The Call of the Thunder Dragon (10 page)

He sat against a white tiled
wall. Somewhere nearby was the pool, with the sound of hot water
splashing. The air was filled with steam. A faint smell of smoke
and the trace of pine blew in from the forest outside. He could
hear running water close at hand. The steam was warm, enveloping
him. He squinted wearily about. Zam stood at his back holding him
close. He tried to relax and looked back at her; he felt her
breasts naked against his scalp.

‘This just isn’t fair’ he cursed
silently. ‘Either I’ll fall asleep or forget this afterwards!’

Just as he tried to think of
something to say, four women arrived and slipped out of their robes
and naked made their way through the steam towards him.

The number of the attendants were
unnecessary he surmised to himself. Yes, they wanted to make sure
he wasn’t hurt or strained himself further, but four girls at once?
Just as the girls closed in to commence scrubbing, Zam clutched his
chin then pulled his head back.

“Say ah!” She abruptly
commanded.

The attendants started on his
feet. Involuntarily he said, “Ah!”

Zam popped a toothbrush into his
mouth and started scrubbing. He daren’t struggle or move; he just
sat there. His ribs and muscles ached and his head throbbed. Zam
slowly scrubbed his molars while he felt his feet being picked up
and gripped between soapy thighs. They scrubbed and scraped his
toenails. His hands were similarly treated, grasped firmly under an
arm against the attendant’s breast while brushes were applied to
his nails.

Zam smiled, looking into his
eyes, working the toothbrush around his teeth. He tried to bite the
brush. Zam just shook her head and looked away.

Finally Zam relinquished him to
the attendants. Falstaff squeezed his eyes shut as they girls
scrubbed his face and hair. The oil and dirt was stubborn and only
washed away with the scrubbing brush. Soap went everywhere running
downs his legs. Next came the rinsing with bowls of cold water.
They were gentle, considering his broken ribs and poured the cold
water slowly over his back and then down his thighs and legs.

Falstaff sat shivering with his
head in his hands as the girl’s wet feet padded away. They hadn’t
even offered him any rice wine? They had not even offered to stay
and sing a round of ‘the Merry-Go-Round Broke Down’? Not like his
dream at all
⁹
.

“Tea?” Zam’s voice was close to
his ear bringing him round.

He reached out with his hand and
slid it slowly up her wet legs and pulled her close. “Yes,
please!”

The tea was brought, a draft of
his medicinal tea. Falstaff downed the foul tasting mixture,
wishing he’d held out for rice wine.

Shortly the attendants returned,
now wearing short gowns. The teapot was tidied away; then he was
led to the hot bath. Zam sat in the deep water, relaxing.

“Bring him to me,” she commanded,
with a hint of stifled mirth.

With a girl either side to steady
him, he lowered himself into the piping hot water and finally
started to feel relaxed. The layers of pain dissolving and floating
away with the steam. He winced as the hot water rose to soak the
bandage and envelope his chest, but then he leaned back and
sighed.

“I knew you what sort of man you
were when I saw you on the road this morning. I’d seen you crash.
Then the truck brought you up to the hill to me.” Zam wrapped her
arm around him and he sank deeper, resting his head on her
shoulder. “The first thing you asked me was where to find the hot
tub? Here we are seh lang?”

Falstaff snored his head on her
shoulder, his eyes flickering beneath his eyelids.

She gently kissed his forehead
then punched the water in frustration.

“Poof!” She blew out her breath,
“Flower-flower prince di-di!”

In the dim light Colonel
Haga-Jin adjusted his glasses again. He was frustrated; he was sure
Captain Soujiro had gotten them lost and was now ready to reprimand
him.

Suddenly, the captain appeared
out of the darkness. The winter night had closed in fast. They
still had to find the aircraft or the main street of the town. They
had skirted around farmhouses for the last half hour; hiding like
rats ever since they scrambled across the main east west road.
Haga-Jin let his breath go slowly; determined not to let his anger
and impatience show.

“The main street is at the bottom
of the path. The market place is there.” Captain Soujiro said
proudly indicating the direction and position on the map.

“Good work Soujiro!” Haga-Jin
hissed, “Take your men. Go to the lake shore. Find the aircraft and
destroy it! We will meet you tomorrow on the western shore. I am
sure you and your men will be comfortable in the forest!”

“Of course, Haga-Jin-Dono!”
Soujiro bowed before turning away.

As the Captain led his men
silently away, even Haga-Jin was surprised at the speed the men
vanished into the darkness. Haga-Jin’s chin rose, he was pleased
with Soujiro. He had not only found the town in the darkness, -
first through thousands of rows of tea bushes, but then down the
correct valley into the town. He had obeyed his orders without
hesitation, he was a credit to the Japanese army Haga-Jin
decided.

Haga-Jin turned to his agents
then with a slight nod, led them silently into the town to find
accommodation suitable for a colonel.

They fanned out, they knew what
to do. In plain clothes, they would seek out the hotels and
restaurants. All the clubs and bars in the area, looking for
foreigners, travellers, - any person out of place.

Haga-Jin circled slowly taking in
the market town’s wide street. The market may have packed up for
the night, but the town was full of people walking and laughing.
Young couples strolling beneath the bright lights. Strings of
lanterns lit the corners and alleys, big red lanterns were lit over
the doors of the bigger establishments. The colonel could hardly
believe it, despite the morning’s air raid a few valleys away,
despite years of war the Chinese carried on regardless. Haga-Jin
headed towards one of larger establishments to inspect it.

The colonel lit a match,
deliberately letting it burn he dropped it to the ground, a
pre-arranged signal. In moments, his agent was by his side.

“Meet me back outside that hotel
in one hour. I will find rooms for us.”

