by Huo Yan
When they had first arrived in Auckland, of the three of them only Ye Daying knew any English, so he took a job labouring in a fruit and vegetable shop, turning his hands to all sorts of jobs. Eventually, he had opened up a café of his own. The antiques sat at home and never once did he think of selling them, even in the family’s most difficult times.
But their circumstances had never been ideal. First, Xiaosheng’s mother sunk into depression and, after struggling on for five years, died. Then Daying developed cancer. His struggle with illness proved even shorter than his wife’s; within two years he too was gone. Before he died, he entrusted Xiaosheng with the task of taking the antiques back to China. In his notebook he had kept careful record of where and when he had collected each and every one of them. With a red pen he had marked these places on a map of Beijing, and pinned the map on the wall, so that he would fall asleep each night with his face turned towards it.
Having failed to get into university, Ye Xiaosheng had taken up a job at an insurance company. He proved rather ordinary in his abilities and was forever dependent on help from Chinese friends to make his quota. Once he had sold insurance policies to all the Chinese people in his own circle, he started to venture out in search of new clients. He started joining in the activities of the Chinese Community Hope Association, and found himself, eventually and unexpectedly, elected to the executive. John Lee had come to know him through this connection. Xiaosheng had taken the initiative to introduce himself at one of the association’s dinners, addressing him familiarly as ‘Uncle Lee’. He enquired about John Lee’s background in China, and soon enough discovered some sort of connection between them. He invited him home.
At his home, Ye Xiaosheng took out an insurance policy contract. Close to tears, he pleaded: ‘Help me out, Uncle, please. If I don’t make my quota I’ll be sacked. My dad would die of grief all over again if he heard I was on welfare.’
Xiaosheng sat with the photograph of his father directly behind him and, out of direct eyesight of his father, his crying seemed even more genuine.
John Lee was irritated by Xiaosheng’s tears, but from the moment he had come in the door his eyes had been riveted to the small ivory dragon that stood in the book cabinet. He signed the document in a hurry before asking to take a look at the dragon. It was exquisitely carved with a dense pattern of wave-like lines that spread over the creature’s body.
‘Do you like it, Uncle Lee? It was my father’s favourite when he was alive.’
John Lee nodded lightly.
‘If you really like it, I’ll sell it to you. What do you say to this price?’ Xiaosheng asked, and held up three fingers. ‘Three hundred dollars. Mate’s rates, since we get along so well. My father told me the lowest price I should accept for it was five hundred.’
John Lee patted his trouser pocket. He had just taken some money out of the bank in order to acquire a load of stock that might earn him $200, and now it seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. He hesitated for a moment and took another look at the dragon. He liked it very much.
‘If you really want it, I’ll give you a bit more of a discount. Another fifty dollars off. I can’t go any lower. Us antique dealers all need a real treasure or two.’
John Lee was tempted, although later on he was to realise that he could have got hold of the ivory dragon for only two hundred dollars. Nonetheless, once he had acquired the dragon he held on to it, placing it in the most prominent position in his shop. He had no intention of parting with it, and whenever a customer asked about the piece he would deter them with an outrageous price.
On the back of selling his father’s antiques and one or two large insurance policies, Ye Xiaosheng escaped the rut. He resigned from his job, and set himself up in business.
By all appearances he was a typical Beijinger, his belt loosened to its last eye. From the age of thirty onwards, he had cultivated a scruffy beard that served to hide the scars on his jaw. The scars had been given him by his father; when already diagnosed with terminal cancer, he had discovered that his son had sold one of his antiques, and took to Ye Xiaosheng with a wire-handled feather duster that left deep cuts on his chin.
As John Lee drank the Golden Steed Eyebrows tea that his host had brought back from China, he noticed that Ye Xiaosheng had become even fatter than before. Middle age seemed to have arrived quickly with him.
Ye Xiaosheng brought out a few antiques and placed them in front of John Lee. He did this every time they met, always coming up with some thing or other. Nobody quite knew how large his collection was.
