by Vincent Lam
“Alright,” Percival agreed.
Mak insisted that since he was a few months younger than Percival, he should call Percival “elder brother.” During the dull days of the Japanese occupation, Mak learned English from Percival. After Chen Kai fled to travel north towards China, there was a point in the war when it looked like the Japanese might permanently rule the Pacific. Ba Hai struck a deal with Percival to leave Chen Hap Sing, and Mak helped him to negotiate it. Everyone knew that in most of what the Japanese called their Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, desirable houses like Chen Hap Sing had been appropriated by high-ranking Japanese officers, the owners thrown out or killed. They had only moderated their seizures in Indochina because of the French. If the war ended in favour of the Japanese, everyone said, even the Vichy French would have their mansions taken. It was better to own utilitarian rather than showy property, some said. In the deal with Ba Hai, she took the business’s village warehouses and all the river barges. Percival kept Chen Hap Sing and the docking rights on the Arroyo Chinois, which at that time were useless. Smug with the bargain she had struck, Ba Hai returned to her village, Long Thang, taking all the Vietnamese workers with her. There, she and the foreman became Imperial rice agents and were soon the most prosperous people in the village.
Percival’s part in Mak’s medicine smuggling scheme was simple. He met the pharmacist weekly in Saigon, had coffee with him, and took a package of medicines back to Mak in Cholon. Mak gave him money, enough that the Chen Hap Sing household—Cecilia and the workers who remained—ate throughout the occupation. A small portion of the medicines were sold on the black market to pay Percival and Mak. Percival assumed that most of the drugs were smuggled into the jungles for the Viet Minh, who fought a night-time campaign of skirmishes and ambushes against the Japanese. How did it help the Chinese? Mak never said any more about this. Perhaps it had only been bait to convince him, thought Percival, but he didn’t ask about it. He did not ask for any details that weren’t necessary, for knowledge could be dangerous.
Mak always knew which families in Cholon were suffering the most under the Japanese. He somehow found food to give them, although Mak himself wore threadbare clothing and appeared half starved. As the first favour he asked of Percival, Mak brought Foong Jie to work in the Chen Hap Sing household. Cecilia protested that they could barely feed the people they had in the house already.
“I will make sure you have enough money to feed her,” Mak said. “If you don’t take her in, she will starve or be found dead one morning. The Japanese arrested her for spying—they violated her, then cut out her tongue as a lesson to others.”
Cecilia hesitated, her face softened for a moment, but then she said, “Why don’t you hire her yourself, then, if she is a Viet Minh and you feel such sympathy?”
“I did not say she was Viet Minh. Only that she was arrested. What do you feel? She is a country woman, and the stump of her tongue is still bleeding.” He turned to Percival. “So please take Foong Jie into your house, as a favour to me.” He said this with a finality that indicated that the conversation was over. Cecilia was furious, but did not protest further, knowing that Percival would do it anyway. From then on, Foong Jie dutifully ran the household with silent efficiency.
AFTER THE JAPANESE WERE PUSHED FROM Indochina, Chen Hap Sing jumped into the Cholon rice trade again. Percival resumed the business quickly with the help of the remaining employees, and the berths on the Arroyo Chinois allowed them to seize market share. Saigon was overrun with celebrating white, black, brown, and yellow soldiers, and their money. It was as if all the lights in the gambling places, opium dens, and brothels had suddenly been turned on, and their kitchens boiled sack after sack of fragrant Mekong rice. Percival chuckled when he heard that now that the Japanese were gone, no Chinese would do business with former collaborators, including Ba Hai and the foreman. Cholon hummed, Chen Hap Sing’s warehouses were full and busy, and Percival discovered the mah-jong tables. After Cecilia learned that almost all her family’s ships had been sunk in the war, she attacked Percival more relentlessly than ever. If only she hadn’t married him, she said, as if she could have prevented the family’s ruin if she had been in Hong Kong. Meanwhile, Percival ventured into the incandescent pleasures of Le Grand Monde, Le Paradis, and other places that winked and promised.
