by Li, Veronica
"She’s…all right."
His hesitation made me press on: "She’s still living in our apartment, isn’t she?"
"Not really. She decided to move in with her relatives."
My heart sank. "What about Sam-Koo? She left Bangkok a few days after you. I hope she arrived at the apartment safely."
Hok-Ching nodded. "She helped me pack up your things...."
I waited.
"She, too, decided to move in with relatives."
My heart sank further. Sam-Koo, my godmother, and Yung-Jen, my lifelong friend, had been evicted from my apartment. If I had been there, I would have looked out for their interest.
"Number Five is still there, working for Baba," Hok-Ching added, as if this were a largesse for which I should be grateful.
I realized I couldn’t trust him in anything that belonged to me. "Did you take my jewelry with you?"
"Of course not. You don’t expect me to carry your jewelry in my pocket. It’s where it should be, in the safe deposit box."
"Where did you put the keys to the box?" it occurred to me to ask.
"I signed over the box to Baba and handed him the keys."
"That’s my dowry! How could you give it away?" As soon as I said it, I saw the chauffeur glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Although he couldn’t understand Chinese, the tone of my voice stirred his curiosity.
"My father is in trouble," Hok-Ching said. "We owe it to him to help him in every way we can."
"What about the diamonds I left in his safe in Nanking? Did he take them with him?"
"My country is falling apart and my family is in peril, and all you can think of is your baubles!"
What noble words to use to put me down as mean and petty. All right, if that’s how you want to play. I won’t take you head-on, but I have my own way of getting back at you. After enough time had elapsed, I said casually, "By the way, did you get a chance to look up Yolanda?" It was a pleasure to see my husband squirm.
*
Eventually, Hok-Ching did bring me back my diamond necklace, but the rest of my treasure was gone. The gold chains, rubies, sapphires, pearls, and jade had disappeared. After the communist takeover, the Shanghai branch of the Wang family escaped to Hong Kong. The flat became a way station for the refugees, and everyone grabbed a handful of my jewelry. Hok-Ching was most generous to his family, but I wished they knew that it was my dowry they were spending.
Now, let me digress from my story to tell you about Baba’s political fate. While he was living as a private citizen in Hong Kong, the political parties on both sides played tug of war over him. The Nationalists wanted him to rejoin Chiang Kai-Shek’s government, which had been reestablished in Taiwan, and the communists wanted him to defect. But Baba stood his ground. He was determined to stay out of politics and get back into publishing. With a $30,000 contribution from Brother Kin, Baba raised enough funds to establish a new publishing company, called Hua Guo. Its retail outlet was called Hong Kong Bookstore. It was always losing money, and Brother Kin had to send $10,000 every year to bail it out.
The enterprise went on for three years, until an incident jolted Baba to the reality of Chinese politics. It was like getting involved with the mafia—once you got your hands dirty, even a bath couldn’t get you clean.
As Baba was entering his flat one afternoon, he heard a loud pop. He looked around, couldn’t see where the noise had come from, and shrugged it off. He later went into the balcony, which had been enclosed and converted into a room. Staring at him was a small clean hole in the window. He was puzzled, but still didn’t think much of it until Number Five swept the floor. A small round piece of metal rolled out from under the desk. It was a bullet. The significance of the bang Baba had heard struck him. Somebody had taken a shot at him. Immediately he suspected the communists. After all, they’d labeled him a "national thief" for his part in emptying the ImperialMuseum in Peking and transporting its treasures to Taipei. However, the more he pondered, the more he was inclined to rule out the communists. If they’d wanted to kill him, he would be dead already. The bullet would have hit him, not the window. A trained assassin couldn’t have missed him by such a wide margin. No, the bullet wasn’t meant to kill. It was a warning, a reminder that he could be easily knocked off the fence if he didn’t climb down one side or the other. Baba quickly wound up his business in Hong Kong and flew to Taipei, into the embrace of the Nationalists. It was said that Chiang Kai-Shek was very happy that Baba had "returned to the fold."
