Shamian Gate, page 2
“Yes,” Ashley said, pushing Fu-Han in a stroller to eliminate escape attempts and hopefully keep him from getting too tired and throwing yet another fit along the way.
Fu-Han looked up at Jeff, his dark eyes shining with less hostility and more curiosity today. Jeff wondered if the kid was starting to come around a little bit. It would be nice if they could have a full day of respite from the high emotion.
Maybe they could buy him some more candy. The boy existed on a diet of white rice, yogurt and hard candy. Not the good hard candy. The crappy hard candy: the kind no kid wants in their Halloween bag. The kind that sits in the candy dish for a year before mom tosses it into the garbage to make room for the next Halloween’s load of reject candy. Judging from Fu-Han’s teeth, he’d been chomping on a steady supply of hard candy since he had teeth to crack the sugar-hardened lumps. Jeff didn’t even want to imagine the dental bill in store for them upon their return to the States.
Looking at Ashley, lovely and travel-weary, it was clear she longed for a day of peace. Jeff lightly rubbed the small of her back. He didn’t mean for the gesture to be sexual in nature, but touching her sent goose bumps of desire over his flesh. He knew it was selfish, but they could use some intimate time together, if for no other reason than a unified need to release some tension. Alas, no such thing would happen until they were home. Last night, he sidled up alongside her in the too-narrow bed and played late night footsie, but she hadn’t moved nor indicated she welcomed the advances in any way. Jeff was smart enough to realize it wasn’t anything personal. Ashley was tapped out from night after night of emotional ass-whippings that went by the name Fu-Han. The kid had been pawing at her and fighting her constantly. Undoubtedly, she was all touched out.
The sun shone outside, reflecting from the polished marble floors of the lobby with a cheery, golden glow. Mei-Mei walked with quick scissor steps to the front glass doors, leading the way out. A stoic bell boy opened the door for them without staring … practically the only person in the hotel who didn’t stare at them. With all of the comings and goings at this hotel, a regular flow of Americans, Canadians, French and Germans adopting the “less than perfect” children of China, it would seem the natives would’ve been accustomed to physical deformities, lurching gaits and other attention-drawing “imperfections.” However, staring had been taken to a completely new art form in these parts.
“You will like this a lot!” Mei-Mei babbled on. “We see good tea, but good jade too. Lots of jade selling in the street markets. If you not get too tired, we go on to the mall—mall just like in America—and you see some pearls. Very good price. Can use credit card. Every good girl loves pearls, yes?” She laughed loudly without waiting for an answer from Ashley.
Jeff had to smile. Ashley looked over at him in vague amusement.
Jeff shrugged. “She has a point. Every good girl loves pearls, right sweetheart?”
“I just wonder how she knows I’m a good girl.” Ashley winked at him, as if maybe she’d been sharing his thoughts on the lack of loving since their arrival. “I could use just an ounce of her energy right now. Pearls are good too, though.” She laughed.
Jeff missed her laughter and relished the sound of it over the outside noise of the cars and crowds. Jeff kissed her on the cheek. “Just another few days and we’ll be on that plane.”
“That can’t come too soon.”
Their tour of the Tea Market was something to see. They left the creature comforts of the touristy hotel district behind and went into a real urban area. Along both sides of the road, street vendors hawked their wares. The buildings towered above them, a patched together collage of mud bricks, cement, wood and plaster. Most of the buildings looked condemnable, and yet business carried on here as it probably had for the last century, if not more. The alleyways between and behind the pieced together buildings were run down and dirty. Laundry hung to dry from every available space, high or low. Trees grew behind and between structures; cats ran from shops to darker places in search of rodents or to escape being food themselves. They saw a man, naked, washing himself in a basin of fetid water in plain view on the street. He stared at them as if they were the spectacle. In front of them on the sidewalk, a woman abruptly stopped with her son so he could pee on the road while crowds walked by.
