Mr Ma and Son

by Lao She

  ‘Sit down, Mr Ma,’ said the Reverend Ely. ‘No need to say anything more about the matter. The boys have had their fight, and that’s the end of it. When Paul was at school he was forever fighting, and there was nothing I could do about it. Not that I’d have wished to. I say, did you get to church?’

  Mr Ma blushed, unable to find an answer on the spur of the moment. After a long while, he said, ‘I’ll be going next week. Yes, next week.’

  Although rather peeved, the Reverend Ely didn’t pursue the matter any further. He pushed his spectacles up. ‘Look here, Mr Ma,’ he said, ‘you really must give me some help. My Chinese still won’t do, and without your help, I just —’

  ‘I should be most happy to help you!’ said Mr Ma very cheerfully. He thought to himself, Ma Wei gave Paul a thrashing, so if I can help the Reverend Ely, that will square things both sides, leaving neither of us in the other’s debt, won’t it?

  ‘Mr Ma,’ the Reverend Ely seemed to have divined the nature of Mr Ma’s thoughts, ‘your helping me and the fight with Paul are two quite separate matters, though. If they fight, that’s their business. Nothing to do with us. If you’re willing to help me, then I must do something for you. Time is money, and we can’t waste another’s time for nothing, eh?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Mr Ma nodded. Actually he was saying to himself: These foreign devils are bloody pig-headed, and no mistake. Always have to have things cut and dried – bloody awkward!

  The Reverend Ely’s eyes twinkled in merriment. ‘When are you free, Mr Ma? What can I help you with? We must decide today, so that we can get down to work straight away.’

  ‘I’m not busy any day.’ Mr Ma hated the word ‘busy’.

  The Reverend Ely was just about to speak, when in came Mrs Ely with her head of unruly kapok. The furrows on either side of her nose appeared particularly deep, and her eyelids especially puffy. She looked both dumbfounded and stern at the same time.

  ‘Mr Ma, what on earth was Ma Wei doing?’ she demanded sharply.

  ‘Yes, I came here to —’

  Giving Mr Ma no time to finish, she stiffened her neck, and asked once more, ‘What on earth came over Ma Wei? I warn you, Mr Ma, just you dare allow your Chinese boys to rebel! Just let them dare try to fight us! Twenty years ago, you trembled at the very sight of an Englishman, and now you have the cheek to fight us. Just see what happens if you kill someone here. This isn’t China, where you can slaughter and beat people at random. There are laws in England!’

  Not uttering a sound, Mr Ma swallowed several mouthfuls of saliva.

  The Reverend Ely opened his mouth, then shut it again. Mr Ma looked most deserving of pity, but Mrs Ely was fearsome.

  Ma Wei hadn’t tried to kill Paul. All he’d done was knock him down on the spur of the moment, and although Mrs Ely loved her son, she would never have lost her temper simply because her son had got a few bruises. No, she was infuriated because Ma Wei – a Chinese boy – had dared to fight Paul. The moment an English person opens their eyes, they see the whole world at their feet: Hong Kong, India, Egypt, Africa . . . all are their domains. They not only feel proud of themselves, but they also crave acknowledgement of their undoubted and manifold superiority. To Mrs Ely, the humiliation of Ma Wei’s daring to fight Paul was unbearable. (Although Paul had suffered no real injury whatsoever.) No one could stand for that . . . except the Reverend Ely. And she felt mildly annoyed at her husband on that count.

  ‘Mummy!’ called Catherine, opening the door a tiny gap. ‘Mummy!’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Mrs Ely, turning round like a howitzer training its barrel on a new target.

  ‘Miss Wedderburn wants to have a few words with you.’

  ‘Tell her to come in!’ Mrs Ely shot forth another shell.

  Catherine opened the door and in came Mary. Mrs Ely hastened over to her in two strides, and said, smiling, ‘How are you, Mary?’ She seemed to have completely forgotten about Mr Ma and her husband.

  The Reverend Ely also hurried across. ‘How are you, Mary?’ he asked.

  Mary didn’t answer them. She was holding her hat in her hands, and fiddling with the decoration on the front of it. Her forehead was very red and her cheeks and lips white, while in each of her wide, staring eyes hung a few unshed tears. Her head jutted slightly forwards and her feet were scuffing at the floor, making it seem as though she were having trouble keeping upright.

  ‘Sit down, Mary,’ said Mrs Ely, still smiling.

