Le Colonial (22 page)
P
ierre tugged on the rope that connected the apparatus to the horse carriage, checking its tautness. He was fuming with frustration. It was already past noon. Still, he was unable to demonstrate the principle of the Newcomen steam engine to his student.
Prince Ánh always insisted on having an audience of all of his wives, who never went anywhere without an entourage of servants, ladies-in-waiting, and eunuchs. Their chatter disrupted the prince’s concentration. Instead of listening, Ánh constantly looked over his shoulder, eager to display his affection to each of the princesses and take part in their silly gossip. This morning, Queen ThJy, the first wife of King Due Tong, had decided to attend Pierre’s classroom, having heard that he was planning to perform an act of magic. Her presence was a source of stress for him. The sound of her laugh, forceful and condescending, grated on his nerves.
He worried about offending her. Even though he had lived among the Annamite royals for many years and had acquired an important position in their court, sometimes the cultural differences still created danger for him. The language continued to challenge him. Each word was a monosyllable with a number of meanings that depended on the six different tones given them as they were enunciated. One wrong inflection and not only would he be misunderstood, but the effect his words had on his audience’s mood could also be altered.
At court, he often witnessed the queen’s outburst at the slightest misusage or colloquialism. The royals’ nature, unlike the peasants’, was complicated, and the dialect of court was even more intricate than everyday usage. Once, at a celebration of the New Year, an opera singer and the chorus sang an aria about a thief named Due. Upon hearing the refrain, the queen commanded her guards to seize the entire theatrical troupe and flog them on-site, each with thirty blows of the cane. Blasphemy was their crime. The queen expected them to avoid any reference to King Due Tong’s name in association with a villain. Since that incident, Pierre was extra careful when speaking at a formal affair.
More than anything, he wanted to impart his knowledge to Ánh, for he knew it would help the prince become a great leader in the future. Pierre had planned a curriculum, pages long in his mind, of science, mathematics, geography, politics, and war, but time was of the essence.
As King Due Tong assumed authority over Saygun Citadel from its previous ruler, who was one of his kinsmen, the royals settled into their usual life of comfort. But it was a time of uncertainty and waiting. Around the citadel, and in the rest of the communities in the South Kingdom, the attack of the Tonquinese and the royal family’s defeat had affected all lives, great and small. The threat of the three mountain brothers hovered over every household, and the mention of their names ignited dread among the citizens. The rebels, growing stronger with each day, could attack Saygun at any moment. Due Tong’s forces had been decimated at Hue and now consisted primarily of a handful of high-ranking officers. Pierre knew they were no match for the enemy, even when combined with troops already stationed in Saygun.
A eunuch, who had been using the front panel of his tunic to fan the kiln all morning, jumped back with a cry of excitement. The fire was at last ablaze. At the same instant, there was a stir from within the bamboo bushes a few steps away, but Pierre’s attention was diverted by a shriek of laughter from the women. He inhaled deeply and gazed at the vast motionless sky above. Prince Ánh stole another glance at his wives and grinned sheepishly. Pierre, racked by frustration, reminded himself of his purpose for being there. With the fire at its peak, he was eager to woo his audience with magic.
Much to his dismay, one of the wives, Princess Jade Bình, drew nearer. Fully seven months’ pregnant, she carried her stomach in one arm and supported her back with the other. Pierre rolled his eyes. His major failure was his inability to prevent His Highness from committing one of the gravest of all sins—polygamy. But he had to keep his objection private. His opposition to this practice had been one of the factors that had led to his expulsion from Cochin China on his previous expedition.
The princess stood next to her husband, studying the device. Inside the boiler, steam began to rise, pushing the piston upward. The armature went up, and on the opposite end, it descended. The rope attached to the horses went slack. It needed an adjustment to make it taut again.
He heard the prince questioning his wives. “What are you all laughing about? Do you find me a poor student?”
“We would never laugh at Your Highness,” said Lady Jade Bình. “Her Majesty told a funny tale about a Chinese man’s experiment with fireworks.”
With reluctance, Pierre shifted his attention to the pregnant girl. His curiosity was aroused by the word
fireworks.
Could he in some way use their gossip as a lesson on the principles of gunpowder?
