Barbara Faith - Kiss of the dragon (19 page)

She picked up the wicker basket and followed him out to the long, silent hall and the open corridor that bordered a flower-filled patio. The early morning air was cool, and a mist hung over the garden. It was so quiet here, so peaceful and beautiful. In spite of her concern for Tiger, Bethany felt that peace penetrate her very being.

The monk stopped before the tall, carved door, knocked and when a voice spoke he opened the door.

The old monk once again looked at Bethany from behind his desk. "You have come back. I knew that you would." He motioned her to a chair and said, "I have sent word to Mr. Malone. He will be here soon."

"He's all right then." Bethany half rose from her chair. "Thank God."

"You have brought the statue?"

"Yes, I have." Her arms tightened around the basket.

"You are protective of it." The old eyes narrowed as he measured her. "You are afraid someone will steal it and you know it is worth a great deal of money."

"I'm afraid someone will steal it," Bethany said, "but not because of money."

"Then why?" His eyes burned into hers.

"Because his value is priceless."

"Ah."

"His value to China. Because of what he represents."

In a voice that crackled with age the monk said, "You refer to a statue, an
object,
as he. I find that strange." His lips formed a mocking smile. "And what does
he
represent?"

"Love."

The monk looked at her from across his desk. "Just so," he whispered. "Just so."

"We have decided to give the dragon to the museum here. He doesn't belong to us, he belongs to China."

It was silent in the room, but the silence was strangely comforting. From a distance Bethany heard the bell at the gate. She took a deep breath and knew that it was Tiger and that he was safe. When at last she heard footsteps in the corridor she stood and faced the door. A monk opened it and she saw Tiger.

"Bethany!" He reached her in three strides. "You're all right! They didn't hurt you?"

"No, Tiger, I'm all right."

"When I got back to the hotel and found you gone..." He put his arms on her shoulders and looked at her. "I thought they had you," he murmured. "I was crazy with worry until early this morning when a messenger arrived."

Tiger let her go and turning to the old monk said, "I'm sorry, sir. Forgive my rudeness. Thank you for giving refuge to Miss Adams."

"This is a place of refuge." The old man smiled. "I expected you sooner."

Holding Bethany's hand, Tiger approached the desk and said, "The men who were after Miss Adams were
at the hotel when I returned yesterday afternoon. They were waiting for me in the room."

He looked at Bethany. "I started to open the door. I had my hand on the knob, and I sensed something... something I can't explain. I spoke your name, Bethany, so low that even I could barely hear it. And I knew, I knew something wasn't right. I pulled back, then I ran in, low. The man from the train was behind the door. He had a gun. I grabbed it and wrestled him to the floor before his partner jumped me."

Tiger put his hand against Bethany's cheek. "I went crazy," he said. "All I could think about was what they had done with you. I wanted to kill them."

"But you did not," the monk said.

"No, I didn't. I managed to overpower them and send for the police. They're in custody now."

"Thank God." Bethany sank down onto a chair. "Who were they, Tiger? How did they know about the dragon?"

"It all goes back a long time, Bethany, back to the warlord who gave it to our fathers, to the men who tortured and killed him. The police told me there was a whole group of them in those days, a kind of Chinese Mafia that specialized in stealing works of art and ancient artifacts." He looked at the monk. "But it's over now, they're behind bars. And so is their leader, Weng Tsan Tsi."

"Weng Tsan Tsi!" The monk rose from his chair. "He is a scourge, a vulture. He has fed off the heritage of China for decades."

"Not any
more," Tiger said. "He was apprehended in Beijing this morning."

"Is it over?" Bethany asked. "Is it really over? Will the dragon be safe now?"

"It will be safe," Tiger said. "And so will we." He looked down at her, then with a frown asked, "But I don't understand, Bethany. How did you know they were after us? How did you escape from the hotel?"

"I saw them from the window when you left. Tiger, I was so afraid because I thought they meant to follow you. But they didn't. One of them, the man from the train, came into the hotel, the other man waited outside. I didn't know what to do so I grabbed the dragon and ran down the back stairs."

