by S. J. Rozan
Bill was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. He poured hot water into a teapot as I paced the living room, outlining the job we’d been offered.
“Grandfather Gao?” Bill said. “Can I call him that? And will you please sit down?”
“Yes. And no. I can’t.”
Neatly sidestepping me, he moved to the couch safely out of my path and put his coffee on the table beside him. “Your tea’s ready. You want it to go?” I glared. He grinned. “Boy, I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Grandfather Gao!” I said, striding by. “Grandfather Gao wants to hire me! Do you know who he is in Chinatown? Do you know what he’s been in my life? Do you know what he is in the eyes of my mother?”
Bill did know, and I knew he did, but he asked, “What?”
“Respectability itself! The Man Who! Even my mother can’t object to my working for Grandfather Gao. I mean, she does on principle because she hates this profession. But she’s secretly thrilled that Grandfather Gao thinks a worthless girl like me can be some use to him.”
“If it’s a secret how do you know?”
“She’s my mother. And Grandfather Gao—” I turned and strode the other way, “Grandfather Gao could get anybody he wanted to work for him! But he thinks I’m the one who can help him out. Me! Little Ling Wan-Ju. That tomboy. That misguided problem child. And—!”
Bill waited, patience itself. Finally, after I’d done another lap, he said, “And what?”
“And he wants to send us to Hong Kong! The other side of the planet! Ted and Elliot were born there. My parents used to live there.”
“And Suzie Wong.”
“Hong Kong! It’s almost China.”
“It is China, now.”
“You know what I mean! I’ve hardly ever been anywhere in my whole life, and now I have a client offering me business-class tickets and a week in a hotel in Hong Kong. How can you just sit there like that?”
He picked up his coffee. “Okay, tell me again.”
“Thursday,” I said, telling him the important part. “Can you do it? Can you come?”
“He really wants me to? Why?”
I stopped pacing and just stood for a moment, looking at him. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “What he wants us to do seems pretty simple, not something a paying client might think he needs two people for. But it was his idea. He said, ‘Neither the little bird nor the water buffalo, different though they are, can do its work alone.’”
“And I suppose you would be the little bird?”
I didn’t answer, because it seemed obvious. Bill sipped his coffee. “You know, of course, that the bird sits up there on the water buffalo’s rump and eats his fleas?”
I detoured into the kitchen and picked up the tea he’d fixed for me. “If you have fleas, you’re sitting in coach.”
The tea was jasmine, one of my favorite kinds, and I had to admit that over the four or so years we’d known each other Bill had learned to make a not bad cup of tea. But all I could think as I sipped it was, I wonder if they drink jasmine tea in Hong Kong.
“And what are we supposed to do in Hong Kong?” Bill asked.
“Bring a bequest to a seven-year-old boy.”
“Any particular seven-year-old boy, or do we get to choose?”
“Harry,” I said impatiently, starting to pace again. “The grandson of Wei Yao-Shi. Didn’t I tell you that already?”
“You haven’t actually said anything coherent since you got here. I think it would help if you sat down.”
“It wouldn’t. I told you, I can’t.” He was following me with his head as though I were a one-woman tennis match. “Now listen: This little boy—his Chinese name is Wei Hao-Han, by the way—his grandfather, Wei Yao-Shi, just died. Mr. Wei and my grandfather and Grandfather Gao were inseparable buddies in the home village in China.”
“Used to hang out on street corners together, whistle at girls, stuff like that?”
“Certainly not. The home village didn’t have streets, just dirt paths. Can you hang out on a dirt path corner?”
“Depends on whether that’s where the girls go by.”
“Oh, of course. Anyway, my grandfather stayed there, but Mr. Wei and Grandfather Gao left to come to America when they were fourteen.”
“Looking for street corners.”
“No doubt.”
I told Bill about Mr. Wei’s younger brother, the import-export firm, the office Mr. Wei came to New York to establish, his marriage, his traveling back and forth, and the house in the suburbs.
