Bones of the Chinamen

The Conclusion

Dr. Murray and Captain Elliott jumped up. Dr. Murray rushed to the agent and placed his hand on his neck and face. “Are you mad?! You've killed him!”

    Armindo spoke reflectively to no one in particular. “Every bullet has its billet." He turned to Ah-fuk. “Have your men bring in one of the coffins.” Ah-fuk hesitated. “Now!” He pointed to a Macau half caste Portuguese-Chinese and his assistant. “You two go with them.”

    Ah-fuk quickly exited with the others. The sounds of the furious storm were still thunderous when the door was opened. More bones were blown in. The coolies began whispering.

    No one else moved. I could not take my eyes from the red stain spreading across the agent’s brown frock. His hat lay not far from his head at an odd angle.

    “And exactly how, Captain, will news of this be getting out? You and your cargo of coolies will be on your way to the Chinchas. That leaves only Li Tong, Dr. Murray, the crimps and me. And none of us will blow the gaff, will we, Li Tong?...Will we, Li Tong!?”

    “No.”

    “Dr. Murray?”

    “Armindo, you can't just murder an emigration agent in cold blood.”

    “I can if there's no evidence of a murder. We'll put this proud fellow in one of the Chinamen's coffins then send it down river with the rest. The storm should take it out and sink it. All the way to the bottom of the South China Sea. He can spend his eternity checking ship bub and grub in Davy Jones's locker.”

    “You have killed an innocent man.”

    Tiang-si’s voice came across as surprisingly calm. “Your men are not coming back. You'll have to get a coffin yourself. But it will be yours.”

    Armindo glared at her then at her brother. “All right, you hell hound. You should have kept your breath to cool your porridge. Now you can watch while I navigate your brother's windward passage.”

    Armindo sprang up and walked to her brother. He roughly grasped him and manhandled him over to the table. The boy was too weak to put up any real resistance. Armindo jammed his pistols into his belt and shoved everything else off the table onto the floor. Tea cups, quill pens, paper, candle, bowl, brush, razor and towel flew off, all coming to rest near his boots. Only the abacus reached the wall where it shattered, scattering its beads in all directions.

    He threw the boy face down on the table then pulled out the severed queues from his belt and threw them to me. “Tie his wrists to the table legs.”

    He gestured by holding his own wrist and pointing to the boy. When I hesitated his fury increased. “Damn your heathen eyes! Tie his wrists!”

    I moved forward and tied the boy’s wrists. Tiang-si rushed in, attempting once again to scratch his face, but Armindo thrust her away, sending her sprawling to the floor.

    Armindo pulled down the boy’s baggy trousers and unbuttoned his own. He began raping the boy. For several seconds, there were only the sounds of bones hitting the exterior of the barracoon and the boy’s groaning.

    Somewhere behind me I heard the sound of a flintlock being cocked. I turned to my right and saw Captain Elliott pointing it directly at Armindo. “Release the boy.”

    Armindo smiled but hesitated. I backed away.

    “Well, well, well. Silence in the court; the cat is pissing. You be givin' me orders now, is it, Captain?”

    “Get off him or by God, I'll send you to hell.”

    Armindo stared at him for several seconds. I could not breathe. “...By Christ, Captain, I think you mean it.” Armindo withdrew from the boy and buttoned his trousers. “But what if I were to prop this man up in front of me like this, then draw my own pistol and fire? Like this?”

    Armindo grabbed the boy's feet and threw his legs up so that the Captain could not get a clear shot at him. Armindo fired. The Captain was hit in the shoulder and spun about by the bullet. He half fell, half sat into a chair.

    I saw Tiang-si glance at the bone that Armindo had swept off the table. It was near her hand. She grasped it then stood up and quickly walked behind Armindo.

    Armindo had hardly moved, still glaring at Captain Elliott. “I warned you not to shove your oar-“

    Tiang-si reached behind her head then with all her strength struck him across the back of the head with the bone.

    Armindo fell across the boy, spun and staggered, still managing to stay on his feet. He drew his knife from his waist sheath. I had never seen him so furious. So demon-like in his fury. “You celestial bitch! I would have saved your quim for another time. But not now.”

    As he rushed into her, Armindo grabbed her by the neck and thrust the knife into her heart. I ran forward screaming. “Nooooo!”

