Camelia Sinensis

Trigger warning: the story is set colonial times, and viewpoint that might seem rascist are shared by the protagonist.

12th September 1853

They say Green and black tea come from two different strands of tea. I feel that this not only holds true for tea but also for our people. For I am British and could never conceive of being of any other race. They also say the process is simple. Dry leaves and hot water, this is all it takes. I feel like these leaves now, as I have brewed and boiled in the customs of this peculiar land for so long that I have become Sing Wa of Yunnan.

On this our fourth day of wandering across the Green hills of the Fujian province that rise and sink like the breath of a god, I take a moment now to gather my thoughts and write in good English to keep my sanity from falling apart. I hold a pair of chopsticks in my right hand gently clicking them together. This has become a habit for me even though I already have proficiency in eating with these utensils, and I fear that my former self is decimated by every click of the chopsticks. The evening winds of this highland fill my lungs. When I close my eyes and barely watch through my lids, this place has the contours of home, but when I study the vegetation and feel the incessant burning of the sun I am reminded that I am not at home but in fact far from it.

We left our boat two days ago and have only traveled by foot since. It is dangerous for fair skinned people to venture about freely. We are allocated small areas like pots to inhabit, and straying from these will ensure that the wrath of the natives will befall us, and that like gardeners they will cut us down like weeds should we spread. I had heard these stories and warnings many times. The first to warn me about this was Captain Craster who told me on our first night in China after sailing me here. He told me how Herr Ebeling, a merchant from Germany, had been killed by barbarians a week before my arrival. I was shocked by this heinous crime, and for the first months of my stay I only noticed the absence of any vegetation in town. There was no shade in the streets except under Umbrellas and inside buildings.

16th September 1853 

I have been picking splinters and thorns from my feet. Swarms of insects and their choir of hums, like words waiting to be said but never coming into fruition has followed us the entire day. I blame my urgent need for solitude and contemplation for my failure to mention my company on this journey. I am escorted by two Mandarin cousins, Wang and Li Wenhai.

My two guides were entrusted to me by Captain Craster and had apparently served him well. Initially he suggested that I should just spare myself the trouble and let Wang and Li Wenhai procure the tea. After all, tea is just tea. Call me coldhearted but traveling has made my heart grow skeptical. How could I be sure that they would procure the plants from where I needed them? it would only be too late for me to discover if they had taken the plants from a nearby shrub where we foreigners were already easily allowed entrance. but I guess that coin as any other metal can kill the growth of suspicion and distrust. I can hear them mumbling outside my tent. Occasionally, Wang picks up a Zhongruan and they sing songs in a dialect I cannot quite comprehend but which sounds resonating with melancholy. I hear the bright squeals of Wang's fingers gliding over the strings which soothes my spirit and helps me sleep.

20th of September 1853

I am sometimes struck with fear that my guides will deceive me. it is in the detail. the way they move and posture themselves. Wang looks at me like he is estimating a price. I recognize this case when I examine plant specimens. Yesterday I collected a sample of Bidens Alba or Beggartricks as it is commonly referred to. Wang does not seem to recognize the beauty of these perennial flowers. Their attraction is completely lost on him.

Plants have many beautiful and intriguing properties. Some can heal wounds and nourish the sick. Others attract by growing fruit and flowers esteemed for their beauty, and yet others marvel by their ability to inspire complacency and suppress the mind. I have two currencies with me. These work better than any rifle to assure that my servants will abstain from revolting. As I write these words, I can smell the sweet scent of the opium pipe. I have indulged a few times in the company of Captain Craster and his soldiers who do nothing but drink to keep madness away. However, I much prefer it as currency rather than as a vehicle for my own pleasure.

23rd of September 1853

if I was not so helplessly lost, I would carry on without the deadweight of these two imbeciles. we are slowing down, I can feel that it is on purpose. I am positive that Wang only holds resentment for me. Li Wenhai is not bright enough to even have an opinion, but at least he can carry his weight and my findings. This tent gives me a brief moment of solitude. I have ordered them to sleep in turns in order to keep an eye out for bandits, yet every morning when I wake, I see them fast asleep on the ground. Sometimes I can even hear them snoring, it fills me with such disgust. How can a person sleep greedily? What have I done to deserve such company, and how can I find the strength to tolerate them when I am dismayed and annoyed by even just their posture?

28th of September 1853

When I lie at night trying to sleep I am haunted by nightmares that my two servants will sneak up and slit my throat, Rob me, or demand a higher fee to keep my secrets safe.

Last night, I overheard them talking. Although I tried to find peace inside the tent, I was constantly kept awake by the dripping drops of rain that penetrated the canvas and landed on my face. I thank water for nourishing the roots of my restlessness, for it allowed me to hear and contemplate their quiet moaning. I was unable to hear all the words distinctly, but I could sense a general idea that they wanted to shortcut through the city. Did they not care for my life? do they not know what risk I go through willingly to keep them employed? The idea that they are sluggish enough to jeopardize my safety for quick passage through the city is most deplorable.

I should cut their rations, perhaps even kill them in their sleep. I know that fighting them will only lead to my defeat for never have I been a man of fighting. This is more for a lack of strength than will. There have been times where I look back with envy on the recounts of Captain Craster and the other soldiers during nights of severe inebriation.

