Book 6, The China Expedition
Chapter 105, Part 1
 Richard settled back into his bench seat and was surprised
that the wicker had
pulled apart in several places. He felt a hole in the seat, placed a magazine over it,
looked up to see Timothy returning from the men’s room, laid his elbow on the
window ledge and looked out at the darkening evening sky. Purples and pinks over the
black mountains. Beautiful! Ominous! He rubbed himself between his legs pensively
and slowly as he watched the passing foothills and fading lights of Kowloon to the rear
in his range of vision.
“Hey, Dex,” he said, as Timothy sat down next to him.
“How’s your butt doing?” Timothy asked. He smiled glancing down at
the
magazine Richard sat on.
“OK,” Richard replied. “How’s the men’s
room?”
“It leaves a few things to be desired.”
“Like what?” Richard looked around the chair car.
“Like the commode is a hole in the floor. You have to hold onto a
pole...”
“Like in the Palaqua?”
“No. This pole is vertical. The ’hitching posts’ in the Palaqua were
horizontal
and outside of the fact they were lower to ground, they did look like real horse
hitching posts.”
“I’ve gotta pee.”
“That’s no problem,” Timothy said, slumping down a little in the seat.
“It’s
defecating, that’s the problem.”
“Why, Dex?”
“Because there are Chinese people sitting in the men’s
room.”
“Why are they sitting in the men’s room?”
“Who knows. Maybe they enjoy looking at men when they.... Who
knows?”
“Is there toilet paper in there?”
“You gotta see Emile. He has the paper.”
“Good old Emile,” Richard said, laughing, “he’s been flying
everywhere since we got on board.” He leaned toward Timothy and whispered,
“Will he wipe my butt for me?”
“No, but he will lecture the Chinese to return to their regular seats and leave the
men’s
room.”
“Did he really do that?”
“Yeah. He spoke to them in French and English and became enraged when they
ignored him.”
Richard chortled. “He’s so funny, Dex.”
“He really is,” Timothy replied. “Hey, Richard, I think I’ll catch a
little nap.”
“Me too,” Richard said, as he leaned his head against the window and watched
darkness surround the four car train.
“These narrow gage trains are not all that comfortable, are they
Dex?”
“No, but we’ll survive,” Timothy said, pulling his burgundy beret over
his
eyes.
The conductor walked slowly down the aisle and looked closely at the porters,
Emile, Felix, the seven light-skinned men from America, and was transfixed because
they all wore burgundy round hats.
He stood looking down at Timothy. Their bodies, his, standing, and Timothy’s
body, sitting, was jostled left then right in unison. “Shen-me chi
ma?—What size?” he
asked Timothy.
Richard turned and glanced up at the short man with holes in his jacket
sleeves. He wore a faded and worn cap, partly wool and cotton and partly wicker.
Richard read the ideographs on his cap and mouthed the words, “conductor.”
“Wan
an—good evening,” he said, and smiled at the small face, dark eyes and
stringy beard
and mustache. “Ni hao ma?—How are you?”
The Chinese giggled, appeared surprised and responded, “Hen
hao!—Very
fine,” he managed to say. He held onto the back of the seat ahead of Richard and
Timothy and asked, “Ni ming bai ma?—Do you
understand?”
“Shi, wo ming bai—Yes, I understand,” Richard replied. The
elderly Chinese
opened his eyes wide and surveyed Richard’s person then Timothy’s physique
and said, “I have
never spoken to an occidental person before this time, who spoke to me in my
language. And to think,” he continued, “now that I am speaking to a person
from the
West, I am speaking to him in my language.”
Richard screwed up the side of his face. He wasn’t certain if the Chinese was
happy or not. “Is that OK?” Richard asked. He rubbed his fly again. It
itches so much.
“Oh, it is very much OK,” the man replied. He put his hands inside his pocket.
He held a small book in his hand and said, “See? These words on this side are my
words and these words on this side are Western words.” Richard reached up and the
conductor handed him the small book.
“Oh, it’s a dictionary of Chinese-English words.”
