of things wherever you are, the elder Ma comforted himself. When Ma Wei’s finished his studies, I’ll be able to enjoy a few more days’ happiness, live as a gentleman for a bit.
The very thought of it made him feel cheerful. He stretched out his sweaty palm and brought it up over the blanket to smooth his minute moustache. Then he lifted his head from the pillow a bit, to hear if there was any sound from next door. There was nothing.
‘Young and strong, you can eat like a hog and sleep like a log! He’ll do well, that boy of mine,’ he mumbled to himself, and slowly closed his eyes once more.
He kept on waking up and dozing off, and it wasn’t until the sun had risen that he at last shifted into a steady sleep. He seemed to hear Ma Wei getting up, and half heard the sounds of traffic in the street, but didn’t open his eyes. It was probably about half past seven when there came two gentle taps on the door, followed by Mrs Wedderburn’s voice: ‘Hot water, Mr Ma!’
‘Thank you, er . . . ugh . . .’ He went off to sleep again.
Ma Wei was up before seven o’clock. He was set on taking a look round London, and was so impatient to do so that nothing could have induced him to carry on sleeping. What’s more, he’d met Miss Wedderburn yesterday, but he couldn’t very well chat to her while his father was around. Breakfast this morning would give him his chance, as his father was bound to sleep in.
He rose, and gently drew open the curtains. The rain had just stopped, and the rays of the sun were like yellow bees bearing the sweet honey of springtime, crawling along Ma Wei’s hand as they came through the window. He donned the Western-style patterned dressing-gown that he’d bought in Shanghai, and silently waited for Mrs Wedderburn to bring the hot water so that he could shave.
He’d acquired the habit of shaving only while on board ship. Before embarking, he’d bought a safety razor in the Sincere Department Store in Shanghai. On the ship each morning, before anyone else had risen, he’d hurry to the bathroom for a careful shave. There was a grand total of ten or so moderately thick whiskers on his face, but after Ma Wei had been shaving for a week, the stubble was terribly prickly if he skipped a day. Looking at himself in the mirror after shaving, he felt that his face looked extraordinarily virile and vital, with a certain intrepid air to it. Film heroes would often get involved in a fight in the middle of shaving, with soap lathered all over their faces, and no sooner have finished the fight than they were back shaving, with nary a tremble. Or sometimes when they’d won the fight, they’d take a nearby young lady in their arms and kiss her, leaving soap-lather all over her cheek. Shaving, viewed in such a light, wasn’t a mere habit but in fact the embodiment of a variety of subtle emotional implications.
At long last the hot water arrived, and he hastily rinsed his mouth and shaved. After combing his hair and washing, he gave his suit a meticulous brushing-down. Once fully dressed, he thought to go downstairs, but was afraid to head down too early in case it incurred him the landlady’s displeasure. He eased open the door and peeped out. A little steam was still curling up from the white enamel bowl outside his father’s door. From downstairs he could hear very clearly the voices of Mrs Wedderburn and her daughter. The daughter’s voice sounded especially clear, with an exciting note to it, and every word he heard set his heart trembling like a rain-pattered petal.
The bell rang downstairs. He guessed it must mean that breakfast was ready. He took another look at himself in the mirror: his eyebrows didn’t shoot up at the tips, they curved down now, almost down past his eyes. Adjusting his tie again, he pulled his lapels straight, and finally clomped downstairs.
Mrs Wedderburn and her daughter usually ate breakfast in the kitchen, but because of Mr Ma and son’s arrival, they now
The very thought of it made him feel cheerful. He stretched out his sweaty palm and brought it up over the blanket to smooth his minute moustache. Then he lifted his head from the pillow a bit, to hear if there was any sound from next door. There was nothing.
‘Young and strong, you can eat like a hog and sleep like a log! He’ll do well, that boy of mine,’ he mumbled to himself, and slowly closed his eyes once more.
He kept on waking up and dozing off, and it wasn’t until the sun had risen that he at last shifted into a steady sleep. He seemed to hear Ma Wei getting up, and half heard the sounds of traffic in the street, but didn’t open his eyes. It was probably about half past seven when there came two gentle taps on the door, followed by Mrs Wedderburn’s voice: ‘Hot water, Mr Ma!’
‘Thank you, er . . . ugh . . .’ He went off to sleep again.
Ma Wei was up before seven o’clock. He was set on taking a look round London, and was so impatient to do so that nothing could have induced him to carry on sleeping. What’s more, he’d met Miss Wedderburn yesterday, but he couldn’t very well chat to her while his father was around. Breakfast this morning would give him his chance, as his father was bound to sleep in.
He rose, and gently drew open the curtains. The rain had just stopped, and the rays of the sun were like yellow bees bearing the sweet honey of springtime, crawling along Ma Wei’s hand as they came through the window. He donned the Western-style patterned dressing-gown that he’d bought in Shanghai, and silently waited for Mrs Wedderburn to bring the hot water so that he could shave.
He’d acquired the habit of shaving only while on board ship. Before embarking, he’d bought a safety razor in the Sincere Department Store in Shanghai. On the ship each morning, before anyone else had risen, he’d hurry to the bathroom for a careful shave. There was a grand total of ten or so moderately thick whiskers on his face, but after Ma Wei had been shaving for a week, the stubble was terribly prickly if he skipped a day. Looking at himself in the mirror after shaving, he felt that his face looked extraordinarily virile and vital, with a certain intrepid air to it. Film heroes would often get involved in a fight in the middle of shaving, with soap lathered all over their faces, and no sooner have finished the fight than they were back shaving, with nary a tremble. Or sometimes when they’d won the fight, they’d take a nearby young lady in their arms and kiss her, leaving soap-lather all over her cheek. Shaving, viewed in such a light, wasn’t a mere habit but in fact the embodiment of a variety of subtle emotional implications.
At long last the hot water arrived, and he hastily rinsed his mouth and shaved. After combing his hair and washing, he gave his suit a meticulous brushing-down. Once fully dressed, he thought to go downstairs, but was afraid to head down too early in case it incurred him the landlady’s displeasure. He eased open the door and peeped out. A little steam was still curling up from the white enamel bowl outside his father’s door. From downstairs he could hear very clearly the voices of Mrs Wedderburn and her daughter. The daughter’s voice sounded especially clear, with an exciting note to it, and every word he heard set his heart trembling like a rain-pattered petal.
The bell rang downstairs. He guessed it must mean that breakfast was ready. He took another look at himself in the mirror: his eyebrows didn’t shoot up at the tips, they curved down now, almost down past his eyes. Adjusting his tie again, he pulled his lapels straight, and finally clomped downstairs.
Mrs Wedderburn and her daughter usually ate breakfast in the kitchen, but because of Mr Ma and son’s arrival, they now
Similar Books
