In the broadest sense, Dr. Lao-Hong’s family allegiances were as solid as stone. Despite his relative youth, at thirty-seven the doctor occupied important positions within the clan that related to Western business interests. As a result of these lucrative arrangements, and because he had always bowed to his father’s call to observe financially modest habits, the doctor was, in all contemporary respects, a very wealthy man. He held deeds covering a profitable range of commercial real estate in San Francisco, and cash assets in a score of gainful business interests. And for all his financial success and familial bliss, nurtured, to be sure, by an exceptional education, the doctor honored a mortal debt to his ancestors, his parents, his uncles, his own family, and, lastly, his clan.
It was that last debt that encompassed the greatest risk. Every family, clan, state, or nation, unless under the thumb of a very powerful patriarch, is perennially riddled with conflicting interests of one stripe or another. It obliged the doctor to recall that, as much as the Chinese universally profess their undying veneration of peace, social harmony, piety, and order, they can rarely get those elements to march in step in their own extended families.
Factions pecked at one another like young cockerels in a never-ending and foolish roundabout of posturing for place and recognition. He was reminded of the cautionary joke about a half-crazed dog that incessantly chases its own tail, until one day he manages to catch up with his quarry and, reveling in his unexpected victory, bites it off. Dr. Lao-Hong knew from experience that a quarrelsome state of affairs could grow exponentially with the size of the clan. Inevitably, the resulting disharmony must somehow be restored to a proper balance, and only those with great power and prestige can apply real force of will to make it so.
Dr. Lao-Hong took all this in stride when it came to his own culture. By his own estimation the Chinese had survived and prospered under the Gold Mountain by creating for themselves those institutions of administration and law denied them by the civil government. It was only reasonable to suppose that, as in China, the management and supervision of those institutions followed traditional clan lines of ascending seniority and power. It was an ancient and proven system with which every Chinese, regardless of birthplace or dialect, had been familiar since birth. It was with good cause that they trusted nothing else. And possessed with this historical experience, they had every reason to be highly suspicious of all Western political novelties. Nonetheless, the doctor knew his people to be substantially pragmatic, sometimes to a fault. If perhaps some Western innovations were judged necessary, practical, profitable, and inexpensive to reproduce, like the telegraph, then the Sons of Heaven could be depended upon to adopt it at once, and then turn around and reengineer the device to serve their particular needs.
Dr. Lao-Hong pondered his precarious situation as he took the coaches south to Monterey. The train rattled and groaned over the points as it slowly steamed away from the depot, leaving the rusting rail yards and the acrid air behind. With the passing of the last outlying factory buildings, the gravitational pull of the city was lessened. Once released, the engine sped up and pressed on past surrounding farms and fields, and then out along undulating hills of ocher-colored grasslands, punctuated here and there with resilient outcroppings of oak and orchards dispensing partial shade to small gatherings of cattle and antelope. Two hours farther south, the upper mantles of the mountains on either side of the valley were showing off small green patches of new grass. Dr. Lao-Hong knew that in a few days, with the continued blessings of rain, the whole vista would transform into a lush, emerald green landscape rolling like sea swells down the valley. The rich hillsides would be dotted all about with thick carpets of brightly colored lupines and pastures rich with bluebells and white cow lilies. The doctor wistfully hoped it might all appear in its verdant glory for his return journey. He believed the natural splendor might reflect a propitious omen, for at that moment he felt in dire need of celestial endorsement to help balance his leaden feelings of inadequacy.
Though he was anxious to please his uncles in all things, Dr. Lao-Hong was not happy to be parted from his wife and children, not to mention his other business interests. As he considered his situation and the many possible outcomes, the doctor found himself being rocked about by a small storm brewing in the Western-educated portion of his brain.
That part of the doctor’s American education that had inspired him to revere the imperative lessons discovered reading Xenophon, Euripides, Plutarch, and Livy had also inspired him to mine most of Edmund Burke and all of Thomas Paine. The doctor drifted off as he recalled that once, while attending a Harvard Christmas gathering, he had tapped a fifty-dollar wager by memorizing, word for word, all of Paine’s Common Sense between the dinner gong and the same chime at breakfast the next day. Just to show off, young master Lao-Hong also threw in Paine’s American Crisis. He didn’t make any friends doing it, but he did pay off his commissary bill with enough money left over to convince Mr. Finch at the bookstore that he wasn’t a complete deadbeat.
