by Ian Hamilton
“So Wang told you that I’ve agreed to let my name stand for Mountain Master?”
“He did, and I have to say I was surprised. Not by your decision, you understand, but by his attitude. Wang isn’t a man who shows emotion, and he was so enthusiastic it shocked me,” Tian said. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but he’s totally committed, and with him on your side, you can count on many of his men supporting you.”
“How about you? Do I have your support?”
“You don’t have to ask. I told you before that I think you’re ready for the job.”
“I didn’t want to take your support for granted,” Chow said. “And I’m still trying to get used to the idea that I’ve agreed to this contest.”
“And I’m here in the restaurant because I told all my men that I want to see them,” Tian said. “When they arrive, I’ll tell them that you’re running, that I’m going to vote for you, and that I expect them to do the same. Then I’m going to the office to make sure they fulfill their obligations.”
“You can’t tell people who to vote for.”
“Yes, I can. I can’t force them to vote for you, but I sure as hell can tell them they should.”
“What if they say no?”
“Not many will.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Tian said. “What you need to do is go and round up more votes. You’re wasting your time hanging around here.”
Chow left the restaurant and stood on the sidewalk, unsure about what to do or where to go. He hadn’t thought past talking to Tian, and as he considered Tian’s suggestion, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. It was one thing to ask people to support Ren; it was quite another to request their support for himself. Besides, he had Tian, Wang, Yu, Fong, and Xu collecting votes. Who could he approach without duplicating their efforts? No one came to mind, so he decided the best thing to do was keep a low profile and stay out of the way.
He bought a racing form for the coming Wednesday and made his way back to the congee restaurant. Jia raised an eyebrow when she saw him. “Twice in one day?”
“I need a place to hang out for the afternoon.”
“Take any table in the back, and let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll leave you alone,” she said.
Fortified by several pots of tea and half a pack of cigarettes, he worked his way through the form and then started over. It wasn’t as distracting as he’d hoped it would be. His mind kept returning to the reality of what was going on in the office. Part of him didn’t quite believe that he could become Mountain Master, or that he was in the contest at all. Yet when pressed by Wang and Yu the afternoon before, he hadn’t put up any resistance. Given the circumstances, it had seemed like a reasonable request; the doubts he’d expressed to Tian several days before, when he’d made the same suggestion, no longer seemed relevant. So he had agreed to run. The relief that Yu displayed justified his decision instantly, and Wang’s enthusiasm confirmed it.
Chow tried not to think about the following day. Win or lose, his life was going to be different. He swore to himself that he wasn’t going to change who he was. He had thrived within the gang by putting his own needs second. That didn’t mean he was reluctant to give his opinion, but it was always in the context of what was best for the gang. Now, if he won, his opinions would be taken as directions. But somehow the idea of being responsible for the lives of 160 men and their families didn’t faze him. If he was true to himself, he reflected, things would work out. As he contemplated these thoughts, he started writing across the top of the racing form the names of the people he wanted for his executive committee. It would be a good group, he thought when he’d finished, and was taken with the realization that he might actually be able to make it happen.
The time dragged, and even the racing form couldn’t hold his attention. Several times he left the restaurant and went for a short walk. When he returned, Jia had a fresh pot of tea waiting for him. Eventually the day turned into evening, and at six o’clock he made his way back to the office.
There were two men at the entrance whom Chow recognized as forty-niners. He figured Wang had placed them there for security. He nodded as he walked past them. As he started up the stairs he thought he heard one of them say “Uncle” and then the word boss. Chow stopped and looked back. The men were talking to each other, paying him no attention.
He was halfway up the stairs when he heard voices above engaged in excited conversation. He entered the outer office to find it crammed full of brothers. He stood in the doorway and then saw Fong hurrying towards him.
“Where have you been?”
“I was at a restaurant.”
“We’ve been trying to contact you.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s been an incredible day. The men were eager to vote, and now everyone has, except for you, Ren, and Pang.” Fong said. “Yu brought twenty men, Tian almost the same number, and Wang came with at least forty. Xu and I didn’t do so badly either. None of the men want to leave until the votes are counted.”
“This is remarkable,” Chow said, noticing that every eye in the place was fixed on him. Then he saw Pang standing by the ballot box. “I guess I should vote now.”
As he approached Pang, the older man lowered his head ever so slightly. As subtle as it was, that show of deference, of respect, caught Chow off guard. “I’ll vote now,” he repeated.
Pang moved to one side and motioned at the box. “Only three slips of paper left.”
“When is Ren coming?” Chow asked.
“He’s not.”
“Why?”
“He heard about the way things are going today. He doesn’t see any need to embarrass himself.”
“What did he hear?”
“I phoned him a few hours ago after Wang showed up with his crew. Tian and Yu were already here with theirs. I told him you were going to win by a very large margin,” Pang said, and then looked around the room. “You know I supported Ren, but I have to tell you, if he loses, I’m pleased it’s going to be a clear-cut result. There won’t be any doubt hanging over your head and you’ll have the strongest possible mandate to lead.”
