every sphere of exchange, and both men knew it by custom and tradition; every nuance reduced to a nod or a gesture.
The two men sat quietly for a while looking out the window at the fishing boats on the bay. It appeared to the doctor that Master Ah Chung, who was well aware that his guest had been totally honest about his own position, was just as disturbed as he was by the possible consequences, and how they would affect future events for everybody.
As Dr. Lao-Hong quietly sipped his tea, his wife’s wise voice came back to him like a sweet, distant wind chime and suddenly an idea came into his head that was as audacious as it was dangerous. His imagination immediately spun out with all the darker ramifications, while at the same time he judged the purpose pure and the motive honorable. He also realized that the greatest hazard, and one that might defeat the plan, would come to pass only if too many people knew of the scheme.
Master Ah Chung was surprised to notice a smile light up his guest’s features. He waited politely for a moment or two. The doctor set down his cup, pressed his fingertips together as if in prayer, and confided that he believed he might have a solution, but one entailing great personal risk, possible loss of reputation, and worse. However, he would only divulge it if he could be assured that his host would take a blood oath sworn before his ancestors that he never reveal the device, or the doctor’s part in the scheme.
Suddenly a conspiratorial twinkle came into Master Ah Chung’s eye, and his mood lightened appreciatively. He at once persuaded the doctor that he would swear to any oath if it would resolve their present difficulties without bringing shame on his family, his tong, or his village. The doctor said he could make no binding promises in that regard, since karma and joss played such an engaging role in human affairs. Nonetheless, he agreed to reveal his thoughts, but he warned that events might require some sacrifices along the way, but hopefully nothing the village could ill afford to lose in light of what it might gain. Even so, Dr. Lao-Hong further admonished his host that he could do nothing to protect the village if the village elders neglected to protect him in turn, so he would require their written vows of silence as well.
The doctor went on to say that he thought it best if Master Ah Chung went to the elders alone and on his own behalf to present the design, so that later no one could honestly testify that it was the doctor who had either originated the scheme or put it into practice. In fact, he said he hoped to be far away when the final business was transacted. Only when conditions had been agreed to, and signed by all parties, would Dr. Lao-Hong divulge his plan, but even then only to those who really needed to know. All others were to be kept completely ignorant of the scheme for their own sakes. No one, he said, could be forced to divulge something they knew nothing about. And credibility, in this instance, depended upon not only the illusion of sincere disinterest, but also the innocent participation of honest men who could not be told the truth. That was a heavy burden for the soul to carry.
Ah Chung nodded silently and rose to depart. He turned at the door and formally bowed and thanked the doctor for his wisdom, discretion, and empathy. He promised that word would be sent along as soon as possible. With that he left, and Dr. Lao-Hong sat quietly and paused for a while to arrange his thoughts.
———
THE DOCTOR HEARD THE HOUSEBOY’S gong announcing lunch. He slowly arose, looked himself over in the bedroom mirror, and decided he appeared somewhat haggard, so he combed his hair, adjusted his waistcoat and cravat, put on his suit coat, and went down to lunch. All the while he cradled the abiding hope that in sharing his thoughts with Master Ah Chung, he hadn’t slipped the proverbial hook through his own lip. But one way or another, like a bird released, it was all out of his hands now. He had learned in history class that a very simple idea can often have a tendency to take on a complex life of its own, especially when inspired and empowered by a perceived act of group survival.
Dr. Lao-Hong arrived at the table and was surprised to find Lady Yee, beautifully appointed in garments worthy of a court personage of high rank. He was even more taken aback when Lady Yee invited him to sit at her right side, always a place of honor for a guest.
After the maid poured tea, Lady Yee cast her eyes downward in regret and said that unfortunately this would be the last meal they would share together for a while. That very afternoon Lady Yee had been honored by an invitation to visit her husband’s cousin, who was now quite infirm from years at sea. He lived in Carmel Valley on a small ranch by the river that her husband had purchased for him after he’d been crippled during a violent storm.
Lady Yee revealed that the poor man had been struck by a falling yardarm when outward-bound from Canton. He might have heeded the bosun’s warning in time if he hadn’t been under the influence of opium. She confided that he had always shown a preference for opium over women.
The hostess rang a little table chime, and in an instant her cook, now dressed in his finest and sporting a grin that featured a fine gold incisor tooth, entered with a covered silver platter. After placing it proudly before Lady Yee, he lifted the silver dome to reveal a phalanx of fried baby squid stuffed with sweet Chinese sausage, grated ginger, and chopped wild mushrooms. They were presented on a bed of steamed rice decorated with cunningly sculpted vegetables that made the whole presentation look like an exotic seascape.
The doctor was truly impressed, and it took a few moments for him to find the appropriate compliments worthy of the cook’s care and artistry. Lady Yee took no notice at all and simply waved her cook back to his kitchen. However, the doctor caught the cook’s eye before he left and made a slight formal bow of the head in recognition and appreciation. The cook’s grin suddenly broadened, and he bowed his head in return for the kind acknowledgment.
With thanks for his gift of the night before, Lady Yee served her guest with her own hands, which was in itself a great mark of honor. His hostess then bemoaned the fact that she would not be present to bid her guest farewell the following morning. At once Dr. Lao-Hong wondered how she knew he would be leaving at all, much less the following morning. He didn’t even know his own time of departure, particularly since he expected no word from Master Ah Chung for quite some time.
To alter the subject for a moment, Dr. Lao-Hong asked how Lady Yee wished to be recompensed for her hospitality. He then smiled and said that he would most assuredly secure the debt in silver if she wished.
Lady Yee at once assumed the pose of one slightly offended. She proudly declared that she never had, and never would, accept remuneration for her hospitality. It was a matter of family honor. However, if her esteemed guest wished to show his appreciation, he might reward her servants; this she would not take amiss. The doctor happily agreed to her terms and praised her munificence and patrician hospitality.
In turn, Lady Yee said that if the doctor’s departure was delayed for any reason, he should remain her honored guest for as long as he required; her servants would see to all his needs upon pain of her darkest displeasure, which the doctor readily assumed was not a viable option for any of them.
Lady Yee departed soon after lunch, and Dr. Lao-Hong, finding he had time on his hands, decided to take a long walk to clear his head. Like everyone else with nowhere in particular to go, he gravitated toward the bay and the nests of activity that gathered along its shore. A steady breeze blew in off the water, carrying occasional hints of
