In the winter of 1876, Alfred Weiss, a resident of Bow, spotted an Asian youth on Roman Road trying to hawk his ink paintings. The youth, clad in an ocean-blue kimono and pleated pants the colour of sky, sat behind a sign reading:
I have come from Japan
I need money to go back
Black-and-white studies of lakes, snow-capped mountains, and water lilies were displayed in his open suitcase, weighed down by smooth pebbles. Seated cross-legged on the curb, the young man waited. It was Christmas then, right around dinnertime. While others hurried off to warmer places, he sat there quietly, too proud or stupid to solicit customers for his paintings. If he went on sitting like this, it was only a matter of time before he got mugged by thieves or arrested for vagrancy. Since a fair stranger had nowhere to hurry to, it did him no harm to stop and observe such a peculiar specimen.
"How old are you, little Jap?"
The boy stood up, bowed, and said:
"I am sixteen."
Weiss had seen a few Japanese at the Limehouse docks. On idle days, he stops by that area for sightseeing and pops into a public house or two. Pubs by the water were like human zoos, which one did not have to pay a penny to enter. Here were the Irish, there the Lascars, and in a smoky corner, a spattering of long-tailed Chinks. Jap sailors, an occasional species, were like any race of them: loud, swarthy, and given to the usual vices. But this kid was different. Asked to account for his uncanny presence, he pointed to a picture in his suitcase and explained:
"These are my lilies. Unlike those here, they flourish in murky ponds. Their flowers and seeds mature at the same time. Likewise, am I."
His English was fluent, his bearing refined. His short, tousled hair did not clash with his traditional attire, gracefully worn and handsome. Intrigued, Weiss did not allow this young painter to get mugged or arrested for vagrancy. The professional middleman took him in, fed him, and gave him a fresh set of clothes to change into. Once he was well-washed and generously fed, he was offered a 70-30 deal with the artist taking the smaller share. Whether or not 30% of the sales materialised in the envelopes traded for each work was a mystery. The artist, receiving less than what was promised, didn't feel shortchanged. His dealer was, in all other respects, a godsend. Paper and brushes he couldn't find, Weiss could find substitutes for. Clients he couldn't meet, Weiss met. Eight springs and seven autumns passed safely in his providence.
Who else could solicit buyers for his paintings? The ink wash style was alien to Western eyes, so accustomed to vibrant colours, single points of perspective, and realistic forms. Somehow or other, the dealer knew people interested in exotic oriental works that did not abide by occidental laws of good taste. His business involved buying low from clueless amateurs and selling high to the emerging bourgeoisie, who were no less clueless on the value of their art. Other than 'Mr Fujiwara' (for that was his proper name), he had an Irish impressionist working for him, an Indian embroiderer, and two Englishwomen. These artists couldn't approach customers easily, but their talents were no less evident. Through the connections and genius of an able man, their creative efforts found a paying audience.
Seeing this man for the first time, Kyung Hee reckoned him an angel. The middleman lived on the second floor of a shophouse. On the ground floor was a bakery selling ring-shaped breads with a tantalising aroma which wafted up to the second-floor landing. Here, there was but a single green-painted door labeled with a metallic plate: 'WEISS'. To ring the bell, you pulled on a metal cord. And 'riiing...' a shrill alarm would summon a beautiful young master from the dwelling inside.
"Who's this?"
Heaven blue eyes framed with gold sized up a second, unknown visitor with equal parts curiosity and irritation. A pristine white shirt, navy two-button waistcoat, and a pair of tailored trousers gave no indication as to whether the wearer had expected a visit. Flaxen curls, falling past the temples, reached the collar of his linen shirt and flattered a dashing face, neither soft-featured nor chiseled. Is it not possible that such a fair chap dresses even when no guests come? The younger guest did not think so, though he apprised at first glance that this pretty man was unlikely to be as angelic as he seemed. There are angels in heaven and men on earth -- as his teacher Shin used to say. An upturned lip and raised brows made the master's displeasure patently obvious. Like a familiar friend, Adam strolled into the entranceway and said he would explain later.
The entranceway was a bare-floored square of five feet connecting to the main living area. The drawing room. Abanim entertained guests in the study but people here did it in their 'drawing rooms', quiet places to withdraw from the hubbub of the outside world, socialize with relations, and if it fits the occasion, break out the watercolors and draw.
