Mr Ma and Son (17 page)

After dinner, Mary was about to launch into the hat discussion with her mother when Mr Ma gave a slight nod in her direction.

‘For you, Miss Wedderburn.’ He handed her a small envelope.

‘Oh, Mr Ma, it’s a cheque for two pounds. What’s that for?’

‘I promised you a hat, didn’t I?’

‘Hooray, Mum! A hat!’

S
INCE HE’D
recovered from his illness, Mr Ma had been very keen to please others. Breakfast over, he’d go into the backyard and water the flowers, remove caterpillars and cut the lawn, humming wordless hymns, with the air of some Taoist gentleman of Chinese antiquity rejoicing in thoughts of paradise and immortality. He felt so carefree and cheerful that if a bee landed on his forehead, he made not the slightest move to shoo it away.
As long as you don’t sting me, I’ll do you no harm. There now, see how placid and relaxed I am!

He’d given Mary no less than two pounds to buy a hat. Fine, one vow fulfilled. Now should he buy one for her mother or not?
We made a loss of fifteen pounds last month, and that’s no joke. Better be more thrifty, hadn’t we? But you can’t dismiss human obligations I was unwell, and I ought to buy her something to express my thanks. We’ll see next month. Yes, next month. Hardly likely to make a loss of fifteen pounds again next month.

Ma Wei’s been getting thinner lately. Wonder what’s the matter with him? Still a young lad, but he ought to eat a bit more. Plenty to eat and a lot of sound sleep, that’d fill him out. Yes, he’ll have to eat more.

Ah, I ought to pop in at the shop. All that fellow Li Tzu-jung can do is grumble. A load of rubbish – grumbling morning till night. I’ll go in early this morning, and give him no chance to grumble. Hey, it’s ten o’clock already. I’ll have to be off there in a hurry. Wait a moment, I’ll take two pots of flowers to the shop. Splendid idea! If he says I’m late, I’ll have a ready excuse: I’ve been transplanting the flowers. Those hopeless-looking chrysanthemums have grown after all. Look quite nice now, too. That’s it. I’ll take a couple of pots of chrysanthemums. A few pots of chrysanthemums in the shop’ll look very elegant. And perhaps they’ll show up Li Tzu-jung’s tasteless display all the more vividly!

If he had a long way to go, Mr Ma would always take a taxi. If his destination was nearby, he’d walk at a leisurely pace. Under no circumstances would he take a bus or tram. It’d be no laughing matter if he had an accident and died in London. Of late he’d even taken to travelling less by taxi, since the traffic was so chaotic and you could never be sure, even with a taxi. When he used to catch cabs in Peking, the police would halt the pedestrians and horses to speed the taxi on its way. So exalted, so grandly mandarin-like! But here in London, a big policeman had only to stick out a hand and all the traffic, even the prime minister’s car, had to come to a stop. These foreign devils! No sense of the proper social distinctions! No notion of rank!

Hugging his two pots of transplanted chrysanthemums, his mouth with its stringy moustache twitched up in a little smile, he pushed his way through the crowds.
Bloody hell, where on earth have all these people come from? You can’t get through them, and they’re all walking so fast. That’s a bad sign. They’ll never get anywhere, the English. Not remotely sedate!

By the time he reached the shop, his ears were buzzing, as they had begun to do all day, every day.
God have mercy, and grant me a return to my own homeland. I can’t endure this chaos.
When he’d recovered his composure, he arranged the two pots of chrysanthemums at the front of the shop window, and, twirling his moustache, he contemplated them for a while.
Aha! That one’s got a little yellow leaf – best nip it off. Can’t allow the smallest bit of faded leaf. Must keep the lot perfectly green. You have to be particular about things.

‘Mr Ma!’ Li Tzu-jung came out of the back room, with his sleeves rolled up as usual and his hands covered in muck. (
The young fellow always refuses to wear a jacket. So common!
) ‘Last month we didn’t make a penny, and we haven’t sold much this month, either. I can’t just stand by and watch it happening; we’ll have to put our heads together on this. If you’ve got a plan for improving things, I’ll be only too glad to help you, of course, but if you haven’t, I’d best try and find another job, to save you my wages. There’s not a lot of work to be done here, so you and Ma Wei could easily manage between the two of you. Whether in fact I’d be able to find another job, I’m not sure, but if you’d be good enough to give me two weeks’ notice, I might manage to find something. Let’s put our cards on the table and be frank with each other. Standing on ceremony’ll do us no good.’