  The Reverend Ely moved a chair over and Mary flopped down, sitting all askew and not bothering to straighten her skirt, thus leaving the majority of her plump thighs uncovered. Mrs Ely pursed her lips severely.

  Catherine’s face was pale too, and very calm, but with a rather anxious look in her eyes. She glanced at her mother, and glanced at Mary. She saw Mr Ma, but didn’t greet him.

  ‘What is the matter, Mary?’ Mrs Ely went up, and placed her hand on Mary’s shoulder, in a great display of charitable kindness. Then she turned her head and glared at Mr Ma, with considerable ferocity.

  ‘Ask your daughter. She knows!’ Mary pointed at Catherine.

  Mrs Ely turned around to look at Catherine, saying nothing, but conveying her question with her eyebrows.

  ‘Mary says I’ve stolen her boyfriend, Washington,’ said Miss Ely slowly.

  ‘Who might Washington be?’ Mrs Ely’s head swivelled, describing a semicircle in the air.

  ‘That’s the young fellow who rides round on a motorbike. Bound to have a dangerous accident sooner or later,’ Mr Ma told the Reverend Ely in a low voice.

  ‘My fiancé!’ said Mary, then bit her lower lip with her two front teeth.

  ‘Why did you “steal” him? How have you stolen him?’ Mrs Ely asked Catherine.

  ‘What do you mean, “steal” him?’ Catherine retorted, very steadily and firmly.

  Mary cried, ‘If you haven’t taken him from me, why hasn’t he come to call on me recently? You told me yourself just now that you often go out with him. Didn’t you say that?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said. I didn’t know he was your sweetheart. All I knew was that he was my friend. It’s a common enough happening for friends to go out and amuse themselves together.’ Miss Ely gave a tight smile.

  Mrs Ely felt rather pained as she watched the two girls arguing. She was the one who made the decisions; she wasn’t going to just stand by and listen to their nonsense! She drew herself up and said, ‘Kay! So you do know this Washington then?’

  ‘Yes, I know him, Mummy.’

  Mrs Ely frowned.

  ‘You’ve got to help me, Mrs Ely – you’ve got to save me!’ said Mary, standing up. ‘All my happiness depends on it! Tell Catherine to let him go. He’s mine! He’s mine!’

  Mrs Ely gave a dry laugh. ‘Come now, Mary. Do be careful of what you’re saying. My daughter doesn’t roam the streets stealing men! You are mistaken, my dear. If Catherine really had done as you imagine, I should know how to deal with her. As her mother, I should certainly know how to discipline her!’

  She puffed out her cheeks, then said to Catherine, ‘Go and make a pot of coffee, Kay. Mary, will you have a cup of coffee?’

  Mary said nothing.

  ‘Let’s go home, shall we, Mary?’ Into the silence stepped Mr Ma with his suggestion.

  Mary nodded.

  Mr Ma shook hands with the Reverend Ely, and, not daring to look at Mrs Ely, walked over and took Mary’s hand. It was icy-cold.

  Mary’s and Catherine’s eyes met. Catherine was still very calm and serene. She smiled at Mr Ma.

  ‘Bye-bye, Mary,’ she said to the girl. ‘We’re still friends, aren’t we? Don’t think wrongly of me.’

  Mary shook her head, and raised her hand to stick her hat on her head.

  ‘Just a moment, Mary. I’ll call a taxi,’ said Mr Ma.

  X

  AT BREAKFAST, everybody had grim, tight lips. Mr Ma felt that his son had done wrong. Ma Wei found the very sight of his father irritating. Neither dared op
enly criticise the other, so all they could do was sit there, face to face, looking glum. Mrs Wedderburn felt sorry for her daughter, but even sorrier for herself. Mary considered her mother quite laughable, but was in no mood for laughing. They, too, sat there face to face both looking grim.

  Poor old Napoleon. Nobody took any notice of him. He’d tried licking Mary’s luscious legs, but she pulled them away from him. He’d tried sniffing Mr Ma’s big leather shoes, but he moved his feet away. Nobody wanted to play. Disheartened, he ran out into the backyard, pouted at the roses, and said to himself, I wonder why all those funny humans are grumpy? Can’t imagine! Dogs and humans both look ridiculous when they sulk.

  After breakfast, Mr Ma slowly made his way upstairs. He put his pipe in his mouth, but hadn’t the heart to light it. Mary gave her mother a cold kiss and went off to work. Ma Wei donned his overcoat, and was about to go to the shop.

