David stared at him, understanding the opportunity the smuggler presented. His father’s talk of obligation to country was from another era. A businessman had to look beyond his own borders — not only for markets, but when necessary, for partners. He took a cigarillo from Ng’s open case. “Money dictates its own allegiance.”
“Indeed!” Ng smirked. “Well, no need to worry. We’ll keep my involvement secret until you take over the company in three months time.”
“Good. Do you have a name for this new venture?”
“I propose to call it Zee Enterprises.” Ng rubbed the Z-shaped scar along his right cheek. “Any objections?”
David nodded agreement, happy the name would preserve his anonymity.
Ng smiled. “Fine. My lawyer will draw up the papers.” He extended his hand. “David, my boy, it looks like we’re in business. My sixth sense tells me we’re both going to have good luck!”
David shook hands, relaxing for the first time since he lost the fan-tan game. Perhaps Ng was right. Perhaps his luck was finally turning after all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
San Francisco, California
4:50 a.m.
There is something ominous about the darkness and silence of a hospital asleep.
It was nearly five a.m. before Lili arrived at San Francisco General. The corridors had slipped into the eerie half-life suffused with the soft lights and muted voices that herald the end of the night shift, the beginning of the morning routine. Lili walked down the long hall toward the nurses’ station, past closed doors that muffled an occasional cough or moan. Moving forward, Lili was struck by the odd sensation that she was caught in some endless tunnel, with no beginning and no end.
“Visiting hours aren’t until ten.” The voice came from behind her.
Lili spun to face a nurse in a starched white uniform
“I’m Dr. Quan. My mother was admitted last night.” Lili hoped the authoritative tone compensated for her casual appearance. When she’d gotten the call, she’d simply slipped into the clothes she’d worn to dinner: blue jeans and a Wellesley T- shirt.
Hesitant. “Well, I don’t know . . .”
“Cancer of the pancreas, Nurse —” Lili read the woman’s nametag, “Thatcher. My mother’s dying. Please, I flew up from L.A., I’ve got to return for rounds in a few hours.”
The starched expression softened. “Of course. She’s in five ten. Bed B.”
“Thank you.”
Lili found the room just around the corner from the nurses’ station. The moment she entered, the smell was overpowering, pungent, and nauseating. Lili recognized the odor of rotting tissue mixed with the sweet, syrupy smell of scented talcum powder — a vain effort to counter the stench. It came from bed A where an obese woman lay snoring, seemingly oblivious to her infected right lower leg exposed to the air. Probably an uncontrolled diabetic, Lili thought, tiptoeing past to bed B.
Someone had left the side rail down. Lili found her mother asleep, a tiny figure enveloped in white covers, one arm hanging limply over the edge of the bed. With her mouth half open, the lines in Su-Wei’s face smoothed so that she looked like the young girl on Lili’s wall — frail and innocent. Except that her skin was saffron colored — the jaundice indicating a serious obstruction. Su-Wei’s breathing was so shallow that Lili had to move closer to be sure she was still alive.
“Ma,” she whispered.
Slowly Su-Wei’s eyes opened. She blinked. “Li Li is that you?”
Instinctively, Lili reacted to the Chinese pronunciation of her name, which meant flower. From the time she was old enough, she’d insisted on the Anglicized “Lili.” It had been a source of contention between them. Like her not wanting to learn Chinese.
“How can you be a good Chinese daughter if you don’t know your own language?” asked in Mandarin.
“I’m a good American daughter,” answered in English.
Now, seeing her mother’s wasted body, all the misunderstandings, all the harsh words were forgotten — made insignificant. “How are you?” she asked.
“Buddha has not been smiling on these old bones.” Su-Wei winced as she experienced a jab of pain. Despite her devotion to the Christian God, Su-Wei had always retained her amah’s respect for Buddhism.
Lili gently pushed an extra pillow under her mother’s head, and bent to kiss her cheek. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to be a burden.”
