‘But he is ruined, Maggie,’ I protest. ‘Mr Sparrow and Fat Fred must find near one hundred thousand pounds to meet their creditors. The loss of folks’ gambling punts is a small price to pay.’
‘Small price! Hawk Solomon, what’s yiz talkin’ about? Many of the folk here in the Rocks bet a week’s pay—hoping to win a month or more’s wages. They’s skint! Their brats don’t have no food. Those that can get credit won’t even be able to pay it back for months! No nice Sunday dinners for them and the rest is starving.’
‘We’s dropped five hundred pounds ourselves,’ Tommo reminds her.
‘But we’re still eatin’ our Sunday roast dinner, ain’t we?’ Maggie says sharply.
‘Everybody’s lost. Even Mr Tang Wing Hung,’ Tommo sighs, thinking of his opium no doubt.
‘Tang Wing Hung? But he’s Mr Sparrow’s partner, surely he’s not been touched?’ Maggie exclaims.
‘Oh, he’s been touched, all right,’ Tommo says. ‘Ah Wong told me about it, so’s I knew who I were dealin’ with. Seems Tang Wing Hung’s the head of some sort o’ Chinese secret society, called a triad, what’s thousands of years old. Most of Sydney’s celestials come from the same place in North Shanghai and they owes this triad for all sorts o’ favours. In Sydney, Tang Wing Hung’s the head bloke, the Dragon Master, as they calls it. All the fellows here has got to pay him a percentage of their profits, including what they makes gambling. In return, he’s s’posed to look after them, if you knows what I mean.’
Tommo pauses and puts up his finger. ‘Now, from what I can make out, Mr Tang Wing Hung went and told all the celestials they should bet on Hawk. If Hawk had lost, like he were supposed to, then Tang Wing Hung would’ve shrugged his shoulders and said he made a mistake. He’d have probably told ’em he’d lost his money too.
‘But now they’s won and Mr Sparrow won’t pay. So Tang Wing Hung must get their money for them somehow—even pay it himself out of his own pocket—or he’ll lose face. It ain’t done for the head of a Chinese triad to lose face. Ah Wong says it be at least a hundred years of shame brought down upon his head!’
‘Tommo, can we see this Mr Tang, er, whatchimacallit?’ Mary asks.
‘Tang Wing Hung, Mama,’ Tommo corrects. ‘He’s a big nob so you has to use all three names.’
‘Blimey, it ain’t ‘arf a mouthful!’ Mary exclaims. ‘Will he talk to us? I mean, him being Mr Sparrow’s partner and all?’
‘I dunno, Mama,’ Tommo shrugs. ‘What’s you have in mind?’
‘Well it seems to me,’ says Mary, ‘that Chinatown and the Rocks be the same kind o’ neighbourhood.’
‘Not if the folks in the Rocks can help it,’ Maggie interrupts. ‘They hates them Mongolians.’
‘Yes, I know, I’ve noticed,’ Mary nods. ‘But what if they has sudden cause to like them?’
‘Mama!’ I exclaim. ‘However do you hope to bring that about? Folk here believe our Chinese friends caused the cholera that broke out two years ago. They blame them for spreading leprosy and every imaginable type of disease, despite the lack of evidence that it is so. And they reckon the Chinese are taking white men’s jobs. They aren’t going to suddenly take to the celestials and claim them as good neighbours.’
But Mary is adamant. ‘I’d still like to speak with Tang Wing Hung, if it can be done,’ she insists.
Through Tommo we are granted an appointment with the rich Chinaman the very next day. I must confess I am curious to meet the man who people say rules the life of every celestial in New South Wales.
We go to Tang Wing Hung’s chophouse in Chinatown and are shown into a private room at the back. It is decorated in the Chinese tradition with opulent silks and painted lacquer furnishings showing cherry blossoms, dragons, colourful birds and peacocks. Tang Wing Hung sits on a couch of his own while we share two others of the same size. I take up almost all of one of them and Maggie must squeeze in beside me. I can feel her warm thigh, comforting against my own.
A servant brings jasmine tea which he pours into beautiful little bowls. We all watch as Tommo takes his up, sips at it politely and then puts it down. I then do the same and find that it tastes pleasant enough and refreshes the mouth.
A plate of little dumplings is brought to the table and chopsticks put about. Another plate arrives, this time bearing biscuits which look like small sea shells. The little dumplings smell delicious but we are not accustomed to using chopsticks and dare not try them. So we sit not knowing what to do.
