Mr Ma and Son

by Lao She

  Li Tzu-jung spoke bluntly, but his manner was gentle and friendly. Even Mr Ma could see that. His words came straight from the heart – but all the same, they were distinctly ill-bred. Mr Ma removed his large spectacles, delicately wiped them with his handkerchief, and said nothing for a long time.

  ‘Well, there’s no immediate hurry, Mr Ma. You think it over, and let me know something definite soon, all right?’ Li Tzu-jung knew it wasn’t the slightest bit of good putting pressure on the elder Ma. Better to give him some time to think it over. Whether he actually would think it over, even given the time, was quite another matter, but suggesting that at least saved them from being locked there in awkwardness.

  Mr Ma nodded, and continued to wipe his spectacles. ‘I say, shop assistant Li,’he said with a half smile, putting his spectacles back on, ‘If you feel your wages to be too low, we can discuss the problem.’

  ‘Good grief! My dear Mr Ma, do I think my wages are too low? Really, there’s just no way of getting you to understand me, is there!’ Li Tzu-jung scratched his head, and stuttered a little as he spoke. ‘You must see how things stand, Mr Ma. I’ve told you many times that we’ve got to think about the shop, but you’ve never taken any notice. And now we’re running at a loss. I . . . I . . . really, I don’t know how I can make it clearer. Do you know, our neighbour made a good few hundred pounds last month, just from selling Mongol and Manchu books. I —’

  ‘But who on earth would buy Mongol and Manchu books? What would be the point of buying such things?’ Mr Ma now felt that, besides being ill-bred, Li Tzu-jung was slightly insane into the bargain. How ludicrous, selling Mongol books in an antiques shop! Who would buy them? ‘If you feel the wages to be too low, we can come to some arrangement. We’ll find a way. But on no account must we lose face with one another over it.’

  Face!

  It’s funny how the Chinese concern for face often goes hand in hand with shamelessness. When in Peking, Mr Ma used to grovel to borrow a single dollar from someone. Why? He had to buy a drink at some relative’s wedding, for the sake of face. When Field Marshal Chang gets reinforcements from Japan to help him out of a tight spot, he has to fight Field Marshal Kuo, for the sake of face. Department Head Wang knows perfectly well that Under-Secretary Li is a bad egg, but doesn’t fire him, for the sake of face. All things Chinese bow down at the foot of face. As long as face can be maintained, who cares about the reality?

  The Chinese way of doing things reminds one of the children’s game of blind man’s buff. You go round in circles trying to touch someone, and if you manage to, you’ve succeeded in preserving your face, so everything’s fine and dandy. Who cares whether the person you’ve caught is Little Three, Little Four or Little Three’s elder brother, Dopey Two?

  Mr Ma was justly in a tight spot. The facts were simple: the business was running at a loss, and he had to think of some means of rectifying this state of affairs. But, being truly Chinese, he wouldn’t allow himself to see things in this light. Only foreign devils would think in such terms. Li Tzu-jung thought like that, too, the yellow-faced foreign devil!

  ‘So the business is running at a loss,’ he said. ‘Well, I never wanted to come and run such a dead-end business in the first place.’

  Realising that Li Tzu-jung wasn’t going to argue, he sat down on a chair, and, twirling his scrap of moustache, gave his thoughts free rein.

  If I hadn’t come to England, I might have become a government official in China by now. If I spend a lot, it’s my money, and it’s nobody else’s concern. The vehemence of this thought jerked his hand so violently that he almost pulled a couple of hairs from his moustache.

  No, I’m not acquainted with the ins and outs of commerce. The last thing a gentleman-scholar concerns himself with is trading! Trying to put the squeeze on me, Li? Bare-faced coercion, eh? Young fellow, Li Whatsit, if you were to study more you might reach a truer appreciation of your venerable Uncle Ma. Such commonness and vulgarity! He shot a glare towards the interior of the shop. Selling Manchu and Mongol writings, eh? Ridiculous! What would the foreign devils be doing – reading the Twelve Heads in Manchu? Or preparing themselves to see Manchu soldiers on armoured horses? We live in the era of the Republic of China!

  So you want to resign, to quit my employ? In complete disregard of face? What more could you ask for here? Haven’t I treated you well? Yet out of the blue you suddenly threaten me with your resignation. What impudence! What stupidity!