Lili also knew the common Chinese superstition that one entered a Western hospital only when death was imminent. “I would have come sooner.”
“You are here now.” Su-Wei eased herself up. “Help me, Li Li. Take this necklace I wear and put it on your neck. I want you to have this. It was my mother’s. Inside there is a picture of her.”
“But it’s yours. Since I can remember, I don’t think you’ve ever taken it off.” Lili looked at the jade locket on the gold chain.
“Your grandfather gave it to me after Mother passed away. He told me to wear it always and never forget that I was Chinese. I want you to wear it now so you won’t forget.”
Lili blinked back tears. “You’re going to be okay.” As if her words could nullify the inevitable.
“You were always a foolish child.” The same scolding tone she’d used when Lili was six. “I know somehow you blame yourself for my dying. This guilt, child, in this you are wholly Western. It is my joss.”
Joss! Damn her ability to accept her untimely death with such equanimity. Do not go gentle into this good night, mother!
Su-Wei raised a hand to prevent Lili’s response. “Our whole family is gone, Li Li. And now I have no more time.” She eased herself back on the pillow. “I am very tired and I must tell you what your grandfather told me. I was only ten when he put me on a big ship to America. He said he’d send for me when it was safe and we’d be together again, but it was not to be. I don’t even know where he is buried.”
She stopped to catch her breath. “Ch’uing tou-chi — the past, child, is a window to oneself. Remember, if you are Chinese, you can never let go of China in your mind. Someday I hope you will return to China for me. I will live in you now.”
Lili took her mother’s hand in hers.
“Promise me you will do these things, Li Li.”
Lili choked back tears.
“Promise.”
“I promise,” she said softly.
“You are a good Chinese daughter,” Su-Wei whispered, closing her eyes as if in sleep. Then, with an almost obscene abruptness, she was gone.
While Lili stood crying softly over her mother’s body, the man who had been following her took the elevator to the lobby and located a public telephone.
His contact listened quietly for a moment. “Did anyone see you?”
“No one. I’m sure of it.”
“All right. Keep a tail on her. The mother’s death may just change my plans.”
The receiver went dead before he had a chance to ask what that change might be. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t getting paid to think. He replaced the phone in its cradle, and took the elevator back up to the fifth floor.
CHAPTER NINE
San Francisco, California
Three days later, Lili still moved in a kind of sleepwalk. Outside, a picture of calm. Inside, a sense of loss and loneliness. So long expected, her mother’s death should have been easier for her to bear. Su-Wei had left this world with the same quiet acceptance she had shown all her life. The spirit of the rabbit would now reunite with her ancestors in heaven. Su-Wei had told her daughter to be happy for her; that she would be at peace. But Lili still found it difficult to accept, so she distracted herself with preparations for the funeral.
The coffin she chose was the most ornate that the funeral home offered: carved teak painted in garish colors placed upon a motorized palanquin that resembled a pagoda on wheels. She hired a few dozen professional mourners dressed in the white robes of sorrow. At the church, the formal Anglican service was punctuated
with their cries of such forlorn pain that the stained-glass windows almost shook in their steel forms. On the way to the cemetery, they preceded the hearse, banging gongs to drive away the evil spirits. The mourners wailed with such sincerity, one might suppose they knew Su-Wei.
At the cemetery, a small bonfire surrounded by a scarlet altar accepted their offerings — paper replicas of the earthly necessities Su-Wei would need on her journey: cooking pots, chickens, money. That gesture affirmed the unbreakable continuity of the eternal generations of the Chinese race.
If you are Chinese, you can never let go of China in your mind.
Lili arranged two graveside ceremonies: Anglican and Buddhist. Su-Wei was lowered into the ground, her name and her Chinese chop already engraved on the smooth plaque in the ancient stone next to her husband’s. As the casket slowly descended, the mourners stepped back to make sure their shadows did not fall across it.