Bethany paused to get her breath. "They almost caught me. I ran into a shop and a tailor helped me— he hid me." She looked up at Tiger. "I want to see him again. I want to thank him for what he did for me."

"But how did you get here, Bethany?"

"I walked."

"You walked?" Tiger stared at her, disbelieving. "You carried the golden dragon all the way up here?"

Bethany nodded. "I knew he'd be safe here."

"But the statue is almost too heavy for me. How did you manage?"

"She managed with love," the old monk said as he smiled at Bethany.

And Bethany smiled back, because in some strange way he knew, this ancient Saka Muni Buddha with the skin like old parchment knew how she felt about the golden dragon.

Then she looked at Tiger. She went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Now we must give the dragon back," she said, "back to the people of China."

Chapter 19

T
he morning was bright and clear when Bethany and Tiger climbed the hill of Eternal Spring. The road was bordered by tall white birch and pink mimosa trees. Scarlet peonies circled a pond where water lilies sparkled in the sunlight.

"This is where he should be," Bethany said.

Tiger looked at her. He didn't understand this feeling Bethany had for the dragon, but he knew that Bethany had fallen under its spell from the moment she'd seen it. Her gray eyes had widened with shock, her fingers had trembled when she touched it.

He too had been stunned by the statue's beauty and its value. But Bethany hadn't seen the value, she'd seen only the beauty and its connection with the legend his mother had told them that evening in the garden at Tsingyun—the legend of the young girl named
Flowering Peach and of the poet who had played to her on his lute and told her of his love.

Tiger looked down at Bethany as she moved a little away from him to stand in the shade of one of the mimosa trees. She'd taken the cap off, and the sun shone on her face. Suddenly, chokingly, Tiger's heart was so filled with love that it almost overwhelmed him. He put down the heavy box and went to her. Before she could speak he put his arms around her and drew her close.

"I love you, Bethany," he said. "I will always love you."

She touched his face. "As I will always love you," she whispered. She closed her eyes and rested her face against his chest.

They stood like that for a moment in the shade of the tree. Tiger looked at her for another moment, then he picked up the box and together they walked the final steps to the museum.

The curator received them in his office. A middle-aged man with a sensitive, ascetic face, he looked to Bethany like a Mandarin scholar. He stood and bowed, and in careful English said to her, "You are not Chinese?"

"No, I'm American."

He nodded, then looking from one to the other of them asked, "How may I help you?"

"We have brought something that we would like to give to your museum—if you would like to have it." Tiger placed the box on the curator's desk.

"I see." The curator motioned for them to be seated. "That is most kind of you, sir and lady. We have in this museum only the finest artifacts of our
ancient Chinese civilization." He hesitated. "From time to time people wish to donate. I do not like to seem ungrateful, but we do not accept everything that is offered."

"I understand," Tiger said. "May I show you what we have brought?"

"Of course." The curator leaned back in his chair, his long, slender fingers pointed together in a pyramid shape, his jet-black eyes on the box.

Tiger opened the box, folded back the silk, and taking the golden dragon in both his hands, placed it on the desk.

The curator's gasp was audible in the silent room. He did not speak as he got slowly to his feet. He murmured something in Chinese and ran his hands over the statue. "It is the dragon." His voice was awed. "The golden dragon." He looked from Tiger to Bethany. "Where... ? How did you get it?"

"It came into our fathers' possession during the war with the Japanese," Tiger said. "It has been hidden away for forty years."

The curator nodded. "I knew that it had disappeared." His gaze returned to the dragon. "I have heard about this statue all of my life but I never expected to have the good fortune to see it. When I was a boy in Guilin my mother told me a legend about the dragon. I have never forgotten it."

"The story of Flowering Peach and the young poet," Bethany said.

"You too know the story?"

"I believe the story," she said.

