Mr Ma and Son (28 page)

M
RS WEDDERBURN
, head held stiffly erect, walked on ahead, while Mr Ma, head tucked in, trailed on behind. As they marched the highways and threaded the byways, she walked faster and faster, while he walked slower and slower. The more people about, the more nervous she became, and the less he was able to keep up with her. If you married an Englishman, you could at least walk hand in hand with him, but it would never have done to stroll around town holding hands with an old Chinaman. Inwardly, she was rather repenting of what she’d let herself in for.

Inwardly, Mr Ma was doing the same thing. If you walked around with a Chinese wife, you could leave her trailing at least forty or fifty feet behind you, but now here he was, left miles behind by a woman. She halted and waited for him, and he bent at the waist and strode towards her. She smiled, and he smiled, and then neither of them regretted anything.

They went into a jeweller’s in Holborn. Mr Ma asked to look at some rings. The shop assistant brought over a box of brass rings, of the type little girls play with, all fourpence each. Mr Ma asked to see some more expensive ones. The shop assistant gave him a glance, and fetched a box of silver-plated rings, three shillings each. Mr Ma said that he wanted more expensive ones than that, and the shop assistant gave a very forced smile.

‘The next price range is over a pound!’

Mrs Wedderburn tugged at Mr Ma, her face bright red. ‘Let’s go and buy one somewhere else,’ she said.

Mr Ma nodded.

‘I’m sorry, madam,’ the shop assistant hastily apologised. ‘My mistake. I thought this gentleman was Chinese. It never occurred to me that he might be Japanese. We have quite a number of Japanese customers. I’m so sorry. I’ll go and fetch some good-quality rings.’

‘This gentleman
is
Chinese!’ Mrs Wedderburn retorted.

The assistant took a look at Mr Ma, then brought out another box of rings, all of which were gold.

‘These are all over fifteen pounds. Have a look at them, please.’ Then he gave a spiteful smile.

Mr Ma summoned up his mettle, pushed the box back and asked, ‘Have you any over twenty pounds?’

The assistant’s face blanched slightly, and he thought of telephoning the police, for a Chinaman with twenty pounds on him must be a robber. As he saw it, an ordinary Chinese fellow wouldn’t have been able to scrape a pound together, let alone be bold enough to go buying rings. While he stood there wavering, undecided, Mrs Wedderburn once more grabbed hold of Mr Ma, and the two of them walked out of the shop together. The shop assistant put all the rings away, and quickly made a note of Mr Ma’s looks, build and clothing, so that, should any burglary occur, he’d be able to give the particulars to the police.

Mrs Wedderburn was beside herself with anger, and once out of the shop, she marched Mr Ma off, saying as they went, ‘We won’t buy one! We just won’t buy one!’

‘Come, come, don’t be annoyed,’ said Mr Ma soothingly. ‘It was only a little shop, with nothing much of value in it. Let’s go and buy one somewhere else.’

‘No, let’s not buy one. Let’s go home. I can’t bear it.’And without warning she ran out into the main road next to a fast-moving bus, and flew on board like a little swallow. Mr Ma stamped his feet pointlessly a few times in the wake of the bus, and watched it speed away.

Foreign women!
he grumbled to himself.
Such haughty natures!

Mr Ma felt rather sad. His woman was wilful, his son was uncouth, he himself had met with no success in his quest for a government career, and the traffic was racing round him like mad.

What can an old fellow like me do? Nothing at all – nothing at all. Just have to put up with it.
Head bowed, he muttered away to himself. ‘I won’t go home just now. Ignore the lot of them! The more I indulge them, the worse their moods. No, that’s right, I won’t go home just now.’

He called a taxi, and went to the Reverend Ely’s.

The door opened quickly to his knock. ‘I know why you’ve come, Mr Ma,’ said the Reverend Ely, shaking hands with Mr Ma. ‘No need to apologise. Boys will be boys. Always fighting.’

All the way there in the taxi, Mr Ma had been weaving a tactful speech, preparing himself to make an abject apology, and when he heard the Reverend Ely’s words, he felt rather put out, and responded with a wry smile.

The Reverend Ely looked a bit leaner in the face, as he’d been reading Chinese day and night, and although he’d torn two dictionaries to shreds with all the wear and tear, he was still unable to understand the books he was trying to read. His little brown eyes bore an expression of despair.