“Now,” I said, “a month ago Mr. Wei died and left this thing with Grandfather Gao with instructions to give it to his grandson Harry and a letter to his brother at the same time and Grandfather Gao wants you and me to go to Hong Kong to deliver them. How hard is that?”
“To understand, or to do? Or to say in one breath the way you did? Because I don’t think I could do that.”
“You could if you didn’t smoke.”
“You pace. I smoke.” He struck a match and lit a cigarette, maybe to illustrate the point. I picked up pacing speed, to keep up my side.
“I understand it,” he said, dropping the match in an ashtray. “Mostly. But I do have one question. No, two.”
“Shoot.”
“You say Mr. Wei came here and married. How come he has a seven-year-old grandson in Hong Kong? Did his kids move back there?”
“Ah. I was afraid you’d ask that.”
Bill raised his eyebrows and I prepared to tell him the rest of the situation, the part that made the thing not simple. “Mr. Wei’s American son, Franklin, lives here in New York. But apparently about a year after Mr. Wei got married here he got married in Hong Kong.”
“Hmmm. Short-lived marriage, the one here.”
“Actually, no.”
“Say what?”
I took a defensive sip of tea. “Now don’t go getting all superior and moral. It’s the traditional Chinese way. A man is entitled to as many wives as he can support.”
“He is? You mean still? Today? They still do that?”
“Well, no,” I conceded. “By my parents’ time they’d pretty much stopped, and of course Mao stamped that sort of thing right out. But men of Mr. Wei’s generation—well, it happened.”
“It happened.” He was grinning. No one could ever say Bill was a handsome man, but when he grins this particular grin I sometimes have trouble staying as dignified as I like to be. “You mean, like an accident? Stumble into the church, wedding going on, you find out it’s yours? Had one already, but what the hell?”
“We don’t get married in church.”
“You’re grasping at straws. And you approve of that kind of behavior?”
“I can see certain merits,” I said airily. “The more wives there are, the less time each one has to spend with the husband.”
“A good point. I’ll remember that after you marry me. Did Mr. Wei’s wives approve?”
“At least you’ll have something to remember. They didn’t know.”
Bill pulled on his cigarette. “Now that’s not a sign of a man with a clear conscience. When did they find out?”
“The wives? Both dead, long since, and it seems they never did know. The people who were surprised were the sons, on both sides of the planet, when the will was read. Grandfather Gao knew all along, and the younger brother in Hong Kong, but no one else did.”
“How many sons? And did Grandfather Gao approve?”
“Two: one here, one there. And when did you get to be such a puritan?”
“Hey, you’re the one who doesn’t drink, smoke, or swear. Who’d have thought that when it came right down to it you were as twisted as the next guy? Wei was supporting both families the whole time?”
“Better,” I said, leaving the next guy out of it. “He was living with both. According to Grandfather Gao, each family thought it was just an unfortunate necessity of business that he had to keep going back and forth to the o
ther side of the world.”
“This is great. But what if they needed to talk to him when he was on the other side of the world? Wouldn’t the jig be up as soon as someone made a phone call?”
“He told both families he was staying in hotels and to contact him at work if they needed to. In Hong Kong that was the firm’s office. That’s why the brother had to know. In New York he used Grandfather Gao’s number at the shop.”
“And that worked all these years?”
“Seems to have.”
Bill finished his coffee and set his mug down. “Okay. Intriguing as Mr. Wei’s lifestyle is, let me ask my other question. Why us? This seems like a fairly straightforward job, delivering a legacy to a kid. You don’t need an investigator to do this. What is it, by the way?”
“Jade. Some valuable piece, something Mr. Wei got in China on one of his buying trips and used to wear around his neck.”
“Oh-ho, so he made buying trips to China? How do we know he hasn’t got another three dozen wives over there?”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not taking this seriously?”