Li Tzu-jung spoke bluntly, but his manner was gentle and friendly. Even Mr Ma could see that. His words came straight from the heart – but all the same, they were distinctly ill-bred. Mr Ma removed his large spectacles, delicately wiped them with his handkerchief, and said nothing for a long time.

‘Well, there’s no immediate hurry, Mr Ma. You think it over, and let me know something definite soon, all right?’ Li Tzu-jung knew it wasn’t the slightest bit of good putting pressure on the elder Ma. Better to give him some time to think it over. Whether he actually would think it over, even given the time, was quite another matter, but suggesting that at least saved them from being locked there in awkwardness.

Mr Ma nodded, and continued to wipe his spectacles. ‘I say, shop assistant Li,’he said with a half smile, putting his spectacles back on, ‘If you feel your wages to be too low, we can discuss the problem.’

‘Good grief! My dear Mr Ma, do I think my wages are too low? Really, there’s just no way of getting you to understand me, is there!’ Li Tzu-jung scratched his head, and stuttered a little as he spoke. ‘You must see how things stand, Mr Ma. I’ve told you many times that we’ve got to think about the shop, but you’ve never taken any notice. And now we’re running at a loss. I . . . I . . . really, I don’t know how I can make it clearer. Do you know, our neighbour made a good few hundred pounds last month, just from selling
Mongol and Manchu books
. I —’

‘But who on earth would buy Mongol and Manchu books? What would be the point of buying such things?’ Mr Ma now felt that, besides being ill-bred, Li Tzu-jung was slightly insane into the bargain. How ludicrous, selling Mongol books in an antiques shop! Who would buy them? ‘If you feel the wages to be too low, we can come to some arrangement. We’ll find a way. But on no account must we lose face with one another over it.’

Face!

It’s funny how the Chinese concern for face often goes hand in hand with shamelessness. When in Peking, Mr Ma used to grovel to borrow a single dollar from someone. Why? He had to buy a drink at some relative’s wedding, for the sake of face. When Field Marshal Chang gets reinforcements from Japan to help him out of a tight spot, he has to fight
Field Marshal Kuo
, for the sake of face. Department Head Wang knows perfectly well that Under-Secretary Li is a bad egg, but doesn’t fire him, for the sake of face. All things Chinese bow down at the foot of face. As long as face can be maintained, who cares about the reality?

The Chinese way of doing things reminds one of the children’s game of blind man’s buff. You go round in circles trying to touch someone, and if you manage to, you’ve succeeded in preserving your face, so everything’s fine and dandy. Who cares whether the person you’ve caught is Little Three, Little Four or Little Three’s elder brother, Dopey Two?

Mr Ma was justly in a tight spot. The facts were simple: the business was running at a loss, and he had to think of some means of rectifying this state of affairs. But, being truly Chinese, he wouldn’t allow himself to see things in this light. Only foreign devils would think in such terms. Li Tzu-jung thought like that, too, the yellow-faced foreign devil!

‘So the business is running at a loss,’ he said. ‘Well, I never wanted to come and run such a dead-end business in the first place.’

Realising that Li Tzu-jung wasn’t going to argue, he sat down on a chair, and, twirling his scrap of moustache, gave his thoughts free rein.

If I hadn’t come to England, I might have become a government official in China by now. If I spend a lot, it’s my money, and it’s nobody else’s concern
. The vehemence of this thought jerked his hand so violently that he almost pulled a couple of hairs from his moustache.

No, I’m not acquainted with the ins and outs of commerce. The last thing a gentleman-scholar concerns himself with is trading! Trying to put the squeeze on me, Li? Bare-faced coercion, eh? Young fellow, Li Whatsit, if you were to study more you might reach a truer appreciation of your venerable Uncle Ma. Such commonness and vulgarity! He shot a glare towards the interior of the shop. Selling Manchu and Mongol writings, eh? Ridiculous! What would the foreign devils be doing – reading the
Twelve Heads
in Manchu? Or preparing themselves to see Manchu soldiers on armoured horses? We live in the era of the Republic of China!

