by Kevin Kwan
“He made his fortune as a doctor?” Wye Mun asked, rather surprised.
“Not at all! James was not the sort of person who cared about making a fortune. He was too busy saving lives in World War II, during the Japanese occupation,” Dr. Gu said, staring at the crisscrossing patterns of ivy on his fence as they suddenly seemed to transform into diamond-like patterns, reminding him of a chain-link fence from a long time ago.
“So you knew him during the war?” Wye Mun asked, jarring Dr. Gu out of his recollection.
“Yes, yes, that’s how I knew him,” Dr. Gu said slowly. He hesitated for a few moments, before continuing. “James Young was in charge of an underground medical corps that I was briefly involved with. After the war, he set up his clinic in the old section of Chinatown, specifically to serve the poor and elderly. I heard that for years he charged his patients practically nothing.”
“So how did he make his money?”
“There you go again, Wye Mun, always chasing after the money,” Dr. Gu chided.
“Well, where did that huge house come from?” Wye Mun asked.
“Ah, I see the true nature of your interest now. You must be referring to the house off Tyersall Road.”
“Yes. Have you been there?” Peik Lin asked.
“Goodness, no. I only heard about it. Like I said, I really did not know James very well; I would never have been invited.”
“I dropped my friend off at the house last week, and I could hardly believe it when I saw the place.”
“You must be joking! Is the house still there?” Dr. Gu said, looking quite shocked.
“Yes,” Peik Lin replied.
“I would have thought that the place was long gone. I must say I’m quite impressed that the family never sold out in all these years.”
“Yes, I’m quite shocked that there’s a property this large on the island,” Wye Mun cut in.
“Why should you be? The whole area behind the Botanic Gardens used to be full of great estates. The Sultan of Johore had a palace over there called Istana Woodneuk that burned to the ground many years ago. You say you were there last week?” Dr. Gu queried.
“Yes, but I did not go in.”
“A pity. It would be a rare treat to see one of those houses. So few are left, thanks to all the brilliant developers,” Dr. Gu said, glaring in mock anger at Wye Mun.
“So if James Young never made any money, how did—” Wye Mun began.
“You don’t listen, Wye Mun! I said that James Young wasn’t interested in making money, but I never said he didn’t have any. The Youngs had money, generations of money. Besides, James married Shang Su Yi. And she, I can tell you for a fact, comes from a family so unfathomably rich, it would make your eyes water, Wye Mun.”
“Who is she, then?” Wye Mun asked, his curiosity piqued to boiling point.
“All right, I will tell you and shut you up once and for all. She is the daughter of Shang Loong Ma. Never heard that name, either, right? He was an enormously wealthy banker in Peking, and before the Qing dynasty fell, he very smartly moved his money to Singapore, where he made an even greater fortune in shipping and commodities. The man had his tentacles in every major business in the region—he controlled all the shipping lines from the Dutch East Indies to Siam, and he was the mastermind behind uniting the early Hokkien banks in the thirties.”
“So Nick’s grandmother inherited all of that,” Peik Lin surmised.
“She and her brother, Alfred.”
“Alfred Shang. Hmm … another fellow I’ve never heard of,” Wye Mun huffed.
“Well, that’s not surprising. He moved to England many decades ago, but he is still—very quietly—one of the most influential figures in Asia. Wye Mun, you have to realize that before your generation of fat cats, there was an earlier generation of tycoons who made their fortunes and moved on to greener pastures. I thought most of the Youngs had long since dispersed from Singapore. The last time I heard any news, it was that one of the daughters had married into the Thai royal family.”
“Sounds like a pretty well-connected bunch,” Peik Lin said.
“Oh, yes indeed. The eldest daughter, for instance, is married to Harry Leong.”
“Harry Leong, the fellow who is director of the Institute of ASEAN Affairs?”
“That’s just a title, Wye Mun. Harry Leong is one of the kingmakers in our government.”
“No wonder I always see him in the prime minister’s box at National Day celebrations. So this family is close to the center of power.”