‘I really don’t know what to do, Reverend Ely,’ said Mr Ma as he entered the drawing room. ‘You see, Ma Wei’s an only child, and it’s very difficult to know how to deal with him. That he should . . . to Paul . . .’

‘Sit down, Mr Ma,’ said the Reverend Ely. ‘No need to say anything more about the matter. The boys have had their fight, and that’s the end of it. When Paul was at school he was forever fighting, and there was nothing I could do about it. Not that I’d have wished to. I say, did you get to church?’

Mr Ma blushed, unable to find an answer on the spur of the moment. After a long while, he said, ‘I’ll be going next week. Yes, next week.’

Although rather peeved, the Reverend Ely didn’t pursue the matter any further. He pushed his spectacles up. ‘Look here, Mr Ma,’ he said, ‘you really must give me some help. My Chinese still won’t do, and without your help, I just —’

‘I should be most happy to help you!’ said Mr Ma very cheerfully. He thought to himself,
Ma Wei gave Paul a thrashing, so if I can help the Reverend Ely, that will square things both sides, leaving neither of us in the other’s debt, won’t it?

‘Mr Ma,’ the Reverend Ely seemed to have divined the nature of Mr Ma’s thoughts, ‘your helping me and the fight with Paul are two quite separate matters, though. If they fight, that’s their business. Nothing to do with us. If you’re willing to help me, then I must do something for you. Time is money, and we can’t waste another’s time for nothing, eh?’

‘Oh, no.’ Mr Ma nodded. Actually he was saying to himself:
These foreign devils are bloody pig-headed, and no mistake. Always have to have things cut and dried – bloody awkward!

The Reverend Ely’s eyes twinkled in merriment. ‘When are you free, Mr Ma? What can I help you with? We must decide today, so that we can get down to work straight away.’

‘I’m not busy any day.’ Mr Ma hated the word ‘busy’.

The Reverend Ely was just about to speak, when in came Mrs Ely with her head of unruly kapok. The furrows on either side of her nose appeared particularly deep, and her eyelids especially puffy. She looked both dumbfounded and stern at the same time.

‘Mr Ma, what on earth was Ma Wei doing?’ she demanded sharply.

‘Yes, I came here to —’

Giving Mr Ma no time to finish, she stiffened her neck, and asked once more, ‘What on
earth
came over Ma Wei? I warn you, Mr Ma, just you dare allow your Chinese boys to rebel! Just let them dare try to fight us! Twenty years ago, you trembled at the very sight of an Englishman, and now you have the cheek to fight us. Just see what happens if you kill someone here. This isn’t China, where you can slaughter and beat people at random. There are laws in England!’

Not uttering a sound, Mr Ma swallowed several mouthfuls of saliva.

The Reverend Ely opened his mouth, then shut it again. Mr Ma looked most deserving of pity, but Mrs Ely was fearsome.

Ma Wei hadn’t tried to kill Paul. All he’d done was knock him down on the spur of the moment, and although Mrs Ely loved her son, she would never have lost her temper simply because her son had got a few bruises. No, she was infuriated because Ma Wei – a Chinese boy – had dared to fight Paul. The moment an English person opens their eyes, they see the whole world at their feet: Hong Kong, India, Egypt, Africa . . . all are their domains. They not only feel proud of themselves, but they also crave acknowledgement of their undoubted and manifold superiority. To Mrs Ely, the humiliation of Ma Wei’s daring to fight Paul was unbearable. (Although Paul had suffered no real injury whatsoever.) No one could stand for that . . . except the Reverend Ely. And she felt mildly annoyed at her husband on that count.

‘Mummy!’ called Catherine, opening the door a tiny gap. ‘Mummy!’

‘What is it?’ asked Mrs Ely, turning round like a howitzer training its barrel on a new target.

‘Miss Wedderburn wants to have a few words with you.’

‘Tell her to come in!’ Mrs Ely shot forth another shell.

Catherine opened the door and in came Mary. Mrs Ely hastened over to her in two strides, and said, smiling, ‘How are you, Mary?’ She seemed to have completely forgotten about Mr Ma and her husband.

The Reverend Ely also hurried across. ‘How are you, Mary?’ he asked.

