Mr Ma and Son (29 page)

‘Ah, yes. Lady Simon saw me yesterday, and asked me to find a Chinese fellow for her, to do a few tricks or sing a song. First she’d asked me if I could sing. “Lady Simon,” I told her, “if you’re not afraid of scaring all your guests away, I’m not afraid to sing.” She had a laugh at that, and said she certainly wasn’t going to have her guests frightened off. So then I thought of you. You can sing a couple of passages from K’un-ch’ü opera, can’t you? If you helped her out by singing this evening, you can guarantee she’d be most grateful. In my experience, the English working class are a no-nonsense, sterling lot, and the English aristocracy’s pretty magnanimous. It’s just the middle-class English I’ve no love for. Right, are you coming? Free food and drink for an evening, and you get a look at upper-class English society at the same time. The guests’ll all be wealthy folks. What d’you say?’

‘I haven’t got a dinner suit!’ Ma Wei’s reply implied that he’d like to go.

‘Got any Chinese clothes?’

‘I’ve got a lined silk jacket, and my father’s got a satin suit for formal wear.’

‘That’s it! That’ll do! Come to the house with the clothes. I’ll be waiting for you in Lord Simon’s study, and you can change there. Then I’ll take you to Lady Simon. If you put on your Chinese clothes and sing some Chinese arias, she’s bound to be thrilled. Let me tell you something: remember at the end of last year how Lord Simon bought an embroidered Chinese skirt from us? Well, Lady Simon’s going to wear it tonight. And the other day I found her an old squirrel-fur mandarin robe in Piccadilly. So this evening she’ll be dressed from head to toe in Chinese clothes. Foreigners do have a fondness for the exotic. And anyhow, Chinese clothes are beautiful, no denying. When I become president some day, I’ll issue an order forbidding the Chinese from wearing Western clothes. Are there any clothes in the world more grand and elegant, or more beautiful, than Chinese ones?’

‘When Chinese wear Western dress, that’s a fondness for the exotic, too!’ objected Ma Wei.

‘Yes, but a common, tasteless one. There’s no aesthetic judgement coming into it.’

‘A Western suit’s light and convenient,’ protested Ma Wei.

‘It’s just as convenient for work to wear a simple
hsiao-kua
jacket. And a silk smock or linen smock’s lighter than anything. And it looks good!’ countered Li Tzu-jung.

‘You’re a stick-in-the-mud diehard, old Li.’

‘And you’re a crazy reformist, old Ma.’

‘Right. That’s enough. Say no more – we’re about to start a fight again!’

‘See you this evening at the Simons’ residence, at seven. No need to have any supper before you come: it’s French cuisine tonight. See you tonight!’ Li Tzu-jung picked up his hat. ‘Get a move on sending off those postcards and catalogues, old Ma. If I see them piled here like this again, there’ll be a fight and no mistake.’

‘Shall I send one to the future Lady Li?’ asked Ma Wei.

‘Yes, you could do that. She can read a few words.’

‘These are in English, old chap!’

Li Tzu-jung stuck his hat on, gave Ma Wei a punch and hurried out.

T
HE WARM
wind turned the fine silky threads of rain soft, leaving them flaccid and feeble, dawdling in the air, instead of coming straight down. In town, the flower-sellers had set out their daffodils and other spring flowers, adorning grey, dark London with colours of hope. The seasonal pantomimes and circuses of Christmas and the new year had all packed up, and people were analysing the forecasts for the football cup finals and the Oxford and Cambridge boat race. The Englishman’s love of gambling and of sport is as deep-rooted as his beef-eating and cigarette-smoking.

Pearls of water hung from the aged trees in the parks and red buds were already peeping forth on their branches. At the roots of the trees, the moist earth softly breathed in the damp air, and one or two small narcissuses were poking through the soil, their heads clustered with white buds. The grass was much greener than in summer, and, as the wind blew across it, the blades of grass would gently sway, shaking off their drops of water. London is noisy, bustling and chaotic, but these parks are always calm and beautiful, providing a refuge where people can take a breath of fresh sweet-scented air.