‘Them dumplings are most delicate to look at,’ Mary breaks the silence at last.
The tall Chinaman smiles. ‘This is dim sum—it means “touch the heart". You try, please!’
‘Can’t use them chopsticks,’ Mary replies, forthright as ever.
Tang Wing Hung leans over and picks up a little dumpling between his fingers. He dips it into a small bowl of dark liquid. ‘This soy sauce,’ he says. He pops the dumpling into his mouth. ‘You try, please.’
Mary takes one of the little balls and, as our host has done, dips it into the bowl of sauce. We all wait as she pops it into her mouth. ‘Delicious!’ she declares.
Tang Wing Hung looks at Tommo, Maggie and me, indicating the dumplings. ‘Please,’ he insists.
To my surprise, Tommo and Maggie pick up their chopsticks and, taking up one of the dumplings each, dip them into the sauce and bring them up to their mouths with ease. I know I could never use the delicate sticks as they have, and so I reach over and pick up one of the little shell-like biscuits. Just as I am about to put it into my mouth, it smashes to crumbs between my fingers and a piece of paper flutters to the carpet.
I am most embarrassed. Tang Wing Hung rises and stoops to pick up the paper.
‘This is fortune cookie,’ he explains. ‘An American invention, but Chinese recipe. Very popular—mostly we have after food!’ He looks at the slip of paper. ‘You be very lucky, Mr Hawk. “True love will come to you!”’ he reads. Then he glances at Maggie and smiles, ‘I think this fortune cookie already too late, eh?’
Then Tang Wing Hung takes a cookie himself, putting his thumb and forefinger to each end and bringing it up to his mouth. He pulls his head back the moment he bites at it and the cookie falls apart in his fingers, its crumbs clinging to his mouth. He retains only the slip of paper between his lips.
‘"Today a fortunate opportunity will present itself.”’ He smiles at Mary. ‘Perhaps we both get good fortune?’ Then he calls the servant to take the plate of cookies away. Bowing, the man leaves but reappears soon enough with a plate of good English wheaten biscuits. ‘You like better, I think,’ Tang Wing Hung explains to me.
Turning to Mary, he asks seriously, ‘Why you come to this humble place to see me? I not worthy, madam.’
‘I am grateful that you would see us, sir,’ Mary replies. She does not tell him that she knows of his predicament as Dragon Master of the triad. Instead she speaks about the bad blood that exists between the folk of Chinatown and the Rocks, and how both the poor celestials and the poor white folk have lost because they bet on me.
She looks up, appealing to Tang Wing Hung, her green eyes full of sincerity. ‘Poor folk may have a different colour, but they have the same needs,’ she pronounces. ‘They are always trying to find enough money to feed and clothe their children. It is the same with Joe Chinaman as it is with Joe English. Now both have won by betting on my son. They are owed a small fortune and they stands never to be paid.’
‘It is sad,’ Tang Wing Hung shrugs, ‘but what can I do?’
‘Yiz can join us t’ put the squeeze on Mr Sparrow!’ Maggie blurts out.
Tang Wing Hung is somewhat taken aback by her outburst. ‘How can I do this? A Chinese man cannot threaten a white man!’
‘Ah,’ says Mary, ‘but white men and Chinese men can come together to fight a common enemy. Your people are owed how much in bets? Two thousand? Three thousand?’
Tang Wing Hung appears to be in deep thought for a moment. ‘Hmmm…perhaps three th
ousand pounds,’ he replies at last.
‘Right! And we reckons the folk in the Rocks and us are owed about the same—if we don’t take what we’ve won and only what we’ve bet.’
‘You bet how much?’ Mr Tang Wing Hung asks.
‘Five hundred pounds!’ Maggie answers, unable to contain herself any longer.
Mary frowns. I can see she is a trifle annoyed at Maggie. I know she feels that some things are best left unsaid but I don’t know if my Maggie will ever learn this.
‘Five hundred pounds! You very brave!’ Tang Wing Hung exclaims, clapping his hands and affecting an expression of astonishment.
‘No,’ replies Mary. ‘I have a very brave son.’
Tang Wing Hung nods and smiles. ‘Too brave, perhaps.’
Mary ignores this. ‘It were reported in the newspaper that Mr Sparrow took about twenty thousand pounds in bets and now owes one hundred thousand. Well, if he pays us—that be the folks in the Rocks and your folks here in Chinatown—back what we bet, that’s only six thousand. We know he can pay us all from what he took all up.’
‘There were other expenses,’ Tang Wing Hung points out. ‘To set up such a fight costs much money.’
