Mr Ma and Son (19 page)

M
RS WEDDERBURN
and daughter went off on their summer holiday, both wearing new hats. On the band of Mary’s hat was embroidered a Chinese character, which Mr Ma had written and her mother had stitched on. For half an hour or so after putting on her hat, Mary’s mouth hung open, and for another half an hour she remained glued to the mirror. There were lots of hats similar to hers, but having a Chinese character embroidered on it made it something novel and unique. At the seaside the hat would be sure to make all the girls and ladies weep or even swoon with envy.

Mrs Wedderburn was delighted with it. Her daughter’s hat was bound to cause a revolution; a hat revolution, so to speak! Her daughter’s photograph would appear in the papers for certain, and a lot of people would sit up in jealousy and admiration.

‘Mr Ma!’ Just as Mary was about to depart, she came looking for Mr Ma. ‘Look!’

With one hand she tweaked her skirt up so that its pleats flared out like a fan. She tipped her head to the side and stretched out her other hand, palm up, then lightly flicked that hand backwards from the wrist, at the same time gently shrugging her shoulders and gathering her lips in a little smile. ‘Look!’

‘Splendid! Most beautiful, Miss Wedderburn!’ Mr Ma gave her a thumbs-up.

At Mr Ma’s words, Mary abruptly drew both hands in, clasped them in front of her chest, threw up her head, gave a little giggle and vanished like a puff of smoke.

Actually, Mr Ma had only said half of what he might have. Yes, the character he’d written meant ‘beautiful’, but when Mrs Wedderburn had embroidered it, she’d done it upside down, and the ‘beautiful’ now looked like the three characters ‘big’, ‘king’ and ‘eight’ – the ‘big’ standing on its head – which together mean ‘big bastard’. He burst out laughing. Never since coming to England had he had such a good chuckle.

Ah, so funny! Foreign women! Putting ‘big bastard’ on their heads, and with the character for ‘big’ doing a handstand . . . Dear me, how funny! What a laugh!
As he shook his head in laughter, his tears of mirth flew into the air.

After laughing for ages, Mr Ma slowly went downstairs, planning to see mother and daughter off to the station. They were waiting for the taxi at the door. The first thing that caught his eyes was the ‘big bastard’. He clenched his teeth and strained at the neck, and his face went very red. It was all right, though: he managed not to laugh.

‘Ta-ta, Mr Ma!’ chorused mother and daughter. And Mrs Wedderburn had a few extra words to say: ‘Behave yourself. Don’t do anything naughty! And whatever you do, don’t forget to lock the back door before you go out!’

The taxi arrived and Napoleon led the way, bounding into it. ‘Bye-bye,’ mumbled Mr Ma. ‘Have a good holiday!’

As soon as the taxi had gone, he shut the door and burst out laughing once more.

When he was quite worn out with laughing, Mr Ma went into the backyard to water the flowers. It hadn’t rained for over a week, and the leaves of the flowers, especially those of the wallflowers, were looking worse for wear. He deftly picked off those that were brown, and while he was at it, debudded the chrysanthemums.

The sky was a clear blue one, with not a breath of wind, and in the distance there was the continual noise of cars. As he contemplated a rose and listened to the far sound of traffic, an inexpressible melancholy grew within him. He forced himself to think of Mary’s hat, but somehow it could no longer raise a laugh. He lifted his head to look at the blue sky – bright, far away, infinitely far, and with a hint of pallid forlornness about it.

Will we ever get back to China?
he asked himself.
Or am I going to see out my days like this, here in London? No, never! When Ma Wei’s graduated, we’ll go back to China. And we’ll take my brother’s coffin back with us.

At the thought of his brother, he felt like going to have a look at his grave, but was hesitant about making the trip there by himself. Instead, as he gazed at the blue sky, his mind flew through the air to his brother’s grave. That grey stone slab, that washed-out wreath and even the fat little old woman all appeared before his eyes.

Ah, what’s the joy in living?
Mr Ma gently shook his head, and murmured aloud, ‘A stone slab? Why, even that’s doomed to destruction before many years are out. Nothing survives forever in this world, and some foreign devils even say that the sun’ll die one day . . . But where was I? No, being alive’s not really so bad at all . . . Depends how you live, of course. If you’re a high-up government official enjoying a fat salary, with a crowd of wives and concubines and chubby sons and daughters, there’s not much missing. Life would be worth living then . . .’