2
Hok-Ching became manager of Brother Kin’s company in Bangkok. It was a brand new export-import firm called Kin Yip, after Patrick’s Chinese name. Up till then, Hok-Ching had been a weightlifter and an editor. He’d done bookkeeping for a few months for Uncle Ben’s office in Hong Kong, but that experience could hardly qualify him to oversee a start-up enterprise. Brother Kin could have given him a job as cashier or some such, but my brother’s generosity knew no bounds. He never parceled anything out in dribs and drabs, but in waterfalls and rapids.
Hok-Ching was having the time of his life. Through a business associate he got in touch with a group of Shanghainese. Unlike the crusty Swatow merchants who made up the early wave of immigration to Thailand, these Shanghainese were polished, western-educated, and privileged. Had the communists not taken over China, they would be back home enjoying their riches. Hok-Ching was delighted to be speaking in his native dialect and playing the drinking games that livened every party in Shanghai. I was happy for him, and myself too, for it meant that my nomadic days were over. My husband had found a place he liked.
We moved out of Brother Kin’s home and rented another spacious house close by. We invited our new Shanghainese friends to our home, and they invited us back. I made friends with the wives, and we betrothed our children to each other. Sometimes, however, the men liked to go out on their own. As the other wives had given their permission, I would be petty to withhold mine. Seeing my husband off on the first bachelors’ night, I encouraged him to enjoy himself. He rubbed me fondly on the back as if he were sad to leave me. He also told me not to stay up for him. I was pregnant again, and the heat in Thailand made me tire easily.
At around nine, my eyelids were drooping. I checked on the children once more, found that they were fast asleep, and tucked myself into bed. There was no sign of Hok-Ching yet, but I wasn’t expecting him much before eleven. Late that night, I was awakened by an unpleasant sensation of something cold and damp on my hand. I looked at my side and saw Hok-Ching breathing heavily beside me, still dressed in the white shirt and gray pants he’d gone out in. What’s this wet stuff on my hand? I thought to myself. Then a sour smell reached me, and my stomach flipped upside down—my husband had thrown up on me!
From once a week, Hok-Ching’s nighttime outings multiplied to four, five times a week. Nobody at home knew where he went. If one of the children got seriously ill, I would have no way of contacting him. Even the chauffeur couldn’t offer me information on his whereabouts. Ever since Hok-Ching obtained a driver’s license, he’d been transporting himself to the scene of the crime without witnesses.
"Where do you go at night?" I confronted him the rare evening he was home. We were getting ready to climb into bed at the same time, another event that had become as infrequent as a lunar eclipse.
"Entertaining clients," he said, drawing deeply on his bedtime cigarette.
"Every night?"
"I have many clients, or potential clients. If I don’t treat them to shark fin soup and Remy Martin, they’ll take their business elsewhere."
"How can dinner take so long? If you start at around eight, you should be home before midnight, not two or three in the morning. You have to know that I’m not always asleep when you sneak in at the crack of dawn."
"You have no idea! Business dinners are served in many rounds. First, I have to entertain the bosses. They eat and drink until they’re full, and then they leave. Next come the mid-level supervisors. Again they eat and drink unt
il they’re full. And lastly, there are the underlings. They have to be fed, too. Otherwise, they might slip a banana peel under your feet. You have no idea what I have to put up with."
I didn’t know whether or not to believe him. "Which restaurant do you take them to?" I asked.
He looked at me suspiciously. To the innocent, it was a harmless question. To the corrupt, it was loaded with danger. Hok-Ching slowly ground out his cigarette, making sure to extinguish every single spark.
"It’s called Hoi Tin Restaurant," he said. "The banquet courses there are quite presentable. The price is also good. The owner is from Hong Kong, and all the waiters speak Cantonese."
Hoi Tin means Sea and Sky. Most likely, it was a place that boasted of serving everything that swam in the sea and everything that flew in the sky.
"Will you take me there one day?" I said, getting into bed.
There was just a hint of hesitation. "Oh, sure. The dim sum there is very good. I’ll take you for lunch one Sunday."
