FORTUNE COOKIE

by Bryce Courtenay

  There were dream interpreters, seers and soothsayers aplenty, it seemed. Almost everyone they asked knew one. Sydney was a raw new Chinese community, the seeds of traditional order and rank too recently sown. Anyone could be almost anything they wanted, and Ah Koo and Little Sparrow were easy to spot as a pair of country bumpkins ripe for the picking. They were not fools, yet they had no safe starting point. It seemed they could return home with the dream and Ah Koo’s purse intact, or take a punt on someone who claimed to be a xun meng xing shang and looked and sounded trustworthy.

  After three days Ah Koo was becoming increasingly morose and Little Sparrow blamed herself. If her dream were a message from the gods, then surely its interpreter should be awaiting their arrival. She was about to offer herself to her honourable husband for a severe beating when their luck changed. Coming down Wentworth Avenue towards them was a prosperous-looking Chinese man who seemed about to pass when he stopped suddenly and gave Ah Koo a quizzical look. ‘Ah Koo?’ he asked in a tentative voice.

  Ah Koo nodded, but didn’t recognise the stranger. The man slapped his chest and smiled fit to burst. ‘Wong Ka Leung! You saved my life at the diggings!’ he exclaimed.

  There was much bowing and nodding and expressions of joy at the reunion, and Wong Ka Leung insisted they stay as his guests in a place he owned where they would have a room to themselves. ‘We must celebrate!’ he exclaimed. ‘A banquet, tonight, and you will be the honoured guest.’ He cast a glance at Little Sparrow. ‘My wife will attend to your wife.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘I will invite the Dragon Master, Tang Wing Hung.’

  Ah Koo was bewildered at the unexpected meeting and suddenly afraid. He had long since grown unaccustomed to his own kind or to being treated with honour and felt out of his depth. ‘Ah Wong,’ he protested, using the familiar form of Wong Ka Leung’s name, ‘I am unworthy, a grower of vegetables, no less a barefoot peasant than I was in China. Such a great honour is not for the likes of me. I do not possess the manners required or have the conversation for such a grand occasion, much less the temerity to address the head of the Triad.’

  Ah Wong drew back. ‘A brave man may sit in the company of the emperor,’ he quoted. ‘You will be the most worthy man at the banquet, Ah Koo.’

  Ah Koo shook his head and indicated his shabby white cotton shirt and heavy boots. The collar of his shirt, washed and starched by Little Sparrow three days previously, was ringed with dirt from walking the dusty streets, and his suit was no better. ‘I have one clean shirt, that is all. It is for visiting the xun meng xing shang,’ he explained, then added lamely, ‘We only expected to be here two days.’ He shrugged, spread his hands and looked down at his thin torso. ‘I have only this gwai-lo suit and no blacking for my boots.’

  Ah Wong lightly touched the lapel of Ah Koo’s jacket. ‘We are the same size,’ he said, then patted his stomach lightly and laughed. ‘Perhaps I have a little more around the middle. I have lots of clothes and we will make a good fit.’ His expression was suddenly serious. ‘Ah Koo, you must allow me to repay my debt.’

  Ah Koo shook his head slowly. ‘I cannot accept your kindness, Ah Wong. What happened was many moons ago and is long forgotten. As there is no debt, there is no repayment necessary. I compliment you on your prosperity.’

  Ah Wong sighed. ‘With the help of the gods and the Dragon Master, yes, I have prospered. Now my greatest wish is to offer my gratitude in a tangible way.’ He paused, thinking. ‘But what is this about a soothsayer? Do you have a problem? Perhaps I can help.’ He looked up and down the street, then turned back to them. ‘It is hot standing here, and there is a tea-house.’ He pointed across Wentworth Avenue. ‘Let us take tea and talk.’ He glanced at Little Sparrow. ‘Do you wish your wife to accompany us? I can direct someone to take her to my house, where my wife will serve her tea.’

  Ah Koo shook his head. ‘No, she will stay,’ he said, in a sudden panic at being left alone.

  They crossed the street and entered a tiny room where there were two tables, both unoccupied. Ah Wong addressed an elderly woman who had been seated on a chair, a tray on her lap, shelling broad beans. Seeing them enter, she had risen and placed the tray on one of the tables. Clasping her hands, she bowed, silently greeting them.

