Mansur emptied his goblet.
'Some have red hair,' he remarked.
Chiao Tai gave him a searching look. Since the man was talking such arrant nonsense, he must be getting very drunk.
'What about some Arab dances now, eh Mansur?' Yau asked with a broad grin. And to Chiao Tai, 'Ever seen Arab dancing girls, colonel?'
'Never! Do they dance as well as ours?’
Mansur sat up.
'By Allah!’ he exclaimed. 'Your question betrays your ignorance!’ He clapped his hands, and barked an order at the servant in Arabic.
'Watch the curtain!’ Yau whispered excitedly. 'If we are lucky, it'll be a real treat!’
A woman appeared in the curtain opening. She was just over medium height, and naked but for a narrow fringed black band round her hips. It hung so low that it left her belly completely bare, and its smooth rounded surface set off with disconcerting clarity the glittering emerald inserted into her navel. Her slender waist made her round breasts seem very large, her voluptuous thighs too heavy. She had a beautiful, golden-brown skin, but her face, though very expressive, did not correspond to Chinese standards of feminine beauty. Her eyes with their kohl-tinted rims seemed too wide, her scarlet lips too full, and there were curious kinks in her shiny blue-black hair. These un-Chinese features repelled but, at the same time, strangely fascinated Chiao Tai. As she was standing there observing the company with slightly raised eyebrows, her large, moist eyes suddenly reminded Chiao Tai of those of a doe he had killed by mistake while hunting, many years ago.
She stepped into the room, her golden ankle-rings making a faint, tinkling sound. Completely unconcerned about her nakedness, she made a bow in front of Mansur, touching her breast briefly with her right hand, then inclined her head to Yau and Chiao Tai. She kneeled facing Mansur, keeping her knees close together. When she folded her slender hands in her lap, Chiao Tai noticed with astonishment that her palms and nails had been painted with a bright red pigment.
Seeing Chiao Tai's admiring stare, Mansur's lips curved in a satisfied smile.
'This is Zumurrud, the Smaragdine dancer,' he said quietly. 'She will now show you a dance of our country.'
Again he clapped his hands. Two Arabs clad in wide gowns came from behind the curtain and squatted down in the farthest corner. One began to thumb a large wooden drum, the other tuned his fiddle, drawing the long curved rattan bow across the strings.
Mansur looked at the woman fixedly with his large, smouldering eyes. After a casual glance at him she half-turned on her knees, and surveyed Yau and Chiao Tai with an insolent stare. When Mansur saw that she was about to address Mr Yau, he shouted an order at the musicians.
MANSUR ENTERTAINS HIS GUESTS
As the fiddle started upon a low, wailing tune, Zumurrud folded her hands behind her head, and began to sway her torso to the slow rhythm. While doing so she leaned backwards, lower and lower, till her head was resting against the floor, on her folded arms. Her breasts pointed upward, nipples taut, while her curly locks spilled out over her shapely arms. She closed her eyes, the lashes forming two long fringes across her smooth cheeks.
The fiddler now moved his bow in a quicker rhythm; dull beats of the drum accentuated the melody. Chiao Tai expected her to get up now and commence her dance, but she remained motionless. Suddenly he noticed with a start that the emerald in the centre of her bare belly was moving slowly to and fro. The rest of her arched body remained completely still; only her belly moved, up and down, left and right, in a strange, staccato movement. The drumbeat quickened: now the emerald began to describe circles, which gradually became larger. Chiao Tai's eyes were riveted upon the green stone which glittered viciously in the lamplight. The blood pounded heavily inside him; his throat felt constricted. Perspiration came streaming down his face, but he did not notice it.
He woke up from his trance when the drum stopped suddenly. The fiddle ended with a few strident notes. In the dead silence that followed, the dancer raised herself to a kneeling position with the lithe grace of a wild animal and put her hair in order with a few deft gestures. Her bosom was heaving; a thin film of moisture covered her naked body. Chiao Tai now noticed the strong musk perfume she used; it was mixed with a strange, slightly pungent body-smell. Although he told himself that it was repugnant, at the same time it stirred some elemental feeling deep inside him, made him remember certain wild, animal smells of hunting, of sweating horses and red, hot blood at the height of battle.
'Mashallah!’ Mansur cried out admiringly. He took a foreign gold coin from his belt and placed it on the floor in front of the kneeling woman. She picked it up and without giving it a second glance threw it across the room towards the two musicians. Then she turned round on her knees and asked Chiao Tai in fluent Chinese:
'Has the stranger come from afar?'
Chiao Tai swallowed; his throat felt tight. He hastily took a sip from the goblet, and replied as casually as he could:
'I am from the capital. My name is Chiao Tai.'
She gave him a long look from her large liquid eyes. Then she turned to his neighbour and said listlessly:
'You are looking well, Mr Yau.'
The merchant smiled broadly. He said, imitating the Arab custom:
'I am in good health, praise be to Allah!’ Staring at her bosom, he said with a leer to Mansur, 'As one of our Chinese poets put it: The tree bends under the weight of the ripe fruit!’
Mansur's face fell. He watched Zumurrud sharply as she refilled Yau's and Chiao Tai's goblets. When she leaned forward to Chiao Tai, her strong, nearly animal smell gave him a tense feeling in the pit of his stomach. He clenched his large fists in an effort to control his surging blood. She bent her head close to him, a slow smile revealing her perfect teeth, and said in an undertone:
'I live on the first boat in the fourth row.'
'Come here!’ Mansur shouted.
As she turned to him, he hissed something at her in Arabic.
She languidly raised her eyebrows, then replied haughtily in Chinese:
'I converse with whom I please, oh master of many ships.'
Mansur's face contorted in an angry scowl. The whites of his eyes flashed as he barked:
'Bow and apologize for your insulting remark!'
She spat on the floor, right in front of him.
Mansur uttered an oath. He sprang up, grabbed her hair with one hand and pulled her roughly to her feet. Ripping off with the other the fringed band from her hips, he turned her round so that she faced his two guests and shouted in a strangled voice:
'Have a good look at the harlot's charms! They are for sale!'
She tried to shake herself loose, but he swung her round again with a savage jerk. Forcing her down on her knees and pressing her head to the floor, he barked an order at the musicians. The man with the fiddle rose quickly and handed Mansur the long rattan bow.
Chiao Tai averted his eyes from the crouching woman. He addressed Mansur coldly:
'Better settle your squabbles in private, Mansur. You are embarrassing your guests.'
Mansur gave him a furious look. He opened his mouth, then checked himself. Biting his lips, he lowered the raised rattan and let go of the woman's hair. He sat down again, muttering something under his breath.
The dancer came to her feet. She picked up the torn fringe, then turned to Chiao Tai and Yau and hissed with blazing eyes:
'Mark what he said. I am available to the highest bidder!'
Tossing back her head, she went to the curtain and disappeared. The two musicians hurriedly followed her.
'Spirited wench!' Yau said with a grin to Mansur. 'Quite a handful, I dare say!' He refilled Mansur's goblet, and added as he raised his own, 'Many thanks for this lavish entertainment!'