Brother Fish

by Bryce Courtenay

  Several seconds passed, and then a voice with an American accent said quietly, ‘You may remove the blindfold – there is nothing to fear.’

  The Countess silently cursed her shaking hands as she snatched at the rag around her head, but it had been tightly knotted and in her panic to remove it her fingers became frantic, plucking at the knots ineffectively.

  ‘Allow me,’ the American voice said. She caught a waft of expensive cologne as he untied the dirty rag, and she was suddenly blinking into the shadowy candlelight. A young man moved to stand in front of her and she saw that he wore a white robe. She guessed it concealed a lounge suit as she could see the bulge of a necktie under the collar of the robe, and from its hem protruded perfectly creased trousers and highly polished and expensive shoes.

  The young Chinese man with the perfect American accent stepped back to join two other men, one of them seated so she could only see his legs, the remainder of his torso lost in the gloom, while she could barely make out the outline of the standing figure. If asked on some future occasion to describe either man she would have found it quite impossible, whereas the younger man made no attempt to hide his face. He bent down to say something to the seated man, and then stepped forward from the shadows. He had a pleasant-looking face that seemed to her to be without guile. His short hair was brushed back from his brow without the use of pomade, and he wore thinly rimmed spectacles that gave him the overall appearance of a mid-echelon office worker destined perhaps for higher things.

  ‘I must apologise, Miss Lenoir-Jourdan. This is not a pleasant place to come, or to do business, but in this instance it is necessary.’

  ‘I understand, and am grateful for this opportunity to meet you,’ she replied quietly. The softly spoken and calm-looking man, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, gave her confidence.

  ‘Let me introduce myself. I am Sun Lu-ching, Lord Ching’s eldest son. Or if you prefer my western name, it is Edward – Eddie Ching. I returned from the States yesterday to conduct this business. It is my father’s express wish that the dragon box be accepted by me. He is no longer young but he is present to witness its return.’ He turned towards the standing figure in the shadows, and added, ‘With him is his white paper fan. In normal parlance you could say he is our lodge secretary, and it is important that he is also in attendance.’

  The Countess realised that Eddie Ching must have been born after her escape, and she wondered if Big Boss Yu considered that the kidnapping of her daughter was the reason for his having a son in his fifties. ‘I am greatly honoured that loh yeh Yu Ya-ching is present. May the contents of the dragon box bring him many grandsons to sit on his venerable knee.’ The shadowy seated figure gave the slightest of bows from the waist, but did not speak.

  The overwhelming stink of the oppressive cellar made it difficult to breathe. Two branches of half-burned-down candles, the stands holding them buried in spent wax, threw a flickering light over a small altar upon which stood an image of Kuan Kung, the heavily armoured God of War. A thick bunch of joss sticks burned cherry red at his winged feet. Curls of incense smoke rose undisturbed, somewhat obscuring rows of decorated pennants beyond which she could just make out what appeared to be racks of some sort of bladed weapon. To the side of the altar stood a fish-head drum of the kind used in the dragon dance at every Chinese festival.

  ‘Your message was received and as carefully read as it was composed. We congratulate you on your understanding of our ways, and thank you for your considered choice of expression.’ Eddie Ching paused. ‘We see no reason why, if you bring us a business proposition of significant importance, we would not be interested, providing always that what you want in return does not compromise us. My father has told me of your business acumen. Perhaps you will now tell us what you require from us and then, if we are able to meet your request, what you propose to bring us in return. But first, have you brought the item?’

  Nicole slipped the bag from her shoulder, undid the toggle and withdrew the silk-wrapped box. She moved to give it to Eddie Ching but he stepped to the side and pointed to the altar. ‘Please, be so kind as to unwrap the box, open it, and place it on the altar.’ She suddenly realised that they may have thought the box contained some form of danger and she may be seeking revenge, prepared to sacrifice her own life.