So you want to resign, to quit my employ? In complete disregard of face? What more could you ask for here? Haven’t I treated you well? Yet out of the blue you suddenly threaten me with your resignation. What impudence! What stupidity!

As his thoughts proceeded in circles, his anger grew ever more righteous and he distanced himself ever further from reality. And the further he strayed, the more he felt himself to be a truly good Chinese. That yellow-faced foreign devil Li Tzu-jung!

‘I say, shop assistant Li.’ Mr Ma stood up, his eyes glinting rather fiercely and his voice rougher than usual, giving Li Tzu-jung quite a start. ‘I’ve offered to increase your wages, yet still you refuse to work for me. Very well then, I’ve given the matter some thought, and if you wish to leave, leave! Leave now, at once.’

He followed this speech with several titters in imitation of the famous strategist
Chu-ke Liang
as depicted in Chinese traditional theatre. As the titters trailed off, he wondered whether he had spoken too hastily. But the words were out now, so what was the point of remorse? Best carry it to its proper conclusion. ‘Leave now. At once!’

Li Tzu-jung was in the middle of polishing a copper kettle. As he heard Mr Ma’s words, he slowly put the kettle down on the table, and looked at Mr Ma for ages without saying a word.

Mr Ma grew somewhat ill at ease. The young upstart was giving him such a hard stare.

Li Tzu-jung laughed. ‘Mr Ma, neither of us understands the other, so it’s best if we don’t waste any more words. I can’t leave at once. I’m asking you to give me two weeks’ notice out of respect for our friendship. But there’s also a legal requirement: I had an arrangement with your elder brother that no matter which of us decided to terminate my contract, he was to write the other a letter to that effect two weeks in advance. So with that in mind, Mr Ma, I’ll do another fortnight’s work here, starting today. Thank you.’

With these words, Li Tzu-jung picked up the kettle again.

Mr Ma reddened, glared at Li Tzu-jung’s back, opened the door and marched out onto the street. He muttered curses to himself and his thoughts ran riot.
You shameless young peasant! Someone gives you the push, and you insist on two extra weeks! Right, I’ll let you stay here two more weeks. But I’m not going to see you again. I’ve lost all face, and it will be quite impossible for us to work together. Quite impossible. That’s it; I’ll go back. I’ll go back, and give him two weeks’ wages, and tell him to leave immediately. Let’s see you still refusing to leave when I give you that money for nothing!

Let’s make it clear: I never fired you. It was you who was unwilling to continue the job. You think you’ll carry on for another two weeks and then hang around after that, but I see through your little plan. I’m no fool!

That’s what I’ll do. Give him a fortnight’s wages, and tell him to leave. From what I’ve seen of him, though, even if I give him the money, he’ll still refuse to go. If he says he’s going to work two more weeks, then that’s what he’ll do. There’s no way of dealing with such a person. He doesn’t have the slightest concern for face! There’s nothing I can do. Some day I’ll take Ma Wei back to China – there’s nothing good to be learnt abroad. Just look at Li Tzu-jung, brazen and shameless. You tell him to go, and what does he do but talk about the law and drag friendship into it, the glib rogue!

There’s nothing for it . . . No face . . . I’ll go and have a bowl of three immortals soup. Who cares about Li Tzu-jung and his type. He’s not worth losing one’s temper over. If I really did get angry, I’d show him what I’m made of!

‘L
I, OLD
chap! Have you been arguing with my father?’ asked Ma Wei with a very disagreeable expression on his face as he entered the shop.

‘Me? How could I possibly have argued with him? Come on, now, Ma, old mate,’ said Li Tzu-jung with a smile.

‘Look here, Li!’ Ma Wei’s face was set sternly, brow knitted and lips quivering slightly. ‘You shouldn’t stir up trouble with my father. You know what he’s like. You can always come to me first. All right, I know you’ve been quite a lot of help to us, but don’t you try putting my father in his place! All said and done, he’s over twenty years older than us, a generation our senior, and ought to be treated with some respect.’ He suddenly stopped, and glanced at Li Tzu-jung.

Li Tzu-jung gaped at him for a moment, scratched his head and burst out into chuckles. ‘What’s got into you, Ma, old lad?’