30th of September, 1853

I was still Increasing my certainty that Wang was leading me towards the city, and as the scarce settlements grew thicker, I No longer doubted it. We arrived at the overgrown walls of the city around noon. The walls were scattered with occasional bursts of growth that my homesick heart imagined would be hollyhocks. A couple of soldiers guarded the gates absentmindedly. I could sense how Wang was testing me, how he wanted to see if I would flinch. I assume he wanted a higher tribute for his troubles, but I gave him no inclination to think that I would cave to his unspoken demand. The Neem tree easily drops its leaves if disturbed, so I remained calm. The guards did not pay any notice to me, and I felt the approval of assimilation when my presence was met with indifference. It is first when becoming so unremarkable to the eye of the native residents that one is truly accepted. As we strolled through the narrow streets of the city, my spirits rose with every civilian or city official that passed by us unknowingly. As we had left the city behind us, I insisted that we took shelter for the night at a small inn. I embrace Wang's cunning and smother it with kindness for instead of having them sleep in shifts, I let them both sleep tonight. We are close now to the factory.

3rd of October, 1853

These past days have been positively exciting. We arrived at the factory gates in the early afternoon. I had sent Li Wenhai a few paces ahead of me to announce the visit of the esteemed Sing Wa of Yunnan province. A guard came out, and he was soon followed by the official of the factory who invited us a tour of the facility. This was truly a sight I had never seen before. Diligent workers with yokes across their shoulders carried leaves on big plates and in buckets. Those leaves were subjected to all manners of procedures. There was care and craft put into all of this work, that I can only compare to the laborious tasks of a whiskey maker. it appeared as if the workers were mandrake roots, as if they grew out of the very field that they were toiling. As if grass and shrubbery formed roots that reached up towards the heavens but only found man. This was like an incarnation of soil. The tea would dry in the courtyard, wilt and burn in pans. They would brew and they would boil, produce liquids, solids, and gasses - all from the same plant - Camellia sinensis. After a tour of the facilities and fields we were offered to share a meal with the official. My acceptance in this factory filled me with such an appetite, and we indulged in a serving of steamed dumplings and green tea. I felt like a ghost, positively transparent to the living. Wang and Li Wenhai sat with me, and I invited them to partake in this splendid feast. This was like a holiday for me. I felt as if a great secret of the world had revealed itself to us and chosen us to share it. The officials at the factory, the workers toiling the fields, my guides, and myself shared a bond of camaraderie now. All worries of deceit and treason decimated. I did not blame Wang for his cunning inclinations because under harsh circumstances, a lesser person can be tempted to betray one's benefactor. Wang and I were now bound by crime and If the officials at the factory discovered my identity, he would most likely face the same machete as I would, and I take a modicum of comfort in knowing that we are bound by the same misfortune should problems arise. We collected strands and specimens of tea that the official was convinced would go to Yunnan, and I rejoice that I have in my possession a variety of seeds for shrubs but most importantly, I have the memory of procedures and recipes that only death can rob from me.

5th of October 1853

It was believed that green tea and black tea were two distinct species, but they are not. It is merely the same plant, and it is only a matter of processing that makes the difference between one and the other. I feel a certain kinship to this bush. Am I two distinct people or am I the same person with a different face depending on how I am processed? The Chinese extract a version of me through sunlight, through customs, and through language. To them, I am Sing Wa, official from Yunnan. This interaction makes every British fiber of me coil up like black tea. I am to them what they perceive me to be. My young guide has had any chance he could have asked for to expose me to the world, but he chose not to. Is he not equally to blame for being deceitful? We see so little of each other's true selves, it makes no sense to even talk of character. How long can a secret be kept? It is unnatural to ruminate on secrets, they seek exposure to light like seedlings. I do not believe in stealing secrets, for how can anything benefitting human society be kept a secret? I think it absurd that the procedure of baking bread should be kept secret. China has a glorious gift bestowed on her beautiful lands, and I am here to champion her. It would not bring the world any joy to keep this source of happiness and nutrition hidden here. Beauty is never a sin. To imagine that tea should only be confined to the hills of China, like a beautiful woman barred from life only to wither and shrink into old age and death. To imagine that tea should suffer the same fate as Silphium and fade from this green surface due to antiquity's greed is unbearable to me. I am a preserver. I bring life and share all this joy with the rest of the world. If this is a crime then I am most guilty. Only a person of a sickly soul will tell me that I have done the world a misfortune. Is this plant not more deserving in the caring bosom of British soil? When this beautiful shrub springs from the ground of Darjeeling, Assam, and other areas of our fertile empire it will bring a joy so vastly outnumbering any misdeeds I could be accused of doing by a feverish prosecutor. As I write this in the early hours of the morning Wang and Li Wenhai are sleeping. I decided to switch role, and from a little pouch in my belt I am now brewing tea for them that curls like the dewlap of a mighty bullock, that creases like the leather boots of Tartar horsemen, that unfolds like a mist rising out of a ravine and gleams like a lake touched by a zephyr. It will be wet and soft like earth newly swept by rain.