Rare Earth/Chapter 20
Chapter XX
Canton, City of Mystery and Romance, of narrow sinister alleys forming a veritable mystic maze of allurement. Of lanterns and jades, of tapestries, fine embroideries and images. Here ten thousand odors fight for supremacy. Sometimes the result is nauseating, at times oddly enticing. The smells of China are like nothing else in the world, a dead dog lying in the sun, burning incense filtering through the lattice of a joss house, countless swarms of unwashed humanity as thick as flies around carrion, with now and then a whiff of sandalwood, jasmine or wistaria from the pack of an itinerant vendor of perfumes.
There are buildings in Canton that would not be out of place in fashionable London, there are streets that could compare favorably with the boulevards of Chicago but these are the result of Western influence. Whether it is for the better or not who can say? Certainly China flourished more gloriously before the influx of over-rated Western civilization. The greatest poets have come from China, the greatest artists, the greatest philosophers and inventors. The world has taken more from China than it has ever given in return. The white man is not nearly so much the hero-god that he would have other races believe. Wherever he has gone, trouble has followed. He has ruined the South Seas. He has left his curse on Tahiti and Papeete.
Canton is a discordant, musical, uncannily beautiful conglomeration of love and death, hatred and perfume. Always in Canton there is darkness and mystery, eyes peering out from behind drawn shutters, softly flickering lights, sinister silhouettes upon a Chinese screen. Yet when one has lived in China for awhile one always goes back. It is like a drug. Now China is beset by revolutions, political persecutions, seeds planted by the riffraff of other countries. She is suffering from growing pains. But some day she will emerge again, rid herself of foreign parasites that are not her friends and regain her place in the sun.
Arrived at Canton, Hung Long Tom and Scobee went directly to the Chinese garden in which Hung Long Tom's youth had been spent. It had been ages since he had gone away. What strange emotions stirred within him, who can say? Did he imagine that Lotus Blossom still lingered there in that garden? Had her soul remained hoping to hear his songs once more when the purple shadows of evening had crept down over the garden? Certainly it had not suffered in beauty, that garden, it was still as beautiful as when Hung Long Tom had left it. His servants had been worthy of their hire. They had not taken advantage of the absence of the master. Each day the garden had been carefully tended. It was not hard work. It was a labor of love for the children of Cheng Foong.
They adored flowers as do all men of China. And in that garden they had grown to man's estate. Cheng Foong had long since departed front is world and gone on a far journey. But his influence was still felt. The house was loo e after as carefully as when he was there to guide. Whenever a thing outside the usual routine arose the eight sons gathered to discuss the matter. They tried to pass upon it and decide as their noble father would have decided. It was a safe method to adopt for Cheng Foong had been noted for his sagacity.
Jade masters, philosophers, jewel merchants still came from the far quarters of the country to view the collection of jewels and jades which the father of Hung Long Tom had left Hoo, the eldest of the sons of Cheng Foong had been reared as a jewel merchant. He had studied for years with the set purpose of understanding the rare collections which the house possessed. He had read and absorbed a thousand books about jewels. He had memorized all the poetry that touched upon precious stones. He had gone far and wide to view collections of rich merchants. He was at last an authority whose opinion was not to be taken lightly. He was an artist to his finger tips. Few living men were better versed than he in the curious lore of jades, nephrites, amber, aquamarine, quartz, agate and cornelian.
Another son, Mang, was a lantern-maker. He created wondrous pagoda-shaped lanterns of silk and paper and strips of bamboo. All the colors of the spectrum did he use in his work and countless variations of blended tones. Rose-red, sky-blue, yellow-green, violet, amethyst, cream-pearl. It was his desire to make lanterns so beauteous that men would fall in love with them, even as is told about in an old poem.
"Before me
Lies a silk
And paper lantern.
The table is teakwood
With pearl-inlaid,
The lantern shaped
Like a pagoda.
And as I gaze
Thereon
A little lady
Walks slowly down
The steps
And bows before me.
There is no light
Within the lantern burning.
The light is from
The eyes
Of my Pagoda Girl."
It was Mang who tended to the decorations of the rooms, the hanging of the tapestries and written pictures, the arrangements of the rugs.
Three of the brothers, Yao, Siang and Lien were gardeners and so well did they pursue their trade the flowers that grew about the house of Hung Long Tom were more beautiful than any others in all Canton. Their father had taught them all he knew. For hundreds of years the family of Cheng Foong had been horticulturists. Servants they had remained, yet they were specialists in their chosen fields. And sometimes by the strange will of Destiny the servant in the house is happier than the master. Probably that is why Hung Long Tom, the master and wanderer had chosen to be a servant.
Zung, Phen and Kan, the remaining three brothers were the menials of the household. Zung was master of the culinary art. He presided over the kitchen. He was fat and bland and smiling, a born gourmet The savory dishes and sauces he concocted were as much objects of art as the lanterns of Mang, his brother. It was his custom to drop rose leaves and honeysuckle flowers into tea to give it a delicate flavor. He slept with his head upon a pillow stuffed with tea-leaves because tealeaves are good for the sight. Nevertheless he was very near-sighted and wore thick tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses. It never occurred to him to doubt the restorative power of the leaves despite the fact that they did so little for him. He was very fond of sweets, especially lotus flower seeds dried and cooked with sugar. But the delicacies for which he was most famous were pickled sharkfins, birds' nest pudding, egg jelly and a savory salad made of young bamboo shoots and water chestnuts.
Phen and Kan were the younger brothers. They were studying kitchen art under the guidance of the able Zung. But all the brothers in their spare time worked in the garden. It was a pleasant form of relaxation. The blended colors and perfumes, the eternal silence broken occasionally by the song of a lark was like sweet music.