Mr Ma and Son (27 page)

‘Come on! There’s another where that came from!’ said Paul with a sneer.

Ma Wei rubbed his neck and glanced at Paul.

Some Chinese people wanted to come in and settle things peacefully, but the English people stopped them. ‘Let’s see them fight. Let them fight it out! Let’s have fair play – let ’em fight it out fair and square.’

The handful of socialists among them had always rallied to the cause of peace, always proselytised for harmony. But, all said and done, they were Englishmen, and as soon as they heard the words ‘fair fight’, they cheered from the bottom of their hearts, and stood by to watch the pair battle it out.

Ma Wei drew in a deep breath, tore off his collar and bounced back at Paul. Paul went pale now. He blocked Ma Wei’s right hand, and with his free fist pounded at Ma Wei’s ribs, sending him back to where he’d come from. Without any pause for breath, Ma Wei pushed himself off from a table, and immediately lunged back. He made a feint towards Paul’s chest, then, not allowing Paul time to recover, delivered a crashing right uppercut to Paul’s chin. Paul staggered back a few steps, then clenched his teeth and tried to come back. But while Paul was still preoccupied with keeping his balance, Ma Wei punched him again. One hand clutching at a table, Paul slipped downwards. His legs did their best to bring him upright again, but no amount of trying could get him straight. Ma Wei looked at him. Paul stayed down. Ma Wei stepped forwards, helped him to his feet, then thrust out his right hand towards him.

‘Shake!’ he said.

Paul twisted his head away sharply, refusing Ma Wei’s proffered hand. Ma Wei sat him roughly on a chair, picked up his own collar, and slowly walked out, blood dripping steadily from his mouth.

The socialists watched Ma Wei, not saying anything but feeling rather bitter towards him. Normally it’s easy to advocate peace, but when you see a foreigner thrashing one of your fellow countrymen, it’s somehow quite a different matter.

Mr Mao and Mr Ts’ao had long since departed. Ma Wei halted outside the restaurant, looking for Miss Ely, but she was nowhere to be seen. He fixed his collar back on, wiped the blood from his lips and burst into wry laughter.

‘M
UM,’ SAID
Mary. Tears glistened in her eyes, making them look like blue grapes with the dew of the morning upon them. ‘I haven’t seen him for days and days, and I’ve written to him, but he doesn’t reply. I’ll have to go and see him. I’ve got to find out. Oh, Mum, I hate him now!’ She fell into her mother’s arms and began to wail.

‘Mary, Mary, dear. Don’t cry,’ said Mrs Wedderburn, patting Mary’s forehead, tears in her own eyes too. ‘Washington must be so busy he hasn’t had time to come and see you. Sometimes you can’t give both love and work your full attention. Just trust in him; don’t misjudge him. He must be busy. You’re used to going out on Saturdays, Mary, and it’s just because there’s nobody to take you out today that you’re feeling so low. Just you wait. He’s bound to come this evening. If he doesn’t, I’ll take you to the pictures, eh, darling?’

Mary lifted her head, put her arms round her mother’s neck and gave her a kiss. Mrs Wedderburn smoothed back her daughter’s hair. Mary sobbed, wiping her eyes with her tiny handkerchief all the while.

‘So you think he’s busy, do you, Mum? Do you really think he is? So busy he’s not even got time to write a postcard? I don’t believe it. I think he’s gone and got another girlfriend, and forgotten me. Men are like that. I hate him!’

‘Don’t say such things, Mary. Love always has its ups and downs. Be patient – just have trust in him. He’ll be yours in the end. Your father used to . . .’ Mrs Wedderburn broke off, and gently shook her head.

‘Mum, you’re always on about patience and trust. Why’s it always the women who have to be patient and trusting while men can do as they like?’ said Mary, looking into her mother’s face.

‘Now then, you’re engaged to him, aren’t you?’ asked Mrs Wedderburn sternly.

‘But both sides have to keep their word on the engagement.’ Mary was sitting on her mother’s lap, and the tips of her toes were brushing to and fro against the carpet. ‘If he’s breaking it off, then why should I suffer on my own? Anyway, I never wanted to get engaged. It was him who begged me to, and now look —’

‘Don’t say such things, Mary!’ said Mrs Wedderburn quickly. ‘Human beings can’t escape the laws of nature. Men go after women, and women can’t leave men. Marriage is the result of love, but it’s also the trial of love, the real beginning of love. Listen to what your mum’s telling you, Mary. Be patient, and trust him. He won’t leave you in the lurch. And anyhow, I’m sure he’s been very busy these last few days.’

Mary stood up, placed herself in front of the mirror, looked at herself, then paced up and down the room. ‘I’m perfectly all right and happy on my own, Mum. I can do without men!’

