3
Easter had been early that year. Since the Majestic was docking April 12, I had almost two weeks to get to San Francisco, more than enough time. It was a good thing that only two days passed between Lee Chang making the request and my leaving on my mission of "mercy". Otherwise, I might have reneged. It wasn't that I hadn't considered doing so, but then I'd think of my father's standing among the Chinese community, him being perhaps the only link between the two races, and also, when I thought of maybe Hoss and Joe escorting the two unknown women, I knew I didn't want to put either my brothers or the women in that position; if something happened, why Hop Sing might even be pressured to quit us and work in his Uncle Chou's laundry. Hoss would be heart-broken!
I guess I shouldn't treat the matter lightly as it was serious. First it was the Irish who were marginalized and then the Chinese moved in. Relations between the Chinese and the Irish, who lost many jobs to the Chinese laborers who worked for less, were volatile.
Granted, the Irish were slandered as being lazy drunks and a saying made the rounds, always clarified afterwards that it was only a joke, that every Irishman should kill a Chinaman and be hanged for it. It always got a big laugh. But to the Chinese, there was no distinction between an Irishman and any other hostile citizen of Virginia City.
I'm not pompous enough to think I held the tenuous racial peace in my hands but I did know that I should do whatever I could to maintain it. And if I hadn't, my father would have convinced me otherwise.
It was a cold morning as I prepared to leave – my breath frosting in the air. The sun hadn't yet risen and I hoped to put a good ten miles behind me before it did.
"Here, Adam," my father said, handing me the packets of food Hop Sing had prepared the night before. He had thanked me twice for taking on the favor. I tried to behave as if it was nothing and said so, but Hop Sing had become serious and told me, Mistah Adam not know importance. Cannot tell since bigger than words. Tonight, I light incense for household gods to watch over Mistah Adam and those in his care. I held no truck with Hop Sing's beliefs but somehow, it made me feel oddly comforted.
It was so early when I left the Ponderosa that Hop Sing wasn't even awake. He had grinned widely Sunday night when he told me he had packed left-over ham, a fresh loaf of sour dough, wedges of cheese and two cans of peaches.
Hoss had protested, pouted, stating he had planned on plenty of ham sandwiches and canned peaches with cream. "And now, I don't get to pour that sugar syrup over biscuits neither. And, dang, Adam, you just dump it out! What a damnable waste, just pourin' it on the ground for them ants!"
"Now, Adam," my Pa said in the crisp morning air, "if you run into any trouble, wire and I'll send Hoss and Joe. And don't think of being a knight in shining armor or anything." He shook his forefinger at me; it was his favorite weapon.
"Pa, I'm not Joe and I sure as hell am not Hoss. I don't believe that women are delicate flowers and I'm not going to sacrifice myself just so Fang Zhen can have a sweet piece in his bed. I should never have agreed but it's too late for backing out now."
"Well, I'm telling you to take care anyway."
I checked the cinch again and then my father stepped back while I mounted.
"Now wire me once you get to San Francisco, understand?"
"I understand, Pa. Now don't worry. You're getting to be like an old woman." But I knew how worried he was. He had mentioned twice Sunday for me to be extra careful and I had assured him I would be. But he had that look in his eyes when I reassured him, the same look he had now, as if he wanted to hug me, as if I was leaving for school back east again. "Besides, I've been to San Francisco hundreds of times. This is just one more. Now I'll see you in about three weeks, maybe a little longer."
So, I left my worried father standing in the dark of our yard and rode off for San Francisco. The trip was without incident, the ground still as hard as ever, the weather beautiful, and it seemed as if the ancient Chinese gods Hop Sing prayed to, smiled on me and my venture. I set up a snare and in the morning had a rabbit. He made a delicious breakfast and skinning him brought back memories of helping my father with the snares for coyotes and foxes and the traplines for beavers. Learning how to remove an animal's skin in one piece led to a feeling of competency that also made me feel confident and learn more about making a living on the land and surviving in the wilderness if necessary. I still hoped one day to teach a son of my own such things but was less confident with each year that passed that I would have any children at all.