Big houses could have several drawing rooms attached to the ballroom but this shophouse had just one. Weiss was a middle man whose lack of servants and sprawling estates did not subtract from his impeccable taste. Gold-trimmed rugs in alluring arabesques carpeted his principal room, which one had to unshoe to enter. The master of this house keeps his carpets clean– having guests bring in horse droppings and mud from outside would not do. Below the virgin carpets were dark mahogany floors warmed by a brick hearth crackling with the inviting flames of a wood fire. Over the gilded mantle hung a mechanical cuckoo clock and a summery lake in the impressionist style; an armchair and a round-backed sofa before the hearth provided ample space for comfortable seating.
Adjacent to the hearth, facing the armchair and sofa stood a black piano like the one Kyung had seen in the Shinobus' house. Covered by a white lace sheet embroidered with lapis blue elephants, the piano served as a stand for many framed pictures, brass trophies, and silver tiaras. Three black and white photographs were arranged in a triptych: a dark-haired couple in their wedding best, a crawling baby in his white dress, and a family portrait of the same dark-haired couple with their fair-haired son and brunette daughter.
These blissful images were well-lit, despite the draped windows. Glass arches, extending from ceiling to floor, were muffled with velvety wine-colored drapes. Lighting came from a chink in the drapes, the sizzling fireplace, and a cluster of six Turkish chandeliers hanging over the dining table. Each Turkish lamp was a brilliant mosaic crafted from shards of stained glass. Shaped like pumpkins, they dangled from the ceiling from varying heights to give the illusion of depth and movement. Their collective light, emanating from red, blue, and green frames, was a natural yellowish white. Six chairs upholstered in lime green silk had been tucked under the table, ready to be put to use.
Pulling out a chair, the artist seated himself and promptly unbuckled his brown messenger bag. The mountain landscape from yesterday he retrieved from a bamboo tube and rolled out onto the dining table for inspection.
Weiss went closer to examine the work – measuring two feet in length and painted on a sort of watercolor paper. Rice paper was hard to come by and most clients couldn't tell the difference anyway. The mountains and mist his old friend did this time blended nicely; pine trees reflected in the water and a floating peasant added much rustic charm. Retreating into an inner room, the dealer came back with a brown envelope his supplier slipped into his bag with a soft 'thank you' and a bow. Negotiations were unnecessary. Every transaction between them took place in this silent, dignified manner, free from the overt taint of money.
With business settled, Weiss expected an introduction. No tea was served, nor was the young stranger allowed to sit. The men sat at table talking to each other; a child understood his place and stood to one side.
"She your missus?"
"She's a boy."
The first exchange was spoken loud enough for the boy who was not a missus to hear; Kyung Hee looked down at his socks and tried not to take offence. For this house visit, he'd worn a set of grey waistcoat and trousers approved by his elder. It seemed even men's clothes couldn't save him from misrecognition.
"One ink artist is enough. I don't need another."
"He doesn't paint."
"You're keeping a fellow Jap for free? How generous."
"Oh, he's not from Japan, and he's not Chinese."
Weiss furrowed his yellow brows in confusion. His friend had brought him a strange creature indeed, a rare species he had not seen in all the public houses of Southwark, Limehouse, and Wapping.
"He's a scholar from Joseon, a small kingdom west of Japan."
The plum blossom poem from their first meeting was provided as a showcase of the boy's talents. Squinting at it, Weiss could not make heads or tails of the matter. You might as well have shown him Egyptian hierogylphs without a Rosetta Stone. Stepping back, he admitted he wouldn't buy the thing for a pound.
"Not unless you paint on it."
The artist expected just as much. A bamboo or orchid picture would make the work marketable to those who could not read the words. Even so, few could rely on painting alone to eat. The new arrival was asked if there was anything else he could do besides his Chinese letters. Mr Hee, interrupting shyly, claimed to play a short bamboo flute called the sogeum. Nah. Music, played solo and on an alien instrument, wouldn't pay either.
"Is there no work he can do?"
Weiss scratched his golden curls, annoyed at his friend's insistence on helping a useless bugger with whom he shared no blood, no nation, not even a marital bed. At length, the dealer said he could offer no additional help and bid the two visitors goodbye. Ushering them to the door, he reminded his ink painter that his next work was expected 'in three weeks' time'. Another bow, another 'goodbye', and that was that.
