The Sun Ray Hit His Eyes It was a fine afternoon in June. Mei Lan had never seen such a sunny day in London since she moved all the way from Hong Kong last November. She made herself some sandwiches, like a typical English wife, walked to Hyde Park and enjoyed her day-out. Her husband was still at work in a restaurant in Leicester Square. He had to work long hours. She knew he would not be back home until midnight, and sometimes even later. But this was what they had chosen to live. She did not complain. Various groups of people filled the park in different areas. Some were sun-bathing. Some were talking. Some were reading. Mei Lan found this huge park relaxing. Jobless as she was she felt she had to make the most of her time. She hardly knew her neighbours. Her English was not good enough to enable her to get involved into serious conversation with other people. She had few friends in London. At times she felt lonely. She had hinted in numerous occasions to her husband that she wanted to get a job. But, as her husband pointed out, what could she do? As a waitress? She could not endure the long hours work. As a sale assistant in one of the shops in China Town? She was not needed. She had no relation with any of the shop owners. As a secretary of any British companies? She was not qualified. In fact she had never been properly working before. She left school at seventeen, and immediately she worked in a boutique owned by her elder sister. One day about a year later, a smartly dressed man went into the shop looking for a fashionable skirt saying that it was for his sister's birthday. The man was polite. He was extremely handsome, with thick short dark hair and sparkling brown eyes. His muscular body which in proportion to his height (six-foot) revealed that he did weight training regularly. Mei Lan was attracted to him, and the attraction was equal. They got talking and they began dating. Eventually they married. So at the age of nineteen Mei Lan became Mrs. Wong, and changed her job as a sales assistant to a Tai Tai housewife. Mr. Wong told him that his salary was more than enough to feed her. As a deputy manager of a famous hotel in Hong Kong, he preferred his wife staying at home doing her domestic duty or attending flower-arranging-classes or learning-how-to-cook seminars, to going out to work. Mr. Wong was a good husband. Every day as soon as he finished work he went back to the little nest he built with Mei Mei (the name he addressed his wife). Domestic happiness was what they desired. They did not yet want to have children. It was far too early, he said. He wanted to enjoy the freedom with the one he loved without being burdened by babies. Mei Lan agreed, but inside herself she yearned for a little baby, at least it would occupy most her lonesome time. She was obedient. Whatever her husband said, she nodded, submitting herself totally to him. The talk of 1997 overwhelmed the city. Wealthy people began to invest their capital in some other surrounding countries which provided no political threat. Some had even migrated to all over the world. The little Wong family had decided to leave the hustling and the bustling of Hong Kong. They forsook their families, their friends and their stable income. Of all the Western countries they resolved, though chiefly Mr. Wong's decision, on moving to England because he had a school friend in London running a restaurant. Off they went, with no more than three big suit-cases as their personal valuable possessions, they tried to rebuild their home and settle in one of the apartments in Old Brompton Road. Now at the age of twenty four Mei Lan was brought to a strange land where she knew no one but her husband and a few of his work-mates in the restaurant. She rarely went to the restaurant Mr. Wong worked, but when she did she wished to leave as soon as she could. She could not relate herself to the people there. She felt intimidated. Their vocabulary was so different from the one she used to although they all spoke Cantonese. Moreover whenever the chefs spoke it was as if they had to include a swear word in every single sentence as an adjective. This disgusted Mei Lan. She walked aimlessly through the little lanes in Hyde Park. She saw a variety of people. White, black, Indians, Pakistanis and Chinese. She saw lovers and couples holding hands together, walking slowly in this romantic park. She saw families sitting on the grass having a picnic; and this troubled her. She saw some men laughing, screaming and dancing to loud music. She did not understand their behaviour but she supposed it must be a different culture. She took no part of what went on. She observed. She looked. She listened. Until she felt tired, she took Piccadilly Line to Earls Court. By now she was fairly familiar with the Underground even though she murmured to herself in Chinese every time she took the tube, "I will take the bus next time." Back to the cosy apartment, she was surprised to find her husband at home. Mr. Wong made no inquiry of where Mei Lan went, but she asked him why he was home early. He dismissed the question by simply changing subject to how little choices they had regarding television programmes. Conversation between them had lately become difficult. It seemed that Mr. Wong always hid his mind into deep meditation, and he seemed to have no interest in whatever his wife told him. She had asked him if he stayed for dinner twice, but she got no response. She said again in Chinese, "Are you going to have dinner with me tonight?" "Uh ah." "What do you want to eat?" she said mildly. "What?" He looked lost. "What are we eating tonight?" "Anything." He answered with his eyes fixed on the square box but not watching. They ate together that night. No one spoke a word during dinner. Mei Lan noticed the late silence of her husband but she did not know what actually bothered him. Perhaps he was not yet used to the life of England. Perhaps he was tired of working. Perhaps he needed an extra company. This prompted her to consider having a baby. She suggested one night to Mr. Wong, "Wing, I want to have a baby of my own." "It is not time. Are we not happy now? I do not want to have a child now. I am only twenty seven this year." He reasoned. "But..." "I know you are bored in London. But we have to stay until we get our right of abode. I do not trust the Chinese. Communists will change the whole system of Hong Kong. We need security." He pointed out what they believed. "I feel so useless. I cannot even go out and work." She blamed herself. "Who wants you to work? We have enough money. What we need is to stay in this country for three years and then we will be U.K. residents. Treat it as a prison." "I want to go back to Hong Kong. Wing, I miss my mother and father." "Mei Mei, we