Hands behind his back, Mr Ma strolled over the grass, with a very light step for fear of trampling the worms that lay hidden underfoot. He hadn’t brought an umbrella, and the brim of his hat was covered with beads of water. His shoes got soaked through, but that didn’t stop him walking. Far from being flustered, he was filled with determination.
Keep walking!
He walked and walked till he reached the road. On the far side of the street was another stretch of grass, and in the middle of the road stood a memorial to artillerymen who’d died in the war. Mr Ma seemed to remember the memorial, but couldn’t quite recall where he was. He never remembered place names, and didn’t like asking the way either. He thought of crossing the street to the park on the other side, but there was too much traffic. It made his eyes dizzy just to look at it. He scraped the mud off his shoes, and turned back again.

He found a bench, and sat down for a while. An old woman leading a long-faced, short-necked dog sat down on it too. He looked at her askance, half glared at her dog, stood up and stalked off across the grass.

What rotten luck! Bang in the middle of the morning I bump into a woman . . . And one trailing a mangy dog around with her too!
He spat onto the grass.

After walking a while, he reached the road again. Another road, though, where there was quite bit of traffic but no memorial.
Now what street’s this?
he asked himself. On the wall in the distance was a street-sign, but it was beneath him to go over and look at it. The elite are never seen hunting around for the names of places, are they? No! He thought of strolling around the park again, but by now his legs were aching, and the insides of his shoes felt icy-cold. It’d be no joking matter if he caught a cold. Better to go home.

Go home? What, go home without having solved a single one of the problems that he’d brought out with him that morning? But if he walked round the park for another three days, or three weeks, or even three years, would he be any the wiser? Not necessarily.

It was difficult – so very, very difficult. If from childhood one’s never suffered any troubles or hardship, and never undergone any form of discipline, how can one have a ready solution to any problem that crops up?

Go back home. Yes, I’d better go back home. See her, and see how things go.

He hailed a taxi, and returned home.

Mrs Wedderburn was just tidying up the study when Mr Ma came in.

‘Hello. What was it like out?’ she asked.

‘Oh, very nice. Very nice,’ he replied. ‘It was fascinating in the park. Tiny flowers no bigger than that.’ He stuck out his little finger to illustrate the size. ‘Just come up out of the soil, they had. Has Mary gone to work? Is she a bit more cheerful today?’

‘Oh, she’s on top of the world today,’ Mrs Wedderburn replied, wiping the window and not looking at him. ‘Her Aunt Doll’s died, and left her a hundred pounds. Poor Dolly! The hundred pounds has sent Mary quite scatty. She wants to buy hats, a gramophone and a fur coat, and at the same time she plans on putting the money in the bank so as to earn the interest. But you can’t earn interest if you’ve spent the money. Can’t have your cake and eat it, can you? That girl! She can’t make a decision to save herself!’

‘Washington still hasn’t been round?’

‘No.’ Mrs Wedderburn shook her head very slowly.

‘Young people aren’t reliable. Not reliable at all,’ he said, sighing.

She turned and looked at him, a hint of a smile twinkling in her eyes.

Mr Ma continued, ‘No, young folks aren’t reliable. For the young, love’s just the excitement of the moment. They don’t give any thought as to how it’ll continue, and how to build a home and family.’ Never since his birth had Mr Ma uttered such fine words, and what’s more, he spoke them very naturally and sincerely, shaking his head as he finished in a gesture of passionately felt regret. That slow stroll round the park hadn’t been a waste of time; it had certainly given him some poetic inspiration. Then he looked at Mrs Wedderburn with a distinctly beseeching expression.

She caught the meaning behind his words, but said nothing, just turned back to wipe the windowpane.

He stepped forwards two paces boldly, saying to himself,
Now or never! Do or die!

