The Headmaster's Wager (41 page)

“But the letter is true,” said Percival. “I'm not hiding anything.”

“I know. Cho has been a patriot since the time of the French. He has survived by being suspicious, and he wants to be sure that what you say is true.”

“If he is such a patriot, why was he gambling at the Sun Wah?”

“Every man has weaknesses. It's one of the reasons he put you on the assassination list in 1968—he reported that he only got five hundred taels from you, that you shorted him on the ransom. He lost some, kept some. He was only a colonel then. His superiors would have shot him. Now, he is a general, so that doesn't matter anymore.”

“Then why should he let me live now? ”

“He can't kill you now. I've thought it through. The school is too
valuable to disrupt anything. He just has to know he's in control of it.”

“That's why he makes you beat me. To know he controls you.”

Mak's face tightened. “I'm sorry. But I'm doing this to rescue Dai Jai. I'm doing it for you.”

Percival thought of Dai Jai, Jacqueline, and Laing Jai. If he died here, they would not know where to look for him. Would they always wonder if his ghost was wandering unsettled, just as he had always worried about the spirit of Chen Kai? “If … old friend, however this ends, you promise to tell Jacqueline what happened, yes? And you will help her? She wants to leave Vietnam. She is right. She and the boy must go. If I don't return, then you must help—”

“Don't talk like that.”

He stumbled over his words, spoke like a frantic child despite himself. “But you promise, because she is right! They can't stay, and you must—”

“No, you will tell her yourself,” insisted Mak, straightening up. Footsteps approached the door. “Listen to me: You will see Jacqueline. Be angry with me when General Cho comes back. He wants to know that I am loyal to him. He wants to see our friendship split apart. We will rescue Dai Jai.”

Percival felt tears coming freely. “Yes, you brought me here to pay for it.”

As Cho entered, Mak struck Percival in the belly, so hard that Percival felt he would collapse into the ground if it were not for the ropes that circled him. He wept openly, without inhibition or exaggeration. Cho lugged a car battery with him. He placed it in front of Percival's chair. From the table, Cho collected some twisted wires, rubber-coated, frayed at the exposed ends. Percival thought of relieving his bladder, which was almost full to bursting. He could not bring himself to do it, even though he was already a mess. With the care of a tailor, Mak rolled up Percival's pant legs. Gently, he tied a wire around Percival's left ankle.

Cho leaned on the table and drank water from the same cup that Percival had drunk from a moment before. He turned to Percival. “Do you know why we are bothering with this?”

“Because you enjoy it,” said Percival.

Cho snorted. “Because your school has become so important to us. It is terrible, that a school run by a greedy Chinese would be so crucial. But it is, thanks to Mak. We know the orders that are given from Saigon even before they reach their own soldiers. The Americans are so persistent—they say that the war is over, but their advisors in Saigon still tell the South Vietnamese generals what to do. Your graduates translate. Comrade Mak, the wire is too loose.”

Under Cho's watch, Mak tightened the wire so that it bit Percival's skin.

Mak had told him to show a split between them. Percival summoned a shout. “Mak, you have betrayed me! ”

Mak yelled, “I am a patriot.” He slapped Percival across the face.

Cho waved his hand, indicating that Mak should proceed. Mak took the wire tied to Percival's ankle and attached the other end to a battery terminal, screwed it down. Then he attached another wire to the other terminal. He grasped the rubber casing and touched the loose end to Percival's right leg. Pain shot through Percival's legs, hot and burning. The invisible flame of electricity seared through his groin and genitals. Mak took the wire off after what felt like an eternity, though it was perhaps a few moments.

Percival felt real anger rising. “But you are
Teochow
. Why are you mixed up with these Annamese and their squabbles?”

“It is different for me,
hou jeung
. I was born here.” Mak crouched near the battery.

