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“Mu-nai-yi is otherwise known as ‘mellified man.’ In certain distant villages where poverty rules necessity, when a man dies of natural causes, preferably of great age and possessing an accumulation of wisdom, his family may sell the corpse to the local physician. If he so chooses, however, the man may pledge his cadaver at any age, or sell it from his deathbed, so that he can greet his ancestors knowing that he has benefited those left behind.” Hugely satisfied that he had the attention of his audience, Jack Teagarden Ching reached for another morsel, holding it in his chopsticks as a rare gem might be held up to the light and scrutinized.
“It is a fascinating process,” he continued as though unaware of his guests’ discomfort. “The corpse is cleaned and then steeped in a stone casket filled with wild honey. The name and date are marked upon the sealed casket and it is stored in a cave, mysteriously selected for the purpose, and left untouched for no less than one hundred years.” Ching’s flushed face showed his mounting enjoyment of the moment. “The casket is then opened and mu-nai-yi—mellified man—is the result.”
He popped the portion into his mouth with an exaggerated display of appreciation. “You will be pleased to know, ladies and gentlemen, that the cadaver you now enjoy was in life an ancient sage of great renown.”
Before he had finished speaking, Siu-Sing felt herself choke on the half-eaten confection. The taipan seemed more amused than concerned. Captain Hyde-Wilkins was instantly on his feet with a clean napkin held to Siu-Sing’s mouth. Ah-Keung had moved to prevent him, but a flick of Ching’s head caused him to step back.
“I see our precious Topaz is more gwai-lo than Chinese … ,” Ching said with contempt and impatience. “There is no need for such attention, Captain; please do not concern yourself.”
In a sharper tone of voice, he addressed Tamiko-san, who had rushed to the table. “Get this slut out of here before she spews all over the table … and take the chi-chi with her. We have business to attend to.” Tamiko-san apologized profusely, hastening the girls from the banquet hall at the point of her fan.
Before Ching could say more, Captain Hyde-Wilkins tossed the napkin onto the table. “With your permission, Col o nel,” he said flatly, “may I strongly advise that while we are appreciative of our host’s hospitality and tolerant of his sense of humor, the serious matter of extending our border patrols and strengthening our defense would be better discussed at another time and place? Perhaps with more attention paid to the enemy advance and less to an excess of food and drink.”
Ah-Keung’s folded hands parted and his stance grew alert. He took one small step closer to the adjutant, his eyes returning the cold blue stare.
Ching dropped his patronizing manner. “You may leave us, Ah-Keung. I apologize, gentlemen. You are right—let us discuss our business.” Ching led the British officers to the comfort of divans, his manner suddenly businesslike.
“For many years, gentlemen, my company has traded with the Japanese. I have many friends in Tokyo, and they have made me a proposition, which I now put to you. As you know, Japanese forces under General Jiro Toshido are advancing on Hong Kong.”
He smirked. “They are in no hurry … Hong Kong will not go anywhere. My associates in Tokyo have proved that to stand against them is futile. Many thousands of Chinese are dead because they resisted the Imperial Japanese shock troops.”
“Correction, Mr. Ching,” said the captain. “They were defenseless Tanka boat people and Hakka peasants trying to protect their homes and families. The Japanese slaughtered them.”
Ching lifted his hands in a gesture of acceptance. “My apologies. As you know, I am a great believer in British diplomacy; I wear this medal with pride.” The officers were well aware that J. T. Ching had been awarded the Order of the British Empire for his philanthropic services to the colony. He was not the only rich Chinese to “buy” his OBE.
“I am also a realist, gentlemen,” Ching went on. “We do not want such a tragedy to take place on our soil.”
“What are you proposing, sir?” Col o nel Pelham demanded. “Let us get to the point of this meeting.”
Ching poured himself another brandy. “Very well, Col o nel.” He rolled the liquor in its glass, lifting it to sniff the bouquet. “General Toshido, I understand, is an honorable man. He has given his word that there will be no bloodshed if his troops are allowed to cross the border without re sis tance, to march through the New Territories into Kowloon, and occupy Hong Kong Island.”
