The Wild Beasts of Wuhan Page 3

  As she poured herself a cup of jasmine tea, Ava noticed out of the corner of her eye a man several tables away staring at her. When she looked up at him, he turned away. There were four men at the table, all in their thirties and dressed in expensive suits, two of them wearing designer glasses. The one who had been staring at her looked vaguely familiar.

  Her soup arrived. She was picking up her spoon when she caught him staring at her again. For the next fifteen minutes they played what she thought was a ridiculous game of cat and mouse. She was about to walk over to his table when he stood up and walked towards her.

  “You’re Ava, aren’t you?” he asked.

  She looked up at him. “I may be.”

  “I’m Michael.”

  Ava looked into his face. It finally struck her. Beads of sweat began forming on her brow and her upper lip. She dabbed her forehead with her napkin as she tried to think of what to say.

  “Dad called me this morning from the ship. He said you had left and were coming through Hong Kong to Hubei. I just never thought I’d see you here.”

  “How did you know it was me?” she asked, still dazed.

  “Pictures. I’ve seen many pictures of you and Marian. You have very particular looks.”

  “Daddy has shown you pictures of us?”

  “For years.”

  “I never knew.”

  “I’m the oldest son, so if anything happened to our father then I would become head of the family. He wants me to take that responsibility seriously, and that means acknowledging and accepting half-sisters and half-brothers and aunties.”

  “He talks to you about us?”

  “Has he never spoken to you about us?”

  “Actually, he has. And to my mother. But he’s never shown me any pictures.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  Michael hovered by her table. He shared their father’s distinctive thick head of hair, which he wore slicked back. His face was lean and fine-boned, and his eyes were slightly rounder than Marcus’s — Jennie had told Ava once that Marcus’s first wife, Elizabeth, had some gweilo genes — but they had their father’s darkness, depth, and warmth. Michael wasn’t as tall as Marcus, but he had the same lean physique.

  “You look so much like him that I want to cry,” Ava said. “It makes me jealous.”

  He smiled, the same easy smile her father used to win her over. “You look like him as well. Have you never been told that?”

  “Now and then, I guess.”

  “And as for being jealous — well, my father thinks you can do no wrong.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, blushing. “Michael, do you want to sit?”

  “I can’t. I’m with three colleagues and we have to head back to the office,” he said. “But here, take my business card. My cellphone number and email address are on it. Call me the next time you’re in Hong Kong. We can have dinner or something. You can meet my girlfriend.”

  “I’d like that, I think,” Ava said, pulling out her own card. “You can call me anytime too.”

  As Ava watched Michael leave the restaurant, she noticed that he walked like her father too, erect, relaxed, confident. He turned at the door and waved to her.

  Ava looked down at Michael’s business card before slipping it into her purse. Despite what she had said, she could never imagine actually calling him. It was one thing to know and accept her father’s other families; it was another to meet them.

  Ava thought about her father. She knew that he talked about his various children with her mother all the time, and that Jennie Lee took almost as much pride in their accomplishments as she did in those of Ava and Marian. And lately Marcus had become more open with Ava, especially about her older half-brothers. On her last trip to Hong Kong he had spoken about them quite freely. She hadn’t liked it at first but gradually began to realize he was trying to bring his families closer together. Is he feeling his mortality? She pushed the thought aside. She couldn’t contemplate the passing of Marcus Lee.

  Her phone rang. Ava saw it was an incoming Hong Kong number and for a second she thought it might be Michael. But when she answered she heard Sonny’s deep bass. “Uncle told me to call you,” he said, almost apologetically.

  “I’m just finishing dim sum, and then I have two more shops to visit. Tell Uncle that I’m on schedule and that I’ll meet him at the airport.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want a ride? It isn’t any bother.”

  “I’m in Central now and I’d rather not feel pressured to finish my shopping. I’ll take a taxi.”

  “I’m picking him up at three.”

  “I know. I’ll co-ordinate as best as I can.”

  “I have your bag in the trunk of the car. I’ll wait for you at the check-in counter.”

  “Perfect.”

  She hung up and waved down the waiter for the bill. She paid, then walked out of Man Wah to finish her shopping.

  It was three o’clock by the time Ava left Shanghai Tang with a new purse and a pair of deep blue enamel cufflinks with the words “good fortune” carved in gold Chinese script. When she left the store, she flagged a taxi, then sat quietly in the back looking at the city as the cab retraced the route Sonny had taken that morning. As they were crossing Tsing Ma Bridge, Ava took out the Moleskine notebook she had just purchased — something she used for every job she had ever taken, filling it with facts, figures, addresses, phone numbers, and a history of the job’s progression. She opened it to the front page and wrote Changxing Wong in large letters across the top.

  ( 4 )

  Ava arrived at Hong Kong International just after 3:30 p.m. to find Sonny standing by the Dragonair check-in counter, with her bag in one hand and an envel­ope in the other.

  “Uncle has checked in and gone to the lounge,” he said. “Here is your ticket.”

  She took the envelope. “You aren’t coming with us?”

  “I’m not needed.”

