Mr Ma and Son

by Lao She

  ‘I didn’t bother about such things myself at first, but I learnt my lesson fast. I went with a friend once to someone’s house for a meal. After we’d finished, I was feeling nicely satisfied, so I raised my chin and let out a long, deep belch. Well, that did it – a young lady next to me at once turned her face away and said to my friend, “People without manners should do us all a favour and stay home!” The person who’d invited us to the meal was an old clergyman, an ex-missionary in China, and he immediately grabbed his chance. “Now you see why we have to go and teach in China,” he told the girl. “They need us to teach them proper table manners.” What could I do? Stay put? I was rigid with panic. Clear off? But I felt that’d be awkward too – it was mortifying! Of course there’s nothing in a belch, but if you do it they really treat you like a savage. Just watch it, Ma, old lad. Don’t mind me telling you, do you?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Ma Wei, sitting down.

  Li Tzu-jung took a seat too, and continued. ‘Right, I ought to tell you my history. I started off as a student studying abroad on a scholarship from the Shantung provincial government. First I went to America and got a BA in Commerce. After I’d got my I found myself in a tight spot. There was fighting going on in China, which cut off any hopes of my getting any more money from the authorities there. I’m from a poor family, and it wasn’t any use asking my folks for money. So I scraped around here and there, and got together enough cash to see me to England.

  ‘Of course, I knew that the cost of living was higher in England than in France, but I also knew that if I got a job in England the wages would be higher. And England’s a trading nation, so I thought I could probably learn something there. And I’ll confess there was another reason. I really couldn’t afford to go out with Parisian women. Here in London, nobody apart from prostitutes has any time for the Chinese, so I thought I might be less troubled by temptations!’ At this point, Li Tzu-jung broke into a guffaw, and raked his hair vigorously.

  ‘Li, old chap, didn’t you just say you shouldn’t scratch your head in company?’ said Ma Wei jokingly.

  ‘You’re not a foreigner, though! I certainly wouldn’t do it in the presence of a foreigner. Where was I? Ah, yes. When I got to London, there was still no money to be had from the government at home, and I was properly desperate. I lived in the East End of London for about a month, and apart from a few books and the clothes I stood in, I was really skint.

  ‘Eventually the police took pity on me, and found me a job doing a bit of interpreting for Chinese people. The Chinese workmen here have got very limited English, and the police pull them in for questioning at the drop of a hat. And even the best Chinese person is forever bent on lawsuits. Must be why they say “Never get reincarnated as a Chinaman”, eh? So I did the rounds as an interpreter. My Cantonese isn’t actually that good, but I could get by with it – better than the English police, anyway. If I hadn’t been scared I’d die of starvation, I’d never have taken on a job like that, but when hunger stares you in the face, you don’t have much choice. And when I saw all my fellow countrymen getting mucked around and made fun of by the English police, well, I wanted to do it. I was in the same boat as those workmen – helpless. All I managed from the job was three or four pounds a month, but that was enough to see me through.

  ‘Later, I gradually got into doing translations into Chinese, for ads and that sort of stuff. That was quite a good wicket. The firms that sell goods in China aren’t small ones, of course, so I’d always make a decent pound or two from translating an ad. Combining my two incomes I managed to get by, but I still couldn’t afford to study. Luckily, your uncle was looking for a shop assistant, one who knew something about business and could speak English. I went to see him, and clinched the job straight away.

  ‘Ask yourself: how many of our young gentlemen studying abroad would stoop to working in a shop, earning themselves a couple of pounds a week as an errand boy and odd-job man? But when I got my hands on that extra two pounds, it was like I’d gone to heaven. So things were all right then – I could study. I do the interpreting and work in the shop during the day, and attend my university lectures in the evenings. What do you think of that, Ma, my old lad?’

  ‘Can’t have been easy. You’re a good sort, old Li.’

  ‘Not easy? Nothing comes easy in this world.’ Li Tzu-jung plonked his feet heavily as he stood up, wearing a decided look of self-satisfaction.

  ‘What’s the least one person could get by on per month in London?’ asked Ma Wei.

