Page 37 of Blowing Off Steam

They turned into Fay Chie Hong, where female heads stuck out from tiny windows cut in the doors. Calliope walked far past an “old mother” who jealously guarded her charges. She was attracted by a girl with carefully plaited hair adorned with a false flower, her face painted in the manner Calliope herself had not long ago painted her own. The girls kept up a constant patter. Jokes, Maurice said, although Calliope knew they were making disparaging remarks about her. What was a white woman doing in Fay Chie Hong?

“This girl, Maurice? Shall we tell her why we’re here? Make sure to say we have a job for her, a paying job. A job that doesn’t involve screwing. Ask her if she knows how to cook.”

So Maurice asked the girl with the artificial flowers, and her reaction was prompt. She instantly slammed shut the wicket window, and the alarm ran down the alley as though a tornado swept through, each wicket slamming shut in succession. In an instant the alley was quiet as the grave, aside from the old mother who glared at them with clenched jaw.

“Well,” said Calliope. “That didn’t work too well. Did you tell her we have a paying job?”

“Yes. That’s when she became sad and had to go.”

“Sad? That’s a strange way to show sadness. Do you think she makes more money here than she would on our boat?”

“Not more money.” Maurice lowered his voice. “That old mother takes all money and gives to man.”

“So they’re just afraid of being caught and beaten?”

“Yes.”

Defeated, Calliope had no choice but to trudge back down the alley that reeked of garlic and sandalwood. In the main street, wives of laborers or merchants walked with heads held high, their coiffures sticking out like rudders a foot behind them, pinned with gold sticks eight inches long. But Calliope had wanted to help out a few of those poor downtrodden hookers, and she would never find any texas-tenders among the merchants’ wives.

She paused by a table where domino players moved so swiftly their hands were blurs. “Maurice. If I send you back alone, could you try again? Tell them it’s the boat El Dorado. Maybe some of them could sneak out and meet us later on the boat.”

“Yes. But Captain Trueworthy who you are in love with doesn’t want me to let you wander about streets alone.”

Smiling, she said, “I’ll be fine, Maurice. I’ll go directly back to the boat.”

So Maurice went off, walking through a cloud of opium fumes in front of a lottery shop.

She thought about Captain Trueworthy with whom she was in love. She was confused, because she felt nearly the same way about Captain Wakeman. Her feelings for Field were more romantically inclined. It was very important to her, for some odd reason, that Field be impressed by her, awed by her, respect her, whereas she could really care less if Rushy joshed with her about wearing a schoolgirl uniform. She enjoyed being light with Rushy, to jolly him along.

No, she wanted Field to take her seriously. She felt she would burst into tears if he made a joke about her former profession. She found most of her thoughts occupied by Field. True, his beautiful penis wasn’t quite as long or fat as Rushy’s admirable tool, but did a woman really want that? Rushy was built on frightening proportions. Calliope was a well-used gal and properly stretched as much as any woman who had given birth several times over, but sometimes an enormous slab of beef such as Rushy possessed just…well, got in the way.

Calliope stopped to purchase some turmeric then pressed on down Clay Street. She had to admit, Field’s possessiveness was attractive to her. She enjoyed feeling, for the first time in her life, that she was being protected by a man. She was glad he had gotten jealous hearing about Levi, and his eyes had flashed with ire when Brannan had accosted them. Obviously Levi had failed to protect her, had just rolled over and accepted it when the other wives had run her out of town. Now, getting to know Field Trueworthy, Calliope was beginning to suspect that Levi’s reaction to his wives’ shenanigans had not been completely one of a man really, truly in love with her. Simply put, if Levi had truly loved her, he wouldn’t have let his wives run her out of town like…well, like a common whore!

Turning onto Montgomery Street, Calliope was eager to return to the El Dorado. She planned to make cream of celery soup with some of the rare celery she had found, and with the Maraschino liqueur a passenger had given her she could concoct a dandy Nesselrode pudding. Her mind wandered toward waylaying Field in his engine room, perhaps even finally sucking on his superb prick—Rushy could join them if Field insisted!—when little running, padded feet sounded on the wooden sidewalk behind her, and Maurice spun her about.

Accompanied by three Celestial women! “Maurice, this is wonderful! They aren’t afraid to join our boat crew?”

Maurice was so proud he looked fit to bust. “They not afraid! This is”—and he said something that sounded like “Chiao Kuo”—“and she has worked for many years cooking.”

“Perfect!” Calliope took Chiao by the hands. She was the woman with the artificial flowers in her glossy hair, perhaps not older than twenty-five. “Do you speak any English?”

“No!” said Maurice. “They do not, but they can learn. We go back to boat and show them galley and dining room. See, there is boat.” Maurice pointed.

As she had seen Celestial hookers do in Fay Chie Hong, Calliope took Chiao by the arm and began steering her toward the El Dorado. “This is wonderful!” she babbled, even though they probably didn’t understand her. “Today you can help me chop things, onions, celery, turnips. I do hope you don’t intend on putting those raw fetus eggs into every dish. Americans don’t eat dogs or rats, and those eels sting people’s mouths. You’ll have to let me continue doing all of the actual cooking, but you can assist chopping and cleaning up. Your friends here can help serving drinks in the saloon and with the dining carts serving meals. It’s not very difficult—what, Maurice?”

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, Maurice?”

“Where is boat?”

Calliope looked. And dropped Chiao’s arm. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered.

The anchorage where they usually moored was empty. It must have only recently been vacated, as someone else would definitely have taken the spot by now if it had been empty more than a few minutes.

And a trail of white foam laid down by the churning paddlewheels was still visible on the water’s surface.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN