TWENTY-THREE

Once again we found our way to the Chinese Civil Rights League on Clark Street, above the grocery store. The Confucian altar was still there, looming at the front of the room, but this time it was covered with dust sheets. Wong Chin Foo rose from a table in the corner where he had been dictating to another young Chinese man who also wore Western-style clothes and had cut off his queue.

“Detective Whitbread, you have returned. Can I enroll you as a convert, perhaps? And you bring others.” His eyebrows rose at the sight of two large uniformed policemen who followed me into the room. Last to enter were Charlie Kee and the guard from the Chinese consulate. Wong merely frowned at them with distaste but approached me with his hand extended. “Mrs. Chapman, how nice of you to visit. Please, allow me to offer you a seat.” When he began to pull up a chair for me, Whitbread put out a hand to stop him.

“Mr. Wong, this is not a social visit. We have received information that you are concealing dynamite on the premises. Do you deny it?”

Wong’s eyebrows shot up again, and the young man who was acting as his secretary took an aggressive step towards Whitbread. But Wong blocked him with an arm. He finished placing the chair for me and turned to the detective. “The information you received—it came from the Hip Lung Yee Kee Company, I presume? You should know, Detective, that in the Chinese community we have our little rivalries. Last year, some of my clan provided information that shut down several gambling houses run by Hip Lung and the other Moys. I wonder if the information you received is merely retribution.” I was once more impressed by Wong’s grasp of the English language. He was a journalist, after all, so I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. It gave him a definite advantage over those in his community who were less fluent.

Whitbread glowered at him. “I have no interest in your feuds, Mr. Wong. But I have every interest in maintaining order in this city. I’ve warned you before. There will be no violence when Viceroy Li visits next week.”

Wong walked over to Charlie Kee and looked him directly in the eye. Kee remained impassive, while the consulate guard glowered over Kee’s shoulder.

Wong turned back to us. “As I told you before, Detective, we have no plans for violence on these shores. It is the court in Peking that should fear our wrath.”

“So, you deny that dynamite is hidden here? You’ll excuse me while I ask my men to verify that.” Whitbread turned to the uniformed officers.

“Wait!” Wong demanded. “Know this, Detective Whitbread, I am fully aware of my rights as a citizen. You’re required to obtain a warrant from a judge.” I saw Whitbread tense, as if a storm cloud were about to burst over his head. Wong forestalled that. “However, since we not only are innocent of the accusation but are enthusiastic in our desire to emulate your democracy, we raise no objection to your search.” He spread his arms wide. “Search, officers. Search in every place you wish. Let us know if we can assist you in any way.”

Rolling his eyes at this demonstration, Whitbread proceeded to direct his men in their search. Wong’s secretary looked outraged, and then confused, but Wong waved him back to his desk. Then he pulled another chair up next to mine and sat down to converse with me while the policemen tromped around. He kept an eye on them as we talked.

“How very helpful of Mr. Kee over there to warn the authorities of such a danger,” he told me.

“I believe the Hip Lung Yee Kee Company has spent a lot of money in preparation for the viceroy’s visit,” I told him. “I suppose they want to be vigilant in ensuring his safety.”

“Ah, yes.” Wong shook his head. “I’m afraid poor Hip Lung thinks he can impress the Chinese officials by such attentions. He’s wrong, though. The Manchu court looks down on merchants like the Moys and they always will. Ah, excuse me, we have another visitor.” He rose and walked across to greet Ida, who had just reached the top of the stairs. Leading her over, he set up another chair and sat her next to me.

Whitbread and his men returned, without having found any evidence of dynamite. Charlie Kee was looking a bit less self-satisfied, although he still wore a meaningless smile on his face as if to disguise any disappointment. When the policemen began pulling sheets off the Confucian shrine, Wong’s secretary rose to protest but, once again, Wong called him back with a few words in Chinese.

“I see our information was correct,” Ida said. I wondered what she meant.

“Indeed. You must thank Madam Hip Lung and Mrs. Sam Moy for me,” Wong told her, bowing slightly as he sat. “I so much appreciate their interest and support.”

Ida grimaced. “I wouldn’t say support. They have been impressed by your charms, Mr. Wong, as so many of the ladies are.”

“You flatter me, Dr. Kahn. But then you are famous for your sharp wit and high intelligence. Already there are reformers in China who are anxious to make your acquaintance.” He turned to me. “Do you know, Mrs. Chapman, that Dr. Kahn is seen as the model for the New Chinese Woman, who will help to raise the next generation to be strong people who can resist the attempts by foreigners to take over and divide up our nation? Imagine how much they look forward to her return to China to begin the revolution.”

“You told me that before, Mr. Wong,” I reminded him, as Ida rolled her eyes at his praise.

We watched as the big policemen crawled around under the Confucian altar, Whitbread directing them to investigate every nook and cranny as they continued their search for dynamite. From the sour expression on Charlie Kee’s face and the nonchalance of Wong Chin Foo, it seemed to me that more was going on below the surface than we could see. I had the merest suspicion, with no evidence whatsoever, but I couldn’t keep myself from wondering if Charlie Kee and the Hip Lung faction might not have planted dynamite on the premises. Could it be their plans were thwarted when Hip Lung’s wife discovered the plot? I could imagine her summoning Ida Kahn and persuading her to warn Wong. But was it just my imagination running amok to think of this scenario?