  Ava nodded, then went to a public washroom with her shopping bags and carry-on. She was still dressed in the Adidas training pants and black Giordano T-shirt she had worn from Curaçao. She knew she’d have to change but wanted to wait until she was in the lounge, where she could shower and have some measure of privacy. She removed her laptop and some T-shirts and underwear from her carry-on and placed them in the new computer bag. She then pulled the tags off her new clothes and shoes and packed them neatly into her Shanghai Tang “Double Happiness” carry-on.

  Twenty minutes later, Ava was checked in, through secur­ity, and walking into the Wing lounge. There was no sign of Uncle. She sat in one of the large Balzac chairs dotted around the lounge and opened her laptop. She punched “Wong Changxing” into the search engine and found multiple entries that described the man almost as a folk hero. Wong was the son of factory workers, had virtually no education, yet had built an enormous empire through a combination of unrelenting hard work, determination, foresight, and smarts — or so the official line went. The government held him up as an example of the unlimited possibilities and success available to every Chinese citizen. Ava wondered what Uncle would have to say about him.

  She looked up and saw Uncle at the entrance of the lounge. He was standing at the sign-in desk, his head barely visible above the counter. Uncle was, she assumed, in his seventies or early eighties, but he had the skin and hair of a younger man. He was about the same height as she was and weighed maybe ten pounds more. He was dressed in his usual uniform: a black suit and crisp white shirt buttoned to the collar, with no tie.

  She walked to the lounge entrance to greet him. He smiled when he saw her, and then frowned when he saw how she was dressed. “You need to change,” he said. “There is the dinner when we arrive.”

  “Hello to you too,” she said, as she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “I have my change of clothes
with me. I was waiting until you arrived before going to the washroom.”

  “I just finished talking to Wuhan and it was on my mind,” he said. He reached for her hand. “It has been too long between visits. I am very happy to see you, as beautiful as ever.”

  “Hardly,” she said. “But give me a few minutes and I’ll see if I can do better.”

  “And I will find us a place to sit.”

  In a private cubicle the size of the bathroom in her condo in Yorkville, one of Toronto’s ritziest neighbourhoods, Ava showered, put on a clean bra and panties, and then laid out her new clothes. It was her experience that most Chinese businessmen preferred the women they employed or did business with to dress conservatively. Ava chose the black cotton slacks and the more modest Cole Haan pumps, and offset the dark palette with her new pink Brooks Brothers shirt. It was bright but plainly cut and, buttoned close to the neck, it would look professional enough. Besides, given Uncle’s monochromatic look she felt they needed a little colour. The Shanghai Tang cufflinks completed the outfit and contrasted nicely with her shirt.

  Ava applied a light touch of red lipstick and black mascara and then sprayed some Annick Goutal perfume behind her ears and on both wrists. She freed her shoulder-length glossy black hair from the rubber band, brushed it, and then pinned it up with her favourite hair piece: an ivory chignon pin. The pin had come from the pouch where she kept her jewellery; Ava also took from it a simple gold crucifix, which she slipped around her neck, and a Cartier Tank Française watch. The watch was the most expensive piece of jewellery she owned; she liked the way it spoke to success and professionalism.

  When she strolled back into the lounge, she could feel all eyes following her. She walked slowly, her head held high, her shoulders back — a woman full of self-confidence.

  Uncle sat at the back of the lounge, sipping tea. Ava took the seat next to him. He glanced at her and smiled. “I was going to have a beer, but I think it is best to save myself for dinner,” he said.

  Ava could see in his eyes how pleased he was with her appearance. She loved his eyes: lively, curious, probing. Ava had learned early on that Uncle’s world was defined through his eyes and not through his words. “I was reading about Wong before you arrived,” she said, a question more than a statement.

  “I met him once, about fifteen years ago, when Uncle Chang and Tommy Ordonez wanted to build a cigarette factory in Wuhan,” Uncle said. Tommy Ordonez was the richest man in the Philippines and Chang Wang was his long-time business partner and an old friend of Uncle’s. He and Ava had just finished a job for them, recovering $50 million from a gambling swindle that had taken Ava from Vancouver to San Francisco, Las Vegas, and finally London, where she had found herself confronting a prominent U.K. cabinet minister and his daughter. “There were problems getting the right location, and then more problems with building permits and licences. I went to Wuhan to straighten it out and found myself dealing with Wong. His guanxi was impressive then. It must be stronger now.”

  “And what was he like?”

  “For someone with his connections, he was friendly enough, and easy to do business with if you understood what his requirements were and complied with them. Of course, many people are friendly if you are doing what they want you to do. What was different about Wong was that he was not arrogant or boastful. Most of the new-rich Chinese, especially those from humble backgrounds, are vain and selfish. They have so much and everyone else has so little, and they cannot seem to help rubbing it in. Wong never took that path. He prides himself on being loyal to everyone who helped him along the way. I did hear, of course, that he is not a man to mislead, and that if you do, he never forgives and is relentless in getting revenge.”

  “The government?”