‘You?’ Mrs Wedderburn said the word very tartly.

‘Or when a man’s needed, I’ll just go and find one. Can’t escape the laws of nature, can we?’ Mary spoke sarcastically.

‘Mary!’ Mrs Wedderburn gave her daughter a look, and stuck her pink nose high in the air.

Mary went silent, and carried on walking up and down. She was feeling a bit more cheerful. Although she didn’t believe a word of what she’d just uttered, saying it was a good way of venting her depression. Yes, she’d just go and find a man!

Until the innate human desire for a family has been eradicated, marriage is indispensable. Regardless of what rites and form the wedding might take, marriage there must be. Human nature’s inherently selfish, and its greatest indulgence is to build a little family. This part of human nature won’t be easy to eradicate, however much people may advocate the abolition of marriage.

Mrs Wedderburn hadn’t taken Mary’s statement seriously either, and was now trying to work out some way of cheering her up. She knew it was no good leaving her be, with time on her hands. Today’s young people must always have something to do, be it dancing, car-racing, watching a film or . . . or whatever, as long as they had something. After a great deal of thought, she decided that going to the pictures seemed the cheapest choice. But she couldn’t go that afternoon, because she and Mr Ma had arranged to go to town together.

At this point in her thinking, her thoughts took another turn. How could she mention to Mary the matter of her own marriage!
Mary’s so proud – how can I tell her I’m going to marry an old Chink?
From there, her thoughts turned to the larger problem: whether it was in fact worthwhile embarking on such a marriage. If she wanted to maintain her social station, she’d do better not to marry him. But what about her own happiness . . . ? Should she actually follow Mary’s suggestion? When you feel lonely, just go and find a man? The consequences might be even worse than those provoked by marrying a Chinaman. Society, customs and relations between men and women can never really be free. And anyway, what room, what place was there for real freedom between men and women? Questions without answers.

She dabbed her little nose and glanced at Mary. Her daughter was still pacing up and down, so fiercely she’d made her face all red.

‘Mrs Wedderburn,’ called Mr Ma in a soft voice from outside the door.

‘Come in,’ said Mrs Wedderburn, very merrily.

Pipe in mouth, Mr Ma swaggered in. The collar he’d just bought, a size and a half too big, and resembling the outer rim of a flour sieve, was swivelling round his neck. His tie was new too, but tied in such a manner that it hung all askew.

‘Come over here!’ said Mrs Wedderburn, smiling.

She adjusted his tie for him. Mary cast a sidelong glance at them. ‘Didn’t we say we were going into town to do some shopping?’ asked Mr Ma.

‘Mary’s a bit . . . unwell. I wouldn’t feel easy leaving her here on her own,’ said Mrs Wedderburn, then turned to Mary. ‘Come with us, eh, Mary?’

‘No. I’m staying at home, just in case Washington turns up.’ Having managed to lift her depression a little, Mary still entertained hopes that Washington might come round.

‘All right, then,’ said Mrs Wedderburn, and went out to change her dress.

Then Ma Wei arrived home. His face was still deathly pale, and, because Paul had punched one of his teeth loose, his mouth was still dripping with blood. His stiff collar was all awry, and there were spots of blood on his tie. His hair was dishevelled and his breathing was laboured.

‘Ma Wei!’ Mr Ma’s neck swivelled a big circle in his collar.

‘Oh, Ma Wei!’ Mary’s eyes went red round the rims, and her lips began to quiver.

Ma Wei smiled proudly at them, plonked himself down on a chair and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

‘Ma Wei!’ Mr Ma gazed at his son’s face. ‘What’s been happening?’

‘I’ve had a fight,’ said Ma Wei, his eyes towards the carpet.

‘With whom? With whom?’ Mr Ma’s face paled, and his scrappy moustache bristled.

‘Paul.’ Ma Wei grinned, and looked at his hands. ‘I beat him!’

‘Paul! You —’

Mr Ma and Mary spoke together, then, neither wanting to cut across the other, there was a pause before Mr Ma said, ‘Really, Ma Wei! We mustn’t offend people!’

Mr Ma was very much afraid of fighting, and even when drunk would never think of so much as throwing a wine cup at anyone’s head. When Mrs Ma was alive, they’d sometimes had rows, it was true, but fighting with one’s wife was quite a different matter. Anyway, there’s generally no danger of wives managing to overcome their husbands in a fight! When Ma Wei was little, Mr Ma was always telling him not to get into fights, and if he came across a fight in town, to steer well clear of it. And now look what had happened – he’d been fighting with a foreign devil here in London, and, what was worse, with Paul, the Reverend Ely’s son! Gazing dumbly at his son, Mr Ma almost fainted.

