Mr Ma and Son

by Lao She

  What did you come here for, if it wasn’t to study?

  Hating himself didn’t help, and punching himself was a sheer waste of energy. It all boiled down to the fact that the words in the book weren’t going into his head.

  The impasse in his studies wasn’t the only trouble. He was off his food, and tea tasted insipid, and he could hardly raise the enthusiasm to say hello to people. What was up? Her! That was what. The only time he felt cheerful was when he saw her. Was this what they call love? Two red blotches appeared on Ma Wei’s cheeks, hot to the touch.

  Mustn’t let my father notice. Mustn’t let anyone, not even Li Tzu-jung. But those two damned spots on his face still burned when he felt them. Li Tzu-jung must have cottoned on by now.

  Ma Wei met her every breakfast, and every dinnertime. But how many hours were there from breakfast till the evening meal? One, two, three, four . . . on and on, an endless number . . . Sometimes in the evening, he would go and stand outside the door to wait for her coming home. But that didn’t help him, did it? She’d give him a nod, and sometimes a smile. But sometimes not.

  What was the good of waiting at the door for her? Why not go and see her in her shop? That wasn’t very advisable. Why not go for a stroll round town, on the off-chance of meeting her? He might just bump into her at lunchtime. And then he could join her for a meal, couldn’t he? But knowing full well that she worked in the shop, there wasn’t much point his traipsing round town for her. But what if . . .

  I could just stand in the street where she works for a while, then walk around a bit. She might be on a bus, or browsing in a shop.

  And that was just what he’d started doing. Once he thought he’d seen her on a bus and nipped on to it without thinking, but on closer inspection, it proved not to be her. Sometimes, pursuing some girl, he’d squeeze his way through a crowd and chase her with grim determination, trampling on old ladies’ toes without even bothering to apologise. But when he’d caught up with her, he’d discover it was someone else. The girl might be as fair as Mary, and wearing the same type of hat and clothes. Bloody hell! Wearing the same clothes as her! Keep on walking. Keep on looking . . . And all the while that ache inside him. And those two red blotches on his cheeks, burning away.

  And what happened when it rained? That didn’t stop him. He still went out, in case she might knock off early because of the rain. You idiot, Ma Wei. Who ever stopped work early on account of the rain! Can’t sit here, anyway. Out I go. He didn’t even take an umbrella. He hated using one, since it blocked off people’s faces. He got soaked to the skin, and water poured from his hat, but still he didn’t see her.

  Yesterday he’d been certain. Her! It was her! Walking on the other side of the street. His heart had beat quicker, and his legs seemed to be spinning round inside his trousers. After her! But what’ll you say? Invite her for a meal? Nearly three o’clock now – she’s bound to have had lunch. Invite her out to tea. No, it’s too early. And what if she’s got something urgent on? Hold her up, and she’ll be grumpy. What if she just ignores me? And the other people in the street look at me? What if it makes her so angry she’ll never even look at me again?

  He’d almost caught up with her when his courage failed him. He came to a halt and just watched her hurry away. Anywhere else but in that main street, he would have wept. How could he be such a coward! So dithering! With a hollow feeling inside, he wondered how to proceed: hate himself? Punish himself? Pity himself? But it didn’t matter what he did. It was her that mattered. She held his heart.

  Try to think negatively; put her to the back of my mind; try not looking at her. Plenty of girls in this world, so why should I be set on loving her? Someone like her, who wears such ugly red lipstick each Saturday. And she’s English: what’s the point? Why go and fall for a foreigner? Some day I’ll have to go back to China, and what about her then? Could she go with me? Not likely! Right then: cast her into oblivion, far beyond the imagination.

  But back she came. Not her, but her image, dimples twinkling, lips quivering, with one of her white teeth biting the edge of her lower lip, and curly brown hair like a sunlit pool of springtime ripples. Her soft pale neck, always so pretty. Nothing he said or thought was as sweet to him as saying ‘Mary’ and thinking Mary.

  If I could hold her in my arms just the once. Life wouldn’t matter then. I’d give my life just for that. I went to the cinema with her once, and stroked her hand in the dark. So beautifully smooth, it was. She didn’t even seem to notice. Perhaps foreign women don’t think anything of it when they let someone touch their hand. She rescued my father, so she must think something of me. Otherwise why’d she let me stroke her hand? Why was she so shaken by rescuing my father? There may be hope yet.