  She did as she was told, and Eddie Ching moved to the altar, examined the opened box briefly, then picked it up and carried it into the shadow towards the seated Big Boss Yu, who she suddenly realised was in a wheelchair. She heard a soft cackle as he inspected the plait and, for a fleeting second, glimpsed his black-ringed eyes and white-bearded face, creased in a smile. She had re-lined the box with silk and taken the plait to a hairdresser who had prepared it so that it looked like spun gold on its bed of rich crimson. Eddie Ching returned the dragon box to the altar and closed its lid. ‘The Lord Ching is pleased with the return of the box,’ he said, then added in a businesslike tone, ‘Now, what is your request?’

  ‘It is a simple one, Sun Lu-ching. I wish to know if my daughter is alive and, if so, how I may contact her.’

  Eddie Ching smiled. ‘We have correctly anticipated your request. But what have you to offer us?’

  Nicole was feeling a little more confident – Eddie Ching was a smooth combination of velvet glove and iron fist, something she understood. ‘I have to respectfully add that if my request cannot be met we will not enter into a future business arrangement.’ She paused, then added softly, ‘It is a matter of principle.’

  ‘I understand,’ Eddie Ching replied. ‘On the other hand, we will not gratify your wishes unless we are impressed with your business proposition. It is less a matter of principle than it is of stubborn pride.’

  The Countess realised that he knew about the kidnapping. ‘I am in the fishing and wholesale seafood business and am in a position to supply abalone and crayfish to you to give you control of this lucrative market in all of Asia, the exception being Japan.’

  ‘You can guarantee this?’ Eddie Ching asked.

  ‘We have sufficient licences and long-term leasing arrangements, as well as the boats and infrastructure, to make you the major Asian supplier for the next twenty years.’

  ‘Consider this business closed and, for the moment, completed in good faith. You do of course understand that if we meet our end of the bargain and you do not substantiate your end, the consequences will be onerous?’

  ‘I have tasted the dish of your clan’s wrath and it has poisoned my life,’ she replied simply.

  Eddie Ching made no attempt to reply, but instead said, ‘Please bow three times to our God, Kuan Kung.’

  ‘With permission, may I ask one more question?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What is my daughter’s name?’

  ‘Lily – Lily No Gin, the same as yours. My father wished to perpetuate exactly his good joss.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Ching.’

  ‘The way back is fortunately easier than the way you arrived. I must congratulate you on your intelligence and the initiative you have shown to dress in the manner you have.’

  Even in such dire circumstances she was still the old Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan, and Eddie Ching was not going to be allowed to get away with such a comment. ‘Do not patronise me, Mr Ching,’ she said sharply in English. ‘We are potential business partners, each with something to gain.

  I expect to receive normal business courtesy from your organisation.’

  Eddie Ching drew back in surprise, and she heard a cackle of laughter from the shadows. ‘I did not intend to offend you, madam,’ he apologised, then suddenly smiled. ‘I am suitably chastened, and look forward to our business relationship.’ Eddie Ching, she decided, had a cool head. He had recognised the courage it took to be assertive under her compromised circumstances. He produced a spotless handkerchief. ‘I’m afraid I must blindfold you once again,’ he said, apologising. ‘I will contact you at your hotel to discuss future business arrangements after I hear that you are satisfi
ed we have kept our side of the bargain.’

  He thanked her for coming, and she turned, blindfolded, and bowed in the direction of the wheelchair in the shadows. ‘Thank you, Lord Ching,’ she said, and was surprised to hear a grunted ‘Ho!’ in reply.

  Less than ten minutes later Nicole found herself in the back seat of a taxi, threading its way through the traffic along Prince Edward Road towards Kowloon City and the Star Ferry. The driver, who glanced uncertainly into his rear-vision mirror, must have wondered why the strange gwai mui dressed as a gung yun, a working person, suddenly burst into tears.

  Our reunion at the hotel was highly emotional. The three of us had gone down to the lobby directly after lunch and positioned ourselves on a set of chairs directly facing the entrance. It was a few minutes to three o’clock when Nicole finally came through the doors, and we all leapt up simultaneously, shouting out our greeting, oblivious to the fact that we were drawing attention to ourselves.

  ‘Oh, thank God you’re back!’ Wendy cried, running up and hugging Nicole tearfully, then suddenly drawing back and saying in a surprised voice, ‘What on earth are you wearing?’

