The Flower Drum Song Page 3

  Old Master Wang grunted. “Has Young Master Wang San studied his lessons in his room this evening?” he asked.

  “Yes. I saw to it that he studied.”

  “Are you sure he went to school instead of a motion picture?” he asked.

  “He came home with many books this evening,” Liu Ma said. “And went straight to his room and studied.”

  Old Master Wang grunted. “Has Young Master Wang Ta come home yet?”

  “No, not yet,” said Liu Ma, then she lowered her voice and confided, “Old Master Wang, when I cleaned Young Master Wang Ta’s room this morning, I found a woman’s picture in his desk drawer. A picture with five colors, the very expensive kind. On it were some foreign words I did not understand. I told Liu Lung this morning, ‘No wonder Young Master Wang Ta has always come home late recently.’”

  Old Master Wang grunted. “What does this woman look like?” he asked.

  “She is a foreigner,” Liu Ma said emphatically.

  Old Master Wang stiffened. “What? Are you sure?”

  “She has silk-colored hair, blue eyes and a large nose. She is a foreigner.”

  “Ask Young Master Wang Ta to see me when he comes home.”

  “Yes, Old Master Wang,” she said beating his shoulders more energetically. “Do you want to talk to the cook too? I suspected that visitor of his is a bad character. Perhaps the cook is trying to find another job again and the crooked-looking visitor is trying to help him.”

  “No, I don’t want to talk to him,” Old Master Wang said. “He is permitted to receive visitors. It is enough beating. You may go now.”

  After Liu Ma had gone, Wang Chi-yang thought more of the foreign woman in Wang Ta’s drawer than he worried about the cook. He knew that the cook wouldn’t leave him again. A year ago his cook had been lured away by a Cantonese cook who made three hundred dollars a month in a restaurant. But two months afterward his cook returned, saying that he had been unhappy working in a restaurant as an assistant. He didn’t understand their dialect and he had been pushed around; furthermore, he couldn’t save any money although he had made two hundred dollars a month. The chief cook, who gambled, had often borrowed money from him. Now he realized that he had really been very happy in the kitchen in the House of Wang, where he was the chief. And he had always saved at least ten dollars of his fifteen-dollar monthly pay and during the past three years he had saved almost five hundred dollars. But he had lost all of his savings at the gambling tables during the two months when he was making two hundred a month. With tears in his eyes he had begged Old Master Wang to take him back. Wang Chi-yang remembered the cook’s predicament and was sure that he wouldn’t be so foolish as to work elsewhere and try to make two hundred dollars a month again.

  But the foreign woman in Wang Ta’s drawer bothered him. He waited for Wang Ta to come home but his son did not come. When the old clock on the marble mantel struck twelve he went to bed; he tossed under the huge square mosquito net, unable to fall asleep. He had brought the mosquito net from China and had slept peacefully for twenty years under it. He would feel naked without it. But tonight he felt disturbed as though hundreds of mosquitoes had been humming in his net. Was Wang Ta in bed with that foreign woman in some cheap hotel room now? He thought of it and he shivered.

  The next morning he got up as soon as the clock struck eight, had his ginseng soup and inquired about Wang Ta. Liu Ma told him that the Young Master had come back very late and had gone out again early this morning. Old Master Wang was relieved, but he was still slightly disturbed by the fact that the younger generation was not obedient any more. His son should have at least waited and come to see him as ordered. Feeling a bit crabbed he dismissed Liu Ma and attended his miniature garden beside his bed. The garden was built on a huge Kiangsi plate, with a magnificent emerald mountain rising high above the water. There were caverns, roads, bridges, paths, pagodas and a monastery in the garden, with tiny goldfish swimming about in the lake. He fed the fish, watered the moss and the miniature trees in the mountain. He felt better. The beauty of nature always cured him of his bad mood.

