Then he closed his eyes and steepled his hands and breathed a silent prayer. “Now something to measure with,” he said, coming back to earth, and selecting a small cup at random, filled it to the brim with cinchona. He tipped the bark into the pan and then, slowly and methodically, added ten equal measures of water. He set the pan to cook on the charcoal brazier. “Ten to one to start with,” he said in a parched voice. He wiped his hands nervously on the sides of his habit. “Now I’d like to see the patient.”
Struan beckoned to Ah Sam and indicated the pan. “No touchee!”
“No touchee, Mass’er!” Ah Sam said vigorously. Now that she was over her initial shock of the sudden awakening, she was beginning to enjoy all these strange proceedings. “No touchee, Mass’er, never mind!”
Struan and the monk left the kitchen, and went into May-may’s bedroom. Ah Sam followed.
A lantern splashed pockets of light in the darkness. Yin-hsi was brushing her tousled hair in front of the mirror. She stopped and bowed hastily. Her mattress bed was on the floor to one side of May-may’s vast four-poster.
May-may was shivering feebly under the weight of blankets.
“Hello, lassie. We’ve the cinchona,” Struan said, coming close to her. “At long last. All’s well now!”
“I’m so cold, Tai-Pan,” she said helplessly. “I’m so cold. What have you done to your face?”
“Nothing, lass.”
“You’ve cut yourself.” She shivered and closed her eyes and fell back into the blizzard that was engulfing her. “It’s so cold.”
Struan turned and looked at Father Sebastian. He saw the shock on his stretched face.
“What’s amiss?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” The monk set a tiny sand-timer on a table, and kneeling beside the bed, took May-may’s wrist and began to count her heartbeats. How can a Chinese girl speak English? he asked himself. Is the other girl a second mistress? Am I in a harem of the devil? Oh God, protect me, and give me the power of Thy healing and let me be Thy instrument this night.
May-may’s pulse was so slow and soft that he had great difficulty in feeling it. With extreme gentleness he turned her face around and peered into her eyes. “Do not be afraid,” he said. “There’s nothing to afraid of. You are in God’s hands. I must look at your eyes. Don’t be afraid, you’re in His hands.”
Defenseless, and petrified, May-may did as she was told. Yin-hsi and Ah Sam stood in the background and watched apprehensively.
“What’s he doing? Who is he?” Yin-hsi whispered.
“A barbarian devil witch doctor,” Ah Sam whispered back. “He’s a monk. One of the longskirt priests of the naked God-man they nailed to a cross.”
“Oh!” Yin-hsi shuddered. “I’ve heard about them. How absolutely dreadful to do such a thing! They really are devils! Why don’t you bring Father some tea? That’s always good for anxiety.”
“Lim Din’s getting it, Second Mother,” Ah Sam whispered, swearing that not for anything would she move, for then she might miss something of great import. “I wish I could understand their dreadful tongue.”
The monk put May-may’s wrist on the coverlet, and looked up at Struan. “His Grace said the malaria caused an abortion. I must examine her.”
“Go on, then.”
When the monk moved the blankets and sheets aside, May-may tried to stop him and Yin-hsi and Ah Sam anxiously hurried to help her.
“No!” Struan snapped. “Stay-ah!” He sat beside May-may and held her hands. “It’s all right, m’ lassie. Go on,” he said to the priest.
Father Sebastian examined May-may, and then settled her comfortably again. “The hemorrhage has almost stopped. That is very good.”
He put his long fingers on the base of her skull and probed carefully.
May-may felt the fingers smooth away some of her pain. But the ice was forming in her again and her teeth began chattering. “Tai-Pan. I’m so cold. Can I have warm bottle or blankets? Please. I’m so cold.”
“Aye, lass, just a moment.” There was a hot bottle at her back. She lay under four down quilts.
“Have you a watch, Mr. Struan?” Father Sebastian asked.
“Aye.”
“Please go to the kitchen. As soon as the water boils, note the time. When it has simmered one hour . . .” Father Sebastian’s eyes mirrored his awful desperation. “Two? Half an hour? How much? Oh God, please help me in this hour of need.”
“One hour,” Struan said firmly, confidently. “We’ll set the same amount to simmer for two hours. If the first’s nae good we’ll try the second lot.”
“Yes. Yes.”
Struan checked his watch under the lantern’s light in the kitchen. He took the brew off the brazier and set it to cool in a bucket of water. The second pan was already simmering.
“How is she?” he asked as the priest came in, Ah Sam and Yin-hsi close behind.
“The chills are severe. Her heart is very weak. Can you remember how long she shivered before the heat came?”
“Four hours, perhaps five. I dinna ken.” Struan poured some of the hot liquor into a tiny teacup, and tasted it. “God’s blood, it’s horribly bitter!”
The priest took a sip, and he grimaced too. “Well. Let’s begin. I only hope she can keep it down. A teacupful every hour.” He selected a cup at random from a smoke-stained shelf, and picked up a dirty scrap of rag from the table.
“What’s that for?” Struan asked.
“I’ll have to strain the bark out of the brew. This’ll be fine. The mesh is coarse enough.”
“I’ll do it,” Struan said. He took out the silver tea strainer that he had ready and wiped it clean again with a clean handkerchief.
“Why’re you doing that?”
“The Chinese are always very careful to keep the teapot and cups clean. They say it makes the tea more wholesome.” He began to pour the foul-smelling bark tea into an immaculate porcelain teapot. He willed the strength of the liquor to be correct. “Why na the same with this, eh?”
He carried the pot and the cup into the bedroom.
May-may vomited the first cup. And the second.
In spite of her pathetic pleadings Struan forced her to drink again. May-may held it down—anything not to have to swallow another.
Still nothing happened. Except that her chills grew more severe.
An hour later Struan made her drink again. She retained this cupful, but the chills continued to worsen.
“We’ll make it two cups,” Struan said, fighting his panic. And he forced her to consume the double measure.
Hour after hour the process was repeated. Now it was dawn.
Struan looked at his watch. Six o’clock. No improvement. The rigors made May-may flutter like a twig in a fall wind.
“For the love of Christ,” Struan burst out, “it’s got to work!”
“With the love of Christ, it
is working, Mr. Struan,” Father Sebastian said. He was holding May-may’s wrist. “The fever heat was due two hours ago. If it doesn’t begin, she has a chance. Her pulse is imperceptible, yes, but the cinchona
is working.”
“Hold on, lassie,” Struan said, gripping May-may’s hand. “A few more hours. Hold on!”
Later there was a knock at the gate in the garden wall.
Struan walked Wearily out of the house and unbolted the door. “Hello, Horatio. Heya, Lo Chum.”