Colonel Pelham and Captain Hyde-Wilkins were quickly on their feet. “You are asking me to have my forces lay down their arms … to surrender Hong Kong without re sis tance?” the col o nel said in disbelief. “You are a traitor, sir, as well as a bore. I shall see that you are treated as such.”
Ching remained seated, his florid face quivering with suppressed fury. “No, Col o nel, I am Chinese, and do not wish my people to be slaughtered to save a British colony.” He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Die at the border if you must, gentlemen, but the Chinese are not interested in your stuttering king or his mealy-mouthed tai-tai.” He ripped the medal from his chest and flung it at their feet.
Colonel Pelham nodded his head curtly. “We thank you for a most interesting evening and apologize for an early departure. You will hear from Government House in the morning. Good night, Mister Ching.”
“As you wish, Col o nel.” The taipan lifted his glass in mock salute. “The Imperial Japanese Army is on its way, with nothing to stop them but the rabble gathered around the traitor Chiang-Kai-Shek, or the starving Communists who die like flies around an empty pot.” He rose unsteadily to his feet, the brandy balloon held high. “Long live the British Empire.”
Back at the Japanese-style lodge, Siu-Sing moved quickly. Tamiko-san had turned on Siu-Sing in fury as soon as the taipan’s guests had departed. “That you should puke on such a priceless delicacy has taken all face from this establishment. Could you not have swallowed it and smiled? Instead, you have made a fool of him before his honored guests. That the gwai-lo soldier has laid his paws on you may cause him to reject you.”
“I am sorry, Gracious Mother; I had not eaten human remains before.”
The Golden One waved aside any excuses with contempt. “When he retires, see to it that you show him all respect; say that you were unwell and beg his forgiveness. Do whatever he requires … or I will personally return you to Fan-Lu-Wei and the pigs of Double Happiness.”
Siu-Sing had watched the staff car drive off, the pennants of the colonial government and the regiment fluttering as it disappeared through the wide-open moon gates. The shock of Ching’s association with Ah-Keung confirmed the necessity of leaving at once. That Ah-Keung had shown no sign of recognition meant nothing; he was disciplined enough not to show his hand or make a move until it suited him.
The taipan’s limousine remained in the garage, suggesting that the Forceful One would be quartered in the servants’ wing for the night, and his master would soon be escorted to the lodge.
When the taipan appeared an hour later, Siu-Sing was ready, a bath drawn and the accoutrements of comfort and the ultimate escape at hand. Too much brandy had taken the sting from Ching’s humor and much of the sense from his speech. He mumbled curses against the British imperialists and spoke of the Japanese as conquering heroes.
He said nothing of the evening’s events, and under her ministrations was soon asleep. She had been careful to see that his pipe was a strong one, that he would not return from the Emperor’s Garden for many hours into the following day.
Siu-Sing changed into the simplest of sam-foos. Careful not to attract attention to herself, she scrubbed her face clean of makeup and plaited her hair into a single braid like any mooi-jai.
The Tanka sling fastened about her, the er-hu slung across her shoulder, she placed the topaz on the night table beside his bedside, and silently left the lodge, keeping to the moon-etched shadows until she reached the window of Ruby’s room.
CHAPTER 28
&
nbsp; Nine Dragons
The Nine Dragons Teahouse and Ballroom was the biggest and grandest of its kind in downtown Hong Kong. Buried in the neon jungle of Wan-Chai, the infamous red-light district, it lured its customers with a gigantic pink and blue sign on which nine cavorting dragons chased each other up one side of the building and down the other in a crackling blaze of electricity.
Occupying the tallest and most elaborate building on Lockhart Road, it was a restaurant, ballroom, brothel, and casino under one roof. The lower floor was the traditional tea house, patronized by those who walked their caged songbirds each morning to take exercise in Victoria Park, then met for yum-cha. At midday, dim sum girls with trays and trolleys of steaming delicacies in bamboo containers roamed among the tables, calling out their wares in loud, singsong voices.
Above this, on a different level of sophistication, was the gaudy and extravagant Nine Dragons restaurant, where Hong Kong’s finest chefs provided a sumptuous meal to those who could afford it. On the third floor, from nine o’clock each evening until four in the morning, the Nine Dragons Ballroom offered Wan-Chai’s most luxurious nightclub, where the cream of local male society could drink, dance, and enjoy the expert attentions of a Nine Dragons hostess.
