by Philip Dole
Sunny placed his hand on his only son’s shoulder. Hung Ho sputtered, making indecipherable sounds. The others cast their eyes down. Hung Ho’s drunken features had turned menacing. Lei stood up. Out of respect for her other family members, she denied Hung Ho the satisfaction of responding to him, shooting daggers at him from her eyes. With dignity she kissed Sunny on the cheek, politely excused herself and left the room, holding her head high. Tyler bowed to Sunny and followed her.
Hung Ho gasped for air. Was he having a stroke?
Chapter Eight
The Chang residence
Prinzengracht 45
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Monday, December 6, 2005
10:18 p.m.
“Wow, does he erupt like that often? His blood pressure must have shot through the roof. I thought he might be having a stroke. He needs some professional help. Anger management counseling for sure.”
“He always gets ugly when he drinks. He spoke in English to make sure you understood. Some people should know better. He thinks he can hurt me by calling me names. But I will not let it happen.”
“I know alcoholics. They’re insufferable. My father’s behavior was appalling when he drank, but thank heavens, he finally stopped.” He didn’t add that before Arnold got sober, he killed his best friend. “And for the record I’ve never considered myself an American monkey with a head like a penis.” Tyler chuckled. “Perhaps I should get a wig. But what will the salesclerk do when I ask for a wig for my penis?”
Now Lei chuckled, and the sound lifted his heart.
“But seriously, Lei, why was your uncle so abusive? Why would he act like that?”
“Because I shouldn’t have dishonored him by inviting you to a special family occasion.” Tyler looked confused, and so she explained.
“Granduncle Sunny and Grandmother Cherry left their village in Canton in 1930 to come here. They had to stow away on a coal-burning streamer, and it was just the two of them, all alone. They had no money, no friends, nothing. They ate little for the two month journey. Sunny was eleven, and Cherry was only six.
“It was hard in a strange new country, but they lived a traditional Chinese life. That is the way Sunny wanted it. He sheltered Grandmother Cherry from everything Western. But when the Nazis invaded, they fled to England where Cherry saw and did things she never could have done back in Rotterdam. And as those things happen, she fell in love with my grandfather Nigel Winslow, an Englishman and a RAF pilot.
“Sunny opposed it completely because Nigel was not Chinese. So the love birds eloped. Sunny chased after them, leaving his wife, Chang Kam, and their infant son Hung Ho, in London. The Blitz was on, and while Sunny was chasing after Grandmother, their flat was hit, killing Kam. Miraculously, Hung Ho was found in the rubble alive.
“Three weeks later Nigel was shot down over the Channel. But he had left Cherry pregnant with my mother, Lotus Lei Winslow. In 1974 Lotus married my father, Ho Koon Hee, but they were both killed in a drunk driving accident four years later while Niko and I were very small. And guess who was the drunk driver? Hung Ho. Yes, Hung Ho. Is there any wonder why we hate each other? He blames my grandparents for his mother’s death, and we blame him for killing our parents. I am Niko’s only sibling, and I swear I shall keep him safe.
“And although Mother married a Chinese man, Hung Ho still sees Nigel in Niko and me. We are the only ones in the family who are not pure Chinese. I ask you what’s worse- being mixed blood or being a drunk-driving murderer?”
“Lei, listen to me. You can’t blame yourself for what others have done. You must live on your own terms. You have no control over how Hung Ho behaves or what he thinks. That’s his problem. It only becomes your problem if you let it.” Suddenly Tyler realized the very same words applied to Arnold and him. He paused for a moment. “Would you like to get even for his outburst?”
“That would be wonderful. His goal is to control all the family affairs, and soon he will. Sunny is eighty-six. Hung Ho is like a vulture waiting for Sunny to die. He just drinks and plays mahjong.”
“Yes, I heard he lives for mahjong yesterday from your staff person who drove me to see Niko’s doctor. I think it’s like rummy. Isn’t that true?” He began to form a plan, and without waiting for an answer he asked her, “Do you play?”