The smell in the air was a funky mix of offal, sizzling food, tea, animals, and miles of unwashed humanity. There were people everywhere. Shoulder to shoulder. Heel to heel. The togetherness was unsettling. He wasn’t used to so much invasion of his personal space. He supposed personal space was rare in a country of over one billion people. Modesty, privacy, space: what were all those terms to a country too full?
Mei-Mei moved fast and talked faster. As much as she continued to claim she was bringing them to shop, all she really seemed to want to do was keep moving. The street vendors spanned as far as they could see amidst the crowds, lining both sides of every road in this depressed area.
Ashley finally insisted Mei-Mei stop because she wanted to look at some teapots. She held up a white pot with a stunning painting of red dragons for Jeff to see. “Isn’t this awesome?”
“All very nice!” Mei-Mei interjected. “Is good price, too! You see. Ask them. They bargain.”
Jeff smiled at Mei-Mei and nodded at Ashley’s find. He turned attention to a display of jade items, everything from amulets and carved animals to letter openers and knives. He picked up a nice pocket knife with a jade handle and admired it. None of the merchandise contained price labels, so he knew he’d have to haggle.
The old woman running the shop stared at them as if they were exhibits in a freak show. She stared at their son, Fu-Han, with a grim, thin-lipped smirk on her face that revealed what she was thinking: Stupid Americans got ripped off with this junk child China didn’t want—why did they want a less-than-perfect child? Fu-Han seemed upset with the unsolicited attention, but the surroundings were keeping him occupied for the time being.
Jeff stepped closer to the shop owner and showed her the knife. He put his hand protectively on Fu-Han’s shoulder. Fu-Han seemed to relax a bit. Jeff had to keep in mind the poor child had been hidden away in an orphanage all of his life, away from the “normal” people in society. The boy’s hand marked him as a freak to these people, a lesser being, less than human, garbage to be thrown away in a park. He ruffled Fu-Han’s hair and stayed close to the boy as he asked the woman, in Mandarin, “How much for the knife?”
The woman seemed shocked he spoke her language, and turned and jabbered at Mei-Mei, who shot back clipped words as if they were arguing.
Ashley leaned close to him. “Jeff, you can’t get something like that. It’ll never get through customs.”
“I’ll pack it in our checked bags. Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s going to cause trouble. It’s not worth it. If they throw you in some ancient Chinese prison, I’m leaving you and going home.” Ashley chuckled. “Besides, you know you can get that same thing for 99-cents plus shipping on eBay.”
“Through thick and thin, eh?” He gave her a sideways smile. “And sure, I know I can get this same cheap, poor quality jade knife on eBay, but it wouldn’t have the sentimental value. It’s a memento of our walking tour. Every time I pull this out to cut off a tag or clean my fingernails, I’ll remember this day with misty-eyed fondness.”
Ashley elbowed him playfully, and then leaned over the stroller to check on Fu-Han.
Jeff negotiated a price for the pocket knife, the teapot, and a package of brown-paper wrapped tea. He slipped the knife in his pocket, feeling pretty good about the purchase, but also feeling as if he probably just got taken.
“I think I paid more for this than she said it was to begin with.”
“Hard to say. But really, at this point, what’s another twenty bucks?”
He laughed, but sighed at the painful truth of the cost of the trip and adoption. He put his arm around her shoulders. “You want me to take the stroller for a while?”
“Sure,” she said.
Mei-Mei was already off and going. Chattering endlessly. With all the noise in the streets, they only picked up half words here and there. She turned and waved them on.
“Too slow, too slow,” Ashley hissed beside his ear in a mockery of Mei-Mei.
“Fat American, too slow!” Jeff whispered with a grin.
They followed their intrepid guide through the crowded street.
“We take short cut!” she said. She made a right turn into a gloomy alley with less traffic, for which they were thankful, but the narrow passageway was even grimmer than the crowded markets they left behind. There were broken windows in the walls lining the alleyway, piles of dirty rags that might have been laundry on the street, and what were obviously clumps of human feces scattered over the walkway. The smell was foul, and when they emerged onto the next street over, there was only vague improvement. Mei-Mei guided them through the dubious neighborhood, waving them through the crowd with shifty eyes.