On its central stage, beneath a turning ball of crystal mirrors that scattered light among candlelit tables, an orchestra alternated the Wan-Chai version of the latest Western music with the popular songs of China. An endless progression of entertainers, singers, magicians, acrobats, and after-midnight striptease artists crossed every licentious boundary to entertain the guests.
For those who looked for more, there was an elevator to the floor above, where prior arrangements with a chosen hostess could be carried out in absolute comfort and privacy. The rules were strict and rigidly enforced by bodyguards dressed as waiters. If an amicable agreement was reached, the client could accompany the hostess to her room upon payment of the negotiated sum.
The owner of the Nine Dragons, Three-thumbs Poon, prided himself that there was nothing a man could ask for that could not be provided by taking the elevator from the ballroom to the floor above. It was why his hostesses were carefully chosen for their looks and style, and above all for their expertise in extracting the maximum amount of money from his regular patrons while leaving them impatient to return for more.
The yellow-shaded light above Three-thumbs Poon’s desk hung so low that it illuminated the account books and row of soapstone chops, but left his face in shadow. His hands, however, could easily be seen, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back as if spotlighted to exhibit the deformity that had given him his name. On his left hand, some mischievous god had bestowed a second thumb, almost perfectly formed, growing outward from the lower joint of his normal digit as though stuck on as nature’s last-minute joke. To emphasize this distinction, he wore a ring set with many diamonds on the extra thumb. A well-chewed cigar butt smoldered between his tobacco-stained fingers as they beckoned Ruby forward.
“I remember you, Ruby the chi-chi, though you have grown older and your face bears the mark of the Japanese whore Tamiko-san. There is no longer a place for you in the ballroom. In the kitchen, perhaps, or to serve dim sum in the tea house.” He leaned forward into the circle of light to look more closely into Ruby’s face, leering at her with more amusement than kindness. “The last time I filled your bowl, you were nothing but trouble. Why should I fill it now?”
“It is my companion I bring to you; I am no more than a shadow compared to her. Her name is Siu-Sing, number-one pipe-maker for the Golden One. I am here to attend her; you will get the work of two at the cost of one because we share in everything. Together, we will bring you much business.”
Ruby moved back as Siu-Sing stepped forward to take her place. Three-thumbs Poon tilted the lamp to look at the tallish girl with bronze hair, his bulging eyes peering through his rimless spectacles, reminding her of a frog on a lotus leaf. “Does the chi-chi speak the truth … were you pipe-maker to Ah-Jin?”
Ruby had prepared Siu-Sing on the two-hour ferry ride from Macao to Hong Kong. “They are rivals, those two. It would please him greatly to take a pipe-maker from Macao’s most famous opium house.”
“Yes, but Ruby was my teacher. She tells me the Nine Dragons Teahouse and Ballroom is the most famous establishment in Wan-Chai and, its owner is a rich and successful man who is called the Emperor of pleasure. His fame is such that there is nothing he does not know, and nothing he cannot do on the island of Hong Kong.”
The frog eyes looked her up and down suspiciously. “How do I know you are not sent by Ah-Jin to spy upon my business?”
Siu-Sing hurried on. “I speak English, Cantonese, and several dialects. I am a dancer and mistress of the er-hu. I know folk medicine and can cure a headache and bring relief of pain… . I can make a man happy and put him to sleep in moments. I am an expert pipe-maker if this is required of me. I am also a virgin, but this is not for sale.”
Siu-Sing played her final card. “It is the great importance of your esteemed position that also brings me to you. I am the daughter of an English taipan, known among our people as Di-Fo-Lo and to the British as Devereaux … Captain Ben Devereaux. If your incomparable connections could find news of him, his gratitude would know no bounds. On this you have my word.”
“Gwai-los are not welcome here. If they come, they soon leave and do not return. I can do nothing to help you in this fantasy.” There was a moment of silence while the cigar butt was drawn into glowing life. “But if you are all that you say you are, what do you ask for these great skills of yours?”
