The Island Where Time Stands Still (33 page)

The ancient hostelry to which they went had a glazed tile roof with up-curved corners and glaring dragons to drive off evil spirits; but fundamentally it had a marked similarity to the great English inns of coaching days. It was two-storied and built round a big courtyard in which caravans assembled and departed, while behind its main block lay a large enclosed garden that, although dusty, had a number of fine trees growing in it. A balcony ran right round the upper storey and Kâo secured rooms for them opening out on to it at the back. They were sparsely furnished, each having only a cot and a primitive-looking wash-stand; but the outlook was pleasant, and with the bedding, etc., they had brought themselves, they soon made them reasonably comfortable.

They had hardly got settled when the landlord sent a servant up to tell them that an official was below asking to see
them. So far, having mingled inconspicuously with the broad stream of life that never ceased to pulse on the great water highway had saved them from being called on to produce their papers; and they thought it the most evil luck that, after reaching almost the outskirts of China, they must now face the risk of being questioned. But there was no alternative; so, in considerable trepidation, they went downstairs.

The official was a lean, bespectacled young man dressed in the khaki uniform that the Communists affected. With the ill-grace of one whose head has been turned by the grant of power beyond his mental capacity, he abruptly demanded their papers.

Kâo produced the papers of his party, but with a cunning that showed his ability as a negotiator, did not at once hand them over. Instead he complimented the young man on his smart appearance and said how much credit officials of his type did to the regime. He then went on to speak of their journey, implying that they had come from Nan-king, and casually referring by name to several well-known Communist leaders as if they were his personal friends. He then held out the papers in a bunch as though they were of little importance.

As soon as the young official began to sort them out they saw with relief that his degree of literacy was distinctly on the low side; so in a fatherly manner, Kâo set about helping him. The descriptions on the permits to travel bore only a vague resemblance to the travellers, and some of the dates on them had been not very skilfully altered; but the fat and jolly Kâo had a ready answer for everything, and after an extremely anxious twenty minutes, the Communist expressed himself as satisfied. It was now in order for Kâo to make him a present for his trouble in coming to see them; and, as it was on the handsome side without being suspiciously generous, he made no difficulty about issuing them with new permits to proceed to Yen-an. That done, he solemnly bowed himself out and, in great relief, they returned to their rooms.

After sleeping through the hottest part of the day Kâo went out to arrange for his party to join a caravan, taking
P'ei with him. Gregory then suggested to A-lu-te that they should have a walk in the garden. As Su-sen was already sitting on the balcony which overlooked it, mending some of her mistress's clothes, her presence there could reasonably be counted as sufficient chaperonage in the event of Kâo's returning unexpectedly; so A-lu-te smilingly agreed.

Under the trees near the inn there were tables and benches where guests could take their meals in the open; but at this hour of the afternoon they were occupied by only half-a-dozen people, and the far end of the garden was deserted. While in the sampan the whole party had lived at such close quarters that Gregory and A-lu-te had never been out of ear-shot of one or more of their fellow travellers; so now, from force of habit, they spoke only of how long the last stage of the journey was likely to take and ways in which they might minimise its probable discomforts. It was not until they reached the bottom of the garden that, glancing up, Gregory noticed that several of the great trees there had solid platforms erected in their forks, with small tables on them, so that people could have light refreshments up among their leafy foliage. Pausing by one that had a short ladder propped against its lowest branch, he said:

‘These human birds' nests are rather an amusing idea. Let's go up and see if this one is comfortable to sit in.'

A-lu-te hesitated only for a moment, then climbed the ladder. The roughly-circular platform was not much more than five feet in diameter, so there was room on it only for the table; for seats two small bamboo settees with carved backs had been wedged between pairs of the most conveniently placed branches. Each was just large enough to hold a couple, and they sat down together on the nearest.

