The Concubine's Daughter (37 page)

Determined not to let the anxieties of the Fish or the musings of an ancient fortune-teller find a place in her mind, Li set about the business of becoming mistress of the Villa Formosa. Ah-Ho and the Sky House servants were brought from Macao to take up their duties, but the Fish alone cared for Li’s suite of rooms, adjacent to Ben’s in the east wing of the house.

Although instinct told Li that this great adventure could not last, she resolved, for Ben’s sake and for her own, to savor every moment that she could. She did request that Ben find another position for the chauffeur, Ah-Geet, saying only that she did not feel comfortable in his presence. To her relief, Ben did not ask for details of Ah-Geet’s behavior, paying him off handsomely and finding him a position with an associate.

It was easy to set aside her cares when she stepped onto the ocean terrace to look upon the sheltered bay, with its scattered islands and far horizons of the South China Sea, or walked the grounds that seemed to roam forever. Like the grounds of Sky House, the Ti-Yuan gardens were separated by a series of moon gates placed in such a way that each framed a different vision of perfection—so that one might move from one haven of serenity into another, interlaced by running streams and small cascades, with tinkling fountains feeding ornamental ponds. The trees were rare—shore juniper, dawn redwood, cherry plum, red silk cotton trees, and miniature mountain pine, along with shrubs that were known to attract a gallery of splendid butterflies. An orchard of persimmon, kumquat, and prince of orange served as a haven for a variety of birds, and the heavenly scent of gardenias lay over all. A five-bar gate separated the celestial gardens from a copse of silver birch and spruce trees more than ten feet tall. Daffodils and crocuses grew among them, their shaded spaces thick with bluebell and the elusive scent of Ben’s favorite Cornish violets.

Leaving the gates in the early morning, the Sikhs saluting sharply, was a bracing adventure for Li. Ben had taught her to drive before they left Macao; now the rush of the sea wind snatched her breath away and tangled her hair, whipping tears of excitement from her eyes as she steered the Lagonda along the coast road to Causeway Bay. As in Macao, she had an office of her own above the godowns, where she spent hours immersed in the fascinating business of the comprador.

In the early evening, with a brassy sun hanging like a temple gong over the water, Li and Ben would visit the gardens together. They shared this domain with no one, the servants keeping to their own enclosed courtyards and the Fish content to wait until she was called upon. Ah-Kin respected their privacy but welcomed them to take tea in the stone cottage, and discuss flowers and their seasons.

Still, the peace and joy Li had found aboard
Golden Sky
, with nothing more than Wang’s flute and the song of a thrush to intrude upon their happiness, was lost. She could not shake the feeling that at least some part of her, perhaps the part that she had left among the mulberry
groves, did not belong among such abundance. Enchanting as these riches were, she would have gladly traded them to be alone with Ben and the sea and sky, where nothing was hidden and the changing winds swept all things clean.

The Fish was the first to know that Li was pregnant. Ben’s joy on learning of her condition was so great that it buried her hidden anxieties. An annex of Li-Xia’s bedroom was turned into a nursery room, only steps from her bed and left for her to decorate. She prepared for either a boy or girl, with a picture of a boy astride a lion on one wall, facing a girl clinging to the back of a crane in flight on the other.

Ben was more considerate than ever, agreeing reluctantly that she could continue to accompany him to the Causeway Bay office whenever she wished, provided she followed the advice of her doctor. Ben had asked if she preferred a Chinese physician or a Western one, and she had left this choice to him. He enlisted the services of Dr. Hamish McCallum, a dour Scotsman known as “Mac” to his many associates, who had been a close friend and fellow director of the yacht club for more years than they chose to count.

Seeing how much of Li’s time was spent outside, Ben resolved to build a
ting
—a garden pavilion or tea house where she could go to be alone, and even he must be invited as her guest. It would stand on the highest point of the estate, beneath an ancient Bodhi tree, as was chosen by Buddha himself. Li selected the name: the Pavilion of Joyful Moments.

One month later, the
ting
was finished. Great pillars of redwood were placed precisely at the four cardinal points of the compass, each denoting a season of the year. Between these four sentinels were screens of sandalwood carved in designs of peach and plum blossom, enclosing two sides for privacy and leaving open views of the bay and the sea beyond. The floor was of white marble; at its center, the open petals of a lotus flower were set in pale pink jadeite, inlaid with stamens of amber, coral, and blue lazurite. Creepers of wisteria climbed around its entrance, dwarf gardenias lining a pathway intricately patterned with river pebbles.

Inside, divans of rosewood scattered with embroidered cushions surrounded the marble table and four porcelain stools brought from the garden in Macao. Li entered its portals for the first time in the middle of the night. Unable to sleep, and careful not to disturb Ben, she found herself drawn to the pavilion at three in the morning. At its zenith, a full moon of honey yellow bathed the sea with its brightness, the stars competing for space and brilliance. She sat until dawn and called for PaiLing, but received no answer. Here, in the one place in all the world where she should have felt safe … she did not.