“I ask only what is given to any Nine Dragons hostess—a place to sleep, to eat as they eat, be dressed as they are dressed, and paid as they are paid.”
After the briefest of pauses, he nodded. “Your room is number twelve and that will be your name. I know no one called Siu-Sing, only Number Twelve and her chi-chi attendant.” His thumbs disengaged long enough to take a key from its hook on a crowded board behind him. “But I warn you. I know nothing of foreign devils, rich or poor. If this is what you seek, then go to the bars to be fucked for a dollar by a drunken gwai-lo. If you are to be a Nine Dragons hostess, you will forget such grand illusions and say no more of it.”
Sliding the key across the desk, he dismissed them with a flick of his sparkling thumb. “Number Five is the mama-san. If you break the rules, if you hide money or lie about your business, she will know it and report to me.”
Siu-Sing found the bar district of Wan-Chai strangely exciting. When walking its bustling streets or riding, wonder of wonders, in a taxi, she dressed in perfectly fitted cheongsams made by the ballroom’s resident tailor in different hues of violet, from the palest wisteria to the rich purple of the iris; it was, she had decided, her lucky color.
Her training at the Tavern of Cascading Jewels served her well: The tired clients who were eager to escape their tai-tais for an hour or two seemed easily pleased, and she quickly learned how to separate such men from their money with the least possible effort.
The hostesses received a small commission on every drink that a client bought. A “lucky drink,” which was nothing but Coca-Cola or cold tea, cost as much as five-star brandy or twelve-year-old whisky. Very soon, Siu-Sing was handing in more drink receipts and receiving more requests for the pleasure of her company than any other hostess. After scarcely a month, seeing how popular she was among his most important customers, Three-thumbs gave Siu-Sing and Ruby a small suite of their own in which to entertain her clients. High above the chaos of the streets below, the view from its tiny balcony reached across the spread of Victoria Harbor to the high rise of Kowloon. From that suite, she attended to the needs of a procession of customers who interested her no more than the Duke of the Golden Persimmon.
Those that required her private ministrations paid dearly for the experience. So skillful were her techniques that she could part a man from every cent in his pocket and often in his checkbook for a few moments of indescribable bliss.
No man was allowed to touch Number Twelve, and yet there were no complaints, and those who could afford it became her regular clients. She did not go to sleep as soon as her shift had ended, but sought out a place on the roof, where she would recall the words of her si-fu: “No matter where you are, there will always be a new day dawning, always a stillness before the sunrise. In the hour before daylight, the world is yours alone. In your heart and mind you will return to the rock … you will see the crane on the sandbar and the tiger in the reed bed. You will watch them in mortal combat and see why the crane is triumphant. You are the crane and you will never fall. It is called spiritual boxing.”
High above the never-sleeping streets, she and Ruby would watch the harbor come to life at dawn. With the happiness silk in her hair and the finger jade warm in her palm, Siu-Sing would look at the ships from every corner of the world and wonder if her father could be on one of them, or perhaps not far away.
Every day she read both Chinese and English newspapers from cover to cover, thankful for the English lessons she had attended to so diligently. As long as she possessed the photograph and the few other relics of her parents, safe in the bottom of the Tanka sling, there was hope. For now, the little balcony and the view from the rooftops were as close as she wished to come to the world outside, and Ruby the only companion she needed.
Recognizing the Eurasian beauty as a gold mine, Three-thumbs Poon made no attempt to discover more about Number Twelve’s past. His philosophy was simple and direct: If a girl made him money, he would pay and treat her well. The moment she failed to do so, he would see her back on the streets without a moment’s thought.
Even if he had wanted to inquire about the foreigner Number Twelve claimed as her father, only a fool would call attention to an establishment such as his. Prostitution and gambling were forbidden under colonial law—which made little difference to the massage parlors, casinos, and vice dens that prospered under the garish lights of Wan-Chai, or to the members of the Royal Hong Kong Police Force who fortified their meager earnings by accepting lucky money at the end of each month, unconcerned with the ridiculous laws of a distant king. Their British officers seldom ventured into the area, except during the propitious days of Chinese New Year, when they were wined and dined in their chosen venues with a fat packet discreetly folded into the menu.
