Brother Fish

by Bryce Courtenay

  Here she bought a red-and-gold packet adorned with the ripe peach of prosperity, and enclosed what by the standards of a normal donation would have been considered a large amount of money, to be used towards the planned construction of a likeness of the Lord Buddha. This monument was to commemorate the life and service of the venerable Wang Po and was to be the biggest and grandest of its kind in Asia. She then walked over to the Pearl Pagoda situated within the temple grounds, where the tomb of the great abbot had been prepared for the time he must eventually leave the monastery to join the celestials. Here she waited for several hours to offer her donation to an elder, with the request that she be granted an audience with Wang Po. The elder took the package, examined its contents briefly, and without changing expression handed it back to her. Over the following fortnight she returned to the temple a further seven times, rising at dawn and always increasing her offering, but to no effect. After each visit she returned to her flat well after sundown, often too exhausted to eat the food her amah had prepared.

  With each rejection she grew more determined. Prior to her ninth visit she went to the Bank of China and removed a good portion of the gold Sir Victor had placed together with her precious icon in the safety-deposit box. Then, in a nearby market, she purchased a wooden box painted red and gold with the emblem of the pine tree and the peach carved into it, the pine signifying longevity. She placed the gold bars inside the box. Even for the rich this was a significant donation. The following morning, following her usual pre-dawn routine, she returned to the island monastery where she prepared to wait to present her offering to the elder. As if by some predetermined sign, this time she was not required to wait several hours before seeing him. Instead he called out, ‘The jarp jung woman may step forward!’ Jarp jung simply means mixed blood. This time, when he opened the presentation box, his right eyebrow twitched and he asked her to wait, affecting a discernibly polite tone.

  He returned half an hour later with a request that she follow him into the temple’s inner sanctum. In the half-light created by the fragrant haze of burning incense, she saw that the walls contained what seemed to be several hundred small niches, in each of which was placed a gold Buddha. Passing through a small door she found herself in a tranquil, walled courtyard garden. She was led through stands of sacred bamboo to a scarlet bridge that crossed an ornamental lake, where sacred carp swam, flashes of gold among the floating lotus, and a dragonfly poised above a pink blossom. On the far side of the miniature lake she saw a graceful pavilion. As she ascended the arch of the bridge she saw, standing at the far end, Abbot Wang Po in his traditional robe of purple and wearing the black hat of a Taoist pope. His wide sleeves were rolled back to the elbow to reveal arms so thin that they seemed to contain no flesh, although his hands were surprisingly large, with long bony fingers and curved fingernails that gave the impression of being the talons of a bird of prey. He showed no signs of tremors as he tossed scraps from a bowl to the carp agitating the water to the side of the bridge.

  He didn’t look up as the Countess approached, and when she was quietly announced by the elder he merely nodded his head. The elder bowed and, turning, took his leave. When the abbot spoke there was not a hint of the thin, reedy sound of an old man’s voice. ‘Do not be confused by the Buddha and the Tao. There is nothing to say we should not take all paths to find God.’ At first the Countess thought this was a formal opening remark, but then realised that this religious ambiguity had been her first thought when she’d been told about the island monastery. She almost panicked – had he already discovered her latent scepticism and her purpose for seeing him?

  ‘I am deeply honoured that you would agree to see me, lord abbot,’ she said softly.

  The old man looked up for the first time and she was startled to see his eyes appeared almost luminescent, his irises the colour of grey pearls. She had forgotten that the article she had read had said that he was losing his eyesight and now, two years later, he appeared to be completely blind. ‘The Gods have taken my sight so that I may see more clearly,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Come with me.’ He walked without hesitation towards the pavilion, and she followed. Seating himself in a comfortable chair of aged wicker within the pavilion, he motioned towards another. ‘You may sit,’ he offered. She declined – the idea of sitting beside him rather than standing before him seemed unthinkable.

  ‘I have been told of your numerous visits and I already know you are not Chinese, although this is of no importance – nor is your generosity. What allows you to enter this garden is your determination. I am honoured by such patience and will do what I can to help you. You must tell me why you are here.’

