devilry and deceit, his habit of keeping poisonous snakes up his sleeves and concealing arsenic in his ears, how, when he exhales, he turns into a chlorine-gas gun, and how, just by winking his eye, he can send you to kingdom come . . . all such things serve yet further to make foreign men and women, young and old, shudder to the very depths of their hearts.
Li Tzu-jung’s face almost exactly fitted the image. If he’d been slightly taller, the foreigners might have accorded him more honour by calling him Japanese. (Yellow-faced people with the slightest points of merit are all Japanese.) Unfortunately, he was only about five feet tall, and his short legs did indeed bend outwards at the knees as he walked. His hair was thick and copious, and what with that untidy mass and the lowness of his forehead, there wasn’t much space between his eyebrows and his hair. His eyes, nose and mouth were not unattractive, but, alas, his cheekbones were rather too flat. He had a very fine physique, though, with a broad, straight back and a solid, erect neck, which, with his slightly bowed legs, made him look like a little howitzer gun.
Yes, Li Tzu-jung really got the foreigners in a muddle. They might think he was Japanese, but then his face was scarcely what you could call handsome. (The Japanese are all decent lookers.) But then, if they took him for Chinese, his yellow face was as clean and sparkling as a new pin, and no Chinese fellow can ever spare the cash for a bar of soap, can he now? Anyway, just look at those upright shoulders of his! The Chinese always keep their backs bent, ready for a beating, so he couldn’t be Chinese. And although his legs were somewhat bandy, he walked briskly, fairly pounding along. He not only failed to waddle, he even walked at tremendous speed . . . Foreign gentlemen were truly nonplussed as to precisely which inferior race he belonged.
‘Ah,’ Li Tzu-jung’s landlady had concluded, ‘the fellow’s half Chinese, half Japanese.’ And in private she’d confide to others, ‘Oh, he’s definitely not proper Chinese. What, a Japanese? Not likely! Not his sort!’
Before Ma Wei had even finished shaking hands, the elder Ma had already drawn back his shoulders and made his entrance into the shop. Li Tzu-jung hurried in after him, cleared up the things on the floor and ushered him to a seat in the back room.
The shop had two rooms in total, one where the business was conducted and another that served as the accounts office. Hard against the back wall of the latter stood the safe, in front of which there was just enough space for three or four chairs and a table. Next to the safe stood a small table bearing a telephone and a telephone directory. There was a rather dank smell about the room, which, combined with the acrid smell of metal polish, produced an atmosphere very much like that of one of those tiny foreign-goods shops in Peking.
‘Shop assistant Li.’ Mr Ma had reflected for some time before hitting upon ‘shop assistant’ as his chosen form of address. ‘Before we begin, make us a pot of tea.’
Li Tzu-jung raked at the unkempt hair on his head, glanced at Mr Ma, then turned to Ma Wei with a smile.
‘We haven’t got a teapot or any cups here,’ he said. ‘If the old gentleman’s set on having a cup of tea, I’ll have to go out and buy some. Got any money on you?’
Ma Wei was about to pull out some money when Mr Ma, his face darkening, again addressed Li Tzu-jung.
‘Shop assistant!’ (This time he even omitted the ‘Li’.) ‘Do you mean to tell me that if the manager of a shop wishes to drink a cup of tea, he is required to pull out his own money? And there are numerous teapots and cups on the shelves, yet without any thought you declare that we have none!’
Mr Ma drew up a chair, seated himself next to the small table, and, leaning back, almost knocked the telephone over.
Slowly and leisurely, Li Tzu-jung rolled the sleeves of his shirt down and turned round
Li Tzu-jung’s face almost exactly fitted the image. If he’d been slightly taller, the foreigners might have accorded him more honour by calling him Japanese. (Yellow-faced people with the slightest points of merit are all Japanese.) Unfortunately, he was only about five feet tall, and his short legs did indeed bend outwards at the knees as he walked. His hair was thick and copious, and what with that untidy mass and the lowness of his forehead, there wasn’t much space between his eyebrows and his hair. His eyes, nose and mouth were not unattractive, but, alas, his cheekbones were rather too flat. He had a very fine physique, though, with a broad, straight back and a solid, erect neck, which, with his slightly bowed legs, made him look like a little howitzer gun.
Yes, Li Tzu-jung really got the foreigners in a muddle. They might think he was Japanese, but then his face was scarcely what you could call handsome. (The Japanese are all decent lookers.) But then, if they took him for Chinese, his yellow face was as clean and sparkling as a new pin, and no Chinese fellow can ever spare the cash for a bar of soap, can he now? Anyway, just look at those upright shoulders of his! The Chinese always keep their backs bent, ready for a beating, so he couldn’t be Chinese. And although his legs were somewhat bandy, he walked briskly, fairly pounding along. He not only failed to waddle, he even walked at tremendous speed . . . Foreign gentlemen were truly nonplussed as to precisely which inferior race he belonged.
‘Ah,’ Li Tzu-jung’s landlady had concluded, ‘the fellow’s half Chinese, half Japanese.’ And in private she’d confide to others, ‘Oh, he’s definitely not proper Chinese. What, a Japanese? Not likely! Not his sort!’
Before Ma Wei had even finished shaking hands, the elder Ma had already drawn back his shoulders and made his entrance into the shop. Li Tzu-jung hurried in after him, cleared up the things on the floor and ushered him to a seat in the back room.
The shop had two rooms in total, one where the business was conducted and another that served as the accounts office. Hard against the back wall of the latter stood the safe, in front of which there was just enough space for three or four chairs and a table. Next to the safe stood a small table bearing a telephone and a telephone directory. There was a rather dank smell about the room, which, combined with the acrid smell of metal polish, produced an atmosphere very much like that of one of those tiny foreign-goods shops in Peking.
‘Shop assistant Li.’ Mr Ma had reflected for some time before hitting upon ‘shop assistant’ as his chosen form of address. ‘Before we begin, make us a pot of tea.’
Li Tzu-jung raked at the unkempt hair on his head, glanced at Mr Ma, then turned to Ma Wei with a smile.
‘We haven’t got a teapot or any cups here,’ he said. ‘If the old gentleman’s set on having a cup of tea, I’ll have to go out and buy some. Got any money on you?’
Ma Wei was about to pull out some money when Mr Ma, his face darkening, again addressed Li Tzu-jung.
‘Shop assistant!’ (This time he even omitted the ‘Li’.) ‘Do you mean to tell me that if the manager of a shop wishes to drink a cup of tea, he is required to pull out his own money? And there are numerous teapots and cups on the shelves, yet without any thought you declare that we have none!’
Mr Ma drew up a chair, seated himself next to the small table, and, leaning back, almost knocked the telephone over.
Slowly and leisurely, Li Tzu-jung rolled the sleeves of his shirt down and turned round
Similar Books