‘Oh, Ma Wei!’ screamed Mrs Wedderburn as she came in, the image of a tiny startled bird.

‘He’s had a fight with Paul, and beaten him. What can we do? What can we do?’ Mr Ma bleated to Mrs Wedderburn.

‘Oh, you naughty young scamp!’ Mrs Wedderburn went over and looked at Ma Wei. Then she said to Mr Ma, ‘Boys are always fighting with each other.’

She turned to her daughter. ‘Mary! You go and get some clean water, and wash his mouth for him.’ And turning to Mr Ma again, she said, ‘Let’s go then!’

The elder Ma shook his head.

Without a word, Mrs Wedderburn grabbed Mr Ma’s arm, and walked out, dragging him out after her.

Mary brought a bowl of cold water, some mouthwash and some cotton wool. First she made Ma Wei rinse his mouth, then she gently wiped his lips with the cotton wool. Her long eyelashes flickered up and down right in front of his face, and her blue eyes filled with charity and compassion as she gave his lips a few wipes, put back her head to take a look, and wiped them again. Her hair brushed his cheek, and it was like electrified golden wire, making his face burn. He lowered his head, not daring to look at her any more, but he was still able to feel the heat of her body, smell its tender perfume, and he began to tremble all over.

‘How did you get into the fight, Ma Wei?’ asked Mary.

‘I was having a meal with Miss Ely when Paul came in and punched me,’ said Ma Wei, smiling.

‘Oh!’ As she looked at him, Mary felt a bit resentful of his actually having dared to fight Paul. But she rather admired him too – not only for having dared to fight, but for having won. Hero worship’s an outstanding characteristic of Westerners: the winner of a fight can do no wrong. And as Mary looked at Ma Wei, she couldn’t help finding him quite adorable. His collar was crooked, there were spots of blood on his tie and his hair was tousled, all of which tugged most powerfully at her heartstrings. It was all so extraordinary, so fine, so heroic, such a striking revelation of his masculinity, his strength, his courage, his brutishness and his real flesh-and-bloodedness, all of which served to inspire a girl’s faith in a man, and to heighten her warmth of feeling towards him.

She carried on wiping his lips, but her mind was now filled with these sorts of thoughts. She wiped slower and slower, this way and that, sometimes wiping onto his cheeks, and sometimes wiping up to his ear. In her blue eyes, his yellow face took on a golden hue and a white halo radiated from his head. He was no longer the detestable yellow-faced Ma Wei. He was the embodiment of manhood. He was a hot-blooded hero, a knight.

As she slowly wiped his face with her right hand, she placed her left hand gently on his knee. Slowly, trembling, he placed his hand over hers. And his eyes shone as he looked at her smooth red cheeks.

‘Mary . . . Mary, you know what?’ Ma Wei pushed each word out with great difficulty. ‘Did you know I love you?’

Mary suddenly withdrew her hand and straightened up. ‘You? Me? Oh, impossible!’ she said.

‘Why? Because I’m Chinese? Love goes beyond frontiers or nationality. Are the Chinese so worthless they can’t even be allowed any love, then?’ said Ma Wei, slowly standing up and looking her in the face. ‘I know you don’t think much of the Chinese, and you always connect them in your mind with murder, poisoning and rape. But we’ve been living together for nearly a year now – can’t you see I’m different from what you imagined? I know you get all your ideas about the Chinese from lying newspapers and rubbishy novels, but you don’t really believe all they say, do you? I know you’re engaged to Washington, and all I’m asking for is for you and me to be good friends. All I want you to know is that I love you. Loving someone doesn’t mean you have to love them physically, and if you could just understand how much I love you, and be good friends with me, I’d be happy for the rest of my life. I envy Washington, but for you, I’d do my best to not be bitterly jealous of him. I . . .’

Ma Wei seemed unable to say another word, felt unable even to stand there any longer. His heart was almost leaping out of his chest, and his legs couldn’t resist gravity any more. He plonked down onto his chair.

Mary slowly combed her hair with a small wooden brush, saying nothing for ages. Then she gave a small smile. ‘Have you seen Washington at all these last few days, Ma Wei?’

‘No. Miss Ely just asked me the same question. No, I haven’t seen him.’

‘Catherine? What’s she doing asking about him? Does she know Washington?’ Mary’s eyes opened very wide and round, her face flushed and she stuffed the wooden brush into her pocket, then rubbed her hands together nervously.

‘I don’t know,’ said Ma Wei, frowning. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to mention Catherine. I’ve no idea what their relationship is. Luckily though, a person’s not limited to one friend, eh?’ He gave a faint smile, teasing her.

Mary shot him a sudden glare, and, without a word, rushed out.