The Flower Boat Girl by Larry Feign

Author:Larry Feign [Books, Top Floor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Novel based on the true story of a legendary Chinese woman pirate
ISBN: 9789627866565
Publisher: Top Floor Books
Published: 2021-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

It took no more convincing to send myself ashore until the baby came. I was given a small one-room house in a dusty back lane and a servant named Siu-ting. She was a clever local Tunghoi girl of thirteen who kept the place tidy, prepared my meals, fanned me while I napped in the punishing summer heat, and put up with my moods.

Siu-ting was also my source of all the latest rumors: the navy was about to withdraw; the navy had expanded forces; the pirate leaders had prepared a common battle plan; the captains had come to blows in the wine shop and wrecked the tables; new food sources had been found. Though judging by the dwindling quality and quantity of items she brought from the market, that last rumor proved false enough to make all the other news suspect.

In the month that followed, I received frequent visits from the Wu wives, Ah-Yi, and other women. Cheung Po Tsai surprised me with a visit. Somewhere he’d found dried plums, which I greedily devoured. He even brought me a loose-fitting smock of cheerful blue fabric.

“Even a pregnant woman should look good,” he said. “Especially one carrying my baby brother. Or sister. I’ll take both, ha!”

The other men still considered my place of confinement off-limits. At least, that was Cheng Yat’s excuse. He staggered in late one evening, sloppy with drink, wanting sex “with a real elephant woman.” I threw him off.

“The baby’s doing well, and the mother is coping. Thank you for asking,” I said.

His eyes and mouth drooped like a confused puppy.

“Isn’t that what you came here to find out? Do you care about this child? Because I’m trying very hard to,” I told him.

“I came to pleasure you.” His hands were all over me. Again, I pried him off.

“You want to give me pleasure? Show me you’re happy about this thing you put inside me, so that maybe you can convince me to feel the same.”

He stumbled outside, giving no clue of whether he had heard me.

One day I was alone, pacing in the dark and sweaty air, having shut the house tight against the aggressive flies. Someone knocked, then let herself in. I opened a window as much for the light as to freshen the air for my guest’s benefit.

I had never warmed to Tunghoi Bat’s wife: too convinced of the aristocracy of her position as wife of the local crime boss. She had dressed as if to remind me of that, in a patterned silk robe too formal for such a visit, her white hair bunched into a white ivory comb over a face so pale one would think she had just emerged from a cave.

“I’ve brought a little something for you,” she said, setting a red paperboard box on the table and lifting the cover. Two compartments brimmed with melon seeds and boiled nuts. “Troublesome to find these days, as long as they’re out there,” she said, shrugging toward the harbor and the naval blockaders beyond. “But I well remember the cravings of a mother-to-be.

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