Sammy suggested. He jabbed himself enthusiastically. ‘Me,’ he said. ‘Sammy.’ He jabbed at Ira. ‘Him. Ira.’ He indicated the girl. ‘You. Mei-Mei?’
She nodded and smiled, and Sammy grinned. ‘Well, at least, we know her name.’ he said.
She spoke in Chinese to one of the servants and he led her away through the house, trailing a scent of mint and musk, and they were still unpacking the few things they’d brought with them when a young Chinese officer, with the yellow cord of an aide on his shoulder, arrived with a portentous-looking document on red tissue paper the size of a newspaper, the formal invitation to General Tsu’s house.
‘I am Lieutenant Kee, you know,’ he said, in good if somewhat stylised English. ‘Colonel Lao has appointed me to your staff. Whatever you want, you are to ask me, and I will jolly well attend to it.’
It was a warm evening, with a rich amber sky shining above the decorated curving roofs, when three sedan chairs, ornately carved and painted and with curtains of dirty yellow silk, arrived outside. Sagging in the heat and feeling like mandarins behind the curtains, they set off at a quick shuffle past the shops, handed over the heads of the crowds who were cleared by an officious small boy going ahead shouting what appeared to be their honours and titles--and probably also a few choice insults--at the top of his voice. Surrounded by toothy Chinese grins, they went down a dirty alley where the thunk-thunk of wood-carving and the clink of hammers on metal sounded like Chinese music. The smell was one of sewers, charcoal, camphorwood and lacquer.
The streets grew narrower until they were mere tunnels roofed with bamboo matting, then they crossed an open place fronted with temples studded with Buddhas and fierce idols that glared from the doors. Occasional white businessmen in chairs and a few missionaries in their sombre clothes passed them, then as they left the centre of the town, they turned into another alley and finally disappeared through a circular moon-gate in a wall.
Inside was a forecourt full of white pigeons and littered with rubbish where a few soldiers, chewing sunflower seeds and incongruous and unmilitary in ill-fitting uniforms and bus conductors’ hats, lounged about emptying their bronchial tubes into the dust. Kee screamed at them to pick up the rifles lying among the rubbish and got them into a sagging line that constantly ballooned out as they edged forward, chattering and bursting with curiosity, their antiquated weapons at all angles, to see who had arrived. A deafening blast from a bugle which appeared to be well out of tune set the pigeons clattering into the air and brought the chair-coolies to a standstill, hawking and spitting and wiping away the sweat. It was hard to believe that the noisy waving of rifles was an attempt to present arms.
While they were still wondering how to respond to the gesture, Lao appeared with a drawn sword and led them through another circular gate into a garden which was so different from the courtyard it could have been in another part of China. There was a bright lawn, a clump of feathery bamboo and a willow drooping over the lilies in a small pool. The room beyond was barely furnished, but with bronze, lacquer, tortoiseshell and ivory objets d’art . The wall decorations seemed to consist only of two scrolls, each with a line of Chinese lettering, exquisitely drawn. A small bamboo table and an old-fashioned pianola completed the furniture.
General Tsu came forward to meet them, carrying a gold-mounted cane and wearing a skull cap with the red button of authority. His grey silk gown was even more voluminous than the one he’d worn on their arrival but his feet were still thrust into his tartan carpet slippers.
Behind him was a group of other officers, all wearing ill-fitting cotton uniforms with stiff Prussian collars. Some of them wore riding breeches with puttees, and some of them flannel trousers with
She nodded and smiled, and Sammy grinned. ‘Well, at least, we know her name.’ he said.
She spoke in Chinese to one of the servants and he led her away through the house, trailing a scent of mint and musk, and they were still unpacking the few things they’d brought with them when a young Chinese officer, with the yellow cord of an aide on his shoulder, arrived with a portentous-looking document on red tissue paper the size of a newspaper, the formal invitation to General Tsu’s house.
‘I am Lieutenant Kee, you know,’ he said, in good if somewhat stylised English. ‘Colonel Lao has appointed me to your staff. Whatever you want, you are to ask me, and I will jolly well attend to it.’
It was a warm evening, with a rich amber sky shining above the decorated curving roofs, when three sedan chairs, ornately carved and painted and with curtains of dirty yellow silk, arrived outside. Sagging in the heat and feeling like mandarins behind the curtains, they set off at a quick shuffle past the shops, handed over the heads of the crowds who were cleared by an officious small boy going ahead shouting what appeared to be their honours and titles--and probably also a few choice insults--at the top of his voice. Surrounded by toothy Chinese grins, they went down a dirty alley where the thunk-thunk of wood-carving and the clink of hammers on metal sounded like Chinese music. The smell was one of sewers, charcoal, camphorwood and lacquer.
The streets grew narrower until they were mere tunnels roofed with bamboo matting, then they crossed an open place fronted with temples studded with Buddhas and fierce idols that glared from the doors. Occasional white businessmen in chairs and a few missionaries in their sombre clothes passed them, then as they left the centre of the town, they turned into another alley and finally disappeared through a circular moon-gate in a wall.
Inside was a forecourt full of white pigeons and littered with rubbish where a few soldiers, chewing sunflower seeds and incongruous and unmilitary in ill-fitting uniforms and bus conductors’ hats, lounged about emptying their bronchial tubes into the dust. Kee screamed at them to pick up the rifles lying among the rubbish and got them into a sagging line that constantly ballooned out as they edged forward, chattering and bursting with curiosity, their antiquated weapons at all angles, to see who had arrived. A deafening blast from a bugle which appeared to be well out of tune set the pigeons clattering into the air and brought the chair-coolies to a standstill, hawking and spitting and wiping away the sweat. It was hard to believe that the noisy waving of rifles was an attempt to present arms.
While they were still wondering how to respond to the gesture, Lao appeared with a drawn sword and led them through another circular gate into a garden which was so different from the courtyard it could have been in another part of China. There was a bright lawn, a clump of feathery bamboo and a willow drooping over the lilies in a small pool. The room beyond was barely furnished, but with bronze, lacquer, tortoiseshell and ivory objets d’art . The wall decorations seemed to consist only of two scrolls, each with a line of Chinese lettering, exquisitely drawn. A small bamboo table and an old-fashioned pianola completed the furniture.
General Tsu came forward to meet them, carrying a gold-mounted cane and wearing a skull cap with the red button of authority. His grey silk gown was even more voluminous than the one he’d worn on their arrival but his feet were still thrust into his tartan carpet slippers.
Behind him was a group of other officers, all wearing ill-fitting cotton uniforms with stiff Prussian collars. Some of them wore riding breeches with puttees, and some of them flannel trousers with
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