“Wye Mun, they are the center of power,” Dr. Gu corrected, turning to Peik Lin. “You say your friend is dating the grandson? She’s a fortunate girl, then, if she marries into this clan.”
“I was beginning to think the same thing myself,” Peik Lin said quietly.
Dr. Gu considered Peik Lin thoughtfully for a moment, and then he peered straight into her eyes, saying, “Remember, every treasure comes with a price.” She caught his gaze for a moment, before looking away.
“Dr. Gu, it’s always good to see you. Thank you for all your help,” Wye Mun said, getting up. He was starting to get a backache from the rickety wooden chair.
“And thank you for the wonderful tea,” Peik Lin said, helping Dr. Gu up from his seat.
“Will you ever accept my invitation and come over for dinner? I have a new cook who makes amazing Ipoh hor fun,* Dr. Gu.”
“You’re not the only one who has a good cook, Goh Wye Mun,” Dr. Gu said wryly, walking them to their car.
As Wye Mun and Peik Lin merged into the early-evening traffic on Dunearn Road, Wye Mun said, “Why don’t we invite Rachel and her boyfriend to dinner next week?”
Peik Lin nodded. “Let’s take them somewhere classy, like Min Jiang.”
Dr. Gu stood by his gate, watching as their car disappeared. The sun was setting just over the treetops, a few rays of light penetrating through the branches and glaring into his eyes.
He awoke with a start in the blinding sun to find his bleeding wrists bound tightly against the rusty chain-link fence. A group of officers walked by, and he noticed one uniformed man staring at him intently. Did he look familiar somehow? The man went up to the commanding officer and pointed directly at him. Curse to the gods. This was it. He looked at them, trying to muster up as much hate as he could in his expression. He wanted to die defiant, with pride. The man said calmly, in a British-accented English, “There’s been a mistake. That one over there in the middle is just a poor idiot servant. I recognize him from my friend’s farm, where he rears the pigs.” One of the Japanese soldiers translated to the commanding officer, who sneered in disgust before barking out a few curt orders. He was cut loose, and brought to kneel in front of the soldiers. Through his bleary eyes, he suddenly recognized the man who had pointed him out. It was Dr. Young, who had taught one of his surgical classes when he was a medical trainee. “See, this is not a man of importance. He’s not even worth your bullets. Let him go back to the farm where he can feed the dirty pigs,” Dr. Young said, before walking off with the other soldiers. More arguing between the soldiers ensued, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself on a transport truck bound for the work farms in Geylang. Months later, he would run into Dr. Young at a meeting in the secret room hidden behind a shop house on Telok Ayer Street. He began thanking him profusely for saving his life, but Dr. Young brushed him off quickly. “Nonsense—you would have done the same for me. Besides, I couldn’t let them kill yet another doctor. There are too few of us left,” he said plainly.
As Dr. Gu walked slowly back into his house, he felt a sudden pang of regret. He wished he hadn’t said so much about the Youngs. Wye Mun, as usual, had steered him toward the stories about money, and he had missed the chance to tell them the real story, about a man whose greatness had nothing to do with wealth or power.
* * *
* A delicacy from Ipoh, Malaysia—rice noodles served in a clear soup with prawns, shredded chicken, and fried shallots.
&
nbsp; 17
Rachel
SINGAPORE
“I’ve been trying to reach you for days! Where have you been? Did you get all the messages I left at the hotel?” Kerry asked her daughter in rapid-fire Mandarin.
“Mom, I’m sorry—I was away all weekend and only just got back,” Rachel replied, raising her voice as she always did whenever she was talking to anyone long distance, even though she could hear her mother perfectly well.
“Where did you go?”
“I went to a remote island in the Indian Ocean for a bachelorette party.”
“Huh? You went to India?” her mother asked, still confused.
“No, not India. It’s an ISLAND in the INDIAN OCEAN, off the coast of Indonesia. It’s an hour plane ride from Singapore.”