Mary didn’t answer them. She was holding her hat in her hands, and fiddling with the decoration on the front of it. Her forehead was very red and her cheeks and lips white, while in each of her wide, staring eyes hung a few unshed tears. Her head jutted slightly forwards and her feet were scuffing at the floor, making it seem as though she were having trouble keeping upright.

‘Sit down, Mary,’ said Mrs Ely, still smiling.

The Reverend Ely moved a chair over and Mary flopped down, sitting all askew and not bothering to straighten her skirt, thus leaving the majority of her plump thighs uncovered. Mrs Ely pursed her lips severely.

Catherine’s face was pale too, and very calm, but with a rather anxious look in her eyes. She glanced at her mother, and glanced at Mary. She saw Mr Ma, but didn’t greet him.

‘What
is
the matter, Mary?’ Mrs Ely went up, and placed her hand on Mary’s shoulder, in a great display of charitable kindness. Then she turned her head and glared at Mr Ma, with considerable ferocity.

‘Ask your daughter. She knows!’ Mary pointed at Catherine.

Mrs Ely turned around to look at Catherine, saying nothing, but conveying her question with her eyebrows.

‘Mary says I’ve stolen her boyfriend, Washington,’ said Miss Ely slowly.

‘Who might Washington be?’ Mrs Ely’s head swivelled, describing a semicircle in the air.

‘That’s the young fellow who rides round on a motorbike. Bound to have a dangerous accident sooner or later,’ Mr Ma told the Reverend Ely in a low voice.

‘My fiancé!’ said Mary, then bit her lower lip with her two front teeth.

‘Why did you “steal” him? How have you stolen him?’ Mrs Ely asked Catherine.

‘What do you mean, “steal” him?’ Catherine retorted, very steadily and firmly.

Mary cried, ‘If you haven’t taken him from me, why hasn’t he come to call on me recently? You told me yourself just now that you often go out with him. Didn’t you say that?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said. I didn’t know he was your sweetheart. All I knew was that he was my friend. It’s a common enough happening for friends to go out and amuse themselves together.’ Miss Ely gave a tight smile.

Mrs Ely felt rather pained as she watched the two girls arguing.
She
was the one who made the decisions; she wasn’t going to just stand by and listen to their nonsense! She drew herself up and said, ‘Kay! So you do know this Washington then?’

‘Yes, I know him, Mummy.’

Mrs Ely frowned.

‘You’ve got to help me, Mrs Ely – you’ve got to save me!’ said Mary, standing up. ‘All my happiness depends on it! Tell Catherine to let him go. He’s mine! He’s mine!’

Mrs Ely gave a dry laugh. ‘Come now, Mary. Do be careful of what you’re saying. My daughter doesn’t roam the streets stealing men! You are mistaken, my dear. If Catherine really had done as you imagine, I should know how to deal with her. As her mother, I should certainly know how to discipline her!’

She puffed out her cheeks, then said to Catherine, ‘Go and make a pot of coffee, Kay. Mary, will you have a cup of coffee?’

Mary said nothing.

‘Let’s go home, shall we, Mary?’ Into the silence stepped Mr Ma with his suggestion.

Mary nodded.

Mr Ma shook hands with the Reverend Ely, and, not daring to look at Mrs Ely, walked over and took Mary’s hand. It was icy-cold.

Mary’s and Catherine’s eyes met. Catherine was still very calm and serene. She smiled at Mr Ma.

‘Bye-bye, Mary,’ she said to the girl. ‘We’re still friends, aren’t we? Don’t think wrongly of me.’

Mary shook her head, and raised her hand to stick her hat on her head.

‘Just a moment, Mary. I’ll call a taxi,’ said Mr Ma.

A
T BREAKFAST
, everybody had grim, tight lips. Mr Ma felt that his son had done wrong. Ma Wei found the very sight of his father irritating. Neither dared openly criticise the other, so all they could do was sit there, face to face, looking glum. Mrs Wedderburn felt sorry for her daughter, but even sorrier for herself. Mary considered her mother quite laughable, but was in no mood for laughing. They, too, sat there face to face both looking grim.

