“Yes, Little Sister.”
Same place, KwayFay thought, different name. This was the one, the third.
“Leave now.”
“Thank you.” The girl left, closing the door softly. KwayFay was shaken by the encounter, never having met anyone else who heard Ghost before.
She sat waiting. Were there more? She heard the door open, and Ah Min’s slow steps come across the room. She saw his vast shadow, and heard other footfalls by the door.
“You have chosen, Little Sister?” his voice whined. She did not look at him. He hated her, and she him.
“Yes. The last one.”
A prolonged silence, then, “How did you know she was from Tai Po? You did not consult the file you were given.”
“She is the one.”
“Why?”
“She is the one.”
“You understand what she is chosen for?”
“Jade Woman.”
“Did you ever meet her before?”
“No.”
“Was the pearl some signal?”
“No. She wears it in honour of an ancestor, a long-ago grandfather in the Tai Po harbour, that used to be called the Pearl Pool. He was a Tanka pearl fisher many
hundreds
of years ago, and died swimming.”
“Your choice is acknowledged, Little Sister,” Ah Min
said. “Is there any gift you need in return?”
“Not to me, though I thank you for your courtesy.” She thought. “I would ask a favour, if I may.”
“Ask.”
“A man in a large silver motor hurt a boy of six in Bowen Road as I went to Amah Rock in a taxi. Can I ask for the boy to be made rich, and the rich man made poor?”
Ah Min’s reply took a moment coming. KwayFay knew he was waiting for signalled approval of some other.
“Given,” he said. “Please buy more new clothes, Little Sister, and wear them in future. Also,” he added drily, “wear shoes on your feet, then broken glass will not harm you. Eat. Spend.”
“Thank you,” she said.
She heard them leave. Eventually the no-fingernails threat-man came and showed her out into the street.
Dawn. Santiago was on fine form.
He had been unable to resist taking Linda across to Macao on the jumbo-sized jet catamaran from the Shun Tak Centre on Connaught Road. Thank God the Portuguese still owned Macao! They had enough
gambling
centres to satisfy anybody who wanted a flutter. There he played Fan Tan, with the stately croupier girls wafting their wands to separate the mysterious white counters. His mystic touch led Linda to three successive wins! After that their luck changed, they withdrew, had supper on the balconies and lowered occasional bets down in baskets.
Linda loved showing her young man off, with his obvious wealth and Eurasian features. Let HC worry himself sick in his wrong-floor Investment Company. She was the one making the running. She decided she would let HC go once she got her winnings. That was how she thought of it now, a letting go, as derelict junks had been let go in outlying New Territories islands, there to burn for months on end, fleet after fleet. Rejects! HC was a reject person.
Her new man adored her. He said so, and used her body as a lover ought. His power over and in her was total. She pitied other women who openly admired Santiago at gaming tables. What hope had they, when he loved her? Life was radiant. She would soon be wealthy beyond dreams.
“The races!” she whispered to him as they wakened that morning. “We have little time!”
They were in the most expensive hotel in Macao.
“I have the return tickets,” he said, smiling. She had the impression he had been awake for ages. “Transport to Hong Kong is often booked up. My darling Linda mustn’t miss her special day!”
They made leisurely love until breakfast, even more satisfying than usual. Linda was beside herself at the thought of the races. She spread newspapers all over the dining-room table.
Horses, jockeys, the possibility of defaults,
everything
had to be discussed. Twice she telephoned friends asking for rumours of sickness among the horses, weight changes – not always unlikely – and about the jockeys down to ride.
“Darling Linda,” Santiago said, smiling with those brilliant teeth. “Haven’t you already identified this girl, the one who knows winners?”
“I’m making certain!”
“Certain of what?” His smile melted her. “If we know the winners, why study others?”
“It’s so clear in my mind, darling! We double, with a staggered American twist, three-fold —”
He laughed. “Don’t let plans take over, Linda darling. Just do it!”
“Let’s!” she breathed, shaking with desire of a
different
kind.
By coincidence they were on the same jet catamaran, the same seats, as when they had crossed to Macao. The luckiest of omens. Santiago jubilantly gave away all his Portuguese
patacas
to begging children near the ferry concourse.
“We could have gone to the horse-racing on Macao’s Taipa Island,” she reminded him. “There’s racing today.
The stands there are air-conditioned. Have a warm-up bet!” She smiled mischievously, knowing how he liked to be cool when they lay together. “Build up our stake!”
“You’ll be suggesting the dog-racing next! The horses will provide all we need, Linda darling. Let’s go!”
Laughing, they boarded the huge jumbocat. Linda dropped her last
pataca
coin overboard for luck. As if she needed any!
