Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 4: Flashman and the Dragon, Flashman on the March, Flashman and the Tiger. George Fraser MacDonald
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back the curtains, beckoning me to follow.
The heavy smell of incense struck my nostrils as I saw we were in a small, low chamber hung round with dragon silks. At the far end was a deep divan caught in a pool of light from two tall candle-branches, and on it reclined a short, stocky figure in white silk embroidered in gold. He was nodding sleepily in that joss-laden air, while a female voice recited high and clear:
“The Heavenly Father, the Elder Brother, the Heavenly King, and the Junior Lord shall be Lords forever. The Heavenly Kingdom is established everywhere, and the effulgence of the Heavenly Family is spread upon all the Earth for all eternity.”
The voice stopped, and the Bearer of Heavenly Decrees rustled forward, dropped to her knees half-way to the divan, kow-towed several times, and addressed the chap on the couch. I caught the words “…ŠLondon Missionary Society …” and then she was hurrying back to me, motioning me forward, indicating that I too should kow-tow. Well, the hell with him, Heavenly King or not. I walked forward, and got a close look at him as I began to make a half-bow – a tubby little Chink, with long dark hair framing a round, amiable face, a short sandy beard, and great dark eyes that shone in his pasty face like a hypnotist’s, but with none of the force of your professional mesmeriser. They were placid, dreamy eyes, friendly and kind … and what the devil was I doing, kow-towing? I jumped up, vexed, and the big eyes smiled sleepily, holding mine. So that was his secret; you couldn’t help looking at him. With an effort I tore my glance away – and realised that we were not alone. And I can pay no higher tribute to the Tien Wang’s magnetic personality than to say that only now did I notice those others present.
One was kneeling on the couch, holding a scroll from which she had been reading. She wore a towering gilt head-dress, like a pagoda, and a little fringe of gold threads round her hips. That was all her attire, and out of deference to royalty I modestly lowered my eyes, and found myself contemplating another naked female reclining at my feet – one more step and I’d have trod on her buttocks. I half-started back, afraid to look in case there were more bare houris perched on the candelabra. But there were just the two, twins by the look of them, still as superbly-shaped statues, lovely faces intent on the man on the couch, and apparently unaware of my existence. Reluctantly, I looked back at him, and he smiled vacantly.
“Welcome, in the peace of God,” says he, and indicated a silken stool by the couch. It was a deep, liquid voice, with a curious husky quality. I sat, uncomfortably aware that the reclining poppet was only inches from my foot, and that if I looked straight ahead my horizon was voluptuously filled by the charms of the kneeling nymph. It’s hell in the Taiping, you know. Not that I bar contemplating the undraped female form, but there’s a time and a place, and heaven knew what I’d interrupted. I wondered if these were two of his reputed eighty-eight wives, or if he, too, had been voted a few spares, next week being his birthday and all. Good heavens – was it possible one of them was for me? I didn’t like to ask, and I didn’t get the chance, for he fixed me with those luminous, empty eyes and his melancholy smile, and began to speak to me. My heart was hammering, what with the knowledge that this was the Tien Wang, the Chinese Messiah, one of the most powerful men on earth, and that what passed between us might be vital … Bruce’s instructions … my mission … That, and the nearness of those mouth-watering little flesh-traps – d’you wonder I was sweating? It was like a wild dream: the sweet, husky voice, pausing every now and then as though to compel an answer, the blindly shining eyes, the heavy reek of incense, the silk edges of the stool hot under my hands, the satin gleam of bums, bellies and boobies in the candle-shine, the soft lunatic babble which I’d not believe if I didn’t remember every word:
Tien Wang: … The London Missionary Society. Ah, yes … but I do not remember you … only Dr Sylvester, my dear old friend … (Long pause)
Flashy: Ah, yes … your majesty. Sylvester. To be sure.
T.W.: Dr Sylvester … how long? How long? (Goes into trance)
F. (helping matters along): Couple of months, perhaps?
T.W. (reviving vaguely): You have spoken with Dr Sylvester recently? Then you are greatly blessed. (Beatific smile) For you have made the Journey. I felicitate you.
F.: Sorry?
T.W.: The Journey to the Celestial Above. I, too, have spoken with Dr Sylvester in Heaven, since his earthly death in 1841. Soon the portals will open for us all, and we shall rest in the Divine Halls of Eternal Peace. Have you visited Heaven often?
F.: Not to say often. Nothing like your majesty … weekends, that sort of thing. Just to see Sylvester, really … oh, God …
T.W.: How well I recall his discourse … illuminating … constructive … wise …
F.: Absolutely. Couldn’t get enough of it. (Long pause, during which F. ’s attention wanders)
T.W.: His humanity was equalled only by his scholarship. Was there a fruit of learning that he had not plucked? Divinity … philosophy … theology … metaphysics …
F. (musing): Tits, (in confusion) No, I mean metaphysics! Geometry, anything … he knew it all!
T.W. (benignly): Soon we shall join him, when we have made the final Journey, but only after long and laborious struggle. When you first visited Heaven, were you given new bowels?
F.: Eh? Oh … no, no, I wasn’t. I wasn’t considered worthy, you see … your majesty. Not then. Not for new bowels.
T.W.: Take heart. I too was rebuked when I first entered the Golden Doors. Jesus, my Elder Brother, was angry because I had not learned my Bible lessons well. He was correct. We must all learn our Bible. (Long pause)
F. (desperate): Moab is my washpot, over Edom will I cast out my shoe. Er … Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, thing …
T.W.: I remember how kind Jesus’s wife was … and when my heart and entrails had been removed, I was given new ones, of shining red.
F.: Red, eh?
T.W.: And God gave me a sword to exterminate demons … and a seal of authority. The demons transformed themselves eighteen times, as they have power to do.
F.: Yes, yes … eighteen. Shocking.
T.W.: But I drove them down to Hell, and the Heavenly Mother gave me fruits and sweets. As I ate them, marvelling at their savour, God traced the Devil’s misdeeds to errors in Confucius, and rebuked him. But Confucius defended himself vehemently.
F. (indignant): He did, did he?
T.W.: Then Jesus and the Angels joined in against Confucius, who tried to sneak away to join the Devil, Yen-lo, but he was caught and brought back and beaten. (Smiling blankly) But at last God allowed him to sit in Heaven, in recognition of past merits.
F. (doubtful): Well …
T.W.: Yen-lo is the Serpent-Devil of the Garden of Eden …
F.: Is he? Ah!
T.W.: … and when Eve heeded his words, she was driven forth, and her children were drowned in the Great Rain. But Yen-lo seeks ever to steal men’s souls, ensnaring their senses with beautiful temptations … there were beautiful handmaidens in Heaven …
This seemed to give him an idea, for the husky voice, which had been droning away as at a lesson learned, trailed off, and he turned to stare at the splendid naked nymph kneeling beside him. It was the first sign of intelligence I’d seen in him, for he was plainly madder than Bedlam; his mouth twitched, and he came up from his reclining position to gape, and then to reach out and fondle her neck and shoulder and arm. She stayed stock-still; he leaned closer, gaping, and I had to strain to hear.
“…Šwe must strive to discern false beauty from true,” he muttered, “and manfully resist Yen-lo, seeking solace only in that which is pure. So we should study the Book of One Hundred Correct Things. Let us hear now how we may resist temptation.”
I’d have thought it was the last thing he needed to hear just