Today, he was happy to offer John Lee a very cheap price. ‘Uncle Lee, I can’t really get interested in small stuff like this anymore.’
‘Oh?’
Ye Xiaosheng moved closer to John Lee. ‘This time in Beijing I met up with an official who told me that the best profits were to be made in milk powder. New Zealand milk powder is known by everyone there. Why don’t we set up a milk powder brand of our own and export it to China?’
‘Huh.’
‘Uncle Lee, an opportunity like this, I can’t make it happen on my own. I thought of you immediately. You must have put aside a bit in the last few years. And your wife as well. Come up with a bit of money, and you can be the boss and I’ll do the work. I’ve already got things going in China.’
John Lee took a quick sip of tea, scalding his lips. He had been sitting deeply in the sofa, but he now sat up straight, his knees together. Never for a moment had he suspected that Ye Xiaosheng would suggest that they go into business together.
‘New Zealand is a hopeless place to make money. Not a bad place to retire, but to make money you’ve got to go back to China. Just think. There are so many people there, not like here. How much more quickly is the economy growing there? I’m not just thinking about now, but the future too. Are you going to spend the rest of your life living in that old house? Am I going to spend the rest of my life in this apartment?’ Ye Xiaosheng spoke with excitement, so that the light caught the saliva at the edges of his mouth. ‘I’ve given the whole thing a lot of thought. You come up with some money. I’ll put some together as well, and I can raise more in China. We’ll put your name on the company documentation. That way we can get a bit of a subsidy from the government, since I’m not eligible. At the start we’ll need to put as much money in the business as possible, to get things moving.’
John Lee lowered his head and tried to work out in his mind how much money he could pull together. He was shocked when he converted this sum into Chinese yuan in his head. He had no idea how he had managed to save so much. His life wasn’t a pleasant one, and he’d never had a day off during his time in New Zealand. Yet his savings seemed like a reward for his hardscrabble life. He could barely believe it, but working it out on his fingers, it was true: he had saved around a hundred thousand New Zealand dollars – five hundred thousand yuan!
Ye Xiaosheng started talking about the profit he expected to make from the scheme, naming figures that John Lee had never imagined he would earn. A tremor of excitement ran through him.
Their conversation became so animated that they failed to hear the voice that came from the bathroom. The door opened a crack, and a small head emerged. ‘Xiaosheng, do you have any spare towels?’
The third time that John Lee had seen Jiang Xiaoyu was at Uncle Wang’s daughter’s wedding reception.
He would never forget their first meeting. She was sitting in his shop, her clothes soaked through, trembling like a wounded animal, biting down on her lips so tightly that they began to bleed. She warmed up a little only when John Lee gave her his coat.
The second time they had encountered each other was at Ye Xiaosheng’s house, when she poked her head out of the bathroom door and, not knowing that anyone else had come around, was taken aback at the sight of the two of them sitting together. She blushed, and seemed even more beautiful than when she had sat in his shop.
She soon re-appeared, having put on some clothes, and took a seat opposite Jo
hn Lee. She hadn’t dried her hair, and drops of water trickled down her neck before sliding down between her breasts. She was wearing a pair of pyjamas held up by a cord around her waist. Her exposed skin looked slightly swollen, heightening its delicate texture. As always, she hung her head, reluctant to look anyone in the eye, her stare fixed upon her feet.
‘You two know each other?’ Ye Xiaosheng asked in surprise, having seen them nod slightly when they recognised each other.
‘Uh-huh. I sheltered from the rain in Uncle’s shop when I was kicked out by my landlord.’
‘You should have told me. I could have come and picked you up from Uncle Lee’s shop. He’s been helping me all these years.’
John Lee stared at the girl absent-mindedly, not listening to Ye Xiaosheng.
‘Uncle Lee, this is my friend Jiang Xiaoyu. She’s living here for a while. I’m helping her look for somewhere to live. If any of your friends are letting rooms, do let me know.’