Percival offered Mak a share of the rice trade in gratitude for the deal with Ba Hai, which had worked out so well, but his friend refused. He said he was too busy with his own affairs. Mak moved out of the rented room next door to Chen Hap Sing and took an apartment nearby. Percival did not see him as often, and when he did, Mak gave only vague hints about what he was doing to earn a living. He looked more preoccupied and worried than he had during the war. Occasionally, Mak asked for a favour, that Percival deliver a valise in Saigon, or for a few crates to be hidden amongst the rice bags in Chen Hap Sing for a week or so, unopened, of course. They were always collected at night, by people that Percival had never met.
For a week after the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the Japanese surrender to the Allied Forces, the Saigon casinos and brothels hummed in a constant state of inebriation and carnal exuberance. Early one evening, Percival, drunk, went to find Mak in his small apartment. “Cecilia threatened to leave me tonight, but it’s alright, because we are growing to hate each other. She would have left me already if her family’s ships weren’t at the bottom of the sea. Come with me to enjoy the night! ”
“No, you should go home,” said Mak.
“We will gamble and win fortunes. We will dance with sing-song girls and screw the prettiest ones.”
“I’ll make you some tea, and then bring you home.”
“The war is over, my friend, be joyful! Come out with me.”
“We have been cheated. The gwei lo will give the country back to the French.”
“What country?”
Mak grabbed Percival’s shoulders. He yelled. “Vietnam. What we fought for, the Allies will return it to foreigners.” It was the first time Percival had heard him raise his voice. Mak was wild, as grief-stricken as if someone had been killed. “Those French parasites did not even try to defend us from the Japanese, but now they will rule us again! For what? Because they have the same skin colour as the Americans and the British.”
“Who cares? We are Chinese. Make money, do business. The bar girls all have new dresses, and they all know how to take them off. I’ll find you a sweet one.”
“You go. I have some business to attend to.” Mak urged Percival out the door.
Percival stumbled away, climbed into a cyclo, and said, “Take me to Le Grand Monde, I feel lucky tonight.” On the way, he muttered to the driver, “My friend just lied to me! What kind of business happens at night? He must have a girl waiting.”
NOW, PERCIVAL SAT WITH HIS OLD friend, the rain thrumming a drumbeat on the roof of the Peugeot. Just outside of Cholon something had brought traffic to a standstill, and outside was a cacophony of honking and yelling, the grunts of oxen. Percival wiped the corner of his mouth where he thought he could still taste Jacqueline’s kiss from earlier that day. The rain had relented a little, but the noise on the roof remained loud enough that they had an excuse not to talk. Mak turned and faced Percival. He said, “Do you remember how your school was started in the first place?”
They had been friends for so long their minds went to the same remembered era. “Of course I do,” said Percival, “I had debts to pay and I was grateful. I am grateful.”
When the rice trade was snatched away by the French, Mak suggested the English school. Despite the distance that had opened between them, Mak remembered his promised loyalty, and worked relentlessly to make the school possible. So, it was natural to offer Mak a share in that business, and when he refused, to hire him as a teacher.
“You would have been ruined. The Binh Xuyen gangsters would have taken Chen Hap Sing to pay your gambling debts. They would have cut off your fingers for good measure. I did everyth
ing to help you. I used all my gwan hai.” It was true, Mak had kept the mafia at bay, had dealt with all the tricky matters of obtaining licences and permissions. He had used angles, advantages, and subtle blackmail to persuade the necessary friends in Saigon. Only a brother would do this for him, Percival thought. As a Chinese who still spoke the Annamese language badly, and without sufficient connections, Percival could not have done what Mak did.
“Now listen to me,” Mak said, “that girl will ruin you worse than losing the rice trade. Worse than losing your school. Leave her. If you need to, pay her to go away.”
