Yes, and today's attack on the Plantations hadn't harmed things any either. In his experience, the greater people felt threatened, the more they were in need of distractions and Ben's "Shell"—even in its neutered Stim form—was the ultimate distraction.
"Is that nice?"
He grunted softly. Tired he might be, but not so tired that her tender ministrations weren't getting to him. He rolled over and faced her, enjoying the warm weight of her, the way she smiled.
"Today was a big day," he said, breathing deeply as she smoothed her hands across his chest, then slowly eased them all the way down into his groin. "Today I took a huge great gamble . . . and I won."
She grinned. "Fifty thousand. That big bonus. Fifty thousand keep me happy, oh"—she laughed—"many years!"
He smiled, liking her, enjoying the moment. Would there ever be a better moment—a moment when he felt more satisfied? Who could say? But even if there wasn't, even if this was all there was, it was enough. He chuckled, feeling generous suddenly, wanting to share his good luck with her.
"What's your name?"
She looked away, then looked back at him, her smile different somehow. "I called Jia Shu. You Jack, right?"
He nodded. "Okay, Jia Shu, how about this? How about you come and work for me alone? Be my maid. Look after me. I'll pay you well, make sure you looked after, okay?"
Her hands had stopped, now they began again. She gave a tiny nod, her face suddenly tight as if keeping something in, but her eyes, when they met his again, were bright with gratitude, and her body, when it moved against his, was somehow more caring, more intimate, than it had been only moments before.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Faces
THE WOMAN PEEKED through the screen, then quickly withdrew her head, tending to the stove once more. Uncle Pan had settled in the corner chair and lit his pipe. It looked like he was going to stay awhile.
Without being told, she poured hot water into the chung to brew some fresh ch'a, listening as the old man began his regular tirade.
"They're weak, that's what they are! They let that bastard get away with murder! If I were T'ang I'd kick his ass, good and proper! I'd break him over my knee like a rotten twig!"
In her mind's eye she could see Lin look up from his work and smile his lopsided smile, ever tolerant of his uncle's bluster.
"I'd crush him," the old man went on. "And no more silk glove treatment. I'd send a million troops against him and take back what's rightfully mine!"
She heard Lin stand and go to the door, listening a moment, then heard him speak softly to his uncle.
"Be careful what you say, Uncle. For myself, I do not mind, but if anyone should hear—"
"Let them hear!" the old man said belligerently. "That bastard should know the truth!"
She smiled and stood, lifting the steaming chung between her hands and carrying it through. The old man stared at her rudely as she emerged and made a scornful face, but Lin simply smiled at her and nodded.
"You took your time," the old man began, but a look from Lin silenced him. He would put up with most things from his uncle—out of respect and duty—but any criticism of her he stamped on instantly. "Thank you," Lin said, taking over from her, encouraging her with his eyes to go back behind the screen while his uncle was there.
She went back through and squatted by the kang, busying herself with some mending, only half listening to the old man's idle chatter, her mind dwelling instead upon his nephew, her protector, Lin.
In her mind she could see Lin's pale hands working as, smiling tolerantly, he listened to his uncle. Clever hands he had; hands that always knew the best way to fix a thing.
If something was broken, Lin could fix it, from the smallest, most delicate ivory to the biggest, most complex machine. People from stacks around brought things to him to be mended, and each year his reputation grew, each day more things would be brought for his clever hands to see to.
She smiled, looking at her own hands as they worked, neatly stitching the edge of the cloth so that it wouldn't fray again. That much she had learned from him: never to throw anything away. Everything__
everyone—had a use. With patience and care, there was nothing that could not be mended.
She looked up, sighing, remembering how he had nursed her through the long months of her sickness; how patiently he had attended to her, clearing up after her when she was sick, and sitting with her in the night when she was feverish. Mending her. And though that was some years ago now, still the lesson of it returned to her whenever he smiled at her. In all the time she'd known him, never an unkind word had passed his lips, nor had he ever asked a thing of her. What she did, she did from gratitude and because—as he showed by his example—a life of idleness was a life of waste.
"His father . . . now, there was a man!" the old man said, his voice booming loud suddenly. "He was a real emperor. A lion of a man!"
She set the square of cloth down and, leaning across, checked the pots on the kang. There was little enough for two, but for three She decided she would go without. Lin needed his strength, and even to consider not feeding Uncle Pan ... well, it was not done. Besides, she could eat later: have some crackers, or finish off the er-prawn paste in the cold box.
Sitting back, she looked about the room. Like the other half that lay behind the screen, its walls were covered with shelves on which were packed a thousand things waiting to be mended. Their belongings, such as they were, were stashed in a small cupboard to her right, beside the kang, which at nights doubled as a bed for her, Lin sleeping on a bedroll in the other room.
People talked. She knew they did. She had heard them when she'd walked to the washrooms at the corner of the stack to empty the night-soil pot. But she didn't care. They said he used her at nights—abused her badly—but both she and Lin knew the truth of that. What did it matter what idle tongues said? Besides, there were many who spoke up for them. Many who knew Lin's worth and weren't afraid to state it. She looked through the screen toward where he sat, working. "Everyone has a use, even those who seem most idle." That was what he always said, forgiving them. Yes, and he found work for people if he could; helped them in tiny but important ways—even those that spoke badly of him, so that when she thought of him she could not help but think of a great wheel, with Lin at the center, the hub about which so many lives, her own included, revolved, every one of them dependent in some way or other on him.
He didn't look like much, she knew. He was a pale, sickly-looking man, and his face . . .
She stood and went across to where, among a pile of chapter books he'd bought a week ago, she kept the mirror. It was a broken thing, the layer of reflecting ice bubbled on the right-hand side. Like his face, she thought, thinking of the way, when he smiled, the whole of the right-hand side was pulled into a grimace.
It was the kindest, loveliest smile she'd ever seen. . . . She held the mirror up and looked, holding it slightly away from her and moving her face to one side so she could see it whole. It was a strong-boned, healthy face. The face of a Hung Mao woman in her thirties, dark haired and hazel eyed. A handsome face, some said, describing it almost in boyish terms.
"Who are you?" she asked, her mouth forming the words silently. But the answer never came. Like much else, it was hidden from her, behind a screen much darker and thicker than the one that separated her right now from Lin. And Lin? If Lin knew, he wouldn't say. Or didn't know.
"I'd kick his ass!" Uncle Pan was saying, the tirade turning in on itself, like a snake swallowing its tail. "I'd break him over my knee like a rotten twig!"