**
A double deck carriage on rails rolled into station on six creaking wheels, its bottle-green body alive with the power of man, beast, and steel. Two mottled brown geldings dragged the public conveyance, their industrious hooves going clod-clod on the cobblestones as their harnesses jingled and clapped. Leading his little friend by the arm, Adam hopped on, paid a conductor in black uniform, and climbed the winding steps which led to the upper deck. Rail transport had been taken from home to Weiss's house and now had to be taken back. Since it was only his second time, Kyung found it quite a wonder. That trip, they were able to snag two upper-deck seats in the front row. Instead of enjoying this luxury, the boy got up from his bench, laid his hands on the railing, and drank in street after street of tedious scenery.
Fog-shrouded houses slipped past as they pushed forward; working men in overalls and working women in apron dresses scurried to and fro on the pavement. On the corners, one heard the cries of hawkers manning carts of jellied eel, coffee, sandwiches, and other edible wares. The aroma of roasted chestnuts hit them at one junction, that of freshly baked muffins at another. Young boys, in tattered suits and flat caps, knelt to polish the boots of gentlemen in black tailcoats and stiff tophats. Not to be outdone, girls in patchwork dresses stood barefoot holding baskets of eggplants, oranges, bird nests, and liquors. An elderly man sold walking canes from a basket on his back.
The pavement was the domain of pedestrians. Along the roads, pony carts, hackneys, omnibuses, and cabs jostled with their horse tram for space. Every now and then, their tram would stop to let a pedestrian pass. At one stopping, a barefoot boy with holey trousers swept a path across the road while a woman in hoop skirts waited on the curb. Horse droppings, profuse from the voluminous traffic, necessitated his profession.
"Scram!"
The mop-haired boy, reaching the other side of the road, gestured for the tram to pass with his broomstick. On foot and crammed into the public trams were men and women, boys and girls no less ragged than this street sweeper. Private carriages, driven by men in black uniforms and tophats, transported the better-dressed. Peering into one with an open window, Kyung caught a glimpse of opera glove and lacy bonnet. The passengers in these cabs dressed intricately and breathed easy, insulated from the inferno of noise and dust swirling around them.
From the open top deck of a tram, the air induced coughing.
"Hack, hack. You've got the London Lungs."
Mr Adam folded his arms and observed. The 'soup' wasn't bad today but the combination of Thames fog and eternal coal exhaust tested the lungs of a green boy. Smokes, thick as pea soup and just as unpalatable rose from the river and the chimneys and fell upon the eyes, noses, and lungs of city dwellers like a dry, acidic rain.
'"Sit. Shut your mouth."
It was sound advice, delivered by one whose lungs no longer needed a handkerchief for protection.
Seated, the old Londoner was a happy man. It's not often that he gets a seat. If there's a woman or old man standing, he stands. Whether the woman be old or young, poor or poorer, white or dusky, he's got to let her sit. He'd once read a story from Darwin about a native race in Chili who salute to women with their hats. If natives from the Dark Continent show such courtesies, so should he. Carrying his brown messenger bag, he stands like a right man. Nose to nose, back to back, huddled into a mass of other menfolk whose last acquaintance with soap may not be recent. Looking out the window, he pities the castrated steeds forced to heave mass carriages in the lashing rain and August heat.
Geldings, raised for work, were a sorry breed. Pets, kept for loving, were more fortunate. Halfway home, Kyung remembered his lack of employment. Hanging his head, he rubbed his palms back and forth on his trousers and stole glances at his bread-winning companion in between bouts of nervous trouser rubbing. Observing this behavior, Adam knew exactly what he fretted for: kid thinks Master can't feed a second mouth and will soon turn him out. Oh dear. The master, being a decent sort, had to reassure.
Stretching arms in sooty air, the artist elaborated on his diverse sources of income. Apart from selling his work, he taught ink painting to interested clients and did translations. There were also book illustrations commissioned by a close friend of Mr Weiss. These book commissions paid the most. When he works on them, no one is to look.
"Alright."
Kyung did not question further despite his palpable curiosity. The child must be deathly afraid if he's so docile. Petting him on the head, Adam resolved to take care of this creature with all his earning ability. Ordinary cats and dogs can't do much besides defecate in the room and yap. Woman, if she is at all educated, desires a maid and dresses and a hundred other fineries. Little Kyung, on the contrary, can do laundry, wash himself, and speak in poetry. He won't ask for any servants or French lace. Keeping him warm, clothed, and fed suffices. For a bloke in need of companionship, a boy of mild temper was not a bad expense.
**
The queue for the pump that Monday was monstrous. Snow birds, brown sparrows, and orioles descended on their sole watering hole, their hundred feet stretching around the block. Males and females of all ages stood in line, each laden with buckets, ceramic jugs, and large kettles. Their drab feathers and hushed murmuring matched the clouds, sombre bags of gray announcing a likely downpour. Babes, as young as five or six, clung to their parents and carried small containers themselves. Some scampered around barefoot yelling and playing tag. A sight like this did not faze Mr Adam, and pleased him if anything.
