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Chinese Zodiac Year (běn mìng nián)
Ben Ming Nian has meant a great deal in people’s lives since ancient times. Since it is considered a year of difficulties, people improve their luck in Ben Ming Nian by wearing red, as red is thought to be a powerful color to exorcise evil spirits and invite good luck. The custom of wearing red dates back to the primitive society when people simply thought red was the color of the sun, the blood, and the fire. People’s fancy to red continues as the time changes. So even now, the color red still holds its solid status in people’s mind. The day before the Ben Ming Nian, lots of people wear red—it could be red underwear, belts, socks, shirts, and shoes, basically anything you can think of — to welcome a carefree Ben Ming Nian.
It is especially auspicious if someone gives you something red as a gift.
Besides wearing red, people also pray to Tai Sui (Chinese: 太岁) to negate any bad luck caused by your Ben Ming Nian. The Tai Sui is one of sixty heavenly generals who take turns in caring for our earthly well-being. That means within 60 years, everyone can find their own Tai Sui. In some customs, people are not suggested to get married in their Ben Ming Nian. If they do, they should put Artemisia Argyi into their trousseau for happiness, wellness and good luck.
Starting from the day you were born, every twelve years marks the arrival of your very own zodiac year, which is called Ben Ming Nian (Chinese:本命年；Pinyin: běn mìng nián). As you may know, the Chinese zodiac year relates to the Chinese lunar calendar, but one’s zodiac year does not start from the Chinese New Year’s day. Instead, it starts from the beginning of the spring in the 24 solar terms. Traditionally, Ben Ming Nian is considered to be an unlucky year, even worse, a year of bad luck that needs your great cautiousness about decisions and proper resolutions of problems.
The term Ben Ming Nian originated in Western Han Dynasty. In ancient China, folks used the combination of the Heavenly Stems (Chinese:天干Pinyin: tiān gān)and Earthly Branches（Chinese:地支Pinyin: dì zhī）, usually known as Chinese Era, to record their year of birth. For easy memory and calculation, twelve animals (exactly the rat, the ox, the tiger, the rabbit, the dragon, the snake, the horse, the goat, the monkey, the rooster, the dog and the pig) are applied corresponding to the 12 Earthly Braches, with each animal representing each earthly branch. Since Chinese Zodiac Year is in a 12-year cycle, every twelve years everyone meets his/her only zodiac year (Ben Ming Nian), which falls in the year when he/she is 12 years old, 24 years old, 36 years old, 48 years old, 60 years old, and so on. In China, many ethnics put huge value on the people’s 60th birthday, the fifth Ben Ming Nian, traditionally called Hua Jia (Chinese: 花甲 Pinyin: huā jiǎ) . A big party would be held to celebrate its coming, which expresses people’s wishes for longevity, wellness, and luck.
Chinese Zodiac
Year of the Rat 老鼠 (lao shu)
Year of the Ox 牛 (niu)
Year of the Tiger 老虎 (lao hu)
Year of the Rabbit 兔 (tu)
Year of the Dragon 龙 (long)
Year of the Snake 蛇 (she)
Year of the Horse 马 (ma)
Year of the Sheep 羊 (yang)
Year of the Monkey 猴 (hou)
Year of the Rooster 公鸡 (gong ji)
Year of the Dog 狗 (gou)
Year of the Pig 猪 (zhu)
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Set in Zanzibar in 1910, it is the story of two people from different worlds falling in love. Susan immerses herself in Zanzibar. Asim falls in love with this woman from the nation that killed his wife. Susan is a spy. Asim is the chief advisor to the Sultan of Zanzibar. Germany and France are holding secret negotiations to form a Pan European alliance, which would isolate Britain and destroy her power. Susan and Asim are caught up in all this and their love is finally dashed on the cold, hard reality of international high politics.
Available on Amazon's Kindle $4.99 - Over 400 Pages
Chapter One
Zanzibar
'A maharaja’s ruby cast on a Persian carpet by the blackest of hands'
Their souls danced, honouring his promise.
The ancient dhow stirred in the soft morning breeze, moving through the water like a sated lion, snuffling about the other boats on the harbour; some scurrying, some at anchor, some darting before a brief gust of wind. The lateen sails a bustling panorama of blood-red and sun-bleached white.
Aft, the woman's eyes searched the skyline, drinking in the architecture of Stone Town, the heart of Zanzibar; its jagged, cluttered silhouette so familiar, so much a part of her soul.
Abruptly, her eyes ceased their restless searching, jagged by an invisible hook, transfixed by the grand buildings on the northern shore, Beit-al-Ajaib, the House of Wonders, Palace to the great Sultan of Zanzibar. The distinctive architecture captured in the tropical light: coconut white outlined by contrasting shadow plays of pepper black.
A smile, ever so slight, started to play on the edge of her mouth then disappeared. A memory that should have been fond instantly turned to sharp unbearable pain. Her eyes hardened and moved on.
Without warning the captain threw the rudder over. Stumbling, the woman barked her shin on a wooden box, a rough-hewn coffin. She recoiled, knocking over an untidy stack of cane baskets. Imprisoned in the baskets, rusty cockerels, their scruffy heads straining through the latticework, snapped at her, cried out to her; their raucous din overwhelming her, drowning her.
