At sunset Ah Sam entered and spoke briefly to May-may.
“The doctor is come. And Gordon Chen,” May-may said to Struan.
“Good!” Struan got up and stretched.
Ah Sam walked over to a jewel cabinet and took out a small ivory statue of a nude woman lying on her side. To Struan’s astonishment, May-may pointed to parts of the tiny statue and spoke at length to Ah Sam. Ah Sam nodded and went out, Struan followed, bewildered.
The doctor was an elderly man, his queue long and well oiled, his ancient black robes threadbare. His eyes were clear and a few long hairs grew from a wart in his cheek. He had long thin fingers and the backs of his slender hands were blue-veined.
“So sorry, Tai-Pan,” Gordon said, and he bowed with the doctor. “This is Kee Fa Tan, the best doctor in Tai Ping Shan. We came as fast as we could.”
“Thank you. You’d better come this—” He stopped. Ah Sam had gone over to the doctor and had bowed deeply and shown him the statue, indicating parts of it in the same manner as May-may. And now she was answering questions volubly.
“What the devil’s he doing?”
“Making a diagnosis,” Gordon Chen said, listening attentively to Ah Sam and to the doctor.
“With the statue?”
“Yes. It would be unseemly for him to see the Lady if it was not necessary, Tai-Pan. Ah Sam is explaining where the pains are. Please be patient, I’m sure it’s not serious.”
The doctor contemplated the statue in silence. Finally he looked up at Gordon and said something softly.
“He says it is not an easy diagnosis. With your permission, he would like to examine the Lady.”
Seething with impatience, Struan led the way into the bedroom. May-may had dropped the curtains surrounding the bed. She was only a discreet shadow behind them.
The doctor went to May-may’s bedside and again fell silent. After a few minutes he spoke quietly. Obediently May-may’s left hand came from under the curtains. The doctor picked up her hand and examined it intently. Then he put his fingers on her pulse and closed his eyes. His fingers began tapping the skin gently.
The minutes passed. The fingers were tapping slowly as though seeking something impossible to find.
“What’s he doing now?” Struan asked.
“Listening to her pulse, sir,” Gordon whispered. “We must be very quiet. There are nine pulses in each wrist. Three on the surface and three a little lower and three deep down. These tell him the cause of the sickness. Please, Tai-Pan, be patient. It is most hard to listen with fingers.”
The finger tapping continued. It was the only sound in the cabin. Ah Sam and Gordon Chen watched spellbound. Struan shifted uneasily but made no sound. The doctor seemed to be in a mystical reverie. Then suddenly—as if falling on an elusive prey—the tapping ceased and the doctor pressed hard. For a minute he was like a statue. Then he let the wrist lie on the coverlet, and May-may silently gave him her right wrist and he repeated the procedure.
And again after many minutes the tapping abruptly ceased.
The doctor opened his eyes and sighed and put May-may’s wrist on the coverlet. He beckoned to Gordon Chen and to Struan.
Gordon Chen closed the door behind them. The doctor laughed softly and nervously and began speaking quietly and rapidly.
Gordon’s eyes widened.
“What’s the matter?” Struan said sharply.
“I didn’t know Mother was with child, Tai-Pan.” Gordon turned back to the doctor and asked a question and the doctor answered at length. Then silence.
“Well, what the devil did he say?”
Gordon looked at him and tried unsuccessfully to appear calm. “He says Mother’s very sick, Tai-Pan. That a poison has entered her bloodstream through her lower limbs. This poison has centered in her liver, and the liver is now”—he sought for the word—“maladjusted. Soon there will be fever, bad fever. Very bad fever. Then three or four days of time and again fever. And again.”
“Malaria? Happy Valley fever?”
Gordon turned back and asked the question.
“He says yes.”
“Everyone knows it’s the night gases—na poison through the skin, by God,” he slammed at Gordon. “She’s na been there for weeks!”
Gordon shrugged. “I only tell you what he says, Tai-Pan. I’m no doctor. But this doctor I would trust—I think you should trust.”
“What’s his cure?”
Gordon queried the doctor.
“He says, Tai-Pan: ‘I have treated some of those who suffered the Happy Valley poison. The successful recoveries were all strong men who took a certain medicine before the third fever attack. But this patient is a woman, and though in her twenty-first year and strong with a fire spirit, all her strength is going into the child that is four months in her womb.’” Gordon stopped, uneasily. “He fears for the Lady and the child.”
“Tell him to get the medicine and treat her now. Na after any attack.”
“That’s the trouble. He can’t, sir. He has none of the medicine left.”
“Then tell him to get some, by God!”
“There’s none on Hong Kong, Tai-Pan. He’s sure.”
Struan’s face darkened. “There must be some. Tell him to get it—whatever it costs.”
“But, Tai-Pan, he—”
“God’s blood, tell him!”
Again there was chatter back and forth.
“He says there is none in Hong Kong. That there will be none in Macao, or in Canton. That the medicine is made from the bark of a very rare tree that grows somewhere in the South Seas, or in lands across the seas. The tiny quantity he had came from his father who was also a doctor, who got it from his father.” Gordon added helplessly, “He says he’s completely sure that there’s no more.”
“Twenty thousand taels of silver if she’s cured.”
Gordon’s eyes widened. He thought a moment, then he spoke rapidly to the doctor. They both bowed and hurried away.
Struan took out his handkerchief, wiped the sweat off his face, and walked back into the bedroom.
“Heya, Tai-Pan,” May-may said, her voice even thinner. “Wat for is my joss?”
“They’ve gone to get a special medicine which’ll cure you. Nae anything to worry about.”
He settled her as best he could, his mind tormented. Then he hurried to the flagship and asked the chief naval doctor about the bark.
“Sorry, my dear Mr. Struan, but that’s an old wives’ tale. There’s a legend about Countess Cinchon, wife of the Spanish viceroy of Peru, who introduced a bark from South America into Europe in the seventeenth century. It was known as ‘Jesuits’ bark,’ and sometimes as ‘cinchona bark.’ Powdered and taken with water, it was supposed to cure the fever. But when it was tried in India it failed completely. Worthless! Damned Papists would say anything to get converts.”
“Where the devil can I get some?”
“I really don’t know, my dear sir, Peru, I suppose. But why your anxiety? Queen’s Town is abandoned now. No need to be concerned if you don’t breathe the night gas.”
“A friend’s just come down with malaria.”
“Ah! Then heroic purging with calomel. As soon as possible. Can’t promise anything, of course. We’ll leech him immediately.”
Struan tried the chief army doctor next, and then, in the course of time, all the lesser doctors—both service and civilian—and they all told him the same thing.