other dolphins directly in front of him. Oh, he recognized them too!—Lotus Blossom and his two sons. Zhou smiled and thanked Quan Yin as he was able to say his last farewell to his family.

The vessel went down into the depths of the Mediterranean. The last of the ship broke and splintered away, almost delicately, as if in slow motion, victim to a meltemi, an Aegean storm.

See-Fu’s vase, in its crate, stored in the hold, broke away from the rest of the wrecked ship and landed on the bottom of the sea floor.

♫

19
TH
CENTURY

ALEXANDRIA, EGYPT

CHAPTER 5

The felucca quietly sailed the calm waters in the early hours of the Mediterranean sun. The little boat needed a paint job and her sail no longer was its original white, but she was sturdy and dutifully carried the two local fishermen to their favorite fishing spots. One of them, Ibrahim, marveled at his city as the soft pinks and peaches opened up the dawn.

“’Alexandria the Beautiful’, they call her. She is. Isn’t she, Jamil?” Ibrahim said with pride. He turned to his friend and partner who was playing his flute. Jamil didn’t answer. “Ah, you’re not paying attention. You just play and play. Why is that, anyway?”

“I am playing for the fish,” Jamil answered.

“For the fish?”

“Yes, so that many will come to our boat. That way we will bring in a good haul.”

“That’s nonsense. The fish can’t hear you. And if they did they would swim away in a hurry!”

“Are you saying that I don’t play well?”

“I’m just joking. You know, I’m just trying to get your mind off of… things.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Jamil said with a lump in his throat. He tried to hold back his tears, but he actually didn’t care. He let them flow down his cheeks. “They say that whatever this illness is, it can’t be cured,” he sobbed. “They say he will die.”

“Who says that? That’s nonsense! You can’t give up; he’s your only son!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jamil said heatedly, his sorrow turning to anger.

“I’m sorry,” Ibrahim said, “I didn’t mean that you haven’t been trying. Have you gone to the Greek doctor?”

“Ah, doctors, what do they know? No one can save my Ali, my little Ali.”

“Well, there’s nothing to lose. Go see the Greek, maybe he can help, perhaps he has medicine.”

Jamil shook his head. All he knew was that his son was dying. There was no hope.

Late that evening they pulled in their nets. Their catch was decent, not great, but adequate. It would keep their families in food and clothing for a little while. They returned to Alexandria and docked the felucca.

“You know, Ibrahim, you’re right, I’m going to take Ali to the Greek doctor. I’m losing him, so why not?”

“Excellent, Jamil, excellent. You never know, Allah works in mysterious ways.

The next day Jamil took his son to the doctor’s office. It was located at the port where at one time one of the great wonders of the world stood, the Great Lighthouse. Now it was the Ministry of Health and the city’s hospital. He carried the boy in his arms. Ali’s young face was ashen and wet with perspiration, his black wavy hair pasted to his scalp. The boy was very brave through the unbearable pain, and he fought not to make a sound. Jamil walked in and looked around. He saw signs written in Arabic, French, English and Italian, but could not read them. He stopped a nurse, desperate to find the doctor.

“Please, I am looking for the Greek doctor,” Jamil asked.

“Go down the hall. Dr. Simeon Vidalis is the last office,” she answered.

Jamil followed the hallway. He saw another nurse. “Please, I am looking for the Greek doctor,” he repeated.

“Doctor Simeon is very busy. He cannot see anyone right now.”

“Please, this is an emergency, my son is dying,” Jamil pleaded, holding out his child so that she could see him.

“What is wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. They say that whatever he has cannot be cured, and that he is going to die.”

A tall, very large man with a trimmed beard, wearing a white medical smock came out of another room. He was an imposing figure. One would think twice about crossing him. He looked at Jamil with deep, dark, yet soft eyes. “What do we have here?” He asked the nurse, seeing the child in the man’s arms.

“This man does not have an appointment, Doctor.”

