One of the cornets (I had forgotten which was which) leaned on the table with both elbows and whispered to me, “I wonder sometimes, what right we have… The Turks who live there, they live on horseback and always move around. They take their yurts with them, and they just go — Turkestan, Mongolia, China-land… all the same to them. And there’s such beauty all around, I wonder why we have to take it and call it ours.”
“That’s empire building,” the other cornet said, without any noticeable trace of irony. “If the tsar-emperor wants it to lay a railroad through, then he can take it. Not like those people are doing anything with that land anyway.”
“Commissioner Lin was sent to Turkestan,” I slurred, both my memory and my tongue getting away from me. I felt his hurt, his puzzlement: If you know it is poison, why are you bringing it to us? If you know that opium destroys lives, if you know enough to make it illegal in your country, why do you keep selling it to our people? I felt like crying — I recognized that puzzlement of a noble man in the face of betrayal, I recognized it from Chiang Tse’s look back in the Crane Club. The inability to recognize such callous, cynical disregard for truth and justice because he was as unable to harbor such feelings as I was unable to fly.
“Cheer up, lad,” the rotmistr told me. “There’s hope for the empire yet. Now, how about a toast to the emperor’s health?”
Jack came down the stairs, concern written clearly on his long face, to find me in the company of three fairly drunk hussars — truth be told, I was getting a bit tipsy myself, because they kept calling me a bare-faced youth and buying me drinks. I consumed tremendous quantities of gherkins and pickled herring attempting to stave off intoxication, but by the time I saw Jack, my vision was blurred, I laughed quite readily, and the hussars had persuaded me to join them in a song.
“This… this is my charge,” I explained to my new friends, while poking Jack in the chest repeatedly. Then I swept my arm in the air, indicating the rotmistr and both cornets, and informed Jack, “And these are my friends. We were just singing ‘God Save the Tsar’.”
“How nice,” Jack said. “We do have to turn in — we have a long day tomorrow.”
“Just one more drink,” the rotmistr said in passable English. “Please, join us for one drink, and then we’ll return your boy.”
“Very well.” Jack pulled up the chair and shook hands.
I felt misty-eyed, so happy everyone was getting along so well, and that Jack did not seem inclined to snub anyone. I also missed my mother with a sudden intensity, and wished we had taken a long route to Moscow, stopping by Trubetskoye. I decided to write her a letter instead, as soon as I could hold a pen. Meanwhile, Jack and the rotmistr started a discussion about Asia.
“The thing is,” the rotmistr was saying, swaying a bit with liquor, a fire of righteous conviction bright in his eyes, “Russia needs to embrace its Asian nature. Scythians, yes? Our ancestors, and yet Asiatic. We need to embrace that.”
“Is that so?” Jack said, smiling. “It seems to me that Emperor Constantine along with Peter the Great and a few others tsars are quite intent on being embracing Europe.”
I rolled my eyes: this was a discussion I had heard many times, and even participated in myself. It did not seem to have a resolution or even any purpose beyond providing a thin excuse for discussing Russia’s destiny as a nation and its delicate position perched as it was between the East and the West, like a Georgian circus rider between two horses. Their voices buzzed in my ears as my mind drifted to the train ride with Chiang Tse, who seemed so curious then of the entire notion of westernization. I was half asleep by the time Jack tapped me on the shoulder and dragged me upstairs, to the accompaniment of the hussars’ laughter.
The next morning I woke up with a headache and a sense of calamity; there was an uncomfortable sensation burning in the pit of my stomach as if I had done something inappropriate the night before but couldn’t quite remember it. I had slept in my clothes, and my shoulder hurt where my reverse corset had rubbed it raw. I sat up and stretched, trying to readjust everything that had shifted during sleep. My mouth tasted especially foul.
The other bed was empty, and I worried until the door opened and Jack appeared with two plates of fried eggs, cheese, and bread and butter. “Eat this,” he said and set one next to me. “Believe me, there’s nothing better for a hangover than a full stomach. I’ll get tea.”
He disappeared again and I ate, my mind clearing as eggs and bread and butter smothered the queasy feeling in my belly. I was glad to have Jack on my side.
“What are we doing today?” I asked when he returned with two glasses of very strong and sweet tea.
“I would suggest staying where we are,” he answered, and started on his breakfast. “I went out this morning, picked up newspapers and a few penny dreadfuls — some French ones, and The String of Pearls.”
“I like those,” I said. A day spent indoors reading appealed to me; I also saw an opportunity to talk to Jack about some of the conversation from last night.
We read most of the morning; both of us felt anxious to keep on our journey and yet eager to hear from Eugenia. We scanned the newspapers, but apart from a brief mention of the robbery of the St. Petersburg house of a visiting British dignitary, it contained nothing pertaining to us. Finally, I had got a grasp on the elusive memory that had been nibbling on my mind on and off all morning. “Jack,” I said. (It was easier for us to be on first name basis when we both were men; I suspected we would revert to the polite form of address once I was back in proper clothing.) “I heard what you said last night to the rotmistr.”
He put down the magazine he was flipping through. “What exactly are you referring to? If memory serves, the rotmistr and I had quite a prolonged talk.”
“You said that you’ve been to China. And you mentioned something about East Turkestan.”
“They all served in West Turkestan,” Jack said. “They said they were going there again.”
“And Commissioner Lin was exiled in East Turkestan. And you went to China. And there was no mention of you in those newspapers before 1841. About ten years ago.”
“What are you asking me?” He had such a direct, steady gaze, it was difficult to suspect him of anything unsavory.
“Have you ever worked for the East India Trading Company? Did you return to London in 1841 after the hostilities started?”
“You are astute,” Jack said. “I was never involved with the smuggling; I was a mere youth, a member of the crew on a merchant ship. We were caught in Canton Harbor in March 1839 when the Chinese demanded the surrender of all opium and detained all foreign ships so that the smugglers could not escape the country. We were only allowed to leave after all opium was destroyed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
He shrugged. “I have told you more about myself than I ever told anyone, except under duress. I worried that your… idealism would not allow you to judge me kindly. And, to be quite honest, you already had quite a lot to contend with: my criminal past and my neglect of the natural sciences.”
I had to smile at that. I could also understand his omission — he did want me to like him, of that I had no doubt. “I understand,” I said. “I was simply curious, and never had intention of judging you.”
He laughed, visibly relieved. “Oh, thank you,” he said. “I should’ve known that your infatuation with Commissioner Lin would lead you to the truth of the matter. I’ve never been to East Turkestan myself, but I do have an acquaintance who has — who went there to see Commissioner Lin.”