“You took a plane trip just for two days? Hiyah, what a waste of money!”
“Well, I wasn’t paying, and besides, I flew on a private plane.”
“You flew on a private plane? Whose plane?”
“The bride’s.”
“Wah! So lucky, ah. Is the bride very rich?”
“Mom, these people …” Rachel began, before discreetly lowering her voice. “Both the bride and the groom come from very wealthy families.”
“Really? What about Nick’s family? Are they rich too?” Kerry asked.
How did she know this would be the next question out of her mom’s mouth?
Rachel glanced toward the bathroom. Nick was still in the shower, but she decided to step out of the room anyway. She walked into the garden toward the quiet, shadier side of the pool. “Yes, Mom, Nick comes from a wealthy family,” Rachel said, sitting down on one of the lounge chairs by the pool.
“You know, this is something I suspected all along. He’s so well brought up. I can tell just by looking at how he behaves during dinner. Such lovely manners, and he always offers me the best part of the meat, like the fish cheek or the juiciest piece of duck.”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, Mom, because it seems like everyone here is rich. I think I’m still in a bit of a culture shock, or maybe it’s cash shock. The way these people spend money—the houses and the planes and the dozens of maids—you need to see it with your own eyes. It’s as if the recession isn’t happening here. Everything is ultramodern and sparkling clean.”
“That’s all I hear from friends who visit Singapore. That it’s clean, too clean.” Kerry paused for a moment, her voice taking on a tone of concern. “Daughter, you need to watch out.”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
“I know how those families can be, and you don’t want to give them the impression that you are after Nick’s money. From now on, you need to be extra-careful how you present yourself.”
Too late for that, Rachel thought. “I’m just being myself, Mom. I’m not going to change how I behave.” She wanted so much to tell her mother about the dreadful weekend, but she knew it would only worry her needlessly. She had done the same thing with Nick, sharing only the vaguest details. (Besides, they had spent most of the afternoon in a marathon lovemaking session, and she hadn’t wanted to spoil their postcoital bliss with any horror stories.)
“Is Nick being good to you?” her mother asked.
“Of course, Mom. Nick is a sweetheart, as always. He’s just rather distracted right now with his friend’s wedding coming up. It’s going to be the biggest wedding Asia has ever seen, Mom. All the newspapers have been covering it.”
“Really? Should I get one of the Chinese newspapers when I go into San Francisco tomorrow?”
“Sure, you can try. The bride is Araminta Lee, and the groom is Colin Khoo. Look out for their names.”
“What are Nick’s parents like?”
“I don’t know. I’m meeting them tonight.”
“You have been there for almost one week and you still haven’t met his parents?” Kerry remarked, warning lights flashing in her head.
“They were out of the country last week, Mom, and then we were away this weekend.”
“So you are going to meet his parents today?”
“Yes, dinner at their house.”
“But why aren’t you staying with them?” Kerry asked, her concern growing. There were so many little signs that her Americanized daughter did not understand.
“Mom, stop overanalyzing this. Nick’s friend owns the hotel, so we’re staying here during the wedding period for the convenience. But we’re moving to his grandmother’s house next week.”
Kerry didn’t buy her daughter’s explanation. In her mind, it still made no sense that the only son of a Chinese family would be staying in a hotel with his girlfriend instead of at his parents’ house. Unless he was ashamed of Rachel. Or even worse, maybe the parents had forbidden him to bring her home.
“What are you bringing to his parents? Did you get the Estée Lauder gifts like I told you to?”
“No, I figured it would be too personal to give Nick’s mom cosmetics without having even met her. There’s a terrific florist in the hotel, and—”
“No, daughter, never bring flowers! Especially not those white ones you love. White flowers are only for funerals. You should bring them a big basket of mandarin oranges, and hand it to them with both hands. And make sure that you bow your head very deeply when you greet his mother and father for the first time. These are all gestures of respect.”
“I know, Mom. You’re acting like I’m five years old. Why are you suddenly getting so worried?”