The curator's dark eyes softened. "I did, too, when I was a child. But when I grew older I realized it was
just a story. Now... now I look at its beauty, its magnificence, and I must pause to wonder."

"You will take it?" Tiger asked.

The curator nodded. "Yes, most kind sir, I will take him."

Him. Bethany took a deep breath and a feeling of peace settled upon her heart. She looked at the curator. "Thank you," she said.

"It is I who thank you, dear lady." He came around his desk, and bowing, took Bethany's hand. "He will be safe here, his legend will live on."

Tiger looked from the curator to Bethany. He didn't understand the almost mystical attraction that the dragon seemed to have for Bethany and the curator. He only knew that he loved Bethany and that parting with the dragon made her sad. But the face that turned to him wasn't sad, it was filled with happiness.

I will never understand her, Tiger thought, but I will always love her.

That evening, as the shadows lengthened over the Yangtze, Tiger and Bethany flew from Chungtai to Shanghai. They took a taxi to the International Hotel and were shown to a room that was the most luxurious they'd had since they left Tsingyun. It was furnished with a double bed, a dresser, a table and a chair, and had windows that looked out on the People's Park. When Bethany went to stand by the window, Tiger put his hands on her shoulders.

Resting his chin against her hair he said, "We'll stay here for a few days, and I'll show you the city of Shanghai."

"Can we go shopping tomorrow? I want to get out of these clothes before I actually turn into a boy."

"I think there is little danger of that ever happening." Tiger put a finger under her chin and raised her face for his kiss. "Very little danger."

He felt Bethany's lips curve in a smile and tightened his arms around her. We're safe now, he thought as he kissed her. No more running, no more looking over our shoulders. Her lips were soft, her body warm against his.

"I love you," Tiger said, then he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

When he had undressed her, and himself, they lay close, without speaking, content for the moment to let passion wait. Tiger brushed the hair back from her face and she said, "I'd like to find a beauty shop, one that can change my hair back to its natural color."

He kissed the top of her head. "We'll find one tomorrow." Then he chuckled. "It would be a shock to Mother if she could see the way you looked now."

"She's probably sick with worry. We must phone her."

"We will tomorrow." Tiger turned her face up to his. "But tonight is ours, Bethany." He kissed her, and in his kiss there was love and longing and the promise of all the nights that were to come.

Bethany's lips parted under his. Her arms crept around his neck to draw him closer as the sweet, familiar fire crept through her body. Her tongue darted to meet his, her hands tightened on his shoulders. She felt the whole wonderfully masculine length of his body against hers and her heart surged, knowing the pleasure that awaited her in his arms.

Tiger rained kisses on her face and murmured her name. His hands were strong as they moved slowly down her body. He kissed her breasts and she whispered her pleasure, carried higher and higher on the wings of his love.

"My dear love," he said as he joined his body to hers. Together then, clinging and close, they moved to a rhythm older than time, then soaring to the heights, they tumbled breathless back to the warmth of each other's arms.

The next morning Tiger called Su Ching. "Bethany and I are in Shanghai," he said. "It's over, Mother, we're safe now."

"Thank God." He heard the relief in his mother's voice. "When are you and Bethany coming home?"

"In a few days. We're going to rest here in Shanghai."

"You found the dragon? You have it now?"

"We found it, Mother, but we don't have it."

"I don't understand."

"We gave it to a museum in Chungtai."

The line was silent. When Su Ching spoke she was weeping. In a low voice she managed to say, "At last." Then she said, "I love you, Tiger. I am proud that you are my son."

She asked to speak to Bethany, and when Bethany took the phone Su Ching said, "Was it what you wanted, too?"

"Yes, Su Ching. The golden dragon is where he should be. The legend will live on."

For a long moment Su Ching did not answer, but when at last she spoke there was great happiness in her
voice. "Come home, Bethany," she said. "Come home, my dear."

That day Tiger and Bethany shopped along Nanjing Road. They bought two Western-style dresses for her, as well as shoes and a bag; for Tiger, a shirt, jacket and trousers. Later they had lunch, then walked along the Bund and through small parks along the edge of the Yellow River.