  That punk Washington! I bet he doesn’t stop at stroking her hand . . . I hate him! If she were a Chinese woman, I’d tell her straight, ‘I love you!’ Would I, though? Would I have the courage, even with a Chinese woman? Ma Wei! You’re a useless bloke, a total chicken! Don’t think about it any more. Just get down to your studying in earnest. If I don’t make a go of it, the future! I’d do anything, absolutely anything to get her off my mind . . .

  Before his eyes, water flowed, birds flew and flowers moved in the wind. The water, the birds, the flowers. Maybe they were all more beautiful than her, but people are people, things of the flesh. Love wasn’t something to be understood with the spirit, but something to be enjoyed or suffered with the body. It was no good trying to suppress it, either.

  Mrs Wedderburn carried Napoleon and with Ma Wei following behind, they made their way home together.

  As they reached their door, they saw Miss Ely standing at the foot of the steps. She wore a blue straw hat with a pale-pink flower fastened to its brim, a blue blouse and a rice-yellow silk skirt. Her head was tipped very slightly to one side, and she was serenely and tranquilly contemplating her shadow, cast across the white stone of the steps.

  She’s pretty too, Ma Wei observed.

  ‘Ah, Miss Ely! How are you? Do come in.’ Mrs Wedderburn shook hands with Catherine.

  ‘Sorry, Miss Ely. Have you been waiting a long time?’ Ma Wei shook hands with her.

  ‘No, I’ve only just arrived.’ She gave a smile.

  ‘You go on up, Miss Ely. Don’t let me waste your studying time.’ Napoleon in her arms, Mrs Wedderburn opened the drawing room door and went in.

  ‘See you shortly then, Mrs Wedderburn.’ Miss Ely placed her hat on the hatstand, gathered her hair back and went upstairs.

  Mr Ma was on his way out to lunch, and he met her on the stairs. ‘Ah, Miss Ely. How are you? How is the Reverend Ely? How is Mrs Ely? And how is your brother?’ When making polite enquiries Mr Ma tended to go a little overboard.

  ‘They’re all very well. And are you much better now, Mr Ma? It was very bad of my uncle. You —’

  ‘Not at all! Not at all!’ Mr Ma gave a few throaty gurgles, by way of laughter. ‘It was my fault. He meant well. Old boys painting the town red together! Ha ha!’

  ‘Enjoy yourself, Mr Ma. I’m going to do some studying with Ma Wei.’ Miss Ely stood aside to let Mr Ma go past.

  ‘Well then, I’ll leave you in peace. Won’t keep you company. Ha ha!’

  Slowly descending, he had a word with Ma Wei. ‘I’ll be going to the shop when I’ve had my lunch.’ He spoke very quietly for fear of being overheard by Catherine. ‘Going to the shop’ was hardly something to be trumpeted from the rooftops. If he’d been ‘going to my government office’ – well, now, that really would be worth shouting about.

  Sitting down on a chair, Catherine drew out a magazine. ‘You teach me for half an hour, Ma Wei, and I’ll teach you for half an hour. I’ll translate a passage from this magazine into Chinese, and you correct me, sentence by sentence. How about you – what do you plan to read?’

  Ma Wei opened the window and watched a strand of sunlight fall on her hair, forming a circle of golden light that set her off, making her look a bit like the Virgin Mary in pictures.
He pulled a chair across, sitting further into the room, to avoid blocking the ray of sunlight on her head. Her hair’s very pretty, even nicer than Mary’s. Don’t know why, though, but Mary’s still better-looking than her. Mary’s prettiness gets at your heart, whereas Catherine’s just a pretty elder sister.

  Then, as he registered her question, he rapidly pulled himself together and asked, ‘What do you think I ought to read, Elder Sister?’

  ‘Why not read a novel? If you don’t have one already, go and buy a copy of Wells’ The History of Mr Polly. You read it aloud and I’ll listen, and as long as I can understand, you can keep on reading. If we do it that way, you’ll learn to read every word exactly right. You look up the words you don’t know beforehand, and if any of them aren’t clear I’ll tell you which of the dictionary meanings fits best. We’ll do it like that, shall we? If you’ve got any other good ideas, so much the better.’

  ‘We’ll do as you suggest, Elder Sister. I haven’t got any book to read from today, so I’ll teach you now, and you teach me next time.’

  ‘What, and let me get half an hour up on you?’ Catherine looked at him with a smile.