  Ah Wong indicated the tables. ‘Both are now taken,’ he instructed her. ‘You will be paid twice the cost of what we order. Bring tea and deem sum then make yourself scarce. I will call if you are needed, old mother.’

  The woman bowed and disappeared through a bead curtain to the back of the tea-house. The two men seated themselves and Ah Wong, smiling, turned to Ah Koo. ‘Now, first you must tell me about yourself. I have thought of you often, and longed and prayed to the gods that you had prospered and that we should meet again. My prayers have been answered in this miraculous chance meeting.’

  Little Sparrow, afraid that if she sat with Ah Koo he would lose face with his friend from the past, made to seat herself at the spare table. To her surprise, Ah Koo indicated for her to do otherwise and waited until she was seated before addressing the urbane Ah Wong. ‘If you wish, I will tell you my unworthy story.’ It was obvious he was uncomfortable at the prospect. ‘Then, with your permission, Little Sparrow will tell you of the dream, the reason for our being here.’ He paused, nervously clearing his throat. ‘But before I do so, while I am grateful for your hospitality and we will accept your offer of a clean room, for which we will pay you, I must explain that I am no longer accustomed to the company of my own people, nor have I ever attended a banquet.’

  Ah Wong interrupted, explaining, ‘It is only a banquet in a manner of speaking, a few guests —’

  ‘No, it is impossible!’ Ah Koo threw up his hands in protest, then, fearing that he had spoken too forcefully, lowered his voice. ‘I was seasick coming down the coast and my stomach has not yet adjusted.’ As if to consolidate this untruth, he went on, ‘I can eat only a little plain rice and so you will lose face with your guests. I cannot accept.’ Ah Koo, thoroughly out of his depth, felt himself trembling and was afraid to meet the other man’s eyes.

  Little Sparrow, who had not felt his touch since the disastrous birth of the twins, now longed to comfort her distraught husband. While love was not a prerequisite for marriage and, indeed, she had no notion of what such an emotion might be, she deeply honoured this man who seldom castigated her and had never once taken the donkey whip to her unworthy hide.

  Ah Koo finally summoned the courage to look up. ‘If you can recommend a soothsayer of good reputation, it would be more than sufficient repayment where no payment was necessary. We would be most grateful,’ he concluded.

  It was clear to Ah Wong that his long-lost friend and saviour had made a final decision. ‘Forget about the banquet,’ he replied with a brush of his hand. ‘I will see what I can do about a seer.’ He grinned to indicate the subject of the banquet was closed and there were no hard feelings. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. ‘Now, tell me about yourself, Ah Koo,’ he said again. ‘It hardly seems possible. It is thirty years, even a little more perhaps, eh?’

  The old woman, carrying a tray, entered the tiny room to the rattle of the bead curtain and placed on the table a large pot of green tea, three small ceramic bowls, a large tin plate of dim sims, chopsticks and three smaller tin plates, then bowed and departed.

  Ah Koo nodded to Little Sparrow to pour the tea. He had missed breakfast and dinner the previous day and was ravenous, and the old lady’s deem sum looked excellent, but then he realised that only minutes before he’d claimed to have an upset stomach. He took a sip of tea, then, clearing his throat, he attempted to explain his life in The Valley.

  It was so long since he had talked about himself, even thought about his circumstances or compared them to those of other Chinese, that relating his life among the gwai-lo timber-getters came haltingly – the blessing of six sons, followed by the disaster of twin daughters was the main thrust. He mentioned the market garden and the humble eatery, the donkey ca
rt, the pigs and the terrible waste of beautiful cedar, but skipped over the part where, after the birth of the twins, he promised the gods he would practise abstinence to appease their anger, aware that like almost all Chinese men, Ah Wong would cherish virility and potency above all things. He moved on to recent times, with his two eldest sons now sufficiently mature to manage the market garden and the remaining children able to help in the chophouse. He had decided to make an offering of a roasted piglet, pomegranates and persimmons to the gods and ask for their permission to use the chisels Little Sparrow had brought all those years ago from China. He looked over at her and then back at Ah Wong. ‘She has since had a dream, three times, always exactly the same.’ He shrugged. ‘It is why we have come here, to find a good xun meng xing shang for a translation.’

