Mr Ma and Son (23 page)

‘Tell you what: you come round on Boxing Day, and we’ll go to the theatre together. You’ve been busy all Christmas. Surely you can slack off and enjoy yourself for one day?’

‘Righto then! See you the day after tomorrow. Thanks, old Ma.’ Li Tzu-jung shook hands with Ma Wei again, then rushed off into the crowd as if he were running to catch a train.

Ma Wei watched him till he was out of sight, before at last, his head well down, he slowly made tracks for home.

T
HE SKY
was still overcast, and a few snowflakes drifted through the air. There were hardly any people or cars in the streets, as everyone was celebrating Christmas Day in their homes.

Mrs Wedderburn had invited Aunt Dolly to come for Christmas, but she’d not replied. Not until the Christmas morning post was delivered did she receive an answer – a brief note, along with a parcel of presents. The gist of her letter was that one’s life wasn’t safe in the company of Chinamen, and that Christmas being the season of joy and good cheer, it didn’t seem right to go looking for terrors and perils.

After reading the letter, Mrs Wedderburn pursed her lips very visibly. But you could hardly blame Aunt Dolly; the average English person speaks of ‘the Chinese’ and ‘murder’ in the same breath.

Pale brow furrowed, Mrs Wedderburn opened the parcel. A pair of knitted gloves for her, and a pair of flesh-coloured silk stockings for Mary. She called her daughter in, and the two of them pronounced judgement on Aunt Dolly’s presents.

Miss Mary was as fresh as a flower, with the perfect shade of lipstick on her red lips, deep-black kohl and mascara on her eyebrows and eyelashes, and rouge on her dimpled cheeks, which looked like nothing more than two bashful cherry-apple blossoms. The sight of her daughter looking so pretty cheered Mrs Wedderburn up again, and she curved her lips into a smile as she gently placed a kiss on Mary’s forehead. They gathered up Aunt Dolly’s gifts and set about preparing the grand Christmas lunch.

The cooking was left to Mrs Wedderburn, while Mary put her pale hands into service shelling nuts, fetching plates and so on, keeping her distance from the stove. As she shelled, she munched, her two red dimples moving in and out, never idle.

After breakfast, Mr Ma took a seat in the drawing room to smoke his pipe, curious to see what the grand Christmas lunch would be like. After a quarter of an hour he got chased out by Mrs Wedderburn.

‘Off to your study with you!’ she said, laughing. ‘Lunch will be ready in here soon enough, but don’t come down until I ring the bell. Do you hear?’

Mr Ma knew how English women loved to flaunt their skills, and how they like to surprise, evoking one’s astonished applause. Pipe in mouth, he went upstairs, chuckling.

‘And don’t forget to bring your presents down to lunch!’ said young Miss Wedderburn, as he went. ‘Oh, and what about Ma Wei?’

‘Ma Wei! Ma Wei!’ shouted Mrs Wedderburn from downstairs.

‘Here! What is it?’ asked Ma Wei from upstairs.

‘Don’t go into the drawing room until lunchtime, all right?’

‘All right. I’ll take Napoleon for a stroll round the block, shall I?’ asked Ma Wei, running down the stairs.

‘Oh, lovely. Off you go, then. Lunch’s at one on the dot. Don’t be late!’ Mrs Wedderburn handed Ma Wei the dog, and gave it a tender kiss on the ear.

As Ma Wei took Napoleon out, mother and daughter busied themselves downstairs, and Mr Ma, pipe in mouth, sat alone in the study.

Well, it’s Christmas . . . Ought to take a look in at the church, thought Mr Ma, so that I’ll have something to say for myself when I see the Reverend Ely tomorrow . . . Huh, the Reverend Ely. Fancy giving me a bible for Christmas! He could just have given me some little knick-knack or other – at least that’d have some spirit of the season about it. A bible! Do you think I can eat bible or drink bible? Silly fool!

So Mr Ma decided against going to church. He took out his presents for Mrs Wedderburn and Mary, opened up the parcels to have a look, then rewrapped them the same as before. When he’d finished doing that, he felt that the string was a bit thick and didn’t look nice. Pipe in mouth, he went to check in his room, but couldn’t find any thinner string. Returning to the study, he gave the matter extensive thought.

Got it!

He hurried into Ma Wei’s room to look for some red ink, which he used to dye the string red, then he put the string by the fire to dry.

Red’s such an eye-catching colour. And all women love red.
When the string was dry, he retied the parcels with it, and put them on the table. Then he put the bottle of ink back. As he did so, he took a close look at Ma Wei’s room. The table was covered with books, but Mr Ma had no idea when Ma Wei’d bought them. On the wall hung Li Tzu-jung’s photo, a small one, four inches square, with his hair all dishevelled and untidy, and a most vulgar smile on his face. Mr Ma gave a snort in the direction of the photo. Under the bed were piled cases and boots, and even a pair of ice skates.