‘Mrs Wedderburn,’ he said, and no more than that. His voice expressed all that he wished to say. He stretched out a hand, with wildly trembling fingers.

‘Mr Ma.’ She turned around, resting her hands on the windowsill. ‘Our affair’s over. There’s no need to mention it any more.’

‘Just because of those few remarks of the shop assistant when we were going to buy a ring?’ he asked.

‘Oh, no. There are lots of reasons. That only sparked things off. When we came back, I had a careful think about things. There are lots of reasons, and there’s not one that could make me dare carry on with it. I love you —’

‘Love’s enough! What does anything else matter?’ he interrupted.

‘Other people! Society! Society’s so good at killing love. We English are equal as far as politics is concerned, but in social relations we’re split into classes. And we’re only free to marry folks of our own class. You can’t talk about marriage unless you meet somebody of the same station in life, and with the same amount of money. That’s the only sort of marriage with any chance of happiness.

‘It’s only in fairytales that princes marry village girls. It’s nice reading about things like that, but they can’t happen in real life. And if they did happen, the village girl wouldn’t be happy. The people around her, their way of life, their manners and their speech would all be different. Everything’d be strange to her, so how could she be happy?’

She paused for breath, absent-mindedly wiping her dainty nose with her duster, then continued.

‘As for you and me, there’s no class between us, but we’re different races. That means all sorts of nasty obstacles in our way. Race is even worse than class. I’ve thought about it carefully, and I don’t think we’d better take the risk. You see, Mary’s affair’s as good as done for, and for her sake I just can’t marry you. Some fine upstanding lad might fall in love with her, but if he heard she had a Chinese stepfather he’d run a mile. You can’t get rid of people’s prejudices.

‘When you first came here, I thought you were some weird monster or hobgoblin, because everybody speaks so badly about the Chinese. Now I know you’re not so bad at all, but other people don’t know that, and after we married we’d still have to carry on living among them. Their ingrained fear and hatred would probably be the end of us before a couple of days were out.

‘English men often have foreign wives. But it’s quite a different kettle of fish for an English woman to marry a foreigner. You know, Mr Ma, the English are such a proud people, and they despise a woman who marries a foreigner. And they can’t stand a foreigner who takes an English woman as his wife. I’ve often heard people say that Eastern women are guarded, kept in the home like a treasure, and their menfolk won’t allow them to show themselves to outsiders, let alone marry anyone from another country. Well, it’s the same with the English, and what they can’t stand above all is having foreigners meddle with their womenfolk!

‘Mr Ma, we can’t fight racial prejudice, and it’s not worth trying. You and I can be good friends forever, but we can’t be anything more than that.’

Mr Ma went numb all over, and he couldn’t get a word out. After a long silence, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Can I carry on living here?’

‘Of course you can! We’re still good friends. I told Ma Wei to ask you to move on an impulse, a sudden feeling. If I’d really wanted you to move, I’d have been on your tail making sure you did it in a hurry, wouldn’t I? Yes, you stay on here – of course you must!’

He said nothing, just sat down with head bent low.

‘I’ll go and get Napoleon to have a little play with you.’ With that excuse, she left the room.

I
N THE
middle of March, bright blue skies suddenly appeared over London. The trees, with no cloud or fog to obscure them, all at once seemed taller and leaner. The elm branches scattered reddish-yellow scales, and the willow trees, with miraculous speed, acquired a draping of delicate yellow. In bright fanfare, the weeds in the gardens thrust their tender shoots from the moist soil. People’s faces, too, all bore some trace of a smile, and the chubby dogs bounded around joyfully in the streets, barking at the shadows cast by trees. The cars in town looked much more cheery and colourful, nipping around so neat and nimble in the sunshine, with a distinctly blue hue to the smoke that puffed from their exhausts. All the golden signs and various other adornments above the shops shone in splendour, dazzling the eyes and cheering the heart.

