Free Mr Ma and Son by Lao She Page B

bandwagon. Even the church school downed bibles and joined the strikers. Ma Wei had always been a capable speaker and looked presentable enough, and thus he was elected a representative, thanks to his natural eloquence and the fact his father didn’t keep too close an eye on him.
    On the representative committee, there were of course female delegates, and during the campaign, Ma Wei had numerous opportunities to speak to them, and even once physically joined hands with them. But periods of unrest are so unreliable: they might last three days, they might be five months. Although everybody might feel that the longer the better, all good things must come to an end. It just so happened that this particular period of unrest was unfortunately brief, which meant that Ma Wei in his social contact with women was fated to resemble some minor acrobat: no sooner has he turned one somersault than he crawls under the stage-curtain and disappears into the wings.
    Did fate play a hand in determining that Ma Wei and Miss Wedderburn should come together? Had Yüeh Lao , the old man in the moonlight, tied their big toes together across the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean with a strand of invisible thread? She was one of countless Western girls, and she just happened to be the first one that Ma Wei met. The moment he set eyes on her, with her playful manner and kittenish skipping about, his feelings sped from surprise to admiration, and from admiration to infatuation, like someone drinking wine for the first time, face flushing headily after just one cup. Her expression and way of speaking cooled him off considerably, it was true; yet she had smiled when she’d said ‘Cheerio!’ to him, and her eyes had glanced his way, however fleetingly . . . Surely she wasn’t deadset against him then. If only she could just come to like Chinese people. Wait and see – sooner or later he’d make her understand what the Chinese were really like . . . No need, no absolute necessity, to get on affectionate terms with her, was there? Especially not with so many other girls around.
    Such thoughts churned around in Ma Wei’s mind, presenting a host of problems but no other solution than ‘wait and see’. He felt his face. On his cheekbones were two particularly hot spots, as if a stub of incense were burning there. ‘Wait and see. Don’t be in a hurry. Don’t be impatient,’ he murmured away to himself, his mouth slightly agape as if he were about to smile – though he didn’t – or as if he were almost annoyed . . . Annoyed about her? That’d never do! He shot looks at himself in the drawing room mirror, glancing at his white teeth, while pacing back and forth with his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Don’t be impatient. Just wait and see.’
    ‘Ma Wei! Ma Wei!’ shouted the elder Mr Ma from upstairs, with a frog in his throat. Then he coughed, and his voice rang out a little sharper and smoother: ‘Ma Wei!’
    Pulling himself together, Ma Wei raced upstairs two or three steps at a time. With one hand, Mr Ma was holding open the door, and in the other he held the enamel bowl. There were red creases on his face from where he’d been sleeping, and his scrap of moustache was all twisted.
    ‘Go and get some hot water.’ He handed the enamel basin to Ma Wei.
    ‘I daren’t go into the kitchen,’ said Ma Wei. ‘Didn’t you hear what the landlady said yesterday? We’re not to go into the kitchen. You didn’t turn up at breakfast, and she’s already been going on about that. What do you think —’
    ‘All right, all right,’ said Mr Ma, rubbing his eyes, ‘Does it matter if I don’t shave?’
    ‘The Reverend Ely’s coming round in a bit to take us out, isn’t he?’
    ‘Would it matter if I didn’t go?’
    Ma Wei said nothing, just poured some water into a glass and handed it to his father.
    While Mr Ma gargled to rinse his throat and mouth, Ma Wei opened up their cases, which had been delivered the previous evening,