    Tiang-si fell to the floor. I cradled her in my arms, beside myself with grief. With crying. With moaning. With all that I had needed to release for so long.

    I’m not sure how long Armindo stood holding the knife looking down at us but the increasing loud sound of the storm and of the bones hitting the barracoon drew his attention. As he turned away, he did not notice the change that had come over me. I had stopped grieving and stared up at him with an expression of what I felt: pure hatred.

    The door burst open from the force of the storm, and a shower of bones blew into the room. Kitchen steam surged upward, madly blown about by the wind. The storm had blocked the kitchen skylight and the steam rose in hellish swirls, desperate for an outlet. It billowed upward, flattened against the ceiling and made its way into our area of the barracoon. Candles blew out and black smoke erupted from the flickering oil lamps. I remember thinking it was a scene from a Chinese hell. It was as if the hungry ghosts had finally arrived to seek their vengeance.

    But the fury, power, and din of the storm had been transferred to me, absorbed by me, enraging me. I reached for the razor lying on the floor, rose, and uttering a primal scream, threw myself at Armindo. Armindo turned still holding the bloody knife but I saw my hand fly through the air and slash him across his throat.

    His grey eyes stared at me from beneath thick black eyebrows one of which had a spot of blood on it. Then he stared at the razor, dropped his knife and grabbed his own throat. He reached out to me and gripped my face with his callused hands. I tried to will myself to move but I could not. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. He whispered something and then fell to the floor.

    For several seconds I was immobile, watching his blood surround his silver cross and rapidly stain his flannel shirt and black leather vest. Then I knelt once again to cradle Tiang-si in my arms. No one moved. At some point I realized the storm had quieted.

    Armindo lingered for several hours. He chose a Portuguese assistant as his successor and made him swear that they would not kill me; he did not want me sent to the Chincha Islands as death would have come too quickly for me. He wanted to make certain that I would be forced to remain inside the barracoon forever. His wish was granted... And I thought it was just. I thought if I ransomed her brother from Ah-fuk, the woman I still loved might love me again. Instead, my plan got her killed...and her brother sent to the Chincha Islands...

    After what happened, I was useless as an interpreter or anything else. The Portuguese and Brazilians and Spaniards who took over from Armindo whipped me but still I would not - could not - work as before. But in my youth I had played the er-hu. And so, when I eventually came to my senses, they allowed me to do nothing but that. Although as the years passed the men who came after them often chastised me for playing too loudly: But they did not hear the bones. Nor could they see the ghosts.

    Finally, they became exasperated with me and I was told I was free to go. But of course I had nowhere to go and so it was I who decided to stay. You see the irony is that I was the only one who remained faithful to Armindo’s plan for my punishment. Yes, I killed him. But I did not betray him: When others failed him, it was I who granted him his wish.

    It took me years to stop hating him. I began to understand that only I – not Armindo - had been given the right to make moral choices. Armindo represented almost pure evil or perhaps, more accurately, pure amoral energy, and, as such, he never had the freedom to make a moral choice of any kind. I now understand that Armindo was the true slave. He could not change his nature anymore than could a cloud in the sky or a tree in the forest.

    I think now that even the act of buggery was not a homosexual one for him but simply a way for him to humiliate, to give pain. To his victim and to himself. Only I could make decisions involving character and conscience. Only I could seek redemption. Armindo was too pure in being whatever he was. His inner pain drove him on. He had no choices to make.

    But I shall never forgive him for what he whispered in my ear just before he died. He said, “You see, I was right. You and I are one of a kind.”

    I have had decades to reflect on the ironies: the what if’s and the if only’s. And, of course, I have never stopped hearing the bones. Even in my sleep they swirl about like leaves caught in a storm's fury...

    Over the years, ship captains and others involved in the slave trade always look at me strangely. They know me only as the man who killed Armindo DaCruz. Pity; awe; wonder. And now I have heard some of them say that the coolie slave trade may be coming to an end. Not because anyone cares about coolies, but because the guano on the Chincha Islands is almost exhausted....No matter. This is a barracoon. I play music here. I will always play music here.

Copyright 2004 Dean Barrett.  No part of this novel may be reprinted or distributed without written permission of the author.