Mr Ma and Son (13 page)

M
RS ELY’S
and Mrs Wedderburn’s foreheads were by now almost pressed against each other. Mrs Ely was pointing so vigorously at Mrs Wedderburn that she was nearly slicing off the teeny tip of Mrs Wedderburn’s nose. Mrs Wedderburn had her nose in the air and her pretty mouth open, and her head was following the movements of Mrs Ely’s finger, left, right, up, down, as if she were trying to take a bite out of it. The two of them were chattering away, but about what, none of the others had any idea.

Alexander was sitting on his chair, his legs sprawled out, the cigar in his hand burnt out. Both his eyes were shut, his cheeks were redder than ever and a steady snore was issuing from his mouth. Mr Ma and the Reverend Ely were engaged in quiet conversation, and the Reverend Ely’s spectacles had nearly slipped off the end of his nose.

As Miss Ely and Ma Wei entered, Mrs Ely promptly served Ma Wei some coffee, while Miss Ely sat down next to Mrs Wedderburn and joined in the chat.

Alexander’s snores grew louder and louder till he woke himself up with a start. ‘Whassat?’ he exclaimed loudly, blinking his eyes.

His question made everybody laugh. Even his sister laughed, so heartily that the bird’s nest on her head shook and shuddered. Realising what had happened, Alexander went off into peals of laughter as well, a tone louder than everyone else.

‘I say, Mr Ma, come and have a couple of glasses,’ he said, putting his hand on Mr Ma’s shoulder. ‘You coming too, Reverend Ely?’

The Reverend Ely pushed back his spectacles and looked at Mrs Ely.

‘Reverend Ely still has some business to attend to,’ said Mrs Ely. ‘You pop off with Mr Ma now. But you mustn’t get Mr Ma drunk, do you hear?’

Alexander winked at Mr Ma and made no reply.

Mr Ma gave a little smile and stood up. ‘You go home with Mrs Wedderburn,’ he told Ma Wei. ‘I’m going for a drink. Just one. No more. I’ve never been a drinker.’

Ma Wei said nothing, just shot a glance at Catherine.

Alexander kissed his niece and grabbed Mr Ma by the arm. ‘Off we go then!’

‘Bye-bye,’ said Mrs Ely to her brother, without getting up. Her husband saw them to the door.

‘Sure you won’t come?’ asked Alexander at the door.

‘No, I won’t,’ said the Reverend Ely, and turned to Mr Ma. ‘I’ll see you some day soon. I’ve something I want to discuss with you.’

The pair of them left Lancaster Road, crossed the main highway and followed the iron railing of Hyde Park westwards. Being summer, it still wasn’t very dark and there was a large number of people in the park. Not a single faded leaf was visible amid the tree foliage, and the flowerbeds were blooming with late tulips, like one unbroken strip of golden-red sunset. The tiny white flowers on the ground at the edge of the flowerbeds resembled flakes of newly fallen snow, giving a welcome cooling impression.

Visible in the distance through the grove of trees lay a stretch of water, over which flew a flock of seagulls, soaring and dipping. On the far side of the water, a military band was playing, and through the leaves you caught occasional glimpses of the red uniforms of the musicians. A cool breeze brought the sound of the music in waves to your ears. The sky was cloudless but a faint mist hung over the treetops to the west, in strips of red and white, as cheerful in colour as the hats of the girls in the park.

The hotel opposite the park stood with all its windows open and its awnings down. Under these pink- and green-striped canopies sat bare-armed girls, balancing teacups and enjoying the evening scenery of the park.

Looking between the park and the bright awnings, Mr Ma nodded his head in approval. The scene was very poetic, but Mr Ma, having never composed any poetry before, was unable to produce a single line in his mind.

Alexander marched on straight ahead, giving a sardonic smile now and then in the direction of the park revellers. But when he caught sight of the pub at the far end of Empress Gate, his face really lit up. He licked his lips, signalling with his head to Mr Ma. Mr Ma nodded.