  As his thoughts proceeded in circles, his anger grew ever more righteous and he distanced himself ever further from reality. And the further he strayed, the more he felt himself to be a truly good Chinese. That yellow-faced foreign devil Li Tzu-jung!

  ‘I say, shop assistant Li.’ Mr Ma stood up, his eyes glinting rather fiercely and his voice rougher than usual, giving Li Tzu-jung quite a start. ‘I’ve offered to increase your wages, yet still you refuse to work for me. Very well then, I’ve given the matter some thought, and if you wish to leave, leave! Leave now, at once.’

  He followed this speech with several titters in imitation of the famous strategist Chu-ke Liang as depicted in Chinese traditional theatre. As the titters trailed off, he wondered whether he had spoken too hastily. But the words were out now, so what was the point of remorse? Best carry it to its proper conclusion. ‘Leave now. At once!’

  Li Tzu-jung was in the middle of polishing a copper kettle. As he heard Mr Ma’s words, he slowly put the kettle down on the table, and looked at Mr Ma for ages without saying a word.

  Mr Ma grew somewhat ill at ease. The young upstart was giving him such a hard stare.

  Li Tzu-jung laughed. ‘Mr Ma, neither of us understands the other, so it’s best if we don’t waste any more words. I can’t leave at once. I’m asking you to give me two weeks’ notice out of respect for our friendship. But there’s also a legal requirement: I had an arrangement with your elder brother that no matter which of us decided to terminate my contract, he was to write the other a letter to that effect two weeks in advance. So with that in mind, Mr Ma, I’ll do another fortnight’s work here, starting today. Thank you.’

  With these words, Li Tzu-jung picked up the kettle again.

  Mr Ma reddened, glared at Li Tzu-jung’s back, opened the door and marched out onto the street. He muttered curses to himself and his thoughts ran riot. You shameless young peasant! Someone gives you the push, and you insist on two extra weeks! Right, I’ll let you stay here two more weeks. But I’m not going to see you again. I’ve lost all face, and it will be quite impossible for us to work together. Quite impossible. That’s it; I’ll go back. I’ll go back, and give him two weeks’ wages, and tell him to leave immediately. Let’s see you still refusing to leave when I give you that money for nothing!

  Let’s make it clear: I never fired you. It was you who was unwilling to continue the job. You think you’ll carry on for another two weeks and then hang around after that, but I see through your little plan. I’m no fool!

  That’s what I’ll do. Give him a fortnight’s wages, and tell him to leave. From what I’ve seen of him, though, even if I give him the money, he’ll still refuse to go. If he says he’s going to work two more weeks, then that’s what he’ll do. There’s no way of dealing with such a person. He doesn’t have the slightest concern for face! There’s nothing I can do. Some day I’ll take Ma Wei back to China – there’s nothing good to be learnt abroad. Just look at Li Tzu-jung, brazen and shameless. You tell him to go, and what does he do but talk about the law and drag friendship into it, the glib rogue!

  There’s nothing for it . . . No face . . . I’ll go and have a bowl of three immortals soup. Who cares about Li Tzu-jung and his type. He’s not worth losing one’s temper over. If I really did get angry, I’d show him what I’m made of!

  XIII

  ‘LI, OLD chap! Have you been arguing with my father?’ asked Ma Wei with a very disagreeable expression on his face as he entered the shop.

  ‘Me? How could I possibly have argued with hi
m? Come on, now, Ma, old mate,’ said Li Tzu-jung with a smile.

  ‘Look here, Li!’ Ma Wei’s face was set sternly, brow knitted and lips quivering slightly. ‘You shouldn’t stir up trouble with my father. You know what he’s like. You can always come to me first. All right, I know you’ve been quite a lot of help to us, but don’t you try putting my father in his place! All said and done, he’s over twenty years older than us, a generation our senior, and ought to be treated with some respect.’ He suddenly stopped, and glanced at Li Tzu-jung.

  Li Tzu-jung gaped at him for a moment, scratched his head and burst out into chuckles. ‘What’s got into you, Ma, old lad?’

  ‘Nothing’s got into me! But don’t try to boss my father around again!’

  ‘Oh-ho!’ Li Tzu-jung was on the verge of losing his temper, but pasted a smile on his face again. ‘Have you eaten yet, Ma?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Well, mind the shop a moment, will you? I’m going out to get a bite, then I’ll be straight back.’

