Sea of Poppies

'Robbery, sir, as far as I know.'

'That's all he's told yer?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Di'n't tell you he was a gull-choker, did'e now?'

'Don't follow, sir.'

'Robbed a nest of devil-scolders, he did.' The first mate shot a glance at Ah Fatt. 'In'it true, Jackin-apes? Cabbaged the Mission House that took you in and fed you?'

Now, as Neel turned to look at him, Ah Fatt mumbled: 'Sir. Is true I join Mission House in Canton. But was not for rice. Is because I want to travel West.'

'West?'

'To India, sir,' said Ah Fatt, shifting his feet. 'I want to travel and I hear Mission House send Chinese churchmen to college, in Bengal. So I join and they send to Mission College in Serampore. But I did not like. Could see nothing, could not leave. Only study and pray. Like prison.'

The mate guffawed: 'Is't true then? Y'stole the print off their machines? Beat a round dozen of them Amen-curlers half to death? While they were printing Bibles at that? And all for a penn'orth of elevation?'

Ah Fatt hung his head and made no answer, so Mr Crowle prompted him again: 'Go on then – let's hear it. Is it true or not that ye'did it 'cause of yer yinyan for the black mud?'

'For opium, sir,' said Ah Fatt hoarsely, 'man can do anything.'

'Anything?' The mate reached inside his shirt and produced a paper-wrapped ball of black gum, no larger than a thumbnail. 'So what'd ye' do for this then, Jackin-ape?'

Ah Fatt was standing so close that Neel could feel his friend's body going suddenly rigid. He turned to look and saw that his jaw muscles had seized up and his eyes had turned feverishly bright.

'Let's hear it then, Jackin-ape,' said the mate, twirling the ball between his fingertips. 'What would y'give for this?'

Ah Fatt's chains began to rattle softly, as if in response to the trembling of his body. 'What you want, sir? I have nothing.'

'Oh ye've got something right enough,' said the mate cheerfully. 'Ye've got a bellyful of the pale ale. Just a matter of where y'want to pu'it.'

Neel nudged Ah Fatt with his elbow: 'Don't listen – it's just a trick…'

'Stow yer jawin tackle, Jack-gagger.'

With a swipe of his boots, the mate kicked Neel's feet out from under, so that he fell heavily on the tilted deck, rolling headfirst against the bulwark. With his hands and feet bound, he could not do much more than flop around like an upturned beetle. With a great effort he managed to turn away from the bulwark, towards Ah Fatt, and was just in time to see his friend fumbling with the strings of his pyjamas.

'Ah Fatt, no!'

'Don't y'mind him, Jackin-ape,' said the mate. 'Y'do what ye're doin and don't be in no bleedin hurry. He's yer pal, in'e? He can wait for a taste o'yer brew.'

Ah Fatt was swallowing convulsively now and his fingers were trembling so much that he could not pick apart the knot in his drawstrings. In a fury of impatience, he sucked in his stomach and pushed his pyjamas down to his knees. Then, with shaking, unsteady hands he took hold of his penis and pointed it at Neel, who was lying curled at his feet.

'Go on then!' urged the mate. 'Do it, Jackin-ape. Never let yer prick or yer purse fail ye, as the cockqueans say.'

Closing his eyes, Ah Fatt turned his face to the sky and squeezed out a thin trickle of urine over Neel.

'That's the barber, Jackin-ape!' cried the mate, slapping his thigh triumphantly. 'Won me my wager, y'did.' He extended his hand towards the subedar, who duly placed a coin in it while muttering a word of congratulation: 'Mubarak malum-sahib!'

In the meanwhile, with his pyjamas still undone, Ah Fatt had fallen to his knees and was inching towards the mate, his hands cupped like a begging-bowclass="underline" 'Sir? For me?'

The mate gave him a nod. 'Ye've earned yer reward, Jackin-ape, no doubt about it, and ye're going to get it too. This here mud is good akbarry: has to be eaten whole. Open yer gobbler and I'll chise it to yer.'

Leaning forwards, Ah Fatt opened his mouth, trembling in anticipation, and the mate flicked the ball of gum out of the paper so that it dropped straight on to his tongue. Ah Fatt's mouth closed and he chewed once. Then suddenly he began to spit and cough, shaking his head as if to rid it of something unspeakably vile.

The sight raised howls of laughter from the mate and the subedar.

'Good day's work, Jackin-ape! There's a lesson in how to use a sprat to catch a mackerel. Gave yer mate a taste o'yer piss and earned y'self a gobful of goatshit to boot!'

Twenty-one

The wedding began in the morning, after the first meal of the day. The hold was divided in two, one part being designated the groom's and the other being allotted to the bride. Everybody chose a side and Kalua was picked to be the head of the bridal family: it was he who led the team that went over to the groom's half of the dabusa for the tilak ceremony, where the engagement was solemnly sealed with a reddening of foreheads.

The women had thought that they'd easily outdo the men in the matter of music, but a rude shock awaited them: it turned out that the groom's team included a group of Ahir singers, and when they began to perform, it became clear that the women would be hard put to compete.

… uthlé há chháti ke jobanwá

piyá ké khélawna ré hoi…

… her budding breasts are ready

to be her lover's toys…

Worse still, it turned out that one of the Ahirs was also a dancer, and knew how to do women's parts, having been trained as a dancing-launda back home. Despite the lack of proper costumes, make-up and accompaniment, he was persuaded to rise to his feet. A small space was cleared for him, in the centre of the deck, and even though he could scarcely stand without hitting his head, he performed so well that the women knew they would have to come up with something special if they were not to be put to shame.

Deeti, as the Bhauji who had organized the wedding, could not allow herself to be bested. When it was time for the midday meal, she gathered the women together and made them hang back in the dabusa. Come now, she said. What are we going to do? We have to think of something, or Heeru won't be able to hold up her head.

*

It was a withered piece of turmeric, from Sarju's bundle, that gave the bride's side a means of saving face: this root, so common on land, seemed as precious as ambergris now that they were at sea. Fortunately there was just about enough of it to produce a sufficient quantity of paste for the anointing of both bride and groom. But how was the turmeric to be ground, with neither stone nor mortar available? A way was found, eventually, involving the rear ends of two lotas. The effort and ingenuity that went into the grinding added an extra touch of brightness to the ceremony of yellowing, drawing chuckles even from the gloomiest of the girmitiyas.