Outside the pub there was a lame man playing the violin and asking for money. Alexander turned his head sharply away, pretending not to have seen him. An old white-whiskered man with a wry look was shouting, ‘Evening paper! Evening paper!’ Alexander bought a paper, and stuck it under his arm.

As they went into the pub, they found the bar crowded with people. One man was holding a glass of beer in his hand, talking and joking as he drank. A red-faced, toothless old lady was pushing through the crowd asking everybody, ‘Have you seen my little child?’ She’d been so engrossed in her drinking that she’d not noticed her child run off. Alexander stood to one side as she came rushing past, then drew Mr Ma further into the pub, to the saloon.

Chairs lined the walls of the saloon, and there was a carpet in the middle, on which stood a glass-topped table and a dark-purple piano. A couple of old men, each hugging a corner of the room, smoked with their eyes shut and a glass in their hand. A tall, fat woman, her eyes red with drink, was rocking her head as she played the piano. At her side stood a ruddy-faced bearded fellow, holding his glass high with his mouth wide open – wherein dwelt a small collection of black and imperilled teeth – and singing soldiers’ songs in a loud voice. His voice was ample and his delivery most expressive, only the tune he sang hadn’t the slightest relationship to that of the piano.

Seeing Mr Ma come in, the face of the woman playing the piano suddenly turned red then white. ‘Cor! Lord love us! A Chink in here!’ she said, hunching up her shoulders. She gave her head a shake, and played on with yet greater frenzy, her fat thighs plonking up and down on the little stool.

Without warning, the singer stopped and took a swig of beer, and the old men in the corners, without opening their eyes, jabbed their pipes in the direction of the piano and chorused, ‘Come on, George. Sing.’ George took another swig of beer, banged the glass down onto the table, and proceeded to sing once more. This tune had no greater relation to that of the piano than the last.

‘What’ll you drink, Mr Ma?’ asked Alexander.

‘Anything you like,’ said Mr Ma, sitting on a chair by the wall, with very proper decorum.

Alexander ordered beer, and, as they drank, he recounted his stories of China. The old men in the corners opened their eyes, glanced at Mr Ma and shut them again.

Alexander’s speaking voice was louder and fuller than George’s singing voice, and, in a fit of exasperation, George stopped singing. The fat woman, likewise frustrated, stopped her playing, and they both listened to Alexander. Mr Ma, taking quick glances all round him, creased his lips into a smile and took a sip of his beer. George came up to join in the conversation, since he knew a bit about China – his brother-in-law had been a soldier in Hong Kong – but Alexander didn’t pause for breath and George couldn’t get a word in. Tightening his lips grimly and snarling menacingly through his sparse black teeth, he sat down.

‘Have another?’ Alexander asked, at the conclusion of one of his funny stories.

Mr Ma nodded.

‘Have another?’ Alexander asked, at the conclusion of yet another funny story.

Mr Ma nodded again.

As Mr Ma and Alexander drank and drank, the old men, legs like dough-twists, made their swaying way out of the pub. Then the fat woman stuck her hat on her head and staggered out, three teeters per step. George was still waiting for his chance to tell Alexander about China, but Alexander never left him any opening. Looking at his watch, George gave up and skulked silently outside, where he started singing away to himself again.

A young barmaid came in and said with a smile, ‘Sorry, gentlemen. Time, please!’

‘Thank you, miss.’ Alexander still hadn’t drunk his fill, but government regulations required pubs to close at ten o’clock, so there was nothing for it but to leave. ‘Let’s go, Mr Ma.’

The stars in the sky were so closely packed together they seemed on the verge of bumping into one another. The leaves of the trees lining the street were rustling in the cool breeze with a soft, pleasant sound. There wasn’t much traffic, and when every now and then a car did approach, its two big headlights seemed to transform the deserted road into a shimmering glacier. And once the car had hurtled past, the black shadows on either side converged to hide the shiny surface. In the park, the trees were shrouded in darkness, stirring up the scent of flowers and plants and turning the whole place into one sweet, beautiful dreamland.