  Ma Wei nodded stonily. Li Tzu-jung stuck his cap on and marched out, still smiling.

  About ten minutes after Li Tzu-jung had left, a benign-looking old man entered the shop.

  ‘Ah, young man! And might you be Mr Ma’s son?’ asked the old man, smiling and cocking his head to one side quizzically.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Ma Wei, forcing a smile.

  ‘Ah! Right first guess! You and your father have the same eyes.’ As he said this, the old man glanced towards the interior of the shop. ‘And where is Mr Li?’

  ‘He’s gone out for his lunch, and will be straight back . . . But if you’d like to look at anything, sir, I can help you.’ Ma Wei was thinking, I’ve got a head for business too. Li Tzu-jung’s not absolutely indispensable!

  ‘No need to bother about me. I’ll just have a look round on my own.’ The old man gave a smile, and, with one hand stuck behind his back and the other in his jacket pocket, proceeded to tilt his head this way and that in minute examination of the objects on the shelves. After each inspection, he gave a slight nod.

  Ma Wei didn’t feel he could engage the man’s attention with sales talk, yet he didn’t feel right just waiting there either, doing absolutely nothing. He stared at the old man’s back with a frown on his brow. Sometimes the old man would turn his head, and Ma Wei would hastily force a smile, but the old man never took any notice of him.

  The old man wasn’t particularly tall but was amply proportioned, with very broad shoulders that drooped slightly because of his age. His hair was as white as snow, and all combed backwards. A white beard covered his face from cheek to cheek handsomely. His nose wasn’t very prominent but his eyes were exceptionally deep-set, with little eyeballs lying in wait, ready to rush to the aid of any smile that might appear below. His head seemed permanently cocked to one side.

  He was remarkably well dressed, with a dark-grey woollen suit, a grey silk tie fastened by a fine gold tiepin, and a stiff single collar, so high that whenever he tilted his head, the tips of the collar would hide themselves in his white beard. He wore no hat, and his shoes were exceedingly big, at least two sizes bigger than his feet, so that when he walked he shuffled somewhat, thus enabling the crease down the centre of each of his trouser legs to remain as straight as a rod, without the slightest wrinkling.

  ‘I say, young man, this pot wouldn’t be the genuine thing, would it?’ The old man picked up a little earthenware pot from one of the shelves, and, holding it in one hand, gently felt round the lip of it with the other, his eyes shut, like a lady stroking her hair with the utmost care and pleasure.

  ‘It . . .’ Ma Wei hastened over in two strides, took a look at the pot, then uttered another long and useless ‘It . . .’

  ‘Ah, you can’t tell me. Never mind, we’ll wait for Mr Li.’ The old man cupped the pot in his hands, and his lips in motion beneath his white beard, restored the little vessel to its original place.

  ‘Where’s your father? I haven’t seen him for quite a few days.’ He didn’t wait for Ma Wei’s reply, but carried on talking, his eyes looking at the pot from a distance. ‘Your father is a very likable chap indeed. The only thing is, he has very little idea of how to do business. Yes, he has quite poor business sense. You’re studying here, I suppose? What are you studying? Ah, Mr Li, how are you?’

  ‘Ah, John – Lord Simon! How are you? I haven’t seen you these last few days.’ Li Tzu-jung’s face was wreathed in smiles, and he shook hands with Lord Simon most warmly.

  Lord Simon’s eyes twinkled and he gave a smile in return.

  ‘What would you like to look at today, Lord Simon? Have you finished analysing that I-hsing pot you took last time?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ve analysed it. If you have any cheap-quality Cantonese porcelain, any kind whatsoever, I would be glad of it. Cantonese porcelain is the only sort I haven’t done any experiments with as yet. I’ll take whatever you have, so long as it’s poor quality.’

  Then he pointed to the little pot. ‘Is that the genuine article?’

  ‘With you asking me, I wouldn’t dare to say what’s genuine and what’s not!’ Li Tzu-jung was smiling so much that his face looked like a steamed flower bun. As he spoke, he fetched the little pot and handed it to the old man. ‘The glaze is too thin, and the brown on the bottom’s not thick enough, either. So it’s certainly not Tz’u-chou, but it’s early Ming at the latest. You know more than me, Lord Simon. You do as you see fit, pay what you think it’s worth. Mr Ma, bring a chair over for Lord Simon.’