But despite the weather, there were no smiles on the faces of anyone in the Ely family as they held conference in the drawing room. Paul, pipe in mouth, was frowning. The Reverend Ely was resting his head against the back of his chair, and from time to time stealing a glance at Mrs Ely. Her hair had not a hint of springtime, hanging dry and parched round her head like a mass of dead tree-roots. She carried herself, as ever, very stiffly erect, and her eyes held a venomous gleam, while the ditches either side of her nose were as deep and dry as two frozen moats.

‘We must go and bring Catherine back! I shall go and fetch her myself. Yes, I shall go in person!’ said Mrs Ely through clenched teeth.

‘I want nothing to do with her – so don’t be in any hurry to fetch her back here, Mater!’ said Paul, with a determined air.

‘If we don’t bring her back, and Mary sues Washington, it will be the end of us. Yes, the end! Let none of us entertain any doubts on that score! I shall not be able to continue with my church work, nor will you, Paul, be able to carry on at the bank.
If she goes to court
, we shall be utterly finished, ruined. None of us will be able to bear the publicity. There is nothing else for it – we must bring her back.’ Mrs Ely spoke with great anguish and urgency, stressing her every word.

‘If she’s quite happy to run off with some fellow, there’s nothing we can do to make her come back,’ said Paul, an expression of fury on his face. ‘If only I’d known what she was like! Selfish she is, wilful, thoroughly shameless! If I’d known!’

‘You mustn’t hate her so . . . It does no good. It’s no use. It will break my heart if you hate her. Since her childhood, I have
never
for a single day neglected to instruct her in the Holy Bible. Never for a single day have I not watched her like a hawk – have I now? It’s me, not you, who should feel bitter. But that would be no help. Hating her will not solve anything. Anyway, it is our duty to reform her through the power of love. She may have run away, but we still wish her here, as long as she consents to abandon evil and return to the true path, as long as she heeds the teachings of Christ, as long as she promises never again to entertain such misguided notions.

‘I shall go and look for her, and, though I seek till the ends of the earth, I shall find her, and bring her back to us. I know that she cannot be happy now, so I shall find her, and restore her to her joyful self. I know that her happiness lies here with me, for it is my duty to ensure my daughter’s happiness, no matter how terribly she lets me down.’

Mrs Ely reeled this all off in one breath, as if she’d made mental notes and was delivering a practised recitation. There was a certain dampness about her eyes, which seemed to be tears of a sort, but they were quite different from the tears of ordinary mortals.

‘Oh, no, she’s certain not to come back,’ said Paul viciously. ‘If she’d had any love for us, she would never have run off with that Washington fellow. You do what you think, Mother. I’m going to ask the bank for a transfer to India, or Egypt, or Japan. Anywhere will do. I couldn’t bear the sight of her again. If England ever goes to the dogs, it will be the fault of such selfish men and women! People who have no love for their family, no love for their country, nor any love for God!’ he bellowed, and stood up and marched out.

The Great War in Europe had not only shaken the economic foundation of people’s lives, but had also shaken people’s ways of thinking. Many questioned the old ideas of morality and of the old concepts current in the world, and began to look at things in new ways. They sought in one go to throw off all the fetters of old powers and influences, and to create a new humanity that would live in peace, free from wars. Marriage, family, morals, religion and politics were all turned upside down by such new ways of thinking, and it looked almost as if they were about to be completely eradicated.

Some of the more broad-minded and generous-spirited people let themselves drift with the new tide, and through it attained new and substantial freedoms. Others, more set and narrow in their ways, reacted against the tide, meeting it, resisting it with all their might, and seeking to cling to the broken fragments of old things that floated on the waves. These two crowds of people surged to and fro, neither comprehending the other, neither concerned for the other, both mutually suspicious and resentful of each other. Between father and son, brother and sister, irremediable tragedies were enacted. The English are conservative, but even the English were tossed within this raging tide.

