Mr Ma and Son (25 page)

Alexander’s study was so big and spacious that you couldn’t take it all in at one glance. In one wall burned a huge fire heaped with logs, its flames shooting up as if intent on scorching the whole world red-hot. The carpet on the floor was so thick that, with each step you took, you felt your foot might sink right through it. There was only one big table, and three or four chairs. The table’s legs were thicker than an elephant’s, while the chair backs were scarcely an inch lower than an emperor’s throne. All sorts of things were hung on the walls: photographs, oil paintings, Chinese congratulatory birthday scrolls, a host of swords, and three big stag’s heads, their antlers splaying out dangerously.

Alexander was standing in front of the fire, a fat cigar in his mouth, its ash already piling a little tumulus on the carpet.

‘Ma, old chap! Hurry up and get yourself warm!’ Alexander pulled over a chair for him, then said to the old lady, ‘Mrs Harding! Be grateful if you’d fetch us a bottle of port – the 1910 stuff.’ The old lady’s unseeing eye twitched, and she turned and went out, like some mysterious ghost appearing and vanishing without trace.

‘I say, Ma, old chap, did you have a good Christmas? Any booze? Bet the little widow wouldn’t let you drink your fill, what!’ Alexander slapped the elder Ma on the shoulder, and Ma almost staggered into the fire.

Pulling himself together, Mr Ma gave a few chuckles. Alexander went off into peals of laughter too, his guffaws shaking and shuddering the table no end, in spite of its elephantine legs.

‘Ma, old chap, I’ve found you a spot of work. Earn you a bit of extra cash. Would you be willing?’ asked Alexander.

‘What might it be?’ Mr Ma seemed to find the words ‘extra cash’ rather distasteful, and, although his face retained its smile, there appeared around his upper lip the shadow of a sneer.

‘No need to go into the details just now. It’s five pounds a go. Are you game?’ asked Alexander, jabbing his cigar towards Mr Ma’s nose.

The door opened and in came an old black cat, followed by Mrs Harding. She bore a small tray, upon which stood a bottle of port and two glasses. She put the tray on the table, poured them some wine, then walked out, treading on the black cat as she passed.

‘Drink up, Ma!’ said Alexander, raising his glass of wine. ‘Genuine 1910 vintage, what! What d’you think, then? Will you do it? Five pounds a go.’

‘What exactly is it, though?’ asked Mr Ma, drinking a mouthful of wine.

‘Filming. D’you savvy?’

‘But what do I know about filming? Don’t pull my leg,’ said Mr Ma, staring at the red wine in his glass.

‘It’s easy! Dead easy!’ Alexander sat down and placed his feet, like two small boats, in front of the fire. ‘Well, I’ll tell you. I’m giving a film company a hand now, writing scenarios. Set in the Orient, of course. Since I was out East for a good many years, I’m more of an expert than the rest of’em. Let me tell you: if you’ve got a skerrick of know-how, you can earn yourself a pretty penny. No good knowing something if you don’t turn it into cash . . . Where was I now?

‘Well, now, they’re in the middle of filming now. It’s set in Shanghai. They’ve raked together a crowd of Chinamen from the East End. Flat-nosed, slit-eyed creatures the lot. Just for the crowd scenes, of course – for mobs and rioting, to make the film look like the genuine China. So the quality of their noses and eyes makes no odds. They’re a flock of sheep as far as the director’s concerned. Farm scenes need a flock of sheep, and filming Shanghai scenes, you need a flock of Chinamen, eh, what!

‘Back to the subject again. They want a decent-looking old Chinaman to play the part of a rich Chinese merchant. Not much acting or expression needed. As long as the fellow’s presentable-looking, and can stand there like a proper human being, that’ll do. There are three scenes to perform, at a fiver each. How about it? No acting involved. You just stand wherever the director wants, and walk a few steps whenever he tells you. Easy, eh, what? Pick up fifteen pounds for doing damn all! Are you game?’

Alexander’s voice was growing louder as he spoke, and after reeling off this speech without pause for breath, he drank his whole glass of wine noisily, the liquid gurgling down his throat.

While he listened to Alexander ranting away, Mr Ma was doing some mental calculations.
I have to marry her, so I’ve got to buy a wedding ring. If I take the money from the shop, that young fellow Li Tzu-jung’s bound to kick up a stink even if Ma Wei doesn’t voice any objections. But if I play this part of the rich merchant, there’s nothing to it, and I’ll earn a clear fifteen pounds. I can buy her a ring with that. Not bad at all! Of course, acting’s not what you might call respectable, and I’d be letting myself down socially by rubbing shoulders with that bunch of East End creatures. Yes, I’d be demeaning my station in life! But . . .