  “He was respectful. He obeyed the law as much as was necessary. He did not embarrass officials with his wealth and power, and he did not, as far as I know, bribe them excessively. He exchanged favours, of course, but where he was clever was that his door was open to them and their children if they chose to join one of his companies. That was the carrot, rather than an envelope filled with cash, though I am sure from time to time that was needed too. So he has never been associated with any overt corruption, and the officials who have worked with him over the years have not had to worry about getting shot.”

  “Why does a man with such guanxi need us?”

  “I do not know, but I am curious, and not many things make me curious these days.”

  “He seems to have his fingers in many pies.”

  “More than we could know.”

  “Toys, plastics, garments, computer parts, cigarettes.”

  “It is difficult to do anything in Wuhan without his assistance, and his assistance always comes at the cost of a piece of the business.”

  “What if you refuse?”

  “Then maybe your plant does not get built or it takes longer than you thought and costs more. And then you might have problems with warehousing and transportation, because he controls much of that too.”

  “So Uncle Chang made him a partner in the cigarette business?”

  “Of course, but as Wong explained — and he was right — making him a partner opened many doors. Chang got the land he wanted at a reduced price. Instead of waiting two years for a building permit, he had one in two weeks. The equipment he was bringing over from the Philippines cleared Customs, without a bribe, in half the scheduled time. And when the plant was running, Wong spoke to his friend the governor of Hubei, who spoke to his friend the mayor of Shanghai, and the cigarettes had an instant new market. And so on and so on. Wong is the kind of partner everyone needs in China.”

  “Guanxi,” she said.

  Uncle sipped his tea. “A man in business in China is nothing without family and guanxi.”

  “What kind of family does he have?”

  “I was going to speak to you about that,” he said slowly. “As I told you, we will be staying at his house, so you will undoubtedly meet part of the family there, and at dinner. He works from home and entertains there as well.”

  “I see.”

  “And he has surrounded himself with his family.”

  “How large is the family?”

  “When I met him, he had a first wife with one daughter. She had been a teenage sweetheart, a factory worker. And he had just taken a second wife, the child of a business associate, a very smart woman who handled his money, and from what I have been told she still does. They have no children. I am told he took a third wife about eight years ago and they have two sons.”

  “They live under one roof?”

  “They do, on separate floors.”

  “How difficult is that?”

  “We will find out,” Uncle said, as the lounge P.A. announced that their flight was boarding.

  There was a long, winding line at the gate, a smattering of businesspeople, but the majority of the passengers were tourists being herded by guides waving umbrellas with coloured flags attached to them. Ava wasn’t sure what the attraction was in Wuhan. She had been to China more times than she could count, but always for work. Her only trip to Wuhan had been a two-day blur of meetings in hotel lobbies and boardrooms as she tried, successfully, to convince a meat importer that the fact he had lodged a quality complaint about four containers of chicken feet didn’t mean he could avoid paying for them, especially when he had managed to sell them all. It had been one of her first assignments for Uncle.

  Her memories of Wuhan were as blurred as the meetings had seemed. The city was surprisingly big — more than nine million people — and like all major Chinese cities it was awash in construction cranes. Her most vivid memory was the shroud of dirt and dust from the building sites that melded with bus fumes and industrial smog. Many of the people she saw on the streets wore masks, which she had thought was unnecessary until she went jogging one morning. Whe
n she got back to the hotel, her lungs were sore, and when she blew her nose, black mucus coated the tissue.

  She and Uncle bypassed the boarding lines and went directly through the first-class entrance. Wuhan was in Hubei province, almost in the centre of eastern China and a two-hour flight from Hong Kong. As soon as they had settled into their seats Uncle pulled out a racing form and began studying the Sha Tin race card. Ava closed her eyes and napped.

  When she woke, they were over a large body of water and starting to make their descent into Wuhan.

  “Lake Dongting,” Uncle said. “When I was a boy, we would go there in the summer to swim and to watch the dragon-boat races. That is where dragon-boat racing began.”

  She knew that Hubei meant “north of the lake” and that the name of the neighbouring province, Hunan, meant “south of the lake,” but she had never associated the names with an actual body of water.

  Like virtually every city in China, Wuhan had a relatively new airport, and Tianhe International was one of the busiest in the country, serving the nine million people in Wuhan and the sixty million who lived in Hubei. It reflected the province’s central position in China’s economic life.

  Ava and Uncle were met at the arrivals gate by a middle-aged man who was about the same size as Sonny. His large belly pushed out a blue Lacoste shirt to what Ava thought had to be its breaking point, and what little hair he had was worn long in the back and braided. Ava couldn’t help but notice the tattoos that covered both his bare arms and peeked out around his collarbones. He bowed to Uncle and nodded at her.

  “This is Tam,” Uncle said to Ava.

  Tam took their carry-on bags and walked them to a door that had police written on it. He opened it and led them through a cavernous office to another door that led them outside. A Mercedes-Benz sat at the curb. The driver, who looked as if he doubled as a bodyguard, rushed to open the car’s back door. He bowed so low that his chin almost hit his knees. “Don’t make such a fuss,” Uncle said as he slid into the back seat.