Holding onto the park railing to keep himself upright, Mr Ma looked into the park. The bushy black trees seemed to have grown legs, and were swaying and rolling wildly back and forth. Not only that, but the trees were surrounded by crazily flying sparks that were there whichever way his eyes turned. He leant against the railing and rubbed his eyes with his hand. The golden stars continued to zoom around in front of him, and all the gas lamps along the street strangely had two flames to each lamp. And some lampposts were bent, like stalks of sorghum blown by the wind. His head refused to obey him, and unless he leant against something, it would jerk forwards, as though trying to visit his feet. If he weren’t careful he would indeed visit his feet at close quarters. As long as he had his hand on the railing, the forward movement of his head wasn’t so violent, but meanwhile, his legs were staging a mutiny. From the knees upwards they were still hanging onto his body, but below they seemed disinclined to obey their superiors – a veritable workers’ revolution!

The people in the street were odd too. Not a soul was walking alone – they were all in pairs. Funny. And someone or other had put a gramophone record inside Mr Ma’s head, and it was whirling round, making a constant
buzz-buzz
,
zing-zing
, buzzing in his ears.

He was still very alert, and felt very cheery. Everything he looked at struck him as funny. Even if he looked at nothing, that seemed hilarious too. He looked at the lampposts, and they sent him off into peals of laughter. When he stopped laughing, he took one of his hands from the railing, waved it in a circle, pointing ahead, and announced from the side of his mouth, ‘Home’s that a’way! Take it slowly. No hurry. What’s the hurry? Why hurry . . . ? Alexander . . . No, that’s wrong . . . Yes, Alexander – where’s he got to? Fine fellow.’ With these words, he bent his head down low, and searched all over the place.

‘Who was that speaking just now?’ He looked around him for a good few moments, then, whirling his hand up, caught himself on the nose. ‘Ah, now, here we are. That’s where the talking was coming from! Isn’t it, old fellow?’

M
A WEI
and Mrs Wedderburn arrived home. Mrs Ely had talked so much that Mrs Wedderburn was feeling rather weary. There was no sound to be heard from inside the house as they entered, only Napoleon barking in the back garden. Without bothering to take off her hat, Mrs Wedderburn strode quickly out the back door. Napoleon was sitting under a rosebush, his forelegs straight out in front of him and his head raised, barking at the stars. Hearing his mistress’s footsteps, he scurried up to her, whirling and twisting wildly round her legs, like some frenzied ball of fluff.

‘Hello, my darling. Have you been left all on your own? What’s happened to Mary?’ asked Mrs Wedderburn.

Napoleon leapt up and yapped for all he was worth, seeking to convey the message, ‘Pick me up quickly! Mary went out, and didn’t care about me. In total I’ve caught three flies and scared off one black cat.’

Mrs Wedderburn carried her dog into the drawing room. Ma Wei was looking out through the curtains when she came in.

‘Why hasn’t my father got back yet?’ he asked.

‘And I wonder where Mary’s gallivanting about too,’ said Mrs Wedderburn, sitting down.

Napoleon still kept on jiggling round madly on his mistress’s lap, rubbing his neck against her chest.

‘Napoleon, do behave yourself a bit! I’m worn out. Go and play with Ma Wei.’

She handed Napoleon to Ma Wei, and Napoleon took the opportunity to whack her new hat with his tail in passing.

Ma Wei took the little dog, who was still wriggling like mad, not behaving himself in the slightest. Ma Wei tickled him under his chin, and after he’d done that a few times, Napoleon became much calmer, bumping his nose against Ma Wei’s chest and stretching out his neck for Ma Wei to tickle him more. As he tickled away, Ma Wei felt something wedged under the dog’s collar. He realised it was a tiny rolled-up ball of paper, tied on with two strands of red cotton. He slowly untied it while Napoleon waited, completely motionless except for the gentle wagging of the tip of his stubby tail.