have started. There is no way back except starting all over again in Hong Kong." He then said reassuringly, "Endure it, it is only another two years and a bit." It was a Wednesday night towards the end of June. The restaurant in which Mr. Wong worked was empty. The chefs all gathered themselves in one of the big tables and began talking to the waiters and waitresses. Mr. Wong was reading a book in another table, occasionally looking up at the door to check if there was any customer. The staff was concerned about Mr. Wong, as his recent strange behaviour worried them. The head chef therefore told Eric, who was born and bred in London, to go over to Mr. Wong and to see if everything was fine. "Are you OK Wing?" Eric inquired. "I'm fine. Thanks." Mr. Wong replied. "What are you reading?" "Oh, it's a novel." "I didn't know you are into English fiction. I thought you only read Chinese science fiction." Eric said friendly. "Eh, yes sometime it quite good to read some English. I hope I can impove my spoken English." "So what are you reading then?" Mr. Wing Wong paused a second and replied, "It's a book call Giovanni's Room." "Interesting?" "Yes." Without looking up at Eric, Mr. Wong carried on reading his story. Eric left him and went across to where the crowd was. He reported to the people what he had been saying to Mr. Wong. The head chef, Mr. Leung, began in Chinese, "He behaves in a strange way lately." "You are right." One of the waiters named Shun joined in and he provided more information. "Every night when he finishes work, I see him jumping into a black sport car that waits for him not far off. I have also noticed that the car parks in the same spot round about quarter to twelve every night." "Do you think he keeps a mistress?" A kitchen staff suggested. "How could he? Mei Lan is such a nice woman. She is a perfect wife." Mr. Leung said. "He is certainly very strange these days. Leung, I think you had better have a word with him and see what is wrong." Shun said. The telephone was ringing. Mei Lan picked up the phone and she heard her mother's voice. "Everything is fine. Wing is doing well. I am a bit bored but I am happy. Wing is always with me when he is off work." Mei Lan lied. "If you cannot stand the life in London, you can come back to Ma. I miss you very much." Her mother uttered these words in Chinese with passion. "No. I want to stay here with Wing. We are thinking of having a baby. He said it was a good idea." Another lie. "Mei Lan I can tell you are not happy. I am your mother. I brought you up. I know what you think." She said sceptically. "Really, Ma, I am fine. Do not worry." She tried to hide her sobs and tears. She tried hard with her voice not to betray how she felt. She went to Hyde Park again that afternoon. She felt much better after talking to her mother. She had not been uttering a single word of Chinese for days. Her husband left home early in the morning, for work he said, and did not go back home until one in the morning, sometimes until half past two. She had no one to talk to, except herself. She had tried to question Mr. Wong why he worked so late, but was always given the same answer, the restaurant was busy. She questioned no further. Communication had become a problem since they moved to London. She walked desultorily, and lost her direction but she kept walking along the foot path. There were the similar kinds of people. The sun shone. The air was refreshing. The flowers bloomed. Mei Lan walked pass many people but she could not remember their faces. Families, lovers and children. All of a sudden she spotted two men holding hands together about ten yards in front of her. They were talking and laughing. Their intimacy overwhelmed Mei Lan, and she mumbled to herself in Chinese "I feel sick." Then she was overtaken by two little girls, one fair skin and one dark skin. They were dancing and giggling. Their innocence and hyperactive motions captured Mei Lan. She watched them playing and running. She wanted to have a baby of her own. The first day of July was exceptionally sunny. Yet Mr. Wong had to work. Mei Lan strolled down to Hyde Park on her own as usual. The restaurant was empty. With such fine weather, people preferred staying out to sitting in a badly air-conditioned Chinese Restaurant. When Mr. Wong was in the kitchen fixing himself some light lunch, Mr. Leung approached and started talking to him in Chinese. "Wing, what is wrong with you recently?" "Why? Nothing is wrong." "Mei Lan is a good wife. Do not mess around with the Western girls. You are lucky that you have such a good wife." There was always a sense of authority when Mr. Leung spoke. "I am not." "You had better not." He seemed to warn him, and continued with his Chinese philosophy. "Wing, it is difficult to get a wife, it is more difficult to marry a good wife." "I know." It was all Mr. Wong could say. "Then do not go into that black sport car at night anymore. Affairs with those girls will ruin your happy marriage." Mr. Wong looked shocked, was silent and did not feel comfortable. His mind seemed lost in a labyrinth. Without knowing what he was doing, he mechanically bit his cheese on toast with two slices of tomato. He stared at the window. The sun ray hit his eyes. Three days after his long conversation with Mr. Leung, Mr. Wong had a day off. The staff in the restaurant brought the absent waiter up as a talking subject. "I hope Wing is taking his wife for a day out. The weather is so nice." One staff began. "I do not think so. I saw him jumping into that car again last night. But when I was trying to work out what the girl looked like, the car was driven off swiftly." Shun revealed. "Aaaah." exclaimed Mr. Leung, "There is nothing we can do." A Chinese man and a fair hair European man sat closely on one of the benches in Hyde Park. They were of similar height and built, and were conversing. "Did you enjoy the book I recommended?" Asked with a London accent. "Yea, I likkit. Sometime I dun quite understan some words. I hav' to check dictionary. But it impove my English." "I am glad that you like it cos he's one of my favourite authors." "I like that kind of stories. What you thing I can read now?" "Do you like E. M. Foster?" "Who's he? not heard him before." "I tell you what, read Maurice, I am sure you will like it." On the other side of Hyde Park Mei Lan was doing her daily routine. She had been walking aimlessly along the path when something caught her attention. She saw, some twenty yards away from her, two men were holding hands together. She fixed her eyes on them, and all of a sudden she recognised the back of the Chinese man. She recognised the clothes he wore. She covered her face with her hands, in agony. She felt weak and helpless.
Copyright © 2000 K. P. William Cheng |