  ‘No need. I’m on my feet all day in the laboratory, so I’m used to standing up. Yes, used to standing, very used to it!’ He smiled at Ma Wei. ‘No, thank you, no need to bring a chair.’

  Then he held up the small pot and scrutinised it once again. ‘Yes, you are quite right. The brown on the bottom is not thick enough. Quite right. Very well, have it delivered to me in any case. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Name your price, Lord Simon.’ Li Tzu-jung rubbed his hands and shrugged his shoulders gently, the very picture of a seasoned salesman.

  Watching Li Tzu-jung, Ma Wei unconsciously nodded in approval. The old man looked at the price tag on the shelf. Then he winked and said, ‘Let me have it at half-price, Mr Li, will you?’

  ‘All right, Lord Simon. Shall I deliver it myself again?’

  ‘Yes, please do. I shall definitely be home from six o’clock onwards. Come and have dinner with me, will you?’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be round before half past six, I promise. Do you want the Cantonese porcelain delivered, too?’

  ‘Yes – how much of it do you have? I don’t want good stuff. To use for analysis, you know —’

  ‘Of course, of course. We’ve only got two sets of teapots and teacups here at the moment. Not very good – genuine Cantonese goods. We’ll deliver the two tea sets to your laboratory, and I’ll bring this little pot to your study. Will that suit you, Lord Simon?’

  The fellow’s got it down pat! thought Ma Wei.

  ‘Yes, quite right. Perfectly right, Mr Li.’

  Li Tzu-jung took the little pot from him and placed it on the table. ‘And I’ll bring it to your study on the q.t., so Lady Simon doesn’t catch wind of it, eh, Lord Simon?’

  The old man burst out laughing, the first time he’d actually laughed out loud. ‘Yes, indeed! You’re familiar with all my domestic affairs by now!’ He pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped his eyes. ‘You know, scientists ought not to get married. Brings them too much trouble, far too much trouble. Lady Simon is an excellent woman, but she comes and disturbs my work all the time. And my being both a scientist and a collector makes it even worse. Lady Simon likes diamonds and pearls, and all I do is buy broken pots and tiles! Ah, but women will be women . . .

  ‘Yes, bring it to my study, and we’ll have dinner there together. I may want to ask you about a few characters, too. The day before yesterday, I bought a bronze casket with Chinese characters on the lid, lots of little ones all squared
off. I can’t manage to make them out, so you translate them for me, will you? A shilling for every character, eh?’

  ‘They aren’t seal script?’ Li Tzu-jung was still smiling, as if he could power the antiques shop, if not the whole world, with smiles.

  ‘No, no, they aren’t. I know you’re afraid of seal script. Anyway, I’ll see you this evening, and I’ll pay you for the wares and for the translation together. Until then.’ As he said this, Lord Simon walked over and patted Ma Wei on the shoulder. ‘You still haven’t told me what you are studying!’

  ‘Commerce, sir – your Lordship!’

  ‘Ah, good, good. The Chinese have the talent and stamina that business requires. Only thing is they don’t understand modern methods. Try to learn’em. Good; get down to your studies, and don’t go chasing after the girls, eh?’ The old man winked one of his little eyes deliberately, and was about to laugh but stopped himself, merely grinning beneath his whiskers.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ma Wei, with a red face.

  ‘Where’s your hat, Lord Simon?’ Li Tzu-jung opened the door, and, bowing at the waist, ushered the old man out.

  ‘Ah, yes. It’s in the car. I’ll see you this evening, Mr Li.’

  After the old man had gone, Li Tzu-jung lost no time in packing the little pot and the two tea sets in cotton wool and wrapping them up. As he wrapped, he said to Ma Wei, ‘The old man’s a good customer. He specialises in collecting bronzes and pottery. His study’s got three times as many things in it as we’ve got here. He used to be a professor of chemistry at the University of London, but he’s retired now. He’s still doing some special research into the chemical composition of pottery clays, though. Very interesting old fellow. Buys the precious stuff for his collection, and the poor-quality stuff for his chemical analyses. Over seventy, he is, but a real livewire. Ma, old lad, could you make out two invoices and stick them with these two parcels?’