River of Smoke(213)
There was a sheaf of paper inside. The first sheet was yellow with age and covered with handwriting – large, flamboyantly sloped and a little faded.
Neel moved the lamp closer and began to read.
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8 Rua Ignacio Baptista
Macau
July 6, 1839
Beloved Pugglee-shona, you cannot imagine how happy I was to receive your last, most recent letter. It provided me with the only bit of cheer I have had in a long while. It was nothing less than thrilling to learn that Zachary has been cleared of all charges and is on his way to China!
I am truly, truly glad for you, Puggly dear: I eagerly await even better and more joyful news – news that will allow me to call you ‘Puggleebai’! – indeed I long for it, and I do hope I will receive it soon, for it is perhaps the only thing that could dispel the dark cloud that has settled on me these last few weeks.
Macau does not suit me at all, I find – or perhaps it is just that I do not like living in my Uncle’s house. But no – it would be wrong of me to place the blame for my megrims on Macau or my ‘uncle’ or his house. The truth is that I miss Canton quite dreadfully: the Maidan, the factories, Hog Lane, Old China Street, Lamqua’s shop – but most of all Jacqua. My only consolation is that he too is thinking of me. I know this because he sent me a present a couple of weeks ago: jujubes and candy, as usual, but they were wrapped in a most curious covering – a confection of silk that proved to be, on examination, the severed sleeve of one of his gowns! There was no accompanying letter, of course – since we share no written language I did not really expect one. But I confess I was most intrigued by that piece of silk: was it just a keepsake, I asked myself, or was it the vehicle of some coded message? The more I thought about it the more convinced I became that it was the latter, so I decided in the end to seek the assistance of some of my Uncle’s Chinese assistants. Their response immediately confirmed my suspicions – they giggled and tittered and blushed and would not tell me what the message was. I had to resort to all kinds of bribery and cajolery to get the story out of them: apparently a long time ago there was an Emperor of China who was so greatly attached to his Friend that once, when he fell asleep on his arm, rather than disturb his rest he cut the sleeve off his priceless gown!
Is it not the most touching story? It ought to have cheered me but I confess it only made things worse: if I had missed Canton before, after this I found myself both yearning for it and despairing of ever seeing it again.
Seized by the blue-devils, I became prey also to nightmares: they started on the night of that fearsome storm that hit the coast a fortnight ago – you will remember it well, I am sure, for it must have given the Redruth quite a battering.
In any event, at some moment in that long, dreadful night, when the winds were easing off, I closed my eyes and thought myself to be back in Canton – but only to find it convulsed by another riot, like that of December 12th except that it was even worse.
Something appalling had happened in the city and a great mob had poured into Fanqui-town; this time there were no troops at hand to control them and the crowd was bent on destruction. I saw men running into the Maidan with flaming torches; they broke into the factories and set fire to the godowns. I escaped from my room and ran along the city walls until I reached the Sea-Calming Tower. From the top I looked down and saw a line of flames leaping above the river; the factories were on fire and they burned through the night. In the morning when the sun rose, I saw that Fanqui-town had been reduced to ashes; it was gone; everything had disappeared – Markwick’s Hotel and Lamqua’s shop and the shamshoo-dens in Hog Lane and the flagpoles in the Maidan. They had all been wiped away and in their place there were only ashes …
I am haunted by these images, Puggly dear; they return to me almost every night. Even when I awake I cannot wipe this vision from my eyes. I can paint nothing else but this; I have done a dozen versions already – I will send you one with this letter.
I would have liked to bring it to you myself, Puggly dear, but I am too stricken at this time to consider making even this short journey. It has ever been so with us Chinnerys, you know – when we are happy we soar very high and when we are not we fall into the depths of an abyss. And so it is with me now, Puggly dear.
I do envy you your felicity, my sweet, sweet Empress of Puggledom, but not, I hope, in a covetous way. I am filled with gladness for you and only wish I could share your joy … but, yes, I will own also that I do not want you to be so joyful as to forget your poor Robin.
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Neel read through the night, and in the morning, when Deeti came down to the hut, he showed her the packet. Since she had never learned to read, the letters were of no interest to her. But the paintings that Neel had found in the packet seized her attention immediately – especially the picture of Fanqui-town in flames.