Duets

TWO MOTHERS, or HOW EAST AND WEST FOUGHT OVER HONG KONG AND HOW THE BOXERS FINALLY WON

You speak English very well, Mrs. Wong. I am most impressed.

—Thank you for your kindness, Mrs. Jones, but, no, actually, my English is quite wretched.

—No, I am not patronizing you at all, Mrs. Wong. Really, you speak English very well, especially for a foreigner. Oh, I suppose that’s not the way to put it. We are all foreigners in this God-awful Colonial outpost. Nobody is indigenous here. Are we?

—No, no offense taken, Mrs. Jones. My people came from Guangzhou after the Communist takeover in ’49. We’re all strangers here. No, my English is quite substandard. I learned it in the orphanage in Hong Kong from an Italian nun named Sister Theresa. She had a thick Sicilian accent but purported that she spoke “the King’s English” and not “the Queen’s.” So my English is quite wretched really, but I guess it’s tolerable for a Chinese housewife in Hong Kong. Most of my people refuse to even bother.

—No, really, you mustn’t dismiss yourself that way. Haven’t you read The Second Sex? We women must stick together. I heard from Mei Ling that you were widowed very young. You raised such fine daughters all by yourself. You are truly an accomplished woman. Let’s put all false modesty aside, shall we? After all, my Douglas wants to marry your Mei Ling. We’re almost related already. Our bloods, almost mingled.

—Yes, I read The Second Sex in a very bad translation from French into Italian, finally translated into vulgar Chinese by yet another unsavory Italian nun named Fenolossa.

—Well, my dear, you deserve an A+ for your fine unsavory Italian English. Why, my husband and I have been living in Hong Kong for thirty years and we don’t know a word of Chinese. We’ve become so used to impeccable translators hired by his firm to cater to us. I dare say that I can’t even go to the corner store to get milk. I have to point and make comical gestures in shape of a cow to make myself understood. The storekeeper stared at me humorlessly and must have thought, “What a total moron this woman is.” Oh, what a delicious banquet you have made for me. You shouldn’t have spent so much of your valuable time in preparation. I am sorry that my husband and Douglas are in the States this moment and won’t be able to enjoy these divine goodies with me.

—Oh, again, Madame, you are being overly generous. The table is quite modest. I hope that we have not offended you by its paucity. Just morsels for my esteemed American guest.

—But I learned from your daughter that you have been cooking since Tuesday. That’s four days of grueling preparation.

—No, you are mistaken. I think daughter No. 1 meant to say Thursday—that I’ve been preparing since Thursday, which was yesterday. She gets her days in English mixed up. She’s not a very good student. I must admonish her constantly so that she will be more diligent. “You must get your days of the week right,” I tell her. “What happens if you miss an appointment? What if they say to come Tuesday to collect your one thousand pounds of Sterling and you appear Thursday and the money is all gone?” But she’s a stubborn, lazy parasite and will not listen to me.

—Oh, the fish is so tender. The flesh just kisses off the bones. I am amazed how you people know how to cook fish so perfectly.

—Oh, you are being generous again and flattering. I am sorry that this grouper is such a small fry, hardly a teenage fish. Not a grown-up, we should have sent it back to the fishmonger. He’s a fast-tongued crook. I should have had a harsh word with him and his band of half-wit cormorants. Most fishermen use trawlers these days. I should tell him, bloody trawlers!

—Your daughter, Mei Ling, is very beautiful, and I am thrilled and proud that she will soon be a part of our family.

—No, again, you’ve mistaken, my dear Madame. She’s a very plain, ordinary creature, my No. 2. Look at her, sitting there as sallow as a turnip. Her lips tight as a purse.

—No, I beg to differ. Your Mei Ling has perfect porcelain skin, which is only one of many reasons why my Douglas is very attracted to her.

—No, my No. 2 is too dark, like a peasant. She likes to play in the sun instead of going to Pipa lessons on Fridays. My uncle espied her on Lantau Island, sunning on a big rock, licking a custard popsicle like a lizard, when she should have been taking lessons. I am afraid that she has ruined her perfect porcelain skin.

—Furthermore, your daughter has a fine disposition, very quiet and polite. This is another reason why my Douglas is so attracted to her. Chinese girls are much better behaved than American girls. Douglas says that Mei Ling never says a bad word about anybody. She always keeps her negative opinions to herself. She is always very considerate of the other person.

—No, Madame, you must not flatter us with such kind words. Mei Ling does not have a good character. She is stubborn, willful and she does not appreciate our tutelage. You just don’t know her. Her quietness, her politeness is effrontery. She is quiet because she is secretly gathering information about her victims, so that she can release evidence against them during a later argument. She is not harmless. Look at her, with eyes darting left and right, entertaining evil thoughts. I don’t know why your Douglas wants to marry her. She has a questionable moral character. She is an impudent little vixen.