But Mak didn’t know about the heart, thought Percival. “You feel strongly,” said Percival, staring through the water, barely hearing his friend.
“I did the near-impossible twice—ransoming Dai Jai and getting him to China. Now, I am close to saving you from the debts that this incurred. Am I not a faithful friend?”
Percival nodded, ashamed to appear ungrateful. “Yes, and I appreciate it.”
“On rare occasions I ask you for a favour, but those favours are never harmful to you. In fact, they are often good for you.” This was true. If Percival hired a teacher Mak had recommended, he was invariably good. If Percival allowed a refugee from North Vietnam to study for free, he was a credit to the school. Percival always agreed when Mak asked for a favour, for these opportunities to show his friend gratitude were so rare and small in comparison with the ways that Mak helped him. “As a favour to me, break it off.”
Percival squeezed his eyes shut. “I cannot.”
“I understand it is difficult, hou jeung. She is very pretty. She must be fond of you, and you of her. But she is our student, and it is your own school rule. The teachers must not love the students.”
“Sorry, old friend, but it’s a private matter. Forgive me, I can’t say anything else.”
“You are the headmaster, elder brother. What of the school’s reputation? You must escape from your current debt. This American certification could double your income. I’ve told Peters that the Percival Chen English Academy is strict—that we pay the teachers well and that they don’t accept bribes or pleasure from the students. I’ve explained that this sets us apart from the other schools.”
“Good. It does set us apart, certainly.” Percival wished he had been able to slip away at the club. “You’ve been working hard on this. I understand. I will be discreet. No one will know.”
Mak seemed to be at a loss, but after a moment found his words. “I need this certification. Everyone knows that I’ve used all my connections to find Mr. Peters, to convince him. People will laugh if I fail. Think of my honour. Think of yours.”
“I will, friend.” Percival looked out at the rain, which splashed into the broad puddles in the street and churned them into commotion.
“I’m saying this as your brother, as your—”
“Do you think if you say it again, it will sound different?” Percival snapped.
“Break it off.” The rain ran in sheets down the windows. Mak opened the door of the car, got out. In a step, he was a blurred form, and in a few steps he was gone.
When Percival arrived at Chen Hap Sing, Foong Jie was waiting in front of the building. As he got out of the car and approached the door, she gestured up at Percival’s window, which was open.
Could it be an officer of the quiet police? Percival did not see any dark Galaxie, though they must use other cars as well. What would they want with him? He had hired a Vietnamese teacher. Did they have questions about Dai Jai’s disappearance? He crept up the stairs, aware of Foong Jie behind him.
He peered into his room and saw Jacqueline, went to her and kissed her.
“I didn’t know what to do, so I ran off. Then, I realized it was no good running, and I came here.” The tears welled in her eyes. She looked up, saw Foong Jie at the doorway and turned away, burying her hands in her face.
Percival turned to face the door. Foong Jie stood there, gesturing desperately for Jacqueline to leave. The girl was more stealthy than he had realized, thought Percival, if she had until now managed to slip in and out of his room without being seen by the head servant. When Foong Jie saw Jacqueline stealing up to Percival’s room today, however, she would have understood that this student of the school was the headmaster’s discreet lover.
“Foong Jie, it is not your concern.” He went to the door, urged her out, and closed it.
Jacqueline said anxiously, “You have been speaking with Teacher Mak. What did he tell you?”
Perhaps Mak was right. He had never led Percival astray. Percival stepped back a little, as if afraid of his own words. “I have a rule, which I enforce very seriously, that there are to be no improper relations between students and teachers. It’s my fault. I should have recognized you … and I never asked why your English was so good.”
Jacqueline stood with arms wrapped around herself, tears spilling freely. “I was so happy, when you won me at the Sun Wah Hotel. That other man seemed rough. I would have gone with him if I had to, but I thought it was the kindness of fate that you won.”