Jiang Xiaoyu raised her head and took a quick look at Ye Xiaosheng, a sense of doubt in her eyes, before hanging her head again. ‘Hello Uncle Lee,’ she said, her voice thin and reedy to his ears.
He had never imagined that he would meet Jiang Xiaoyu for a third time at the wedding of Uncle Wang’s daughter. The unexpected encounter left him even more interested in her than before.
She was dressed in an entirely new outfit. Her blue v-necked sweater showed off her collarbones and accentuated her cleavage. She had her hair tied up, bringing focus to her smooth forehead and pure white neck. She appeared haughty as a swan. She knew no one, however, and as her English was halting, she sat helplessly on her own.
After some deliberation, John Lee struck up a conversation with her.
‘Have you found somewhere to live?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve looked at a couple of places but haven’t found anywhere suitable. My old landlord cheated me out of most of my money. Ye Xiaosheng says that he is about to return to China and can’t put me up much longer. I don’t know anyone here and my English is hopeless. My family used all their savings to get me here. I can’t ask them for anything…’ Her eyes moistened as she spoke.
John Lee remembered how it had been for him when he first arrived in New Zealand. He too had been in dire straits. On his first encounter with a foreigner, the customs officer, he stammered so badly that he could hardly utter a word. The Maori officer gradually lost patience with him and started gesticulating, asking if he had any illegal products in his possession. Not fully understanding what he had been asked, John Lee stood there rigid. He heard a snort of impatience from the queue behind him, and the woman, who was hanging on to the corner of his jacket in fright, began to panic.
The more nervous he became, the more the immigration officer was convinced that he had something to hide. He was taken off to a small dark room and told to wait until an interpreter arrived.
For the half hour that he sat there, facing the blank wall with the woman’s hand in his, it was as if he had fallen into a deep dark valley.
It must be the same for Jiang Xiaoyu, he thought. Faced by her circumstances, she must feel completely at a loss. She always seemed to have her head bowed in fear, never daring to look anyone in the eye.
He thought that he might give her a hand.
‘There’s a spare room in my house. Why don’t you move in for a while?’ John Lee made a habit of reading the newspapers. Once he had a quick glance at the Chinese news and the business advertisements, he would then turn to the second-to-last page to read the death notices of local Chinese people who had recently passed away. His glasses on, he would go through the list name by name, running his finger down the page, in search of anyone that he had known.
He put down the paper and, after waiting for the woman to finish her toast, he pulled her to sit beside him, placing his hand on her knee.
‘From today onwards I’m not going to sleep with you. Do you understand?’
The woman nodded her head, breadcrumbs sticking to her lips.
‘From today onwards there will be three people living here. The girl is from China as well. I’m sorry for her. She has nowhere else to live. You must make sure not to hurt her or scare her. Do you understand?’
Again, the woman nodded her head, as if she had understood his demands.
He brushed her forehead with his lips, as if to reward her. ‘I’m your brother now.’
The woman laughed.
Ye Xiaosheng dropped Jiang Xiaoyu off at John Lee’s house. They stood at the front door, and John Lee helped her unload her luggage. She didn’t have much, just a pink suitcase and a small bundle of clothes.
‘I’ll look after Xiaoyu.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you will.’ Ye Xiaosheng took John Lee aside: ‘Uncle Lee. That business proposal we spoke about the other day, have you given it any more thought?’
John Lee had forgotten about it completely, but quickly assumed a serious air. ‘Let me think a bit longer. Business dealings, after all, shouldn’t be rushed into.’
‘That’s fine, but let me know about it as soon as possible. I’m going back to China in two days. Give Jiang Xiaoyu whatever help she needs. She’s a friend’s sister. I’d wanted to look after her myself, but you’ve seen my apartment. Having her live there was really not appropriate.’ Ye Xiaosheng stood at the door. ‘I won’t come in. We can talk on the phone.’
