Brother Fish (99 page)

‘He's a rough bugger – how's he gunna do that?' I asked.

‘Well, we're working on it. Some of these things take years. It's a matter of being bipartisan in politics, regular donations and . . .' she laughed, ‘making sure your cheese lands on the tables of the governor and the premier every night.'

I was beginning to understand why Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan could get all the dairy produce she wanted from John Champion, a bloke who wouldn't normally give you the time of day. Gloria would sniff when his name came up: ‘Hmmph! The school bully, that one.'

So, there it was, for 500 quid more we had what we thought was the best fishing boat in Australia. She didn't need a drop of paint and the hull had recently been scraped and was clean as a whistle. Even the spud sacks that carried the cray ashore when they were taken out of the boat's fish well were washed and neatly stacked, and the gas stove on board was practically new. Oh, yes, only one other thing – we wanted to rename the boat ‘Shanghai Lil'. But, as part of the deal Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan had struck with Mike, we were to retain the
Janthe
as the vessel's name. He was dead serious about buying her back one day.

We took Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan out on the
Janthe
for the day to celebrate, making for Hunter Island, about six hours out of Livingston Harbour. We left the thirty craypots on deck so she would get the feel of a fishing boat going out to sea, and started out early. The idea was to have an early lunch in a sheltered cove at Seal, and then make our way back well before sundown. This trip would also be, we decided, an ideal opportunity for her to tell us more of her story – perhaps even complete it. I'd brought Jimmy up to date, so he too was anxious to hear what happened next. It was mid-spring, and it dawned as one of those magic days you get in the Strait at that time of year.

We laid anchor in the deep, sheltered bay immediately below the light on Hunter Island and took the dinghy to the beach, where I collected driftwood and made a small fire to boil a billy among a group of tall rocks that sheltered us completely from the sun. Jimmy had brought two of the newfangled ‘wet suits' from the States and, somewhat unnecessarily, we'd stripped down, climbed into them and in a matter of twenty minutes caught three nice crays. I served the tea in tin mugs and Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan began to talk as we cooked the crayfish.

‘Now, let me see – it was raisins, wasn't it, Jack?'

‘Yoh got dem raisins up to yoh neck an' ship's comin' in wid more raisins an' yoh don't know if dem Chinese dey gonna eat raisins to make demself a boy chile,' Jimmy reminded her, making her laugh.

‘I see you're up to date, James. That's good – we can move right along. Raisins for fertility, but only for male children. It was, to say the very least, a decidedly tricky proposition, but Big Boss Yu loved it. The ship arrived, its hold filled with the surplus product of the Sun Maid Raisin Growers of California. They were unloaded into a huge warehouse Big Boss Yu owned and it took the harbour rats less than an hour to find them. Coolies were paid extra to camp in the warehouses at night to keep the rats at bay, and rat poison mixed with sticky rice was placed everywhere – which, by the way, the rats soon learnt to ignore, much preferring the raisins. Big Boss Yu was most anxious to get going. He had several small steamers that plied the China coast between Shanghai and the ports of Ningpo and Hankow, to name just a few. He also planned to pull his coolie boats operating to Vladivostok to be a part of the raisin fleet.

‘This was all very well, but I had to sell the idea to six million Chinese peasants. The first thing I did was to get Sapajou, the cartoonist on the
North China Daily News
, to create a poster for me. It contained four pictures, the first depicting two peasant houses in a typical Chinese village with a childless couple outside each. The second showed the same two couples, one couple eating life-sized raisins, and the other couple eating from bowls of rice. The third picture showed the two couples somewhat older, the first with the husband beaming and four boys and one girl standing beside the couple, and the rice-eating couple with the reverse order – four girls and a puny-looking boy. The inclusion of at least one girl among the boys in one family and a boy among the girls in the other made the promise believable. The final picture showed a strong-looking Chinese juggler juggling a circle of ten raisins above his head along with the sun and the moon. This was to indicate that ten raisins was the minimum number to be eaten by husband and wife each day. The poster, for those who could read, simply stated, “Eat womb-fruit and be blessed with more boys.”

‘I started in the Chinese City, getting the posters displayed in shops and stalls and selling the raisins in bulk packets at a very low price, allowing the vendors to decide the size and price the market could afford. As we'd expected, the going rate was twenty raisins wrapped in a twist of rice paper for a small coin. I then worked back, calculating the vendor's profit, and priced the bulk packs accordingly.

‘We hired the football stadium in the Chinese City and put on a concert free of charge to introduce the marvellous new womb-fruit. We featured acrobats, dancers and contortionists, all of them eating womb-fruit and loudly extolling its virtues before commencing their act. I sang in Cantonese after doing the same. Then we gave away a twist of raisins to everyone who attended. Thirty thousand people turned up, and if Big Boss Yu hadn't had half the Shanghai police force on duty, the distribution would most certainly have caused a riot.'

She must have noticed the incredulous looks on our faces, for she paused to add, ‘You may be pondering the morality of such blatant manipulation, but remember those were different times. I imagine I salved my conscience with the thought that raisins were good for them anyway – a lot better than cigarettes, whose advertisers traditionally made the most outrageous promises. One brand I recall even promised a “lucky cough”. Another claimed their brand created genuine dragon's breath that made you both powerful and invincible against your foes, and must have led to the untimely death of a great many Chinese.