  Then he went to his large red lacquered desk beside the window and practiced calligraphy for an hour. He wrote famous poetry on his fine rice paper with great care and deliberation, his head moving slightly with the brush. Then he wrote the poetry all over again in grass style, his brush flying swiftly and smoothly on the paper. He was not satisfied with his grass style. For practice’ sake, he wrote casually some folklore sayings on top of it: “Tight lips catch no flies,” “Waste no time quarreling with women,” “Loud bark, no good dogs; loud talk, no wise man” . . .

  Then he suddenly remembered it was Monday, the day for his weekly trip to the Bank of America on Grant Avenue, not to deposit money, but to have a hundred-dollar bill changed into small bills and silver. He put his stationery away, put on a black satin jacket over his long gown, took a brand-new hundred-dollar bill from his locked iron trunk in the closet and went out.

  The teller in the bank knew what he wanted and, with a smile, she changed the money for him without a question. He wrapped up the small bills and the change in his handkerchief, and with an anticipation of the pleasure of counting the money, he hurried home. Counting money had become almost a hobby to him, and he enjoyed it as much as he did attending his miniature garden. After he had counted the total sum, he sorted the bills according to their denominations, then sorted them once more according to their degree of newness, putting the brand-new ones on one pile, the newer ones on another and the old ones on a third. He treated the silver coins with more deliberation, taking pains to examine them under a magnifying glass to see which was the newest. He would spend the old ones first and the new ones later; as for the brand-new ones, he would save them in an exquisitely carved sandalwood box locked in one of his desk drawers. When he had nothing else to do, he would sometimes bring the box out and enjoy counting the shiny half dollars, quarters and dimes until their luster began to fade, then he would spend them to make room for other brand-new ones. He counted the money until Liu Lung, the deaf servant, came to his bedroom to announce his lunch.

  After lunch he took a nap. He was awakened by an itch in his throat and he coughed. He had been coughing for years and now he even began to enjoy that too. So he lay in his bed and coughed mildly and sporadically for an hour or so, then he heard his sister-in-law’s voice calling for Liu Lung.

  “Has the Old Master waked up yet?” she shouted.

  “Enh?”

  “I said, has the Old Master wakened from his afternoon nap?” she shouted louder.

  “Oh,” said Liu Lung after a moment, “I don’t know. I shall look.”

  “Go wake him, I have something important to tell him!”

  Wang Chi-yang lay in his bed waiting for Liu Lung to come in to wake him. The servant shuffled in quietly, opened the square mosquito net and called him cautiously, as though afraid of startling him. Old Master Wang opened his eyes slowly and grunted. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Madam Tang has come,” Liu Lung said.

  “Ask her to wait.” He seldom asked his sister-in-law to come in to talk in his bedroom where he received most of his guests. He always received her in the large living room furnished with the uncomfortable straight-backed teakwood chairs which often discouraged the visitor from staying long. Madam Tang had advised him to buy a few sofas and some soft chairs; he had said “yes” many times, but never bought them. He disliked sofas; sitting on a sofa often made him feel as if he were sitting in the arms of a fat woman.

  He struggled out of the bed, took his water pipe and went to the living room where Madam Tang was sitting on one of the tall hard chairs waiting, her bright-colored umbrella and black leather handbag properly placed in her lap. She was fifty, but looked a few years younger in her blue silk gown with the short sleeves. She used no make-up except a little lipstick, and her hair was combed back and tied into a little bun, neat and well-oiled. “My sister’s husband,” she said as soon
as Wang Chi-yang came in, “I have something very important to tell you.” And she opened her handbag and fished out a little newspaper clipping in English.