Percival said mechanically, “We have the best reputation of any English school in Vietnam.” He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. He cleared his throat. “We are modern, professional, uncorrupted. An American will give us a special certification. It will help us make more money.” Already the words were ridiculous, irrelevant. He couldn’t go through with it, and he took her in his arms with relief. “There is a school rule. But I can’t let you go.”
They embraced for a long time. She stopped crying, began to breathe more calmly. She began to unbutton her shirt. He stroked her hair. She slipped it off her shoulders and stood before him. Instead of undoing her brassiere, instead of engaging him with seduction, she cradled her belly. “Do you see?” she said.
He had noticed the slight fullness and thought happily that she was eating well when she visited him. The tears flowed again down her face. “You were worried about what they would say about you sleeping with your student? What will they say about the child in my belly?”
Percival held her closely, as if he wished to press their bodies into one, took a deep breath, and allowed himself to be happy.
CHAPTER 15
WHEN PETERS VISITED CHEN HAP SING, he parked his dark Chevrolet just in front. Percival and Mak went out to greet him and ushered him inside. He admired the building as if it were a strange artifact. “Was this an old Chinese house before it became a school?” he said, as he looked at the scrolls of brush-painting and the carvings over the doors.
“My father built it when the family was in the rice business,” explained Percival.
“Why no more rice trade? Seems like a good business,” said Peters. Without waiting for an answer, he said, “I guess English schools are a better one.”
Mak interjected, “We Chinese value education above everything else. As you know, the Percival Chen English Academy is the most respected English school in Vietnam.”
“When was it built, Percival, which dynasty?” asked Peters. Percival was unsure how best to reply. After all, the house was less than forty years old. He wasn’t sure if Peters was curious about the Vietnamese or the Chinese dynasty. Chen Hap Sing was built after the fall of the Emperor in China, he thought, but while the Vietnamese Emperor Bao Dai was on the throne under French control. As Percival was considering how best to respond, Peters said breezily, “I would love a tour,” and continued walking down the hall. Sometimes Americans did not care much about the answers to their questions.
They visited the classrooms that had once been rice storerooms. The students remained focused on their lessons, as they had been instructed to do when warned of the visit. Peters smiled and waved at the students as if he were a boy in a train passing a rail platform.
“Please, come into the office,” said Percival. They all sat down beneath the fan.
Mak asked, “Mr. Peters, would you like a drink? Coke? Iced tea?”
“An iced coffee with condensed
milk, please.” He looked up. “Hey, your fan needs some oil. Easy to fix that squeak.”
Mak called a kitchen boy, who went to get the coffee. “Some schools are run like any other businesses in Vietnam—selling diplomas—but never at the Percival Chen English Academy. We are absolutely merit-based.”
The American was energetic, well groomed, and wasn’t too much older than some of the senior students, Percival realized. He spoke restlessly and at length about the things that were wrong with the war. “There’re so many simple problems with this war. I came back to help find solutions. Good translators are part of the answer, which is why I’m here with you.”
“Please tell us more. How can we help?” said Mak earnestly.
The kitchen boy brought iced coffees for all three of them.
“The army is good with sticks, but they’re not handing out enough carrots. That’s where USAID comes in. The villages are everything. As a soldier, I was part of the Strategic Hamlets Program. Sounded great. We figured that the Cong were harassing the villagers at night, right? So we built big, fortified villages, moved a bunch of smaller villages into the ones we built, gave them some rifles, and the villagers hated us for it. What a mess. They let the Viet Cong in at night because they were their cousins. They couldn’t grow anything because they were too far from their fields, so they left and went back to their own villages. The rifles that we gave them to defend the hamlets? I got shot in the ass. Surgeon showed me the bullet, said it was an M-4 round. That’s why I came back without a rifle. People want to have schools, health clinics, and better rice crops. Lots of carrots. If we win those villagers, we win this war. To do it, we need translators.”
