Ma Joong halted before a high wooden platform, put up next to the door of the largest gambling hall. It was loaded with piles of platters and bowls, filled with sweetmeats and candied fruit. Over it was a scaffolding that carried rows of paper models, representing houses, chariots, boats, all sorts of furniture, and piles of folded clothes, also made of paper. This was one of the many altars put up at the beginning of the seventh month, for the benefit of the souls of the departed that roam about freely among the living, all during the Festival of the Dead. The ghosts may taste from the food, and choose from the paper models what they need for their life in the Hereafter. On the thirtieth of the seventh month, at the close of the festival, the food is distributed among the poor, and the altars and the paper models are burned, the smoke carrying the chosen objects to their unearthly destination. The festival reminds the people that death is not a final parting, for once every year the departed come back and for a few weeks take part in the lives of those who had been dear to them.
After Ma Joong had admired the display, he said to himself with a grin:
‘Uncle Peng’s soul won’t be here! He didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he was mighty fond of a round of gambling, in his day! Must have been lucky at it too, seeing that he left me two good, solid gold bars! I bet his soul is floating about over the gaming tables. I’d better go inside, maybe he’ll give his young nephew a few useful tips!’
He entered the hall, paid ten coppers, and watched for a while the dense crowd round the large gaming table in the centre. Here the simplest and most popular game was in progress, one had to bet on the exact number of copper coins that the superintendent of the table covered under an upturned rice bowl. Then he elbowed his way to the staircase in the back.
In the large room upstairs the gamblers were seated in groups of six round a dozen or so smaller tables, engaged in various games with cards and dice. Here all the customers were well-dressed, at one table Ma Joong noticed two men wearing official caps. On the back wall hung a red signboard, inscribed in large black letters: ‘Every game must be settled at once and in cash.’
While Ma Joong was debating with himself what table he should join, a small hunchback sidled up to him. He wore a neat blue dress but his large head with the tousled grey hair was bare. Looking up at Ma Joong’s towering figure with his beady eyes, he said in a shrill voice:
‘If you want a game, you’ll have to show me how much cash you carry.’
‘What has that got to do with you?’ Ma Joong asked angrily.
‘Everything!’ a deep voice spoke up behind him.
Ma Joong turned round and found himself face to face with an enormous man, as tall as himself but with a chest as round as a barrel. His large head seemed to grow directly from his broad shoulders and his breast was bulging like the shell of a crab. He gave Ma Joong a searching look from his round, slightly protruding eyes.
‘Who might you be?’ Ma Joong asked, astonished.
‘I am the Crab,’ the large man explained in a tired voice.’ My colleague here is called the Shrimp. At your service.’
‘Haven’t you also got a fellow called Salt?’ Ma Joong asked.
‘No. Why?’
‘So that I can mash you all three together in boiling water and have myself a meal,’ Ma Joong replied contemptuously.
‘Tickle me, will you?’ the Crab asked the hunchback sadly. ‘I am supposed to laugh at customers’ jokes.’
The Shrimp ignored him. Looking up at Ma Joong along his thin, pointed nose, he asked sharply:
‘Can’t you read? The signboard over there says that customers have to settle in cash. To prevent disappointment on the part of all concerned, newcomers have to show us how much they can afford to stake.’
‘That’s not unreasonable,’ Ma Joong agreed reluctantly.’ You two belong to this establishment?’
‘Me and the Shrimp are observers,’ the Crab said quietly. ‘Employed by Mr Feng Dai, the warden.’
Ma Joong regarded the incongruous pair with a speculative eye. Then he reached down and pulled his official pass from his boot. Handing it to the Crab, he said:
‘I work for Magistrate Dee of Poo-yang, who is now the Assessor in charge here. I’d like to have a quiet talk with you.’
The pair scrutinized the pass. The Crab gave it back to Ma Joong, saying with a sigh:
‘That means a parched throat. Let’s sit out on the balcony, Mr Ma, and have a drink and a snack. On the house.’
The three men sat down in a corner from where the Crab could keep an eye on the gamblers inside. Soon a waiter placed a large platter heaped with fried rice and three pewter wine-jugs on their table.