He gave me a look over his coffee that almost made me laugh. But someone around here needed to act like a grown-up, and neither Bill nor, I had to admit, old Mr. Wei seemed willing to play that role.
“Anyway,” I said professionally, “he didn’t go there that often. It was usually the brother who did the China trips. And to answer your question—assuming you still care about the answer—”
“Oh, I do, deeply.”
“—Grandfather Gao says he’s hiring us because he wants someone he can depend on, partly because of the other piece.”
“The other piece of jade?”
“The other piece of the job. Delivering the bequest and the letter is only half of it. We also have to deliver Mr. Wei.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He wants—wanted—to be buried in Hong Kong. Next to his second wife. In a mausoleum in Sha Tin on a windy mountain with a view of the hills and the water—” I broke off and looked at Bill, who was grinning yet again. “What?”
“You mean we’re taking the old two-timer with us? Carrying his cheatin’ heart home? Laying dem double-crossing bones to rest?”
“Ashes. And show some respect.”
“You misread me. I have nothing but respect for your Mr. Wei. What a guy. Maybe just by being in the presence of his mortal remains, I can learn something.”
“You,” I said with all the dignity I could collect, “will never learn anything. Anyway, the ceremony should be interesting. The half-brother will be there.”
“What, from New York?”
“Dr. Franklin Wei. He’s an orthopedist, in case you get your foot stuck in your mouth. Grandfather Gao says he’s planning to go to the funeral.”
“This is getting better and better. Why doesn’t he take the jade? And the letter? And the ashes?”
“According to Grandfather Gao he’s a little irresponsible. Married and divorced three times. Sequentially, not simultaneously.”
“I was about to ask.”
“I know you were. A wild and crazy guy.”
“Me?”
“Dr. Franklin Wei. New girlfriend every six weeks. Known at all the best clubs and hot spots. Cancels office hours to go to the ball game. May or may not actually show up in Hong Kong. Grandfather Gao didn’t want to risk it. Besides, it seems a little weird for him to be the one responsible for taking his father’s jade to the son of his father’s other son, under these circumstances.”
“I think this whole thing is a going to be a little weird.”
“Are you telling me you’re coming?”
He pulled on the cigarette again. “You remember, of course, that the last time we left town together you got hurt?”
“So did you.”
“Not as badly as you.”
“Whose fault was that?”
“Mine, no doubt.”
“If that’s an apology,” I said, “I accept.”
“I just wanted you to know what you’re getting into.”
“I’ll sign a waiver. So you’ll come?”
“Well, I’d still like to know why he wants me to. Besides the water buffalo thing.”
I gave him a look a little more serious than the ones I’d been giving him. “You’re thinking he’s expecting some kind of trouble?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Mine, too,” I said. “I tried to ask him. I said whatever small skills you and I might have, we were honored to put them at his disposal. I said we would exercise all our powers to accomplish the task he was setting us, and I was sure we could be most successful on his behalf if he were to tell us about any special concerns he had so we could prepare ourselves to meet them.”
“Elegant, setting aside the small. And?”
I shook my head. “He said, ‘Ling Wan-Ju, storm clouds often pass without rain, just as a dam can fail and flood a village on a clear, fine day.’”
“Well, that clears that up.”
“You know Grandfather Gao never actually says everything he means. He thinks it works better if people find things out for themselves. And when he does talk,” I admitted, “half the time it’s in nature metaphors like that that I never understand.”
“And that’s why you’re so crazy about him?”
“I’m crazy about him, as you so delicately put it, because he’s wise, and kind, and fair. And he’s a wonderful herbalist, and he makes great tea, and he never treated me like a dumb kid, even when I was one. And you,” I told him, “should consider this: He’s the only Chinese person of my acquaintance, with the possible exceptions of my brother Andrew and my best and oldest friend Mary, who would consider giving you the time of day.”
“Well, you said he was wise.” He squashed his cigarette out. “You don’t think he could be setting us up?”