  ‘Twenty pounds, minimum. But I’m an exception. All the time I’ve been here, I’ve never once eaten a Chinese meal. It’s not that I couldn’t afford one, but I’m afraid that once I had one, I’d never be able to stop.’

  ‘Are there some Chinese restaurants here then?’

  ‘Oh yes! Cooking food and washing laundry, those are the two great Chinese overseas enterprises.’ Li Tzu-jung sat down again. ‘Wherever the Japanese go, there are Japanese brothels. Wherever the Chinese go, there are little restaurants and laundries. The difference is that besides the brothels the Japanese have also got steamships, banks and big businesses. The Chinese haven’t got any industry apart from cuisine and clothes-washing. That’s why the Japanese are forever looking smug while we never dare to straighten our shoulders! But the Europeans and Americans look down on the Japanese and Chinese equally. The only difference is that they call the Japanese “Japs” behind their backs and flatter them to their faces, while they say nasty things about the Chinese directly to them; it’s downright uncivil.

  ‘But let’s not go on about that. If we can’t sort ourselves out, it’s no good blaming others. Ask me about something else, will you? It’s enough to send me into a fury.’

  ‘Well, you ought to be telling me something about the shop.’

  ‘Right. Listen – your uncle was really on the ball, a very smart man indeed. He didn’t just rely on selling antiques. Antiques aren’t like bread: you can’t expect regular day-to-day sales with them. He dealt in stocks and shares as well, and bought various goods for merchants in Canton. This shop barely managed to earn him two hundred pounds a year, after all the overheads were paid. The two thousand pounds or so that he left you all came from his other dealings. Now you’ve inherited his money, the best thing you could do would be to expand the business. If you really throw yourselves into it, you might have some hope of making a quid. But if you just stick with the shop as it is, I’m afraid you won’t even earn enough for your own living. And once the two thousand pounds has been frittered away, you’ll be in a real fix.

  ‘What you’ve got to do, Ma, old chap, is persuade your father to decide right now to expand the business or to open up another little line of trade. My view is that it’d be best to go in for this same business in a bigger way, because there aren’t any fixed prices with curios and antiques, and with a bit of luck you can earn a few hundred pounds on one item alone. Of course, it all depends on your skills and ability, but it’s certainly not easy opening up any other line of business. Look at the small shops along this street: tobacconists, pubs and so on. They’re all branches of a few big companies whose capital runs into millions. Trying to compete against them with only hundreds or even a couple of thousand pounds behind you would be a sheer waste of effort, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘My father’s no businessman, and it’s very difficult to discuss anything with him.’ Ma Wei frowned, and his face had gone a bit paler, too.

  ‘Seems like the old gentleman’s got a mandarin complex, which makes things difficult. If the Chinese can’t smash up their obsessions with mandarin values and jobs in government, they’ll never get anywhere.’ Li Tzu-jung paused for a moment, then continued. ‘Luckily, there’s us two as well. We’ll just have to put pressure on him to get to it. Otherwise the shop’ll start running at a loss, and as soon as that happens, your future will really be in danger. But look here – what are you planning on doing?’

  ‘Me? Study.’

  ‘Study what? Are
you going to be another one of those who wrangle themselves a degree by translating a chapter of our old Taoist philosopher Chuang Tzu?’ asked Li Tzu-jung with a smile.

  ‘No, I’m thinking of studying commerce. What do you think?’

  ‘Commerce, eh? Fine. First go and brush up your English, and then, when you’re confident, go and study commerce. Not a bad idea.’

  The two of them talked for ages, and the more Ma Wei got to know Li Tzu-jung, the more likeable he found him. As they spoke, Li Tzu-jung grew increasingly enthusiastic and lively, and they chatted until four o’clock before calling it a day. As Ma Wei was on the point of leaving, Li Tzu-jung told him he’d accompany him and his father to the police station tomorrow morning, to help them report their arrival.