“Sure. We all do. We have played all our lives. Except we play just for fun. Hung Ho only plays for money, lots of money. It is like a religion to him.”
“Do you think he and Aunt Di will play with us?”
“When?”
“Right now.”
“Why do you want to play a game now?”
“We’ll get him in a game and beat the daylights out of him. How would you like that? He’ll think we’re easy pickings.”
“I would love it! He would turn into a fish. He thinks he is so good. He is always bragging how good he is.”
“That’s perfect. Let’s convince him to play, and then we’ll kick his butt. Beaten by a monkey and a polluted bitch. That would be perfect.”
“Now you are the crazy one. He will never play us.”
“I’m not so sure. If he’s the braggart and gambler you say, he might play. Would you be willing to wager your birthday money? However much it is, the symbolism has great value, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “He will never agree, but I sure would love to put him in his place.”
“Maybe he will, and maybe he won’t. Gamblers are greedy, and he may think it’ll be easy pickings. And as angry as he got at dinner, he’d probably love to spoil your birthday by taking your gift money, don’t you think? Come on, Lei. You’ll never know until you try. Propose it to Aunt Di. Let her deal with Hung Ho.”
Although Lei thought they wouldn’t win even if he and Aunt Di agreed to play, she left to ask her aunt. Tyler hoped Hung Ho was willing to play because he wanted to pay him back for his rudeness. Tyler was old-fashioned, and one of his old-fashioned notions was that men should defend their women’s honor. Obviously that was one tradition Hung Ho didn’t follow.
Tyler understood Chinese families were patriarchal and realized Lei owed Hung Ho respect. Yet she had done nothing to deserve his malicious attack at dinner. Lei returned, touching Tyler’s shoulder as he watched the fire. “They have agreed. I don’t know why, but they have. They are waiting for us in the game room. I cannot believe it. I want to beat him so much. Losing would cost him an enormous amount of face. Enormous. But how can he lose when you do not even know how to play?”
“Come on, Lei. Let’s give it a go. I know the basic principle. Draw and discard until one’s hand is grouped. Right? That’s rummy. And I’m very good at rummy.”
“But the scoring is so complicated. You will never know what to do.”
“You can score for me. Am I right that if I go out before everyone else, I win?
“Yes, but you will not go out first on every hand.”
“Okay, so when I don’t go out first, you will go out first. As long as your uncle and aunt don’t go out first, we can’t lose.” But she still was very skeptical. “Come on, Lei. What’s the worst thing that can happen? We’ll lose, and you’ll be out some money you didn’t even have two hours ago. And think if we win. It makes no difference if we lose, but it matters big time if Hung Ho loses. Everyone expects him to win, and so if he loses, he can’t make any excuses. You’re just putting up money, but he’s risking face. Face is much more important, isn’t it?”
“Yes, absolutely. You are right, and I don’t care about the money. But if we play, I want to win.”
He smiled. He liked a competitor. “That’s the spirit. Let’s kick some butt.” He doubted they could win, but that didn’t matter. Tyler thought she’d already won by standing up to the bully.
They found Hung Ho and Aunt Di in the game room already seated at a mahogany table in
laid with iridescent abalone shell, shimmering in the lamplight that brightly lit the room. The lights were turned up because Aunt Di had failing eyesight and couldn’t see the mahjong tiles in dim light. While Hung Ho explained the rules, Tyler paid little attention, relying on Lei’s expertise. Instead he picked up several tiles, admiring the beauty of the ivory. That irked Hung Ho. Lei interjected comments for Tyler’s benefit. Aunt Di refilled her husband’s glass with du kang. Hung Ho drank it, and Tyler hoped it might even the odds.
Mahjong requires four players. Each occupies a position corresponding to one of the major compass points: North, East, South, or West. The position has significance not only to the play but also to the scoring. The objective of play is to group one’s tiles by sameness or sequential relationship as quickly as possible just as in rummy. The players replace their tiles with new ones as they discard tiles to maintain a constant total number of tiles. As in rummy a player has the choice of picking up tiles discarded by other players or taking new tiles from the number of tiles not initially distributed.