That boy. He’s game for anything . . . even learning ice-skating now! Dangerous on ice, though. When he gets back, I must tell him not to go ice-skating any more. Why, he might fall through a hole in the ice. No joking matter, that.

Mr Ma returned to the study, put some more coal on the fire and sat down again to smoke his pipe.

Somehow feel I’ve forgotten something or other. What was it?
he thought, tapping his forehead with his pipe.
I know! I’ve forgotten to put any fresh flowers on my brother’s grave! Too late now. Today’s Christmas, and everybody’s on holiday, so there’s no telling whether you’d be able to buy any fresh flowers in town. Growing old’s a curse. You keep on thinking about something, and then in the end it slips your mind after all . . . Ah, I look forward to the day we make our fortune. Then I can take my brother’s coffin back to China. I can’t wait for the day when we can return home . . .

Now, if she and I . . . no, never! Wouldn’t be fair on others. Wouldn’t be fair on Ma Wei if I married, and gave him a foreign mother. Anyway, if I married her, I could say goodbye to ever returning to China. And that’s unthinkable! Not go back to China . . . Foreign women certainly are pretty, though. Not that you could say she was the ultimate in prettiness, but she’s neat and lively, oh yes. Yes, foreign women are an improvement on Chinese women. Even if they don’t have a nice-looking face, they at least have a good figure. Real waists, real thighs; pale, bare bosoms, and arms like slender lotus-roots . . . Hey now, it’s Christmas! Mustn’t think such naughty thoughts.

Think something good. Wonder what we’ll be eating in a bit? Turkey, most likely. That’s nothing very special. But as long as she doesn’t serve me cold beef, I’ll offer up thanks to Buddha . . .

A whiff of roast turkey crept in through the crack in the door, wonderfully appetising, and the aroma of brandy floated in too.

Ah, maybe today we’ll get a little glass of something!
Mr Ma swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

Ma Wei took the dog for a long walk round Regent’s Park, and wasn’t back till half past twelve. He led the dog into the house, then went upstairs to wash his hands, change his shoes and get ready for lunch.

‘Ma Wei!’ called Mr Ma. ‘Come here!’

Ma Wei changed his shoes and went into the study.

‘Ma Wei,’ said Mr Ma, ‘when do you think we’ll be able to return to China?’

‘You and your returning to China, Dad!’ said Ma Wei, warming his hands by the fire.

There was nothing further that father and son could say on the subject.

Noticing the paper parcels on the table, Ma Wei went into his own room, fetched his presents and put them with the others.

‘So you’ve bought them some presents, too?’ asked Mr Ma.

‘Of course; ladies have to have such things,’ said Ma Wei, smiling.

‘Ladies —’ said Mr Ma, then cut himself short.

The bell rang downstairs. Ma Wei carried the presents, with Mr Ma following on behind.

The dining table had been set up in the drawing room and Mrs Wedderburn and daughter were already seated, both wearing new dresses, and with newly powdered faces. Napoleon was crouching on the little piano stool by the piano, a red velvet ribbon tied round his neck. On the piano stood two lighted red candles. The Peke was watching the candle flames leap up and down, unable to fathom the mystery of them. Mr Ma placed his packet of seven and sixpence at the little dog’s feet.

‘Sit down, you men!’ said Mrs Wedderburn, smiling.

Ma Wei put all the presents in front of mother and daughter, then he and his father went to their seats.

On the table was a new tablecloth the colour of peach blossoms, and under the cups and plates were small tablemats, also new, in different colours. In the middle of the table was a vase of pink chrysanthemums, with a bunch of coloured paper streamers draped from the leaves of the flowers. On either side of the vase stood a tall-stemmed dish, bearing fruit, walnuts, hazelnuts and so on, and under each dish were a number of snowballs made of cotton wool.

At the four corners of the table lay red paper crackers with gold bands round them, and each person had a trinket in front of them: Mr Ma and son each a tiny doll, Mary a little ragdoll, and Mrs Wedderburn a bird. Next to each of these toys was another small cracker. Each person’s serviette was rolled up inside a wine glass, and bore a crown of holly berries on its tip.

In front of Mrs Wedderburn lay the huge platter of roast turkey, and in front of Mary a dish of ham and fried sausages. Two bottles of port were standing on the table near Mr Ma, and the salad and boiled greens were placed by Ma Wei. The layout of the table gave everybody a task to do.

Mrs Wedderburn carved the turkey, Mary started slicing the ham, and Ma Wei waited to distribute the vegetables. Mr Ma felt like opening a bottle of wine, but wasn’t bold enough to make the move. He tentatively went to open his presents, but since nobody else followed suit, he didn’t feel he could very well start on them, either.