“Yes, it is. The only problem here is that I do not know how to say the Western
words.”
“Pronounce them?”
“Yes, say them with my tongue.” He put the book back into his pant’s
pocket and said, “It is difficult to say words when you tongue doesn’t work
right.”
Timothy smiled, nodded and enjoyed looking at the conductor. His tunic is bright
blue, dirty, but fits him well, but his pants are several sizes to large for him. He
smiled inside again noting the conductor’s worn, gray sandals. He closed his eyes to
listen and began a light slumber.
Richard laughed, looked outside and noticed the train slowed. The frequency of the wheels
clicking on the rails was slower tempo.
“Where are we? Is the train going to stop?”
“We are beginning to travel into a great expanse of desert and so we shall stop
for a few moments so that all may get out, stretch, and exercise their legs as they desire.
And, any other quick pleasure young men need.”
“Good idea,” Richard said. “What is your name,
sir?”
“Changti,” the man said, his face beaming. “And I know that you are Mr.
Richard Thomas, the leader of these strong young American men.” He reached down
and touched Timothy’s thigh. Timothy stirred, yawned and slid his beret back on his
head. He glanced first at the conductor and asked, “What?”
“We are going to be stopping soon. I wanted to wake you up,” Changti said,
sounding authoritative.
“Touching me there, my friend, will wake me every time,” Timothy said,
speaking in English,
laughed and winked at Richard. He sat up straight and opened his legs wider.
Timothy’s masculine manner impressed Changti. It also pleased him and aroused him,
bringing back memories of his younger days as a brave and honest young man.
“He doesn’t speak Mandarin?” Changti asked.
“Yes, he does. He speaks Mandarin very well,” Phillip said.
Changti’s eyes opened wide as he turned his head. “You too?” he
said.
“Me too,” Phillip said, as he approached Changti from the rear. Changti stepped
back and asked, “Do all of you young men in your impressive round hats speak
Mandarin?”
“All of us, Changti, sir,” Harley said, joining Phillip and Changti. Changti
stood between the taller young Americans.
“He touched you where you’re hot, right?” Phillip said, chuckling.
Timothy smiled.
“Close enough,” Timothy replied.
“He’s a toucher,” Phillip said, in English. “He touches everyone.
He got me before. He’s a harmless old
guy. If we were naked, he’d probably be amazed at what we look
like.”
“You mean our size?” Harley asked.
“Especially your size, brother Harley,” Phillip said, shoving his brother gently.
“Anyone would be impressed by the way you come across. You are an impressive
presentation.”
“Well thank you,” Harley replied.
“Why don’t you speak Mandarin?” Changti asked. “Don’t
speak in your
tongue.”
“We call it English,” Jonathan said, switching to the Mandarin dialect, looking
across the aisle.
“Yes, that’s it, but I cannot say it,” Changti advised. My tongue
doesn’t move
that way.”
Harley and Phillip shrugged, bent down and looked outside, past Richard,
into the night.
“Geez, it’s dark out there,” Daniel said. “Why are we
stopping?”
“Stretch a little,” Timothy said. He stood up as the train lurched to a quick stop
and Changti flew against him. He smiled at Changti, who returned his smile, and
slowly pushed his arm back. “He got me again.”
“He likes to feel us,” Phillip said. “It must be custom. I told you so.
Don’t you remember those
young guys—those young soldiers and warriors—in the Palaqua? It was good luck
or
brought them better bodies and good health. They couldn’t keep their hands and
fingers off of us. And, I might add there is not a place on my body that has not been visited.
Strange world, don’t you think?” He followed Timothy and Richard toward the
rear of the car.
Timothy opened the door as Richard walked out onto the rear platform and jumped
down the stairs onto the sand of the desert. Timothy held the door open.
“Oh yeah,” Timothy said. “Well, if it makes him feel better,” he
said, as he listened to Changti speak to each of the young men, touch them in different
places:
bellies, thighs, crotches, the small of their backs, and buttocks and point to the rear
door.
