Chapter 1140 - Hygiene
"He's a clever boy with deft hands," Cleadia said, pride evident in her voice. "He loves science and is especially fascinated by novel devices. He's determined to become a figure like da Vinci." A flush of embarrassment crossed her features. "You probably haven't heard of da Vinci..."
"On the contrary, I know him well," Dr. Zhong replied with a smile. "In fact, few people in Europe probably remember him anymore."
"Yes." Cleadia looked surprised. Though da Vinci had enjoyed high repute in his lifetime, he quickly fell into obscurity after his death, only to be "rediscovered" in modern times. In the seventeenth century, few recalled his name.
Thus Westerly and Cleadia joined the clock tower project. During spare moments, Zhong Xiaoying taught them Mandarin, and the three would occasionally venture out together on excursions. Their friendship deepened with each passing day.
Some ten days elapsed. One evening, Cleadia sat as usual with quill in hand, recording her daily observations. Midway through, her travel supply of ink ran dry. Westerly, exhausted from a full day's labor, was already dead asleep. Unwilling to disturb him, Cleadia decided to seek out Zhong Xiaoying, whose room was on the same floor—light still glowed through the crack beneath her door.
Zhong Xiaoying lay sprawled on her bed, wrestling with mathematics homework left by Zhong Lishi. It was proving difficult; she was stuck and thoroughly bored. When she saw Cleadia at her door, her face lit up.
The two chatted for a while, half in words and half in gestures. Zhong Xiaoying attempted to recruit Cleadia's help with the mathematics problems, but Cleadia couldn't read a single Chinese character and was utterly baffled by modern mathematical notation.
However, Cleadia noticed something peculiar about her writing instrument. The pen had a metal nib, and she hadn't seen Zhong Xiaoying dip it in ink for quite some time.
"Your pen is remarkable," Cleadia said with curiosity. "Does its ink never run out?"
"Not exactly..." Zhong Xiaoying uncapped the pen, revealing the ink reservoir inside. "This is called a 'fountain pen.' Inside is a glass tube that holds the ink; within the tube is a capillary feed made of lacquer flakes, with many tiny crevices to store ink. My father's fountain pen uses a rubber sac, which works better, but alas—rubber is too expensive. Mine is the cheaper variety."
Zhong Xiaoying's explanation took some time before Cleadia grasped what "rubber" was. Recognition dawned: "I know! Last year your people came to Batavia and helped the Company plant trees—that was this rubber."
"Yes, the tree only thrives in the tropics."
"This pen is wonderful. Are they sold here?"
"Unfortunately, they were just developed and haven't entered production yet. But Father says there will be a fountain pen factory before long."
Seeing Cleadia's delight, Zhong Xiaoying retrieved a new pen recently produced by the Science Department from her drawer and pressed it into Cleadia's hands. "For you. I modified the nib myself—it writes quite well. But you must use only Lingao-produced ink, or it will clog. I'll give you a large bottle of ink as well."
"Thank you so much." Cleadia was thrilled by the gift, examining it against her chest for a long moment. "Might I give it to Westerly instead?"
"Of course." Observing her affection for her brother, Zhong Xiaoying sighed involuntarily.
"What is it? Have you no siblings?"
"I once did. They and my parents are all dead."
"Dead? Isn't Dr. Zhong your father?"
"No—he's my adoptive father." Zhong Xiaoying didn't wish to dwell on old sorrows; she turned away to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "The Committee saved me from a fate worse than death. They are my great benefactors."
"I see. No wonder you don't resemble each other at all."
Zhong Xiaoying managed a small laugh. "Of course we don't—I was originally Dr. Zhong's maid. Later, he adopted me."
Cleadia was astonished. Such a thing seemed inconceivable to Europeans of that time—even in the Seven Provinces Republic, which prided itself on being the most "equal" and "enlightened" nation.
Zhong Xiaoying didn't want to linger on the past. She studied Cleadia. "You're wearing far too much—aren't you sweltering?"