In any game luck plays a role, but skill counts more. On that night the initial dice rolls determined Aunt Di was in the East position, and so she was the first dealer. To her right Lei was in the South position, Hung Ho was in the West position, and Tyler sat in North’s position. Mahjong is not a team game, and each player is scored individually. But given the wager on that night’s game, it was agreed Lei and Tyler’s combined score would stand against the combined score of Hung Ho and Aunt Di.
On the last hand of the game Tyler was in the North position, meaning a North wind was prevailing. Hung Ho discarded an eight-dot tile. Tyler winked at Lei. He picked it up and declared out, meaning Hung Ho had to pay him six times the score of his hand. And Tyler’s hand had the “big four winds,” a hand that garnered the maximum possible five hundred “bones.” The total hand score of three thousand bones was by far the biggest hand of the game, pushing Tyler and Lei to victory. Lei squealed with joy while Hung Ho stared at Tyler’s tiles, trying to focus through his drunken haze. Hung Ho picked several up for a closer inspection, disbelieving his own eyes. Then he swept the tiles off the table.
“How does it feel to lose to an American monkey with a head like a penis?” Tyler leaned across the table to slap a high-five with Lei. Hung Ho deflated right before their eyes, having lost to someone playing his first game of mahjong. His head slumped down, laying heavily on his chest, the unmistakable sign of a beaten man.
As the victors left the room arm-in-arm, Tyler snickered, “About our wager, you pathetic drunken loser, make sure that you pay us in cash first thing in the morning because I’m leaving tomorrow. And I certainly don’t want an IOU from an obnoxious, uncouth, deplorable drunk like you.” The victors paraded out. Lei was smiling ear to ear.
As they came to the foot of the stairs to the second floor, Lei pulled him aside. “I want to show you to Grandmother Cherry.”
“I thought she was dead.” Lei made no response but opened the door to a small room under the stairs. He had to stoop to enter. The strong smell of incense engulfed them. An array of lit candles flickered in the breeze, casting a shimmering light on a shrine for grandmother Cherry.
“This is the man I was telling you about.” Lei held Tyler’s arm and addressed the shrine. “He will help Niko, Grandmother. He gave us his word. Tell her, Tyler.”
He was a little uncomfortable with the shrine. To a born and raised Episcopalian, it bordered on idolatry. Nor was it easy for him to address the dead as if they weren’t. But for Lei’s sake, he played along. “Yes, ma’am, I gave my word, and I never break my word.”
Abruptly she dropped his arm and took his right hand, reaching it out toward the draped picture of a beatific elderly woman. “See Grandmother, he wears Chung Fu, the hexagram of Inner Truth. Are we not fortunate?” She paused attentively as if listening. “Yes, I agree. I am sure he will bring good fortune.” She bowed a lucky eight times to the shrine, lit a new stick of incense and backed them into the hall.
Upstairs she led him toward her room. At her door she turned and gazed up at him. “Kiss me.”
Encouraged by her order, he wondered if this was the right moment for him to surrender to his desires. He stroked her cheek gently. He felt for her hairpins and removed one after another. Her hair tumbled down in slow motion. He hefted it with both hands, surprised by its thickness and weight. It reached to her shoulder blades, and he stroked it several times.
“I know you want me to help you, Lei, but I can’t chase Peng Wu. I’m a lawyer. I can’t…”
She put a finger on his lips. “Shhh. I just want you to kiss me. Can a lawyer do that?”
He held her with one arm around the small of her back and lifted her onto her tiptoes. He tilted her head slightly back, holding her chin with a tender grip. Her eyes were closed, but her eyelashes fluttered. He touched her forehead with his lips and faintly kissed the bridge of her nose. He paused, not touching her face at all. He raised it higher, tilting her head farther back as he lowered his face to an inch from hers. He could feel her warm, rapid breaths against his lips. Then he paused again. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her skin, a blend of lotions. He savored her smell, trying to burn it into his memory.