“Go exercise,” he ordered. They filed out past Timothy, who began to laugh as
he watched Emile approach Changti with a leery eye that indicated great suspicion of Emile
toward Changti. Emile stared at the smaller conductor as he stretched his black leather
gloves onto his hands with great emphasis. Timothy hoped Emile would use some diplomacy.
He knew he and his brothers were like Emile’s own children. He would have it no
other way.
“I have no idea what you’re saying, you small Chinese man, but keep those
hands to yourself. You’re not going to pay me a visit.”
Changti reached out for Emile and
was rebuffed with Emile’s elbow. He passed the conductor quickly, turned his head,
and spoke to Felix over his shoulder. Felix followed Emile closely.“One would think
that in these times, they
would have conductors who spoke different wordly languages. My God, Felix, you
know as well as I do that French is universal as is English. Everyone I know, who
claims any amount of education at a minimum, minimum mind you, understands
French.” He spread his fingers wide and pulled his gloves down tighter on his fingers
then tugged on the cuffs. He finally slapped his hands together, satisfied with the fit.
“It’s, oops!” Emile stopped and Felix bumped him. He glared at the
conductor.
“Listen you Chinese roué, you rake! Keep your hands off of me. And
Felix,” he
snapped, “please watch where the fuck you’re walking. You nearly traversed
up my back.” He turned and continued
toward Timothy and straightened his velvet jacket and camel hair topcoat. “Timothy,
my lad, my strong son, we very, very soon must have a talk about protocol and that terrible
little
conductor. I’m going to black and blue, my body that is, in the most private places if
he doesn’t let up.”
Emile’s voice faded.
Timothy maintained his composure even though Emile’s actions were
entertaining. “Yes, sir,” Timothy replied. Felix passed Timothy and arched his
eyebrows.
“I don’t know about that conductor. Maybe he’s nearsighted, but he stuck
his
fingers almost up my ass, monsieur—sir.” He shook his head.
“It’s not proper,
Timothy,” Felix added as Timothy followed him out of the car and down three metal
steps to the brown sand of the desert.
Timothy joined Richard and his brothers as they walked slowly back and forth.
The only manmade light was from the passenger train that all agreed was no Atchison,
Topeka and The Santa Fe.
Timothy looked northward and saw groups of people
milling and moving slowly in different directionis, stretching their legs, squating to
strengthen their thighs, while others urinated. His eyes caught one shadowy
person, who didn’t move but seemed to be staring at he and his brothers. Suddenly the
person in the dark brown hood and long cloak began to stroll toward them. A chill
went up Timothy’s spine and he shivered as he watched the slow movement of the
person in the hood and cloak.
He glanced at Richard who was still and appeared to be watching the person
approach them. Richard glanced at Timothy and asked. “What is
it?”
“I don’t know yet.” Timothy stepped into the shadow of the train and
realized
that all Delta Rhos had stopped moving, were as rigid as statues and appeared to be
unaware of the approaching stranger. Timothy remained in the shadows as a face
became visible, lighted by the coach lights. The person walked up behind Daniel, who
turned and looked the man in the face. Daniel’s quick action startled the man and his
hood flew backward off his head.
“Who are you, sir?” Daniel said, and moved close to the man, touching his
body with his.
“Oh good,” the man replied. “You speak English. Sprechen sie
deutsch?—Do
you speak German?”
“Ich spreche wenig Deutsch—I speak a little German,” Daniel
answered. “Ich
bin Amerikaner—I’m an American.” The German looked slowly
around at the group of
Delta Rhos, noticed they were dressed alike and returned his gaze to Daniel. “My
name
is Daniel Harmon,” he said.
“And I’m Kurt Heidrick,” the tall German said. Daniel noticed his
straight,
long black hair, pale pink full lips and a short scar at the edge of his left eye.
“Do your friends speak German too?” Kurt asked.
“Yes,” Daniel replied. The German arched an eyebrow.
“His lips look like someone smacked his mouth with a two by four,” David
said, using pwo. Harley burst into laughter and bent forward laughing.