  He listened patiently as she explained about the abduction of her child and the reasons behind it and then, choking back her grief, she asked if he could somehow ensure that Big Boss Yu would not abandon her child but care for her until she could take care of herself.

  ‘Are you asking me to send him a warning?’ Wang Po eventually asked.

  ‘Lord abbot, I am told it is within your power.’

  A wicker pot-warmer stood on a low table within his easy reach, and with practised ease he filled two lidded cups with tea, handing one to her. ‘What you ask is not a horoscope, not even a foretelling of fortune or a prediction of an uncertain future. What you ask is conspiracy – you could even call it trickery.’

  Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan was plainly shocked. While, of course, he was correct, she had not thought of her request as deceitful. She had lost her daughter because of an evil man’s superstition and she was convinced that using the same weapon against him was fair.

  ‘I am sorry, my lord abbot, I have acted wrongly,’ she said, fighting back her tears.

  He smiled. ‘That would be so if you stood to gain wealth or good fortune or love and happiness, or even health and long life, but you have asked nothing for yourself. The life of a child and the sanctity of a spirit I cannot refuse.’ He looked up at her, his sightless gaze seeming even more penetrating than if he had been able to see. ‘I cannot do anything to return your child to you. Such a deception would become too apparent – this man would see it was brought about by the child’s mother and disregard it.’

  ‘Lord abbot, I want only that you ensure her safety,’ she pleaded.

  ‘This dragonhead, Yu Ya-ching, you say may be found in Shanghai. I will see that what you want is done.’

  As this instalment unfolded at the hotel in Hobart we were all feeling somewhat mellow from the effects of the wine, and I don’t know about Jimmy, but I was feeling decidedly ambivalent about the action the Countess had taken. On the one hand her exchange with Wang Po may have been a psychological masterstroke, but on the other it was potentially an incredible waste of money. At the time, the gold she’d donated to the building of the giant Buddha on Lantau Island would have bought a damn good house in Australia. For once Jimmy was lost for words, and I was the one who spoke up.

  ‘But how did you know the old man, the abbot, would keep his word? I mean, he could have just taken your money and left you . . . well, feeling you’d done something to help your daughter.’

  She looked at me sharply. ‘I can see you don’t approve, Jack.’

  ‘Well, I mean . . .’

  Jimmy jumped in, rescuing me. ‘Countess, dat a sad time for yoh.’

  ‘What you’re both suggesting is that I acted in an irrational manner.’ She seemed to think about this for a moment, and then said, ‘You see, there was a part of me that thought like a Chinese peasant, where choosing between rational thinking and superstition usually means reason is abandoned. Over the centuries Chinese peasants have never had any control over the circumstances of their lives. Often acts of God, but more commonly acts of man, have completely disrupted any attempt to lead a rational and normal existence. Hard work seldom reaps its just rewards or even puts sufficient rice into the family bowl to prevent them from starving. Luck is everything. The throw of the dice or the spinning of a wheel is a better bet in a
peasant’s mind than a well-contoured rice paddy and a reliable ox. It is for this reason that the Chinese are inveterate gamblers. It is not that they believe the odds will favour them, but that the odds against them are already insurmountable. Because life is purely a matter of luck, they are forever on the lookout for signs and portents and, of course, a talisman is of the utmost importance.

  ‘You may remember that the first time I met Big Boss Yu it was as a fifteen-year-old in the nightclub in Harbin when he asked for a lock of my hair. That night, I was later told, he won a considerable fortune at roulette. Later still I became his living talisman, while the plait of my hair in the dragon box became the actual talisman. With my help he made millions of dollars from raisins, and everything else he touched seemed to turn to gold too. When he discovered my affair with Sir Victor he not only believed I had betrayed him but, in his mind, the talisman – the plait – lost its power. The opium-smuggling operation was discovered by the Americans, and this had the potential to discredit him in the eyes of Shanghai’s international community. Unlike his partner in crime, Big Ears Du of the French Concession, Big Boss Yu craved respectability above everything. He needed to be seen as a legitimate taipan. So I became the scapegoat. But he still had to contend with the prophecy the incense master had given him when I consulted him about cutting my hair.’