Suddenly Dr. Lao-Hong came out of his daydream as Thomas Paine, the China Point fire, and Zhou Man’s treasure all came crashing together in his mind. There was no question that the fishing families had been doomed from the start, even if they did make accommodations for the inevitable. Nonetheless, recent newspaper accounts concerning the lawsuit instituted by the Chinese against the Pacific Improvement Company indicated that, despite Judge Kimmerlin’s predilections to lean toward the interests of the Chinese tenants, the Pacific Improvement Company had harnessed a sleek team of high-priced railroad lawyers to argue their case, and it looked as though an expensive legal struggle might drag on for years without an adequate resolution.
It was here, just as Paine’s philosophical specter appeared out of the fog, that Dr. Lao-Hong’s cultural struggle came back to the fore. The doctor’s personal loyalties could never be called into question, but he was conflicted by the role he was being asked to play in the name of familial obligation. There was definitely no question in his mind that what the Three Corporations were attempting to accomplish was little more than a blend of cultural extortion laced with face-saving bribes plumed with implied threats. But this had always been the way of things, even in China. The greater tongs kowtowed to the Three Corporations, or some such body, and the lesser tongs always bowed to the greater, and so on in a descending scale until one found the poor fisherman or laundryman, who must in turn kowtow to his guild master for the privilege of laboring night and day to feed his family a few bowls of fish, seaweed, and steamed rice each day.
It was painful to admit, especially in his present situation, but Dr. Lao-Hong’s sympathies were not totally invested with his uncles, the Three Corporations, or the purpose of his errand. He was scourged not just by history and Burke’s First Principles, but also by what he personally felt was basically honorable and just. For the less privileged elements of society to automatically succumb to the arbitrary ambitions of those more powerful might be a primal law of nature, but it made for damn poor politics and did little to cultivate minority cohesion.
The doctor had to admit that in the last decade, disturbing instances of tong conflict had become more frequent and more often bloody. Though many powerful elders preferred to disavow the obvious, the doctor had witnessed a tenacious series of small internal rebellions, each adopting noble guises and espousing selfless motives. But to the doctor’s way of thinking, it was as rampant within the tongs as it was within the Californian society at large. Or perhaps the tong elders had deluded themselves into believing that the rise in factional insurgence was just another of those despised Western novelties that some of the younger Chinese had taken a fancy to, and then refashioned to their own covetous ends.
As much as Dr. Lao-Hong wished it were otherwise, he knew full well that if the Three Corporations didn’t take charge of Zhou Man’s treasures, some other cadet-level tong would pounce on the opportunity to gain the artifacts, even if outright theft had to be employed to gain possess
ion. It had happened before in an unfortunate, murderous incident involving several ancient Taoist texts belonging to a small tong in Seattle. Such crimes would more than likely happen again if the rewards were judged worthwhile and the penalties negligible, as is usually the case when the powerful intimidate and extort from their weaker brethren. Dr. Lao-Hong’s father had been right after all. Whether in China or California, the only real enemy the Chinese faced was their own countrymen.
At last Dr. Lao-Hong’s thoughts flew back to his family. There, as always, he found great peace and moral resolution in remembering his wife’s honest, empathetic insights and her mature and gentle wisdom. As he watched the countryside and the distant ocean fly by his window, he became more determined to follow her prudent counsel, particularly since at present he was bereft of any workable plans of his own.
As it neared Monterey, the train entered a heavy fog bank that seemed to shroud the doctor’s mood with increasing misgivings. The train slowed for lack of visibility, and when it finally arrived at the station in Monterey, the fog was so thick the doctor could hardly make out details more than fifteen feet away.