Mary smiles. ‘Mr Tang Wing Hung, I weren’t born yesterday. I know what it takes in bribery and corruption and “miscellaneous expenses". That ain’t my concern—though I’m sure he’s got plenty.’
Tang Wing Hung brings the tips of the fingers of both hands together and touches the end of his chin. His lips pout slightly as he thinks. ‘Madam, why I do this? I can make Mr Sparrow pay only the Chinese people—only three thousand pounds, much easier for him.’
‘And a bleedin’ sight more expensive for you!’ Mary snaps. ‘What do you think the white folk are going to feel about the Chinese folk then? They know you’re Mr Sparrow’s partner, or if they don’t they’ll soon enough be told by the newspapers. Imagine, if all the celestials get paid and none o’ the Europeans. What you think’s going to happen then?’
Tang Wing Hung laughs. ‘You think clever like a Chinaman, missus.’
‘Well, I’m plain-spoken by nature, Mr Tang Wing Hung.’ Mary smiles. ‘If we work together and the white folk of the Rocks know they got paid because the Chinese helped, everyone’ll feel better all ‘round.’
Tang Wing Hung rises, bowing very slightly. ‘It’s good plan—but what do you ask of me?’
‘You must tell Mr Sparrow that you have bought all the betting tickets belonging to your own people and also all those belonging to the folks in the Rocks. Now you want full payment. Six thousand pounds in the next forty-eight hours.’
‘And if he will not?’
‘Then you will kill him!’ Mary says.
‘I cannot!’
‘You don’t have to do it, just say it!’ Mary explains. She pauses and plays the ace in her hand. ‘If the head of a Chinese triad should threaten Mr Sparrow, then he will believe he will die—and it ain’t no use reporting nothing!’
Tang Wing Hung draws back in surprise. ‘Where you hear about triad? I am businessman, madam.’
‘It don’t much matter to me what you calls yourself, Mr Tang Wing Hung. You’re the boss of the Mongolians, ain’t you?’
‘I have a little influence maybe. Most Chinese come from same place as me, they know me.’ Tang Wing Hung shrugs.
‘So where does that leave us, then?’ Mary asks bluntly enough.
Tang Wing Hung pauses. ‘I will do it,’ he says at last.
Mary smiles and so do the rest of us.
The Dragon Master raises a forefinger. ‘But I do it because the Chinese owe your sons.’ He gives a little nod to me and then to Tommo. ‘For Lambing Flat when they help my people. They are brave men and so we will do this thing.’
Out of the corner of my eye I see Tommo squirm in his chair a little at Tang Wing Hung’s thanks, but I do not look at him. We had been worried that Tommo might be banned from Tang Wing Hung’s opium den on our return from the fight, the Chinaman being in cahoots with Mr Sparrow. Now I understand why this was not so. It seems the story of how Tommo and I rescued Ah Wong and his family is known among the Chinese of Sydney.
Tang Wing Hung pauses, then returns to the subject at hand. ‘Not six thousand pounds, ten thousand pounds. We will demand ten!’ He claps his hands and then bows to Mary, deeper this time. ‘What is left we share.’ Tang Wing Hung works a large gold ring from his finger. ‘Here, you take.’ He hands the heavy gold ring to Mary. ‘It is a gift given to me by Mr Sparrow. Give it to him. Tell him it is returned—our partnership is broken forever. Tell him he must pay or he will die.’ He grins. ‘Mr Sparrow will understand.’
‘But will you not tell him yourself?’ Maggie asks.
Tang Wing Hung sighs. ‘I cannot be seen to go near Mr Sparrow. There may be those who think I am still in business with him. No, no, you must go in my place.’
‘I will then.’ Mary puts the gold ring into her purse. ‘It’s been very nice doin’ business with you, Mr Tang Wing Hung.’ She pauses, thinking. ‘But I need one more thing. I need a letter from you to Mr Sparrow to put the wind up him.’
‘No, no, you do not understand. No letter. I cannot make threat to him!’
Mary laughs. ‘You don’t have to. All I wants is a letter written in Chinese. You can make it one of them poems by that bloke Confucius that Hawk’s always quoting. Anything you like, so long as it’s written in Chinese letters and sealed with wax and a chop—any chop. Then on the envelope you must put Mr Sparrow’s name in Chinese and English.’
Tang Wing Hung smiles and bows his head. ‘Very clever. Mr Sparrow, he cannot read Chinese, and he will think this message a threat? Very clever! You give him ring and letter!’ He claps his hands and the servant appears. He speaks to him in rapid Chinese and the man nods and is gone.
