River of Smoke(197)

The changes continued as the day progressed: around mid-morning a gang of workmen appeared and set up a tent in the middle of the Maidan. This was then occupied by a group of linkisters, led by Old Tom, who was the seniormost member of his profession.

What exactly were they doing there?

Neel was sent to investigate and came back to report that they had been posted there to deal with any inquiries and complaints the foreigners might have. Should any foreigner need to have any washing done, for instance, he had only to bring it to the tent – the linkisters would make sure that it was properly taken care of.

This made the Seth’s mouth drop open. They are keeping us prisoners and they are worried about our laundry?

Ji, Sethji. They said they do not want any foreigner to suffer the least discomfort.

A short while later several large armchairs were carried out and placed in the shade of the British Hong’s balcony. A number of Co-Hong merchants then trooped into the Maidan and occupied the chairs – there they remained, all day and night, keeping vigil in relays. It was as if they were being made to do penance for their failure to persuade their foreign partners to surrender their contraband.

Now, in ones and twos, a bedraggled little group of travellers came stumbling out into the Maidan: some were European sailors and some were lascars. They had come to Fanqui-town on shore leave the day before: having passed out in the dens of Hog Lane, they had only now awoken to the changed reality of the enclave. Being trapped in Fanqui-town, they were now offering themselves for employment.

Since many of the enclave’s merchants had lost their servants, this news caused great excitement in the factories: seasoned old traders came running half-dressed from the hongs and tripped over each other as they fell upon the mariners. None of the booze-befuddled sailors failed to find employment: in a matter of minutes they were dragged off to the hongs, to serve this master or that.

In the middle of the afternoon when the Maidan was baking in the glare of the sun, Baboo Nob Kissin burst into the Achha Hong with a cry for help: ‘Bachao! Emergency! Rescue measures must be immediately implemented!’

‘What has happened, Baboo Nob Kissin?’

‘Cows! They are suffering from heat-strokes and sun-rashes!’

It turned out that the departure of the enclave’s Chinese employees had deprived Fanqui-town’s small herd of cows of their caretakers; they were now suffering dreadfully in the mid-day heat. Their plight had wrung the heart of the cow-loving milkmaid who lurked within Baboo Nob Kissin’s bosom: he would not rest until Neel had recruited a team of khidmatgars to help him erect a makeshift shelter of bamboo matting over the cattle-pen.

Towards the end of the day a new militia made its appearance in the Maidan: it had been drafted almost entirely from the corps of men who had worked as servants in the foreign factories. Now they were armed with pikes, lances and staves and were smartly dressed in jackets with red cummerbunds. Every man was carrying a rattan shield; on every head was a sturdy conical hat, inscribed with large Chinese characters.

Neel recognized several of the men. He was taken aback by the change in their demeanour: while working as servants they had been scruffily clothed and subservient in manner; now, attired in their new uniforms, they formed as proud a troop as he had ever seen.

For dinner that night Mesto served up a chicken feast: batter-fried marghi na farcha and a savoury alleti-paleti made of gizzards; a creamy marghi na mai vahala with fine shreds of meat; and crisp frilly cutlets.

Why, it’s a burra-khana! said Neel. Is there some reason for it?

Vico nodded: The Seth hasn’t left the hong in days, not since he came back from Mr Dent’s in such a hurry. Mesto has made some of his favourite Parsi dishes in the hope of rousing him from his gloom.

*

Next morning a notice, addressed to Bahram, was delivered to the Achha Hong by Captain Elliott’s personal secretary. It was an urgent summons to a meeting at the Consulate. It could not be ignored so Bahram quickly changed his clothes and made his way to the doorway of the hong.

Although he had not been outside in the last few days, Bahram had observed the activity in the Maidan from his window and had some idea of what to expect – and yet, once at ground level, he realized that the atmosphere of the Maidan had changed even more than he had thought. He had never imagined that a day would come when he would find Fanqui-town empty of swadders and buttoners. Like many other foreigners he had always regarded the enclave’s cheap-jacks as something of a nuisance and had often wished them gone – it had not occurred to him that their absence would leave the enclave so much diminished in spirit.

It was true, of course, that it had not been easy to cross the Maidan when it was a-swarm with mumpers and mucksnipes – but to do it now, under the frowning gaze of guardsmen, was more unpleasant by far. What made it worse still was that Bahram knew by sight many of the guards who were now patrolling the enclave with staves and pikes in hand. One, for instance, was a steward from the Club: it was strangely disconcerting to be stared at, as if you were some kind of escaped jailbird, by a man who had just the other day appeared at your elbow with a plate of roast duck. This was, in a way, the most unsettling part of it: it was as if the hidden mechanisms of Canton’s economy had suddenly been laid bare for all to see; even the lowliest servants and tradesmen – people who had, in the past, fallen over themselves to please the fanquis – now had a look of judgement and appraisal in their eyes.