THE CHINESE SHOP
The solemn promise Mrs. Krauss had made to Mrs. Milward was honourably
redeemed, and a new and agreeable vista opened before Sophy Leigh. Her
aunt roused herself, as it were, from a long sleep; the little bay
horse was recalled from Prome; a Rolls-Royce was purchased (Herr Krauss
signed the cheque without a murmur); a highly-recommended Portuguese
butler was engaged to undertake the heavier forms of housekeeping; and
Mrs. Krauss once more re-entered society—figuratively leading by the
hand a lovely niece, of whom she was unaffectedly proud and who, she
imparted to her friends, “had given her a new interest in life.”
Hitherto, she declared, she had felt like a flower that was withering
for the lack of sun; now Sophy supplied the sunshine. Sophy was endowed
with a personality that inspired happiness, and looked on the world as
the abode of joy. And so at last pretty Miss Leigh tasted the delights
of the Gymkhana Club, and took part in tennis, golf and dancing. There
were boating parties on the Royal lakes and picnics in the woods. She
made many acquaintances and had quite “a waiting list” of partners.
Sometimes of a morning, but much more frequently of an evening, after
tennis or boating, Mrs. Krauss would drive down to Phayre Street. There
the shops were on the best European lines, and exhibited all the latest
articles from London, Paris, or Berlin, tempting rupees out of people’s
pockets. Mrs. Krauss was a liberal purchaser, whether of European
stores, fancy goods, drapery, or jewellery; this generous aunt
presented Sophy with a pair of heavy gold bangles, a string of pearls
and an exquisite fan and kimono. These latter were found at an Indian
repository owned by a well-known Bengali, with a large clientèle
(Burmese themselves are too indolent to make successful
shopkeepers—they much prefer to look on, and laugh, and bargain). In
this and other emporiums of the same class were to be found rare
embroideries, ivory carvings, eggshell china, Oriental draperies, jade,
and piles of Chinese and Japanese silks of the most exquisite fabric
and colour. Sophy liked to wander round, to marvel and admire, but soon
discovered that to do the latter was to be immediately endowed with her
fancy—be it an enormous Chinese jar, or a lacquered cabinet, or a mere
silver bowl. Mrs. Krauss firmly resisted every denial and excuse.
“My dear,” she would protest, “do not refuse me; mine is the pleasure.
I don’t know how to spend all my money, and never until now have I had
a girl to whom I could offer presents—and to _give_ is such a joy. I am
a rich woman, with no belongings except you and yours. Certainly, I
don’t deny that this big gong” (the present in question) “is rather a
clumsy affair, but it is old and a beauty. What a deep, rich,
melancholy tone! When struck it seems to tell of some sad, sad story
that happened hundreds of years ago. After you are married, dear child,
it will be so useful in your hall.”
On these excursions there was one little shop that was never neglected
or overlooked; this was situated in a narrow slum, a long way from the
great artery of traffic and fashion. After negotiating various tortuous
windings and encountering horrible gusts of stale _napie_ and the
ever-odorous _dorian_, the car halted at a certain corner, and Mrs.
Krauss and her companion made their way into a narrow ill-lit lane, and
entered a mean den kept by a fat, crafty-looking Chinaman and his lean,
pock-marked son. There was, as far as Sophy could discern, nothing
whatever to interest or attract upon the premises. The stock was
ordinary and scanty; a few coarse china tea-sets, some teapots in cane
baskets, paper fans, lacquer trays and odds and ends of the cheapest
rubbish; but Mrs. Krauss solemnly assured her niece that “it was the
_only_ place in Rangoon for the real guaranteed netsukes,” of which she
was making a collection.
A Japanese netsuke is an elaborately-carved ivory button of various
shapes and sizes—no two are alike; they take the form of men or animals
and, as a rule, are executed with amazing delicacy, and, if signed and
old, are of considerable value.
Mrs. Krauss, who spoke a little Chinese—and was proud of her
accomplishment—appeared to know the fat proprietor rather well, and
together they would retire into a dim inner recess, illumined by an oil
lamp hanging before an altar, and there examine, bargain and gloat over
treasures.
