the cloak tightly under her chin. She craned foward to look at me, and the light fell on the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’ve said that of three women, and still do – Elspeth, Lola Montez … and Yehonala Tzu-hsi, the Orchid, the incomparable Yi Concubine. And it’s true of each in her own way: fair Elspeth, dark Lola … and Yehonala was the Orient, in all its pearly delicacy of flowerlike skin, lustrous black eyes, slender little nose, cherry mouth with the full lower lip, tiny even teeth, all in a perfect oval face; add that her hair was blue-black, coiled in the Manchoo style – and you ain’t much wiser, for there are no words to describe that pure loveliness. Who could have guessed that it masked a nature compounded of all the seven deadly sins except envy and sloth? But even when you knew it, it didn’t matter one damned bit, with that breath-taking beauty. She said it herself: “I can make people hate me – or love me with blind worship. I have that power.”
All I knew then, as she surveyed me, swaying and tittering excitedly, was that I’d never seen the like, and I can pay the little heart-stopper no higher tribute than to say that my first wish was that I had my uniform and a shave – being flat on your back, gagged and bound in a filthy loin-cloth, cramps the style no end. My second thought was that whoever had painted her mouth purple and her eyelids silver, with devil’s streaks slanting up the brows, had done her no service – and then I noticed that the black pupils were shrunk to pin-points, and the perfect lips were loosely open. She was rollicking drunk on opium. Her first words confirmed it, I’d say.
“Ughh! He’s … disgusting. Not human! Look at the hair on his chest – like an ape!” She shivered deliciously. “Are they all like this?”
“What did you expect?” pipes An fearfully. “I told you, but you wouldn’t listen! Yes, they’re all like that – some are even worse. Revolting. Now, please, come away –”
“They can’t be uglier than this! See his dreadful great nose – like a vulture’s beak! And his ears! And his hair!” She gurgled hysterically, and the lovely face came closer, wrinkling delicately. “He smells, too – ugh!”
“They all smell! Like sour pork! Oh, Orchid Lady, why do you wait, staring at the beastly thing! He’s a barbarian! Very well, you’ve seen him! And unless we make haste –”
“Be quiet! I want to look at him … he’s grotesque! Those huge shoulders … and his skin!” She put out a slim white hand, whose silver nails were two-inch talons, and brushed my chest with her finger-tips. “It’s like ox-hide – feel!” She squeaked with delight.
“I’ll do no such thing! And neither will you – stop it, I say! Eegh! To touch that foulness – how can you bear it? Oh, Orchid, mistress, I beg you, come before anyone finds us!”
“But his arms and legs, An – they’re enormous! Like an elephant. He must,” says she, all tipsy solemnity, “be terribly strong … strong as a bull, wouldn’t you think?”
“Yes, as a bull – and quite as interesting! Imperial Concubine Yi, this is not fitting! Please, I implore you – let us go quickly!”
“In a moment, stupid! I’m still looking at him …” She took an unsteady pace back, head on one side. “He’s an absolute monster …” She giggled again, her knuckles to her lips. “I wonder …”
“What! What do you wonder? Eh? Aha! I know what you wonder! Oh, vile! Shameless! Come away this instant! No, no –”
“I just want to look, fool! You wouldn’t care if it was a horse, or … or a monkey, would you? Well, he’s just a barbarian …” And before he could stop her she had swayed forward, laughing, and yanked at my loin-cloth; there was a rending sound, Little An screamed, averted his eyes, tried to drag her away, succeeded in pulling the cloak from her shoulders – and while her ladyship, oblivious, blinked in drunken contemplation, I returned the scrutiny with interest; in fact, I near swallowed my gag.
I should explain that she had looked in while returning from duty in the Emperor’s bed, and consequently was still in uniform. Or rather, out of it – and his majesty’s tastes were curious. She was dressed in enormous wings of peacock feathers, attached from shoulder to wrist, and high-soled Manchoo slippers from which silver cross-garters wound up to above her knees. The effect was striking; she was one of your slim, perfectly-shaped, high-breasted figures, with skin like alabaster – as I said, I never saw the like. She would have made a stone idol squeal.
“Put it back! Stop it! Don’t look!” Little An was in a frenzy, dropping to his knees beside her, pawing distraught. “For pity’s sake, Orchid Lady! Please, come away quickly, before … oh, Gods! What are you doing?”
It was a question which, had I not been gagged, I might well have echoed – rhetorically, since there was no doubt what she was doing, the wicked, insolent little flirt. She had detached a plume from her peacock wing and was tickling lasciviously, humming what I took to be an old Chinese lullaby and going into delighted peals at the visible result of her handiwork.
“Oh, buffalo!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands, while Little An stared in horror and absolutely beat his forehead with his fists, and the hapless victim struggled helplessly, distracted and outraged – for I have my dignity, dammit, and I bar being unbreeched and assailed by opium-sodden houris, however bewitching, without even a by-your-leave.
“Oh, horrible! Impossible!” Little An fairly gibbered. “Oh, lady – dear Orchid, please come away! See, I lie at your feet, I beg, I beseech – stop, stop! If someone should find us –”
“That would be unlucky – for them.” She stopped tickling, and laid hold. “Oh-h! Little An,” says she breathlessly, “go outside … and guard the door.”
He gave a frenzied neigh. “What will you do?” he squealed, which was as foolish a question as ever I heard, considering my condition and her behaviour. “No! I forbid it! You cannot! It is sacrilege, blasphemy – awful! It is improper –”
“Do you want to be alive tomorrow, Little An?” The voice was as musically soft as ever, but there was a note in it to bristle your hair. “Go out, keep watch … and wait till I call. Now.”
He gave a last despairing wail and fled, and she teased fondly for a moment, breathing hard, and then leaned over to look into my face, possibly to make sure I wasn’t going to sleep. Dear God, but she was lovely; the purple mouth was wide, panting violet-scented breaths, the black eyes were glittering as she laughed and called softly:
“Oh, An – he is so ugly! I can’t bear to look at him!”
“Then don’t!” His piping came faintly through the door. “Don’t look! Don’t do anything! Don’t touch it – him! Remember who you are, you bad, lascivious wretch – you’re the Imperial Concubine Yi, beloved of the Complete Abundance, mother of his only child, Moon to the Heavenly Sun! Here – are you listening?”
“What did you say about complete abundance?” chuckled the drunken hussy, and dropped her silk cloak over my face, to cut off her view, no doubt, damn her impudence. Her hands gripped my chest as she swung nimbly astride, her knees either side of my hips; for a moment she was upright, playing and fondling while I lay fit to burst, and then with a long shuddering sigh she sank slowly down, impaling herself, gliding up and down with maddening deliberation, and what could I do but close my eyes and think of England?
An said afterwards that it was incredible, and but for the gag I’d have cried “Hear, hear!”, supposing I’d had breath to do it. But while I wouldn’t