‘Nothing’s got into me! But don’t try to boss my father around again!’

‘Oh-ho!’ Li Tzu-jung was on the verge of losing his temper, but pasted a smile on his face again. ‘Have you eaten yet, Ma?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Well, mind the shop a moment, will you? I’m going out to get a bite, then I’ll be straight back.’

Ma Wei nodded stonily. Li Tzu-jung stuck his cap on and marched out, still smiling.

About ten minutes after Li Tzu-jung had left, a benign-looking old man entered the shop.

‘Ah, young man! And might you be Mr Ma’s son?’ asked the old man, smiling and cocking his head to one side quizzically.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Ma Wei, forcing a smile.

‘Ah! Right first guess! You and your father have the same eyes.’ As he said this, the old man glanced towards the interior of the shop. ‘And where is Mr Li?’

‘He’s gone out for his lunch, and will be straight back . . . But if you’d like to look at anything, sir, I can help you.’ Ma Wei was thinking,
I’ve got a head for business too. Li Tzu-jung’s not absolutely indispensable!

‘No need to bother about me. I’ll just have a look round on my own.’ The old man gave a smile, and, with one hand stuck behind his back and the other in his jacket pocket, proceeded to tilt his head this way and that in minute examination of the objects on the shelves. After each inspection, he gave a slight nod.

Ma Wei didn’t feel he could engage the man’s attention with sales talk, yet he didn’t feel right just waiting there either, doing absolutely nothing. He stared at the old man’s back with a frown on his brow. Sometimes the old man would turn his head, and Ma Wei would hastily force a smile, but the old man never took any notice of him.

The old man wasn’t particularly tall but was amply proportioned, with very broad shoulders that drooped slightly because of his age. His hair was as white as snow, and all combed backwards. A white beard covered his face from cheek to cheek handsomely. His nose wasn’t very prominent but his eyes were exceptionally deep-set, with little eyeballs lying in wait, ready to rush to the aid of any smile that might appear below. His head seemed permanently cocked to one side.

He was remarkably well dressed, with a dark-grey woollen suit, a grey silk tie fastened by a fine gold tiepin, and a stiff single collar, so high that whenever he tilted his head, the tips of the collar would hide themselves in his white beard. He wore no hat, and his shoes were exceedingly big, at least two sizes bigger than his feet, so that when he walked he shuffled somewhat, thus enabling the crease down the centre of each of his trouser legs to remain as straight as a rod, without the slightest wrinkling.

‘I say, young man, this pot wouldn’t be the genuine thing, would it?’ The old man picked up a little earthenware pot from one of the shelves, and, holding it in one hand, gently felt round the lip of it with the other, his eyes shut, like a lady stroking her hair with the utmost care and pleasure.

‘It . . .’ Ma Wei hastened over in two strides, took a look at the pot, then uttered another long and useless ‘It . . .’

‘Ah, you can’t tell me. Never mind, we’ll wait for Mr Li.’ The old man cupped the pot in his hands, and his lips in motion beneath his white beard, restored the little vessel to its original place.

‘Where’s your father? I haven’t seen him for quite a few days.’ He didn’t wait for Ma Wei’s reply, but carried on talking, his eyes looking at the pot from a distance. ‘Your father is a very likable chap indeed. The only thing is, he has very little idea of how to do business. Yes, he has quite poor business sense. You’re studying here, I suppose? What are you studying? Ah, Mr Li, how are you?’

‘Ah, John – Lord Simon! How are you? I haven’t seen you these last few days.’ Li Tzu-jung’s face was wreathed in smiles, and he shook hands with Lord Simon most warmly.

Lord Simon’s eyes twinkled and he gave a smile in return.

‘What would you like to look at today, Lord Simon? Have you finished analysing that
I-hsing pot
you took last time?’

‘Yes, yes, I’ve analysed it. If you have any cheap-quality Cantonese porcelain, any kind whatsoever, I would be glad of it. Cantonese porcelain is the only sort I haven’t done any experiments with as yet. I’ll take whatever you have, so long as it’s poor quality.’

Then he pointed to the little pot. ‘Is that the genuine article?’