I rolled onto one side of my big belly to reduce the strain on my back. Hok-Ching left me alone these days, fearful that he might hurt the baby. Soon he was breathing deeply, which was rather unusual. As a rule, I was the one in deep sleep and he the one in deep anxiety. The reverse was true that night.
I lay awake thinking about the story I’d heard several days ago. One of my Shanghainese acquaintances, an educated woman who spoke fluent English, had tailed her husband to a restaurant. There she found her husband hugging a dance hostess so tightly that they looked like a pair of Siamese twins. The angry wife grabbed him by his tie and pulled him away. His face turned blue. People could see that he was being strangled. They tried to reason with her, but she was beyond reason. It was the hostess who finally took action. She locked her arm around the wife’s neck and wrestled her to the ground.
I cringed at the thought of the scene. Two women writhing on the floor, clawing and biting. People standing by, watching, jeering. No, I’d rather let Hok-Ching do whatever he was doing than debase myself to that level. But where did this scandal take place? Was the restaurant called Hoi Tin?
*
The chauffeur, a young Thai with eyes as bright as they were roving, knew exactly where to go when I mentioned Hoi Tin Restaurant. To my relief, he bypassed the red light district and went on to a commercial part of town. The route he followed was along a klong, one of the many in the maze of canals that kept Bangkok from flooding. Many a drunk driver had met their end in these klongs. The possibility that my husband had joined their company often kept me up at night.
The driver let me off in front of a two-story building. In breadth and height, it was a giant among the huddle of kiosks lining the street. A huge sign painted with swirling white clouds on a blue sky hung over the entrance. I clutched my purse with determination and pushed through the heavy door.
The ground floor was bustling with customers. Dim sum girls walked around, pinching their voices to call out the dishes on their trays. I wove around the tables, pretending to be looking for somebody. At lunchtime, there was little chance of running into Hok-Ching. If I did, I would simply tell him that a cousin had invited me there.
I climbed a few steps of the staircase. When nobody objected, I went all the way up. The second floor was a sprawling ballroom, now empty of dancers. Seated at one of the tables were three women, slatternly dressed, the collars of their cheongsams flipped down. From the vulgar way they sat—one with legs extended, another with her dress hitched up so she could rest her foot on her lap—I could tell they weren’t products of upper-class families.
"We’re closed," one of them shouted in Cantonese. "The floor opens at six."
"I’m looking for somebody. People say he’s a frequent customer here," I said, approaching them. They stared at my belly, obviously wondering what a woman in my condition was doing at a nightclub. I went on to mutter something about having misplaced my relative’s address.
"Describe him to me," one of them said. "I’m not good at names, but I can remember the face of every man I’ve danced with." The speaker was quite refined-looking, with a face shaped like a watermelon seed. Her voice was husky, as if she’d just got out of bed.
"He has a long chin," I said, giving away my husband’s landmark feature. "His eyes are round and deep and he’s a smidgen taller than I. His last name is Wang—"
"Crown Prince Wang! So that’s the person you’re looking for," the woman exclaimed. "He comes almost every night with his friend, the Shanghainese with the round face. We call him candy man, because his name is Sun-Tong. Tong, you know, like the candy you eat."
"Sometimes we call him handy man," another woman said. "He has many hands and they’re very naughty." The three cackled with hilarity.
The name Sun-Tong was all that I needed to hear. He owned a company across the hall from Hok-Ching’s office. He also happened to be renowned as Bangkok’s number one playboy. Considering the carnal pleasures the city had to offer, the title shouldn’t be taken lightly.
"Crown Prince Wang, does he…." I couldn’t finish my question.
"He’s our most generous customer," the husky-voiced woman said. "He always leaves a large tip. That’s why all the girls fight to dance with him."
"You’re joking, sister," her colleague said. "Prince Wang won’t dance with anybody else but you. None of us would dare touch him when you’re around."
I’d heard enough. Muttering thanks, I retreated down the staircase and out into the street. The chauffeur was waiting in the nearby shop. He ran to the car when he saw me, surprised that I was finished so soon. Calmly, I told him to drive me to Mother’s.