Mr Ma’s thoughts always progressed from the negative to the positive, and then from the positive to the middling; or taking life as it comes, the good with the bad, getting by the best you can and taking each day as it comes. He very nearly hummed some lines of
Peking opera
, to its lively
Hsi-p’i
musical accompaniment.

This attitude of taking life as it comes, the good with the bad, is one reason why China’s only half alive. But of course no such thought would ever have occurred to the elder Ma.

Complete pessimism can at least produce a few great thinkers. And complete optimism can stir a nation into life, and add some joy and spice to living. One fears, though, that our four hundred million compatriots are, like the elder Ma, both too ambivalent and too listless to fire up and take action. This attitude of just living and making do is the most useless of outlooks, and a disgrace to the human race!

Mr Ma, so in a fit of pique he abandoned his thinking and went back to his study, gave the tables and chairs a wipe-over and smoked his pipe. He’d intended at first to sit down and read a book, but never having made a habit of reading, the moment he picked up a book he felt ridiculous. That put paid to that idea.

I’ll just pop downstairs and have a look to see if all the doors are locked,
he said to himself.
What was I thinking! Now they’re away, it just won’t do for me to be so neglectful.

Mrs Wedderburn hadn’t locked all the rooms, as she worried that it would impede a safe exit should a fire break out. Mr Ma took a look in at the drawing room, then looked round the kitchen and Mrs Wedderburn’s bedroom. He’d never been into her room before, and felt rather timid, walking on tiptoe, with his hands hovering in front of him, as if he were afraid of being caught, although he knew perfectly well that there was no one else in the house.

Once in the room, he smelt the faint scent of perfume and powder, and a vague ache came over his heart. He stood in front of the mirror, just standing there in a daze for ages. Then he felt he ought to go, but couldn’t bring himself to move. He was reluctant to think about Widow Wedderburn, but when he tried to recall his late wife his thoughts were blurred and wouldn’t clear.

Without knowing how or why, he made his way out of the room, his mind in a haze of confusion, like in some siesta dream, thinking of something yet lost in a glazed numbness. His footsteps made no sound as he reached Mary’s bedroom. The door was open, and through it he could see her little iron bedstead. And someone was kneeling by the bedstead, his head on the bed, the back of his head moving up and down as if he were silently crying. Ma Wei!

For a moment, Mr Ma stood frozen to the spot. His mind seemed to go blank, then, unable to restrain himself, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Ma Wei!’

Ma Wei leapt to his feet. His face reddened, the colour starting at his earlobes and spreading right up to his forehead.

Father and son stood there, neither of them saying a word. Ma Wei, head lowered, wiped away his tears, and Mr Ma, hands trembling, rubbed at his scrap of moustache.

In many ways Mr Ma still regarded Ma Wei as a little boy of eleven or twelve. Whenever his son came to mind, he’d think,
Motherless little lad!
Noticing that Ma Wei had lost weight, he’d assumed it was because the boy didn’t like English food. And seeing him with a frown on his brow, he’d just supposed he was out of sorts. Never once had it occurred to him that Ma Wei was now a youth of over twenty, let alone that his ‘little boy’ might —

Mr Ma couldn’t think of any appropriate expression to convey that particular relationship between men and women. After a great deal of thought, he decided that it was best to stick to the familiar terms.
I’d never imagined he’d have woman trouble so young!

He couldn’t bring himself to reprove Ma Wei, his motherless, only son. No, he couldn’t harden his heart to scold him. But neither could he, as a father who’d seen his son weeping on a young lady’s bed, neglect to make some comment on the matter.

It wasn’t proper. It was common; a fruitless course. But then what was stopping Mr Ma from giving his son a telling-off? He himself was partly to blame. Why had he persisted in viewing his son as a naive little innocent all this time? Hadn’t he realised that times have changed, and that children are wicked in the womb? Why hadn’t he seen it coming and taken due precautions?

Still, it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Nothing scandalous had occurred between Ma Wei and Mary as yet. If they’d . . . She being a foreigner . . . What on earth could he have done? True, he himself was sometimes enamoured of Widow Wedderburn’s dainty pink nose, but that was merely a momentary madness. There was no question of marrying her! Marry a foreign woman? How could he face anyone again if he did that! But Ma Wei was just a boy. He couldn’t think as far ahead as that . . .