‘With you asking me, I wouldn’t dare to say what’s genuine and what’s not!’ Li Tzu-jung was smiling so much that his face looked like a steamed flower bun. As he spoke, he fetched the little pot and handed it to the old man. ‘The glaze is too thin, and the brown on the bottom’s not thick enough, either. So it’s certainly not
Tz’u-chou
, but it’s early
Ming
at the latest. You know more than me, Lord Simon. You do as you see fit, pay what you think it’s worth. Mr Ma, bring a chair over for Lord Simon.’

‘No need. I’m on my feet all day in the laboratory, so I’m used to standing up. Yes, used to standing, very used to it!’ He smiled at Ma Wei. ‘No, thank you, no need to bring a chair.’

Then he held up the small pot and scrutinised it once again. ‘Yes, you are quite right. The brown on the bottom is not thick enough. Quite right. Very well, have it delivered to me in any case. How much do I owe you?’

‘Name your price, Lord Simon.’ Li Tzu-jung rubbed his hands and shrugged his shoulders gently, the very picture of a seasoned salesman.

Watching Li Tzu-jung, Ma Wei unconsciously nodded in approval. The old man looked at the price tag on the shelf. Then he winked and said, ‘Let me have it at half-price, Mr Li, will you?’

‘All right, Lord Simon. Shall I deliver it myself again?’

‘Yes, please do. I shall definitely be home from six o’clock onwards. Come and have dinner with me, will you?’

‘Thanks. I’ll be round before half past six, I promise. Do you want the Cantonese porcelain delivered, too?’

‘Yes – how much of it do you have? I don’t want good stuff. To use for analysis, you know —’

‘Of course, of course. We’ve only got two sets of teapots and teacups here at the moment. Not very good – genuine Cantonese goods. We’ll deliver the two tea sets to your laboratory, and I’ll bring this little pot to your study. Will that suit you, Lord Simon?’

The fellow’s got it down pat!
thought Ma Wei.

‘Yes, quite right. Perfectly right, Mr Li.’

Li Tzu-jung took the little pot from him and placed it on the table. ‘And I’ll bring it to your study on the q.t., so Lady Simon doesn’t catch wind of it, eh, Lord Simon?’

The old man burst out laughing, the first time he’d actually laughed out loud. ‘Yes, indeed! You’re familiar with all my domestic affairs by now!’ He pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his eyes. ‘You know, scientists ought not to get married. Brings them too much trouble, far too much trouble. Lady Simon is an excellent woman, but she comes and disturbs my work all the time. And my being both a scientist and a collector makes it even worse. Lady Simon likes diamonds and pearls, and all I do is buy broken pots and tiles! Ah, but women will be women . . .

‘Yes, bring it to my study, and we’ll have dinner there together. I may want to ask you about a few characters, too. The day before yesterday, I bought a bronze casket with Chinese characters on the lid, lots of little ones all squared off. I can’t manage to make them out, so you translate them for me, will you? A shilling for every character, eh?’

‘They aren’t seal script?’ Li Tzu-jung was still smiling, as if he could power the antiques shop, if not the whole world, with smiles.

‘No, no, they aren’t. I know you’re afraid of seal script. Anyway, I’ll see you this evening, and I’ll pay you for the wares and for the translation together. Until then.’ As he said this, Lord Simon walked over and patted Ma Wei on the shoulder. ‘You still haven’t told me what you are studying!’

‘Commerce, sir – your Lordship!’

‘Ah, good, good. The Chinese have the talent and stamina that business requires. Only thing is they don’t understand modern methods. Try to learn’em. Good; get down to your studies, and don’t go chasing after the girls, eh?’ The old man winked one of his little eyes deliberately, and was about to laugh but stopped himself, merely grinning beneath his whiskers.

‘Yes,’ said Ma Wei, with a red face.

‘Where’s your hat, Lord Simon?’ Li Tzu-jung opened the door, and, bowing at the waist, ushered the old man out.

‘Ah, yes. It’s in the car. I’ll see you this evening, Mr Li.’

After the old man had gone, Li Tzu-jung lost no time in packing the little pot and the two tea sets in cotton wool and wrapping them up. As he wrapped, he said to Ma Wei, ‘The old man’s a good customer. He specialises in collecting bronzes and pottery. His study’s got three times as many things in it as we’ve got here. He used to be a professor of chemistry at the University of London, but he’s retired now. He’s still doing some special research into the chemical composition of pottery clays, though. Very interesting old fellow. Buys the precious stuff for his collection, and the poor-quality stuff for his chemical analyses. Over seventy, he is, but a real livewire. Ma, old lad, could you make out two invoices and stick them with these two parcels?’