Dimly, through the fog of noise, the strident swearing of the sailors in Kiswahili seeped into her conscious. Understanding, she smiled mirthlessly.
The coffin had been carelessly stowed, a chore, rather than a labour of respect or love.
London 1910
“Hello, who are you? I am Oliver, is Edward at home?”
The words were spoken by a tall, impeccably dressed young man as he rushed into Edward’s flat shaking off surplus water and calling for whisky while shoving his umbrella into a stand. It was a blustery, grey, bitterly cold February afternoon in the heart of London. He brushed a curl of soft auburn hair from his forehead and smiled charmingly.
Susan laughed, her hazel eyes dancing with the exhilaration of the new. “Yes, he is having a bath. I think he is trying to get warm. I’m Susan, Susan Carey, his sister.”
“Ahhh yes, from Australia. How do you do?” said Sir Oliver, smiling broadly and offering his hand. He had noticed the laughter in her eyes, and the depth, particularly the depth, intensified by jade flecks that made them striking and alluring. “So, you have arrived, good trip I trust.”
“I am very well thank you, and yes, it was a good trip,” replied Susan.
He laughed and glanced at the sitting room, “whisky?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, please come in…….. that was silly of me, after all, it is your flat.”
Oliver smiled and gestured for Susan to lead the way. He followed her into the room, and after helping himself to a generous portion of whisky, walked over to the fire.
Shortly after, Edward, wrapped in a huge ruby-coloured dressing gown and wiping soap from his ear strode into the room. He was of similar age to Oliver, late twenties, well built, if slightly podgy, with dark auburn hair and a full moustache. Susan looked up and smiled to herself, she could see now where he had picked up some of his new mannerisms.
“Thought I could hear voices. I see you two have met, no need for introductions then.”
As he was speaking, Edward walked to the side table and grabbed a whisky decanter by the neck. He glanced at Oliver who nodded. A long finger snaked into one of the tumblers followed by the distinctive clink of crystal. He swept the decanter off the table and carried it to where Oliver was sitting. After pouring the whisky, he sank into a lounge chair and sipped from his glass, enjoying the warm glow as it spread through his body.
Suddenly he sat up exclaiming, “Sorry sis, would you like something to drink?”
“Kind of you to remember, but no thank you, and yes, Oliver has already inquired.”
Edward nodded and sank back into his lounge chair.
They chatted, tentatively at first, getting to know one another. Edward had not seen Susan for two years and was unsure how his sister would take his new relationship. Oliver was intrigued by Susan. An attractive, self-assured young lady of high intelligence with a degree was a rare find. And, as fate would have it, she was also a trained and experienced teacher. He suggested a picnic at Oxford, which was met with ready acquiescence. Arrangements were made for the following Sunday.
“I’ll see if the Rolls is available,” mused Oliver. “Must ring father, haven’t spoken to him in ages.”
Oliver, Sir Oliver Marchmaine, was an unaffected young man of intense intelligence who saw life as a great adventure to be lived to the full. He was also unyieldingly loyal to his country, England, which is why he had joined Military Intelligence on leaving Oxford.
It was 1910 and Europe was stirring. It was a time full of interest, intrigue and danger. The European chessboard was becoming increasingly complex, the moves more subtle. A time when an unexpected move or feint could have profound consequences.
Regaining her balance, the woman’s eyes were drawn, hesitantly at first, resisting back to Beit-al-Ajaib. She wondered if it was still the same. Still the same centre of power and intrigue that had been so much a part of her life all those years before; that had defined her life.
She remembered those first few moments, remembered standing in the foyer of the palace, .………… remembered the breathtakingly beautiful Persian tapestry ........
The sea breeze stirred her clothes. She smiled a little sadly, and in her mind the tapestry gently swayed. Two small apparitions ran giggling up the stairs: two small exquisitely rich burkas disappearing along the first floor landing. Childish squeals of mischief and joy left in the air.......
“Move to seaward, you accused of Allah! Move!”
Her thoughts were clawed back to the dhow, the captain crashing the tiller over to avoid another boat on the crowded harbour. The woman instinctively ducked her head to avoid the heavy boom as it swung over her, the rusty cockerels squawked their raucous indignation, their heads straining through the latticework, relentless.
The collision avoided, the dhow continued on its way. The cacophony dying down to the occasional command by the captain or the cry of a seagull.
The woman's thoughts returned to Beit-al-Ajaib
…………. laughing and giggling, girls of seven or eight. A door on the first floor slammed and all sounds of them disappeared. Silence. The woman smiled. She could see herself, a young woman, dressed plainly, unselfconsciously, her sexuality tantalisingly just out of reach, hidden beneath the thin veil of her clothing. She remembered standing alone in the foyer, looking around, perplexed. Asim came through a door to the left of the tapestry.
“Salaam.”
The woman started and looked around. Then, realising, was cold again. Alone again. Alone, rocking to and fro to the rythm of the sea. Alone, beside a rough-hewn coffin.
Now Available on Amazon's Kindle $4.99 - Over 400 Pages
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