From the table, Cho produced a coat hanger. He donned gloves. Cho took the wire from Mak and twisted it around the hanger. He pulled it out to make a wire flail, with which he began to beat Percival's arms, legs, whatever was exposed. Percival felt his thigh muscles, his arms, his torso spasm beyond his control. Cho spoke calmly as he beat his victim. “I would have preferred to arrange your accidental death, but Mak thinks there is a risk in that. You and Peters are friends. He trusts you, and hasn't seen Mak in years. The school's connection to the Americans might be lost, Mak tells me.” The electricity seared from within. “Meanwhile, if you were going around Saigon, clumsily
trying to get in touch with Chinese communists to rescue your son, it would be a disaster for us.” The hanger whistled as it fell, crackled when it landed.

Through the pain, Percival said, “Ah, I see, so you are stuck with me! ”

Cho held the hanger aloft, and punched Percival in the face. Cho's knuckles tore the fragile, swollen skin. “Don't be confused. You are the one who is stuck!” he said. “If we bring Dai Jai back, he will also be our security for your good behaviour.” Methodically, he struck Percival again, then shoved the hanger into the waistband of Percival's trousers.

Percival gasped. “If Dai Jai can be rescued. I will keep your secret!”

Cho pulled the rusty, crumbling hanger out and stood holding it. In the hollow, quiet respite, he said, “What I want is simple. You make no inquiries. You attract no attention. There is one more thing that you must know, if you want your son.”

“Just bring him home.”

“And if we do that, Dai Jai will return to Saigon, and he will certainly try to find the girl whom he loved.” In the absence of being beaten, or shocked, each word sounded more acute to Percival. Cho said, “And Dai Jai will find his lover, and his son.”

Percival remembered the closed classroom doors after school, but he had not wondered about the boy's girlfriend since Dai Jai had left for China. Percival had almost forgotten that youthful infatuation. Dai Jai's son? Long ago, while Dai Jai was still recovering, Foong Jie had all but confirmed his trysts with a fellow student. Percival had decided to ignore it, to allow the boy this comfort after his ordeal at the National Police Headquarters. What would Cho know about it?

Cho raised the exposed end of the hanger and stabbed it through the trousers deep into Percival's right thigh. “You are sure that you will make no disturbance, attract no attention?” The electricity burned from within, and Percival felt that he was floating above the scene, blubbering, denying that he was an American spy, claiming ignorance, raging and begging for mercy. Percival was leaving
himself, heard himself screaming, “Yes! Your secret is safe! I will pay anything, Mr. Cho! I don't care if my son has a child!”

Cho yanked the wire out, and said, “Good, because Dai Jai will find his lover and son
with you
.” Mak looked shocked, caught off balance that Cho had said this.

Percival heard his own voice, “Jacqueline and Dai Jai …”

“Now, Headmaster Percival Chen, do you feel something worse than the electricity?” Cho stood holding the wire in his hand. “The truth is more painful, yes? My luck was not so good when we gambled together, but perhaps you were even more unlucky. How much simpler for you if I had won the girl's introduction.” Cho jabbed again with the hanger, pushed it hard into Percival's flesh. Between Percival's legs, now, the soft release of his urine came almost pleasurably. One tension was relieved. He felt his vision fade and heard Cho asking, “Are you sure you still want your son back?”

“Yes,” said Percival, “yes.”

HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED? IT
could have been hours or days. The wire gone, only a puncture oozing blood marked his throbbing leg. He had shit himself. Was he alone? There was one sound only, a dripping. He called out to Mak. No reply. He called again, still nothing but the drip. Water, of course, Cho had once explained it to him.

Alone, Percival summoned denial. It was a lie. He had seen Dai Jai's girlfriend himself, if only a glimpse of her slim silhouette through the flame trees before Dai Jai's arrest. No, it could not have been Jacqueline. This was some strange torture of Cho's, just like the beating. Perhaps he could think his way above it—it was a revenge because Percival had won that game of mah-jong, taking both the money and Jacqueline. What did Cho want from it? From the beating, he wanted a guarantee of Percival's innocence and his loyalty. From this hateful claim, he wanted … Percival must try to think of the motive. Then he would not feel it so much. It was difficult to think. Rising out from the dull pain that occupied his whole body, Percival felt the pin prick on his head. Water, yes. The cold water dripped on his head, each drip a sharper jab. Despite the way he met
Jacqueline, Percival had always drawn such reassurance from Laing Jai's resemblance to his eldest son.