  We all went up to Nicole’s suite and waited while she showered and changed. We ordered afternoon tea and, when room service arrived, sat back and got a blow-by-blow account of the day’s events. Despite the harrowing experience she’d so recently been through she was ebullient, certain that Eddie Ching would soon arrange for her to meet her daughter.

  ‘What’s her name?’ I asked.

  ‘Lily No Gin, of course. How incredibly silly of me not to have thought this through – Big Boss Yu was, after all, trying to replicate the good joss he believed I originally brought him.’

  ‘What if she’s in the telephone book?’ I asked, grinning. Nicole looked at me, astonished, and we all laughed – but it was one of those laughs you’d rather not have. She might have been under our noses all the time. Wendy ran to get the telephone directory and I think we were all relieved to discover that among several variations of Gin, none had either a ‘No’ preceding it or an ‘L’ as the first and only initial.

  We had another anxious wait to see when Lily No Gin No. 2 would turn up. The Chings had promised to keep their end of the bargain, and Eddie Ching knew the terms: no daughter, no deal. But suddenly I was troubled by another concern: if Lily No Gin No. 2 was dead, or they didn’t know where to find her, or she’d been sold into prostitution years ago, what was there to stop them from substituting any mixed-blood female in her forties down on her luck? I imagined that Hong Kong would have dozens, perhaps hundreds, of such women – after all, Caucasian expatriates had been coming and going in Hong Kong for a very long time.

  How would the Countess be able to identify her daughter? Her baby had been kidnapped moments after birth, which presented a perfect opportunity to substitute an imposter. She wouldn’t need to know anything about her mother – there’d be no hearsay, no shared history to question her on past events, nothing at all. There wasn’t a single question Nicole could ask her to verify the fact that the woman the Triads produced was genuinely her daughter. All an imposter would need was a thorough briefing from Eddie Ching about her childhood – any cock’n’bull story would do. How the hell would we know the difference? The Triads were the masters of deceit, and now Eddie Ching would think all his Chinese New Years had come at once.

  I mentioned my new-found fears to Wendy when we got back to our suite, and she turned pale. ‘Thank you, Jacko – there goes my good night’s sleep!’ she cried. ‘Have you spoken to Jimmy about your concerns?’

  ‘How could I? We all left together.’ But then I added, ‘I’m not sure I want to. In many ways, finding Nicole’s daughter is a substitute for finding his mother. He can’t ever hope to know who his mum is – there are no possible leads he can follow. She left him on the doorstep of an orphanage. That’s like placing a piece of garbage in the rubbish bin rather than throwing it onto the footpath, because it’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Jacko. His mother may have been desperate at the time – you don’t know the circumstances.’

  ‘Of course, but that’s the problem – neither does Jimmy. He doesn’t know if she was an alcoholic, or a junkie and just didn’t care, or, as you say, if she was a good woman in a desperate situation doing the best she could. He can invent anything he likes, but he doesn’t know, and he knows he never will. Even knowing the worst is better than not knowing at all.’

  ‘So what are you saying? Finding Nicole’s daughter is going to help Jimmy?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear him on the Cessna flying back from Bermagui, and when we were persuading the Countess to try to find her daughter? I thought I knew every aspect of Jimmy, but I’ve come to realise that a kid who’s never been loved never gets over it. The hurt never goes away. Finding the Countess’s daughter is like trying to stop the hurt that’s been mounting inside him since he was knee high to a grasshopper. It’s not just Nicole he’s concerned about – it’s also her daughter. Think about it – Jimmy is in exactly the same position as Lily No Gin No. 2. Like him she has no history, no past. I know this probably sounds weird, but by helping to give her back her past he’ll somehow share in it.’

  ‘So what are we going to do, Jacko?’ Wendy had become distressed and I was sorry I’d brought up the subject.

  ‘Nothing. What can we do? Hope it all works out – what else?’

  ‘Oh, Jacko, don’t let it be awful. After all she’s been through, don’t let it turn out badly for her!’

