Fiction

By Elsie Sze

The following is an excerpt from the novel, Hui Gui, A Chinese Story (2005, BTS Publishing House, Toronto, 290 pages), about a young man who grew up in wartime China before fleeing to Hong Kong as a refugee. For more information: www.btspublishing.com

WANCHAI in the early fifties bustled by day and glittered by night. Wong Sum had warned me about “no good elements” in Wanchai when night fell and the neon signs were lit, calling it the red light district of Hong Kong. Still, curiosity got the better of me.

One evening, wearing my foreign shirt and trousers, I strolled into Wanchai. Even though the streets were busy in the day, it was at night that they came alive with a different crowd looking for excitement and entertainment. There were numerous restaurants serving foods from different parts of China – Shanghai, Hunan and Beijing, but mostly Guangdong. I stopped in front of a brightly lit theatre showing an American film called The Red Shoes. The billboard displayed a picture of a beautiful ballet dancer with long, thick, curly hair, wearing a short, red ballet dress and red ballet shoes. I could not read the English description, but I was fascinated with the dancer. I had seen one American film in Guangzhou, Gone With The Wind. I had thought of it for many days afterwards, and even dreamed of it at night. It had been a feast for my senses, but I did not like the female character Scarlet. I considered her a conniving and fickle woman.

I looked at the prices of tickets at the ticket booth. The cheapest was fifty cents for front stall seats. Too much to spend on entertainment.

I sauntered on to Lockhart Road on the waterfront where big, old buildings three or four storeys high faced the harbour. I could smell the salty air and hear water lapping against the concrete sea wall. Nearby a peddler was selling roasted chestnuts, handing them to his customers in newspaper cones. For ten cents I could get a good handful.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by loud noises close behind me. I turned and saw two men scuffling with each other. One man drew a gun and aimed it at the other man. I looked desperately for a place to hide, and as I ran into the nearest stairway, I heard the loud pop of a gun. Frantically I ran up the stairs, through a half-opened door on the first landing, and only stopped when I had closed the door behind me.

For a minute or two, I stood still, for I was in darkness. Then gradually, objects came into view as my eyes got accustomed to the surroundings. By the dim lights on several tables encircling a small round floor, I could see two or three couples on the floor moving to the sound of music coming from near where I was standing. I had barged into a dance hall, probably the kind Wong Sum was warning me about.

“Can I help you, mister?” A woman’s voice sounded near me.

I jumped in nervousness and turned. Without looking at the speaker, I said agitatedly, “I think a man might have been shot on the street! Call the police!”

The woman immediately spoke to a man standing nearby. Then she turned back to me.

“I recognize you,” she began. Those words threw me into another frenzy. “I’ve seen you going up and down the hill. You live in one of the huts.”

“I - I do,” I stammered, still not focusing on her. “I’m sorry, but someone might have been shot out there, and this is the first place where I could possibly get help.”

“You have not disturbed us. In fact, you are welcome here. This is a dance hall. My name is Mimi. What’s yours?” I saw the parting of red lips into a smile.

“Lee Tak Sing,” I mumbled reluctantly. I looked at her then, and in the dim light, I could see a youngish woman in a red cheongsam, with long, straight, black hair, a white powdered face and large, dark eyes. I lowered my eyes. “I’ll leave as soon as I know that it’s safe downstairs.”

“Come, relax,” she said in a coaxing manner. “I’ll buy you a drink, or do you drink?” Before I could answer, she had taken me by the wrist and led me to a table. Sitting me at the table, she called a waiter and turned to me again. “Tell me what you’d like to have.”

“I don’t want anything, but thank you.” I was beginning to feel very uneasy.

“We’ll both have Coca-Cola.” She waved the waiter away. Then sidling up to me, she asked, “So tell me about yourself.”

“I came recently from Guangzhou,” I heard myself saying, although it was not exactly true, but I did not want her to know that I came from rural Guangdong, that I was a country lad.

“So did I!” she said excitedly. “Now we have another thing in common. I live on the hill too, just lower down. I came to Hong Kong in ’48. This is a great place to live, to enjoy life, to make lots of money. That is, if you have the right connections.” She nodded at me.

I was silent. Did she have connections? Was she making a lot of money, and doing what? And if she had a lot of money, why was she living in a squatter hut?

The Coca-Cola was brought to us in two tall, cold glasses. On seeing my hesitant look, Mimi said, “It’s free. Let’s drink to our new friendship!”