A short silence fell, during which Gregory suddenly remembered where he had seen a similar tree-tops restaurant. He had visited it only once, in the days of his hectic youth. It was a summer resort outside Paris, and he had been taken there by a pretty artist's model who had been delightfully pagan in her morals. He recalled now that the restaurant itself had private rooms upstairs, and was the type of
maison
to which, in those days, Frenchmen took their mistresses on Sundays; so it was no place in which to entertain a respectable young lady. With these thoughts in mind he began to wonder if he had not been rather rash in bringing A-lu-te up to the secluded retreat.

As he turned to look at her he saw that she was regarding him with a puzzled, slightly anxious smile, and she asked: ‘Why did you suggest coming up here? Do you not wish to drink the waters of my mouth?'

It was an invitation that would have tempted any man, and to have refused it would obviously have hurt her cruelly. Consequences, he felt, must now take care of themselves; but she was not a child and he hoped that if he kept his love-making on the light side, she would not take it too seriously.

His hopes were promptly and completely shattered. After their first long kiss she gave a sigh of happiness and whispered, ‘I am so glad you love me; for I have long made up my mind that we are perfectly suited to enter on marriage.'

Gregory was a past-master at concealing his emotions in a crisis; so he managed to hide his consternation, and threw out only a subtle doubt which could not offend her. Kissing her hand he said earnestly: ‘My beautiful A-lu-te, I should be the happiest of men, but for one thing. It breaks my heart to admit it, but we must face the fact; I am much too old for you.'

She gave a low laugh. ‘Nonsense, dear one! Age matters nothing. Chinese girls are often given in marriage to men old enough to be their fathers, and learn to love them. In our case I do not have to learn, because our minds are so wonderfully attuned already. For that reason alone I would still wish to marry you if your hair was white. As it is I count myself truly fortunate that you can give me joy with your body as well as your mind.'

After her declaration there could be no question of finding a pretext for getting her down from the tree before giving her another foretaste of the joys she visualised; so Gregory again took her in his arms. His reluctance to do so had been based solely upon fears that her liking for him might develop
into a passion; but now that control of the situation had become temporarily beyond him, he no longer hesitated to take full delight in her sweet breath, soft lips and scented hair.

Presently they began to talk in low voices, and she praised the restraint he had shown in taking no risk which might have compromised her during their long journey from the coast. By vowing that he had hardly slept from the thought of her being so near yet inaccessible, he brought happy blushes to her cheeks; but, even as he spoke, he began uneasily to wonder what line of conduct she would expect him to pursue now that, willy-nilly, she had made him her betrothed. Loath as he was to commit himself still more deeply, he felt that he must ask:

‘What about your uncle? Would you like me to request a formal interview with him?'

She shook her head. ‘No. Our circumstances are so unusual that he could not give his consent to our engagement. It is better that he should remain in ignorance about our feelings; otherwise he might think it his duty to my father to take special measures against our even talking together. We must be more circumspect than ever and possess our hearts in patience. All will be well in time, and I will bear you many fine sons.'

In spite of this generous promise, Gregory was by no means sorry to learn that she wished to keep their engagement secret. He estimated that the best part of two months must elapse before they could get back to the island, and in that time much might happen. It seemed highly probable, too, that old Sze Hsüan would have the strongest objections to his most cherished daughter marrying a ship-wrecked foreigner. After a moment, he said:

‘Our circumstances certainly are unusual; and not very happy ones as far as your father is concerned. Naturally he must be expecting you to marry someone who is in the running as a future Mandarin. I'm afraid he'll be far from pleased to learn that you wish to throw yourself away on a person of no consequence.'

A-lu-te smiled up into his face. ‘You are quite wrong there. My father is a philosopher. He is both wise and kind. He knows that I have long outgrown the possibility of becoming a suitable wife to one of the young men of the Seven Families. Yet his fundamental belief in the
yin
and
yang
cannot have failed to make him aware that no woman is complete until she marries. That consideration will, I am sure, weigh with him beyond all else. And there is yet more to it. Normally, among us, when a girl marries she bids farewell to her family and becomes as much a member of her husband's as if she had been born into it. But you have no family. So I believe that in you I will bring my father the son he has so long desired.'