  Ma Wei smiled back.

  ‘Mum! Mum! Have you bought a new hat?’ As she came into the house, Mary had caught sight of Catherine’s blue straw hat.

  ‘Where?’ asked Mrs Wedderburn.

  ‘There!’ Mary pointed at the hatstand, her blue eyes filled with admiration.

  ‘That’s not mine. It’s Miss Ely’s.’

  ‘Oh, Mum! I’m going to buy one like that, too. What’s she here for? Huh, I don’t like that pink flower much.’ Picking on a small flaw made her envy less potent.

  ‘What’s brought you home so early?’ asked Mrs Wedderburn.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I kept on worrying about you after you’d had that fall this morning. I’ll have to rush back but I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You are, aren’t you now? Mum, I want a hat like that. We don’t sell straw hats in our shop. Wonder where she bought it?’

  Mary was still standing in the doorway, her eyes riveted to the blue hat. The blue of the hat and the blue of her eyes seemed to have merged into one blue line.

  ‘Have you had anything to eat, Mary?’

  I was in such a hurry to come and see how you were.’ Mary moved a step in the direction of the hatstand.

  ‘I’m all right now, thanks, Mary. Don’t worry about me.You be off.’

  ‘Mum, what’s Catherine here for?’

  ‘She’s learning Chinese with Ma Wei.’

  ‘I’ll get him to teach me some day.’ Mary shot a glare at the blue hat.

  Just as Mary was about to leave, down came Miss Ely and Ma Wei. Saying hello to mother and daughter, Miss Ely took her hat and put it on, all very naturally, with no trace of pride or any affectation in her manner.

  ‘You’re looking very well, Mary,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Your hat is gorgeous, Miss Ely.’ The left side of Mary’s mouth lifted in a decidedly sour smile.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  Don’t pretend you don’t know it is! thought Mary, and glanced at Ma Wei.

  ‘Bye, Mrs Wedderburn. See you, Mary.’ Catherine shook hands with them, and nodded to Ma Wei.

  ‘See you this evening, Mum.’ Mary followed her out.

  From the steps, Ma Wei watched their retreating forms. Apart from their both being girls, they had nothing else in common. Catherine’s head was erect, with the brim of her hat trembling slightly. Mary’s head poked forwards a little, and her skirt was wrapping itself round her thighs.

  He put his hands in his pockets, and, with a frown on his forehead, went upstairs. It was lunchtime by now, but he wasn’t hungry. Actually, it wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry – he couldn’t say what it was . . .

  ‘Mum, Gamages in Oxford Street have got that sort of straw hat. Let’s both buy one, shall we?’ said Mary to her mother in the kitchen, holding Napoleon in her arms.

  ‘We’re not rolling in money, Mary! Pass me the sugar bowl.’ Mrs Wedderburn’s little nose was baked bright red from the stove, and she was a bit snappy. ‘We’re going on our summer holidays, aren’t we? If you’re planning to spend all your money buying hats, we can forget about going away. That sort of hat must cost at least two pounds!’

  She tipped a spoonful of sugar onto the vegetables and her eyes widened. ‘There now! Just look! You come here disturbing me, and I’ve gone and put sugar —’

  ‘If you go anywhere on holiday, you’ve simply got to have a new hat!’ Mary spoke with earnest conviction, and in her vehemence squeezed Napoleon’s legs so hard they must have hurt.

  The little dog didn’t dare utter a squeak. If you don’t get your way about buying your hat, he said to himself, it’ll be all over for me, I can see. Dogs are better off than humans – no hat problems.

  ‘We’ll discuss it when we’ve eaten, Mary. Don’t hold the dog so roughly.’

  Mr Ma didn’t arrive home until dinner had already been served. For his lunch he’d had three immortals soup with noodles in a Chinese restaurant. After that he’d gone to the shop, where, in a solemn and businesslike manner, he’d smoked a few pipes of tobacco. It had been his original intention to rearrange the wares, but he reminded himself that he’d only just recovered, and mustn’t overtire himself. Yet it didn’t seem quite right not to be doing something or other.

  Why not take out the accounts, and have a look at them? Forty pounds profit two months ago. Fifteen pounds loss last month. He put the accounts away. Who could be bothered with such stuff! Sometimes you make a profit, sometimes you don’t. That’s trade. You can’t always be turning a profit.

  After dinner, Mary was about to launch into the hat discussion with her mother when Mr Ma gave a slight nod in her direction.

