Mrs. Pollifax and the Hong Kong Buddha (4 page)

At ten fifteen, no one else having entered the shop, Mrs. Pollifax left her bench and strolled down the alley again, trying her best to resemble a wandering tourist. Once again she paused at the window of Feng Imports to look inside. The shop was occupied only by the girl, who was flicking a feathered dust mop over a display of figurines, and Mrs. Pollifax sighed, feeling a large and enveloping yawn inside of her.

“I’ll try again at noon,” she told herself and, retracing her steps, she captured a taxi and returned to the hotel to unpack and surrender briefly to jet lag.

Promptly at noon, however, she set out again, her hat a shade less squarely on her head and one rose listing slightly in spite of efforts to discipline it; it too suffered from travel fatigue, she guessed. Once again she made her way up Dragon Alley, finding only the shadows changed, and stopped to look into the window and beyond
it: this time she could see two people in the shop, a stooped and elderly Chinese gentleman seated behind the counter, and the girl, now leaning over the counter to rearrange objects on a tray.

There was no Sheng Ti.

At this point Mrs. Pollifax realized that she lacked the patience of a professional spy. She was by nature very direct, and the thought of visiting the shop at hourly intervals for the rest of the week appalled her. Bishop had told her that, on the two occasions when the shop had been reconnoitered, Sheng Ti had been found
inside
it, the first time in the company of Mr. Feng, the second time alone. Where was he now? There was no way to disguise herself and keep the shop under surveillance-she would be noticed at once—and in any case the whole point of her being in Hong Kong was to find and talk with Sheng Ti.

She would go in. Carstairs might not approve but she would go in.

Calmly Mrs. Pollifax entered Feng Imports.

The man seated behind the counter had the face of an ancient Manchu, with skin wrinkled like crepe paper and the ghost of a goatee at his chin; his eyes were nearly suffocated by folds of flesh, but they were shrewd as they moved over the roses on her head and then dropped to her face. She thought he looked tired, like a man who had been seated in this shabby store for all of his life but had once expected a great deal more and had not yet resigned himself to having less.

“Good afternoon,” she said cheerfully.

“Good afternoon,” he responded, placing his hands in the voluminous sleeves of his robe and bowing slightly.

“I’ve come to see Sheng Ti,” she announced, and waited.

The girl looked up quickly and just as quickly looked away. The man—Mr. Feng, she supposed—stiffened slightly but nothing stirred in his impassive face. “I do not understand,” he said politely. “Shangchi?”

“Sheng Ti,” repeated Mrs. Pollifax.

To the girl he murmured, his eyes on Mrs. Pollifax, “You may go, Lotus.” After another swift and curious glance at Mrs. Pollifax the girl walked to the back of the room, parted the long line of beads that curtained the doorway and disappeared, leaving the beads gently swaying and rustling in her wake. “But,” said the man gently, “there is no one here by that name.”

Oh dear
, thought Mrs. Pollifax,
they’re going to be difficult, very difficult
. “Nonsense,” she said cordially, “of course he’s here, I’ve been told on excellent authority that he works here, and if he no longer works here perhaps you can tell me where he does. Because,” she added breathlessly, “I’m on holiday for the week in Hong Kong and really must say hello to him before I leave. You’re Mr. Feng?”

“Told he works here?” repeated the man, blinking.

Mrs. Pollifax brought out Bishop’s scribbled memo and read from it in a clear loud voice. “Sheng Ti, care of Feng Imports, 31 Dragon Alley … you
are
Mr. Feng?”

He stared curiously at the slip of paper. “If I may see—” His hand reached out with astonishing speed and grasped it before she could either protest or pull back.

He said sharply,
“Who gave you this?”

“A friend of Sheng Ti’s.”

“Friend? Of Sheng Ti?”

It felt suddenly important to emphasize that yes,
Sheng Ti might have a friend or two. She said tartly, “Is that so surprising, such a charming young man?”

His voice was cool. “And how would such a person as you know such a person as Sheng Ti?”

Even more coolly she said, “I really fail to see how it’s any concern of yours, Mr. Feng, but since you insist on an inquisition, I met him in mainland China, near Turfan, in Xinjiang Province. Really,” she said sternly, “it was the most appalling situation, and quite a shock to an American tourist, I can assure you. First my meeting Sheng Ti in the marketplace and then the long talk we had—”

He said dryly, “You speak Chinese?”