  Wang Chi-yang sat down next to her and smoked his water pipe, knowing that there was nothing very important. “Here is a piece of news I cut off from a foreign paper,” Madam Tang went on, brandishing the newspaper clipping importantly. “I shall read it to you and translate it for you. It will serve as a good warning and make you realize that my advice concerning your money is sound.” She cleared her throat and, with difficulty and her individual pronunciation, she read the news aloud. “‘Lum Fong, manager of Sam Sung Café on Stockton Street, told the police how a well-dressed man came into the café, ordered a meal, and when it came time to pay, slipped Lum Fong at the cash register this penciled message: “Give me all the money. I have a gun.” The Chinese went blank. “So sollee,” he said, “I no savvee.” “You monee,” whispered the bandit, trying to make the manager understand. “You monee! I have gun, I have gun!” But the manager was still puzzled. “So sollee,” he said. “No savvee.” The bandit, frustrated, started for the door. “So sollee,” Lum Fong called out. “Checkee please!” The thug paid eighty-five cents and left!’”

  When she finished reading she looked at Old Master Wang significantly with her lips tightly pursed.

  “What does it say?” Old Master Wang asked.

  “A bandit robbed a Chinese restaurant on Stockton Street,” Madam Tang said. “The bandit had a gun; he almost shot Lum Fong, the owner of the restaurant. Fortunately Lum Fong had only eighty-five cents on him. The bandit robbed the eighty-five cents and escaped.” She paused for a moment for emphasis, then went on, “My sister’s husband, I have always told you to put your money in the bank. You will regret one day when a bandit comes in with a gun and robs you of everything. This piece of news will serve you as a good warning. I hope you will consider my advice and do as I have repeatedly told you.”

  Old Master Wang grunted and smoked his water pipe. He was only slightly worried. Nobody knew that his money was locked in an iron trunk in the closet. If a bandit came in, he would just yield to him the contents of his sandalwood box. No, he was not going to let any strangers in the bank keep his money. Nevertheless he grunted and said to his sister-in-law, “I shall consider your advice, my wife’s sister.”

  2

  Nobody knew how much cash Old Master Wang had hidden in his apartment, not even Wang Ta. All Wang Ta knew about his father’s finances was that two years ago his late uncle Tang had remitted money to America from Hong Kong several times. Since his uncle’s death, his father had not received any money from China. But his father never seemed to worry about money, and he seldom talked about his finances with anybody. When in a good mood, he was as quick with a hundred-dollar bill as a bandit with his pistol. During his four years’ studying economics in the University of California, Wang Ta was often puzzled by his father’s economic system. He had never received any checks from his father. Whenever he wanted money, it was always a brand-new hundred-dollar bill. He paid his tuition in hundred-dollar bills, paid his meals and lodging in hundred-dollar bills. Sometimes the bills embarrassed him.

  But his father never tried to spoil him with money. The old man demanded a monthly account from him while he studied in the university. His pocket money was limited to a hundred-dollar bill every two months. He had to itemize all his spendings in his monthly account, not in great detail, but they must be honest. Once, out of curiosity, he spent five dollars on a streetwalker recommended by a Filipino student. He hated the experience and it troubled him for days; besides, he didn’t know how to itemize it in his monthly account. Finally he entered it as “A practical study of the sex life of the American college students from an economic point of view—$5.00.” His father had never questioned it.

  After four years of American education, Wang Ta adopted many American ideas, and being independent was one of them. He felt ashamed to receive money from his father after he graduated. This attitude puzzled his father considerably. In China it was either the father who supported the son or the son who supported the father, depending on who had the most money. They handed each other money as a matter of course, nobody should feel ashamed of that. “What do you intend to do?” his father asked him after he graduated.

  “I shall find a job,” he told his father. And armed with the brand-new college degree he paced California Street, Montgomery Street and Sansome Street for weeks trying to find a job that had something to do with his field. After more than thirty short interviews with potential employers, only an insurance company showed some slight interest in him. But when they discovered that he could not speak the Cantonese dialect, they decided not to use him. Knowing the odds against him, he made up his mind to broaden his scope and forget about his economics. So he landed a job as a dishwasher in an American restaurant at Fisherman’s Wharf. When he went home to declare his independence his father was so shocked by the nature of the job that he almost fell down in a fainting fit. “I forbid you to take that job!” he shouted. “Nobody in my family shall wash somebody else’s dishes . . .”