I had time to stay overnight in Sacramento City and after a shower and dinner, I visited my favorite brothel this side of Lake Tahoe. Mamie, a tall, buxom blonde whom I always asked for, welcomed me with open arms — and legs. And as I lay back on the pillows and smoked a cigar while listening to Mamie ramble on about something – I don't really know, just nodded when it seemed appropriate – I considered men and women and how strong the drive was that made men search out accommodating females. And what about the act itself? I wondered if other men lived in their heads as I did, if during the act they observed their thoughts and if it affected their pleasure. I'd much rather just give myself up to the physical sensations, to merely rut, but my thoughts were always interfering with my total enjoyment; I could never revel in the sensations like a hog in the muck – but I so wanted to.
That was why I envied Hoss. He threw himself completely into all experiences – the taste of food, the warmth of the sun on a cold day, the humor of a good joke, the thrill of a fist fight, and most of all, the pleasures of a willing woman. Hoss never found himself analyzing what was happening, what he should say or do, how he felt – he just acted. I always wished I could be like that.
Once my time was up, Mamie wanted me to stay longer, to buy another bottle of champagne, insisting she would make it worth the money but I was finished with my business and now I wanted to be away from her – bad enough I'd have to wash again. Once I'm satisfied, I don't want to be reminded of that side of myself, of my occasional 'nostalgie de la boue' – a longing for the mud, as the French say. In that case, I guess I am akin to that hog wallowing in the muck and mud.
"C'mon, Adam Usually you're good for more than one throw."
I was trying to button up my shirt and she was playing with them, unbuttoning them. It annoyed me and I roughly pushed her hand away. Mamie stepped back, offended, as if a whore had a right to be offended when her customer wants to leave. But I don't like being rough or unkind, so I pulled an extra few coins from my pocket and holding her right wrist, slapped them in her palm. She smiled and her fingers snapped shut over them and I finished dressing, buckling on my gun belt.
"I have an early day tomorrow, Mamie. I need to get a good night's sleep." I shrugged on my trail coat.
"You stoppin' by on your way back?" Mamie asked as she slipped the coins into her wrap's pocket. She would have to hide the extra money from the madam.
"No," I answered, adjusting my Stetson. "I won't have time. Take care, Mamie."
Once I was outside in the cool air, I could hear the cacophonous piano music floating out of each and every saloon on that side of town. I was tempted to stop in one and have a few drinks and play a little poker even though I know how foolish it is to gamble in a strange town. You don't know who's a hustler and have no friends to back you up if you're accused of cheating. I was seriously considering it anyway when I suddenly realized I was looking for a reason not to be by myself and my thoughts. In playing cards, I focused on that alone – no intrusions. And my gut feeling was that I had allowed myself to be used by the Tong, specifically Fang Zhen and it made me angry with myself. Oh, Lee Chang had flashed enough reasons in front of my face but I had no interest at stake. Maybe I had taken the mission of delivering the "Lotus" just for vanity's sake. And my Pa's little aphorism came back to me, but even with being aware of myself, I was still a big fool.
My compromise was to buy a bottle of whiskey and hopefully, drink myself to sleep. But once I returned to my hotel room, I lay propped-up against my headboard and stared at the bottle. Then I pulled out the cork, took a swig and felt that familiar warmth. It relaxed me a bit and so I took another one, closed my eyes, and by feel alone, stuck the cork back in. Another man in my place might get drunk but not I. Actually, as hard as you might find it to believe, I've never been drunk. Not that I didn't have the chance – every man has the chance many times over – but I didn't like to lose control, to behave like the drunks I had seen, including my brother, Hoss. He would always piss the bed in his sleep if he'd had too much. As for Joseph, he just became silly and then vomited.
No, I followed the ancient Greek belief, "Nothing in excess." Even Thomas Aquinas believed that moral virtue observes the mean – right down the middle as too much pleasure causes pain. But sometimes I wondered if the experience of exquisite pleasure would be worth the repercussive pain. Maybe it would be, but not that night. So, with thought of obliging women, I eventually fell asleep. And surprisingly, slept well.