On that score there was obviously no more to be said. Gregory could not help feeling rather like a young man of Victorian times who, having kissed an attractive girl in a conservatory, afterwards found himself compelled to propose, simply because in her innocence she would have felt outraged if he had failed to make an honest woman of her. A-lu-te had laid no snare for him; but clearly, in spite of her superficial Western culture, the tradition of her race and caste had, after their one physical contact on the yacht, established it in her mind that there could be only one satisfactory outcome to their association.

He wondered how he would have felt had he been twenty years younger, and decided that the thoughts of spending the rest of his life in the island would have driven him in revolt. But now there were considerable attractions in the idea. What more could a man of his age ask of the Gods than to spend the remainder of his days in comfort, security and delightful surroundings with a young, beautiful and unusually intelligent wife? Both mental and physical attraction having already drawn them together, time might well quicken his heart again, to something much more vital than a fondness for her. That his instinct, in endeavouring to avoid anything in the nature of an affair with her, had been right he was now more than ever convinced. But marriage was another matter. He knew that he would never love any
woman again as he had loved Erika; but he could give more to A-lu-te than any man who, in her peculiar circumstances, she was likely to meet, and himself be the happier for it. Even the idea of marrying again was going to take a lot of getting used to, so he was glad that plenty of time lay between the tree-top and the altar; but for another hour he dallied very happily with his charming fianceé.

Kâo did not return until just before the evening meal. Over it, he told them that he had hired porters, tents, camp-kit, ponies and three good camels with palanquins; one for A-lu-te, one for Su-sen and a third in the hope that the Princess would be returning with them. From Tung-kwan, at irregular intervals, caravans set out for all the principal trading places of central Asia, some of which were over two-thousand miles distant; but Yen-an being the capital of the neighbouring province, caravans went up to it three times a week, and, as luck would have it, one was leaving at dawn next day.

When they had finished their meal, Gregory took A-lu-te out on to the front balcony, and they stood for a while over the main entrance of the great caravanserai watching the animated scene in the big courtyard below. The caravan with which they were to leave was already assembling there. Camels and ponies were being picketed for the night, bales of merchandise were being stacked ready for loading, and fires were being lit round which the drivers would doss down near their animals.

Suddenly Gregory leaned forward. He thought he had caught sight of Foo; but the slim figure was some distance off and the scene was lit only by the afterglow of sunset, so the light was deceptive. For a second Gregory was on the point of dashing down to make certain; but, even as he moved, the figure hurried towards the gateway and, mingling with the crowd became lost in it.

On thinking the matter over, he realised that it had been no more than a momentary glimpse of an upturned face that he had caught; and, as a European, he still found it difficult to tell one Chinaman from another when they were
some way away from him. Besides, he had left Foo in Antung-Ku. If the ex-stowaway had been following them to pursue some inexplicable vendetta, why should he have wasted so many opportunities in the twenty nights that the sampan had been tied up near the wharves of towns and villages? Deciding that he must have been mistaken, Gregory made no mention of the matter to A-lu-te; and, as they had to make a very early start in the morning, they went to bed soon afterwards.

They were called well before dawn and dressed by candle-light, putting on the special top clothes that Kâo had bought them for the journey. These consisted of long cloaks with big hoods which could be drawn right over the head as a protection against wind and driving sand. After a ‘first rice' of stew and noodles they went out to the courtyard. It was then it occurred to Gregory that he had not seen P'ei since the previous afternoon, and he asked Kâo what had become of him.

‘If one is prepared to travel hard one can make journeys such as this much more swiftly than with a caravan,' Kâo replied. ‘I dispatched P'ei with a guide on fast ponies yesterday to Mr. Lin Wân, to hand him a letter of greeting and inform him that we are on our way to Yen-an.'