“Now,” she breathed, not louder than a thought. His lips grazed her upper lip just once. When they touched, she reached out with her lower lip. He held the kiss for a long moment. His calm mouth belied his pumping heart. He tightened his arm around her, lifting her closer to him. Their bodies touched tenderly. His breath escaped his nostrils venting his passion. He worked his head back and forth without releasing her, softly moving his mouth against hers. She returned the pressure of his caress. They held the kiss, clinging to each other. When he opened his eyes, he lowered his other arm to also encircle her. Their kiss finally ended, and she smiled without opening her eyes. She sighed. “I liked that, Tyler.”
She reached a hand around his neck and firmly pulled his face back to hers. She put their mouths together and ground them softly. She nibbled one of his lips and then moved to the other. She ran her hand over his head, fondling his bare skin. She planted her other hand between his shoulder blades and hugged him tightly. When they loosened their holds, she looped her arms around his neck.
“Do you want to come in?” She gestured at her door with a sweep of her arm.
He hesitated. Accept and regret it later. Decline and regret it now. What should I do? Although he had hoped he might sometime make that decision, he wavered.
“I want to, Lei. I really want to.” His voice trembled with torment. “But I can’t. No, that’s not true. I can, but I can’t.” He knew this wasn’t the time to explain his confusion, but he realized another invitation might never come.
She had a puzzled look, and he felt the same bewilderment. “Why am I doing this? Something that would feel so good couldn’t be bad, could it?” But he had accepted that flawed logic before only to regret it. So he only stroked her cheek.
“Lei, I don’t understand myself, but you have to believe me. It’s not you. It’s me.”
Chapter Nine
The Chang residence
Prinzengracht 45
Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Tuesday, December 7, 2005
8:01 a.m.
“Tyler, darling, my darling.” Lei’s sweet breath filled his nostrils as she roused him from sleep. She covered his face with feathery kisses. Just as the erotic dreams of her had filled his night with pleasure, the sensations of her presence so close started his morning with happiness. He didn’t care if he was vulnerable. But he warned himself too happy to care also meant too happy to be careful.
He opened his eyes and saw her sitting on the edge of Niko’s bed. She was bathed in the sharply angled light of early morning. He reached for her and pulled her tight to him. “Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well? I’ve brought some coff
ee, strong and black. Just as you like it.” He laid his hand gently on her cheek.
“Good morning, you beautiful woman.”
“Coffee?”
She poured a mug of steaming java from the glass pot used for French press coffee and handed it to him. He turned toward her, lying on his side, propped up on one arm. That position concealed the morning erection he was afraid might show through the covers. He sipped the coffee three times before speaking, content to watch her spread orange marmalade on two pieces of toast as he oriented himself to his last day in Amsterdam.
“You take good care of me, you know?” His words were a statement, not a question.
“I know. It is a Chinese tradition for the woman to serve the man. Don’t mistake me. I am not traditional, but I don’t mind serving you. Even if you tease me like a lovesick teenager. You left me aching with frustration.”
“Oh, please tell me.”
“You must beg, and I will not tell you until you deserve a treat.”
He didn’t say anything. The man who won her heart would be a lucky guy. She was almost too good to be true.
“I should call the airline to confirm my flight, Lei.”
“No need. I called them yesterday. Your flight leaves at noon this afternoon, and mine leaves at three-thirty. So I can see you off.”
“Where are you going?”
“Some place called Ketama, Morocco. Granduncle Sunny has located Wu.”
“You’ve located Wu? Why didn’t you say so. You kept that a secret? Sunny thinks he’s in Morocco. How do you know that?” He put his coffee mug down and used both arms to push himself up, nearly spilling the breakfast tray.
“Yes, in the Rif mountains of Morocco, a place called Ketama.”
“How do you know that? Are you sure?”
“Sunny is certain Wu was there. But nobody knows if he’s still there.”
“But how did Sunny learn that?”
“From the Moroccan police. Just yesterday. He just told me this morning. He has been calling all his old contacts, trying to find Wu. And an old friend from the war, a big-shot policeman down there, got reliable word Wu was there.”