  For more than two months Wang Ta hunted for a desk job, but his efforts were of no avail. Finally, through the mediation of Madam Tang, his aunt, he went back to school. He enrolled in the Medical School of the University of California. He wasn’t too happy with the new field, but at least he wouldn’t have to look for another job for five or six years. His father was contented. To him, being a doctor wasn’t too bad a profession, although he didn’t have a high opinion of the Western medicine.

  At the University of California Medical School Wang Ta’s major problem was love. He had fallen in love before and one love affair was more damaging than the other. He didn’t know why, but he hadn’t thought of love too often when he had studied in Berkeley. Perhaps living in San Francisco provided more social life. Or perhaps he was taking life more seriously as he became older. Or was it that he was reaching the age when his desire for women was the strongest? He didn’t know. He liked American girls; they had a strong appeal for him, especially physically. Some American girls had given him pictures taken in sweaters, and he loved them, but he knew that his father would not allow him to marry an American; and he also knew that many American parents would not allow their daughters to marry Chinese. He had dates with many American girls without serious intentions; he had enjoyed their company tremendously and thought they were gay and appreciative, different from most of the Chinese girls he had dated. The Chinese girls, especially those from China, were usually stiff and polite; some were downright conceited, knowing that the ratio of Chinese men to Chinese women was to the women’s great advantage. Wang Ta knew that the “six men to one girl” situation was a social problem and he always held his horses whenever he met a girl from China. He had taken out a girl newly arrived from Formosa. But when the news got around, all the old bachelors, including a flock from Monterey, flooded to San Francisco to date her. The girl, whose gown of blue cotton had cost her an equivalent of about two American dollars, now found herself wearing six-dollar flowers and going to concerts and operas. Wang Ta wondered if she would accept an invitation to a movie now, after being spoiled by so many anxious bachelors.

  Then he met an American-Chinese girl, born in Stockton. She studied music at the City College. They went out many times. Wang Ta found her delightful, gay and appreciative like an American girl. After four months Wang Ta became serious. He was sure that his father wouldn’t object to his marrying an American-Chinese. She was from a good family; her father owned a supermarket in Stockton and all her sisters and brothers had gone to college. She was the youngest and the prettiest in the family, with large sparkling eyes and long wavy black hair. One Saturday evening they had dinner in Chinatown. “Mary,” Wang Ta said as they ordered a family dinner in a private booth in the Far East Restaurant on Grant Avenue, “let’s not go to a movie tonight. Let me take you home and introduce you to my father.”

  “Oh
, let’s go to a movie,” Mary said. “I’m anxious to see ‘Rear Window.’ If I miss it now I don’t know when it will be shown again. It’s already ancient, you know.”

  “But I want you to meet my father.”

  “Some other time, Lawrence,” Mary said. “For four months I’ve been calling you Lawrence, and I’m still not used to it. It’s a funny name. It sounds stiff. Why don’t you use your Chinese name?”

  “Wang Ta is all right in China,” Wang Ta said; “but in this country everybody calls me Ta Wang. Ta Wang means ‘bandit king’ in Chinese. So I asked a schoolmate to give me an American name.”

  “Why did she give you Lawrence? Is she an old maid?”

  “No, he is a man. He was studying Chinese. He gave me Lawrence to help him memorize Chinese.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Law-ren-ce means ‘old man dies.’ As long as he remembers me he remembers this Chinese sentence. Choosing between ‘bandit king’ and ‘old man dies’ I prefer the latter.” He expected Mary to laugh, but she made a face instead. She was lovely even when she was making a face, especially the way she wrinkled her nose.

  “Why don’t you change it?” she said. “Why don’t you use a more common name, like Tom, or George, or Larry? Yes, why not use Larry? It’s pretty close to Lawrence . . .”

  Wang Ta swallowed hard and said, his voice trembling a little, “Will you marry me, Mary?”

  The waiter brought in the dishes. Mary sipped her tea and waited until the waiter had left. “I’m already engaged, Lawrence,” she said, lowering her beautiful eyes.