‘You will have such a letter in half an hour. And I will make sure no Chinaman tell him what it means. You wait here, please. Drink tea? I must go now, thank you very much.’
Mary has managed Tang Wing Hung wonderfully. She has shown him how to avoid losing face in front of his own people and convinced him to serve our purpose as well. And it will not cost him a penny other than the gold ring. I am most proud of our mama.
‘How do we know the bludger will come good, give us our share of the brass if Mr Sparrow pays?’ Maggie asks as we make our way back to the Hero, where Mary has promised to buy us supper.
‘Face,’ Tommo says. ‘He’ll lose face if he don’t.’
Mary sniffs. ‘I don’t know about face, but I know about business and so does our Mr Tang Wing Hung. We’ve just got Mr Dragon Master off the hook. We’ve made him look like the hero of Sydney’s Chinese and he’ll make a tidy profit to boot.’
Mary has clearly taken charge as the general of our campaign and means to see that the folks in the Rocks and Chinatown get their bets returned in full. Over the next two days, she sends Maggie around to all the pubs to ask the publicans to chalk up the amounts their customers show them on their old betting tickets. Soon we know that we’ll have more than sufficient to cover the money bet.
Mary decides that the best way to get to Mr Sparrow is to see him herself. ‘It’s our best bet,’ she announces. ‘A woman’s hard to deny and thought to be harmless. If I says I’ve been sent from Mr Tang Wing Hung and have proof,’ she holds up the gold ring, ‘Sparrer can’t refuse me.’
‘May I come too, Mama?’ Maggie begs.
Mary smiles and nods. She’s pleased when Maggie calls her mama. ‘I want to see Mr Sparrow’s ratty little phiz when he sees it’s us what’s got him well and truly nailed!’
‘When will you go?’ Tommo asks. ‘Now?’
‘No, first we must scare him somewhat, I think!’ Mary turns to Maggie. ‘Do you think you can get folks here to march on the pub and shout a bit? Make our Mr Sparrow fear for his miserable carcass? It’d be a way of softenin’ him up.’
‘Daresay I can,’ Maggie says. ‘The pleasure would be all mine!’ She giggles
with anticipation.
But both she and Mary draw the line when I say I’ll go with her. Mary shakes her head, ‘No, son, you and Tommo must stay well clear! If this business should end badly, the magistrate mustn’t see it as an act of vengeance, with us taking the law into our own hands. Maggie be the ideal person to spread the word and she’s happy to do it.’
‘Happy ain’t the word!’ Maggie exclaims. ‘I’d count it a great privilege to give them two mongrels a fright!’
Our mama has thought of every detail. ‘Pick four strong leaders, men what won’t lose their heads and start a riot,’ she instructs Maggie. ‘No stones or clubs, mind you—just drums, bull-horns and bugles. They’re to make a lot of noise. Remember, this be a protest, an orderly but very noisy protest. The Sydney Morning Herald must describe it as an outcry by common folk what’s been cheated out of what’s rightly due them by a pair o’ scoundrels.’
Mary now turns to me. ‘See that the police are informed of the march so they’re on hand when the mob arrives at The World Turned Upside Down. We don’t want any in the crowd to get no fancy ideas of storming young Sparrer Fart’s lodgings.’
Maggie is delighted with the task she’s been given. That very night, she visits the Hero of Waterloo, the Rose and Crown and half a dozen other public houses. By the time she returns home, the march against Mr Sparrow is all set.
‘Folk are only too happy to make their feelings known,’ she tells me.
The protest is to take place the following afternoon when the men come home from work.
‘We’ll put some real fear into them upstairs. Make the little shyster and his fat mate think the mob’s come to get ‘em!’ Mary laughs when she hears Maggie’s news. I can’t help feeling she is enjoying the whole campaign.
By the following afternoon the news has spread throughout the Rocks and three or four hundred men march on The World Turned Upside Down. Here they are met by three constables who tell them that Mr Sparrow and Fat Fred are not in residence in the rooms upstairs. Nevertheless the crowd makes a great deal of noise, banging on drums and blasting on bugles. Towards the end a rock is thrown which breaks one of the upstairs windows. But the protest is, in fact, quite orderly. Maggie has picked her leaders well—there’s noise and threats enough hurled at the windows to frighten Mr Sparrow and Fat Fred, who we know are in residence no matter what the policemen say.
Tommo and Hawk Page 60