“Et Français aussi—and French too,” Phillip replied. He
looked him directly in
his eyes.
“Oh? Is that so?” Kurt said, folding his arms. He began to feel overwhelmed.
His eyes scanned the bodies of the young Americans. He was impressed by their
development.
“E italiano anche—And Italian too,” Harley said, smiled and
rotated in the sand
directly in front of the German.
“Are you a good German or a bad German?” Jonathan asked. “Have you
gotten
over the war?”
“I am on vacation,” Kurt replied. “I do research at the Kruper Laboratory
in
Berlin. But here I am on vacation. I’m a paleontologist. I research, examine and
categorize fossils from ancient geologic times.”
Timothy leaned against the steel side of his coach and listened. He didn’t know
why the German lied about his presence and he wasn’t certain how he knew he was
lying. He stepped out of the shadow of the train and Kurt turned and looked at him.
“Oh another young American?” he said, and chuckled.
He’s pretending he didn’t see me. Why? Phillip and David stepped
aside as
Timothy walked up close to Kurt. “A vacation?” Kurt’s smile
disappeared. His
expression became tense. “Where are you going?” Timothy was
taller than Kurt. Kurt
looked up into Timothy’s brown eyes and recognized authority.
“North China. I don’t know where exactly,” he answered nervously.
“I can’t
pronounce the name of the place.”
“Can you say it in Mandarin?” Timothy asked. Kurt didn’t want Timothy
to
stand closer to him.
“You young men speak Mandarin also?”
They remained silent and stared at the German.
“I guess you do,” he added. “Well, I must be on my way.” He
stepped
backward and threw his long cloak over back away from his body. It hung over his
shoulders. He wore a jacket, designed with many pockets, similar to a safari jacket, he
wore riding breeches, and long dark brown leather boots shinny and trim up to below
his knees. He pulled off his cloak, turned and walked back toward another car toward
the front of the train. He disappeared out of sight. Timothy heard the periodic sound of
pressure release, spitting from the engine, and smelled the metal tainted aroma of hot
engine steam. Changti hurried through the last coach, took each of the three steps with
his right foot first, let himself down onto the sand and pointed to the car.
“Lou-shang!
Lou-shang!—Upstairs! Upstairs!” he shouted.
Changti touched each of the young Americans as they stepped up onto the
stairs and leaped onto the platform and into the coach. Timothy stood a few feet behind
Phillip and guessed he would tease the small conductor.
“Dao Pei-ping ji dian?—When do we get to Peiping?” he asked
placing his
hand on the conductor’s shoulder. The short man cupped Phillip’s buttock as
the
spoke. Timothy chuckled at the interaction and was convinced the small Chinese was
acting in a normal manner. Richard laughed and shook his head.
“Ni yao qu na-il?—Where do you want to go?” Changti asked.
He patted Phillip
softly in time with his voice.
“Wo yao qu Peiping!—I want to go to Peiping.”
“Na me—In that case, lou-shang!—upstairs!”
Phillip laughed and leaped up the
stairs onto the platform and hurried into the car.
Timothy stepped forward, turned and faced Richard. “Changti, sir,” he
said.
“What, young man?” the conductor replied. He placed one hand below
Timothy’s navel and above his pelvic area. Richard tried not to smile. Changti placed
his other hand in the small of Timothy’s back as if to keep him from
moving.
“When do we get to Shanghai?”
“Maybe, hmm, maybe early in morning, sir,” Changti answered. He patted
Timothy’s back gently. Timothy looked down at him and saw the face of a dedicated
worker. He wondered how much money this old man made, if he had a family, when
he saw them. He turned to board the train and thanked Changti. “You’re
welcome,
sir,” Changti said, and bowed.
Changti glanced up at Richard and asked, “You got a question?”
“No, I don’t, Changti,” he giggled and laughed louder as Changti pushed
his
butt hard to help him up the stairs. Timothy held out his hand and easily pulled
Richard up the stairs. “He got me,” Richard said, as he and Timothy laughed
together,
opened the door and walked down the aisle toward their seats. “You want the
window?” Richard asked.