‘In two years we were distributing raisins along the China coast and throughout southern China as far as Qingdao in the north and Shantou in the south, and as far inland as Nanchang. The raisin business grew so large so quickly that Big Boss Yu required more small steamboats for coastal work, and needed short-term finance. To my dismay he brought in the Three Musketeers of the French Concession – the three gangsters, Smallpox “Million Dollar” Yang, Chang Shig-liang and Du Yu-sen – to be a part of his business. This involved two china crockery factories I'd purchased on his behalf and built up to be very profitable. We needed a non-porous product we could send to America in the hold of the raisin ship that was returning to San Francisco empty, as the hold was permeated with the sweet smell of raisins and so couldn't take the cheap cotton goods that were the main export from Shanghai. Crockery was ideal. It didn't pick up the smell and the stickiness that clung to everything loaded into the hold, and could be washed off by the purchaser when it arrived at the other end.

‘While I'd helped to build the raisin business, the crockery was something I loved and felt very proud of. I deeply resented that the business was being handed to the three gangsters, and that they stood to profit from my hard work. I had worked for Big Boss Yu without salary as I regarded him as my family and expected to be rewarded finally for my efforts. I had secretly hoped that the crockery factory and export business were to be my ultimate reward.

‘As it was, he refused me nothing but gave me very little cash of my own. In addition to my work as the raisin distributor, I was expected to act as Big Boss Yu's social partner. His various businesses were expanding due to the profits from the raisins and he was expected to match the European taipans in lavish hospitality. I now realised why I had been given to Mrs Worthington to be coached in clipped-and-roundeds.

‘I was the hostess always beside Big Boss Yu. Of course, at most of these lavish affairs the end purpose was to win friends and influence people – in other words, to raise capital among the European taipans for Big Boss Yu's various business enterprises. Although he never allowed them to invest in raisins, he was building a shipping empire and was getting deeply involved in real estate and construction in the French Concession. I imagine I had the right looks and posh accent to match the snootiest of taipan wives, and spoke French fluently as well. He insisted I dress in the very latest
haute couture
fashion. Madame Peroux did my hair and nails every week. And as I never drank more than two glasses of champagne, Big Boss Yu knew I would be discreet in all things involving his business.

‘When the three gangsters joined him we had already built a considerable raisin empire and now I asked for and received a two per cent commission, which may not sound like a great deal but which amounted to a fairly large sum of money. This only came about because I let it be known that I wasn't pleased with the way Big Boss Yu had simply taken the crockery business away from me. Sears, Roebuck & Co., the giant mail-order house in Chicago, had just put in a huge order that meant we could clear all our debts in the crockery business. The order couldn't be filled without my knowledge and Big Boss Yu sold the business to the three villains as being free of debt. He simply told me to hand over the books and the keys to the office. Angered, but unable to do anything but obey his instructions, I went to see him in order to ask politely for some sort of an explanation.

‘“
Loh yeh
, how have I offended you?” I asked him.

‘“Offended? You have not offended me, No Gin.”

‘“Then why have you taken the crockery business away from me?”

‘He smiled, but I could sense that he was embarrassed. “I have other plans for you, my child.”

‘Although I knew I couldn't ask him what these were, I asked, “Am I to continue to be worthless,
loh yeh
?”

‘“Worthless? That is not so.”

‘“But it is clear that I am,” I insisted.

‘“What are these riddles you are talking, No Gin?” he asked, feigning annoyance to cover his embarrassment.

‘“Why do I receive no recompense for the work I do, and why do you now make me lose face by taking away from me what I have started and made profitable?”

‘“It is the way things are. I need the capital, you lack for nothing.”

‘“And I must hand over to the new buyers immediately?”

‘“Yes.”

‘“And the order from Sears, Roebuck & Co., that is to be cancelled?”

‘“Of course not! What are you talking about?” he cried angrily.

‘“It cannot be filled without my personal supervision,
loh yeh
,” I said, keeping my voice respectful.'

Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan smiled. ‘And that was how I was given a two per cent commission in the raisin business. I would only discover much later that the three gangsters, presumably along with Big Boss Yu, were exporting opium while also conducting a legitimate business.'

Jimmy's and my eyes must have been as round as saucers, because she paused before continuing. ‘I'd built the ideal front, and now many of the china vases and pots contained false bottoms where the opium was packed. It was a perfect system – the bottom of the pots were so perfectly sealed and glazed that you would need to break the pots to discover the opium. The Chinese agent in San Francisco, using a code involving certain patterns in the glaze, selected the opium vases and the remainder of the consignment went on to the wholesaler or to the customer. I imagine that a small mountain of broken Chinese crockery must be buried somewhere in San Francisco.

‘Then, after five years, disaster struck. The grape crop in California failed for two years running and the huge demand from China had used up the surplus the Sun Maid Raisin Growers possessed. We were about to run out of raisins.'

‘But didn't the fact that the birthrate of boys had not increased catch up with you?' I asked. ‘After all, in five years this must have become reasonably apparent.'

Again, she smiled before answering me. ‘You are right to think that, Jack. But few things in this world are wrought by logic alone. Every boy born was credited to raisins and every girl was the result of eating too few. Superstition, when combined with hope, is a very powerful medium.

‘Big Boss Yu had sunk most of his capital into shipping raisins up and down the China coast and had increased his fleet considerably, and now stood to go bankrupt. The Chinese – well, old-fashioned taipans like Big Boss Yu – did not see that natural occurrences such as failure of the Californian grape crop were predictable, and so they seldom carried sufficient insurance against disaster. Everything was put down to luck – bad joss and good joss. Bad joss came about as a consequence of somebody wishing you downfall and, like all Chinese taipans, Big Boss Yu had made lots of enemies.

‘Fortunately I had seen it coming, and I had Sir Victor Sassoon to thank for this. While I seemed to have a natural bent for business I knew very little about predicting trends or playing the market. He once explained to me that both trends and disasters are usually predictable. Shanghai, for instance, was under-developed even though buildings were going up at a steady rate and popular opinion thought otherwise. He could see his money safe for the next ten years, and would continue to invest in real estate.