If Ida had played a part in saving Wong, she did not appear to be overly impressed by him or overly concerned for his welfare. She tended to scoff at him. “Flattery is your weapon,” she told him, “not mine. You may have converted innocent men and women to your cause, but there are many who would say you are wrong to advocate for the violent overthrow of the emperor. No wonder they fear your actions during the viceroy’s visit.”

“We have said we will not spill blood here. We want to take our fight to Peking, to Nanking, to Shanghai. It’s not in Chicago that the battle will be fought and blood spilt to establish a republic.”

“But why must blood be spilt at all? It’s this insistence on violence that is unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary? How can you say that? Even now, China is being torn apart and the pieces given out to her enemies. Japan’s concession is only the latest. The court Li represents sits holed up like animals at bay while the Western powers and Japan encroach more and more.” He turned to me. “You see, Mrs. Chapman, this is the problem of China today. More and more Westerners come in with their religion, and their technologies, and they invade China. They occupy the land.”

“But, Mr. Wong, don’t they bring progress?” I asked. “After all, every day we ourselves are amazed by the discoveries and progress this century has brought us. You must have seen the World’s Columbian Exposition and all the marvels of invention on display there. Don’t you think that should be shared by all the world, including China? Don’t you want China to take advantage of such discoveries, too?”

“Yes, yes, of course we do. But it’s not a case of sharing these things. It’s a case of using them to triumph over the Chinese people. You must understand, Mrs. Chapman, China has a culture that has existed for many centuries. We have arts that rival any production of the West. We have centuries of medical and engineering knowledge that have marveled the world in the past. We have a history that is rich with lessons. Yet, suddenly, we are overrun by Western outsiders, barbarians who have no knowledge, and no respect, for centuries of tradition and culture. They would tear it all down and eradicate it without the slightest understanding of what is being destroyed.”

“Surely not,” I protested.

“Oh, yes, it is true. China is being pulled apart like a lamb that is set on by a pack of wolves. If we cannot become stronger, if we cannot resist, China will be destroyed.”

I had thought of Wong and Ida’s homeland as one of those countries far away, where life was harder, dirtier, less healthy than it needed to be. Just as Hull House could bring improvements to the immigrant neighborhoods of Chicago, I had assumed missionaries, like Miss Howe, sought to bring improvements to China. But Mr. Wong had a way of taking one’s view of something and turning it inside out. I was struck by his description of his homeland and it would require a lot of further thought before I would understand it. I found it a challenge to my imagination to even begin to see China as he did.

Ida frowned at him. “We can learn from missionaries,” she told him. “You would throw out the baby with the bath water, as the saying goes. It’s not enough for China to resist the forces from outside. China must grow, as we all must grow up. If we learn from Western cultures, it’s not so that they may usurp our own, it’s so that we may make improvements. There is much in Chinese herbal medicine that can be used to treat sickness. But would you have us deny the Chinese people modern Western medicine because it is Western? Surely, you would not.”

“Of course not. You and Dr. Stone prove that the Chinese are capable of excelling, even at a Western university.” Wong was clearly excited by the thought and I could sympathize, for I was part of the struggle to prove that women could succeed in academic research here in the United States. He seemed to think the Chinese needed to prove that they, too, could succeed in academia.

“But proof of adequacy is not enough,” Ida told him. “It is not a competition. We have also learned the Christian virtues of faith and humility. This can allow us to bring change without bloodshed.”

“Ah, Dr. Kahn, you ask much. It is not in the nature of man, I think, to have change without bloodshed.”

Unfortunately, Detective Whitbread had re-joined us just in time to overhear Wong’s last pronouncement. “There will be no bloodshed here, Wong. I told you that.”

“No, no, Detective. I was speaking figuratively.”

Whitbread huffed. “In any case, we’ve found no sign of dynamite.” He looked harassed, as he glanced across at Charlie Kee who was standing by the door.

“Well, that’s very good then, isn’t it?” Wong told him. “Just as I said, we have no intention of attacking Viceroy Li.”

“Yes, and what of Miss Erickson?”

“Miss Erickson?” Wong looked surprised.

“The young woman who was attacked on the doorstep of the Hip Lung household yesterday. What do you know about that?”

“Why, nothing. I mean, I heard there had been such an attack, but I don’t believe I know the young lady.”

“You and Hip Lung’s group have a feud going, though, don’t you? Was the attack on Miss Erickson part of that feud?”

“There is no feud, Detective.” Wong looked across at Charlie Kee. “Or, if there is one, there is no action on our side and certainly no reason to attack a woman. Why would we?”

Whitbread growled. “I confess, sir, there is little that you do that has a plausible reason behind it, as far as I can see. Be aware, we will be keeping an eye on you, so don’t cause any trouble when Hip Lung has his party next week. Because, if there is any trouble, I’ll know where to look. Come on.” He signaled to his men and they followed him out. I decided to stay, to see if I could learn more about Charlotte’s status from Ida. Whitbread was hardly in a mood to be approached about allowing Mary to leave and I believed the attack on the young woman had something to do with the herbalist’s death.

Charlie Kee and the consulate guard were the last to leave. The interpreter stopped for a final look around before he turned and ran down the stairs.

Wong Chin Foo watched him go with his eyes narrowed. “Kee looks like he lost something.”