—You know, it’s not good parenting to criticize your daughter like that. Especially not right in front of her. In the States, we call this “child abuse.” You know that children could sue their parents for verbal abuse, for hurting their self-esteem and fragile egos. I saw a show on 60 Minutes about this. You should be very careful.

—Yes, you are very compassionate to be so concerned, but really, we don’t tolerate substandard behavior from our children, especially from No. 2, who was raised by her devout Buddhist grandmother. Above all she should understand virtue. Born with the temperament of Kuan Yin, she was the most merciful child. But now, she has turned into a manipulating little hussy. I am afraid that if we don’t punish her regularly, there will be no turning back.

—Oh dear, I think we should change subjects. I dare say that if your intentions are to repel us away from marrying your beautiful daughter, your attempts at subterfuge are of no consequence. Douglas has made up his mind. And my husband and I are both completely taken by Mei Ling’s beauty and grace. Nothing you can say or do can interrupt the wedding plans now. By the way, the stuffed black mushrooms are quite exceptional, so pungent in that rich oyster sauce. I taste a tinge of seaweed and five spice. You must give me your recipe so that I can give it to my cook.

—No, again, you are too polite. The mushrooms should be bigger. They should be the size of Buddha’s fist, not the size of his thumbnail. They should be steamed a little longer. The stems are just too sinewy. And No. 1 forgot to go to the market to get more ginger. We need thin slivers of ginger to tease out the mushroom fragrance. I must sever her allowance right away. She has been daydreaming about boys instead of concentrating on her tasks.

—Now, I must protest. As a mother myself, I know that children do make mistakes. According to Dr. Spock, we must encourage children to make mistakes. Too much perfection makes an unhappy, anal-retentive child. In fact, I must protest very loudly. I am very concerned about this. I strongly oppose your severing your child’s allowance because of a few missing shavings of ginger.

—Not shavings, my dear Madame, I said slivers. Which are a little larger and longer than shavings. No. 1 is a science prodigy. She is a recipient of Her Majesty’s Royal Scholarship. She can distinguish between two shavings of ginger and two slivers of ginger. Two fingers of ginger as opposed to two knuckles of ginger. An iota and not a smidgen. A tad and not a pinch. After all, she is matriculating Oxford in the Department of Applied Mathematics. She practices the art of precise measuring.

—Goodness, the temperature is getting very hot in here. I must lie down for a moment and wait for my driver to come back and take me home.

—I am sorry, Madame, the air-conditioning is very poor in Hong Kong. The machines are not as powerful as the types that you get in the States. I told my No. 1 to buy the South African brand. But she’s a political agitator, just like her Boxer granduncle, and she refused to buy anything politically questionable. Apparently, the lot of South African air conditioners available in Hong Kong was purchased from the apartheid government in the eighties. No, she just couldn’t bear it. So she bought a cheap Australian brand instead. What are Australians anyway—not British, not American? Not Japanese. They’re situated so far south that their brains are in their bums. I must admonish my No. 1, the would-be scientist/engineer. I am afraid that she didn’t properly adjust the digital controls. She must have been dreaming about Hollywood again. Every engineer wants to be Spielberg. But I say to her, in this house, you first must tend to earthly chores. A bad air conditioner is not a virtual reality. And do try a piece of the salt-baked squab. They’re fresh from the New Territories. A squab on the skewer is greater than a rooster in the hand, or something like that. Do make yourself at home and eat more. I’ll ask No. 2 to make you an iced chrysanthemum tea. She has a special healing recipe. One drink will cleanse your soul. Some sweets perhaps. Egg custards from the “floating bakery.” No. 1 bicycled all the way to Repulse Bay to retrieve them for you. They’re so smooth and rich, they’ll slide off your tongue. I see that you’re turning a bit pale and clammy. Don’t fret—No. 2 will wipe your face with a cool washcloth soaked in green tea. She has miracle hands—“Buddha’s citron hands”—she can give you a heavenly neck rub. Don’t fight it. Do, do lie down. I am not afraid of “the takeover,” are you? We Cantonese are very sturdy. You know the Confucian couplet, “Kingdoms come, kingdoms go, but the family is forever.” Then, of course, you westerners say, “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.” Or something like that. I still have problems with idiomatic phrases, thanks to those unsavory nuns. Look, look to the west, beyond Repulse Bay. Can you see the black clouds gathering up into a violent storm? The monsoon will soon purify the heavy air. You’ll see, Hong Kong will be fragrant and beautiful next week. You know what they say—in the Colonies, it’s not so much the heat as it is the humility.