The Reverend Mann

A couple of days later, Cuthbert left the Embassy after taking a midday bowl of soup in the Dining Room. As he turned north, the wave of scent from the cherry blossom assailed him. He breathed it in deeply, for despite the street cleaners that the Embassies employed, the smell of human civilisation lingered. The sun shone strongly and although his wide brimmed hat protected his face and neck, he could feel the skin beneath his shirt and jacket prickling with sweat. He had left the Embassy in plenty of time for his appointment, meaning to walk the streets to Yu’s palace. For his lightness of step was produced by Yu’s positive reply to his letter and he felt inclined to observe China at first hand on the way to their meeting. At a street corner, he stepped around a collection of handcarts, with half naked men waiting patiently for work. The shops were open. He passed many food stalls on the pavement, the smells tempting him. Above every shop were numerous apartments and each subdivided to increase the density of human occupation. He waved at Hu, his hatter. The walls of Hu’s shop were lined with shelves on which hats of every variety sat. Hu knew that Cuthbert owned only one hat and was probably inclined not to buy another until the stitching in his current one disintegrated and the hat fell apart. Yet he was happy to talk to Cuthbert about hats, about trade, or whatever Cuthbert felt that he needed to know to fill his tapestry of Chinese life.
Cuthbert paused beneath a tree in a small square. He removed his hat and sat on a ring of stones at the tree’s base, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. He was an Englishman in a sea of Chinese faces. However he did not feel out of place, for he had been in this sea before and was accustomed to it. And the tide of Chinese life flowed by without noticing him. He gazed across to a street barber. A customer sat before him, a sheet cast around his shoulders, as is the custom in any country. But here the barber had carefully untied the man’s pigtail and was trimming the hair around it without disturbing the precious adornment. Cuthbert remembered the outrage in ’76 that the members of the White Lotus secret society created. They were responsible for a mysterious outbreak of the loss of tails amongst every strata of the public. Men would be standing on a street corner and suddenly their tail would fall to the ground. Or they would be asleep in their bed, only to awake to find their tail on the pillow beside them no longer connected to their head. It was, of course, a protest against the Manchu dynasty that insisted on all men wearing the tail as a sign of their allegiance to the foreign Emperor.
Cuthbert looked over at the barber again. Suddenly he was discomforted, because a face behind the barber was staring at him. It seemed to challenge him, for when he looked back he expected the man to avert his gaze. But the eyes remained on him. As was his custom, he mentally drew up a description of the man’s face and clothing, for future use, should he feel that he was being followed. Cuthbert got up, shook the dust from his trousers and walked on. He was then astonished to see that the man’s gaze remained on the spot on which he had been seated and that in his hand was a long cane, that would be used by a blind person. In his other was a cloth bag for coins. He shook the thought of the blind beggar from his mind and made for the palace.