Then she stopped suddenly. “Here it is!” she proclaimed as if there had been some previous conversation between them. “Good stuff here! Quality! Good price!”
They passed a shop with clear plastic bags full of dried reptile skins, lizards crucified on sticks, and live scorpions in a huge red bowl. Mei-Mei stopped next door, at the entrance to a shop of dusty porcelain and clay pots. These weren’t the same peddler-shop class merchants they witnessed in the other area of the market. Jeff imagined this shop owner probably specialized in something other than what was displayed on the street. The whole set up looked seedy, unsavory; something about it wasn’t on the up and up.
Ashley drew closer to Jeff, locking her arm in his as he pushed the stroller toward the shop. For the first time in his life, he experienced a paternal sense of fear for his new son. He wanted to leave.
“I think we’ve purchased enough pots for now. Maybe we can go find those pearls?” Jeff hoped to divert Mei-Mei away from this shop and back to the main street. Something was off here. From the way she was acting and looking at him, he could tell Ashley shared his sense of unease. The place gave off sinister vibes.
Mei-Mei either ignored him or pretended not to hear him. She didn’t even glance in his direction as he spoke. She talked quickly to the old man who ran the little shop. It was a small place, no bigger than a newsstand, but packed with pots and cups, statuettes and trinkets. The old man possessed an avian face and looked like the stereotypical, elderly Chinese man. He was so stereotypical, in fact, if there’d ever been a fictional show from the 1940s called Mysteries of the Orient, a caricature of a man like this would have been the star. His skin was parched from the sun, his long white hair secured in a rat-tail braid, his eyebrows wild. His traditional pajama-like, loose-fitting pants blew in the foul breeze sloughing through the street. To further solidify the typecast image, he had a wispy mustache and sharp beard. A jade pipe was clutched in his hand, and he was lighting it as Jeff and Ashley moved closer—hoping to convince Mei-Mei they really were serious about leaving now.
Ashley gripped Jeff’s arm. Jeff felt an increasing sense of something awry. Mei-Mei stared at them with the same forced happy smile she’d worn since the day she met them at the airport. The crowd pushed them closer to the store.
“Jeff—” Ashley whispered, but didn’t finish.
Jeff felt anxiety about Fu-Han, and kept the stroller near him. “Look, Mei-Mei, I don’t think—”
The old man silenced him with a sweep of his hand. He squinted and spoke in excellent English: “Do you want to see my secret room?” His tone was excited, as if his secret room contained priceless treasures of the ages.
Jeff frowned. He took a step back and instinctively began to push Ashley behind him.
He was about to answer when the man leaned toward him ever so slightly and blew a puff of pungent smoke directly into his face. Jeff coughed and felt his throat tighten.
A light tingling sensation began at the back of his skull. The feeling overtook him with an accompanying light headedness. His head swam; he felt like he was going to fall. The edges of his vision blurred. He reached for something on which to catch himself. He heard the crash and clatter of items falling to the floor beneath his weight as his field of vision quickly narrowed. He lost his balance.
He had two thoughts: I’m dying and Ashley.
The last thing he remembered was groping blindly for Ashley and finding she wasn’t where he expected her to be. Then the world around him sank into a swirling void.
Everything went black.
Chapter Four
Jeff awoke in a fog of confusion, his vision obscured. Thunder rumbled the air and rain fell nearby but he was not wet. He peered into sightless darkness that didn’t help his state of panic. He inhaled quickly, aware his hands and feet were tied. He lay on a hard-packed dirt floor that was achingly cold against his cheek. Instinctively, he thrashed against his binds, rolling his body to a seated position.
“Ashley,” he hissed, judging from the situation in which he found himself that he must not be too loud. “Ashley!” He grew quiet and listened. All he heard was the sound of his own breathing, his own pounding heart, and the rain. She didn’t answer.
He flung his body against a wall in order to better prop himself up in his awkward state. A ball of dim muddy light nearby slowly became visible. He was near a low window with no glass, open shutters and misty night air pouring through. The crispness of the air helped revive him. The last thing he remembered was the old man blowing smoke—smoke that must have been some sort of drug.
