paper and a pencil.
As you know, my dear Pugglovna, I have been blessed with an excellent memory for pictures, so I was able, in a short while, to conjure up a perfectly passable impression of the painting in question (a view of Macau). Zadig Bey said afterwards that it was indiscreet of me to do this as one of Mr Chinnery’s chief complaints against Lamqua is that he copies the style of his paintings. But I own that I do not give a fig for this argument: it seems to me that a man who is shamefully neglectful of the Lives that issue from his loins has no right to be protective of the Works he creates with his hands.
And this brings me, my dear Puggly, to the matter which is of greatest interest to you: your camellias. For Lamqua was so delighted with my little offering that he asked at once if there was anything he could do for me. This emboldened me to hand him Mr Penrose’s picture: I told him that it belonged to a friend who was keen to know about the subject and provenance of this painting.
It took Lamqua but a moment to declare that he had never seen this particular flower – but that did not prevent him from minutely examining the picture. He turned it over, again and again, feeling the paper and even moistening the edges. He said he was almost certain, from the style, that the picture had been painted in Canton; and the condition of the paper suggested to him that it was about thirty years old. Yet he was hesitant to hazard a guess as to who the painter might be: he gave me to understand that the illustrators who make a speciality of botanical and zoological paintings have always been a little removed from the general run of Canton’s artists; they do not as a rule serve apprenticeships in studios as do most others; instead they are employed by visiting European botanists and collectors, who train them in the methods that are particular to their work. For this reason too their work is rarely seen in China – their pictures are usually shipped off to Europe along with the accompanying botanical collections.
Here Lamqua paused to reflect for a while. Then he said that although he could assist me no further himself, he knew of someone who might be able to do so: he was a collector of plants and pictures and an authority on both subjects. He, if anyone, would be able to point me in the right direction.
And who, pray, was this collector? Zadig Bey knew his name although I did not: he is one of the great magnates of the Co-Hong guild, a fabulously wealthy merchant who goes by the name of Punhyqua. Lamqua knows him well and said one of his apprentices would make arrangements to take me to him.
This apprentice was then sent for – and that, Puggly dear, was when it happened! When he stepped in I knew, within minutes, that this was no ordinary meeting: a Palpitation went through me, and my hands flew to my chest, as if to quell the pounding of a drum.
His name is Jacqua and you must not think that I am speaking of an Adonis, or of a golden, peach-plucking Botticelli youth: no, not at all. Jacqua is not tall and nor is he athletic in build, but there is in his face a luminous quality, in his eyes a glitter of calm and directed intelligence that no paintbrush could ever capture. Indeed I confess there is no image in my memory, no picture nor portrait, to which Jacqua conforms! It is not often that I meet such a person (no one knows better than you, Puggly dear, how many pictures are stored in my head) but when I do it is always strangely thrilling, for I know that I am in the presence of the New, standing upon the precipice of a discovery, a fall, an adventure…
Oh my sweet Princess of Pugglovia, if I thought you knew how, I would ask you to pray for me… for I do think it possible that I may at last have encountered the One – the True Friend I have always sought.
And I should add that this was not the only heaven-sent encounter of the week: I have also found the most astonishing courier – you will see for yourself when you meet him.
*
One morning, when the air was brisk but not yet cold, Bahram looked out of the daftar’s window and saw that most of the locals had exchanged their summer wardrobes for heavier clothing: gone were the cotton tunics and pyjamas, the light slippers and silk caps – they had been replaced by quilted robes and embroidered leggings, thick-soled shoes and fur hats.
Bahram knew exactly what had happened: the Governor of the province must have been seen in his winter clothes the day before: this was always the signal for everyone else to follow suit and unpack their winter clothes. It was just like the British in India – except that here the Governor had to await a signal from faraway Peking. The strange thing was that considering how far the capital was and how different the climate, the change of wardrobe in Canton was never out of kilter with the north by more than a few days.
Sure enough, a couple of days later a chilly wind began to blow from the north and the temperature suddenly plummeted: in the daftar it was so cold that charcoal-burning braziers had to be brought in.
The change in weather brought in its train rumours of changes of another kind. In the afternoon Zadig dropped in to say that he had picked up some interesting gossip: the present Governor of the province, who had been so zealous about seizing opium, burning crab-boats and prosecuting dealers, was being recalled to the capital: apparently a new official was to be appointed in his place.
Fanqui-town had been so beset by rumours, of late, that Bahram was careful not to invest too much hope in this report. For a few days he asked around discreetly and although he was unable to find any direct confirmation, he did learn that many others had heard the same reports – indeed there was so much speculation on this subject that the rumour seemed to have crossed the boundary that separates conjecture from news. And the consensus, at least among the Committee, was that the change was a hopeful sign.
This was hugely encouraging to Bahram. Over the last couple of weeks he had received several anxious inquiries from the Bombay businessmen who had invested in the Anahita’s cargo: they had heard reports of the damage the vessel had suffered and had written to ask when they might expect to recoup their funds. Bahram’s answers had been apologetic but reassuring, informing them that the Canton market had been unusually dull of late but was expected to improve soon. He had not had the heart to tell them that the Anahita was still anchored near Hong Kong, with her holds almost full; nor had he let them know that he had yet to receive a single feeler from an interested buyer. Now, emboldened by the rumours of changes in the provincial administration, he decided that the time had come to inform his investors that some positive portents had at last been glimpsed on the Chinese firmament.
Take a new letter, he said to Neel. Start with the usual opening and then continue with this: As you know, the Canton markets have been very dull of late because of certain policies pursued by the present Governor. But your humble servant wishes to inform you that a change of direction has been signalled by the highest authorities in China. It is widely believed that the present Governor is soon to be recalled to the capital. The name of his replacement is not yet known, but I need hardly explain that this is a most welcome sign. It is possible that conditions here may soon return to normal, in which case it is not unreasonable to expect that we may also be able to dispose of our cargoes at a time when there is a great deal of pent-up demand…
At this point there was a loud knocking on the daftar’s door.
Patrao! Patrao!
Vico? What is it?
The door opened just wide enough to admit Vico’s head: Patrao, there’s someone to see you.
Now?
Bahram was both surprised and annoyed by the interruption: it had long been his practice to reserve the first hours of his workday for his correspondence, and his standing instructions to his staff were that no visitors were to be admitted to his daftar until after his mid-morning chai break.
What is this nonsense, Vico? A visitor at this time? I’ve just started a letter.
Patrao, it is one Ho Sin-saang. His full name is Ho Lao-kin.
This did nothing to mollify Bahram: Ho Sin-saang? Who’s that? Never heard of him.
Advancing a little further into the room Vico made a barely discernible gesture, with his forefinger, to indicate that he could say no more while the new munshi was in the room.
Bahram turned reluctantly to Neel: That’s all for now, munshiji – you can go to your cumra. I will send for you when I am ready.
Ji, Sethji.
Bahram waited till the door had closed again: So what is this about, Vico? Who is this ‘Ho Sin-saang’?
Patrao, he says you used to know him many years ago.
Arre, Vico, there are thousands of Ho Sin-saangs in Canton. How can I remember every one I’ve met? Especially if it was long ago?
Vico shifted his feet uncomfortably: Patrao, he says he was related to Madame…