His eyes met those of the elderly concierge. She no longer wore her Peninsula Hotel attire and remained standing in Old Man’s presence. Below, the early lights of Hong Kong were dowsing slowly, as day arrived.
“She declined money,” Tiger Wong repeated.
“She left most of the clothes and goods she
purchased
.”
“She declined money.”
This was the strangest thing imaginable. Ah Min was listening in grief. He held the money KwayFay had returned via Tang the threat-man in a manila envelope, a reproach.
Tiger Wong pondered, seeing Ah Min’s distress. Yet she had unerringly chosen everything exactly as he had wished at the Paper Shop to placate his innumerable ancestors, especially his father. Now this.
He had a headache. Could it be that the girl was
simply
honest? His throbbing temples stabbed pain at his eyes at the thought of honesty. What was honesty for? Not even ancient Chinese philosophy could answer that.
“She did not return to her reserved suite?”
“That is correct, Business Head. And went by the Star
Ferry.”
Ah Min hissed in outrage. Could Tiger Wong not see the girl was causing disrespect?
“Who
is
she?” Old Man asked. “Tell me everything again.”
Both began to speak together. The woman fell silent. Ah Min explained she had no family, was a street urchin with no name. It was a familiar litany. Old Man Tiger Wong knew it by heart.
“Ah Hau is a crippled Cantonese, Hong Kong born. Runs the Café of the Singing Birds near Sai Ying Pun. She scavenged there, a no-family Cockroach Child. He fed her occasionally. He invented her name. She stole. The usual.”
“Her name?”
“Ah Hau says he made it up. He has forgotten how, and why. He guessed her age, invented a birthday for her. He mentioned her gift of clairvoyance to one of our retired threat-men, an elderly Cantonese who lives near Ladder Street and who has a singing minah bird. The man reported it to his old banner-man.”
“And?”
“I thought she should have a job in HC Ho’s Brilliant Miracle Success Investment Company. She is a clerk.”
“Continue.”
“She is in her squatter shack on Mount Davis. She carries her old clothes in a bag.”
To Ah Min it seemed an impasse, unless that bitch Linda Ho won a fortune at the horse racing today.
“More.”
Ah Min’s fat fingers plucked nervously at his
garment
. Once the subject left his only topic, money, he
was lost. This girl showed no righteousness, impervious to the exquisite ideals money represented. How could such a person live? For a moment he dwelt on the notion of her possible death with fondness. Could such a thing be arranged without the knowledge of the Triad master Tiger Wong?
“Has Ho defaulted?”
Money! Ah Min’s beam regained its old conviction.
“Yes. HC Ho borrowed a further sum – listed in my dawn report, First Born – and will default tonight. He invested in a new currency. The girl –” he almost said the mad girl “– warned against it, but HC guessed for himself and has lost over six-eighths of the borrowed sum in less than a week.”
“He borrowed from us?”
“A money-lender’s in Hung Hom. You own it. You wish to sanction the proprietor?”
“No. This wife?”
“
Tai-Tai
Ho? Calls herself Linda, sleeps with the Eurasian Santiago. Lovers. She has borrowed largely to bet on horses. They return from Macao for the racing. They intend to make the girl tell them which horses win.”
“Which racing?”
“The old race course at Happy Valley. They gambled two days in Macao at Fan Tan and blackjack, a few times at roulette. You wish to hear their talk?”
“No.”
Ah Min waited, his mind edging close to terror. This was the most detailed interrogation he had ever had to endure. So many details! It was not natural. It was all the mad girl’s fault. Her death looked more inviting.
“You let them win?”
“Only a little! Three times at Fan Tan, and once —”
Tiger Wong waved him to silence and beckoned the concierge to come closer.
“Why does a girl who is so poor refuse gifts of money, clothes, jewellery, things all females like?”
“I have never seen it before, First Born,” the woman said. She too was badly frightened, searching for
anything
the Old Man might blame her for.
“Why?”
She dithered. “She wants to help you.”
He stared from the concierge to Ah Min. “Help
me
?”
“She believes you are being oppressed by family or business rivals.”
This matched his early information. The girl had given him a spoonful of rice and greens in kitchen foil. He still kept it, sometimes looking, always wondering. Ah Min saw the old man’s face crinkle. A faint sound as of a distant nullah caught his attention and he looked querulously at the concierge. She too looked puzzled. The old man shook slightly, his
cheong saam
quivering.
Old Man Tiger Wong was laughing. Ah Min stared, never having seen such a thing. He gestured to the concierge, gathered up his two ledgers and followed on tiptoe, as one might leave a place of sickness.
They were by the 6B stop at the junction of Mount Davis Road and Victoria as KwayFay stepped down the mountain track to the metalled surface. Linda Ho waved.
“We shall give you a lift, Little Sister! Save you the bus.”