It had been seven weeks since his last visit, and though the Three Corporations had written ahead to say they were sending Dr. Lao-Hong on an important matter of business, no specific date or time had been mentioned. He was therefore surprised to find Master Ah Chung waiting at the station for him with a horse and buggy. He assured Dr. Lao-Hong that his presence was hardly a matter of clairvoyance, since he or one of his associates had met the train for the last ten days. He said he was most pleased to be of service and would take his honored guest wherever he wished to go.
When Dr. Lao-Hong said he had made arrangements to stay at the El Carmelo Hotel, Master Ah Chung simply shook his head. He humbly begged pardon of his guest and said he believed the doctor would not be comfortable there for several reasons, the first and foremost being that the Carmelo Hotel was owned and operated by the Pacific Improvement Company, who were not well disposed to Chinese of any stripe. “Besides,” he whispered, “the beds are infested with bugs, and the food they serve is inedible. These round-eyes eat their meat bloody or burnt, and their vegetables are boiled beyond recognition.” And this, he said, would hardly be suitable for a man of Dr. Lao-Hong’s cultivated tastes. Master Ah Chung said the elders had arranged more appropriate accommodations.
Twenty minutes later Master Ah Chung pulled up to the stone portico of a handsome two-story stone house on a wooded hillside overlooking Monterey and the bay beyond. The broad, walled gardens surrounding the house were impeccably maintained, and the walkways newly swept. Master Ah Chung said that the house belonged to Madame Hammond Yee, the cultured Chinese widow of a wealthy American ship captain who had come to Monterey to retire. Captain Hammond had purchased the house from the estate of Mr. O’sheen and furnished it to his wife’s tastes with treasures he had acquired in China.
Ah Chung quickly communicated most everything he knew about Madame Yee, or Lady Yee, as she was commonly referred to. Lady Yee was of Mandarin descent, and very well educated. Her grandmother had been a lady in waiting to the Imperial Dowager Empress, and her father a very wealthy and influential trader and grain factor. When one day another internal rebellion broke out, Master Yee had found himself on the wrong side of history. Suddenly the Yee family was ostracized from power and position and told to remove themselves to Canton, where, no doubt, they were expected to go extinct with encroaching poverty and shame. However, Master Yee turned the tables on his feather-headed enemies and became even more successful and wealthy in Canton.
It was in Canton that Captain Hammond first cast eyes on his future bride. By any standard, Lady Yee was considered an exotic beauty, and the captain fell in love almost at once. Master Yee was loath to part with his third and most talented daughter, but the captain’s persistence and Master Yee’s honor were eventually rewarded for the dower sum of eight thousand gold dollars and free passage for a cargo of red wheat bound for the Philippines.
Captain Hammond had passed away ten years ago, and Lady Yee now lived alone except for her four servants and a cook. Those who could appreciate such subtle arts considered her cook, Ah Chu, the finest chef in California, Chinese or otherwise. Because she liked to know interesting and important people, the wealthy widow kept two expensively decorated suites of rooms specifically to entertain important visitors who came to town.
Lady Yee graciously welcomed her honored guests with a soft smile and noble nod of the head. The doctor was surprised to find that despite her supposed years, Lady Yee remained a very handsome creature indeed. She was taller than most Chinese women, but her figure was still slim and youthful in proportion. Her glistening, jet-black hair reflected light like obsidian and was handsomely dressed with magnificently pierced gold and jade combs that indicated her status and wealth. She was attired in a rose-patterned brocaded coat over fine black silk pantaloons decorated with silver cranes and piped in gold. Her features were most attractive and seductive for someone her age. The doctor noted that her general expression was modest, her manner warm and generous, and her ready smile seemed to indicate a person who appreciated the benefits of laughter.
Lady Yee led her honored guest into her beautifully decorated parlor, and after a delicious service of oolong tea and sweet sesame buns, the doctor was shown to his rooms, which were superbly appointed with traditional Chinese furnishings. He was also pleased to discover that Lady Yee’s house had been fitted with interior plumbing and elaborately decorated French water closets, a great and warming convenience on cold evenings and foggy mornings.
When they had all finished their second pot of tea, Master Ah Chung, acknowledging that the doctor deserved a good supper and a restful night after his long day on the cars, politely took his leave with promises to call again the next morning at ten, a more congenial hour, to discuss whatever business had brought the doctor so far.