With a glance at the younger Ma, the elder Ma slowly made his way upstairs. Ma Wei came out of the room too, and stood at the doorway, looking at the iron bedstead. Suddenly, he went back into the room again, and gently smoothed out the sheet, which was damp with his tears. Then he came out, head bowed low, closed the door and walked upstairs.

‘Father.’ Ma Wei went into the study, and called again in a subdued voice, ‘Father.’

Mr Ma, himself on the brink of tears, uttered some response.

Ma Wei stood behind his father’s chair. ‘You don’t need to worry about me, Dad,’ he said slowly. ‘I haven’t had any relations with her. These last few days . . . I’ve been insane, quite mad! I’m over it now. I went to her room to . . . as part of my resolve to be done with it all. I’m not going to take any more notice of her. She looks down on us. None of the foreigners think anything of us, so you couldn’t expect her to.

‘From now on, we’ve got to knuckle down and really get serious about the shop. All that’s happened before . . . that’s over and done with. I was crazy. If Li Tzu-jung’s set on going, we can’t stop him, and if that’s the case, from now on it’ll all be up to us. He’s agreed to help us, though, and I admire and trust him, and think he’s definitely right in what he says. I was rude to him the other day, without really meaning to be, but I . . . I was crazy. And he didn’t take the slightest bit of notice. He really is a good sort. I’ve let you down, Dad. If you had a son like Li Tzu-jung, you’d have nothing to bother about.’

‘Ten thousand blessings that I haven’t got a son like Li Tzu-jung!’ Mr Ma shook his head, and gave a smile.

‘Now, Dad, will you promise me that we’ll really get down to it in earnest, both of us? We’ll have to economise a bit, and be late to bed and early to rise, and really give it our all. And we’ll have to ask Li Tzu-jung’s advice – and take it. I’ll go and see him and ask him whether he’s found a new job. If he has, there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ll just have to let him leave. But if he hasn’t, we’ve got to keep him on. That’s what we’ll do, eh, Dad?’

‘Very well. Very well,’ said Mr Ma, nodding, but not looking at Ma Wei. ‘As long as you know what you’re doing. As long as you don’t entertain any wild notions about . . . you can do anything you wish. You’re my only son, and your mother passed away before her time. You’re all my hopes, and whatever you say goes. You discuss things with shop assistant Li, and if he says pull the house down, we’ll do it straight away! Off you go and fetch him, and we’ll have a Chinese meal together. I’ll wait for you at the Top Graduate. Off you go, now, and here’s a pound for you.’

The elder Mr Ma stuffed a note into Ma Wei’s pocket.

These last few days Ma Wei’s mind had been a wok full of boiling, frothing porridge. Love, affection and obedience towards his father, friendship, career, and studies all in conflict. Emotion, self-respect, self-loathing and self-pity at loggerheads. His father was wrong, but he was still his father, all the same. Li Tzu-jung was too blunt and forthright, but a fine chap through and through.

If Ma Wei helped his father run the shop, would he still have any time for studying? If he put his nose to the grindstone and got stuck into his studies, who’d run the business? And to cap it all, there was HER! She was forever in front of his eyes, on his mind, in his dreams, turning up and disappearing quite unpredictably. He tried constantly to forget her, but how could he? Love’s the hardest thing to get rid of, as it sprouts in the heart’s deepest recesses.
She doesn’t love me, but that doesn’t even come into it!
Her smile, her manner of speaking, her ways and her looks were all sweet dew nourishing those buds in his heart and making them grow.

When she’s there, you’re head over heels, completely infatuated with her. While she’s in this world, you can’t help thinking of her. Not think of her? Forget her? Only a man with a heart of steel could manage that.
Ma Wei’s heart was neither of steel nor of stone, and at the very quiver of her pale arms, his heart would tremble too.

All the same, I’ve just got to forget her. I can’t think of loving her any longer; she ignores me. But I can’t hate her: she was born lovable! Stuck between a rock and a hard place, what’s left to do? A young man’s got to have some fire in him, some self-respect. Why go trailing after her, begging for her love? Have a bit more regard for yourself than that! Why not help Dad with the shop? Why not take a leaf out of Li Tzu-jung’s book? Right, enough’s enough! I’ve cried on your bedclothes, and I’ve prayed to the gods to cherish you, but I’m not going to look at you, not going to think about you any more. I hope some day you’ll find a good husband, and live happily ever after . . .