When Dr. McCallum advised her not to go to the office any longer, Li found peace in the company of Ah-Kin, in quiet contemplation of the restful arts of gardening, or in selecting a book from her own small study. In the Pavilion of Joyful Moments she read of brave deeds, of brave men and even braver women. But each new day began and ended with offerings of fresh fruit and flowers in the Temple of Pai-Ling, where she spoke to her family in private and prayed for advice.

Concerned that she might feel lonely, Ben presented her with a pair of chow puppies, balls of soft, flour-white fur with bright black eyes, round as shoe buttons, and with tongues the color of crushed blueberries. Li named them Yin and Yang, and they quickly became a much-loved part of her life, dashing among the trees after partridges, trotting on red leather leashes along the pathways, sleeping soundly on the cushions of the pavilion or upon her bed.

To the Fish the dogs were a mystery. Her peasant birth had taught her that such creatures were best served up with bamboo shoots and hoisin sauce, with perhaps a dash of chili. But the happiness they gave Li was enough for her to tolerate them.

The bond between Li and the Fish grew in heart and spirit as the old amah dedicated herself to her master’s wife and the birth of their son. The Fish twisted a jade bracelet on her thin wrist as she spoke of her childhood as a
mooi-jai
, sold at the age of seven to a family of Parsees. Her cousin was given away to the Voice of Buddha monastery.

Now a seasoned midwife, she was taking every precaution dictated by the Chinese calendar and adding a few of her own to ensure Li’s child would be a boy. Li hated to admit it, even to herself, but although there was no question that life would be easier in every way for a son and heir, her heart yearned secretly for a girl. How wonderful her daughter’s childhood would be, how different from her own, how blessed by the support of a loving mother. But the Fish’s energies were so renewed by the prospect of Ben’s son, and her preparations to ensure the child’s safe arrival so tireless, that Li willingly complied with even her strangest edicts.

Li had the traditional Chinese respect for her unborn child, believing that its “before sky,” or prenatal existence, was as vital as its “after sky,” or postnatal future. She accepted the old lady’s folk wisdom: Li was permitted no soy sauce, dark soups, or gravies to ensure that the boy would not have a dark complexion, to be looked upon as a peasant who was destined to slave in the fields. She must eat only clear broths and whipped egg whites to guarantee that his skin was smooth and fair. She must not lift her arms above her head or do anything more strenuous than stroll gently through the gardens. Most of the time the Fish urged her to rest in the Pavilion of Joyful Moments and sip an endless procession of herbal brews to boost her energy and strength.

The Fish never even considered the possibility that the child might not be a boy. Every joss stick, every paper prayer, every burnt offering was aimed at the certainty of a son. Even the two scallions or hardboiled eggs left in the chamber pot for use in Li’s bedroom were omens tried and true to encourage the forming of testicles. Obediently, Li drank a strong tea of peach leaves to prevent morning sickness. Petals of dried peach blossom were scattered over her bed and a slip of peach wood hidden under her pillow to guard against the hungry ghosts.

“I have been to the temple many times,” the Fish told Li, “to ask all gods to give the master the son he longs for. These things I have bought from the priests.”

The Fish unwrapped a piece of cloth to reveal a number of talismans: a tiny silver lock to fasten him to life; a silver chicken’s foot, so that he might always scratch a good living; a scrap of fur attached to a thread of
red silk, so that he would not be attacked by the dogs that scavenged the void between heaven and earth. Most potent of all was a bracelet fashioned from a copper coffin nail to give him courage in the face of ghosts and restless spirits.

Li decided not to share these preparations, made precious by the Fish’s heartfelt beliefs, with Ben, who for all his patience and understanding could be forgiven for favoring the advice of Hamish McCallum, whose feet were firmly planted on the ground. There was one thing that the Fish proudly made and gave to her, however, that she showed him with pleasure—a baby sling used by Tanka mothers to carry their infants on their backs while going about their work at sea in all weathers. The sling was strongly made from thin, weatherproof oilskin, and beautifully patterned in tiny colored beads. “You see”—she smiled—“I will go to sea with you, our child upon my back.”

Li continued to interest herself in Ben’s business and the events affecting its success. Each day, in the Pavilion of Joyful Moments, she studied the English-language newspaper, the
South China Morning Post
, as well as the Chinese daily newspapers. She became increasingly aware of the world around her, at a time of great turmoil that was a warning of things to come.

The colony was crippled by a strike of engineers and seamen that had tied up normal shipping in one of the world’s busiest harbors, but left the Double Dragon Company to continue trading under its Macao port of registry. The company had fifteen Double Dragon vessels in China waters, mainly in the silk and tea trades, with others on the Grand Canal carrying jade, porcelain, and artifacts from Peking to the Shanghai godowns on Soochow Creek.

She followed the politics of the civil war that was tearing China in two. It had swiftly spread to Hong Kong, where Communist and Nationalist Kuomintang agitators cooperated with the underground societies to boycott British goods. The Double Dragon took full advantage of the forced trade embargo, and continued to flourish because of it.