Chow nodded. “Thank you. Now I’d like to vote.” He reached into the box and took a slip of paper.
Pang did the same. “Ren isn’t going to vote,” he said, loudly enough for the room to hear. “So when Uncle and I have cast our ballots, the counting can begin. Does anyone object to that?”
“No! Vote!” Tian shouted.
“Vote!” Wang yelled.
Pang walked behind the curtain, wrote on his slip of paper, and then dropped it into the box. “Now it’s your turn,” he said to Uncle.
Chow stepped towards the table. As he did, the room became very quiet, and for the first time he was aware of the tension in the room. He opened the slip and saw the number twenty-four. It was his birthdate — a good omen? He put the paper on the table, picked up a pen, and carefully wrote his name. When he put down the pen, he noticed that his fingers were trembling. He held up the slip of paper. “There’s no secret here. I voted for myself,” he said.
There was a wave of laughter and cheers as he joined Pang at the ballot box.
“Will you count with me?” Pang asked.
“Gladly.”
“We don’t have to count them all. We can stop when you have eighty-one, if you want.”
“These men took the time to vote, so I think we should take the time to count all their ballots,” Chow said.
Pang nodded and reached into the box to take out the first slip. He read out the name “Uncle” and then hesitated.
“Can we agree that some men may have voted for Chow as Uncle and others may have used his proper name?” Yu asked, moving to Pang’s side. “As long as their intent is clear, I don’t think it matters,
do you?”
“No, I don’t think it matters,” Pang said, and took out another slip.
Chow watched as either “Uncle” or “Chow” appeared on slip after slip. Pang read aloud each name and then slowly and precisely placed the ballot in the pile for either Chow or Ren. While he did that, his assistant kept a running tally. Chow’s pile soon dwarfed Ren’s and a second had to be started. As the count proceeded, the men began to crowd closer to the table. When the last slip was read, it was completely encircled.
“What is the count?” Wang asked.
“We have a new Mountain Master,” Pang said.
“What is the count?”
“One hundred and thirty-six votes for Uncle Chow Tung. Twenty-four votes for Ren Tengfei.”
Tian stepped forward, wrapped his right hand over his left fist, lowered his head, and moved his hands up and down three times. Around him, the other men followed his example. Chow began to protest and then stopped. The men were simply showing their respect for the new Mountain Master. And, as unlikely as it seemed, that new Mountain Master was him.
( 29 )
It was about twenty kilometres from Chow’s apartment in Fanling to the Ancestor Worship Hall in Yuen Long. It was a trip he normally made only four times a year — on their birthdays, at the Chinese New Year, and during the Qingming Festival — but this was a special morning, and he shared everything special in his life at the Worship Hall.
He was up early, as usual, and by seven had shaved, showered, and dressed in a crisp white shirt and black suit. He never ate before going to Yuen Long. Normally he would have headed directly downstairs to get a taxi, but he had extra responsibilities now. With everyone still on edge, he didn’t want people panicking if they tried to contact him and couldn’t reach him. He phoned Xu.
“This is Chow,” he said when Xu answered.
“Good morning, boss. How was the rest of your night? Did you manage to talk to any more Mountain Masters?”
“I reached Kang and Chin, and it went much the same as with the others. There were lots of congratulations and promises of support, some of which might even be genuine. I told all of them that I still have concerns about Tso’s intentions, and that we will react swiftly and violently if he makes another move. They promised me they’ll talk to him.”
“Did you manage to talk to him yourself?”
“I did. We had a brief but pointed conversation. He tried to tell me that what happened on Sunday was the result of a misunderstanding, and he tried to pin the blame on Ren for not communicating properly with us. I decided to be blunt. I told him there’s no chance of us ever becoming partners, so he can forget whatever secret arrangements he made with Ren. Then I told him that if he wants war, we’re up for it; we’re prepared to fight to the last man to preserve our independence. I also told him that I’m giving Wang the money to buy as many new weapons as he thinks necessary — that while we might be outmanned, we’ll never be outgunned.”
“You really said all that? Did he take offence?”
“I wouldn’t have cared if he did, but the truth is he didn’t. In fact, he told me to calm down, that I was blowing things out of proportion,” Chow said. “But he got the message. And after I finished with him, I phoned Ren and told him what I’d said to Tso.”
“How did he react?”
“He was smooth. He congratulated me on my win and said he’ll fully support any decision I make about Tai Po.”
“Did he ask to stay on as Vanguard?”
“No, he has too much pride for that. And I didn’t raise the subject either. It wasn’t the time.”
“So, all in all, it was a good evening?”
“I think so. If everyone is to be believed, things should stay calm.”
“Great.”
“We’ll see how great it is in a few days. But that isn’t why I’m calling,” Chow said. “I’m going to be out of touch for the morning, but I should be back in circulation by noon. I don’t want anyone to worry about where I am or what I’m doing. I just have some personal business I need to attend to.”
“I’ll let everyone know.”
“Tell Wang to stay alert. When we meet this afternoon, we’ll put together a longer-term strategy for dealing with Tso.”