Poor old Napoleon. Nobody took any notice of him. He’d tried licking Mary’s luscious legs, but she pulled them away from him. He’d tried sniffing Mr Ma’s big leather shoes, but he moved his feet away. Nobody wanted to play. Disheartened, he ran out into the backyard, pouted at the roses, and said to himself,
I wonder why all those funny humans are grumpy? Can’t imagine! Dogs and humans both look ridiculous when they sulk.

After breakfast, Mr Ma slowly made his way upstairs. He put his pipe in his mouth, but hadn’t the heart to light it. Mary gave her mother a cold kiss and went off to work. Ma Wei donned his overcoat, and was about to go to the shop.

‘Ma Wei!’ Mrs Wedderburn called him to a halt. ‘Come here!’ Ma Wei followed her downstairs into the kitchen. There were unshed tears in Mrs Wedderburn’s eyes as she said in a quiet voice, ‘You’ll have to move, Ma Wei.’

‘Why, Mrs Wedderburn?’ asked Ma Wei, forcing a smile.

Mrs Wedderburn gave a deep sigh.

‘I can’t tell you, Ma Wei. There’s no reason. Just look for somewhere, and arrange to move. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.’

‘Have we done something wrong?’ asked Ma Wei.

‘Oh, no, nothing at all. And it’s just because there’s been nothing wrong that I’m asking you to move.’ Mrs Wedderburn gave what might have been a smile.

‘Has my father —’

‘You mustn’t ask any more questions. Your father . . . your father . . . he . . . There’s nothing wrong with him at all! And you’re a good boy, too. I love you both . . . but we can’t carry on like this . . . We can’t carry on. Ma Wei, you go and tell your father. I can’t say it to him.’

The tears flowed down either side of her nose, falling fast.

‘All right, Mrs Wedderburn. I’ll go and tell him.’

She nodded her head, and gently dabbed her eyes with her tiny handkerchief. Ma Wei walked out and headed upstairs.

‘Dad, Mrs Wedderburn says we’ve got to move,’ said Ma Wei, bursting into the study without warning, hoping to gauge his father’s reaction.

‘Ah,’ said Mr Ma, giving him a look.

‘We’ll have to set about looking for rooms, won’t we?’ asked Ma Wei.

‘Just wait. Just you wait till I give the word,’ said Mr Ma, snatching his pipe from his mouth and jabbing it towards Ma Wei.

‘Righto, Dad. I’m off to the shop. See you this evening.’ And swiftly and lightly, Ma Wei ran downstairs.

Mr Ma gave thought carefully for more than half an hour, but no ideas came to him. Go downstairs and speak to her? He didn’t dare. Move without speaking to her again? Couldn’t very well do that. Get the Reverend Ely to have a word with her? No, he might refuse to intervene: foreign devils never like interfering in each others’ affairs.

‘This is precisely why arranged marriages are the best option,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Now if there’d been a marriage go-between organising things, it’d have been easy to come to terms, wouldn’t it? Get the go-between to run from one party to the other, doing all the persuading, and then everything goes right. But now look how impossible it is to settle matters – I can’t call on anyone else’s services, nor go and have a word with her myself.’

Another half an hour’s thinking produced no further ideas. So he tried to imagine Mrs Wedderburn’s line of thinking.

Now why has she all of a sudden got cold feet? Just can’t imagine. For the life of me, I just can’t imagine. Does she think I’m too poor? I’ve got the shop, though. Perhaps she thinks I’m too old? She’s not so young herself, though. Does she object to my being Chinese? Tcha! The Chinese are such civilised people! Does she think I’m ugly? Anyone with eyes in their head can see how refined and presentable I look. Immaculate, impeccable, a thoroughly fine chap. Not want me? A curious notion indeed!

His scrap of moustache bristled, and he was well on the way to losing his temper.
Why would I have anything to do with her now, in fact? That’s quite a different matter! These little foreign women with their tiny noses and their cunning ways . . . Pah! Who’d be bothered getting tangled up with them? Yes, that’s what we’ll do – we’ll move. Good Lord! Who gives a damn!

Mr Ma was growing steadily more agitated, his lips and bit of moustache quivering in unison. Suddenly he stood up, and, pipe in mouth, marched downstairs.

I’ll go and have a drink,
he told himself.
Yes, I’ll come home drunk before we’re through! No one’s going to stop me either by God!

He gently patted his chest, then jabbed his thumb into the air in a gesture of confident resolution.