Lili thought her mother would have been satisfied. The hired mourners were joined by representatives from Su-Wei’s friends including Mai Li Fong, her old Mah-Jongg partner and Mr. Wu, the fish man. A dozen or more uninvited Chinese children scattered through the ceremony to witness the shooting off of the firecrackers. Dylan had wanted to come too, but she’d discouraged him.
At some point she became aware of a male presence close beside her. Looking up, expecting somehow to see Dylan despite what she’d said, she was surprised to face Dr. Seng. She remembered him from the Faculty Club dinner. His smile today was especially kind. “I heard of your mother’s death. It is most unfortunate.”
Standing at the graveside, Lili was too filled with sorrow to ask how he’d found out or how he’d known where to come in San Francisco. At that moment, if she was aware of anything, it was the Chinese gravediggers waiting respectfully behind the trees, ready to fill the gaping hole in the earth. She was also too numb to notice the stranger who seemed to melt backward into the crowd.
Xi’an, China
The white crane spreads its wings.
Ni-Fu stepped back as quietly as a cat, whirling his arms in his loose-fitting Mao jacket.
Hand strums the lute.
His body relaxed and extended, swaying slowly like a tree in a gentle breeze.
Grasp the bird’s tail
Head erect, torso straight, toes in line with the knees, back leg extended naturally.
Part the wild horse’s mane on both sides.
Yin and yang. The gentle shifting of weight to reach the balance.
High pat on horse.
The mind tranquil, yet alert. Combining vigor and gentleness. Like reeling off raw silk from a cocoon.
Needle at sea bottom.
He breathed deeply and evenly as he made a closing form. Then, still in a semisquatting position, Ni-Fu turned to face the young man who had been waiting quietly in the doorway. “Old Mao said there is more to life than tai-chi chuan. It is only there to prepare you for the rest of the day.”
“You were fortunate to have known such a great leader.”
The old man nodded, standing erect now. “On the other hand, Mao never really understood that the ancient movements, like the Chinese people, have transcended everything in China — famine, dynasties, revolutions, even the Gang of Four.”
San Francisco, California
Following the funeral service, Dr. Seng escorted Lili to a waiting cab. “My invitation to study in China remains open,” he said as Lili stepped into the taxi.
“Thank you, but I can’t think about that just now.”
“Of course. I understand.” He shut the car door for her. “I’ll be returning to Los Angeles tonight. You have my number if you change your mind.”
Lili gave the driver an address, then turned to Seng. “Thank you for coming to the funeral.”
Seng leaned in the window of the cab. “Please don’t think me insensitive. I merely wanted you to know we welcome your coming home.”
For an instant, Lili considered some hidden meaning in Seng’s words, but as the cab pulled away, she quickly turned her thoughts to other issues.
L.A. Medical
Dr. Trenton leaned back in his chair. “Dylan, how long have we known each other?”
“Since I was a kid knocking around D.C., trying to find myself. You gave me my real start.”
Trenton nodded. “In many ways, you’re the son I never had.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That’s why this feels so awkward.”
Dylan watched the chief, wondering where the conversation was headed.
“I understand your research’s hit a snag.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I read your notebooks.”
“That’s my work!”
“Need I remind you? When you come to L.A. Med to work with me again, we agreed on conditions. Aligen funded the research based on my reputation. Until you make yours, I’m the chief and I’ll read any notebook I see fit.”
“It’s true I’ve had a temporary setback. But nothing I can’t work out.”
“I’m scheduled to meet with Martin Carpenter from Aligen in less than half an hour. He’s expecting results. He’s already intimated that unless we have something on the MHC code soon, the company may discontinue our funding.”
“They can’t do that!”
“They can do anything they damn well please. It’s their money.” Trenton looked pointedly at his protégé. “Perhaps your mind isn’t entirely on your research.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you need to spend less time with Dr. Quan.”
Dylan’s face reddened again. “Is that what this is all about?”