"Let's wait."
Once the clouds broke at eight-thirty, he rushed downstairs with two three-gallon buckets in hand. The tin buckets used for sky water collection were kept under Mr Adam's desk and his property alone. Setting them on the lowest doorstep with a loud thud, he sat down on the topmost step with a contented sigh. Holding a kettle and pitcher, Mr Hee settled next to him. Raindrops, falling in thickening sheets, got in their eyes and in their varied containers. Billowing wind made it impossible to stay dry. Blowing sideways, she gave all outside a free shower from the municipal water supply of heaven. Whether they'd asked for it or not, a pouring shower.
"You filthy pigs!"
Mortals below, big or small, rich or poor, heard her cold contempt in the harsh whistling of wind on windows and the unforgiving splash of cloud buckets continuously dumped over their heads. Those without the means for a regular cleanse welcomed her washing. As did these two. The edge of roof over them was no use, neither was she particularly desired. Both lads had taken off their shirts before coming down. At first, Mr Hee crossed arms over chest to preserve his modesty. Observing this, his senior chided him thus:
"Are you a gal? Stop it."
Adam leaned back, placing his palms on the ground. Though half-nude and in view of women, he suffered not a shiver of shame. Of course, the two of them weren't the only ones outside. Doors swung open. Men, women, cripples, and children tottered out with kettles, pitchers, and wooden buckets. A sniffling brat, clad in brown trousers and shirtless, knocked over a full pail, earning an earful from his mother. From the opposite side of the street, you could hear her scream.
Wives and mothers, absorbed in the task of collecting water, paid no attention to half nude men. One, realising their indifference, released his arms from his chest. The natural shower reached him there and soon refreshed him. Rivulets of sky water streaked his hair, fell onto his chest, and caressed his slender arms. The feeling was akin to an involuntary baptism. Meanwhile, a million raindrops dived into their tin buckets, impervious to dissolution. The death song of ephemeral raindrops harmonised with the howling wind, filling the street with the air of fierce resignation.
The downpour would continue for an hour or so. Kyung Hee closed his eyes to relish it. Getting soaked on the doorstep shirtless like this was far preferable to waiting in line. Though the Joseon youth had changed into western attire, he still sensed the nagging gaze of strangers on his back. Unlike the Chinese here, he and his friend did not wear plaited queues or engage in dock labour. Their conversation in English was not what an onlooker might expect. For the most part, the two lettered lads dismissed the whispers of nosy men, spoken in indeciperable sing-song. Whenever the bored coolies in the water queue stared at them and went 'sing sing song song, wing wing wong.' Kyung told himself:
"Swans do not listen to the croaks of well toads"
On a rainless day, a dirty shower fell on a pair of swans from an open window. It missed them by one foot, yet seemed targeted at them specifically. The slam of windows shutting and hissy tittering from behind did not put a skittish newcomer at ease. "Two Fai Boy! Two Fai Girl!" – two passing Chinamen, a bamboo stalk and a rice bucket, hissed at them as if boy and girl were deaf. Though the Girl had only had been here for forty-eight hours, both men turned round for a second look, shot her a familiar grin, and hooted. Moving on with his shoulder yoke, Adam said the people in this town can be careless when emptying their used basins.
"Watch out."
Compared to the hissing and hooting, whispering and watching, it was much happier to sit still and let heaven drop her bounty. If one gets damp, it's comforting to know the shower from above, at least, is clean. Kyung put his chin on his palms and thought of all this while receiving a free shower. Once their cups were full, Kyung and Adam had to lug them up three flights of stairs. The pair ran into Yip on the way, who was bringing water up to the landlord's room. Wong and Yip collected rainwater from the backyard. Being rather unfit, the God of Fortune pays his tenants to fill his cup. Carrying two pitchers in his hands and a tin bucket strapped to his back, Yip was too burdened to notice them. Clambering past him, the resident yuebunyan led his little friend back to the attic.
Upstairs, two removed their trousers. By this time, the kid had learned how to use basin, pitcher, and towel for a body scrub. The process went like this: fill the pitcher with water, pour to wet the towel, wipe your face with towel, then your neck, chest, and extremities. Afterwards, wet your hands, lather them in soap, and rinse.
"Face, body, hands, teeth."