Hearing him come downstairs, Mrs Wedderburn purposely came out to see him. He brushed her with a sidelong glance, plonked his hat on his head, put on his coat, opened the door and went out. Once outside, he turned his head and said to the doorknocker, ‘Good Lord!’

Alone in the hallway, Mrs Wedderburn began to cry.

Ma Wei was sitting in the little back room of the shop, looking at the postcards and catalogues for the spring sale that were all piled on the table. But he stared at them unseeingly, his mind in turmoil.

Things look so easy, but when you get closer you find they aren’t so simple any more. The matters on Ma Wei’s mind could be counted on both hands, but having counted them, he found himself still confused and devoid of answers.

Move. Have it out frankly with my father. Even if it means fighting with him. Then start on a new footing, and really make a proper go of it.
All very clear . . . especially when it’s only in your mind. But just try doing it, and what happens? A fat lot of good! And should they in fact move or not? Ought he in fact to have it out with his father? And should he really try to forget Mary? Easy to talk! All men encounter similar difficulties, but great men are distinguished by their resolute nature. Ma Wei had the right ideas but lacked the determination.

He sat there, staring, his thoughts as sombre as the wretched London fog, his soul as glum as if it were enclosed in a tiny box, deprived of all light, and doomed to gradually die. Some of the love in his heart went out to Mary, some to his father, and some to Li Tzu-jung, all dispersing, bit by bit, leaving only his flesh and bones sitting there. Yes, a living hell! He hoped a customer might come in, but none did, not a single one. He hoped his father might come in, but he didn’t. His father never came in early.

Li Tzu-jung turned up instead. He was like a ball of sunshine, illuminating Ma Wei’s whole being.

‘Ma, old lad! Why aren’t you sending those postcards off?’ said Li Tzu-jung, pointing to the pile on the table.

‘No hurry, old Li. I’ll send them off today without fail.’ Ma Wei looked at Li Tzu-jung with a real smile lighting up his eyes. ‘And what have you been up to these last few days?’

‘Me? Toiling away!’ As he said this, he took off his hat, rubbed the brim with his sleeve and placed the hat with great care on the table. ‘I’ve some good news to tell you, old Ma.’

‘About what?’ asked Ma Wei.

‘Me!’ said Li Tzu-jung, pointing at his own nose and blushing slightly. ‘Me. I’ve got engaged.’

‘What? You? I don’t believe it! I’ve never even seen you out with a girl,’ said Ma Wei, putting his hand on Li Tzu-jung’s shoulder.

‘Don’t believe me, eh? Well, I’m not having you on – it’s true! My mother arranged it for me.’ Li Tzu-jung’s face went red all over. ‘The girl’s twenty. A good cook. Can make her own clothes. And not bad-looking, either.’

‘So you’ve never set eyes on her?’ asked Ma Wei, his face growing stern.

‘Oh yes, I’ve seen her. When we were kids, we used to play together every day,’ said Li Tzu-jung complacently, raking his hair all over the place.

‘Li, old fellow, you’ve got such a modern outlook. How can you go and do a thing like this? Think of your future happiness! Just think it over. You’re so capable and knowledgeable, and what’ll she be? A country bumpkin who can’t read a word, no good for anything but cooking and sewing. Just imagine it, old Li!’

‘She can read a few words!’ Li Tzu-jung inadvertently admitted the truth of Ma Wei’s words.

‘A few!’ said Ma Wei, frowning. ‘I don’t approve of your attitude at all, old Li. Mind you, I’m not suggesting we’re too good for ordinary girls. All I’m saying’s that you ought to be more concerned about your future happiness. Just think . . . she won’t be able to help you. She can’t read —’

‘She can read a few words,’ Li Tzu-jung corrected him obstinately.

‘All right, so she can read a few words, but do you think that means she’ll be able to help you in your vocation? Your way of thinking and your knowledge, and her way of thinking and being able to read a few words – they just don’t go together.’

‘You’re right, old Ma,’ said Li Tzu-jung after a moment. ‘But you must listen to what I’ve got to say on the matter. I’ve got my own stupid reasons for things, haven’t I?’

The young men sat facing one another.

‘So you think my way of thinking’s too old-fashioned, do you?’ Li Tzu-jung asked.

‘Either that, or too muddle-headed!’ said Ma Wei, a smile glinting in his eyes.