He entered the hotel boldly.
Heading silently straight for the reception desk, he reached for
the large register open on the desk. The dutiful Chinese hosts were
after him in moments. A boy to take his hat, a girl to greet him
with a smile and the manager to check him in.

Before anyone spoke, Haga-Jin
turned the register around and was hurriedly scanning the latest
page. All Chinese, accept one Bhutan woman and servant, a tea
trader no doubt, he was disappointed.

“Can I help you?” The voice of
the boy behind the desk discreetly interrupted.

“Of course, I need two rooms. One
for myself and one for my staff, there will be three of them along
shortly. I’ve given them the rest of the night off. Interesting
town you have here, very lively this evening?” Haga-Jin lied as he
relinquished the register to the boy.

The young Chinese man noted the
room numbers down and passed the register back. “If you could sign
here Mr..?”

“Chan, Moy Chan! Thank you so
much.” Haga lied.

“Do you have any luggage,
sir?”

“No, tomorrow it will catch up
with us.” Haga lied.

Following the manager up the
short steps into the hotel he looked around, a tiny frown quivering
on his brow. How he hated China. He failed to see the closeness or
similarity in their cultures. He saw only imitation and
mockery.

“The maid will bring tea
immediately.” The boy opened up the room. “I hope you enjoy your
stay, Mr Chan.”

“Thank you I will.” Haga
lied.

An hour later and refreshed
having had tea with soup Colonel Haga-Jin met his agents.

“Have you found anything?” He
enquired hopefully. He found the little bright town annoying.

“There is a little gossip to be
had. The fishermen are resting or eating in the bars in the back
streets.” One agent started to report.

“The rest of the people are
travellers, traders come here for tea, the market or the baths and
the waters.” He put in. “Most, if not all, here are foreign to
these locals.”

Haga stiffened. “There was no
trouble? No one suspects?”

“There was some trouble, I was
picked out. Insulted, called ‘Miao’. But that bar seemed empty, so
I left.”

“Good, don’t be concerned about
it. Miao is an insult in Chinese. It is generally aimed at Miao
Hmong people? They are emigrating refugees, coming and going
between here and Burma or Hanoi. There’s more of them now; moving
back over the border.”

Haga-Jin stiffened the thought of
unregistered people emigrating across his border riled him. He had
plans for those people, if they would not find homes and settle
down, he could find them work building proper roads, all the way to
Hanoi if necessary.

“It is pitiful that you should be
mistaken for one of those migrants!”

“Hai, sorry, sorry!” The agent
bowed as he apologised for the slight he himself had suffered.

“Is there no sign of the aircraft
or the pilot?” Haga-Jin asked again hopefully. “Any Nationalists in
the area? No communists? Not even gossip about the bombing of the
factory or Simao to the north?”

Each question drew a negative
answer. The town was a tourist stop. A luxury resort for tea
traders; a busy little hamlet on the shore of a lake, where the
river ran down from the mountain; a market town full of tea and
trinkets. Haga-Jin seethed. What had happened that morning, the
bombing of the airfield and town a few valleys away, seemed not to
have raised any interest or concern at all.

“We will rise early tomorrow; we
must watch the shoreline. We will spot the pilot or his aircraft!”
Haga-Jin started back towards the hotel. “I have a room for you.
You are the Yu brothers, as usual I’m Mr Chan!”

Map 2 China Yunnan
Lakes and Rivers 1940

Chapter Four – Morning Tea

It was early morning. The sun
had not risen yet. Falstaff was lying on his back watching the
ceiling. His bed a simple low wooden pallet with a thin mattress.
Falstaff had woken with the dull pain of his throbbing ribs. There
was a pleasing aroma, of smouldering pine wood burning, coming from
the firepot beneath the bed. The Chinese Kang style stone work
chimney at the head of the bed drew the smoke away, while the heat
warmed the bed.

Zam was curled up warm beside
him. Falstaff felt warm and comfortable, despite his pain. He
wanted to roll over and stretch, but the heaviness and pain he felt
all over his body kept him flat and prone. He drifted in and out of
sleep, thinking about the Caproni, calculating rate of fuel use for
the imagined journey to Bhutan.

He owed Zam a big debt; with a
shudder he realised he would have never made it to Kunming flying,
most likely he’d have crashed before he had travelled the distance.
The short flight across the valley and the lake had strained his
injuries too much as it was. Drifting in and out of sleep he
realised he could no longer lie still.

“Damn! I need a piss!” He curse
through clenched teeth.

Not wanting to wake Zam, he
struggled into a sitting position and looked around. Naked accept
his bandages he looked around the room as his eyes adjusted to the
gloom. His belt with pistol and knife was hanging on the carved
railings around the bed. There was no sign of his clothes, the only
sheet or blanket was covering Zam. He slid forward to the foot of
the bed. Zam’s house robe provided by the hotel were folded on the
floor next her slippers.

He picked up the robe, and for
want of anything else, tied it around his waist with the sleeves.
After a brief burst of pain in his chest, he was on his feet.

Now bursting to find a toilet, he
looked around the room. There was the big window looking over the
avenue to the lake and then door, nothing else. He realised the
idea of ‘en-suite’ probably hadn’t reached the steppes of Yunnan
yet.

Pausing by the window he realised
as his legs shook, he had no idea of the hotel layout yet. Looking
out of the curtains, he saw the lake shimmering and the empty
avenue shining under the waning moon. His bladder ached; to avoid
an international incident he decided to move on, seek out the
appropriate latrines instead of relieving himself over the side of
the veranda. The penalty for such an act at from the school dorm
windows was bad enough, a solid thrashing with a master’s cane. In
China it might include some sort of dismemberment?