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Chapter II
The Witch
Shanghai, 1870
Shanghai.
"The Great World" as the harbour town in the Delta of the yellow river Yangtze was affectionately called by those who inhabited it.
For some Shanghai was the accomplishment of all their desires. For most, however, it was a never satisfied Leviathan.
Day in, day out attracting new victims with its glorious, bright colours of the night and the pulsing rhythm of life and amusements. Boastfully promising all a man could ever wish for, just to consume each and everyone who had dared to come close enough to this dangerous flame. Mercilessly they were drawn to it like a helpless little moth to the tempting fire of a candle, dragged deeper into the abyss until there was no turning back and the once so promising lights burned them to nothing but ashes.
The never saturated city of Shanghai was eating its children. Slowly. One by one.
To make room for the never ending stream of new willing victims who just couldn't resist it's deceitful beauty.
A dirty, garbled city.
Overcrowded by people, bursting at all seams it extended further and further. Since Shanghai had opened itself for trade with the West almost ten years ago it had quickly become one of the most important transshipment points in the Far East. Trading with any kind of goods, both legal and even more illegal ones. Shrouded into a disgustingly sweet, foul smell it was always high on opium. The whole city was in search for the dragon.
Always and everywhere hectic stir and busy chaos reigned in the narrow streets. As far as the eye could reach men and women were shouting and yelling in an innumerable amount of languages. Running over the littered roads, offering all kinds of useful and useless things for sale, blocking the gravel streets on which sweaty, stressed out rickshaw drivers tried their best to cut their way through the omnipresent hurly-burly of horse carriages, pedestrians, running children and fellow rickshaw drivers. Always careful and anxious to make room for the few sedan chairs with their dark red satin curtains, probably hiding some almond eyed beauty from the capital.
Down at the stinking docks of the Yangtze, the vital line of Shanghai, bulky men discharged shipment after shipment to make room for more goods supposed to be exported into the wide world. Drunken sailors stumbled their way across the little passages between head-high stacked boxes of cargo. Always in search for more alcohol and some other entertainment a man would need after a long journey. The pubs, brothels and opium dens down there never feared a decline in customers. Even if some of the rowdies were thrown out of the establishments rather ungently they always came back without complaints – with money in their pockets, remembering nothing.
Day after day. All the same. The little red lanterns swayed slightly in the wind. Unimpressed.
This was the bottomless pit called Shanghai.
But sometimes, only sometimes there were these short precious moments, not much longer but the blink of an eye, when one could almost forget where one were. Just blank out the bad, sticky smell, the turmoil and annoying noises – the shouting of the old woman selling chicken on the nearby Nanjing Road, the dirty jokes of the men loading the ships, the drunken sailors singing their sea shanties and the way too high pitched voices of the prostitutes giggling.
Lazily the deep orange sun disk rose over the dark but glimmering water of the yellow river. The last remains of the grey fog of the night were dyed in soothing tangerine, slowly fading into a lighter shade of pink.
The sleeping city slowly opened it's still tired eyes to the rhythmic sound of the swiftly flowing Yangtze.
In the distance the masts of some western clippers with their bright, white sails topped the little junks with their reefed, blood red canvasses and dimly shining Chinese lanterns.
And suddenly, just like an apparition or a ghost from another, distant world The Witch appeared. Not much more but a formless shadow at first it quickly manifested itself against the colourful sky and the rising deep orange sun.
Her massive metal enhanced hull cut through the water like a knife, with it's gigantic white sails it ran before the wind, heading for the docks of Suzhou Creek.
Cutty Sark.
The Witch, how everyone respectfully yet a little teasingly called her.
Since her maiden voyage about three months ago she was the fastest of her kind, the Tea Clippers, sailing between London and Shanghai.
Awestruck I sat on top of one of the cargo boxes and stared open mouthed at the massive figurehead floating above the waves like a seductive goddess.
A beautiful pearly-white women with long flowing hair, holding in her extended hand something that vaguely resembled the tail of a horse.
I had no idea what was the purpose of this woman attached to the ship but if it was the intention of the Englishmen to intimidate us even further then they very much succeeded. Even though the woman was pretty, it was a rather impressive, almost frightening sight watching her coming closer.
I narrowed my eyes to slots to shield them from the dazzling sun, still eager to take a closer look at The Witch. I never saw her that close and it would be the first time for me to help loading her.
The metallic rattling of the anchor chain and the subsequent splash of water made me wince. Within seconds the short moment of peace and tranquility had vanished completely, had instantaneously made room for the loud shouting for the English sailors, yelling orders and commands I did not understand at all. Down there at the pier their Chinese trading partners buzzed around like bees, yelling the same orders the Englishmen did but in Chinese this time.
With a loud thud the plank hit the landing stage.
They always appeared so stiff.
With their dark suits, their canes and overly long black top hats they always looked to me like walking statues. And their perpetual stern, expressionless faces looked like they were always and everywhere expecting the worst. So this time was no exception when they went down the plank at a very leisurely pace. Screwing up their noses due to the fishy smell surrounding them they were unfolding little white handkerchiefs which they held over their mouths affectedly when they greeted their Chinese trading partners with a short nod.
It made me sick to my stomach to see them like this. My fellow countrymen, how they bowed their heads, bend their backs to degrade themselves even further.
Damn, spineless cowards!
But... one man on the pier caught my attention in particular. He was the only one who did not bend and bow, who simply nodded in the same dismissive way the foreigners did.
Keeping both of his hands hidden within the wide sleeves of his Thangzhuan he observed the landing of the ship eagle-eyed with a faint little smile dancing around his mouth's corners which were framed by a neatly cut, very thin moustache.
He was a tall man. Tall and slender, his heavy Tangzhuan almost reached his ankles and shimmered in the colour of jade. A very dark, intense green. And like a precious gemstone it was glimmering in the now quickly rising sun thus the ornamental embroideries depicting carps appeared almost blue.
The dress was expensive, I could tell even from this distance. Very expensive. Made of nothing but pure silk.
His long black braid almost reached his hips, was swinging slightly with every step he did as he approached one of the Englishmen. The wicked little grin still in place, even when he was talking to them.
I had to swallow hard to clear my throat from something that felt dangerously like bile.
Damn traitor!
Of course he would have money if he carried on trade with them. The people exploiting our country, bringing nothing but death and destruction and yet there were people in China - but above all in Shanghai – who very much appreciated the fact that the harbour had been forced to open itself for the West.
"Lau!"
I winced involuntarily which caused me to almost fall down from the stacked boxes. Only at the last second I managed to keep the balance before I looked up angrily, glaring poisonous daggers towards the direction the shouted command had come from.
"Stop daydreaming this instance and get your damn little ass over here! The ship does not discharge by itself!"
I released a low sigh but I nodded quickly.
With rigid, aching limbs - due to a very unpleasant night on the hard floor of a rundown house and the long crouching on top of the cargo - I slid down from the wooden box, heading towards the pier with vast steps. The last thing I needed was more scolding from this damn slave driver who was responsible for supervising us lowly creatures whose only purpose was to bent our backs and obey.
Quickly I was walking towards The Witch.
Well... it was time to say hello.
See you next week ^.^