“No, I’m trying to figure out how we’re going to sleep tonight,”
Timothy said.
“It’s a good thing there aren’t many passengers on this train.”
Emile had taken his
topcoat and jacket off. His fedora was in the overhead baggage area as the train jerked
forward.
“Emile and I have this terrible situation figured out mes enfants—my
children,”
he said counting the number of empty seats. “The porters will bring some of the large
cardboard cartons back here...Oh excellent! There are enough empty
seats.”
“This coach is practically empty,” Richard said.
“Well,” Emile continued, “we’ll put the cardboard cartons between
the seats,
take some of the sleeping bags out of storage and you’ll be as snug as is possible. I
guarantee it.” He looked up to the front of the coach as the door swung open and Felix
led several porters into the coach. “I want all my Delta Rhos down in this end of the
coach. Felix,” he ordered, “put up the curtain. Use the blankets. We must have
privacy
here.”
The porters placed cartons between four seat and threw the backs of some seats
forward so that two cartons between two seat with backs that faced each other made a
usable large bed. Richard bent over and measured the plane of the seats with the top of
the large cartons, packed with supplies for the trip to Neeping. “Nearly even,”
he said.
“Well, of course, Richard,” Emile said. “We did measure the heights of
the
boxes and seats. He walked down the aisle, made adjustments as Felix strung a rope
across the middle of the car, and hung navy blue blankets on the line, separating four
Chinese passengers, three men and one woman, from the young Delta Rhos, Emile and
Felix.
Emile turned around to examine the curtain, tugged it in places to lengthen the
fall, was satisfied with the height from the floor and said, “Now there is more privacy.
You may undress now with assured privacy.”
“What is local time?” Timothy asked.
“It’s almost ten in the evening,” Richard replied.
“Get undressed, put on your pajamas or whatever you want to wear or not
wear and I’ll get some refreshments for you,” Emile said making a last minute
check of
the encampment at the end of the last coach.
The Delta Rhos began to undress as Felix and Emile finished making their beds
and checked them for comfort. “Very soft, indeed,” Emile said patting the
sleeping
bags utilized as mattresses that extended from bench seat over the tops of the cartons to
other the back of the second seat. He motioned to Richard who had stripped to down to
his white briefs. “Try this my friend,” Emile said.
Richard stepped up onto the seat, sat down and laid down. Emile tossed a few
pillows at him and laughed. He swirled a large white silk sheet over him and then laid
a long purple blanket over the sheet.
“Amazing,” Richard said. “Come on Dex, strip and hop
in.”
Soon the Delta Rhos were sitting in their makeshift beds, laughing, telling
jokes and bouncing together as the train seemed to be traveling rapidly toward
Shanghai and finally Peiping.
“Hey! Look what I’ve found,” Phillip shouted and held up a small
ukulele. “It
has all the strings too! Anybody know how to play it?”
“No, thank God,” Harley said. “Phil, I hate ukuleles. They sound
so...so...poor.”
“Do you mean impoverished?” Phillip asked.
“No word games tonight, you guys,” Jonathan said. “Let’s see
now. Dex and
Dick are together, Harley and I are here, Phil is by himself in bed, and Daniel and
David are together there. Say Phil,” he said, chuckling, “if you get cold during
the
night, you can crawl in with us.”
“He won’t get cold during the night. Those sleeping bags are lined with
lamb’s
wool and that’s the best you can buy,” Emile said handing milk, juice, crackers
and
small sandwiches around the group.
“What do you think of this trip?” Phillip asked Emile as he chewed his
sandwich and rubbed the strings of the ukulele.
“Where did you get that uke?” Emile asked, chewing slowly with his mouth
closed.
“I found it down here, behind this seat,” Phillip replied.
“Let me see it,” Emile begged, and held out his hand to Phillip. He held the
ukulele close to him and strummed a few notes. He then held it up to the light, turned
it over several times and said, “this isn’t a ukulele, but it sure looks like
one.”