That night Dr. Lao-Hong was served one of the finest meals he had ever enjoyed, and after an edifying and pleasant conversation with Lady Yee, he retired to his suite. And despite his conflicted emotions, that night Dr. Lao-Hong slept the sleep of the innocent.
The next day the doctor was escorted to the tong hall at Point Alones, where he took another official meeting with Master Ah Chung and the council of elders. After another ceremonial service of tea and much polite but necessary banter, the doctor very subtly and courteously presented the offer set forth by the Three Corporations. He also took the time to explain in detail why the proposal had been put forward, and the possible consequences if the proposition was refused.
Master Ah Chung and the tong elders maintained a respectful but inscrutable silence during the doctor’s presentation. When he had finished, the elders asked permission to retire to their deliberations, and humbly requested that the doctor return the next day to hear their answer. Dr. Lao-Hong happily agreed. He then rose, bowed to the venerable elders, and retired with Master Ah Chung to attend a celebratory luncheon hosted by his brother. Of course, etiquette and protocol demanded that no business be discussed, but this was not a hindrance to the occasion, as various entertainments had been arranged for the pleasure of their important guest. The gathering went on for quite some time, and a respectable quantity of rice wine was served to lubricate the numerous toasts made in the name of mutual prosperity and perpetual contentment under the mandate of heaven.
Dr. Lao-Hong was unused to drinking wine except on ceremonial occasions, and then only in modest amounts. And, as might be expected, he eventually found himself feeling somewhat light-headed and giddy. He confessed as much to Master Ah Chung, who suggested an invigorating walk along the beach to clear their heads. It was a beautiful afternoon, with no sign of the fog that usually flushed across the bay at this time of year. They talked of many things as they ambled north toward McAbee Beach, where new dwellings were being constructed for the survivors of the fire.
At one point they stopped and watched the fishermen prepare t
heir boats and gear for a night of hunting on the bay. Master Ah Chung explained that tonight there would be a full moon, perfect conditions for taking squid during the height of the mating season. To amplify their chances, each boat was rigged with several fire baskets that hung out over the water. Like the glow of the full moon, the light attracted the shoals of amorous squid, which were then gigged on hooked lures and hauled in by the thousands. The hunt would end with the waning of the moon and only begin again when the full moon returned the following month, weather permitting of course.
Dr. Lao-Hong found that he was impressed with Master Ah Chung’s native intelligence, friendly disposition, and good sense. Despite his lack of a scholar’s education, Master Ah Chung prided himself on a broad range of reading and self-improvement. The doctor discovered that his host was conversant on a great many subjects, but his quiet, modest demeanor never allowed him to put himself forward as a scholar or expert on any subject. His courteous and applied diffidence spoke well for his upbringing. And the master’s honest, pleasant disposition was most congenial. Dr. Lao-Hong could well understand why Master Ah Chung had been chosen to administer business for his tong.
The afternoon shadows lengthened into an orange and azure dusk. The two men sat down on a large driftwood log, and with the comprehension of persons raised to appreciate the natural beauties of the world, they looked out over the bay in quiet reflection. Neither man spoke for thirty long and gratifying minutes. And as such things happen to those who cast a respectful eye upon the wonders of creation, their reverie was soon rewarded by the rising appearance of the full moon in all the goddess’s finery and brilliance. Even in the early dusk, the immortal Chang’e cast her immutable splendor out over the bay in penetrating shafts of silver light, each broadening into a highway of dancing reflections leading back to the feet of the goddess herself. As the moon rose still higher, the silver highways glinting on the water became a broad gossamer web of shimmering moonbeams. Then as the enchanted alteration spread across the bay, a score of sampans from Point Alones quietly sculled out onto the iridescent web like a spreading brood of baby spiders just freed from their mother’s egg. When the sampans at last arrived at their fishing grounds, the arched fire baskets were set ablaze. Suddenly the whole scene magically transformed into a floating lantern parade, complete with sounding gongs and shouting men.
In The Shadow of The Cypress Page 9