‘Well, you’ll do it, then?’ said Alexander, like some bomb exploding under Mr Ma’s ear. ‘Have another glass?’

‘Yes, I’ll do it.’ Rubbing his ear, Mr Ma nodded.

‘Good man! That’s settled then! In two days’ time, we’ll go and see the director together. Come on, have another glass.’

They finished the bottle between them.

‘Mrs Harding! Harding!’ Alexander shouted. ‘Bring us another bottle.’

The old lady brought them another bottle of wine, and trod on the black cat once more. The cat rolled its eyes and glared at her, but made no sound.

Alexander pressed close to Mr Ma’s ear. ‘Stupid cat, that,’ he confided, ‘Can’t yowl or miaow – he’s still too drunk. Got sozzled with me last night. If he wasn’t always drunk, he’d never stick it out here, bet your life! You see, cats are invisible to that one working eye of Mrs Harding’s!’ And he went off into guffaws.

Mr Ma, too, burst out laughing, and laughed away all the cares and troubles of these few days past.

T
HE NEW
Year was the last dying ripple of Christmas. People didn’t celebrate it with any wild enthusiasm, and the shops were open as normal. Although ‘Happy New Year!’ was forever buzzing in one’s ears, there was nowhere the slightest sign of happiness or newness. The weather was as miserable as ever, with spots of rain whispering eerily down through the fog and making people tuck in their heads like listless egrets. At midnight on the last night of the old year, all the bells and sirens in the city rang out in unison. Alone and bare-headed, Ma Wei stood in the black shadows of the street, and spilled a few tears in secret. Partly because he was homesick, and partly because other sorrows in his mind chose that moment to spring forth. Then he wiped away his tears, and gave a sigh.

Got to keep at it still! Tomorrow’s the new year, so you’d better forget the past.

The next day he got up very early, and after breakfast decided to go for a walk, somewhere away from it all, so as to start the new year boldly. He told his father to go to the shop in the morning, as he wouldn’t be able to get there till after twelve o’clock.

He went out and took a bus straight to Kew Gardens. Over an hour later, the bus arrived outside the gardens. There was no one about, and the gate stood forlornly silent and shut. Turning away, he walked onto the big bridge nearby, where he leant on the stone parapet and gazed at the River Thames.

The water flowed grey and murky, and the old trees along the banks were silent and mournful, standing sentinel to the rippling river. There were no more than one or two black birds on the trees, their heads tucked in, chattering away in a grumbly fashion. By the bank was moored a row of small boats, bobbing up and down, looking fed-up and fidgety with boredom.

Ma Wei stared dumbly at the waters, his thoughts drifting with the grey ripples ever further into the distance, and now completely lost from sight. Far away, grey clouds joined the river and the trees into one grey mist, vague and vast, like some other world, as grey, pale and wretched as this world, but very far off and less clear to the eye.

In the distance, a clock chimed ten, and Ma Wei, slowly and heavily, as if loath to leave the bridge, went back to the gardens. The gate was open now. He placed a penny on the small iron table. The gatekeeper looked at him, blinking sleepily, and Ma Wei said, ‘Happy New Year!’

Apart from a few gardeners, there wasn’t a soul to be seen in the gardens. Ma Wei stuck out his chest and took in a few deep breaths, as if the fresh air of Kew Gardens had been specially served up for him. Old trees, young trees, tall trees and small trees, all had bare twigs and were taking a long rest, with no blossoms for people to look at and no fruit for birds to eat, only their thin, bent twigs and branches painting patterns of nature on the air. Squat evergreen bushes crouched behind the big trees, green-leaved but with none of the proud dignity of the old bare-armed trees. The ivy twining through the withered willows was like a huge dormant snake, and only the tops of the trees displayed a few greyish-green seedpods. The glass greenhouse in the middle of the gardens was draped with a sheet of white frost. You could still see the greenery inside but Ma Wei didn’t go in. In the flowerbeds lining the paths there grew not a single flower, and their soil had all been turned, forming a mass of triangular clods.

Seagulls and small wild ducks were squawking and clucking away on the river, a plaintive note to their calls. Most of the ducks squatted with their heads tucked in, occasionally rubbing their flat beaks against their wings, looking rather doltish. The seagulls, however, were by no means as sedate, and flew up and down through the air, sketching broken silver lines across the grey sky. Some little black ducks stayed floating on the water, trailing a V-shaped wake behind their tails, never flying or mounting the banks but forever swimming, with their eyes darting alertly around. And sometimes, at the sight of their reflection in the water, they’d poke their head down into it, and fish around. Poor black ducks! Ma Wei rather admired the little creatures, though. The wild ducks were too listless, and the seagulls too giddy and frivolous. Only the little black ducks kept hoping.