I looked at my surroundings. A few other tables were occupied, each by a couple engaged in small talk. At one table, a man and a woman were kissing each other on the mouth, as the woman ran a hand over the man’s hair. In shock and embarrassment, I looked away.

“You are in a dance hall. What you are seeing are very clean, common practices,” Mimi said casually, following my gaze. “The dirty business is in those booths back there.” As she spoke, she flung her head backwards in the direction across the dance floor.

My eyes followed the direction she indicated. It was then I realized the hall was much bigger than I had thought. Perhaps I was getting used to the lighting, for the room seemed to have expanded to include some booths behind the tables on the opposite side of the dance floor. They were high-backed booths, with the backs to us. I knew then what the dance halls really were – nests for prostitution. What would my father say if he knew I ever visited such a place? How would my mother feel if she could see me now?

“I think I’ll leave now,” I said in a low tone.

“I’m not sure if it’s safe yet to go downstairs,” Mimi said quickly. “Perhaps you can stay till I finish work and walk me home. It’s on your way, you know. On a night like this, I’d be afraid to walk back by myself.”

She had me trapped. Inexperienced though I was with the opposite sex, I knew it would be inconsiderate and rude to allow a lady to walk home at night by herself, whether the potential danger was there or not, and of that there was little doubt in view of the evening’s shooting. I felt responsible for Mimi’s safety.

“Come, let’s dance,” and as she spoke, she stood up, pulling me up by the hand.

I started to protest, for I did not know how to dance. She put an index finger to my lips and led me to the dance floor. I stumbled after her. The music was slow. She took my arms and wound them around her waist, resting my hands just below it. She then put her arms around my neck. We started moving on the floor slowly while she steered.

“It wouldn’t seem like I am working if we don’t dance,” she whispered into my ear. “They will call me away to another customer. Some of the customers are quite disgusting.”

I felt her breath, and smelled her perfume, too strong, too intoxicating. I hated the situation I was in, yet could not free myself from it. I felt like one forced to smoke opium and afterwards unable to refuse it. She was so close her body touched me in places that sent electric shocks through me as we moved on the dance floor ever so slowly. Finally she rubbed herself against me just as her lips found mine. In that moment, I was thrown into a state of unspeakable pleasure and utter abandonment.

Mimi must have known what was happening to me. She must also have known how green I was in the matter with women. Perhaps she could guess it was the first time I had ever been close to one. She drew herself a little away from me and was quiet the rest of the time we were on the dance floor. As soon as the music stopped, we returned to our table. By then, my euphoria had turned to shame and distress, and I wished the evening was nothing but a dream. I was thankful the lights were dim, but there was still the fear that the people in the dance hall might have seen through me. Perhaps they were making small talk about me, and laughing at me, at my inexperience with women. I was very uncomfortable as I sat at the table, waiting for the dance hall to close for the night, so I could take Mimi home. Mimi, however, did not entertain another customer that night. After sitting with me for a short time, while I squirmed in my seat, she left me to talk to a man who was presumably her manager. Then she came back to me with a shawl over her shoulders and clutching a small purse.

“I told Johnny that I’m leaving early with you,” she said simply.

I rose thankfully. Slipping a hand through my arm, she walked out with me. The trouble on the street had died down. I did not know if anyone had been shot, and Mimi did not seem to be concerned with it. Perhaps such trouble was not an uncommon occurrence in that part of town. Once outside, Mimi took her hand off my arm. We walked silently along the waterfront. By then, I was feeling quite depressed over the events of the evening, hating myself and feeling ashamed for getting involved with a dance girl, one who sold her favours for a living. Mimi must have read my thoughts.

“Tak Sing, if I have upset you in any way tonight, I am sorry. I like you. I hope we will be friends from now on,” she said shakily, stripped of all the confidence she showed earlier in the dance hall.

“I want you to know that whatever took place in the dance hall tonight means nothing to me. Tomorrow, I’ll forget everything that happened in there,” I said, intentionally insensitive to her feelings and ignoring her invitation to friendship. The truth was that I felt as much annoyed with myself as with Mimi. Then, regretting almost immediately the harshness of my words, I added, “I don’t think you should stay in that profession for a long time. Find another job. That place will doom you if you don’t leave.”

“It is easier said than done,” Mimi said quietly. “You don’t understand.”

I stayed away from the vicinity of the dance hall after that night. But Mimi and I became friends. We never talked again about that evening.

ARCHIVES