Dragonfly Read online

  She blushed with happiness and said, "I am pleased that my Tai-Pan is so happy with me."

  "Delirious."

  The scent of rose petals was so rich that he felt almost drunk with it.

  "But I am praised too much. I am no jewel. I am just an old, faithful cow." Her lovely face was set in a scowl, as if she were castigating herself for not being the precious jewel that he thought she was.

  "If you are an old cow, then what am I?" he asked as her small hands dropped the brush and began to scoop up water with which to rinse his chest.

  "You are Tai-Pan of this house," she said. "Master of this house and my master too."

  "An old dinosaur," he said.

  "Not at all old," she said, dismayed.

  Teasing her, he said, "But if you are old, then so must I be."

  She frowned more fiercely than ever. "Well, I am young, then. I change my mind. I am a young, faithful cow." She finished rinsing his chest. "Because you are not old."

  He was, in fact, sixty-four years old. He had been a young lieutenant at Mao's side when Chiang had been driven from the mainland many years ago, and he had been in a position of power within the People's Republic ever since. He was a squat, powerfully built man, with a closely shaven head, deep-set black eyes, a wide nose, lips broad and flat like strips of hammered metal, and a round, blunt chin. He did not look sixty-four years old or even fifty-four. And he felt like a young man—especially when he was with her.

  Her name was Yin-hsi, and she was lovely beyond words. Her oval face was graced with a wide, sensuous mouth and almond-shaped eyes as clear and dark as the night between the stars. Her hair was piled high atop her head and held in place by antique jeweled pins that were the same sapphire shade as her silk robe. Her skin was far silkier than the robe: warm yellow-brown, taut, scented with a delicate Western perfume. She was only twenty-three years old, young enough to be his granddaughter.

  In 1949 her real grandparents and her mother—who was then still a child—had fled to Taiwan with Chiang Kai-shek's followers. Her mother had grown up on the island and had married Yin-hsi's father there. The newlyweds had then emigrated to South Korea, where, in the aftermath of the United Nations' war against North Korea, there were many golden opportunities. Her father had become a moderately successful businessman, and her mother had settled down to raise a family, one son and two daughters.

  Yin-hsi had been born in Seoul, and her parents had raised her much as Chinese girls had been raised before Mao's revolution. She had never been meant for factory work or for farm work on some dust-choked commune. She was too soft for that, too delicate, too like a flower of flesh and hair. She had none of the virtues of an emancipated Communist woman —but those were not the only virtues that a woman might rightfully cultivate. Yin-hsi's great strength lay in her desire to serve her master, be he her husband or only her owner. She gloried in giving her Tai-Pan all the pleasure she could produce with her woman's knowledge, obedient nature, personal devices, and body. And because this was what she had been educated to do, Yin-hsi was a very great credit to her father, mother, and to herself.

  After extensive and prolonged negotiations, General Lin had purchased Yin-hsi six years ago, shortly after she had turned seventeen. He had given many tasteful gifts and considerable cash to her father. He had promised to treat her well always and to keep her always unspoiled. He had bought a four-room, gracefully designed pine bungalow two doors from her family, and there he had set her up in housekeeping with a female servant and all the necessities. Before Yin-hsi, there had been another mistress of whom the general had grown weary. He didn't think he would ever grow weary of his Yin-hsi, even if he were to live well into his eighties.

  The general considered himself to be a good Communist, yet he did not feel guilty about owning another human being. This was, of course, an inexcusable sin in the eyes of other Communists. General Lin knew, however, that he owned the girl only in the most abstract sense. He never treated her as a slave; and he had impressed upon her that if she should ever want to quit this life in favor of the more modern and conventional path of marriage and suburban life, he would free her instantly upon her request.

  Nevertheless, had any officials in China known about Yin-hsi, General Lin would have been stripped of his authority and drummed out of the Party. Quite likely, he would also be put on trial and found guilty and sentenced to prison or to "reeducation" on a pig farm.

  Which would have been terribly tragic, for the general really was a good Communist. He believed that the Party had fed, clothed, housed, and educated the masses better than any capitalistic system could have done. He deeply desired a lasting Communistic future for China.

  What he did not believe in or desire was the joyless, sexless, robotistic Communism that had grown out of the Maoist State. Mao Tse-tung had always been a crushing bore and a prude: a brilliant and admirable political leader but a rather shallow human being. Lin had been close enough to him to see this much from the start of the revolution. But to think that in just a few short decades Mao and his most ardent followers had managed to lead an entire nation of nearly a billion people into voluntary sexual self-denial and outright self-repression! Incredible! And more than incredible, he thought, it was nonrevolutionary. Criminal. If you allowed yourself to be programmed as an asexual automaton, you were no different from capitalism's programmed worker-drones who had been propagandized into denying themselves the full rewards and joys of their own labors.

  From the beginning of his association with the Maoist cause, General Lin had rejected asexuality and had, indeed, assiduously cultivated his erotic drives. At sixty-four he was still an extremely active man—and quietly proud of it.