  ‘For you, Miss Wedderburn.’ He handed her a small envelope.

  ‘Oh, Mr Ma, it’s a cheque for two pounds. What’s that for?’

  ‘I promised you a hat, didn’t I?’

  ‘Hooray, Mum! A hat!’

  XII

  SINCE HE’D recovered from his illness, Mr Ma had been very keen to please others. Breakfast over, he’d go into the backyard and water the flowers, remove caterpillars and cut the lawn, humming wordless hymns, with the air of some Taoist gentleman of Chinese antiquity rejoicing in thoughts of paradise and immortality. He felt so carefree and cheerful that if a bee landed on his forehead, he made not the slightest move to shoo it away. As long as you don’t sting me, I’ll do you no harm. There now, see how placid and relaxed I am!

  He’d given Mary no less than two pounds to buy a hat. Fine, one vow fulfilled. Now should he buy one for her mother or not? We made a loss of fifteen pounds last month, and that’s no joke. Better be more thrifty, hadn’t we? But you can’t dismiss human obligations I was unwell, and I ought to buy her something to express my thanks. We’ll see next month. Yes, next month. Hardly likely to make a loss of fifteen pounds again next month.

  Ma Wei’s been getting thinner lately. Wonder what’s the matter with him? Still a young lad, but he ought to eat a bit more. Plenty to eat and a lot of sound sleep, that’d fill him out. Yes, he’ll have to eat more.

  Ah, I ought to pop in at the shop. All that fellow Li Tzu-jung can do is grumble. A load of rubbish – grumbling morning till night. I’ll go in early this morning, and give him no chance to grumble. Hey, it’s ten o’clock already. I’ll have to be off there in a hurry. Wait a moment, I’ll take two pots of flowers to the shop. Splendid idea! If he says I’m late, I’ll have a ready excuse: I’ve been transplanting the flowers. Those hopeless-looking chrysanthemums have grown after all. Look quite nice now, too. That’s it. I’ll take a couple of pots of chrysanthemums. A few pots of chrysanthemums in the shop’ll look very elegant. And perhaps they’ll show up Li Tzu-jung’s tasteless display all the more vividly!

  If he had a long way to go, Mr Ma would always take a taxi. If his destination was nearby, he’d walk at a leisurely pace. Under no circumstances w
ould he take a bus or tram. It’d be no laughing matter if he had an accident and died in London. Of late he’d even taken to travelling less by taxi, since the traffic was so chaotic and you could never be sure, even with a taxi. When he used to catch cabs in Peking, the police would halt the pedestrians and horses to speed the taxi on its way. So exalted, so grandly mandarin-like! But here in London, a big policeman had only to stick out a hand and all the traffic, even the prime minister’s car, had to come to a stop. These foreign devils! No sense of the proper social distinctions! No notion of rank!

  Hugging his two pots of transplanted chrysanthemums, his mouth with its stringy moustache twitched up in a little smile, he pushed his way through the crowds. Bloody hell, where on earth have all these people come from? You can’t get through them, and they’re all walking so fast. That’s a bad sign. They’ll never get anywhere, the English. Not remotely sedate!

  By the time he reached the shop, his ears were buzzing, as they had begun to do all day, every day. God have mercy, and grant me a return to my own homeland. I can’t endure this chaos. When he’d recovered his composure, he arranged the two pots of chrysanthemums at the front of the shop window, and, twirling his moustache, he contemplated them for a while. Aha! That one’s got a little yellow leaf – best nip it off. Can’t allow the smallest bit of faded leaf. Must keep the lot perfectly green. You have to be particular about things.

  ‘Mr Ma!’ Li Tzu-jung came out of the back room, with his sleeves rolled up as usual and his hands covered in muck. (The young fellow always refuses to wear a jacket. So common!) ‘Last month we didn’t make a penny, and we haven’t sold much this month, either. I can’t just stand by and watch it happening; we’ll have to put our heads together on this. If you’ve got a plan for improving things, I’ll be only too glad to help you, of course, but if you haven’t, I’d best try and find another job, to save you my wages. There’s not a lot of work to be done here, so you and Ma Wei could easily manage between the two of you. Whether in fact I’d be able to find another job, I’m not sure, but if you’d be good enough to give me two weeks’ notice, I might manage to find something. Let’s put our cards on the table and be frank with each other. Standing on ceremony’ll do us no good.’