“How do you know it isn’t a uke?” Felix asked.
“Because, mon ami—my friend,” Emile said handing it
back to Phillip. “It is
too well made, smells of lemon oil and an old scent I’m not familiar
with.”
“What are you saying, Emile?” Timothy asked, finishing his
snacks.
“It’s old. Very old. Maybe valuable. God knows, though you young guys
don’t
need more money. Nor do I need money for that matter. You know
that!”
“Thank goodness,” Felix said standing up and collecting the milk and juice
bottles.
“Thank goodness, is right,” Emile said, agreeing. “Now look at that.
There
comes that little hands on conductor. Have you ever seen a conductor that
small?”
Changti approached the Delta Rhos, scanned the beds and smiled and said,
“Good, good.”
“He approves,” Emile said. “Tell him to turn out the coach lights so we
can get
some sleep will you Timothy?”
“We’re ready for bed, Changti, sir,” Timothy said in
Mandarin.
“That is good,” Changti replied. “I will turn out the lights immediately.
And, I
shall awaken you in the morning.” He turned and walked to the long blue blankets,
walked between them and disappeared.
“Ça ne fait rien—It doesn’t matter,” Emile
answered as the lights in the wall
sconces above each sitting area and the overhead lights went out.
Richard sat with his back against the back of the seat and stared out the
window. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the coach and he occasionally saw
bushes, cactus, scurrying night animals and he suddenly felt lonely. He clenched his
jaw as Timothy asked him how long he would sit up. “I don’t
know.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know,” Richard replied. “All of a sudden, I feel
lonely.”
Timothy patted his cousin’s leg and suggested he lie down. Richard slid his
body down and reclined in the seat and became quiet.
“Are you OK?” Timothy asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“It happens to me to,” Timothy said and put his hand on Richard’s
side.
“What happens?” Richard asked.
“I stop to think about what we’re doing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah and it’s all a little scary.”
“Yeah, it is,” Richard said. His voice became a whisper. “I think at times
I miss
my grandfather, our grandfather, very much. Maybe too much.”
Timothy continued to console his cousin. He patted him gently for a long
period of time. He didn’t hear Richard speak, looked up and couldn’t tell if he
were
sleeping or not. He continued patting his side. Finally, he stopped and made certain
that Richard was covered. Timothy turned over and faced away from Richard. He
closed his eyes and felt Richard shaking. He turned and looked over his shoulder. He
couldn’t see Richard but his body shook. Richard giggled.
“What, Dick?”
“Can you believe when we saw that strange figure at Madame Lu Lin’s house,
the one thing that Harley remembered is that the guy possessed a horn second to none, even
us?”
Timothy laughed. “That Harley is something else.”
“I heard that,” Harley said. “You guys want to tell ghost stories or sex
stories?”
“Not tonight,” Timothy said. “You guys can go ahead. You won’t
bother me.
I’m going to go to sleep.”
“Me too,” Richard said, and turned his back to Timothy. Timothy moved
backward so that their backs and butts touched and pulled Richard closer. Timothy
quickly went to sleep while Richard looked up into the night sky of China, the place of
his birth. And here we are, going to a place we know little about, and trying to find a
people we know less about. He sighed again. Riding a train that may or may not
make
it to the end of the line. I’ve dragged my dearest friends into potential danger, they
haven’t indicated any fear and now I’m beginning to feel guilty about involving
them,
and I don’t know what I’ll do if any harm comes to them. He hated the
tears in his
eyes. He wanted to cry but didn’t want Timothy or his brothers to hear him cry.
“Xia-
tian kuai-che—The Summer Express,” he said. Timothy turned and put his
arm on
Richard’s chest. And here we are on the most modern night train to
Shanghai—The
Summer Express. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes.
“Everything’s going to be OK,” Timothy said. “It will
be.”
Richard felt the warmth of Timothy’s body and the comfort of his words. He
didn’t remember falling asleep.
Ivy Walls, Book 6, Chapter 105, Part 1
Continue Reading -- Chapter 105
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