  ‘Lawyers and doctors are two indispensable treasures to the English, but you’re better off using neither while you’re here. I warn you: don’t break the law, and don’t get sick. The two most vital things when you’re in England!’ Li Tzu-jung carried on hastily, ‘Look here, from tomorrow we’ll speak English when we see each other. You’ve got to practise it. There are lots of Chinese overseas students who can’t stand speaking foreign languages, but luckily we’re “working-class” students with no need to imitate the gentry.’

  The two of them stood outside the shop, talking for ages. As they were chatting, the manager of the shop next door came out, and Li Tzu-jung hastened to introduce him to Ma Wei.

  Ma Wei raised his head and glanced at the dome of St Paul’s. Without waiting to be asked, Li Tzu-jung launched into a history of the cathedral.

  Having listened to the history of St Paul’s, Ma Wei made to leave again. Li Tzu-jung came after him, as eager as some Robinson Crusoe who’s met his Man Friday.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Ma, old lad? Has your father given you that ring of yours?’

  ‘No, he’s still got it,’ said Ma Wei quietly.

  ‘Ask him to hand it over. Your uncle left it to you, and what’s yours is yours.’

  Ma Wei nodded his head, and slowly made off along the street. The clock of St Paul’s Cathedral struck five o’clock.

  PART THREE

  I

  SPRING DEPARTED with the flowers and summer, wrapped in a suit of green leaves, came dancing along upon the warm breezes. And what do you know – even London came in for its share of clear skies. Carloads of Americans in straw hats sped the streets, catching a fleeting glimpse of London on their tours of the continent. The leaves of the city’s towering plane trees shimmered in the sun as they stirred to and fro, radiating a green sparkle. All around the edge of the blue sky over the buildings hung a white vapour of mist. It was all quite exhilarating, but somehow made you feel rather impatient.

  Huge, piteous, pitiful bulldogs, seeming to expend all their energy from their tongues, panted along by the legs of their young mistresses. There was more traffic than ever on the streets, with tourists – forty or fifty to one coach, and wearing little paper hats of different colours – haring around, yelling and screeching, cramming London to bursting point. In stations, at bus stops, in the main streets and on the buses were hung gaudy posters advertising summer holidays. Besides dodging in and out of the traffic, people all seemed preoccupied with trying to manage a few days by the sea or in the countryside.

  The girls looked especially pretty, with their white arms bared and wearing big straw hats with brims that swept down to their shoulders. And the hats themselves had all kinds of wonderful decorations – embroidered purses from old China, china dolls from Japan, ostrich feathers, huge daisies . . . If you sat upstairs in the bus and looked down, it appeared as if countless large, bright mushrooms were walking along both sides of the street.

  In the midst of such exciting bustle, Ma Wei’s eyes would brim with two hot tears, and he’d say to himself, ‘Look at them all: earning money; enjoying life. Happy, full of hopes. And just look at us, all suffering and hardship, scrimping and scraping. Save a couple of coppers, and the military bigwigs grab it from you. Huh . . .’

  From May onwards, Miss Wedderburn spent a lot of time working out where to go for her summer holiday. Every evening she discussed it with her mother, but they never reached any decision. Her mother wanted her to go to Scotland to see some of her relatives, but the daughter thought the train fares would be too expensive, and was in favour of going to a nearby seaside resort for a few days. The mother changed her mind, and decided to go with her daughter to the seaside, but then the daughter felt it would be more interesting to go to Scotland than to the sea. The mother was on the point of writing a letter to her relatives in Scotland when it occurred to the daughter that there’d be much more excitement to be had at the seaside than in Scotland.

  Young ladies take summer holidays not to enjoy a restful interlude, but to find a crowded place where they can skip around, having a ball, showing off their new dresses, exhibiting their slim, pale arms, and – it being the seaside – taking the chance to display their fair, bare thighs. So mother and daughter fought like cat and dog, in accordance with that English independence of spirit whereby each person must have his own idea and never yield to the other, which results, as the argument proceeds, in an ever-increasing distance of opinion between the two parties.

  ‘Mary’ – that was Miss Wedderburn’s first name – said Mrs Wedderburn one day, ‘we can’t go together. If we both go away, who’s going to cook for Mr Ma?’