  ‘What, the message he left in the dragon box when he kidnapped your daughter?’ I asked.

  ‘No. It is doubtful even you will have remembered, Jack. The incense master’s prophecy, which he had instructed me to tell Big Boss Yu, concerned Yu’s joss: “It is good for now but it will sail away across the seas and return again later to his dragonhead.” Big Boss Yu’s message left in the dragon box, “The good joss will return in one generation”, was his attempt to bring his luck back and fulfil the prophecy. I would escape and sail over the seas, taking the dragon box containing the discredited talisman, the plait, with me. By kidnapping my daughter and bringing her back “over the seas” as “the next generation” he would bring back his good luck and thus fulfil the prophecy.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is that you had to find a way to reinforce his own superstition with a message from the abbot of Lantau Island.’

  ‘Dat abbot, he da big shaman in all China. Big Boss Yu get his message, he know he gonna obey him, dat foh sure.’

  Jimmy and I had met a few Chinese in our time as prisoners of war, and in my experience duplicity wasn’t unknown among them. I guess the wine had gone to my head a little, because I added somewhat cynically, ‘That is, if he got it.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m certain he did, Jack,’ she replied. ‘I’d left my details, as requested, with the temple, and eight days later I received a hand-delivered note in very businesslike calligraphy.’

  “Pavilion of the Four Seasons, Palaces of the Four Winds,

  Shrine of the Dragon Mother, Hollywood Road,

  Hong Kong, 7 a.m., Thursday.”

  ‘The coming Thursday was two days hence. I should explain that the Shrine of the Dragon Mother is one of Hong Kong’s best-known temples. Every morning its courtyard is crowded with early-morning worshippers anxious to burn joss sticks on their way to work. Many grab a hasty breakfast from the food carts that stand against the walls of the shrine. Vats of steaming rice porridge bubble away, there are salted eggs, roasted peanuts and custard tarts. Most Chinese have a sweet tooth, and there are dozens of other dishes on offer to feed the hungry crowd.

  ‘I was keen to allow myself plenty of time to get to the shrine, as I had two trams to catch to reach my destination. On a whim I decided to wear my mother’s pearl earrings to bring me good luck, although a moment’s reflection would have told me it was too late to affect the outcome of anything. That’s when I discovered one earring was missing. I’d been so relieved to find that the prison guard hadn’t stolen my money on the night of my escape that it hadn’t occurred to me to look for the earrings. And then, of course, I thought it may have been stolen in the hospital. I knew it was pointless making a fuss – I couldn’t prove anything anyway – but I confess I wept at the discovery of the loss. I only tell you this because the fuss of discovering the earring missing caused me to miss the first tram, and so I had to hurry. I finally got off the tram from Causeway Bay and took a short cut through the Central Market, which was already throbbing with early-morning preparation.’

  The Countess stopped talking. Jimmy had ordered another bottle of wine, and to my surprise she held out her glass. ‘Allow me briefly to paint the scene of the Central Market. Even in Shanghai the markets were never as exotic, and by taking a shortcut I was rewarded with a sight few people, even those who lived in Hong Kong, would have experienced – walls of glass tanks filled almost to overflowing with live fish, eels and crabs of literally hundreds of varieties; baskets of squawking poultry stacked to the roof-beams; carts of freshly butchered meat, offal and bones dripping trails of blood as they trundled loudly over the cobblestones; and the squeals of live pigs, who seemed to know their imminent fate, cutting through the tremendous cacophony, adding to the mayhem. This was no place for a sensitive western stomach, and the rubber-booted workers stared at me as I dodged the carts and the carelessly spraying water hoses to find my way to the crowded ladder street that led up to the lower end of Hollywood Road.