She waved this aside impatiently. “A companion did, and hearing of his unhappy situation, and then learning he had the opportunity to leave China—but so
illicitly, so dangerously
”—she allowed her voice to falter dramatically—“I have since made every effort—every
effort
—to find out what happened to him.” She added in an aggrieved voice, “Which meant knocking on
many
doors and writing a
great
many letters, and
not
taking no for an answer, and I
will
not take no for an answer
now
.”

He returned the paper to her. “But you have been misinformed, Mrs.—er—”

“Pollifax.”

“Thank you. We are importers here, Mrs. Pollifax, there is no Sheng Ti.”

She looked at him squarely, noting that he refused to meet her gaze. “Then why have you asked so many questions? Frankly, sir, I don’t believe you.”

Behind the beaded curtain she heard a soft laugh; an amused voice said, “Bring our stubborn friend in, Feng.”

Mr. Feng’s lips thinned. “I don’t think—”

“Bring her in.” There was a sharpness in the voice that startled Mr. Feng, who shrugged, turned toward the curtain and gestured Mrs. Pollifax to follow him.

The multicolored beads slithered and whispered again. Mrs. Pollifax entered a cubbyhole of an office where the girl Lotus was seated now at a desk stringing what looked to be pearls. The man who had eavesdropped from behind the curtain led her through this room, presenting only his back to her, but she could see that he was a large man wearing a well-tailored silk suit and that he limped slightly.

The room they entered made her blink, its brightness startling after the dimness of the shop. A huge window had been set very high into one wall, at a slant to catch the north light; two walls were lined with shelves of exquisite ancient jade and ivory figurines, another with wooden packing cartons, and under the window ran a bench and long table on which she saw a pile of glittering small stones.

But the stranger interested her more and she turned quickly to look at him.

He bowed slightly. “Pray sit down,” he said, and to the man behind her, “That will be all, Mr. Feng.” He moved behind a small desk in the corner and gestured her to one of the chairs nearby.

Mrs. Pollifax guessed that he was Eurasian, and therefore Mr. Detwiler, although only the shape of his eyes suggested an oriental parent. His face was broad and fleshy, the nose flat and his mouth very wide, the thin lips turning upward at each corner and giving him a very pleasant look but also a Buddha-like smile that appeared fixed and immutable. His suit was black, his shirt a gleaming white and she noticed gold cuff links
at the wrists and a modest gold pin at his tie. A faint aroma of musk reached her from where he sat.

She told him firmly, “I’m looking for Sheng Ti—as you may have heard.”

“Yes indeed,” he said, his smile deepening slightly. “But what do you want of this Sheng Ti?”

“To make sure that he’s well and happy,” she said promptly, “but—if I may be frank?”

“But of course,” he said with an encouraging nod.

Without the slightest twinge of conscience Mrs. Pollifax produced the
pièce de résistance
that she had worked over during her passage from the shop into this room. “Well,” she said, leaning forward confidentially, “I went to a great deal of trouble to find him because he weighed terribly on my mind. I went back to the States, where I am currently president of my garden club, and I told them about Sheng Ti and,” she told him in triumph, “they have voted to sponsor his entry into the United States!”

“You have indeed been busy,” he said, his eyes watching her face with interest. “May I see the paper with its directions to Sheng Ti?”

“Of course,” she said, handing over Bishop’s memo again. “
Is
Sheng Ti here?”

The man studied the memo. “How
exactly
did you get this?” he asked.

Mrs. Pollifax drew a deep breath and sailed in. “Well, I knew the name of the American with whom Sheng Ti was leaving China, you see, and so I tracked him down, and he told me that Sheng Ti had been left in Hong Kong, and he gave me an address—in Washington, of all places!” she added innocently. “And finally—after many very insistent letters and calls—it was all very strange—I was given this.”

The man stared at the memo and nodded. “You could have received this from only one source, no one else could possibly know of Sheng Ti’s presence here.”

“He
is
here, then!”

“Oh yes,” he said smoothly, handing her back the memo with a smile, “but it has of course been infinitely mysterious to us, your knowing of his presence. You are visiting Hong Kong for how long?” he asked politely.