‘I’m not the slightest bit muddle-headed! I think marriage is necessary, because the relationship between men and women is one . . .’ Li Tzu-jung scratched his head, unable to think of a suitable expression, looked at the ceiling and continued. ‘But nowadays marriage is a very knotty problem. I know the proper way’s love first, marriage after, but just open your eyes and take a look at Chinese women. Take a good look, and that’ll cool you down. High school and university girls, oh yes, but have they really learnt anything practical from their education? Or, to put it another way, do they know how to wash clothes and cook?

‘Then there’s love. Love goes hand in hand with helping each other, with sympathy, with looking out for one another. I can’t love a girl who can’t help me or sympathise with me or look out for me. No matter how pretty she may be, nor how modern her outlook may be . . .’

‘And do you think that cooking and washing are all that’s required of a woman?’

‘Not half I do, in modern China!’ said Li Tzu-jung, looking at Ma Wei. ‘In China now there are no opportunities for women to work outside the home, because millions of menfolk are out of a job. So better leave the jobs for the men, and let the women help the men by looking after things in the home. You won’t get any improvements in society or quality of life till you’ve got happy and secure homes. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and that’s just the trouble with our students nowadays. Learn a few things, and they casually forget reality. When they’ve skimmed through a couple of romance novels, they go around like crazy, advocating free love. And where does it lead? Always the same old thing: a man and a woman sleep together for a night, full stop. They don’t give any thought to their obligations towards one another, so they’ve no chance of any real happiness. I wouldn’t say I bear them any ill will for it, but myself, I’d rather marry a country bumpkin who can cook and do the washing than have an affair with a girl who’s “acquired a little knowledge” and read one or two novels.’

‘All right. Say no more, old Li,’ said Ma Wei smiling. ‘Go and have a chat with my father. He’d be only too glad to hear all that stuff, I can assure you. Needless to say, you haven’t managed to convince me, and I can’t make you understand me, either. So the best thing we can do is talk about something else, otherwise we’ll find ourselves coming to blows . . .’

‘I know you look down on me,’ said Li Tzu-jung, ‘and think I’m too common. You think I don’t understand modern ways of viewing the world. I know, old Ma!’

‘Apart from the fact that you’re too down-to-earth, there’s no reason for anybody to look down on you, old Li.’

‘And apart from the fact that you’re too head-in-the-clouds, there’s no reason for anybody to look down on you, either, old Ma!’

The young men both burst out laughing.

‘So now we understand each other, don’t we?’ asked Li Tzu-jung.

‘Yes, as far as the facts are concerned. In our feelings we’re miles away from each other, further than the earth from the sun.’

‘But we’ve got to keep on trying to understand each other, eh?’

‘Without a doubt.’

‘Right then, congratulate me on my forthcoming marriage!’

Ma Wei stood up and shook hands with Li Tzu-jung, but said nothing.

‘Look here, Ma, old lad, I didn’t drop by to chat about the problem of marriage. Honestly I didn’t. I’d completely forgotten the main purpose of my visit,’ said Li Tzu-jung, looking suddenly repentant. ‘I came to invite you out.’

‘What? Are you inviting me out to dinner to celebrate your marriage?’ asked Ma Wei.

‘No, I’m not! Invite you out to dinner? You wait, and if ever you hear your old pal Li’s become a millionaire, you can start hoping for a free meal off me!’ Li Tzu-jung went off into peals of laughter, feeling uproariously witty.

‘Now, it’s like this: Lady Simon’s throwing a party at her house this evening. Dinner, drink, dancing, music – the lot. She’ll be forking out a good few hundred pounds on this one evening alone. I tell you, Ma, old mate, these wealthy foreigners certainly know how to chuck their money about! But what do you think this evening’s party’s for? It’s an appeal for donations to build a hospital. And can you guess what sort of hospital? An
animal
hospital! They’ve got hospitals for the poor now, so what about the cats and dogs of the poor? What are they going to do when they get ill? That’s how Lady Simon goes on at Lord Simon when she’s got nothing better to do. And Lord Simon told her, well, make an appeal for donations to set up a hospital for animals. See? It’s the man who’s got the ideas again, eh, old Ma? Where’d I got to?’ Li Tzu-jung slapped his forehead and had a think.