Cherry paste on teeth ended their evening ritual. If required, one does a bit of nail clipping. Only the grown-up needed to shave. Of course, scrubbing, clipping, and shaving in this manner resulted in a basin of soiled water. Instead of tossing it, the wise one used the basin a second time to wash his ink brushes, palettes, and water dishes. Following his example, the little one helped to give the ink brushes a thorough wash, taking care not to damage the fine horse hair bristles.
Having done all the washing one could do with a basin and pitcher, Mr Adam and Mr Hee changed into a fresh set of pajamas. Their rain-soaked trousers could be dried on an iron rack in front of the kitchen hearth. Only the kitchen had a hearth; the other rooms here were built for hardy men immune to pneumonia and tuberculosis. That, and fat men with enough abundance for natural insulation. Adam, with his shirt off, looked neither fat nor hardy. A hungry tiger was what Mr Hee saw watching him haul six gallons of water up the stairs. Hints of bone portruded from the base of his neck and from his seemingly powerful back. Lean arms and visible ribcage bore witness to the deprivations of a humble artist. In the bath, Kyung Hee had not noticed it. Somehow, having only the top exposed made the exposure clearer.
Tucked into bed, the boy remembered how much bread he'd taken from this poor man and felt guilty. "If I stay with him, will he get thinner?" – such thoughts lulled him into an uneasy sleep.
Beside him, the thin man realised his bed felt cosier with another body for warming. Like the folks back home, he slept on a firm cylindrical pillow. This he had sewn out of a navy linen with a silver lily pattern rendered in shimmering thread. The wheat husks and cotton stuffed under a case of silver lilies provided adequate spinal support and ventilation. In contrast, Mr Hee made do with a hard, airless stack of rags: tattered shirts used for cleaning and outdated issues of Punch Magazine. Seeing his pet rest on so meagre a support, a thin man felt his chest twinge in shame. Angel Weiss had bestowed upon him two pounds and a bob for his latest landscape. The loose bob, given almost as a show of pity, could be traded for a sack of cotton to make a pillow with. Since the kid was still unemployed, he had time to figure out how.
Reader's notes:
Roman Road -- a historic road and the site of a market serving the residents of East London.
Jap— derogatory term for people of Japanese descent. It has been in use since Victorian times with the earliest recorded use (according to the Oxford English Dictionary) dating back to 1854. Before WWII, it was sometimes used in a non-offensive manner. For example, Boondocks Road in Fannett, Texas, was formerly named 'Jap Road' in honour of an immigrant farmer from Japan who brought rice farming techniques to the county.
Chink — derogatory term for people of Chinese descent. Has been in use since Victorian times with usage cases dating back to the 1880s.
Lascars -- sailors from British India, Arabia, or Southeast Asia employed on European ships.
'human zoos' -- public exhibitions of 'primitive' peoples which were a popular form of entertainment in the 19th and 20th centuries.
'These are my lilies' -- water lilies or lotuses are treasured symbols in Buddhism. Their ability to bloom in muddy waters represents purity amid the hardships of this life. Unlike most plants, their flowers and seedpods come out at the same time, thus functioning as a metaphor for the Buddhist concepts of cause and effect. Ink painting in Japan is associated with Zen Buddhism, as Zen monks were the first to spread the art form there.
'Middle man' — Kyung is alluding to the Joseon era social class of 'Jung In' or 'middle people' who engaged in professions such as interpreting, law, medicine, business etc. The Jung In formed an intermediate group between nobles and commoners.
Geldings - stallions were and still are castrated to make them gentler and easier to handle as work animals.
'Boy in holey trousers' — a common street profession in the 19th century was that of the crossing sweeper, boys who would sweep a path across dirty urban roads for a fee. Their services were especially valuable to upper and middle class women who risked soiling their long hoop skirts. These informal workers have been depicted in contemporaneous art and literature, most notably in the character of Jo from Dickens' novel Bleak House.
'Native race from Chili' — the anecdote comes from a 19th century English etiquette guide extolling the value of chivalry. The author cannot remember the title of this work.
'Two [Five] Boy' — direct English translation of a Chinese triad term for snitch/traitor.
'Gallon' — the imperial gallon in use at the time is equivalent to 4.5 metric litres.
'Cherry paste on teeth' — white cherry toothpaste, a common brand from the Victorian era.
Punch Magazine — a humour and satire magazine which ran from the 1840s to 2002. It was influential as a platform for social commentary and became a household name in Victorian Britain, with a readership comprising many notable writers and intellectuals of that period.