  His cover was perfect. He had been made chief of the Internal Security Force in 1951, and from the earliest days of the ISF he had done field work just like the agents who were answerable to him. He was the ISF's leading expert on South Korea and made regular monthly undercover missions into that country, often remaining there for a week or ten days at a time. This activist role was applauded by the Party's highest executives. As they saw it, any general who took the same risks as those he required of his subordinates was in no danger of being corrupted by power or by a sense of elitism. (And, in fact, this was part of the reason why he had always worked in the field as well as behind the desk.) He was, they said, an excellent example of revolutionary Communism at work. Accepting this constant praise with calculated modesty, the general continued his field work in South Korea, where, until such a time as the Korean dictator could be overthrown, he could enjoy a vigorous and very non-Maoist sex life beyond the sight and suspicion of his superiors.

  "I am a failure," Yin-hsi said.

  "Are you fishing for more compliments?"

  "I am a failure."

  "That isn't true."

  "It is true."

  "Why is it true?"

  "You think too much."

  "How does that reflect on you?"

  "If I were a good woman to you, I should be able to take your mind off all your troubles. But I am no good. I am a failure. You sit there frowning, worrying."

  He stood up in the bath while she dried him with a large, thick towel. "I frown only because I can think of no way to be with you more often."

  She tilted her head and looked at him coquettishly. "Are you telling the truth?"

  "Yes."

  "This is why you were frowning?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I am not a failure?"

  "Indeed, you are too much of a success."

  Smiling, she finished drying him.

  "Stand before me," he said.

  She did, her arms at her sides.

  He removed the jeweled pins from her hair. Rich, shining, dark crescents of hair fell about her face.

  "You desire me?" she asked.

  "Perhaps."

  "Only perhaps?"

  "I have not decided."

  "Oh?"

  "I have high standards."

  She
looked down at his thick erection and giggled.

  "Ah, woman," he said in mock exasperation. "Where is your modesty? Have you no shame?"

  She pouted and said, "I am a failure."

  Laughing, he untied the sash of her robe and slipped the silk from her. Her sweet breasts quivered before him. He took them in his gnarled, scarred hands and gently massaged them.

  "Should I turn down the bed?" she asked.

  "Yes—unless you want to be taken on a brick floor."

  "You would bruise me?"

  "If necessary."

  "But you would not like me with bruises."

  "Then I would leave you."

  "Oh?"'

  "Until the bruises had vanished."

  "You are a cruel man," she said teasingly.

  "Oh, terribly cruel."

  She crossed the softly lighted room to the low-standing bed and pulled back the quilted blankets. The sheets were yellow silk. She stretched out on them, her golden thighs slightly parted, the shaven petals of her sex visible in dust-soft shadows. Her hair was fanned across both pillows. Smiling at him, she put the tip of one finger against her right breast and murmured wordlessly as the nipple rose and stiffened under it.

  So beautiful! he thought. So exquisitely beautiful!

  She patted the mattress beside her.

  The general was a good, unselfish lover. He did for her all the things he wanted her to do for him; and after they had spent nearly an hour preparing each other, he mounted her. His compact, muscular body was powerful yet gentle in the act. She had no need to pretend a long, shuddering climax, for it came to her almost as soon as he began to thrust within her. And a few minutes after she had convulsed beneath him a second time, he groaned softly and emptied his seed deep into her.

  "Tai-Pan," she said.

  He kissed her neck.

  Later they sat up in bed and sipped mint tea which she had made in a silver pot. They ate miniature cakes sprinkled with honey, raisins, and toasted almonds.

  When he was full of cakes, he got out of bed and retrieved a small box and a long beige envelope from his clothes. He placed the envelope on the mirrored tray atop her vanity and brought the box back to the bed. He gave it to her and said, "An imperfect gift for a perfect woman."

  As delighted as a child, she put down her teacup and unwrapped the box. She withdrew from it a long, fine-linked gold chain at the end of which was suspended a single jade teardrop. Carved in the stone were the basic features of a lovely oriental woman. "Oh," she said breathlessly, "it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

  "It is nothing."

  "But it is magnificent!"

  "It is unworthy of you."

  "I am unworthy of it."

  "You deserve far more."

  "You are too generous."

  Gradually, each allowed himself to be flattered. Yin-hsi slipped the chain around her neck, and the jade fell between her smooth, heavy breasts. They agreed that the jewelry was perhaps the most beautiful piece of its kind in the world—and that it looked more beautiful between her breasts than it could have looked on any other woman who had ever lived. Both of them blushed and smiled.

  After they had sipped brandy for a few minutes, he said, "How have your household funds been holding up? Am I giving you enough to meet the bills?"

  She was surprised, for he had never asked about this during the last six years. "More than enough. You are too generous with me, Tai-Pan. I have accumulated a large surplus in the bank. Would you like to see my records?"

  "No, no. The surplus is yours."

  "I manage the accounts well. You can be proud of me."

  He kissed her cheek. "Today I am leaving an envelope which contains four million Korean won." At the current exchange rate, four hundred and fifty won equaled one United States dollar.