  ‘Ma Wei!’ Mrs Wedderburn called him to a halt. ‘Come here!’ Ma Wei followed her downstairs into the kitchen. There were unshed tears in Mrs Wedderburn’s eyes as she said in a quiet voice, ‘You’ll have to move, Ma Wei.’

  ‘Why, Mrs Wedderburn?’ asked Ma Wei, forcing a smile.

  Mrs Wedderburn gave a deep sigh.

  ‘I can’t tell you, Ma Wei. There’s no reason. Just look for somewhere, and arrange to move. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.’

  ‘Have we done something wrong?’ asked Ma Wei.

  ‘Oh, no, nothing at all. And it’s just because there’s been nothing wrong that I’m asking you to move.’ Mrs Wedderburn gave what might have been a smile.

  ‘Has my father —’

  ‘You mustn’t ask any more questions. Your father . . . your father . . . he . . . There’s nothing wrong with him at all! And you’re a good boy, too. I love you both . . . but we can’t carry on like this . . . We can’t carry on. Ma Wei, you go and tell your father. I can’t say it to him.’

  The tears flowed down either side of her nose, falling fast.

  ‘All right, Mrs Wedderburn. I’ll go and tell him.’

  She nodded her head, and gently dabbed her eyes with her tiny handkerchief. Ma Wei walked out and headed upstairs.

  ‘Dad, Mrs Wedderburn says we’ve got to move,’ said Ma Wei, bursting into the study without warning, hoping to gauge his father’s reaction.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Ma, giving him a look.

  ‘We’ll have to set about looking for rooms, won’t we?’ asked Ma Wei.

  ‘Just wait. Just you wait till I give the word,’ said Mr Ma, snatching his pipe from his mouth and jabbing it towards Ma Wei.

  ‘Righto, Dad. I’m off to the shop. See you this evening.’ And swiftly and lightly, Ma Wei ran downstairs.

  Mr Ma gave thought carefully for more than half an hour, but no ideas came to him. Go downstairs and speak to her? He didn’t dare. Move without speaking to her again? Couldn’t very well do that. Get the Reverend Ely to have a word with her? No, he might refuse to intervene: foreign devils never like interfering in each others’ affairs.

  ‘This is precisely why arranged marriages are the best option,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Now if there’d been a marriage go-between organising things, it’d have been easy to come to terms, wouldn’t it? Get the go-between to run from one party to the other, doing all the persuading, and then everything goes right. But now look how impossible it is to settle matters – I can’t call on anyone else’s services, nor go and have a word with her myself.’

  Another half an hour’s thinking produced no further ideas. So he tried to imagine Mrs Wedderburn’s line of thinking.

  Now why has she all of a sudden got cold feet? Just can’t imagine. For the life of me, I just can’t imagine. Does she think I’m too poor? I’ve got the shop, though. Perhaps she thinks I’m too old? She’s not so young herself, though. Does she object to my being Chinese? Tcha! The Chinese are such civilised people! Does she think I’m ugly? Anyone with eyes in their head can see how refined and presentable I look. Immaculate, impeccable, a thoroughly fine chap. Not want me? A curious notion indeed!

  His scrap of moustache bristled, and he was well on the way to losing his temper. Why would I have anything to do with her now, in fact? That’s quite a different matter! These little foreign women with their tiny noses and their cunning ways . . . Pah! Who’d be bothered getting tangled up with them? Yes, that’s what we’ll do – we’ll move. Good Lord! Who gives a damn!

  Mr Ma was growing steadily more agitated, his lips and bit of moustache quivering in unison. Suddenly he stood up, and, pipe in mouth, marched downstairs.

  I’ll go and have a drink, he told himself. Yes, I’ll come home drunk before we’re through! No one’s going to stop me either by God!

  He gently patted his chest, then jabbed his thumb into the air in a gesture of confident resolution.

  Hearing him come downstairs, Mrs Wedderburn purposely came out to see him. He brushed her with a sidelong glance, plonked his hat on his head, put on his coat, opened the door and went out. Once outside, he turned his head and said to the doorknocker, ‘Good Lord!’

  Alone in the hallway, Mrs Wedderburn began to cry.

  Ma Wei was sitting in the little back room of the shop, looking at the postcards and catalogues for the spring sale that were all piled on the table. But he stared at them unseeingly, his mind in turmoil.