  ‘Inside the shrine, the crowd was fighting to reach the feet of the Goddess seated on the dragon throne. The interior was in permanent twilight as huge coils of incense, some the size of a small wagon wheel, choked the shadows with smoke. Pigeons in their hundreds strutted the rafters and, like the market I’d just passed through, the shrine was a confusion of jostling, shouting people seeking just enough luck to see them through the day.

  ‘I had visited before at a quieter hour and knew that behind the shrine, through a moon gate, stood five pavilions, one for each of the four winds and one located in the centre. It was too early for sightseers, and the central pavillion was empty but for a slight figure, a Buddhist nun, wrapped in a saffron robe. She approached me without hesitation and I could see from her face that she was a woman in her middle age, or perhaps a little older. Her saffron robe was old and faded, and she wore scuffed sandals on her broad feet. She bowed to me in the manner of a Buddhist devotee, and I noted the triangle of three small scars on the crown of her shorn head – part of her initiation into the realm of pain, where three small cones of incense are placed on the scalp, lit and left to burn down to the bone in a process that takes an hour, during which showing any sign of weakness is forbidden. These scars were her badge of office and they commanded respect in any company – even a dragonhead would not dare to dismiss her from his presence.

  ‘“I greet you, tai-tai,” she said, showing me the respect of a married woman of status.

  ‘“I greet you, seal jeh,” I replied, giving her equal status as a single woman.

  ‘“I am a disciple of Wang Po, Abbot of Po Lin. I have visited the one intended and now have for you, on the instructions of my abbot, the master of wind and water, a second copy of the scroll I delivered to Yu Ya-ching.”

  ‘“It is not necessary – the abbot gave me his word,” I replied, though I confess I was secretly thrilled at this apparent confirmation of Wang Po’s promise. From her begging bag she removed a scroll and handed it to me with both hands, bowing as she did so. I accepted it in the same manner and saw that it contained the monastery’s chop or seal, which was absolute confirmation that the scroll was genuine. With trembling hands I broke the seal to unroll the narrow piece of parchment, only to be confounded by the ancient characters of its text, which were quite beyond my ability to read. Immediately to the side of the final character on the scroll was a second seal acting as a “forbidden mark” or, in western terms, a full stop, so that no other words may be added. As custom would have it, the second seal is also the personal chop of the sender of the message – in this case, the most revered Abbot of Po Lin.

  ‘The nun had been expecting my confusion and, smiling
, took the scroll from me. In a quiet, even voice she began to read.

  ‘“He who is known as an ‘immortal’ and is the master of wind and water, the sage who reads the palaces of the moon and who interprets the twenty-eight constellations that foretell the affairs of mankind in an ancient almanac, the commander of the five elements, Wang Po, the ancient and venerable Abbot of Po Lin, sends Yu Ya-ching this message.

  “I have heard, in the wind and over the trembling water, of a jarp jung girl-child who alone holds the key to your future life and fortunes. If harm should come to her by your own hand or by those who obey you, then a hideous fate awaits your lineage, and your ancestors face eternal damnation. This fortune-bringing child must be given all the privileges afforded to a male child of your direct lineage. In exchange your health and longevity will be assured and the Gods will smile upon you, and the good fortune of your house and clan will be assured.”

  ‘The Buddhist nun came to the end of the reading, bowed and handed me back the scroll. I thanked her and asked permission to ask one question. She nodded, agreeing with a smile. “Was there anything peculiar about the office of Yu Ya-ching?” I asked.

  ‘She smiled again, immediately realising the reason for my question, but showing no offence. “There is no deceit, tai-tai – it was I who delivered the message to Yu Ya-ching, the one with the many ticking clocks in his office, each with a different time on the face.”’

  The Countess took a small sip from her cup. ‘So there you have it, gentlemen – I had my confirmation. There is simply no way she would have known about the clocks had she not been in Big Boss Yu’s office.’ Coming to the end of her anguished story, she sighed deeply. ‘I shall never see my precious daughter. Nor know which of the two men fathered her. But I am certain that my donation to the monument to honour Abbot Wang Po, the “immortal”, is the most important investment I have made in my life.’