“Okay, boss.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“What would you prefer?”
“Uncle is fine.”
“Things have changed,” Xu said. “But I’ll do as you ask.”
Chow ended the call and walked into his bedroom. He reached into the closet and took out a small folding stool and a paper bag. Carrying the stool and bag, he left the apartment to look for a taxi. Thirty minutes later he had the cab stop at a grocery store on the outskirts of Yuen Long. Ten minutes after that, it dropped him off at a path that led uphill to the worship hall perched on top.
The path was about a hundred metres long and flanked by hillsides covered in shrubs, gorse, and wildflowers. He was the only person on the path, and as he neared the hill’s summit he saw that the hall was also empty of people. He preferred to be alone in the hall, so he always came early enough for that to be a possibility. It was often empty on their birthdays and sometimes at the Chinese New Year, but during Qingming the place was packed from sunrise to well past sunset.
The building faced northeast so that it overlooked the sea and caught the morning sunlight. It was about thirty metres across and fifteen metres deep, with a red tile roof and curved, sweeping overhangs. The front was completely open to the environs. Chow had visited several cemeteries and worship halls before he found this one at Fo Look Hill, and he was immediately drawn to its feng shui. It had a great position at the top of the hill, and its openness and sightlines were wonderful. There was a small stream running by one side and a fountain gurgling near the entrance steps. All of them were welcoming to qi, promising peace and tranquility for the spirits of the people being memorialized there.
Chow reached the hall and climbed the five steps that led inside. He walked past a statue of seated Buddha and another of a Taoist god. He approached the hall’s back wall, which was a mass of small alcoves or niches, every one devoted to a loved one who had died. The niches could accommodate an urn, some small mementos, and not much more. Nearly all of them displayed a photo of the deceased.
Gui-San’s niche was on the left end of the wall at about chest height. Chow stopped just short of it, unfolded the stool, and extracted a small whisk broom from the paper bag. He reached into the niche, removed the urn, and placed it gently on the ground. He picked up the two oranges and the small bowl of dry tea leaves that he had left on his previous visit. The oranges were dry and shrivelled and the leaves had turned to dust. He emptied the bowl and put the oranges into the bag. The niche was now empty except for a photo of Gui-San — taken in Wuhan on her twenty-first birthday — that had been enlarged and laminated. Under the photo in gold lettering it read:
LIN GUI-SAN
born in changzhai, hubei province, 28 october 1934
died near hong kong, 28 june 1959
FOREVER LOVED
FOREVER MISSED
Chow took a cloth from the bag and wet it in the fountain. Back at the niche, he carefully wiped away the dust and grime that had collected on the photo. Then he took the whisk and swept the niche’s floor. When that was done, he ran the cloth over the urn and returned it to the niche. He then removed two new oranges and fresh tea from a second bag, refilled the bowl, and placed it and the oranges next to the urn.
He lit six incense sticks with his Zippo lighter, the one with the faded black crackle. He placed three of them in a slot cut into the front of Gui-San’s niche, then put the others between his palms. He raised his hands to his chest and lowered his head. He prayed until the sticks were close to burning his skin. When he stopped, he turned and put what was left of them into
a receptacle, then sat down on his stool facing the niche.
When he first settled in Fanling, Chow had made monthly trips to Yuen Long, where he would go to the beach and relive the horrors of June 28. They didn’t find the bodies of Gui-San and Mai that morning, but they had certainly tried. Jin Hai had talked a local fisherman into taking them into the bay, and for hours they went back and forth, searching every inch of the water. When they returned to shore, Chow stayed on the beach until dark, hoping Gui-San would somehow emerge. He returned the next day, and the day after that, until Tam convinced him it was pointless and that they had to move on to Fanling.
For the next two years, a day didn’t go by when he didn’t think of her and blame himself for her death. He had talked her into the swim, he reasoned, then he had allowed her to swim in open water. And when she and Mai were in distress, he had been lying on the door, no help to them — no help to anyone. A burden to all.
The following year, he went to the beach again before making his first visit to the hall on Fo Look Hill. As he stood on the sand, looking over the choppy water in the grey light of an overcast morning, it struck him that Gui-San had become part of the bay, part of the water, part of the beach. Her body might not be there, but his memory of her was etched into everything he was seeing. Later that day, he bought an urn and filled it with sand from the beach. He took the urn to the hall and placed it in her niche. The next day he returned with the only thing of value he had brought with him from China, his mother’s jade bracelet. He buried the bracelet in the sand in the urn and then stood back. “I would have given this bracelet to you when we arrived in Hong Kong, when we were married,” he said. “Now you have it, and you will have it forever.” And thus began his conversations with Gui-San.
“Our life has been so crazy this past week,” he said. “Gao was killed. He was hit by a van as he was leaving his girlfriend’s apartment early in the morning. Everyone wants to believe it was an accident. I don’t think it was, but there’s nothing to be gained by revisiting it now. He’s buried, and his wife and son would only experience more grief if the story changed. So it’s best to leave it alone, don’t you think?