“
Tai-Tai
Ho! Are you sure?”
The girl looked wonderful in new clothes. She now had a clever hairdo and wore lovely imported shoes. Her laptop as ever was slung over her back, with that
ridiculous
plastic shopping bag in her hand. Despite that, she was quite like a flower. Such style! Linda wanted to
rumple
the bitch’s look.
“Get in!” she commanded.
Santiago was driving. Their plan was working well. He made conversation – where KwayFay lived, what she did at Ho’s firm – then chatted about her ambitions for when China moved in at the Handover.
She was monosyllabic, which did not worry him. He had his plans to follow. Astonishing KwayFay, he drove up Wang Nai Chung Gap Road towards the reservoir.
“Excuse me, sir,” KwayFay said timidly. “I must go to work. Central District.”
“This journey first, Little Sister.”
“HC’s orders,” Linda said reassuringly.
At the reservoir Santiago stopped the car and alighted, holding the door open for KwayFay. She shook her head, frightened.
“I must go to work, sir.”
“Linda, please.”
Linda got out and walked off, as if a tourist inspecting the stupendously wide view across the harbour, the falling valley and the mountains to the right, the ships and crammed city below. Santiago leaned in.
“Can I see your computer, please?” When she did not move to comply he explained, “You have no choice, Little Sister.”
He whisked the slender laptop box from her and
clicked it open. She sat, mortified, watching as he took out a small penknife, prising the base up. It swung, revealing an old abacus. The ancient system, thirteen slender stalks each bearing a five-and-two set of beads in a wooden frame. He examined the whole thing minutely, to the extent of closing the computer base and starting it up.
The screen filled with mundane data, investments, records from Ho’s firm. Nothing new or unexpected, except the ancient abacus. Its frame was dried and warped, the beads cracked. Frail. The irony did not escape him, this antique abacus hidden in modern
technology
.
“There is nothing secret in it, except this?”
“No, sir.”
“I want the winners of the races today. They begin at seven o’clock, until eleven o’clock. Do you go?”
“No.”
“Tell me the bets Hong Kong Club calls the Double Quintella or the Six-up. Either will do. Can you do that?”
She thought. Was he simply asking to discover which horses won? What was the point, except for gambling? And where was the merit in betting?
“I don’t know.”
Linda turned just then. He gave a shake of his head, not yet, admire that view.
“Tell me what you can.”
“There is no merit betting on a mare,” she told him, looking up against the early sun. Luckily, the day’s heat had not yet struck so high up the mountain. The sun would thump directly on the whole Colony soon and be
intolerable. “Gambling is not good.”
“Mare?” he picked up, his voice quiet, this just between them. “Did you say mare?”
“The one we passed on the way.” She indicated the Happy Valley racecourse below. It was just visible in the smog haze.
“I didn’t notice it.” But he would have. “What colours did the rider wear?”
“Red. A pale dot in the middle of the rider’s back. Striped cap, yellow.”
“And the others? You saw them?” They had passed no horses.
“Yes.” She described the jockeys’ silks, pleased she remembered some of the horses’ numbers. “Only six, though.”
“Did you not see any more? I thought we passed a whole string.”
“I’m sorry. Only those six. So tall and pretty. Do you think they give them enough to eat? Some looked thin!”
“Yes, Little Sister,” he said kindly, but badly shaken. “I’m sure they are properly fed. Weren’t they
handsome
!” He returned her laptop. “Thank you for letting me see your abacus. I’ve never seen one so ancient. Where did you buy it?”
“I’ve had it since I was little. It was one of the first the old scholar ever wrote about.”
“Scholar?” he echoed. He had orders to discover any connections she might have among local criminals. Scholar, though?
“Yes. Dao Nan Tsang.” She smiled shyly. “He had a monkey on his table. It mixed his ink! The book he was writing was
Cease Farming Sketch Book
. He gave me a
sweet plum and the abacus, so it is mine.” She added anxiously, “I didn’t steal it.”
“Of course you didn’t! And you kept it all this time?”
“Yes. I hid the beads so friends wouldn’t steal it, and only put them back on when I was learning to count. That was when I became nine years old.”
He said evenly, “Thank you, Little Sister. It has been a pleasure for me to make your acquaintance.”
“And for me yours, sir,” she replied in English,
settling
her laptop on her shoulder.
He called Linda and they drove back to Central, where she was only half an hour late. HC did not fine her.
Santiago made excuses once they were free of the girl. He had to draw out enough cash to play sensibly when Happy Valley opened. Tourists would flock in mobs arranged by the Tourist Agency, $350 fee including
dinner
and entrance to the special Members’ Enclosure of the Royal Hong Kong Jockey Club. It was cheaper to go alone, a mere $50, but you received no meal and no
special
treatment.