The grass that covered the ground was much greener than in summer, although not so lush and sleek. Near the riverbank it emitted a scent into the damp air, a very pure, faint and most pleasant perfume. As Ma Wei strolled the bank, gazing at the upside-down reflections in the water, treading the soft grass and smelling its aroma, he felt very easy and relaxed; yet an indefinable melancholy kept winding through his thoughts. Some big seagulls on the river saw him, and stretched out their yellow-beaked heads, asking for food. He hadn’t anything on him to give them, and the silly seagulls exchanged dull sidelong glances with each other, as if expressing their disappointment.

When he’d gone as far as he could go along the river, he caught sight of the tip of a pagoda over the tops of the pine trees. Seeing the old pines and the Chinese pagoda, he felt himself grow more cheerful, and stood there in a daze for ages, his thoughts taken back to the Orient by that pagoda spire.

All that time the only people he saw strolling by were one or two couples, passing like shadows between the groves of trees. He took his bearings and set off towards the little bamboo garden. There was no one there, and no sound except for the gentle stirring of the bamboo leaves, hung with pearls of water. He bent down to inspect the small notices stuck in the ground at the foot of the bamboo plants. Bamboo from Japan, from China and from all over the East was growing there together.

This empire-building isn’t just stupid self-aggrandisement
, thought Ma Wei to himself.
They don’t just seize lands and destroy nations: they also make a proper business of bringing back things from other lands and studying them. Animals, plants, geography, language, customs . . . they study the lot. That’s where the empire-builders’ real might lies. It’s not just that they get their way by brute military force – they’ve got plenty of knowledge too. Yes, knowledge and military strength. Maybe military strength can be dispensed with some day, but there’ll always be a need for knowledge. They’re a terrible lot, the English, but, at the same time, so admirable!

The damp on the ground made his feet feel decidedly icy. He left the bamboo garden and went to the azalea mounds, two small hills of soil with a little gully between them and azaleas growing all over them. It was a bit warmer in the gully than elsewhere, and the dry leaves on the ground had the smell of herbs.

Must look so beautiful in spring when the azaleas come out. Red, white and pink . . . like . . .
The thought suddenly struck him:
like Mary’s cheeks!

Thinking this gave him an unpleasant feeling all over, as though his heart were about to leap out of his mouth. Unconsciously, he raised his thumb to his lips, and bit the nail.

No good. It won’t do!

The thought of her made him hate himself, and filled him with impatience and remorse.

Got to forget her. Mustn’t copy my dad.

Feeling in his pocket, his hand touched the little ring. He placed it on the palm of his hand, stared vacantly at it, then threw it violently to the ground. It fell into a pile of brown leaves, and, through a gap its diamond shone and sparkled.

He stood there, frozen, for a long time. Then, hearing footsteps, he picked the ring up and put it back in his pocket. As the gully path was winding, he couldn’t see the person coming towards him. He turned and walked the other way, not wishing to see anyone.

‘Ma Wei! Ma Wei!’ came a call from behind him.

Hearing someone call his name, at first he walked on a few steps, but then turned his head.

‘Hello, Elder Sister Ely.’

‘Hsin-hsi!’ Miss Ely wished him a happy new year in Chinese, and, smiling, shook hands with him.

She’d filled out a bit. A fox fur round her neck helped her to seem plumper than usual. She wore a blue woollen suit, and a floppy, green velvet hat, its brim dipping gracefully. She looked most calm and serene, and as she stood there in that narrow gully, you couldn’t have said which was the more tranquil and undisturbed, her or those placid azalea bushes.

‘Elder Sister Ely,’ said Ma Wei, ‘what’s brought you out here so early?’

‘You have to come here early. Later on when there are more people, it’s not so enjoyable. Did you have a good time over the new year, Ma Wei?’ She wiped her nose with her tiny handkerchief, and, as she bunched her fingers, her gloves moved in an oddly pretty way.

‘Yes. Did you go anywhere?’ They walked along, side by side.

‘No,’ she replied as they came out of the gully. ‘The weather’s so cold you don’t feel like going anywhere.’

Ma Wei said nothing. There was a frown on his forehead, and his big dark eyes were fixed on the grass.

‘Ma Wei,’ said Miss Ely, looking at his face, ‘why is it you’re never cheerful?’

Her voice was very gentle, and her eyes glowed with kindness, intelligence and fine beauty.

Ma Wei sighed, and glanced at her.