  Two days went by and we were all in the foyer waiting for Nicole to come down from her suite so that we could leave for Lantau Island to visit Po Lin, the place where she’d met with Wang Po. We were all excited about seeing the biggest Buddha in Asia, the one erected in his memory and to which the Countess had made a considerable contribution. She was seldom late – punctuality was a part of her character. But it was now twenty minutes beyond the time we’d agreed to depart. Wendy was about to go back upstairs to see what might have happened to delay her, when the lift doors nearest to us opened and she appeared. We all stood, ready to leave, but she signalled with her hand that we should sit down. She smiled nervously as she approached.

  ‘She called, half an hour ago, and will be here in about an hour,’ she announced. We all jumped up and surrounded her, offering our enthusiastic support. ‘I have to be carrying a single rose.’ She looked around, trying to locate the florist shop at one end of the foyer.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I said. ‘What colour?’

  ‘Oh dear, she didn’t say. Any rose will do, I imagine.’

  ‘Wendy, what colour?’ I asked.

  ‘White,’ she said without hesitation. Of course, the florist had roses of every other colour but white. I later learned that white is the Chinese colour for death and finding a white rose outside of a funeral parlour in Hong Kong is just about impossible. I settled for a yellow rose, the colour of friendship.

  Of course there were two immediate questions we were desperate to ask Nicole. Firstly, had the phone call been in Cantonese or English? Secondly, was Lily No Gin No. 2 of mixed blood or Caucasian? Of course, we couldn’t ask the second question.

  ‘She speaks perfect English, though with a slight lilt that probably comes from speaking Cantonese,’ Nicole replied, answering the first question. Then, with downcast eyes, she voiced our unspoken one. ‘I didn’t ask her the question you’ve probably all got in your minds.’ She looked up again to face us. ‘I decided a long time ago that it really doesn’t matter. She is my child, regardless of who her father is.’ She paused, then added, ‘We didn’t speak for long. She sounded very nervous, and I confess I wasn’t really in control myself, so she said she’d be over in an hour and a half and we could talk then. I’m afraid the trip to Lantau Island will have to wait, unless, of course, you’d like to go on your own?’

  ‘Countess, we ain’t goin’ nowhere,’ Jimmy said, and then pointed to a group of lounge chairs close by. ‘If
you want, we can sit over there.’

  ‘Actually, I’d very much appreciate it if you were all with me when I meet her. I must say I feel rather nervous, even tentative.’ The moment she said this I knew she, too, was worried about the possibility the woman would be an imposter.

  Wendy ordered tea and scones, and the next hour seemed to last forever. We were all trying, in my case unsuccessfully, not to look at the hotel entrance while we made small talk. Then Wendy said, ‘For goodness sake, we’re all talking polite rubbish. Let’s just sit and watch the entrance.’ We laughed, because she was right, of course, and suddenly we were chatting like we normally would, so that we were unaware of the approach of the woman who suddenly stood in front of us. As it turned out, she’d entered through one of the hotel’s side doors.

  ‘Miss Lenoir-Jourdan?’ she asked politely.

  We all broke into wide smiles and Jimmy brought his great big hands together and clapped, so that people at nearby tables turned to see what the fuss was about. Thank God for strong Russian genes. Except for her dark hair, which she would have inherited from Sir Victor, the woman standing in front of the Countess was a younger version of herself – the same brilliant blue eyes, an identically shaped nose, just a trifle too long to be called petite, high cheekbones, firm chin and wide brow. She also wore her hair in a bob, not all that different in the way it was cut from Nicole’s, who’d been to the hotel hairdresser the previous day. They were unmistakably mother and daughter, and both realised it at almost precisely the same moment and simultaneously burst into tears.

  Jimmy and I leapt to our feet but Jimmy got to Lily No Gin No. 2 first and led her gently to his seat next to Nicole. Wendy, too, had risen quickly from her chair and was on her knees beside the weeping Countess with her arm around her, though not offering much comfort as she was weeping herself. Jimmy stood behind Lily No Gin No. 2’s chair, not touching her but with his big hands resting on either side of her slim shoulders. He was grinning like an idiot, but then I realised that he was also crying, great tears running silently down his smiling face. I was pretty choked up myself but, as usual, was stuck for the right words. ‘What, no embrace?’ I asked awkwardly, reaching in three little words a new height in the art of the inappropriate comment.