“This is about your need to advance your work. As for Dr. Quan, I understand her work could use more improvement as well.” Trenton retrieved an envelope on his desk. “Complaint from an unhappy patient.”
Dylan shrugged. “Every doctor turns off a patient now and then.”
“Bob Sanderson isn’t just any patient. His family is one of the largest contributors to this hospital.” Trenton paused. “Look Dylan, I can’t advise you on your personal life, but if you’re really serious about your research, you’ll have to give it 110 percent. Discipline,” the ex-Army man declared, “is the only way to achieve your goals.”
Trenton rose, signifying the end of the meeting. “I’m glad we had this talk,” he said, walking Dylan to the door with a fatherly pat on the back. “Can I count on you?”
Dylan looked at his mentor for a moment before replying. “Of course.”
Trenton smiled. “Good.” But, the moment he was alone again, the smile disappeared. Returning to his desk, he picked up the phone. So many administrative headaches. No one seemed to grasp the enormity of his job, the constant pressures, the need to appear omniscient. Jesus. If he didn’t manage every last detail, nothing would get done.
San Francisco, California
The cab ride from the cemetery to Chinatown took Lili more than the five miles. It transported her back in time. When the driver turned onto Grant Avenue, she was ten years old again, playing in the alleys behind restaurants and curio shops. As she stepped from the cab she recalled how on Chinese New Year when money was plentiful, the older boys would bicycle out to the riding academies in Golden Gate Park, hire horses for three dollars a day, and ride back to Chinatown, galloping down this avenue like cowboys. Lili had wanted to join them, but her mother would shake her head and say,”san fun meng,” the Chinese equivalent of “one foot in the grave.”
Even after all these years, the neighborhood looked the same: the Hai Wu Fish Market, the Hong Chun Company where the two Chun sisters produced handmade Chinese dresses — today more for tourists than locals, Tang Mu’s jewelry shop. Even Old Saint Mary’s Church still stood on the corner of Grant and California, although you could see the new TransAmerica pyramid in the background.
Near the corner of Grant and Pine above Eu’s bakery was the three-story stucco box where Lili was born and spent most of her
childhood. On balmy days, the windows of the second-floor apartment would be open, filling the rooms with the smell of char siu bao (pork filled buns), galai gock (curry puffs), sui gai dahn go (sponge cake), and malai go (steamed egg cakes). But now, when she pushed open the front door, the windows were shut tight, the air still and odorless.
For a moment she stood in the foyer, taking in the emptiness. She half expected to hear her mother’s voice, scolding her for being late. But there was only silence as she moved from room to room. Stepping into the kitchen, Lili envisioned her mother in her apron as a younger woman, anxious to see that her daughter ate a good hot five-course meal before heading off to study.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Every grain of rice you leave in your bowl will be a tear that you shed before the day is out.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Chinese never lie.”
She entered her mother’s bedroom. Everything here reminded Lili of Su-Wei: the hand-crocheted coverlet, the ivory comb, even the wallpaper with the medallion design in pale yellow. She remembered her mother telling her that the ancient Chinese had invented wallpaper and that it wasn’t until the fourteenth century that wallpaper was introduced into Europe.
You must always be proud that you were born Chinese.
Lili picked up a bobby pin from the dresser and thought of how each morning she’d stood impatiently as her mother pulled and twisted her thick black hair until she’d formed two tightly plaited pigtails.
Why can’t I wear my hair short like the other girls.
You are not like the other girls.
It was a never ending battle: Am I of my mother’s race or am I an American? Her mother speaking Shanghainese, learning only Pidgin English, raising her in the standard of Chinese womanhood, confined within the doctrines of Confucius that her highest reward was to be the matriarch of a large, respectful family. It is for your own good. No one in China dreamed of being unmarried.
From the principles of freedom and independence taught in grade school, Lili learned that individuality, self-expression, and analytical thought were the rights of all Americans. I want to choose my own way.
Rabbit in the Moon Page 9