‘Come on, tell me, Ma Wei. Tell me.’ She spoke very earnestly, and with complete sincerity. Then she gave a slight smile, one as pure and good as the smiles of the angels in paradise.

‘Where to start, Elder Sister?’ Ma Wei forced a smile that was even glummer than a frown would have been. ‘And anyway, there are lots of things I couldn’t tell you, Elder Sister, you being a girl.’

She smiled again, feeling Ma Wei’s words to be heartfelt but a bit childish. ‘Come on, tell me. You needn’t bother about my being a girl! Why should a girl be denied the right to hear anything allowed to men?’ She smiled again, as if laughing at Ma Wei and all the world’s worthless conventions.

‘Let’s find somewhere to sit down for a while, shall we?’ he asked.

‘If you’re not too tired, I think we’re best off walking. We’ll get too cold if we sit. I already have a tiny chilblain on my little toe. Right then, proceed, Ma Wei.’

‘They’re all unsolvable problems,’ he said slowly and dully, still reluctant to tell her.

‘Let’s hear them. Whether they can be solved is quite another matter.’ She spoke very cheerily, and a little louder, too.

‘Well, I’ll give you the gist of it.’ Ma Wei knew that he’d no choice but to spill the beans, so he resigned himself to giving her the basics. If he tried to tell her in detail, he’d never find the words to give full expression to his feelings. ‘I love Mary. She doesn’t love me, but I can’t get her out of my mind. I’ve tried everything, and tried, tried, and tried again. But it doesn’t work. It’s no good my feeling bitter towards myself or towards her. I know all about my career and other obligations, but she . . . she’s on my mind.

‘That’s the first problem. The second one’s my father. For all I know, by now he’s engaged to Mrs Wedderburn. You know, Elder Sister, how the average English person regards the Chinese as curs. If my father and Mrs Wedderburn get married, she can say goodbye to her friends and relatives. They won’t have anything more to do with her. And that’ll make her life a living hell. And if my father took her back to China, she’d go mad after three days. Our customs are so different and my father isn’t wealthy, and the misery of it’d be too much for her. I can’t say anything to them. They’re in love, and they want to make one another happier – whether it’d turn out as happiness or misery’s another matter – so I can’t tell them I disagree, can I?

‘Then there’s our business, the shop. All the responsibility’s on my shoulders now. I love studying, but I have to look after the shop and our trade. My father’s totally hopeless as far as business is concerned, and if I don’t keep an eye on things, you can guarantee the shop’ll lose forty or fifty pounds a month. And if I
do
look after the shop, then I can forget all about devoting myself to my studies. And if it wasn’t to study, what on earth did I come here for in the first place?

‘You’re an intelligent person, Elder Sister, and fond of us, so please try to think of some good suggestions, will you?’

There were two aged Masson pines ahead of them, with a few shabby pine cones hanging on their twigs. The grey clouds thinned, and sunbeams of a most delicate beauty turned the pine branches a faint golden yellow.

As Ma Wei finished speaking, he stared at the pine cones on the trees. Catherine pulled at the fox fur on her shoulders to loosen it, and in so doing a warm fragrance floated up from her bosom.

‘Isn’t Mary engaged to Washington now?’ she asked slowly.

‘Yes. How did you know that, Elder Sister?’ He carried on staring at the pine cones.

‘I know him.’ Catherine’s face grew set. After a long pause, she smiled again, but very unnaturally. ‘If she already belongs to someone else, why keep on thinking about her, Ma Wei?’

‘That’s precisely what’s not so easy to solve!’ Ma Wei’s tone was mildly mocking.

‘No, it’s not easy to solve. Not easy at all.’

It was as if she were talking to herself. She was nodding her head, sending the brim of her hat gently quivering up and down. ‘Ah, love! Love’s something nobody really understands.’

‘Haven’t you got any good suggestions, then, Elder Sister?’ Ma Wei looked a bit impatient.

Catherine didn’t seem to have heard him. ‘Ah, love, love!’ she murmured again.

‘Elder Sister, are you free on Saturday?’

‘Why?’ She suddenly looked at him.

‘I’d like to ask you out for a Chinese meal. Can you come, Elder Sister?’

‘Yes. Thank you, Ma Wei. What time?’

‘Would one o’clock suit you? I could meet you at the Top Graduate.’

‘All right then. Look how pretty those pine cones on the trees are, Ma Wei: like little bells.’

Ma Wei didn’t say anything, just looked up.

Neither said any more. They came out of the grove of pines, went round past the flowerbeds and found themselves back at the main gate. Both turned to look back at the gardens. In there all was still tranquillity, serene and beautiful. Both in an inexpressible turmoil of love and sorrow, they put all that behind them, and walked through the gate.