  Ah Wong nodded slowly and absent-mindedly indicated that Little Sparrow should fill his cup, even though he had barely sipped from it. ‘The gods have been generous, Ah Koo. You have six sons to bring comfort to your old age.’ Then, silently recognising the impossibility of twins finding someone who would be willing to marry one half of the same imperfect vessel, added in an encouraging voice, ‘And two daughters who will be faithful and caring handmaidens to rub your feet and back and attend to your every need.’ He paused and frowned, then nodded towards Little Sparrow. ‘You say it is your wife who had this dream … dreams?’ Clearly, as with Ah Koo’s own initial response, his friend’s first instinct was to discredit the dreams of a peasant woman.

  Ah Koo, conscious of his scepticism, replied, ‘She will tell it and you will decide for yourself.’

  Little Sparrow was by nature a silent, self-effacing woman, who saw Ah Wong as far above her station in life. She accepted that he must harbour doubts that a mere ignorant peasant woman would be chosen by the gods as a vessel for transporting an important dream, and she was anxious not to let her husband down in front of this important stranger.

  Ah Koo, still nervous and conscious of the fact that he had done a heavy-handed job of relating his past since the time the two men parted after leaving the diggings, didn’t make things any easier by addressing her in a proprietary tone tinged with premature censure. ‘You are my mouthpiece; speak clearly and do not under any circumstances leave anything out,’ he instructed.

  Little Sparrow was terrified, but she fervently believed the dream belonged to her honourable husband and was not her own. On pain of death, she must tell it well to this stranger who had promised to find a soothsayer they could trust. And so she began to speak. She related the dream, each sequence treated like a play and given its own weight and colour. Finally she completed the penultimate scene and glanced at Ah Koo for his approval. He nodded, whereupon she concluded with the image of the number-eight chisel, its original steel blade embedded in the wooden heart of the fat dragon.

  Leaning forward for emphasis and holding three fingers above his head, buoyed by his wife’s beautiful account of the dream, Ah Koo pronounced in an emphatic voice, ‘It – the dream – has been repeated three times without a single change in detail!’ He drew back and, with a jerk of the head, nodded his approval to Little Sparrow.

  Despite himself, Ah Wong was impressed with the depth of content in this dream. It was so far beyond the imagination of a mere woman that he no longer doubted she had been used by the gods. Inexplicably, they had chosen to speak to his friend through his ugly, pockmarked wife. He was momentarily silent and seemed to be thinking. ‘I have a plan,’ he declared at last. ‘The Dragon Master owns a chophouse, the best. There is a private room —’

  Ah Koo interrupted. ‘You promised, no banquet.’

  ‘No banquet! Definitely no banquet! A quiet dinner, just you and me.’ He grinned, conscious of the look of relief on his friend’s face. ‘There is a private room where we will eat alone.’ He paused fractionally then added casually, almost as an afterthought, ‘He will simply drop in for a few minutes to hear the dream. Whereupon I will ask him to help you.’

  Ah Koo once again looked uncertain. The gesture from Ah Wong – bringing in the Triad boss – was well beyond his personal merit and could be perilous. ‘There is too much pork on my plate for the price of this dish,’ he quoted.

  Ah Wong attempted to reassure him. This message from the gods would require a great dream master and there was only one such in New Yellow Gold Mountain. He paused and then explained, ‘Ah Koo, I am Hong Gun – Red Stick – second only to one other who serves Dragon Master Tang Wing Hung, who has at his exclusive disposal the most venerable soothsayer of all. If you come with me tonight, I will ask that he permit the great one – who even in our native land was revered as a master of celestial ways – to translate your dream.’

  Little Sparrow gasped then clapped both hands over her mouth. It was an offer Ah Koo must not, could not, refuse.

  It was indeed a monumental and generous offer, and Ah Koo suspected that even for the number three in the Triad, it was not going to be an easy request to make. But, unlike Little Sparrow, he was not sure it was such a good idea. He was aware that the gods had a pecking order and that an ignorant peasant such as he would never have a request answered by a member of the top celestial echelon, those gods who reserve their time for emperors, the well-born rich and dragon masters of special merit. Furthermore, an introduction to a xun meng xing shang as influential as the one Ah Wong proposed could be seen by them as a deliberate attempt at deception, one likely to result in further anger from the gods. By going over their heads, it might even cause a loss of face for those gods of a lesser order who created the dream in response to his request for guidance in the matter of putting the chisels to work. ‘Ah Wong, a thousand thanks, but this honour is too great. Do you not know of a reliable seer you trust who deals with messages from the lesser gods?’ Ah Koo asked.

