Hot off the editing table. I'm about 1/3 through the manuscript.
Chapter 21
Aarens residence — three months later
It was July 4, 1967, and David was trying to act like he was fine, but he wasn’t. He stared at Wu Qiang’s business card, wondering what he should say about it. “I like the design, and the silk paper is … expensive looking. But I’m curious: How did you pick ‘Harold Wu’ for your English name?”
The Aarens table was set with blue rice china and Swedish crystal. Danish fondue pots, two-thirds full of boiling hot peanut oil, served each end of the table. Wu Qiang speared a square of lamb, dipped it for two seconds and held it above his plate. “To honor a man who helped me out of desperate circumstance.”
He blew on the morsel before popping it into his mouth. “When I seventeen, I go with uncle to Magwe, north of Yangon — you say Rangoon — because we heard British need worker at airfield there. It before the war, but China and Brits already fighting Japanese.” He shook his head. “Bad days.”
David’s parents were solemn. Ward reached for Lieve’s hand. “They walked into Burma from Kunming. Qiang lost his uncle that year.”
Wu Qiang’s face turned down. “He got stomach ache, died — and I too young and stupid to be on my own. Terrible things could happen.”
He took another morsel of lamb. “A Brit name Harold Fetters have pity, took me as helper. Old China hand, spoke Hokkien, of all things. Taught me English, protected me from … you know, men who like boys.” Qiang raised eyebrows across the table, looking for any indication he should moderate the narrative. Ward was composed, but Lieve dabbed the corner of one eye.
David looked down at the table. “Wow. I was feeling kind of sorry for myself, until just now.”
Mrs. Wu was a very pretty woman — in contrast to her husband, who came from farmer’s stock and looked it. She patted David’s hand. “You girlfriend leave. Big heartache. We know.”
Qiang gave David a serene, wise look. “Losing girlfriend not so bad as starving while bombs go off, but still a big deal. I feel for you, really I do.”
David leaned back while Hannah refilled his iced tea. “Did you ever go home?”
“No. I stay Magwe until ’41, when Madame Chiang’s army come looking for Chinese men to dress in uniform. Harold wake me at 3 in morning, put me on cargo plane to India. I work for Brits until 1950, when I sign as mechanic for ship going Taiwan. I don’t see parents or sister until ’53, in Taipei.”
Lieve Aarens made a face. “I’m almost afraid to ask what happened to Mr. Fetters.”
“Oh, he fine. Harold live in Dorchester with daughter. I send card in December, he call me on phone. We have nice talk.” Qiang grinned. “His Hokkien worse now than I remember. We had speak English.”
David perked up. <My Mandarin is getting better. What does it mean when I hear people speaking as if in riddles? Is there …> He switched back to English. “… slang in Chinese?”
“Yeah, and you probably hearing criminals when that happen. Best find someplace else to go.”
Ward adjusted alcohol burners to put more heat under the pots. “I wouldn’t want to be in China right now.”
Qiang nodded. “Cultural revolution. Red Guard. Everybody scared. Traditional people sending treasure out of mainland to keep hooligans from smashing it. My warehouse in Taipei is full of that stuff.”
Lieve indicated a gilded coromandel screen at the edge of the dining area. “Are there screens like that one?”
“Not so big. Temple hanging, Buddha statue, vase, ivory, jade, soapstone, thing for museum, very old. Five hundred year, maybe more.”
“Who brings it to you?”
“Smuggler, gangster. They leave this things in my place without paying.”
“Are they trying to sell it?”
“Ha! Taiwanese not good customer for memory of emperor. European don’t want to deal with gangboy. No certificate of origin to send to States. I bet I stuck forever.”
Lieve spoke aside to her husband. “I want to go with you to Taiwan next month.”
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