When Li Tzu-jung had finished his wrapping, Ma Wei brought the two invoices he’d made out. Li Tzu-jung looked at him.

‘Ma, old lad,’ he said, ‘what was up with you this morning? I know it wasn’t me that got you in a lather. You’ve got something else on your mind – you were just venting your spleen. Am I right? Love, most likely. I’ve seen it before. Blushing cheeks; frowning brow; a shortage of words, and a surplus of temper. Off your food and drink. All that’s left for you to do now is . . . cut your throat or hang yourself!’ Li Tzu-jung began to gurgle with laughter.

‘“The eyes of the lovesick lover shine bright, while the eyes of the lonely and lovelorn are overcast. Being lovesick for one who loves you, has a certain sweetness of flavour. But yearning alone and unloved is naught but bitter pain.” Which cap fits you, old Ma?

‘Lovelorn and yearning alone?’

The teasing cheered Ma Wei no end. When you’re pining away with no one to confide in, there’s not much left but to cut your throat.

‘Miss Wedderburn?’ Li Tzu-jung guessed.

‘Mm.’

‘Ma, my friend, it’s no good me trying to give you advice. I know it’s no use. If I were to fall in love with a girl some day and she didn’t take me seriously, I’d immediately cut my throat with my penknife.’ Li Tzu-jung wiped his index finger across his throat. ‘But I can tell you one thing. Every time you think of her, ask yourself, “Does she regard me, a Chinese man, as a human being?” And of course, the next step after that brings you to the highly pertinent conclusion: “If she doesn’t regard me as a human being, where can love come into it?” That’s my own unique method for the cooling of romantic fevers. Let’s call it lovesick ice-cream.

‘No English boy or girl can love a Chinese person, because nowadays the Chinese are the laughing-stock of the world. If somebody writing an article wants to raise a laugh, you can bet your life he’ll say something nasty about the Chinese, because it’s only about the Chinese that you can say nasty things safely, with impunity. University students haven’t got any time for the Chinese, because the Chinese are the only people who can’t help them in their pursuit of knowledge. What branch of learning do the Chinese particularly excel in? None whatsoever! And ordinary people despise the Chinese because the Chinese – well, they’ve got so many faults you could never list the lot.

‘Now, we could make them admire us in one go by defeating England, Germany or France. But a better method would be for our country to become a haven of peace, packed with able men. What shall we take? Why not start with politics? Let’s make China the most incorrupt and enlightened of all countries. What else? Chemistry. Let’s make Chinese chemistry the best. Unless we can do that sort of thing, we’ve got no hope of others respecting us. And while we’re pitied by the people of the world, we’re not in a position to entertain any wild thoughts about their womenfolk!

‘I’ve only met Miss Wedderburn once, so I can’t judge whether she’s pretty or not, or what her character’s like. All I can tell you is this: she can’t possibly love you. She’s an average young English person, and the average English person looks down on the Chinese. Why should she prove an exception to the rule and love a young lad called Ma Wei?’

‘You can’t be so certain she doesn’t love me,’ said Ma Wei, head bent low.

‘How so?’ asked Li Tzu-jung, smiling.

‘She came to the pictures with me, and she rescued my father.’

‘What difference does it make whether she goes to the cinema with you or I go to the cinema with you? I ask you! Foreign boys and girls don’t have such strict social barriers between them. You know that, no need for me to tell you. As for her helping your father when he was in trouble, no matter who it was she saw crawling around on the ground, she’d have been bound to take him back home.

‘When the Chinese see someone in a state, they clear off – the further the better, because our education teaches us to worry only about ourselves. When foreigners see someone in trouble, they do all they can to get them out of it. They don’t care whether it’s a white-faced person, a black-faced person or a green-faced one. Normally, they look down on their black-faced and green-faced brethren, but at the first sign of their needing a hand, they forget all about the colour of their faces. She didn’t rescue him because he was your father, but because that’s her notion of what’s moral.