“What tale, madam?” he asked her.
“A tale of transportation.” Her happy little laugh told him that she welcomed his intrusion.
“Oh, what do you mean?”
She repeated the queen’s story to him. The others hung on each word. From the clearing beyond the bamboo and bougainvillea vines came the rustling sound again. While he listened to the princess, he supplied the rest of the remarkable story from his own speculation. Her annoying giggle kept interrupting the tale. He thought of the Chinese who had attempted to fly. The man’s courage and aspiration,to him, were an example of the kind of human ingenuity that had formed the basis for modern science. But the laughter from the royal listeners revealed their indifference to the scientist’s unfortunate end.
From behind the fence, the squirming noise returned, unmistakably accompanied by whispers and a soft laugh. Someone was watching them. He made a swift turn toward the bushes and caught a sliver of an eye among the green leaves. He made his voice sound stern.
“Who’s there? Where are the guards?”
The shrubbery shook, and the women screamed with fright. His Highness raised his hand to summon the guards, who streamed from within the palace, confused and excited. Some clustered around the queen, who clutched her chest with breathless alarm. Pierre strode toward the fence. What he saw ignited in him an ashen, simmering rage.
Running across the meadow toward the Rainbow Bridge and holding each other’s hands were his problematic pupil and the prince’s servant girl. She seemed half naked, and he was barefoot. What sins might they have committed beyond spying? Pierre looked at the prince and signaled with his hand. “Stop the guards!”
“What?”
“Your Highness, stop the guards!” he said. “I saw a pair of harmless children. They have already run away. I think they’ve been frightened enough.”
The prince shrugged. The women’s cries ceased, and the sunshine forced them to retreat under their parasols. One of the horses shook its head and whinnied. He soothed the animal with a pat on its snout and readjusted the rope. The steam within the boiler was still rising, but the piston had reached its pinnacle. It was time for the magic to begin.
“Your Highness, do you really need that servant girl?” he asked.
“Which one?” replied Ánh.
Pierre said, “The orphan girl. The slave.” He searched for her name. “Xuan.”
The prince touched the cylinder with his fingers wrapped in his sleeve. “I enjoy her cooking.” He cocked his head. “But tell me, Bishop de Béhaine, why are we discussing this insignificant servant?”
Pierre gave the rope a final tug. “I think it is time for a matchmaker to find her a suitable husband before she gets into trouble. A girl that age should not be without supervision.”
Leaving his student baffled, he turned a valve that released water into the boiler in order to stop the steaming process. Slowly but powerfully, the piston was sucked downward, pulling the armature with it. On the opposite end, the horses struggled in vain against the force that pulled them into the air, where they hovered, kicking their hooves and neighing.
The audience gasped. Prince Ánh was astonished. He turned to Pierre, speechless.
Rising from the settee, the queen clasped her hands and shouted with enthusiasm, forgetting her station.
“What good would this do?” asked the prince.
“Your Highness,” Pierre replied, bowing. “What you just witnessed is power!”
Night fell over the citadel. In the thick, humid air, the chanting of Buddhist monks joined the rhythm of the crickets’ chirping. Fireflies drifted through the dark branches.
In the southern section of Prince Ánh’s palace was the monastery—the living quarters for foreign guests and monks of all religions. For centuries, before Pierre and the Portuguese missionaries arrived, it had been a Buddhist pagoda, surrounded by many smaller towers like a man-made mountain of sandstone. For the past three years, the temple had served as their home.
Much to his dismay, he had to live with the Oriental idolatry that dominated the interior of his new refuge. Tall, meditating Buddha statues seemed tranquil in the fitful candlelight, but their size dwarfed everything in sight. Under the protection of the royal family, the carved stone figures challenged his authority.
Even though Pierre was not officially allowed to preach to the royals, they didn’t object when he held services for the Portuguese monks and the natives who had been converted in the past. His Christian sanctuaries were two small chambers on either side of the grand hall. One was used for baptismal ceremonies for the occasional new convert, and the other for administering the Eucharist and penance. Despite the government’s effort to eradicate Catholicism, its seed continued to grow. It gave Pierre the greatest pleasure to reconnect with those he had baptized years earlier, those who still practiced the true religion.