“A week. To see the flowers. I myself have won a number of prizes for my geraniums and—”

“Yes,” he said, interrupting her and leaning forward, “but you must drop the idea of seeing Sheng Ti, if you please. He is quite well—working hard—and I really have to insist that he not be distracted by seeing you.”

“Not see him!” cried Mrs. Pollifax in her best shocked voice. “But I’ve come so far, and I thought—my garden club thought—”

“But he is very happy here,” Detwiler assured her smoothly. “Perhaps later, another year, but he is useful to me and once he has learned more English he will be even more useful. I intend,” he said softly but firmly, “to keep him here. For the moment, anyway,” he added in a more conciliatory voice.

Mrs. Pollifax said darkly, “He hoped to go to school, are you sending him to school? And to learn a trade, too, and—”

He said gently, “On that score you may rest. He is being taught English, yes, and also something of jade and diamonds. Come and see,” he said, rising and pointing to the workbench. “There are perhaps a hundred thousand U.S. dollars’ worth of diamonds here, something you may never see again.

Mrs. Pollifax started to protest, knowing very well
that she was being diverted, but, feeling that she had at least entered the dragons’ den and met the head dragon, she allowed herself the diversion. “May I inquire your name?” she asked sweetly. “I believe you already know mine is Mrs. Pollifax.”

He said absently, “Detwiler, but just look at this stone, will you? Five carats—beautifully cut and polished.”

“You sell them here in your shop?” she asked.

“Oh no, they’re sent all over the world. These particular stones were cut in Antwerp and sent here to Hong Kong to be polished … Hong Kong imports millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds to be finished. These … who knows? Lotus has the invoices and could tell us but they will go to many places: Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Japan …” He shrugged. “But allow me to give you a small souvenir of your visit to Hong Kong. Not a diamond, of course, but something still rather special. To not leave disappointed.”

“Oh?”

“Or empty-handed—I insist.” He moved to the shelves of ivory and jade objects, picked out a jade figurine, shook his head, returned it to the shelf and selected another, holding it out to Mrs. Pollifax. “Ivory,” he said softly. “Is it not beautiful?”

“A Buddha!” she gasped. “How lovely!” The figure was roughly twelve inches tall and a masterpiece of intricate carving, the Buddha seated in the traditional lotus position, the hands carved in exquisite detail. On his head he wore an unusual headdress that rose to a peak—a triumph of craftmanship in its delicate lacelike detail—while the folds of his robe fell in very simple lines and the face was utterly serene.

“Please—it is yours,” he told her. “It is as valuable
as Sheng Ti is to me, and as valuable as your concern for him. In appreciation of your concern.”

“How very disarming of you,” said Mrs. Pollifax, feeling not at all disarmed and already wondering what she would do next to find Sheng Ti. “And how lovely of you to do this,” she added.

“Lotus,” he called, “come and take this to Mr. Feng to wrap for the lady.”

The girl came at once, giving Mrs. Pollifax another curious glance, and left the room carrying the Buddha.

“Well,” said Mrs. Pollifax with a sigh, “I mustn’t take up any more of your time—or mine, either—for there’s so much to
see
in Hong Kong.” She shook her head. “But my garden club is going to be heartbroken, although if he really is learning a trade, and is happy—you’re sure?”

“That,” said Detwiler smoothly, “I can assure you of most sincerely, Mrs. Pollifax.”

“But I do wonder,” she said, feeling that her act needed one last touch, “if you would have any objections if members of the garden club wrote to Sheng Ti from the United States? He could become”—she swallowed her dismay at the expression and hurled it at him—“a
pen pal?
”

“No objections at all,” said Detwiler, looking relieved. “A most auspicious way for him to practice his English, and Sheng Ti would be touched, I know.”

Mrs. Pollifax composed her face into an agreeable mask, shook his hand, murmured her pleasure at meeting him, her apologies for interrupting him, her gratitude at the gift and moved toward the office and then through the beaded curtains. Here a man stood waiting, a young Chinese wearing a flawlessly cut dark business suit and carrying an attaché case. At sight of Detwiler
he brightened, bowed, and brushed past Mrs. Pollifax to enter the inner sanctum that she’d just left.

Mr. Feng held out her package wrapped in white paper. “Your gift,” he said, his face still impassive, a mask concealing what, she wondered, resentment, suspicion, anger?