Ma Wei untied the paper, and handed it to Mrs Wedderburn, who unfurled it. It was a note, which said,

Mrs Wedderburn tore it up as she finished reading it, then gave a yawn, hiding her mouth behind the back of her hand.

‘You go to bed, Mrs Wedderburn, and I’ll wait up for them,’ said Ma Wei.

‘Yes, you wait up for them. Are you going to have some coffee?’

‘No, thank you. Not just now.’

‘Come on, Napoleon.’ Mrs Wedderburn walked out carrying the little dog.

Mrs Wedderburn had taken a liking to Ma Wei, partly because he was so well behaved and polite and pleasant-spoken, and partly because Mary didn’t like him. Mrs Wedderburn, as we know, was somewhat wilful, and very fond of deliberately being contrary.

Ma Wei opened the drawing room window slightly and sat on a chair next to the table, facing the street. Whenever he heard footsteps, he glanced outside. He did this quite a number of times, but it was never his father. He took a novel down from the bookcase and turned over a few pages, but, finding himself unable to read, put it back where he’d got it from. He thought of having a tinkle on the piano, but it was probably too late in the evening for that, so he simply sat by the window, frowning.
Young people of other countries are so cheery,
he thought.
No cares, no worries. Cigarettes to smoke, and money for the pictures, and football for relaxation, and what more do they want? But us?

His thoughts then turned to the evening past.
That bloke Alexander! All that hair of Mrs Ely’s. Miss Ely. Was she speaking from the heart? Must have been. Her smile was so genuine. Isn’t she happy, either? Anyhow, she’s better off than me!

At this point in his ruminations, the image of Miss Ely appeared before him, her hair hanging on her shoulders and her lips stirring in a smile. It made him feel a bit more cheerful, and a new thought started to come to him, but he blushed before he managed to think it. Mary was so . . . but . . . she was beautiful. Who’d she gone out with? Letting someone else gaze at her face, and perhaps even enjoy her rosy lips? His eyebrows arched, and he clenched a fist and swung a couple of punches. A cool breeze wafted in through the window, and he stood up and took a deep breath of air.

A car approached, making Ma Wei’s heart give a sudden jump. He poked his head out and took a look. Presently, a taxi was at the door.

‘Here we are!’ someone in the taxi said – Mary’s voice!

The taxi door opened but instead of Mary, out leapt a policeman. Full of anxiety, Ma Wei rushed outside. Before he’d said a word, the policeman gave him a nod. He bounded to the taxi door, and, at that moment, Mary stepped out of the cab, holding her hat in her hand, her face pale and her eyes very round and wide. Despite this she didn’t look too alarmed or panic-stricken. She pointed into the taxi. ‘Your father,’ she said.

‘Dad – what’s wrong?’

Before he’d time to speak, it sprang to mind that his father must have been knocked down by a car, and injured at the very least. Then something seemed to stick in his throat. He couldn’t get any words out and his lips trembled uncontrollably.

‘Let’s lift him out,’ said the big policeman, very solid and unperturbed.

At the policeman’s words, Ma Wei ventured a look at his father. The elder Mr Ma’s head was wedged into a corner of the cab and his legs sprawled sideways, so that he looked uncannily long. One hand was placed limply on his lap, and the other lay palm upwards on the cushion of the seat. There was a blue patch on his forehead and some flecks of blood on his face, and his mouth with its scrappy moustache seemed fixed in a smile.

‘Father! Father!’ Ma Wei shouted at him.

Mr Ma’s hands were icy-cold, but there was some chilly sweat on the palms and congealed blood where one of his thumbs had been cut.

‘Cart him out. He ain’t dead. Nothing to worry about,’ said the big policeman, grinning.

Ma Wei put his hand over his father’s mouth. Sure enough, he was still breathing, and the scrap of moustache was twitching. Ma calmed down quite a bit. He glanced at the policeman, and went very red.