I was appalled. “Absolutely not! Grandfather Gao would never do anything to hurt me! If he’s expecting trouble, and he wants to hire us, it’s because he thinks we can handle whatever it’s going to be. Which is another reason I have to take this job. I can’t let him down if he’s thinking like that.”
Bill met my eyes and held them without speaking for almost longer than I could stand it. Then he looked back down and did some more cigarette-squashing. “When does he want us to leave?”
“Thursday! Thursday Thursday Thursday! Well?”
“What does your mother have to say? Not about the job, but about me going?”
“My mother?” I was surprised at the question, but I answered it with the truth. “You can’t expect her to feel anything but pure horror at the idea of me flying to the other side of the world with you.”
“I suppose not.”
“On the other hand, like I told you, she secretly thinks working for Grandfather Gao will keep me out of trouble for a while, and she’s always wanted me to go to Hong Kong. She says if I saw Hong Kong maybe I would understand better.”
“Understand what?”
“She never says. But I’m sure it has something to do with my shortcomings as a Chinese daughter.”
“So she approves?”
“She would walk off a cliff if Grandfather Gao suggested it, especially if it was for the good of her children. But she still doesn’t like the idea of me going alone with you. She had a solution.”
“Which was?”
“For her to come.”
I enjoyed the expression on his face when I said that almost as much as I like his grin.
“Oh, my God. What did you say?”
“What could I say? She’s my mother. But luckily Grandfather Gao said no.”
“You said yes?”
“She’s my mother.”
He stared. “And I thought I knew you. My God, a guy’s friends can turn on him.”
“Besides, I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“I’m not sure I should. You might be lying. We’ll get to the airport, and there’ll be
your mother, with her shopping bags and that flowered umbrella to hit me over the head with—”
“I’m going to hit you over the head myself unless you tell me whether you’re coming.”
I stopped pacing and stood in front of him, resisting the urge to stamp my foot.
“Well,” he said at last, “it’s certainly tempting. The other side of the world on someone’s else’s nickel? A chance to spend a week in a hotel with you?”
“Separate rooms.”
“A city where everyone smokes, where the weather’s tropical, where I can relive some of the high points of my misspent youth?”
“On separate floors.”
“Where the girls in the tight cheongsams sip mai-tais in booths in dim smoky bars until the Mama-sans call them over for you?”
“Separate hotels.”
“Where the Tsingtao flows like water and every other basement’s an opium den?”
“Separate land masses. Me on the Hong Kong side, you in Kowloon.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” he said, “how could I possibly turn it down?”
two
He hadn’t turned it down, and neither had I. At the crack of dawn Thursday we were on a plane, and after thirteen hours in the leather upholstered, private-video-screened, nearly flat-reclining business-class seats Grandfather Gao had provided for us, we were in Tokyo. We had a two-hour layover, during which I sipped green tea and tried to look dignified while fighting a combination of excitement and exhaustion, and Bill drank beer and wandered off to the smoking lounge to sit puffing with the Japanese businessmen. Then another four-hour flight, and then, sometime near midnight, we came roaring in over all those skyscrapers and neon and landed on Lantau Island, in the shiny new Hong Kong airport. A car, also arranged by Grandfather Gao, met us and took us to the Hong Kong Hotel on the Kowloon side, where we spent the night in different rooms on separate floors. And now, after a breakfast of waffles and bacon for Bill and congee with pickled vegetables and preserved eggs for me—when in Rome, after all—here we were on the Star Ferry, about to dock.
The ferry creaked and rocked and was hauled in and tied by weathered Chinese men in uniforms that looked like the sailor suits an uncle had once given my brothers. My mother hadn’t liked those suits—“Pah. Dress little boys like soldiers.”—but my father had said that since Ted, Elliot, Andrew, and Tim were nothing alike in any other way, it was good occasionally to see them dressed alike. There was no sailor suit for me, of course.
