River of Smoke(203)

Even laudanum didn’t help: if anything it made the sounds seem louder and the dreams more vivid. One night, after a copious dose, he dreamt that Chi-mei had come to the Achha Hong to see him. This was something she had often threatened to do: it happened all the time, she said, flower-girls were often smuggled into factories. They dressed up in men’s gowns and braided their hair and no one was any the wiser.

In Bahram’s dream, it was a day like any other in Fanqui-town: he was dressing to go the Club, in the evening, when Vico came into his bedroom.

Patrão, a Chinese gentleman has come to see you. One Li Sin-saang.

Who is he? Do I know him?

I don’t know, patrão. I don’t think he’s been here before. But he said it was important.

All right then, show him into the daftar.

The daftar was empty, of course, at that time of day: the munshi was down in his cubicle and the khidmatgars had finished cleaning up. Bahram went to one of the big armchairs and sat down. Soon the door opened and a short, slight figure in a round cap and panelled gown came in.

The light in the daftar wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the face, so Bahram did not recognize her immediately. With a formal bow, he said: ‘Chin-chin Li Sin-saang.’

She said nothing until she was sure Vico was gone. Then she burst into peals of laughter. ‘Mister Barry too muchi foolo.’

He was thunderstruck. ‘Chi-mei? What for come this-place? Chi-mei have done too muchi bad thing.’

Chi-mei paid no attention: picking up a lamp, she went around the daftar examining the objects that had accumulated in it. It was clear from her expression that not many of them met with her approval.

‘Allo olo thing. What-for Mister Barry puttee here?’

The tone was comforting in its familiarity: she often spoke to him like this, in a register that was at once querulous and indulgent, as though she were trying to correct a child. He laughed.

The only object that seemed to please her was his desk, with its many locked drawers. She looked it over carefully, then tapped one of the drawers. ‘What thing have got inside?’

Bahram pulled out a bunch of keys and opened the drawer. Inside was a large lacquered box.

‘That box Chi-mei give Mister Barry, no?’

‘Yes, Chi-mei have give that-thing.’

‘What-for Mister Barry keepee here? No likee?’

‘Likee. Likee.’

She lost interest in the desk and looked around the room again. ‘What-place Mister Barry sleepee?’ she said. ‘Here bed no have got.’

‘Sleepee bedroom,’ he said, pointing involuntarily. ‘But Chi-mei can-na go.’

Ignoring him she opened the door and crossed the corridor. He followed her into the bedroom, haplessly protesting. She paid him no mind: on seeing the bed, with its silken cover, she lay down and unbuttoned the fastenings of her gown. The sight of her breasts, emerging slowly from within the gown, mesmerized him. He went to lie beside her, but when he reached for her she changed her mind.

‘Mister Barry bed no good. More better go boat. Come now, Mister Barry. We go boat. Come riverside. Ha-loy!’

‘Why?’ he said. ‘Chi-mei here now. More better stay.’

‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Time to go river now. Come, Mister Barry. Here no good.’

He was sorely tempted but something held him back. ‘No. Not time now. Can-na go.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Stay here, Chi-mei; stay with Mister Barry.’

There was no answer and when he looked towards the window, she was gone: the shutters were open and the curtains were fluttering in the breeze.

He woke up in a sweat and found that the window had indeed blown open. He got out of bed and pushed it hurriedly shut.

He was shaking; to go back to bed was impossible in this state. He lit a candle, found his key-ring and carried it into the daftar. He went to his desk and unlocked the drawer: sure enough, the lacquer box that Chi-mei had given him was lying within, covered in dust. He took it out and wiped the dust away before removing the lid. Inside was a finely carved ivory pipe, a metal needle, and a small octagonal box, also made of ivory. The box was empty but Bahram remembered that at the start of the season Vico had brought him a container of prepared opium, as a sample: it was locked in another drawer. He found the key and opened the drawer: the container was still there.

He gathered everything up in his arms and went to his room. He placed the candle on his bedside table, opened the container and scooped up a droplet of the brown paste with the tip of the needle. Then he roasted the opium over the flame, and when it began to sizzle he placed it in the bowl of his pipe and took a deep draught.

When the last wisp of smoke was gone he blew out the candle and lay back against his pillows. He knew he would sleep well that night; he could not understand why he hadn’t thought of doing this before.