The policeman, Ma Wei and the taxi driver carried the sozzled Ma out. The elder Ma’s head wobbled wildly, as if about to escape from his neck. A constant glug-glug sound issued from his throat. The three of them carried him upstairs and put him on the bed. Another gurgle came from his throat, and he spat out a blob of white foam.

By now, Mary’s face had regained its ruddy hue. She brought up a jug of cold water from downstairs. Ma Wei took the jug from her but she hastily pushed back her hair and took the jug from him again.

‘I’ll give him some water,’ she said. ‘You pay the taxi driver and send him away.’

Ma Wei felt in his pockets. He’d only got a few pence, so he hurried over and fumbled around for his father’s wallet, took out a pound, and handed it to the taxi driver. The man smiled broadly, clumped down the stairs and hurried off. Ma Wei stuffed the wallet under his father’s mattress and as he did so he noticed something hard and small in the corner of the wallet. Most likely that diamond ring, but Ma Wei didn’t feel like checking.

He promptly thanked the policeman, and offered him several cigars his father had just bought. With a smile, the policeman took one, put it in his pocket, then went over and felt Mr Ma’s forehead.

‘Nothing much,’ he announced. ‘Had a big night, eh?’ After which he looked round the room, and then left leisurely, giving a ‘Cheerio!’ as he went.

Mary poured a little of the cold water down Mr Ma’s throat, pushed her hair back again, and puffed out her cheeks in relief. Ma Wei undid the buttons of his father’s collar.

‘Miss Wedderburn,’ he said, turning to her, ‘you don’t need to say anything about this to Mrs Wedderburn.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t.’ Her cheeks were very red, and as pretty as ever.

‘How did you bump into my father?’ asked Ma Wei, but before Mary could answer Mr Ma had brought up the water he’d just swallowed.

With a glance at Mr Ma, Mary walked over to take a peek at herself in the mirror. ‘I went to Hyde Park with Washington,’ she said. ‘When the park was closed, we went walking along the path round the outside of the park, and I trod on something soft. Proper scared me, it did. I looked down, and it was him, your dad. Crawling around on the ground like some great crocodile. I kept an eye on him while Washington went to call a cab. The policeman wanted to take him to hospital, but Washington told him your dad was drunk and it’d be best if we just took him home. That was a lucky coincidence, wasn’t it? I was scared stiff. I know my lips were all trembly.’

‘I don’t know how to thank you enough, Miss Wedderburn. When you see Washington next, give him my thanks,’ said Ma Wei, leaning with one hand on the bed, looking at her. Inwardly, he hated Washington, but all the same he had to say what he did.

‘Right. I’m off to bed now.’ Mary shot Mr Ma another look, and as she reached the door, she turned her head. ‘Give him a bit more water,’ she said.

Mrs Wedderburn had heard the voices upstairs, and as soon as Mary got downstairs, she asked, ‘What’s the matter, Mary?’

‘Nothing. We all got back late. Where’s Napoleon?’

‘Well, he’s not in the garden, I don’t mind telling you!’

‘Give it a rest! See you in the morning, Mum.’

Ma Wei removed his father’s coat and covered him with a blanket. Mr Ma’s eyes opened slightly, and his lips made a small movement. His eyes immediately closed although his eyelids carried on fluttering, as if he couldn’t bear the light. Ma Wei was sitting by the bed, and seeing his father stir, he was somewhat relieved.

That bloke Washington takes Mary out every day,
thought Ma Wei, frowning.
But they rescued my father. She was really quite nice this evening, so maybe she’s not so bad at heart. But what about my father? What a debacle! What if he’d got run over by a car? That Alexander! Right – tomorrow I’ll go and see Miss Ely.

As he was caught up in his roaming thoughts he noticed his father’s hand moving under the blanket, as if he wanted to turn over. Then Mr Ma’s lips parted, and he uttered two croaks.

‘No more drink for me, Ma Wei!’ he said in blurred tones. And his head slipped back onto the pillow, and he said no more.