Cleadia wore a linen chemise beneath tight stays. To Zhong Xiaoying, clad only in a nightgown of high-count Lingao linen, this ensemble looked both uncomfortable and insufferably hot. Besides, beads of sweat glistened on Cleadia's forehead.
"I am feeling rather warm," Cleadia admitted. "Especially the stays—they often leave me short of breath. It must be this dreadful heat."
"I think you should change clothes. The stays especially—Honorable Father says they harm one's health." Zhong Xiaoying climbed off the bed and opened her luggage trunk.
Among the naturalized citizen class, "Chiefs' maids" constituted the most consumerist demographic—though the General Office paid them no wages, a significant portion of Committee members' monthly income went toward them. One could fairly say that maids drove Committee consumption.
Zhong Xiaoying was an adopted daughter, which elevated her consumption tier further still. Zhong Lishi was willing to spend on her, so her wardrobe was quite substantial.
Zhong Xiaoying withdrew a loose nightgown and a cotton brassiere.
"All new, never worn," she said. "Your figure looks about the same as mine—they should fit."
Cleadia examined the brassiere with curiosity; she had never seen such undergarments. Eager to try, she immediately began unlacing her stays. Zhong Xiaoying helped with the cords.
Once the stays came undone, revealing her neck, Zhong Xiaoying froze in shock: the neck beneath Cleadia's fair, tender face was dark gray. Such a level of grime meant she hadn't bathed in at least several months.
Cleadia noticed her reaction. "What's wrong?"
"Cleadia... you haven't bathed in a very long time, have you?" Zhong Xiaoying asked in amazement.
"Not since leaving Batavia. Why should I?" Cleadia dismissed the concern. "I wash my face, hands, and feet every day—they're perfectly clean. And I change my clothes daily."
"But you don't bathe—how is merely changing clothes sufficient?" Zhong Xiaoying was flabbergasted by this reasoning. Even during her family's decline, she had never embraced Committee-style habits of daily bathing and fresh clothes, but she used water every day. In summer, she showered every three or four days; less frequently in winter, but at least once a month. She had never heard of someone going months without bathing and simply rotating garments.
"Does the trading house not have proper bathrooms?" she pressed. "Hot and cold water is so convenient there."
"My clothes are tidy; my face and limbs are clean—isn't that enough?" Cleadia replied. "Besides, priests and physicians say that bathing frequently leads to various maladies."
This sent Zhong Xiaoying into a flurry. She immediately launched into a lecture on principles of "hygiene," expounding upon "the significance of maintaining cleanliness for female physiological health." Though Cleadia couldn't follow most of it, she grasped the gist: her new friend wanted her to bathe.
"But I cannot bathe these few days," Cleadia said hesitantly.
"Why not?"
"Because..." Cleadia's face reddened, and she shrank from answering. Zhong Xiaoying understood at once; no wonder Cleadia's manner had been especially "delicate" of late.
"Ah, I see." Her own cheeks colored slightly. "You can still take a shower." She slid off the bed again and retrieved a paper box from the trunk.
The box was sealed, printed with the words: "Women's Hygiene Care Kit A," followed by smaller text: "Ministry of Health Pharmaceutical and Sanitary Materials General Factory." Below that, the date in Arabic numerals.
Inside were women's hygiene products recently mass-produced by the Ministry of Health: sanitized toilet paper, cotton gauze belts, and a bar of disinfectant soap.
"Another gift for you," Zhong Xiaoying said, somewhat shyly.
(A note on Dutch hygiene habits: the English observed that their bodies were dirtier than their houses and streets. Many seventeenth-century visitors remarked upon a curious paradox—Dutch cities and homes were immaculate, yet personal hygiene was sorely neglected.
Seventeenth-century Dutch had no bathing custom; the middle and upper classes washed hands, feet, and face daily, nothing more. In the early 1600s, the entire Netherlands possessed only one public bathhouse.
Considering that the Dutch were essentially Germans, and that Germans had been notorious throughout Europe for their lack of hygiene since the Middle Ages, this was perhaps unsurprising.)
(End of Chapter)