  "That is too much!" she said.

  "Is it sufficient to run the house for one year?"

  "Perhaps two years! And stylishly!"

  "Good. I would not want you to be in need of anything."

  Worry lines appeared in her face. "You are not going away for an entire year?"

  "I hope not."

  "But maybe?"

  "Maybe forever."

  The worry lines deepened. She bit her lower lip. "You are teasing me."

  "There is serious trouble in Peking."

  She waited.

  "A great danger," he said, thinking of the Americans and their Dragonfly project. "Perhaps the problem will be quickly dealt with. If not . . . Many of my people will die, and there will be months of chaos, disorder."

  "Do not go back," she said.

  "I am Chinese."

  "So am I!"

  "I am a Communist."

  "You cannot really believe in Communism, not deep in your heart."

  "But I do. I do not expect you to believe, but I do. And a man cannot run away from his philosophy."

  "You love Communism more than you love me."

  "I have been with you six years," he said softly. "And I love you more than I ever ever loved a woman. But Communism has been my entire life, and to deny it would be to deny myself."

  Tears shimmered on her eyelashes.

  "Do not cry."

  She cried.

  He raised his voice and became sharp with her. "You are disgracing your family. You are supposed to improve my spirits, not deflate them. What manner of concubine are you? Either you will stop crying at once, or I will punish you severely."

  She rolled off the bed and ran from the room.

  Leaning back against the pillows, he tossed off the rest of his brandy and managed to hold back his own tears. Damn these Americans! What fools! What maniacs!

  Ten minutes later she returned and climbed into bed with him. Her eyes were clear. She had refreshed the light coat of makeup that she wore. "I am a failure," she said.

  "Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes," he said with mock severity. "You are such a failure, a terrible failure. Oh yes!"

  Her smile was weak; her lips trembled.

  He put one hand on her firm breasts.

  She said, "Must you return today?"

  "Within the hour. I should never have left Peking in the middle of such a crisis. But I had to see you once more and be sure that you were provided for. If I get back tonight, I will not have been too derelict in my duties."

  Without another word she slid down in the bed until her face was in his lap. She began to kiss him there. A few minutes later she said, "Do you desire me again?"

  "Would you have me say no when the proof of the lie is in your hand?" he asked.

  "Indisputable proof," she said, squeezing his erect member.

  "Come to me."

  Soon after they had finished, he got out of bed and began to dress. When she started to get up too, he said, "No. Lie down. I want to look at you while I dress. I want to take away with me the picture of you naked on my bed."

  She smiled for him.

  "At the end of a year," he said, "consider yourself free. Wait twelve months, but no longer."

  She said nothing.

  "Do you understand me?"

  "Yes," she said all but inaudibly.

  "I will most likely return in a month."

  She nodded.

  He hugged her to him once more before he left. Outside, as he walked away along the pine-shrouded alley toward the lower slopes of Seoul, he felt as if some creature with razored talons had torn him open and scooped out the contents of his chest.

  In the house, in the bedroom, Yin-hsi felt even more miserable than her Tai-Pan. She sat on the edge of her bed, her slender brown shoulders hunched, her face in her hands. She wept and shuddered and cursed herself. She knew that she would never see him again. She wished that she had told him what awful things she had done, and she could almost hear the conversation that might have been:

  —Tai-Pan, you do know that no other woman could love you as well and deeply as I love you?

  —You're a good woman, Yin-hsi.

  —Tr
y not to hate me.

  —Why should I hate you?

  —I am a wretch. I have betrayed you to your enemies.

  —What game is this?

  —It is true.

  —What enemies?

  —They came here to see me.

  —When?

  —Months ago. In the winter.

  —Who were they?

  —A South Korean and an American. They wanted me to help them destroy you . . . somehow. I don't know how. I never learned how it was to be done. I refused. They said they would kill my mother and my father. They said they would rape and kill my sister, murder and mutilate my brothers. At first I didn't believe them. But they convinced me that they were the kind of men who would do anything. They raped me and hurt me badly in other ways. Very badly. They frightened me, Tai-Pan. And in the end, awful wretch that 1 am, I cooperated with them. I betrayed you.

  But it was pointless to imagine a confession that had not been made. She had not spoken to him about these things, not even when she suspected that, somehow, this crisis in Peking was connected with the men who had first come to see her last winter. It was in this current crisis that Shen-yang was to be destroyed. Somehow. Some way. She was certain of it, yet she had kept her silence. Fear was stronger than affection. Terror drove out love. After he had given her so much pleasure, while his warm semen was still oozing from her, she had let him walk out the door to his fate without giving him one word of warning.

  She loathed herself.

  She wished that she had the courage to commit suicide. But she knew that she was too much of a coward to even prick her skin. She would collapse at the sight of blood.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, her feet on the cool brick floor, and she wept.

  And she prayed that however her master was to be destroyed, he would go quickly, with dignity, and without pain.

  WASHINGTON: THURSDAY, MIDNIGHT