I had wanted to have a private talk with Mother, but she was sitting at the table with Brother Kin, who had come home for lunch, and his pregnant wife. They invited me to have a bite with them. I sat down and burst into tears.
"Hok-Ching is gone all the time, day and night," I blubbered. "He used to call home to say that he had to take clients out to dinner, but nowadays he doesn’t even call. From the office he goes straight to Hoi-Tin Restaurant with that playboy Sun-Tong!"
"What’s wrong with going to a restaurant?" Mother said, eyebrows furrowed with puzzlement.
"It’s not just a restaurant. The upstairs is a nightclub, and there are dance hostesses who are willing to do anything—" I broke off sobbing into my hands.
To my utter astonishment, Mother laughed. "Silly girl," she said, "is that what you’re crying over? That’s what men do. Don’t you know that? Every man has to have a vice. As long as he treats you well and takes care of you and the children, what more do you want?"
Incredulous, I turned to my brother for help. The amusement on his face wasn’t encouraging, but I was desperate for an ally. "Brother Kin is a man too. How come he doesn’t have a vice?"
"Oh yes, he does," my mild-mannered sister-in-law said, a barb in her soft voice. "He loves to gamble. Sometimes he loses a million baht a night."
"I’ve won a million baht a night too." Brother Kin retorted. "The next day, I bought you a diamond ring, and one for Mother. Go on, show it to my sister."
The two women flashed the stones on their fingers. The conversation was leading nowhere. How could they equate gambling with the other vice?
"You’re a businessman too," I said to my brother. "Why is it that you don’t have to entertain clients every night?"
"My position is different. I’m chairman of the board. I get involved when an important matter comes up, but not in the day-to-day affairs of the company. Hok-Ching is the manager. He runs the office, and it’s also his duty to drum up business. Much of his success depends on his connections, and he can’t connect with anyone by staying home. A man should be outgoing and generous and bold in facing society. Staying home too much will only make him a sissy."
I had never liked to argue. If somebody said something that didn’t agree with me, I usually kept quiet. On this matter, however, I had to speak up.
"If Hok-Ching were truly entertaining
clients, I could put up with him going out every night. But how can he be doing serious business when he has Sun-Tong with him?"
Brother Kin laughed. "I know Sun-Tong likes to play, but he’s also a businessman. Sometimes he does us a favor and other times we return it. That’s the way it is in business. Besides, he’s good to have around because he knows how to make people laugh. You see?" Brother Kin slapped his thigh and pointed his finger as if it were the barrel of a pistol. This was Sun-Tong’s signature gesture. Coming from my brother, it was even funnier than when Sun-Tong did it. I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing.
"You think you have it rough?" Mother said. "When your father was alive, he was gone years at a time. Did I ever ask him what he did? Never. He wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway, and if he did, I’m better off not knowing. Come on, stop crying, you tear bag. Crying is bad for your health and the little one inside. Let the men go out on the town. We women will stay home and raise our children."
I dried my tears and went home. With my own mother and brother taking Hok-Ching’s side, nothing more could be said on the subject.
*
Resigned to my fate, I immersed myself in diapers and bottles and the production of more babies. On the night of April 26, 1950, Hok-Ching was entertaining his Shanghainese cronies at home. Soon after they’d left, I felt a twitch in my belly. Hok-Ching rushed me to the car. He’d never had to send me to the hospital before, and he was as nervous as a first-time father. Fumbling around as if he were just learning to drive, he got me to Saint Louis. It was a Catholic hospital open to everyone, not the exclusive European hospital I’d sworn never to go back to. I was admitted around 10 pm, and on the dot of midnight my son slid out. It was as easy as emptying my bowels. This was my third baby in four years. My channels and canals had been stretched wide enough for an elephant to lumber through.
I named him Joseph, after the man who looked after Mary and Jesus. As important as being successful, a man must be a good father and husband. Baba gave him the Chinese name of Tai-Loi, meaning "from Thailand."
