Free Kowloon Tong by Paul Theroux Page A

"A range of cold snacks." His mother would not touch them with a barge pole. An embroidered kitten, in silk, sealed in a large plastic lozenge. An umbrella. A pair of cushion covers. A thermos flask. "Deer Horn Embrocation." Lung Ching Tea in a gaily-colored tin caddy with a painted cover.
A wooden box, with a hinged lid, containing a bottle of
mao tai
liquor.
    Bunt expressed surprise and pleasure at Mr. Hung's stubborn habit of cheapness, knowing the presents would only irritate his mother. All these inexpensive gifts proved to Bunt that Mr. Hung was not to be trusted. He took them home that evening in two bags.
    Betty said that she would have been more suspicious if the presents had been expensive. That would have been confusingly out of character.
    "Give him a chance," she said.
    "The answer is still no," Bunt said.
    On Monday morning, Mr. Hung phoned Bunt at the factory.
    "I was wondering whether you were free this evening for a drink."
    "I don't drink on a Monday at the Cricket Club," Bunt said.
    "I was hoping we might meet at a more lively venue, such as the Pussy Cat."
    "Sorry," Bunt said.
    Why had Hung suggested the Pussy Cat?
    That same week, Mei-ping knocked softly at Bunt's office door after work. She was wearing a loose fluffy blue sweater, cashmere perhaps, that Bunt wanted to touch. She was smiling sweetly.
    "Just to thank you," she said.
    Bunt drew back, put his hand into his pocket. What was she talking about?
    "For the jumper," she said.
    And Bunt stared at the sweater, because it was the most
expensive item in her wardrobe, and because he had not given it to her.
    She laughed shyly. "The Chinese man said it was your idea. Made in China." She touched the seams expertly with her fingers, finding the stitches. "It's good work."
    So Hung had given it to her, and in so doing he was informing Bunt that he knew of their arrangement—their meetings after work, the secret drinking, the furtive sex—but just how did he know? It was a dreadful way to send a message, because Bunt could not tell the truth and warn Mei-ping without terrifying her about this interfering sneak.
    She stood there in his office door wearing her new sweater, and Bunt became anxious again, realizing that someone knew his secret, and that it was Mr. Hung.
    "Do you want me?"
    "No," he said. "Please go."
    "Thank you again," Mei-ping said, making him miserable. He wanted to embrace her, but he felt that Mr. Hung was watching him.
    Needing a drink, he went that evening to Jack's Place and downed two whiskies. Baby the Filipino girl was there with her friend Luz. Why weren't they where they belonged, at the Pussy Cat?
    "We pollow you," Luz said.
    Baby said, "I think you don't like me anymore."
    "I've got a lot on my mind," Bunt said.
    "Nobody be perfect."
Perpeck.
"So dance with me, Neville."
    When had he told Baby his real name? He had always made a point of giving false names, and so the intrusion into his privacy alarmed him. He had two more drinks, and then he was not worried anymore. But he was puzzled when, trying to pay for his whiskies, he was told there was no charge.
    "Your friend paid," Luz said.
    She laughed and began dancing with Baby. Bunt, seeing the two women's exaggerated movements, watched with fascination. But he was soon panicky again. What friend?
    Mr. Hung seemed to know his movements, his girlfriends, the bars he frequented. Back at Albion Cottage that night his mother waited, filling the doorway, as she always did when he was late.
    "Why are you looking at me like that?"
    "Got a cough pastille in my gob, don't I?"
    She worked her teeth sideways and made a face.
    "Nice jumper," he said.
    "Present from our friend."
    "Oh, Lord," Bunt said, and felt ill.
    "You're ghastly, I knew you would be," his mother said. And then, sighing, added, "Oh, pack it in! I could do business with that man."

6
    O N THURSDAY , his bowling night at the Cricket Club, he decided to bring the matter up with Monty, but to do so obliquely.
I have a