There was a little light from below the door, but was it any different from the glow that had been there before? Had dawn replaced dusk? Or the other way around? More dripping. Percival's tongue was crusted with dried blood. If only he could quench his thirst, refresh his mouth. It was so close, the water, falling on his head.

He leaned back and tried to catch a drop. It was too dark to see the bucket. It must be hung high. He craned his neck, and the drips were daggers in his eyes. He strained and arched, but the closest he could get was that the water fell on the bridge of his nose, and from there a small drop followed the curve of his upper lip, trickling to the side, where he caught it with his tongue. He sat forward, the dripping continuing on the one spot. What could Cho wish to extract by telling this lie, he thought defiantly, this ridiculous assertion that Jacqueline had been Dai Jai's lover? The ice melted drop by drop. He could picture his scalp red, imagined it finally splitting like an overripe fruit.

A car approached, its engine familiar, then stopped. Car doors squeaked open, then slammed. Footsteps, and the clank of metal as the door of the shack was pushed. Then, silence. The open door was a rectangle of weak light. It could be late evening. But he heard a bird, was it a morning bird? The gas lamp had been snuffed out, so the interior of this place, the centre where he sat, was a black pit.

Then a bright light shone in Percival's face, searing. Cho wielded it, a flashlight? He examined the top of Percival's head. “You must be anxious to end this. Confess your mission!” Cho's breath smelled of sour alcohol, and his words were slurred. “Mak is such a good friend. To me, and also to you. We went for some noodles and rice beer, and I had a girl. He didn't feel like one, but he treated me. Have you remembered yet who sent you? Which American are you working for? ”

“None. My father came to find the Gold Mountain,” he heard himself mumbling. It was hard to form words with his swollen lips. Another person entered the shack, it must be Mak. Where were the ancestors' spirits now?

“You have such a sentimental friend. If it were up to me, you would have been killed at Tet in 1968. Mak prevented that.” Cho lurched a little to one side, then turned back and struck the top of Percival's head with the flashlight. “Your head is ripe. Sometimes I help to peel the fruit. Look up. Sit up.” He gestured like an orchestral conductor. Percival struggled to keep his head up. “If you had been shot in 1968, Mak would have become headmaster of your school and we would not be enjoying this time together. Granted, you have been a perfect stooge. The Americans who employ your students have no idea that Mak even exists.
You
are the person who sends translators and typists. But I am worried about Mak's sentimentalism.” He struck Percival once more, whistled, and shone the light in his eyes. “What a mess you are.” He paced unsteadily in front of Percival. “What a night that was, you winning your son's lover from me in a game of chance. I didn't know who she was either, when I placed my bets. A lovely slut, I thought. A lucky night for you. So it seemed. What shall we do now?” Cho inspected Percival's head. “This is becoming tiresome.”

“Please, save Dai Jai,” Percival managed to say, “Mr. Cho.”

“That, again. You've had a pleasant time in this country, haven't you? With your big house, your money, your sweet girl, and your sons, or one son and a grandson, I should say.” Cho continued, “There is a saying, that the
métisse
belongs to the last man she slept with. Have you heard that saying? Tell your son that one.” Percival lunged in his chair, almost fell over.

“Comrade Cho, I know Headmaster Chen better than he knows himself,” Mak hurried to say. He crouched down next to his friend. “I assure you, he will not betray us to the Americans. When Dai Jai returns, nothing will happen with Jacqueline to jeopardize the school. Everything will be handled discreetly, yes,
hou jeung
?”

Cho addressed Mak in a low tone, slowly, as if with pity. “Why do you still call him
hou jeung
?”

“Excuse me, sir, out of habit.” said Mak. His voice was hoarse as he crouched by Percival. “Swear that you will betray nothing to the Americans, that you won't make any scene whatever happens with Jacqueline when Dai Jai returns, that you will keep your American
friendships as always, that you will preserve the school exactly as it is. That's all you need to do,
hou je
 … Chen Pie Sou.” Mak spoke as if it were true, about Jacqueline and Dai Jai. Why would he do that?

Cho pulled Mak up. “I have come to a decision about the prisoner,” he said.