“That is not what I asked,” he said, rubbing his beard.

“He says his son is dying.” The nurse said.

Jamil nodded in confirmation and held out his young son for the doctor to see. Simeon looked at the boy. He was about his daughter’s age, maybe a year or two older.

“Mm, he’s very pale. Come into my office.”

Jamil quickly followed him. “Thank you, Doctor, thank you. He has been in terrible pain.”

“How long?

“Two days.”

Doctor Simeon took the child in his arms as if he were a mere feather. Jamil stared in amazement at the raw strength. The nurse came in behind them. The doctor placed the child on an examining table. He pulled out a monophonic wooden stethoscope out of his smock pocket and listened to the boy’s chest. He then gently pushed certain areas of the child’s body. Up until now the boy hadn’t uttered a sound, but suddenly he howled.

“What is your name, little man?” The doctor asked, putting his hand on the boy’s forehead.

“Ali,” the boy whispered, trying vehemently not to scream or cry.

“He has a fever,” the big man said to the air around him. “Have you eaten anything?”

“No, Doctor,” Jamil said, “he has no appetite and he keeps vomiting.”

“And his tummy is swollen even though he hasn’t eaten.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jamil answered, getting more and more worried.

The doctor gently pushed Ali’s stomach. Ali grit his teeth, frantically holding back the urge to scream, but when Simeon pushed a little lower the tears uncontrollably cascaded out of his young eyes.

Ah!” The doctor said and smiled. Jamil wondered why the doctor seemed so pleased. “Prepare the operating room immediately,” he said to the nurse. “
Skolikoiditis!”
Simeon shouted, almost gleefully.

“Doctor, what is happening? Please tell me.” The doctor looked so pleased that Jamil thought that the big man had at least discovered the treasures of Babylon. This, too, now worried him.

“What is your name?”

“Jamil.” Why, in the name of Allah, would this be important right now? He thought.

“Listen, Jamil, we must operate on your son immediately.” The doctor looked at the father who now appeared completely panic stricken. “There are no guarantees in medicine, but I assure you that if we do not operate he will die in the next few days, or less. With the operation he has a chance to live a long and healthy life.”

“You will do this right now?”

“Yes. We cannot wait any longer.”

“But, Doctor, there is a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“I am but a poor fisherman; I do not have much money to pay you.”

“We’ll take care of that later. Now, let us through, we must get to the operating room. Your son’s appendix has burst.” The doctor picked up the boy and headed out. The father held the doctor’s arm long enough to kiss his son.

As they were leaving Jamil started shaking, fearing perhaps this would be the last time he would see his Ali. There were tears in his eyes as he whispered: “Allah be with you.”

“I’m sure he is,” Simeon said overhearing Jamil, “as well as Mohammed, Jesus and even Quan Yin.”

And then they were gone. Jamil just stared after them. Could the
Yunani,
the Greek, really save Ali? What had he said exploded in little Ali’s body? And how would he pay the doctor? He sighed. No matter what the outcome the Egyptian would pay, even if it took him the rest of his life. And who was this Quan Yin?

The doctor walked out of the operating room rubbing his beard. His face was expressionless. Jamil ran up to the big man shaking, prepared to hear the worst. “My… my son? Is he…”

“Ali is going to be just fine. He …”

Jamil fell to his knees, took the doctor’s hand and kissed it. “Allah be praised!”

“Now, Jamil, get up and listen.” Simeon said, easily lifting him up. Jamil couldn’t stop thinking about his strength—those arms!—they reminded him of palm tree trunks.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Ali will be in the hospital for several days. We will give him medicine and then he will be fine. I don’t want him doing any kind of work, especially any lifting. He needs time to heal from the operation. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Doctor, anything you say. Now, please, I must pay you.”

“You said you were a fisherman.”

“Yes.”