‘Pour the wine, Mr Ma,’ said Mrs Wedderburn.

Mr Ma opened a bottle, and filled everyone’s glasses.

Mrs Wedderburn finished carving the turkey for them all, served it out, then gave each person a teaspoonful of bright-red jelly and a dessertspoonful of bread sauce. The turkey smelt most appetising to Mr Ma, but he was rather suspicious of the jelly. He cautioned himself:
Mustn’t question what they give me, no matter what it may be.

All raised their glasses, and touched glasses with each other in turn, then the ladies took a sip and the gentlemen took a sip. They tucked into the turkey, chatting as they ate. Mary was especially jolly, and the wine she was drinking made her cheeks redder and shinier than ever. When they’d finished the turkey, Mrs Wedderburn brought out the Christmas pudding. She poured a spoonful of brandy over it and set the brandy alight, so that flames shot out all around the pudding, and she left it to burn a while like that before serving it.

After the pudding, Mary passed the fruit dish round, asking what they’d like. Mr Ma chose a banana, Mrs Wedderburn took an apple, and Mary and Ma Wei ate nuts. Mary used the nutcracker to open hers, but Ma Wei threw his into his mouth and cracked them open with his teeth.

‘Ooh, Mum! Look what good teeth he’s got! He can bite the hazelnuts open.’ Mary’s eyes opened wide, full of admiration for the teeth of the Chinese.

‘That’s nothing. Look at me!’ Mr Ma took a hazelnut too, and bit it open with a loud crack.

‘Oh, you are naughty!’ Now that she’d drunk a glass of wine, Mrs Wedderburn was feeling very merry and light-headed. She picked up a cotton-wool snowball and threw it at Mr Ma’s head. Then Mary picked one up, and threw it at Ma Wei’s face. Ma Wei caught the snowball, and with a flick of his wrist threw it at Mrs Wedderburn.

Mr Ma looked on dumbfounded, before eventually it dawned on him that the snowballs had actually been placed there so that they could all have the fun of throwing them at one another. Slowly he picked one up and threw it at Napoleon. Napoleon got hold of the snowball and chewed it, and a piece of red paper emerged.

‘Go and get it, Mr Ma,’ said Mrs Wedderburn, ‘That’s your hat!’ Mr Ma hastily snatched the red paper from the dog’s jaws. Sure enough, it was a red paper hat.

‘Put it on! Put it on!’ shouted Mary.

Mr Ma put the hat on, and went off into a fit of giggles.

The others opened some of the snowballs and put their hats on as well. Mary still carried on pelting people with snowballs, until she’d covered Mr Ma with bits of cotton wool. Then Mrs Wedderburn told everybody to pull their crackers.

Bang! Bang! Bang!
The explosions of the crackers frightened Napoleon so much that he took refuge under the table. In each cracker there was a small object. Mrs Wedderburn got two tiny whistles, which she stuck between her lips and blew. Ma Wei got a toffee. Mr Ma got another paper hat, which he placed on his head, on top of the other one, laughing away once more. Mary hadn’t pulled hard enough, so she had to have another go with Mr Ma. He tightened his moustachioed lips and pulled the cracker with her.
Bang!
She got a half-size pencil.

‘Do we look at the presents now?’ asked Ma Wei.

‘No, don’t,’ said Mrs Wedderburn. ‘Take them into the study so everybody can compare and see who’s got the best!’

‘Wait a mo’, Mum. Look at this!’As she spoke, Mary stretched out her left hand for her mother to see.

‘Mary! You’ve gone and got engaged to Washington! Mary!’

Mrs Wedderburn took hold of her daughter’s hand and stared at the gold ring on the plump finger. Then mother and daughter fell into each other’s arms, murmuring away, and kissing for a solid three minutes. Ma Wei’s face went pale. The elder Ma, in a daze, goggled at them kissing, at a loss as to what he should do.

Pulling himself together and forcing a smile, Ma Wei raised his glass of wine towards them, and signalled with his eyes to his father, who also raised his glass.

‘Our congratulations, Miss Mary!’ And Ma Wei took a sip of wine. But it was a long time before he managed to swallow it.

Mary looked at Mr Ma and looked at her mother, her blue eyes twinkling, radiating a sparkle of joy.

‘Mum, I’m so happy!’ said Mary, putting her head on her mother’s shoulder. ‘I’m going to his home tomorrow for his family and friends to give us their formal congratulations. Oh, Mum, I’m so happy!’

Mrs Wedderburn gently patted her daughter’s shoulder, tears flowing from her eyes.

‘Mum, what’s the matter?Are you crying, Mum?’ Mary reached out an arm and put it round her mother’s neck.