  ‘Of course, but he is not sufficient for this dream,’ Ah Wong answered firmly. ‘We must involve the Dragon Master.’ He hesitated. ‘But I cannot absolutely guarantee his cooperation. He will need to hear your dream before he decides.’

  A look of undisguised relief crossed Ah Koo’s face. ‘Ah … but I cannot tell this dream sufficiently well. In my hands it is limp, dead weed that has no colour. It can only offend and waste the time of the venerable Tang Wing Hung.’ Ah Koo glanced at Little Sparrow, knowing that she would not be permitted to dine with them or be allowed in the presence of the Dragon Master and that, at this moment, she would be utterly distraught that her husband had missed this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  Ah Wong had already demonstrated that he was a quick thinker and seemingly only paused for a moment. ‘Aha, I see. Then I will arrange for a ping fong – a screen. She will tell the dream from behind it.’ He turned to Little Sparrow. ‘You shall wear servant’s clothing. I will arrange for this and also for you to come through the rear entrance.’ How can a woman so ugly be chosen by the gods to carry a dream so filled with omens and portents? he wondered.

  Little Sparrow was not offended by this plan. In fact she was hard put to contain her delight. I will tell his dream even better from behind a screen, she said to herself.

  Half an hour before the two men arrived at the chophouse, Little Sparrow was ensconced behind a double screen, the single one proving too narrow to hide her bulk. As with her great-great-grandson, this was not about fat; it was a peculiar build that was not often seen among Caucasians but was sometimes a characteristic of the Chinese peasant, where the requirement for strength was written in the genes. Anyway, there she was, seated uncomfortably on a small wooden stool, safely prevented from offending the eyes of the Dragon Master, should he deign to present himself.

  Tang Wing Hung’s chophouse was the best in Chinatown, which was simply another way of saying it was the best in Sydney. Not that the exterior was intended to impress. While there were a few Chinese who had prospered, none had prospered more than the Dragon Master, whose influence extended to every Chinese in the colony and, some said, in the entire country. Most Chinese were poor working men, and for
a chophouse to prosper it had to provide cheap food of good quality served in abundance. The area serving the working population was pretty basic: sawdust-covered floors were crammed with as many long benches and tables as could be fitted into the space. For the Chinese worker who didn’t cook at home, eating out was a necessity, not a luxury, and the quality of a chophouse was judged by the noise coming from it. No Chinese of that time would eat at a place he couldn’t hear from a hundred yards away.

  But the private room built at the back of the chophouse was clearly meant for the rich and important in the community. It was where the Dragon Master himself entertained and where business deals were struck, often with the gwai-lo population, respectable and otherwise, and it was intended to impress. While not large, the walls, three feet thick, were constructed of sandstone to keep out noise, while the door was covered in felt two inches thick. The décor was in the Shanghai Chinese tradition but with a touch of the Victorian salon. The heavy silk drapes were peacock blue, and red and gold wallpaper covered the walls. The black lacquer table and chairs seated six, and both were elaborately inlaid with mother of pearl featuring birds, dragons, carp and cherry blossoms. Ah Koo noted that the floor was of polished cedar covered in three silk carpets of elaborate design. Two screens of painted oyster-coloured silk featured a painting of vertiginous mountains, wind-blown trees and misty jagged rocks that appeared through clouds and rose out of dark lakes. It was framed in the traditional colours of black, red and gold.

  Adjacent to the screens was an elaborate Chinese armchair featuring a large curled dragon carved into the headrest and two smaller dragons along the arms. The seat and part of the backrest were upholstered in plain yellow silk. It was a masterpiece of the wood-carver’s art; for Ah Koo, already overwhelmed by the opulence surrounding him, it was the most beautiful object he had ever seen.

  Ah Wong noticed his open admiration. ‘It is the Three Dragon Chair. Only the Dragon Master may sit in it,’ he explained.