There wasn't a "best" room available, until Szu-Zhan shrugged back the cloak she'd picked up, and rested her hand on her cleaver-hilt, at which mine host blenched and wondered if the Paddy-field Suite wasn't vacant after all; he signified this by grovelling at our feet, beating his head on the ground in the kow-tow ("knocking head", they call it), pleading with us to wait just a moment, and then scrambling up, grabbing a servant, and getting him to deputise as kow-tow-er while the host scurried off to eject a party who had just booked in. He fairly harried them out, screaming—and they went, too, dumb and docile—while the servant continued to bash his brains out before us, and then we were ushered in, another tea-pot was presented with fawning servility, and we were assured that dinner could he served in the apartment, or in the common-room, where a wide variety of the choicest dishes was available.
It was the usual vile assortment of slimy roots and gristle which the Chinese call food, but I had a whole chicken, roasted, to myself—and it was during the meal that I realised my companions were not "Chinese", but Manchoos. The common Chinks eat out of a communal rice-bowl, but even the lowliest Manchoo will have his separate rice-dish, as Szu-Zhan and her companions did. (Better-class Manchoos, by the way, seldom cat rice at all.)
Other interesting native customs were to be observed after t he meal, when the six, gorged to the point of mischief, announced that they were off to the brothel next door. I've never seen prostitution so blatant as in China, and this although it's a hanging offence; all through our meal, shabby tarts with white-painted faces had been becking and giggling in the door-way, calling out and displaying the mutilated feet by which the Chinese set such store, and the lads had been eating faster and faster in anticipation. Now, with the samshu and tea going round, Szu-Zhan, who'd been leaning back against the wall, sipping and eyeing me restively, threw a bag of cash on the table and reminded them that we would be off at dawn. Put money in front of a Chinese, even if he's starving, and he'll gamble for it; they turned out the purse, yelping, and fell to choi-mooy, the linger game, in which you whip your hand from behind your hack, holding up one or more fingers, and the others have to guess how many, double quick.
In two minutes they were briefly at blows, with the tarts hanging over the table, egging them on; then they settled down and the fingers shot out to a chorus of shouts, followed by groans or laughter, while Szu-Zhan and I sat apart, nibbling a fiery-tasting ginger root which she'd spoke for, and killing the taste with tea and samshu.
I watched her, strong teeth tearing at the ginger root, and saw she was breathing hard, and there was a trickle of sweat down the long jaw; she's on a short fuse now, thinks I, so I took her hand firmly and led her out and quickly across to the room. I had her shirt and breeches away before the door closed, and was just seizing those wonders, yammering with lust, when she spun me round in an iron grip, face to the wall, and disrobed me in turn, with a great rending of linen and thunder of buttons. She held me there with one hand while with the other she drew a long, sharp finger-nail slowly down my back and up again, faster and faster, as she hissed at my ear, biting my neck, and finally slipped her hand round my hips, teasing. I tore free, fit to burst, but she turned, squirming her rump into me, seizing my wrists and forcing my fingers up into her chain collar, panting: "Now, Halli', now—fight! Fight!" and twisting her head and shoulders frenziedly to tighten my grip.
Well, strangulation as an accompaniment to la galop was, I confess, new to me, but anything to oblige the weaker sex (my God!). Besides, the way she was thrashing about it was odds that if I didn't incapacitate her somehow, she'd break my leg. So I hauled away like fury, and the more she choked the wilder she struggled, plunging about the room like a bronco with Flashy clinging on behind for his life, rolling on the floor—it was three falls to a finish, no error, and if I hadn't secured a full nelson and got mounted in the same moment, she'd have done me a mischief. After that it was more tranquil, and we didn't hit the wall above twice; I settled into my stride, which calmed her to a mere frenzy of passion, and by the time we reached the ecstatic finish she was as shuddering clay in my hands. As I lay there, most wonderfully played out, with her gasping exhausted beneath me, I remember thinking: Gad, suppose she and Ranavalona had been joint rulers of Madagascar.
The trouble was that, being so infernally strong, she recovered quickly from athletic exercise, and within the hour we were at it again. But now I insisted that I conduct the orchestra, and by giving of my artistic best, convinced her that grinding is even better fun when you don't try to kill each other. At least she seemed to agree afterwards, when we lay in each other's arms and she kissed me lingeringly, calling me fan-qui Halli' and recalling our contortions in terms that made me blush. So I drifted into a blissful sleep, and about four o'clock she was here again, offering and demanding violence, and this time our exertions were such that we crashed through the top of the bed into the fireplace, and completed the capital act among the warm embers and billowing clouds of ash. Well, I reflected, that's the first time you've done it in a Chinese oven'. Semper aliquid novi.
A little touch of Flashy in the night goes a long way with some women; then again, there are those who can't wait to play another fixture, and so ad infinitum. I suppose I should be grateful that Szu-Zhan the bandit was one of the latter, since this ensured my safety and also gave me some of the finest rough riding I remember; on the other hand, the way she spun out that journey to Nanking, over another three days and tempestuous nights, it looked long odds that I'd have to be carried the last few miles.
She gave me concern on another, more spiritual score, too. As you know, I've no false modesty about my ability to arouse base passion in the lewder sort of female (and some not so lewd, neither, until I taught 'em how), but I've never deluded myself that I'm the kind who inspires deep lasting affection—except in Elspeth, thank God, but she's an emotional half-wit. Must be; she's stuck by me for sixty years. However, there were one or two, like Duchess Irma and Susie, who truly loved me, and I was beginning to suspect that Szu-Zhan was one of those.
For one thing, she couldn't get enough of my company and conversation on the march, plaguing me to tell her about myself, and England, and my time in the Army, and places I'd visited, and my likes and dislikes … and whether I had a wife at home. I hesitated at that, fearful that the truth might displease her, but decided it was best to let her know I was spoke for already. She didn't seem to mind, but confessed that she had five husbands herself, somewhere or other—a happy, battered gang they must have been.
She would listen, intent, to all I said, those slant eyes fixed on my face, and the arch, satisfied smile breaking out whenever I paid her any marked attention. Then on the last lap into Nanking she fell thoughtful, and I knew the poor dear was brooding on journey's end.
On the previous afternoon we had come into Taiping country proper, and I saw for the first time those red jackets and blue trousers, and the long hair coiled in plaits round the head that marked the famous Chang Maos, the Long-haired Devils, the Coolie Kings. What I'd heard was true: they were finer-featured than the ordinary Chinks, smarter, more disciplined even in their movements—aye, more austere is the word. Their guard-posts were well-manned, on the march they kept ranks, they were alert, and full of business, holding up their heads … and I began to wonder if perhaps Napoleon was right. The greatest rebellion ever known; the most terrible religious force since Islam.