There was a difference of at least a hundred years between Catherine’s outlook and that of Paul. She was for peace and freedom, against marriage and religion, and wanted nothing of narrow patriotism, nor an aristocratic form of representative government. As for Paul, he was for both war and patriotism, and for the status quo in marriage and religion. In Catherine’s view, the recent war had been wholly evil, and everything that preceded it dreadful. In Paul’s view, the last war had been a glorious one, and everything prior to it golden. Her outlook was the result of study, while his opinions were constructed on the basis of his nature and instinct.

She was a young person and so was he: two kinds of young people of the postwar period. Always with that smile of hers, she was questioning things, while he went around passing cut-and-dried judgements with his pipe in his mouth. She wanted to know and understand. He wanted conclusive results and effective action. She used her brain while he used his intuition. Neither of them understood the other, and he hated her, because he judged her on the basis of intuition, emotions and tradition.

Without a worry, she went to live with Washington, because they loved one another. Why should they buy a wedding ring for her? What need was there to go to church and stroke the bible? Why should she have to take his surname? To all these questions Catherine gave a smile.

Mary, much like Paul, would insist on a wedding ring, on going to church and on being called by her husband’s surname. Her behaviour was that of a wild kitten, but her outlook was that of a dead cow. She liked to display her pale legs for men to see, but revealed them only from the knee downwards, and if a breeze whisked her skirt up a little, she would hastily pull it down, looking awkward and silly. Through her movements, her manner, her hats and her clothes, she lived to make men look at her. Beauty was her ultimate weapon, and she wielded it with the goal of grabbing a man and building a cosy home. Beyond that, nothing more! Yes, her aim in life went no further than that.

Mary didn’t relish the idea of having children. That, to be sure, was in accord with one of the aspects of the new thinking, but in her case it was simply a matter of her own convenience. Having children might ruin her looks, and children meant a lot of tiresome bother. She objected to having children – but she’d never have admitted to agreeing with any of the new ideas about birth control.

Washington had compared Mary and Catherine, and decided to live with Catherine. He still loved Mary, and hadn’t forgotten her, but his relationship with Catherine seemed even to surpass love. This thing that transcended love was a new, postwar discovery, and no one yet knew what it was. It was something that couldn’t be pinned down by any definition – something tremendously free, exceptionally full of life. Mary could never comprehend it, nor would she be able to enjoy it, for her definition of ‘love’ confined itself to marriage, husband and wife, home. And this special something wasn’t restrained by the fetters of established conventionality.

Catherine and Washington wouldn’t have felt ashamed to go hand in hand to see Mrs Ely, nor would they have been afraid of going to see Mary. What intimidated them was Mrs Ely’s and Mary’s lack of understanding. Neither he nor she was afraid of anyone, but they were rather reluctant to clash with the old ways of thinking; the matter was bigger than them. It was one of conflicting tides of world opinion: not a problem of individuals but an historical change. They were both at one with their consciences, but people’s consciences have different standards. That being the case, they knew the best thing they could do was just not show their faces, and avoid seeing Mrs Ely or Mary.

‘Poor Paul! He so much wants to get on! I know what he must be going through,’ muttered Mrs Ely to herself after Paul had gone.

The Reverend Ely glanced at her, realising that the time had now come for him to speak. He gave a couple of coughs, then said slowly and deliberately, ‘Kay’s not a bad girl. Don’t think ill of her.’

‘You always stick up for her. If you hadn’t spoilt her, she would never have been capable of such scandalous deeds!’ Mrs Ely shut the old clergyman up with one blast from her cannon.

The Reverend Ely felt decidedly resentful, but didn’t dare lose his temper.

‘I shall go and find her. With the words of Jesus Christ I shall persuade her to return!’ Mrs Ely forced a smile as benevolent as the devil’s grin.

