She gave his hand a last squeeze and then turned and started away. He watched her go, certain now as never before that more than anything in the world, this-this union-was what he wanted. It will happen, he thought to himself. I will it.
He let her go, remaining on the promontory above the bay to think and watch the sun go down. One by one the evening stars appeared as tiny lights in the sky, but Arthur did not stir. Later, when his feet turned back toward White Lotus Street, it was with a resolute and determined step.
He entered the house and quickly ascertained that Chen Hu was napping in the rear garden, which was just how he wanted it. He found Xian-Li in the tiny kitchen at the rear of the house and joined her there. She gave him a forlorn smile as he entered the room. “My love, I-”
“Shh!” She raised her hand and placed her fingers to his lips. “We must not speak of it again.”
Taking her hand, he kissed her fingertips, then removed the round iron wok from the fire and led her from the room. “Come, I want to show you something.”
In the room where Chen Hu performed his artistry, he sat Xian-Li on the tattoo couch and took his place before her. “Look here,” he said. Unlacing his shirt, he drew it over his head and tossed it aside. He put a hand to his chest and lightly brushed the intricate deep blue designs there. “These tattaus which your father has made for me these past few years are not mere fancies-meaningless scribbles as many believe. They are symbols of my own devising, and each one bears a fantastic secret, an incredible secret.”
Xian-Li, all attention, sat with her back straight, her hands folded in her lap.
“My love,” continued Arthur, his voice low but earnest, “I am going to tell you something I have never told another living soul. I am going to share with you the secret of the symbols.”
“Arthur, no,” she protested. “It is not necessary.”
“But it is,” he countered, “very necessary-because, you see, I have a way to travel the world without ships or any other man-made conveyance. Each of these tattaus”-he touched one of the indigo symbols-“represents a different place I have travelled.” He paused and waited to see how she would receive this next revelation. “Xian-Li, I am not a businessman as you suppose. I am an adventurer and an explorer.”
Xian-Li bit her lip, but said nothing.
“Listen carefully,” he said, dropping his voice still further. “The places to which I go are not of this world.”
“Arthur, no…”
“It is true,” he insisted. “Difficult as it may be to believe, it is true. The universe is not only greater than we imagine, it is far stranger. There are dimensions unknown and unguessed by the mass of mankind, and I have discovered a way to travel through them to worlds beyond our own. Each place I have visited is on a different plane of existence.” He touched another tattoo. “These marks represent my travels. They are the record of not only where to find the alien world, but how to get there. They are a map written on my skin so that it can never be lost, never taken from me. It is written here so that wherever I am, however far across the universe, I can always find my way home.”
Xian-Li stared at him.
“Come with me, my love. I will show you wonders you never dreamed possible. There are endless new worlds to explore. We will explore them together, you and I. Say yes and let us make a start.”
He reached for her, and she stood and took one tentative step nearer. She stretched her hand toward his bare torso, fingers shaking slightly, and delicately traced one of the blue marks and then another.
“I ask again, and I will keep on asking,” he said, folding her hand into his own, “will you marry me?”
“It was impossible before,” she began, hesitantly. “It is even more impossible now. I know nothing of this life of which you speak.”
“You will learn. I will teach you.” He smiled. “It will be the most glorious adventure ever known. I do not ask you to believe me, Xian-Li. All I ask right now is that you trust me. Can you do that, my love? Can you trust me?”
She looked at him a long time, then nodded.
“Good. Marry me and let us make a beginning.”
She wavered before the force of his insistence, then pulled away. “I must think, Arthur,” she said. “Please, I need a little time.”
“If it were mine to give, I would give you all the time you needed,” he told her gently. “But we have only tomorrow, and then I must depart.”
“Tomorrow will be time enough,” she said.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he allowed. He retrieved his shirt and pulled it on, did up the laces and tucked it into his breeches while Xian-Li padded away to the kitchen to resume her preparation of the meal. Wanting to allow her time to herself, Arthur went out to the back garden to join Wu Chen Hu, who was now awake.
The elder man smiled when he saw his friend, and he poured another cup of rice wine from the small jar in his hand. “It is good to see you looking strong again,” he said, handing him the cup.
“Thanks to you, Chen Hu, and your daughter, I am hale and healthy once more.” He raised the cup and saluted his host, taking a sip and passing back the cup. He sat down and leaned against the smooth trunk of the plum tree.
“And soon you must leave us.”
“Yes, tomorrow-otherwise the Gongbu will throw me into prison.”
“Those fellows can be very unforgiving,” sympathized Chen Hu. “Perhaps next season you will return for another tattau.”
“For a certainty, I will,” vowed Arthur. “I feel in many ways that my travels have only begun. I have many more places to visit”-he smiled and patted himself on the chest-“and many empty spaces to fill with tattaus. Yes, I will come back.”
“That is good to hear.” The older man sipped some wine and returned the cup to his guest. “I have another daughter, you know.”
“I did not know that.”
“Yes.” Chen Hu nodded slowly. “She lives in Zhaoqin-two days from here. She lives with her husband and two little boys. But a few days ago I received word from a friend who was in Zhaoqin that her husband is being sent to Macau-he is an official on the Libu, and he goes where they tell him to go. He has been given a promotion and increased pay.”
“Good for him,” mused Arthur, “and good for your daughter.”
“And good for Chen Hu too. I will have someone nearby to help look after me, so Xian-Li’s burden will be eased greatly.”
“I had not thought of that,” replied Arthur, wondering why his old friend had introduced this line of conversation. Were his feelings for the old man’s daughter so obvious, so transparent?
Wu Chen Hu, a little tipsy with the strong, sour wine, leaned forward unsteadily. “To speak truth,” he confided, “Hana-Li is a better cook than Xian-Li.” He grinned raffishly. “I am sorry, my friend, but it is true. You should know this, I think.”
“And you should know, Chen Hu,” he said, “that I worship your daughter. She is light and life to me. I do not care what kind of cook she might be.”
“You will!” chuckled the old man. “You will!”
And the thing was done. An understanding had been reached between the two men, and nothing more was said or needed to be said. All that remained was Xian-Li’s assent.
He still faced the difficulty of smuggling the young woman out of the country, but that, he considered, could be overcome one way or another. Where there was a will, there was a way: no one believed that more fiercely, more ardently than did Arthur Flinders-Petrie, who had greater validation for this belief than anyone might reasonably expect.
Later, after the three of them had shared the evening meal and walked a little in the night market, viewing the stalls of the merchants and artisans-looking for a few trinkets Arthur might take home to his young nephew and niece back in England-they said good night and went to their respective rooms. Arthur was sitting on the edge of his pallet, removing his shoes, when the door opened silently and Xian-Li entered. She took but two steps into the room.