His eyes adjusted to the dimness. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his wits and surveyed his surroundings. He was in a very small, one-room structure. The only illumination came from a burning lantern perched on a wood stool in the corner. The sketchy light formed a halo around the metal lantern and bathed the shanty in a dim glow. The floor was slightly damp with an earthy smell. The walls were mud bricks, and the windows boasted open wood shutters with no glass. Rain smacked the ground outside and rhythmically dripped from the eaves. The chill of the stormy night washed over him as a rumble of thunder shook the ground, vibrating the entire structure.
From his position he could see every nook and cranny of the tiny dwelling. There was no Ashley, Fu-Han, or Mei-Mei. He was very much alone.
My God, Jeff thought. What happened?
He struggled to banish horrific thoughts of his wife, bound, beaten, raped, murdered—all kinds of terrifying, brutal imagery bombarded his imagination. He pushed those feelings of absolute panic as far away as he could, his whole body trembling in the process. He had to stay lucid. Think, Jeff, think.
He guessed that, wherever he was, his captors didn’t expect anyone to come running to help, even if he screamed or made a lot of noise, otherwise he would have been gagged. That led to the important question: Where the hell was he?
Before he could start asking the room full of nothing a litany of questions, he peered out of the nearest window toward a bobbing line of bright dots moving toward him. Rain fell heavier from the sky, turning the dirt around the small structure into a puddle of mud. No gutters or spouts directed the torrents, and so walls of water crashed before the window like waterfalls. Jeff struggled to see between the liquid sheets.
The white spots grew larger, soon revealing themselves to be lanterns clutched in the hands of very wet monks wearing gold-yellow robes splattered with mud. The cluster of men walked in a single file line down a mountain path and through the rivers of mud, weaving between other hut-like buildings and around the side of the dwelling where Jeff was imprisoned.
The door was flung open, the sopping wet men burst into the room, and everything seemed suddenly lighter. Jeff cringed against the illumination of the dozen or more lanterns.
He wanted to shout a thousand questions at his captors, but instead chose to remain quiet, hoping to feel out these bald clerics. They didn’t say anything however.
One taller, leaner, muscle-bound monk approached. Jeff’s eyes were drawn to the enormous knife clutched within the man’s fist. For some reason, along with sheer terror, Jeff’s thoughts were drawn to the historical Jim Bowie and the fight at the Alamo. This monk must be the Chinese equivalent of Bowie with a knife that big.
He drew closer to Jeff. Jeff threw up his bound hands, pleading for his life in Mandarin and English alike, but the man said nothing, grabbed the knotty rope binding Jeff’s ankles, and sawed it apart with the knife. Jeff’s feet snapped loose.
Jeff looked, surprised, at his free legs and then back at the huddled group of rain-drenched monks.
He thought of kicking the closest monk and trying to escape, but then images of old Shaw Brothers Kung Fu movies came to him, and he guessed one overweight, middle-aged American professor probably wasn’t much of a match for any one of these men, much less all of them put together. They were probably Kung Fu masters or something. Any move on his part to fight or escape would certainly result in him getting his ass kicked six ways from Sunday and hog-tied to a wood staff being carried by any two of these guys. He had a mental flash of an old oil painting, from his childhood Sunday school classroom, featuring Moses’s men returning from the Promise Land carrying huge grapes tied to a staff. Anyway, even if he could escape, he wouldn’t leave Ashley behind and since he had no fucking idea where she or Fu-Han might be, running away from here wouldn’t really solve any problems.
“发生了什么.Fāshēngle shénme? What’s going on?” Jeff said after an awkward and tense silence. He tried to sound authoritative, but his voice cracked with fear and he instantly loathed himself for the softness a life in academia had wrought in him, for not being some kind of Rambo that could save himself, track through the jungle or wherever the hell he was, and find his wife and newly acquired child. He felt nothing but loathing for his general inability to do anything for them at all.
One of the monks looked at him stoically, and then motioned he should follow. Not that he had a choice.