Ignatius Khanh, Patrick Châu, and Vincent HQp were among Pierre’s students, living in their own quasireligious community in Saygun after the deportation of the missionaries in 1770. They had been bound to the Church by their three vows. The first was to be chaste and not to marry until receiving permission from the bishop. The second was to share all their possessions. And last, they must, without question, obey their elder, whom Pierre had chosen to be their superior in his absence.
He walked to the door of the great hall and stood, legs apart, hands clasped behind him. A bright star smudged the sky. Far beyond the inked outlines of the temples, across an unrecognizable empty space, lived the prince and his wives. He thought of Henri, his wayward novice, imagined him alone with the seductive servant girl. Their lust for each other polluted the night, like the odor of musk.
Like it or not, it was time for him to take charge of the young man before he lost his grip on him forever.
He surveyed the largest statue under the light of a handheld lantern and caught his reflection in a Pa Kua mirror that a heathen worshipper had hung from its neck to ward off evil spirits. He stared into his own eyes, deep-set and weary, squinting from under bushy brows, and a corner of his upper lip lifted with distaste. He removed his hat and opened the collar of his tunic. A tuft of chest hair, dusted with gray, was visible under his chin.
In the dim chapel, two Portuguese monks, Brother João and Brother Tiago, leaned on a desk, both with their heads bent over theirdaily Breviary. Brother Tiago sat with his back straight, applying the devotion he had honed with his advanced years. Nearby, the younger monk, Brother João, slouched on his tailbone, his blue eyes moving as he read. Across the courtyard, light shone through the green slats of a closed window in a pagoda that housed a group of Buddhist monks. Their monotonous chant resumed.
Life is a journey, death a return
.
“What can I do to silence those simpleminded fools?” he asked the idols in irritation. “If we come from nothingness, and death is the return to nothingness, then explain to me, how can a soul continue to transmigrate through time?”
It wasn’t the first time he had expressed his disdain for the Buddhist doctrine. He wondered how the Orientals, Chinese, and Indians alike, who were so advanced in culture and knowledge, could accept such a nonsensical religion. His frustration was directed toward the silent stones. He had petitioned the royal family numerous times to have the statues removed. Each time the queen denied his request, his resentment increased. As long as the idols reigned in his house of worship, they reminded him of his inability to influence the young prince and, therefore, of his failure as a missionary.
He stood and pointed his forefinger at the stone carving. “One day I will demolish all of you and wipe out this false religion once and for all.”
The chanting stopped. Then, as if to challenge his authority, it returned with renewed intensity, reaching a high-pitched crescendo. Pierre spat, facing their monastery’s window. The lantern flickered, and a yellow blade of light swept across his face.
Outside, the rain came, rolling down the tiled roof, collecting in the bamboo gutter. From there, it rushed into another bamboo shaft, which poured into a vat. He could still hear the Buddhist monks, but the words were now washed in the drone.
“Where are you, Henri?” he yelled into the darkness.
The two Portuguese monks looked up from their prayer books.
Rain splashed in his face; the taste was almost as salty as seawater. The sultry weather in Saygun reminded Pierre of Marseille. It was, after all, an open city for commerce. Foreigners from many countries sailed in and out of port with their goods, trying to set up businesses. When King Due Tong and his surviving family arrived at the citadel, they had brought with them nothing except for the royal seal, which helped them gain dominance over the people. To recover the fortune they left behind, and to rebuild their militia, the king took control of the trading and enhanced it to an art form.
The holy temple became a refuge for eminent foreign guests. Among them was the captain of the
Wanderer
. Like the other traders, Petijean was attracted to the richness of Saygun. Ivory tusks, rhinoceros horns, sugar, rare woods, ginseng, rice, and other exotic resources were available for export. In exchange, the captain would deliver to the palace his cargoes of muskets, gunpowder, iron armor, and cannonballs. Besides providing the king with artillery, he offered his expertise in Western combat strategies and, on occasion, would sell the king a battleship that would be added to Cochin China’s naval fleet. All around Saygun, brothels, gambling casinos, and taverns were flourishing, thanks to the influx of sailors.