“A noble profession.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. You feed people. You feed me. If you did not bring this food how could I operate?” Jamil smiled, nodding. “So, you are worried about your payment.” Jamil nodded again. “This is what we’ll do: During the next month you will go fishing, right?” Again Jamil nodded. He figured it was best to let the doctor do the talking. “You will bring me what you think is the best fish you see, enough for myself and my family, once a week for a month. Is that alright? Do we have a deal?” Jamil could not believe his ears. He had been worried the entire time about how he would pay this man, this man who had now saved his son’s life.

“Oh, yes, Doctor. Whatever you say, whatever you say!” Jamil beamed, showing off yellowing teeth. He hugged the doctor, although this was difficult—the man was really big. Perhaps he should have been a wrestler, Jamil thought, and then shook his head. No, the big man with the delicate fingers saved lives—much better.

The next day Jamil was already in the felucca waiting for Ibrahim.

“Jamil, what are you doing here so early?” Ibrahim asked, suppressing a yawn.

Jamil jumped out of the boat and hugged his friend. “He saved his life, he saved his life!”

“Who? Who saved whose life?”

“The Greek, Doctor Simeon, Ali is going to be alright!” Jamil shouted gleefully.

Ibrahim shouted for joy as well and grabbed his friend. They embraced, jumped up and down on the pier, laughed, danced, and even cried. They headed to the felucca an arm on each other’s shoulder, went into the boat and pushed back from the pier. They headed out to sea and Jamil immediately picked up his flute and began playing like never before. He didn’t stop for a moment. It was the happiest day of his life.

“I have never heard you play so well, my friend,” Ibrahim said. “The fish will be hypnotized right into our nets!”

That evening, after fishing and throwing their nets overboard throughout the day, they pulled in their last catch before the rays of sun faded over the horizon. It was one of their best hauls ever.

“Hey, maybe your playing attracted the fish after all!” Ibrahim laughed.

“And you had doubts about my playing! Look at them all!” Jamil exclaimed. “They are big and beautiful. We will have a feast tonight at my house, in honor of my son’s life!” He pulled out and selected what he thought were the biggest and the best. “These I will take to Doctor Simeon; for him and his family. That is the payment: Once a week for the next month.”

“This Doctor Simeon is a good man,” Ibrahim said.

“Yes, he is,” Jamil said groaning, “Ibrahim, help me, there is something heavy in here!”

“What did that music of yours pull in this time?” He said, rushing to his friend’s side.

Both men had all they could do to lift the net out of the water. When they finally did they realized a terra cotta vase, as long as one of their arms and covered with algae, was among their last catch.

“Well, it’s an urn, and not very pretty either,” Ibrahim grunted.

“And slimy with plants from the ocean.”

“What should we do with it? We surely can’t get any money for it. Nobody would want such an ugly old thing.”

“I know,” Jamil exclaimed,” I’ll clean it up nicely and put the Doctor’s fish in it, sort of a packaging. What do you think?”

“Good idea. Now, let’s get back before dark.”

Jamil walked into the hospital, accompanied by his wife. He carried the cleaned up ceramic vase and she held a small box. They went in to see their son. Ali was sitting up in bed, resting peacefully. His parents showered him with kisses and hugs. Doctor Simeon walked in to check on his patient.

“So, Jamil! What do you think of Ali?”

“Oh, Doctor, he looks wonderful! May Allah always grant you all your wishes!”

“Thank you, that would be wonderful. This is Ali’s mother?”

“Yes. My wife, Leila.”

She timidly offered him the small box. Her husband had mentioned that he was as big as the Colossus of Rhodes, but she thought he was exaggerating. “These are some sweets I made for you, Doctor,” she said humbly, amazed at the size of this giant. She would believe her husband from now on.

Simeon’s eyes lit up like a child’s. “Ah, I’m sure they are delicious. I love desserts. Thank you very much.”

“And this is from me, Doctor, and from the sea.” Jamil handed him the ceramic vase. The doctor looked at it, not sure what to make of it. “It is what’s inside that counts!” Jamil said quickly, a little embarrassed by its ugliness.