During the exchange of the usual polite inquiries it turned out that the Crab and the Shrimp had lived all their lives on Paradise Island. The Crab was a boxer of the eighth grade; soon he and Ma Joong were deep in a discussion on the merits of various blows and grips. The small hunchback did not take part in this technical conversation, he concentrated on the rice, which disappeared with amazing speed. When there was nothing left on the platter, Ma Joong took a long draught from his wine beaker, leaned back in his chair and said contentedly, patting his belly:
‘Now that the preliminary work has been successfully completed, I feel strong enough for tackling official business. What do you fellows know about the Academician Lee?’
The Crab exchanged a quick look with the Shrimp. The latter said:
‘So that’s what your boss is after, eh? Well, to give you the gist, the Academician began and ended his stay here badly, but in between he had lots of fun, I understand.’
The sounds of an altercation came from the room. The Crab was up and inside with a speed amazing in so ponderous a man. The Shrimp emptied his wine cup and resumed:
‘This is how it was. Ten days ago, on the eighteenth, the Academician and five friends arrive here, in a large boat, from the capital. They had spent two days on the river, and every day they had been drinking and feasting from morning till night. The boatmen had dutifully taken care of the left-overs, so all were drunk. There’s a thick mist, their boat rams a junk belonging to our boss Feng, carrying his daughter. She was coming back from a visit to relatives in the village upstream, There’s considerable damage, they don’t reach the landing stage here till dawn, and the Academician has to promise to pay a round sum, in settlement of the damage. That’s what I meant when I said that his stay on the island began badly, you see. Then he and his friends go to the Hostel of Eternal Bliss, the Academician rents for himself the Red Pavilion.’
‘That’s the selfsame place my boss is staying in!’ Ma Joong exclaimed.’ But he isn’t afraid of ghosts. I suppose the Academician committed suicide right there?’
‘I didn’t mention suicides, neither did I mention ghosts,’ the hunchback said pointedly.
The Crab, who was re-joining them, had heard the last remark.
‘We don’t talk gladly about ghosts,’ he said, sitting down again. ‘And the Academician didn’t commit suicide.’
‘Why?’ Ma Joong asked, astonished.
‘Because,’ the Shrimp resumed, ‘as an observer, I observed him. Here, at the gaming table. Remained cool as a cucumber, winning or losing. Not the suicide type. That’s why.’
‘We have been observing people here for ten years, you know,’ the Crab added. ‘Know all the types, every single one of them. Take that young poet, Mr Kia Yu-po. Lost all his money here, every last copper, in one sitting. The high-strung, excitable type. Might commit suicide as soon as you have turned your head. As to the Academician, no sir. No suicide for him. Never.’
‘He became involved with a woman, though,’ Ma Joong remarked.’ Women often make a man behave like a fool. When I think of the things they made me do, sometimes …’
‘He didn’t commit suicide,’ the Crab repeated stolidly. ‘He was a cold, calculating bastard. If a wench jilted him, he would try to play her a dirty trick. Not kill himself.’
‘The alternative is murde
r!’ Ma Joong said dryly.
The Crab looked shocked. He asked the Shrimp:
‘I didn’t mention the word murder, did I?’
‘You didn’t!’ the hunchback replied firmly.
Ma Joong shrugged.
‘Who was the wench he slept with?’ he asked.
‘He saw much of our Queen Flower during the week he stayed here,’ the Shrimp replied, ‘but he also saw much of Carnation, of the next street, and of Jade Flower, and of Peony. He may have had with them what you law-officers call carnal relations, then again he may have only tickled them a bit, playful-like. Ask the girls, not me. I wasn’t there to hold then-legs.’
‘Might be an interesting line of inquiry!’ Ma Joong said with a grin. ‘In any case, they had a good time, tickling or otherwise. Then what happened?’
‘Three days ago, the morning of the twenty-fifth,’ the Shrimp went on,’ the Academician rents a boat for his five friends, and sends them off, back to the capital. He returns to the Red Pavilion, takes his luncheon there, alone. He spends the afternoon in his room, for the first time he doesn’t go to the tables. He dines alone, also for the first time. Then he locks himself in his room, and a few hours later is found with his throat cut.’
‘Amen,’ said the Crab.