  Things look so easy, but when you get closer you find they aren’t so simple any more. The matters on Ma Wei’s mind could be counted on both hands, but having counted them, he found himself still confused and devoid of answers.

  Move. Have it out frankly with my father. Even if it means fighting with him. Then start on a new footing, and really make a proper go of it. All very clear . . . especially when it’s only in your mind. But just try doing it, and what happens? A fat lot of good! And should they in fact move or not? Ought he in fact to have it out with his father? And should he really try to forget Mary? Easy to talk! All men encounter similar difficulties, but great men are distinguished by their resolute nature. Ma Wei had the right ideas but lacked the determination.

  He sat there, staring, his thoughts as sombre as the wretched London fog, his soul as glum as if it were enclosed in a tiny box, deprived of all light, and doomed to gradually die. Some of the love in his heart went out to Mary, some to his father, and some to Li Tzu-jung, all dispersing, bit by bit, leaving only his flesh and bones sitting there. Yes, a living hell! He hoped a customer might come in, but none did, not a single one. He hoped his father might come in, but he didn’t. His father never came in early.

  Li Tzu-jung turned up instead. He was like a ball of sunshine, illuminating Ma Wei’s whole being.

  ‘Ma, old lad! Why aren’t you sending those postcards off?’ said Li Tzu-jung, pointing to the pile on the table.

  ‘No hurry, old Li. I’ll send them off today without fail.’ Ma Wei looked at Li Tzu-jung with a real smile lighting up his eyes. ‘And what have you been up to these last few days?’

  ‘Me? Toiling away!’ As he said this, he took off his hat, rubbed the brim with his sleeve and placed the hat with great care on the table. ‘I’ve some good news to tell you, old Ma.’

  ‘About what?’ asked Ma Wei.

  ‘Me!’ said Li Tzu-jung, pointing at his own nose and blushing slightly. ‘Me. I’ve got engaged.’

  ‘What? You? I don’t believe it! I’ve never even seen you out with a girl,’ said Ma Wei, putting his hand on Li Tzu-jung’s shoulder.

  ‘Don’t believe me, eh? Well, I’m not having you on – it’s true! My mother arranged it for me.’ Li Tzu-jung’s face went red all over. ‘The girl’s twenty. A good cook. Can make her own clothes. And not bad-looking, either.’

  ‘So you’ve never set eyes on her?’ asked Ma Wei, his face growing stern.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve seen her. When we were kids, we used to play together every day,’ said Li Tzu-jung complacently, raking his hair all over the place.

  ‘Li, old fellow, you’ve got such a modern outlook. How
can you go and do a thing like this? Think of your future happiness! Just think it over. You’re so capable and knowledgeable, and what’ll she be? A country bumpkin who can’t read a word, no good for anything but cooking and sewing. Just imagine it, old Li!’

  ‘She can read a few words!’ Li Tzu-jung inadvertently admitted the truth of Ma Wei’s words.

  ‘A few!’ said Ma Wei, frowning. ‘I don’t approve of your attitude at all, old Li. Mind you, I’m not suggesting we’re too good for ordinary girls. All I’m saying’s that you ought to be more concerned about your future happiness. Just think . . . she won’t be able to help you. She can’t read —’

  ‘She can read a few words,’ Li Tzu-jung corrected him obstinately.

  ‘All right, so she can read a few words, but do you think that means she’ll be able to help you in your vocation? Your way of thinking and your knowledge, and her way of thinking and being able to read a few words – they just don’t go together.’

  ‘You’re right, old Ma,’ said Li Tzu-jung after a moment. ‘But you must listen to what I’ve got to say on the matter. I’ve got my own stupid reasons for things, haven’t I?’

  The young men sat facing one another.

  ‘So you think my way of thinking’s too old-fashioned, do you?’ Li Tzu-jung asked.

  ‘Either that, or too muddle-headed!’ said Ma Wei, a smile glinting in his eyes.

  ‘I’m not the slightest bit muddle-headed! I think marriage is necessary, because the relationship between men and women is one . . .’ Li Tzu-jung scratched his head, unable to think of a suitable expression, looked at the ceiling and continued. ‘But nowadays marriage is a very knotty problem. I know the proper way’s love first, marriage after, but just open your eyes and take a look at Chinese women. Take a good look, and that’ll cool you down. High school and university girls, oh yes, but have they really learnt anything practical from their education? Or, to put it another way, do they know how to wash clothes and cook?