‘It’s no good your going to look for her. She won’t come back,’ said the Reverend Ely quietly. ‘If the two of them are happy together, then she certainly won’t come back. And if they’re not happy, well, she’s quite capable of earning her own living without us. I wish she would come back, since I love her so dearly.’ The rims of his eyes moistened, and he continued. ‘But I wouldn’t force her to return. She has her own ideas and opinions. If she’s able to put them into practice, it will bring her satisfaction and contentment, and I’ve no wish to snatch such happiness away from her. The present matter rests entirely with Mary. If Mary takes it to court, it will be the end of us. If not, all will be well. It rests with her, and her alone. You needn’t go looking for Kay – I’ll go and see her, and hear what she’s got to say. Then I’ll go and beseech Mary to grant us mercy.’

‘
Beseech?
Mary? Beseech!’ said Mrs Ely, pointing her finger at his nose. She’d never used the word ‘beseech’ in reference to her dealings with anyone except God.

‘Yes, beseech her.’ The Reverend Ely had become very forceful, too, and his voice, although quiet, was firm.

‘Your daughter’s run off, and you’re going to
beseech
a little hussy like Mary! Think of your position, Reverend Ely!’

‘My position! You and Paul might have some position, but not me. All
you
want to bring Kay back for is to save yourself from disgrace, with no consideration for her happiness. At the same time, you’ve not given the slightest thought to Mary’s grief. I have nothing to lose. If Mary agrees to do as I ask, it will in effect be an act of self-sacrifice on her part, and she will be helping to fulfil Catherine’s happiness. If she refuses to help, it is quite within her rights, and she is free to do so. I cannot force her. Poor Mary!’

Mrs Ely thought to grab something and throw it at her husband’s head, but, suddenly mindful of God, she refrained. Shooting him a malevolent glare, she stalked out with her head of kapok quivering.

The Reverend Ely and Mrs Wedderburn sat face to face, while Mary, holding Napoleon, sat in front of the piano. In the light the Reverend Ely’s face was deathly pale.

‘Mary, Mary,’ he said, ‘Catherine has done wrong, and Washington has too. They have both done you an injustice. But things have gone so far that if you now take action against him, you will ruin not only him, but me too. You have a strong case in the eyes of the law, and if you seek damages, you can be sure of getting them. What with the damages and the cost of the proceedings, you would certainly send him bankrupt. And at the same time, the publicity would mean utter ruin for me and my family. You have ample cause to sue, and all I can do is beseech you to show him a little lenience. Washington’s no young rogue, nor is Catherine a malicious girl. They’ve simply been unfair in their conduct towards you. If you can find it in you to show them mercy, they will owe their life’s happiness to your kindness.

‘If you refuse to forgive them, I wouldn’t for a moment call you too harsh, for you have every right. I’m merely begging you to show extraordinary compassion, and in so doing redeem my family and help the couple towards an unmarred happiness. In law they should be punished, but emotionally they may be forgiven. They have acted under the impulse of love. One can be sure that they didn’t intend to belittle you or hurt you, Mary.

‘Tell me, now: will you spare them or punish them? Tell me, Mary.’

The girl’s teardrops fell onto Napoleon, and she made no reply.

‘I think the proper thing would be to decide matters in court, wouldn’t it, Reverend Ely?’ said Mrs Wedderburn, her lips trembling.

The Reverend Ely said nothing, but clasped his forehead between his hands.

‘No, Mum!’ said Mary, rising very abruptly to her feet. ‘I hate him! I hate him! I . . . I love him. I’m not going to punish him. I couldn’t send him bankrupt. But you’ve got to make him come and tell me himself that it’s over. I can’t bear hearing things secondhand. Don’t you bother yourself about it, Mum. And you needn’t interfere either, Reverend Ely. I’ve got to see him – and I’ve got to see her too. Just to have a look at them . . . Ha ha! Ha!’ Mary broke into manic laughter.

‘Mary!’ Mrs Wedderburn, flustered and alarmed, went over and put her arm round her daughter.

The Reverend Ely sat there dumbfounded.