  ‘Tell them to go and have a summer holiday too,’ said Miss Wedderburn, twinkling her dimples like a mischievous child.

  ‘I’ve asked Mr Ma about it, and he’s not taking any time off.’ Mrs Wedderburn uttered the word ‘not’ with particular vehemence, and stuck the dainty tip of her nose into the air as if to shoo some fly that had settled on the ceiling. There was a fly there, too, as it happened.

  ‘What?’ Mary’s eyes popped so wide that her eyelashes shot up. ‘Not taking a holiday? I’ve never heard of such a thing!’

  Yes, the English really have never heard of such a thing – that there should be people in this world who work for their living all year round, and never, ever stop working. She paused for a moment.

  ‘That young Ma Wei,’ she said with a giggle, ‘told me he wanted to take a trip to the seaside with me. I told him I wasn’t going with any Chinaman! Go with him – what a laugh!’

  ‘Mary! You shouldn’t be so rude to people. Actually, Mr Ma and his son really aren’t so bad.’ Although Mrs Wedderburn didn’t like Chinese people, she had an argumentative spirit. If somebody said that red roses smelt the best, she’d unfailingly declare that white ones had the most marvellous perfume, or at least that pink ones were the best – despite having been perfectly aware right from the start that neither smelt as beautiful as red ones.

  ‘Oh-ho, Mum!’ said Mary, cocking her head on one side and twisting her rosy lips sarcastically. ‘You’ve fallen for that old Mr Ma, thanks to his tin of tea and that dinky teapot. If I were you, I’d never have accepted his gifts. Look at the old wretch’s face: looks as if someone’s punched it swollen. Have you noticed how he just sits there for ages without saying a word? And that young Ma Wei’s even more horrible. When he’s got nothing else to do, he asks me if I’ll go out with him. Asked me again yesterday, he did – if I’d go to the pictures with him. I —’

  ‘And when he does take you to the pictures, it’s always him who buys your ticket, isn’t it?’ Mrs Wedderburn rebuked Mary, with a stern look on her face.

  ‘I’ve never asked him to pay for my ticket. If I give him the money, he won’t take it. And while we’re on that subject, Mum, you still owe me sixpence.’

  ‘I’ll pay you back tomorrow, I promise.’ Mrs Wedderburn felt around in her purse, but as she’d thought, she didn’t have enough. ‘You know what I think? The Chinese are more generous than us. You just watch when Mr Ma gives Ma Wei any money. He just stuffs his hand into his pocket, and hands him money without even counting it. And when Ma Wei does any shopping for his father, he never pesters him
to get the money back. What’s more,’ Mrs Wedderburn shook her head, then put her bun back in place with a gentle prod of her finger, ‘every week when Mr Ma pays the rent, he takes the receipt and crams it into his pocket with barely a glance, and hands me the money. Never ever argues about the amount.’

  ‘How quaint! How novel!’ said Mary, smiling.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘“Ethics alter in accordance with economics.”’ Mary stuck out her chest and put a hand behind her back, with the air of a university professor. ‘Our forebears used to live with all the family, young and old, together in one house, with everything shared – including money – just like the Chinese do. Nowadays we’ve got a different economic system, with each earning his own money and eating his own food. And our ideas of what’s good have changed along with it. We prize independence, so we stake our claim to our own money. And the Chinese aren’t any more generous than us, either! It’s just that their economic system hasn’t developed to —’

  ‘Where on earth did you get all that from? Trying to show off with your learned airs!’

  ‘Never you mind where I heard it from.’ Miss Mary rolled her eyes, tipped her head to one side and giggled. ‘Anyhow, it’s true isn’t it, Mum? Isn’t it?’ Seeing her mother nod, she continued. ‘It’s no good you sticking up for the Chinese, Mum. If they weren’t so horrible, why would all the Chinese in films and plays and books be murderers or arsonists or rapists?’

  Miss Mary’s economical and ethical notions derived from her reading of the newspaper, along with her hatred of the Chinese. As none of this knowledge was really the product of her own research, you couldn’t really blame her. If China wasn’t such a shambles of a country, where would the foreign newspapers get their bad news from?