John Lee let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t wanted Ye Xiaosheng to come inside.
When it wasn’t raining, an endless stream of large clouds floated across the Auckland sky, like fairy floss in a child’s hand.
In John Lee’s imagination, Jiang Xiaoyu had now become that child. He helped her take her suitcase to her room. He had spent the last few days getting the room ready, buying new furniture, putting up pink curtains and buying brand new floral-patterned bedding for her, even polishing the mirror on the wardrobe. She was so beautiful, he thought, that she should spend more time looking at her reflection.
‘Is it okay?’
Jiang Xiaoyu sat on the bed, sinking her body into it. Finally, John Lee was given a good look at her face. Her eyes had a tinge of blue in them, and her skin was as flawless as a lily, her lips the colour of the reddest of red flower buds. Without his having noticed her doing so, she had loosened her hair and was now curling it around her fingers in a bewitching manner.
‘Uncle Lee, I’m completely satisfied.’ She jumped off the bed, and bent over to pick up her bag, giving him a glimpse her breasts as she did so. ‘Here’s three months’ rent. Make sure it’s all there.’
John Lee took the money and shoved it into his pocket without counting it. The amount he had asked her for was far less than half what his last tenant had paid.
The woman appeared silently at the doorway, alarming the girl.
‘Don’t be frightened.’ John Lee stood beside the woman and took her hand in his, patting her lightly on the back. ‘This is my little sister. She’s a bit strange in the head, but she won’t do you any harm.’
Once he had settled the girl in he went to bed, half an hour later than usual. Besides reading, he had no other forms of amusement.
During the Cultural Revolution, he had been a librarian, responsible for accompanying the Red Guards on their book raids on other people’s houses. The Red Guards would tear the covers off the books and trample them underfoot. Some books would be immediately burnt, others would become targets for criticism meetings. As time went on, John Lee became numbed to everything going on around him, and took to hiding in the office, leafing through whichever books had been fortunate enough to survive the chaos. Once he had read everything to hand, he came across an English–Chinese dictionary in the librarian’s drawer. He copied out his first English word. One day, he thought to himself, I will leave this place.
He lay in his bed in the darkness, listening to the sounds coming from the next room. The woman was already asleep and he could hear the steady drone of her snoring. He turned on his side, so tha
t he was facing Jiang Xiaoyu’s room. His room was next to her bathroom, and he could hear running water. She was bathing, he guessed. After what must have been half an hour, he heard the sound of her towel as she dried herself, then the opening of a drawer. Now she was patting her body as she stroked her smooth skin. She moved back and forth in the bathroom, her toes drumming on the floor. She pushed open the bathroom door, returned to her bedroom, opened up the wardrobe, and took out some clothes to put on, before sinking loudly into her bed.
John Lee felt himself suddenly inflamed. Had she been naked? He dared not think too much more about that possibility.
She pulled down the bedding and burrowed into her bed, her body now encased in her goose-down doona. She turned back and forth in her bed, as light as a feather. She played with her phone for a while, then put it down, and he heard its chime as it shut down.
After a while the rhythmic sound of breathing came from the next room. She was asleep. But John Lee stayed awake. He stared at the celling. A beam of light from somewhere outside the room had formed a strange pattern above his head.
It was already Saturday by the time Uncle Wang let John Lee know that the annual general meeting of the Chinese Community Hope Association was to be held the following day.
When John Lee complained that he had been told too late, Uncle Wang offered to take Jiang Xiaoyu and the woman to the meeting with him for a bit of fun.
‘You don’t need to come,’ he suggested. ‘It’ll be boring anyway.’
‘That’s okay. As it’s an AGM, I’d better be there.’
‘See you tomorrow then.’ Uncle Wang’s tone of voice conveyed disappointment.
John Lee rose early to make breakfast. He fried some eggs and bacon, and put a pot of congee on the stove. He placed the woman’s bowl and chopsticks to one side, while those of Jiang Xiaoyu he placed opposite his own.