Free The Painted Cage by Meira Chand

lighting, no meat or milk; it was a crude boom town of rough men.Why, in 1866 at Sir Harry Parkes’ first ball, I remember we proudly mustered thirteen of us against ninety men.’ Mrs Easely laughed, quick to see the humour. She was full of the grit of the pioneers. She leaned forward to pat Amy’s hand. ‘Now you’re not to worry about a thing. You’ll be surprised at what Yokohama offers.’
    The accumulation of more information was impeded for Amy by ill health. Malaria and a threatened miscarriage made the journey monstrous. Mrs Easely visited frequently with comfort and advice but, incarcerated within the stuffy, rolling cabin, enclosed in pain and apprehension, it seemed to Amy she had left one hell only for another. She did not believe the talk of wonderful Yokohama, or Dorothy Easely’s assurance of the changes of three decades. She did not believe the gin-tinted bar talk Reggie brought her, his voice excited, his depression allayed. She relied instead on Murray’s famous guidebook , found in Singapore and studied through the voyage. Murray cautioned wisely and rarely enthused, except about mountain views. She was advised, when travelling off beaten tracks, to take plenty of flea powder and carbolic acid. Beyond the Treaty Ports milk was unobtainable ; a whisked-up egg yolk was suggested instead in either tea or coffee. The Japanese language appeared horrendous, without singular or plural or persons or verb, sense only gathered from context. She must prepare to be stared at and laughed at and show no impatience. Storming at coolies would mend no matters. She thought of the deckfuls of excited tourists, hot for the mysteries of the Far East, and felt at some point they would meet disillusion. Then she lay back again upon the bunk and wished she too might sail home after adventure.
    At last they neared Yokohama. Amy joined the crowded deck as they rounded the island of Oshima. The sky was a fierce reflection of the volcano on Oshima, like a portent, Amy thought grimly, fighting against the relief and excitement the sight of land brought to her. There was a stir throughout the boat, a heightening of voices, a banging of doors and later much finery and high spirits at dinner. The view of the land was constant now, hillyand wooded. The air was crisp. Fishing boats were everywhere, thick as clouds of white-winged moths. They passed a huge junk, drifting like a phantom galley. In the Gulf of Yedo the water was calm after their endless rolling. A mist hung about upland forests, the coast was a mass of sandy coves in which nestled deep-roofed villages. Tiny rock islands littered the coast like crumbs broken off the shore, possessed by weathered pines. On deck they waited for a sight of Mount Fuji. At last Amy saw it, pale and solitary against a pale sky. It swept up in a single cone of snow, skirted by mist and a motionless sea. Its silence filled her with disquiet. Suddenly she did not know what to expect. The pessimism that had been her defence throughout the voyage no longer seemed adequate against apprehension. She went down into the cabin to tidy up the last few things, and her hands began to tremble. Yokohama would be nothing like Sungei Ujong. She shivered in excitement.
    They anchored out in the bay at Treaty Point, beyond which no foreign vessel could go. A liner nearby was surrounded by coal barges, its sides festooned with female porters balanced upon precarious planks, passing coal hand to hand in small baskets. The telescopes and binoculars that had been trained on Mount Fuji, the fishing boats and villages, were now folded and packed; people waited for exotic reality. Hotel barges and sampans took them ashore, pestered by tenacious men selling wares even before they landed. After the panorama of the bay Yokohama, as they drew near, disappointed people. It appeared neither one thing nor the other, too European to be Japanese and too Japanese to be European. The tourists were quick to complain. There was