China Edward Rutherfurd (essential reading .txt) 📖

crushed, as though about to perform the kowtow, the three merchants knelt there in the sun and the soldiers silently watched them. Nobody moved.

“Are they going to execute them?” asked Trader.

“They’re just trying to frighten us,” somebody said.

“Humbug,” said Tully Odstock with a snort. “Damned humbug.”

“I agree. They’re putting on a show,” said Matheson.

“All the same,” said Tully after a pause, “I hope Joker’s going to be all right. He owes me a fortune,” he added quietly.

“And Lin knows that, you may be sure,” said Matheson. “The only thing to do is take no notice at all.” And he moved away from the window.

But Trader went back to the window again, just before lunch. And again after lunch, when the sun was almost directly over the three men’s heads. After that, Tully retired to their quarters to take a nap, and Trader played a desultory game of billiards with Jardine’s nephew.

It was midafternoon when the Chinese delegation arrived. This time they were not armed. There was a magistrate, attended by two junior mandarins, young Shi-Rong, and Mr. Singapore. The magistrate went straight to Dent’s quarters. Shi-Rong and Mr. Singapore, followed closely by Trader, went to rouse Odstock.

The message, delivered by Mr. Singapore, was very simple. “Mr. Jiang is here to accompany Mr. Odstock to Commissioner Lin. He will stay here until Mr. Odstock comes.”

Odstock gazed at Shi-Rong for a long moment and then indicated a chair. “Take a seat,” he said, and went back to bed.

Shi-Rong sat, and so did Trader. Mr. Singapore explained that he had to go, because Commissioner Lin wanted to make additions to his letter to Queen Victoria. So he left the two young men, sitting together but unable to speak.

It was in that half hour that Trader discovered, for the first time in his life, the frustration of lacking a common language.

Of course, there had been countless millions of people in India whose languages he couldn’t speak. But that didn’t seem so bad. Many Indian merchants and educated men spoke excellent English. And he often met Englishmen whose knowledge of India was deep and who would gladly explain the local customs, religion, and culture for hours at a time.

But China wasn’t like that at all. And now here he was, face-to-face with a young man not so unlike himself, who three days ago had tried to understand him and even to offer him friendly advice. They were probably going to spend hours together—hours during which each could have learned so much about the other’s world. Yet they couldn’t converse. The silence separated them just as effectively as a fortress wall.

He had the urge to pick up an object, any object, and indicate that he wanted to know its name in Chinese. Or he could point: head, hands, feet; sad face, happy face; anything. But Shi-Rong gave no sign that he was inviting conversation, and Trader remembered that the Chinese frowned upon foreigners who wanted to learn their language. So for the rest of the afternoon they sat in the small and stuffy room and learned nothing at all.

At last the light outside the window took on a faintly orange glow, and glancing at his fob watch, Trader realized that the sun was going down. He indicated to Shi-Rong that in a while it might be time to go to sleep. But Shi-Rong indicated in turn that he would be sleeping where he was unless Odstock were to come with him. So Trader showed him the small bedroom where he slept himself and indicated that Shi-Rong should use it. Then he went in to Tully and explained that he’d have the servants from the dining room bring food for Tully and the young mandarin. When he went down the stairs, Shi-Rong did nothing to detain him.

It was half an hour later, when the food had been arranged and Matheson had kindly offered him the use of Jardine’s bed, that John Trader looked out the library window as the red sun sank in the west and saw that out on the waterside, the soldiers were beating and kicking the three Hong merchants to force them to get up. But the three men had been kneeling so long that they could scarcely walk, and one of the soldiers had to carry Joker’s chains.

—

The sunlight was streaming in through the window when Trader awoke in Jardine’s comfortable bed. Sunday morning and the sun well up. He clambered quickly out of bed. He ought to go and look after poor old Tully at once. Making his way hurriedly to the big dining room, he thought he would see if there was coffee to be had, and if so, he’d take a pot to his partner. But there was no need. For there at a table sat Tully Odstock himself.

“About time you got up,” Tully remarked cheerfully.

“What happened?”

“My young mandarin has gone. Left before dawn. Dent’s fellows have gone, too. And most of the troops. We have a truce for the day.”

“Why?”

“Commissioner Lin seems to think he can show what a good fellow he is by respecting the Christian Sabbath.”

They went for a walk down Hog Lane and made the circuit along Thirteen Factory Street and back to the waterfront. There were still quite a few soldiers about, and not many stallholders, but otherwise one might have thought things were back to normal. An hour later, the two Hong merchants who’d been paraded with Joker in chains appeared at the English factory. They looked tired and somewhat bruised from their ordeal the day before, but accepted some light refreshment. Joker did not appear. They said he had taken to his bed.

It was in the late morning that Trader began to notice something odd. The place seemed to be too quiet. Was it just because of the Sabbath? He met Matheson, who remarked that his comprador had disappeared. In the English factory, there was hardly anyone to serve lunch. “Bad sign,” Tully said. “The servants always know things before we do.”

At the