Meanwhile Sophy, who remained in the outer shop, was offered a seat and
tea, without milk or sugar, in what resembled a doll’s cup; by her
aunt’s express desire she always accepted this refreshment, although
she found the decoction unspeakably nasty; it seemed to taste of an
evil odour. Sometimes Mrs. Krauss would linger for fifteen minutes,
sometimes for longer, talking over netsukes and Hong Kong with Ah Shee.
The atmosphere of the place was overpowering; such a stifling reek of a
mysterious effluvium, the combination of joss sticks, stale fish,
rancid oil, and a sickly taint like the fetid breath of some mortal
sickness; it made Sophy feel faint and, after a short interval, she
invariably made her way into the street, where the air—though by no
means fresh—was an improvement on that within the shop.
The street was narrow and squalid and the houses were dilapidated—even
for a native quarter; passers-by had a slinking stealthy gait, and cast
glances of surprise and suspicion at the young lady who lingered
outside the premises of Ah Shee.
One evening, as she waited thus, in the warm, damp dusk, FitzGerald in
uniform clattered by; he caught sight of Sophy out of what is called
“the tail of the eye,” and pulled up so suddenly as to throw his horse
upon its haunches.
“Miss Leigh!” he exclaimed. “Yes, it is! May I ask why you find
yourself among the Seven Dials, or devils, of Rangoon?”
“Oh, Aunt Flora comes to Ah Shee’s shop hunting for ivories; she is
collecting netsukes.”
“Netsukes!” he repeated; “netsukes _here_!”
“Oh yes, and such good ones—the best in Burma; but it’s a horrible
place, and as to the odours!” and she made a gesture expressive of
disgust.
“Yes, by Jove, the Chinese beat all the world in stinks; but I say,
Miss Leigh, try to persuade your aunt to hunt elsewhere for
ivories—this part of the world is unhealthy.”
“I’m not surprised at that.”
“Be advised by me and make _this_ your last visit to this chinky shop.
Well, I must be shoving on,” and he trotted away.
A moment later Mrs. Krauss emerged and, by the quivering eye of an
electric lamp, Sophy noticed that she looked strangely animated—indeed
almost radiant. No doubt she had secured some wonderful prize.
“Who were you talking to, my dear?” she asked.
“Mr. FitzGerald; he was so surprised to see me and says we ought not to
come here—the place is unhealthy and, indeed, Aunt Flora, I wonder you
can stand the reek of Ah Shee’s den for so long without feeling
horribly sick.”
“Oh, Mr. FitzGerald—the police-officer? Yes, he is right; it is a low
neighbourhood and the air is poisonous, but I’ve managed to get what I
wanted,” and she held up a pocket handkerchief bulging with ivories. “I
won’t have to come again for ages and ages.”
Meanwhile Ah Shee and son had shuffled off to summon the chauffeur, and
the car now appeared round the corner of the street, looking like some
crouching black monster, with round, fiery eyes. Attended by the two
obsequious Chinamen, Mrs. Krauss and her niece entered the motor and
were speedily borne away. For a considerable time the former did not
open her lips, but lay back in her corner in an attitude of contented
lassitude.
They made their way homewards through the teeming bazaar and
brilliantly illuminated Phayre Street, with its brave show of shops,
offering a kaleidoscopic review of jewellery, glittering silver, cut
glass and brass work, or masses of rich, many-coloured stuffs and
silks, each shop with a special circle of admirers.
It was the hour when offices disgorge their employés, when idlers come
to lounge and stare, and between foot-passengers, trams, taxis and
carts, the thoroughfare was almost impassable. During a block Mrs.
Krauss suddenly roused from her condition of happy contemplation, and
said, as she opened her handkerchief:
“My dear Sophy, I’ve got _such_ treasures—such finds; real, old
netsukes, signed, and _so_ cheap! Do look at this delicious rabbit!”
holding out a beautiful model. “Is it not too perfect, exquisitely
carved, and smooth with age? And the tortoise with the little tiny one
on its back—what a darling!” and she took it up and kissed it with
rapture.
It puzzled Sophy to witness this extraordinary enthusiasm and then to
recall the cold fact that, on her return to “Heidelberg,” her aunt’s
interest in these ivories seemed to wane and disappear. Was there not a
bowl of specimens in the drawing-room already consigned to oblivion and
dust? Aunt Flora’s character exhibited an amazing combination of
fantastic caprice and invincible good nature.