It was peaceful there and they lingered as twilight settled over the ancient city. When it grew dark they went back to their hotel, to their room with the double bed. They made love, and slept, and woke to make love again.

The next day Bethany dressed in a pale-green summer cotton and high-heeled sandals. It felt strange, she thought as she looked in the mirror, to be dressed this way. She looked at the Mao cap she'd worn for so long, and with a smile put it in the new suitcase. She'd give the other clothes away, but she'd never part with the cap.

After breakfast they found a beauty shop. The technician, a small, birdlike woman, looked in horror at Bethany's hair. She fluttered around Bethany, touched her hair, shook her head, then picked up scissors and comb and went to work, muttering in Chinese all the while. At last, satisfied with her handiwork, she led Bethany to a booth and covered her head with an evil-smelling solution. Thirty minutes later she washed the solution off and turned Bethany toward a mirror.

The blond was lighter than her natural shade, but
it
looked a thousand times better than the black
dy
e
she'd lived with for the past weeks.

When Bethany dressed and came out into the waiting room of the salon, Tiger glanced up from the magazine he'd been reading, then continued reading.

"Tiger?"

He lowered the magazine again. "My God," he said. "Is it you?"

Bethany smiled. "How do you like it?"

"You're... you look wonderful." He lowered his voice. "It's almost as though the other you never existed."

"The other me existed," Bethany said. "I'll never forget the way it was."

They arrived in Tsingyun at the end of the week. It was September now and the leaves were beginning to turn. They took a pedicab to his mother's home. She greeted them at the door and led them into the living room.

"Let us have some tea," Su Ching said, "then you will tell me everything that has happened." She touched Bethany's hand. "You've cut your hair. You're thinner. Are you all right?"

"Yes, Su Ching, I'm fine." Bethany took the proffered cup of tea and smiled at the older woman. Looking around the room she said, "It's good to be back."

"I have been frantic with worry. Why didn't you telephone or send a message, Tiger?"

"We were followed, Mother, almost from the time we left here. I thought it would be safer for you if we did not try to communicate. I'm sorry, I know you were worried." He looked at Bethany and with his gaze on her said to his mother, "When Bethany said
she wanted to give the dragon to the Chungtai museum, I knew you would be pleased."

Su Ching put her teacup on the lacquer table. "It is a beautiful thing you have done, Bethany, and I must confess that I did not expect you to do it. You are not Chinese and you cannot understand our close ties with our ancient culture. We are a superstitious people; some of us believe in our legends."

"I know." Bethany smiled at Su Ching over her cup of tea. "So do some of us infidels."

Su Ching chuckled. "You are a remarkable woman, Bethany Adams," she said. "For an infidel."

Tiger looked from his mother to Bethany, not quite sure he understood this communication that flowed between them. But he was grateful that it was there, and that the two people he loved most in the world had such a strong bond.

That night, under the apricot tree in his mother's courtyard, Tiger asked Bethany to marry him.

She looked at him, and for a heart-stopping moment he couldn't breathe. "I love you," he said. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have children with you."

Bethany leaned her face against his chest. In this strange and foreign land with a man who was different from any man she'd ever known, she felt very far away from the home she had always known. If she married him her life would never be the same. She would no longer be Bethany Adams from Tiffin, Ohio. She would be Tiger's wife, a part of his world. Such a different world.

From somewhere out of her past came the words: to lose the earth you know for greater knowing, to lose
the life you have for greater living, to leave the friends you loved for greater loving.

For greater loving. Bethany raised her face and looked into Tiger's green eyes. "Yes," she said. "Yes, my darling, of course I'll marry you."

When Bethany opened her eyes she thought, today is my wedding da
y. Today I become Mrs. Tiger Ma
lone.

She had seen little of Tiger since the night they told his mother they were going to be married. Su Ching had embraced them and then she had banished Tiger from the house.