The Shrimp pensively scratched his long nose. He resumed:
‘Now most of this is based on hearsay, you know. Take it or leave it. With our own eyes we observed only this: the curio-dealer Wen Yuan went to that hostel that night, some time after dinner.’
‘So he visited the Academician!’ Ma Joong said eagerly.
‘Those fellows of the tribunal do put words in one’s mouth, don’t they?’ the hunchback asked the Crab plaintively.
‘It’s their habit!’ the Crab replied with a shrug.
‘I said, my friend,’ the Shrimp explained patiently, ‘that we observed Wen going to the hostel. That’s all.’
‘Heavens,’ Ma Joong exclaimed,’ if, besides visitors from outside, you two keep an eye also on all your prominent citizens, you must have a busy life!’
‘We don’t keep an eye on all our prominent citizens,’ the Crab said. ‘Only on Wen.’ The Shrimp nodded emphatically. ‘Three trades bring in the big money here,’ the Crab continued, looking earnestly at Ma Joong with his protruding eyes. ‘One, gambling and whoring, that’s our boss Feng’s business. Two, eating and drinking, that’s Mr Tao’s business. Three, buying and selling antiques, that is the affair of Mr Wen. Stands to reason that the three trades keep in close contact. If a fellow wins much at the tables, we pass on the good word to Tao’s and Wen’s men. Maybe the fellow wants to throw a big party, maybe he’ll want to invest his money in a beautiful antique-expertly faked. Contrariwise, if a fellow loses heavily, we’ll see whether the man hasn’t perhaps a good-looking concubine or maidservant to sell, and Wen’s men’ll approach him about any good antique he might want to dispose of. And so on. Work out all possible combinations for yourself.’
‘Sound business organization!’ Ma Joong remarked.
‘Perfect,’ the Shrimp agreed. ‘Thus we have Feng, Tao and Wen. Our boss Feng is a straight, honest man, so the government appointed him warden of the island. That gives him a finger in every pie, and makes him the wealthiest of the three. But he has to work for it, mind you! If the warden is honest, everybody here makes good profits, and the customers are content. Only fools who ask for it get cheated. If the warden is crooked, profits increase twenty times, including his own. But then this place goes to the dogs in no time at all. Thus, it’s fortunate that Feng is straight. But he has no son, only a daughter. So if he dies, or gets into trouble, the job goes to someone else. Tao Pan-te is a scholar-like gentleman, doesn’t like meddling. He would never want to be warden. Now, you know about Feng and Tao, two prominent citizens. I didn’t mention Wen Yuan, did I now, Crab?’
‘You didn’t!’ the Crab said gravely.
‘What do you mean by telling me all this?’ Ma Joong asked crossly.
‘He described a situation for you,’ the Crab replied.
‘Right!’ the Shrimp said with satisfaction. ‘I described a situation, as I observed it. But, inasmuch as you seem a good fellow, Mr Ma, I’ll add something I only have from hearsay. Thirty years ago Tao’s father, a gentleman called Tao Kwang, committed suicide in the Red Pavilion. Window barred, door locked on the inside. And thirty years ago, on that selfsame night, the curio-dealer Wen was also seen near the hostel. Call it a coincidence.’
‘Well,’ Ma Joong said cheerfully, ‘I’ll tell my boss that he’ll have to reckon with two ghosts in his bedroom. Now that we have dealt with the official business, I want your advice on a purely personal problem.’
The Crab sighed. He said wearily to the Shrimp:
‘He wants a wench.’ And, to Ma Joong: ‘Heavens, man, walk into any house you like in the next street. You’ll find all types, all special skills, all sizes. Just help yourself!’
‘Precisely because you have such a varied stock here,’ Ma Joong explained, ‘I want something extra-special. I am a native of Foo-ling in this province, and tonight I want a girl from there.’
The Crab rolled up his round eyes.
‘Hold my hand!’ he told the Shrimp disgustedly. ‘I am going to burst out in tears. A girl from his own village!’
‘Well,’ Ma Joong said, somewhat self-consciously, ‘it just so happens that I haven’t made love in my own dialect for quite a few years.’
