“Oh, horrible! Impossible!” Little An fairly gibbered. “Oh, lady – dear Orchid, please come away! See, I lie at your feet, I beg, I beseech – stop, stop! If someone should find us –”
“That would be unlucky – for them.” She stopped tickling, and laid hold. “Oh-h! Little An,” says she breathlessly, “go outside … and guard the door.”
He gave a frenzied neigh. “What will you do?” he squealed, which was as foolish a question as ever I heard, considering my condition and her behaviour. “No! I forbid it! You cannot! It is sacrilege, blasphemy – awful! It is improper –”
“Do you want to be alive tomorrow, Little An?” The voice was as musically soft as ever, but there was a note in it to bristle your hair. “Go out, keep watch … and wait till I call. Now.”
He gave a last despairing wail and fled, and she teased fondly for a moment, breathing hard, and then leaned over to look into my face, possibly to make sure I wasn’t going to sleep. Dear God, but she was lovely; the purple mouth was wide, panting violet-scented breaths, the black eyes were glittering as she laughed and called softly:
“Oh, An – he is so ugly! I can’t bear to look at him!”
“Then don’t!” His piping came faintly through the door. “Don’t look! Don’t do anything! Don’t touch it – him! Remember who you are, you bad, lascivious wretch – you’re the Imperial Concubine Yi, beloved of the Complete Abundance, mother of his only child, Moon to the Heavenly Sun! Here – are you listening?”
“What did you say about complete abundance?” chuckled the drunken hussy, and dropped her silk cloak over my face, to cut off her view, no doubt, damn her impudence. Her hands gripped my chest as she swung nimbly astride, her knees either side of my hips; for a moment she was upright, playing and fondling while I lay fit to burst, and then with a long shuddering sigh she sank slowly down, impaling herself, gliding up and down with maddening deliberation, and what could I do but close my eyes and think of England?
An said afterwards that it was incredible, and but for the gag I’d have cried “Hear, hear!”, supposing I’d had breath to do it. But while I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, it was deuced unnerving – being ravished is all very well, especially by the most accomplished wanton in China, if not all Asia, but when you’re utterly helpless, and she has finally worked her wicked will and lain sated and moaning drunkenly on your manly chest, only to draw away suddenly with a cry of “Ugh, how he stinks!”, and then plucks away the cloak for another look and shudder at you … well, you’re bound to wonder about the future, if you follow me.
Little An had it all settled, rot him. When she called, he waddled in, sulking furiously, and said that if she’d quite finished behaving like a rutting sow he would carry her to bed, and then slit the barbarian’s tongue so that the disgusting brute couldn’t blab when they took him to the Board of Punishments. I listened in cold horror, but she reclined gracefully in a chair and says yawning:
“Blood-thirsty little pig, you’ll leave his tongue alone – and the rest of him …” She stretched luxuriously. “Oh, An! Do you know what it’s like when your whole body melts in such ecstasy that you feel you’ll die of bliss? No, of course you don’t. But I do … now. I thought Jung was wonderful, but … oh, Jung was just a boy! This was like … who was that ancient god who used to rape everyone? It doesn’t matter.” She waved a languid wing in my direction. “Carry me upstairs … and have him taken to the Wang-shaw-ewen. Put him in –”
“Are you mad? Has lechery disordered your wits? What the devil is he to do in the Wang-shaw-ewen?”
“Die a happy barbarian,” purrs madam. “Eventually. Unless I tire of him first … which is unimaginable.” She sighed happily. “Of course, all that horrid hair must be shaved from his body, and he must be bathed in musk for that awful odour, and dressed decently –”
“You are mad! Take that … that thing to your own pavilion!” He gargled and waved his arms. “And when the Emperor hears of it, or Prince Kung – or your enemies, Sang and Sushun and the Tsai Yuan –”
“Oh, don’t be silly! Who would be so brave – or foolish – as to tell on the Concubine Yi? Even you aren’t so stupid … are you, Little An?” Just for a second the silvery voice hardened on that chilly note, and then she had risen, staggered, giggled, and broken into a little-girl sing-song: “I’m hungry, An! Yes, I am, An! And I want some pickles, An, and roast pork, and cherries, and lots of crackling, and sugared lotus seeds, and a cup of honeysuckle tea … and then sleep, sleep, sleep …” She leaned against him, murmuring.
“But … but … oh, it’s the infernal black smoke! It makes you mad, and irresponsible … and … and naughty! You don’t know what you’re saying or doing! Please, dear Orchid Lady, little Empress, listen to reason! You’ve enjoyed the beastly fellow – ugh! – isn’t it enough? You say no one would tell – but how if the Emperor came to your pavilion and found that … that creature –”
“The Emperor,” says she drowsily, “will never get out of his bed again. Why should he, when I’m always in it? But if he did, and caught me with twenty barbarians … d’you know what? He’d forgive me.” She brushed a wing playfully across his face. “If you were a man, Little An, you’d know why. My barbarian knows why!” She pushed away from him, laughing, and skipped unsteadily to my bench, beating her wings. “Oh, yes, he knows why! Don’t you, my ugly, hairy barbarian – so ugly, except for the happy part … See? Oh, An, I’m so happy!”
“Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!” He pulled her away; he was nearly in tears. “I won’t have it, d’you hear! It’s not decent – you, a great Manchoo lady – how can you think of that animal –”
“Oh, leave me alone – look, you’ve torn my wing!” The lovely mouth pouted as she smoothed her feathers. “You’ll make me angry in a minute, Little An – I should have you beaten for that – yes, I will, you blubbery little ape –”
“Have me beaten, then!” he squealed, in sudden passion. “Beat me for a torn wing – and what of your torn honour? You, Yehonala, daughter of a knight of the Banner Corps, mother of Tungchi, the seed of Heaven, to forget your loyalty to the Emperor! You indulge your wicked lust with this peasant savage – you, whose life’s duty is the solace and comfort of the Solitary Prince! Shame on you! I’ll have no part in it, and you can beat or kill me if you like!” He finished on a fine fearful flourish. “It’s not good enough!”
I’ve taken part in some damned odd scenes in my time, but I imagine a visitor to that room just then would have agreed that the present spectacle was unique. There we were among the furniture and dust-sheets: on my left, in brown robe and pill-box hat, twenty diminutive stone of blubber shrilling like a steam whistle; on my right, topping him by a head in her pearl-fringed block shoes, that incredible ivory beauty, her nudity only enhanced by the ridiculous trailing peacock wings and silver garters; they faced each other across the supine form of the pride of the 17th Lancers, trussed, gagged, and stark as a picked bone, but following the debate with rapt attention. My admiration, if not my sympathy, was all with Little An, as I looked at that lovely, silver-painted mask of a face beneath the coiled raven hair: suddenly it was wiped clean of drugged laughter, and the cold implacability that looked out of it was frightening. I even left off staring at those excellent jutting tits, which goes to show. I’d not have faced her for a fortune, but when she spoke it was in the same soft, bell-like tone.
“Eunuch An-te-hai,” says she, and negligently indicated her feet – and the poor little tub came waddling and sank down like a burst bladder. She touched his cheek gently with a silver talon, and he turned up his trembling pug face.
“Poor Little An, you know I always get my way, don’t you?” It was like a caress. “And you always obey, because I am your little orchid whom you have loved since I came here long ago, a frightened little girl to whom you were kind. Remember the watermelon seeds and walnuts, and how you consoled me when my heart was breaking for