with a cry of “Ugh, how he stinks!”, and then plucks away the cloak for another look and shudder at you … well, you’re bound to wonder about the future, if you follow me.
Little An had it all settled, rot him. When she called, he waddled in, sulking furiously, and said that if she’d quite finished behaving like a rutting sow he would carry her to bed, and then slit the barbarian’s tongue so that the disgusting brute couldn’t blab when they took him to the Board of Punishments. I listened in cold horror, but she reclined gracefully in a chair and says yawning:
“Blood-thirsty little pig, you’ll leave his tongue alone – and the rest of him …” She stretched luxuriously. “Oh, An! Do you know what it’s like when your whole body melts in such ecstasy that you feel you’ll die of bliss? No, of course you don’t. But I do … now. I thought Jung was wonderful, but … oh, Jung was just a boy! This was like … who was that ancient god who used to rape everyone? It doesn’t matter.” She waved a languid wing in my direction. “Carry me upstairs … and have him taken to the Wang-shaw-ewen. Put him in –”
“Are you mad? Has lechery disordered your wits? What the devil is he to do in the Wang-shaw-ewen?”
“Die a happy barbarian,” purrs madam. “Eventually. Unless I tire of him first … which is unimaginable.” She sighed happily. “Of course, all that horrid hair must be shaved from his body, and he must be bathed in musk for that awful odour, and dressed decently –”
“You are mad! Take that … that thing to your own pavilion!” He gargled and waved his arms. “And when the Emperor hears of it, or Prince Kung – or your enemies, Sang and Sushun and the Tsai Yuan –”
“Oh, don’t be silly! Who would be so brave – or foolish – as to tell on the Concubine Yi? Even you aren’t so stupid … are you, Little An?” Just for a second the silvery voice hardened on that chilly note, and then she had risen, staggered, giggled, and broken into a little-girl sing-song: “I’m hungry, An! Yes, I am, An! And I want some pickles, An, and roast pork, and cherries, and lots of crackling, and sugared lotus seeds, and a cup of honeysuckle tea … and then sleep, sleep, sleep …” She leaned against him, murmuring.
“But … but … oh, it’s the infernal black smoke! It makes you mad, and irresponsible … and … and naughty! You don’t know what you’re saying or doing! Please, dear Orchid Lady, little Empress, listen to reason! You’ve enjoyed the beastly fellow – ugh! – isn’t it enough? You say no one would tell – but how if the Emperor came to your pavilion and found that … that creature –”
“The Emperor,” says she drowsily, “will never get out of his bed again. Why should he, when I’m always in it? But if he did, and caught me with twenty barbarians … d’you know what? He’d forgive me.” She brushed a wing playfully across his face. “If you were a man, Little An, you’d know why. My barbarian knows why!” She pushed away from him, laughing, and skipped unsteadily to my bench, beating her wings. “Oh, yes, he knows why! Don’t you, my ugly, hairy barbarian – so ugly, except for the happy part … See? Oh, An, I’m so happy!”
“Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!” He pulled her away; he was nearly in tears. “I won’t have it, d’you hear! It’s not decent – you, a great Manchoo lady – how can you think of that animal –”
“Oh, leave me alone – look, you’ve torn my wing!” The lovely mouth pouted as she smoothed her feathers. “You’ll make me angry in a minute, Little An – I should have you beaten for that – yes, I will, you blubbery little ape –”
“Have me beaten, then!” he squealed, in sudden passion. “Beat me for a torn wing – and what of your torn honour? You, Yehonala, daughter of a knight of the Banner Corps, mother of Tungchi, the seed of Heaven, to forget your loyalty to the Emperor! You indulge your wicked lust with this peasant savage – you, whose life’s duty is the solace and comfort of the Solitary Prince! Shame on you! I’ll have no part in it, and you can beat or kill me if you like!” He finished on a fine fearful flourish. “It’s not good enough!”
I’ve taken part in some damned odd scenes in my time, but I imagine a visitor to that room just then would have agreed that the present spectacle was unique. There we were among the furniture and dust-sheets: on my left, in brown robe and pill-box hat, twenty diminutive stone of blubber shrilling like a steam whistle; on my right, topping him by a head in her pearl-fringed block shoes, that incredible ivory beauty, her nudity only enhanced by the ridiculous trailing peacock wings and silver garters; they faced each other across the supine form of the pride of the 17th Lancers, trussed, gagged, and stark as a picked bone, but following the debate with rapt attention. My admiration, if not my sympathy, was all with Little An, as I looked at that lovely, silver-painted mask of a face beneath the coiled raven hair: suddenly it was wiped clean of drugged laughter, and the cold implacability that looked out of it was frightening. I even left off staring at those excellent jutting tits, which goes to show. I’d not have faced her for a fortune, but when she spoke it was in the same soft, bell-like tone.
“Eunuch An-te-hai,” says she, and negligently indicated her feet – and the poor little tub came waddling and sank down like a burst bladder. She touched his cheek gently with a silver talon, and he turned up his trembling pug face.
“Poor Little An, you know I always get my way, don’t you?” It was like a caress. “And you always obey, because I am your little orchid whom you have loved since I came here long ago, a frightened little girl to whom you were kind. Remember the watermelon seeds and walnuts, and how you consoled me when my heart was breaking for the boy I loved, and how you shielded me from the anger of the Dowager when I broke her best gold cup and you took the blame, and how you whispered comfort when first you wrapped me in the scarlet cloak and took me to the Emperor’s bed, trembling and in tears? ‘Be brave, little empress – you will be a real empress some day’. Have you forgotten, Little An? I never shall.”
He was leaking like the Drinking Fountain Movement by now, and no wonder. I was starting to feel horny for her again myself.
“Now, because I love you, too, and need you, Little An, I shall be honest with you – as I always am.” The silvery voice was sober as a judge’s now. “I want this barbarian, for what you call my wicked lust … no, no, it’s true. And why not, if it pleases me? You talk of honour, loyalty to the Emperor – what loyalty do I owe to that debauched pervert? You know I’m not a woman to him, but a pretty painted toy trained to pander to his filthy vices – what honour is there in that? You know, and pity me – and used to arrange those secret trysts with Jung, the man I loved. Where was my honour then?”
“Jung Lu was a noble, a Manchoo, a Banner Chief who would have married you if he could,” he whimpered, pawing her feet. “Oh, please, Orchid, I seek only your good – this thing is a barbarian brute –”
“But if I want him, Little An, mayn’t I have him … please? He is just a little pleasure … a watermelon seed. And he may have another use; you should know of it … and of other things, which it will soon be time to tell you.” She paused, head lifting. “Yes … why not now? This is a good secret place, away from big ears. Go – see that all is safe.”
He hopped up, all alarm, popped his head out, and came back nodding nervously. She sat down, motioning him to kneel close, and stroked his fat cheek playfully. “Don’t be frightened, small jelly. Just listen.” She began to talk, quite unaware that the big ears of the barbarian melonseed were understanding every word.
“Soon, Little An, two great things will happen: the barbarians will take Pekin, and the Emperor will die. No, listen, you fat fool, and keep your babbling to yourself. First, the Emperor. Only I and one discreet physician know