“This is the first time you have been serious with a Chinese man. There is so much you don’t know about the proper etiquette with these families.”
“I didn’t realize you could be so old-fashioned,” Rachel teased. “Besides, Nick’s family doesn’t seem really Chinese at all. They seem more British if anything.”
“It doesn’t matter. You are Chinese, and you still need to behave like a properly brought-up Chinese girl,” Kerry said.
“Don’t worry, Mom. It’s just dinner,” Rachel said lightly, even though her anxiety was beginning to build.
18
The Youngs
SINGAPORE
With its prime position atop Cairnhill Road, the Residences at One Cairnhill was a striking marriage of architectural preservation and real estate wizardry. Originally the home of prominent banker Kar Chin Kee and built during the late-Victorian period, the house had long been a landmark. But as land values skyrocketed over the decades, all the other big houses gave way to the developers and high-rise towers sprang up around the graceful mansion like overgrown bamboo. By the time the great man died in 2006, the house was deemed far too historic to tear down, yet far too valuable to remain a single residence. So Kar Chin Kee’s heirs decided to preserve the original structure, converting it into the base of a sleek thirty-story glass tower where Nick’s parents now lived (when they were in Singapore, that is).
As the taxi climbed the hill toward the imposing Corinthian-columned portico, Nick explained its history to Rachel. “Uncle Chin Kee was a friend of my grandmother’s, so we used to visit every Chinese New Year, and I would be made to recite some elaborate poem in Mandarin. Then the old man, who reeked of cigars, would give me a hong bao* stuffed with five hundred dollars.”
“That’s insane!” Rachel exclaimed. “The biggest hong bao I ever got in my life was fifty dollars, and that was from this asshole dating my mom who was really trying to win me over. What did you do with all that money?”
“Are you kidding? My parents kept it, of course. They kept all my New Year money—I never saw a cent of it.”
Rachel looked at him in horror. “That’s just wrong! Hong baos are as sacred as Christmas presents.”
“Don’t get me started on what they did with my presents on Christmas morning!” Nick laughed. As they entered the elevator, Rachel inhaled deeply as she prepared to meet Nick’s parents—these hong bao snatchers—for the first time.
“Hey, don’t forget to breeeeathe,” Nick said, massaging her shoulders gently. On the t
hirtieth floor, the elevator opened directly into the penthouse’s foyer and they were greeted by an enormous pane of glass that framed a panoramic view of the Orchard Road shopping district. “Wow!” Rachel whispered, marveling at the deep purple dusk settling over the skyline.
A woman appeared from around the corner and said, “Aiyah, Nicky, why is your hair so long? You look like a ruffian! You better get it cut short before Colin’s wedding.”
“Hi, Mum,” Nick said simply. Rachel was still reeling from the abruptness of this encounter when Nick continued, “Mum, I’d like you to meet Rachel Chu, my girlfriend.”
“Oh, hello,” Eleanor said, as if she had no idea who the girl might be. So this is the girl. She looks better than in that school yearbook picture obtained by the detective.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Young,” Rachel found herself saying, although her mind was still trying to accept the notion that this woman could actually be Nick’s mother. Rachel had been expecting an imperious grande dame with a powdered white face and a tight perm dressed in some Hillary Clinton–esque pantsuit, but before her stood a striking woman in a trendy scoop-neck top, black leggings, and ballet flats, looking far too young to have a thirty-two-year-old son. Rachel bowed her head and presented her gift of oranges.
“How lovely! Aiyah, you really shouldn’t have!” Eleanor replied graciously. Why in the world did she bring mandarin oranges—does she think it’s Chinese New Year? And why is she bowing like some stupid Japanese geisha? “Have you been enjoying Singapore so far?”
“Yes, very much,” Rachel replied. “Nick’s taken me to have the most fantastic hawker food.”
“Where did you take her?” Eleanor looked at her son dubiously. “You’re practically a tourist yourself—you don’t know all the secret holes-in-the-wall like I do.”