‘He’s a sleep-talker. Bad habit,’ the Crab commented to the Shrimp. He went on to Ma Joong: ‘All right. Go to the Blue Tower, in the south quarter. Tell the woman in charge we want her to reserve Silver Fairy for you. She’s from Foo-ling, superior quality above and below the navel, and a friendly person. She also sings well, being taught by a Miss Ling, in the olden days a famous courtesan here. But you won’t be interested in music, I suppose. Go to the Blue Tower towards midnight, now it’s too early, she’ll be out attending a dinner somewhere. Then you do your talking tricks. Need our advice on that too?’
‘Not yet! Anyway, thanks for the tip. You sound as if you don’t care much for women, though.’
‘We don’t,’ the Shrimp said. ‘Does a baker eat his own pastries?’
‘Well, not every day, probably,’ Ma Joong admitted. ‘But now and then he’ll take a bite, I suppose. Just to see whether his stock hasn’t gone stale on him. Without the skirts life’d be a bit boring, I’d say.’
‘There’s pumpkins,’ the Crab observed gravely.
‘Pumpkins?’ Ma Joong exclaimed.
The Crab nodded ponderously. He took a toothpick from the lapel of his robe and started to work his teeth.
‘We grow them,’ the Shrimp explained. ‘The Crab and me own a small house on the riverbank, over on the west side of the island. We have a nice patch of land; there we grow pumpkins. We come home from our work at dawn, water the pumpkins, then go to sleep. We wake up late in the afternoon, we weed the patch, water it again; then we come back here.’
‘Everybody his own taste! Seems a bit monotonous to me, though.’
‘You are wrong,’ the Crab said earnestly. ‘You should watch them grow! There are no two pumpkins alike. Never.’
‘Tell him about us watering the pumpkins ten days ago,’ the Shrimp said casually. “The morning we found caterpillars on the leaves.’
The Crab nodded. He studied his toothpick, then said:
‘The same morning we saw the Academician’s boat arriving at the landing stage, that was. Quay is right opposite our pumpkin patch, you know. Wen, the curio-dealer, had a long talk with the Academician there. Stealthy-like, behind the trees. Now the Academician’s father used to buy a lot from Wen, so his son knows him. Only I don’t think they talked about antiques, by the looks of it, at least. We never leave off observing, you see. Even in our own time, and even when there are caterpillars threatening our pumpkins.’
‘We are loyal servants of Mr Feng,’ the Shrimp added. ‘We have eaten his rice these
last ten years.’
The Crab threw his toothpick away and got up.
‘Now Mr Ma wants a game,’ he said. ‘Which brings us back to where we started. How much can you afford to spend, Mr Ma?’
Chapter 5
MA JOONG PLAYED a number of rounds with three solemn rice merchants. He got fairly good cards, but didn’t enjoy himself. He liked a boisterous game, with lusty shouting and hearty cursing. First he won a little, then lost it again. That seemed a good moment to leave, so he got up from the table, said goodbye to the Crab and the Shrimp, and sauntered back to the Crane Bower.
The manager informed him that warden Feng’s dinner was nearing its end, two of the guests and the courtesans had left already. He invited him to sit down on the bench next to the counter and have a cup of tea.
Soon he saw Judge Dee coming down the broad staircase, accompanied by Feng Dai and Tao Pan-te. While the two men were conducting him to his palankeen, the judge said to Feng:
‘Tomorrow morning I’ll come to your office directly after breakfast for the formal court session. See to it that all papers regarding the Academician’s suicide are ready for me. I also want your coroner to be there.’
Ma Joong helped the judge to ascend the palankeen.
While they were being carried along, Judge Dee told his lieutenant what he had learned about the suicide. He discreetly omitted his discovery of Magistrate Lo’s infatuation, confining himself to the remark that his colleague had been right in calling the suicide a routine matter.
‘Feng’s men don’t share that view, sir,’ Ma Joong said soberly. He reported in detail what the Crab and the Shrimp had told him. When he had finished, the judge said impatiently:
‘Your friends are wrong. Didn’t I tell you that the door was locked on the inside? And you saw the barred window. No one could get in through there.’
‘But isn’t it a curious coincidence, sir, that when Tao’s father committed suicide in that same room thirty years ago, the old curio-dealer was seen there too?’
The Red Pavilion Page 4