T.K. had always shown exceptional promise, even as a young boy. He passed his examinations in law at the University of Malaya with the highest honours and for a brief spell studied at Harvard before impatience, boredom, and cold weather brought him home. For a while, he considered pursuing a career in banking in Singapore, but opted instead to return to the Valley, where there were none of the distractions that abounded in Singapore nightlife, foreign money, women. He was a notable calligrapher and painter, and his home was decorated with many scrolls of Tang poems, written in his own flowing hand. Many of them have been rehung in that old house, the same house which was Snows home and, briefly, Johnnys too. The house is now inhabited by Pattis relatives my cousins, I suppose, though I do not know them.
Like me, T.K. was the only son of a wealthy family in an area where wealthy families were uncommon. People would have known and talked about him simply because of who he was, even before he had done anything of note. It is a difficult thing to live with. When you know that everyone talks about you behind your back, while looking at you with silent eyes, it can sometimes have an effect on you. Not everything they say is good, for although people may admire your standing in life, they may also boil with jealousy and hatred. It makes you think differently from other people, and maybe it even twists your character, making you a different person from the one you would have been if you lived alone in an igloo at the North Pole. That was the case with T.K. A young man like him wearing smart Western clothing and spending his time painting would have aroused much comment. In the end, it was the burden of what other people said that made T.K. settle down and build a life and a family for himself, just as his father had before him.
Firstly, he changed his appearance. He swapped his Western suits for the traditional Chinese clothes his father once wore, the attire of a Manchu civil servant long shirts made of the richest brocade, trousers of plain, good silk. This kind of dress was no less conspicuous in rural Malaya, and many people thought it was merely a phase which he would soon leave behind. But he persisted with it to the end of his days; it is how he is dressed in the stiffly posed photographs which survive. He continued reading classical Chinese texts; he wrote and he painted. But his demeanour changed. Whereas before he had been flamboyant and easily excitable, now he was serious and calmly spoken. At last, sighed his parents, he took an interest in business. He benefitted from family connections and became involved in large-scale enterprises such as commercial loan-making and the import and export of tin and rubber to Europe. He got married too.
Patti was said to have been a woman of notable beauty, although to my eyes hers must have been a beauty of that particular age. Certainly, the worn sepia-tinted portraits do not do any of their subjects justice, but even so, she appears sullen and withdrawn. If you look closely, you can see where Snow inherited the cold streak that she was said to have possessed. Pattis mouth is drawn tight and thin, her eyes hard and dark. Her looks are not dissimilar to her daughters but her beauty (if it is beauty) is of a harsher variety.
Though I close my eyes and search my memory I cannot recall ever having seen T.K. and Patti Soong, my grandparents. They exist only as ghosts, shapeless, shadowy imprints on my consciousness. Sometimes I wonder if there is any chance that I might have liked them, loved them. Even ghosts and shadows are capable of being loved, after all. But always, the answer is No. I would not have loved them even if I had known them, because when the debits and the credits have been weighed, T.K. and Patti fall on the wrong side of the line between good and evil. It was their desire for Snow, my mother, to marry a rich man that pushed her into the arms of Johnny. Nothing can ever atone for that.
BY THE TIME Snow was of marriageable age, Johnny was already well known across the Valley. He was the sole owner of the most profitable trading concern in the Valley and was widely admired in all circles. As with all beautiful young women of a certain background, Snow had already had a good deal of experience of suitors and tentative matchmaking. All of these possibilities had been created and choreographed by her parents. They took her to Penang, KL, and Singapore, where she was displayed like a diamond in a glass box. Yet it was closer to home, at the races in Ipoh, that they found the first serious contender. He was a beautiful-looking boy with a powder-pale complexion to match Snows. He had large, clear eyes and stood tall and erect with all the dignity you would expect from a son of the chief superintendent of police. When he was introduced to Snow he kissed her handkissed it a gesture he had learnt during his days travelling in Europe. He complimented Patti on her sumptuous brocade dress and quietly whispered a tip for the next race in T.K.s ear.
It wasnt long before Snow and the superintendents son were allowed to take tea together. They sat exchanging polite conversation. She talked about books novels she had read while he nodded in agreement. Although T.K. and Patti were pleased with his dignified manner and solid background, it was his familys home which brought greater excitement to them, for the superintendent had recently built a modern, Western-style house in which many of the rooms had wall-to-wall carpets. The main dining room had one wall of pure glass so that it served as an enormous window. Such daring was indicative of considerable wealth, an impression which was confirmed by the quality of the jade jewellery worn by the boys mother: dark in colour with a barely marbled texture. To top it all, Snow and the boy looked such a pretty pair and would surely attract all the right comments when the time came for them to venture into the public eye.
Thankfully, before an understanding was reached between the parents, T.K. and Patti discovered that the boys parents were not quite as wealthy as they seemed. The superintendents lavishness at the races had taken its toll on the familys finances, and it was thought that much of his wifes fabulous jewellery was borrowed from sympathetic relatives. It was clear that the hopes for dowry which T.K. and Patti expected in return for the hand of their daughter could never be fulfilled.
Scarred by this experience, T.K. and Patti became cautious and especially thorough in their appraisal of potential suitors. They asked many questions, they made enquiries. They did not want to make the same mistake twice. In letting the match with the superintendents son progress to the extent it had, T.K. and Patti had been careless. One such mistake was forgivable; two mistakes would not be. Not only would it reflect badly on them, it would also diminish the value of Snows attractiveness and the size of her dowry. Yet their diligent investigations made the prospect of a match more and more remote. Every search turned up some unpleasant detail about the family in question, ranging from full-blown scandals to questionable associations: lunatic grandfathers, homosexual uncles, bastard children, gambling debts, hushed-up divorces.
The plain truth of it was that it was 1940, and there was little money in the Valley, certainly nothing that could match the wealth of the Soong family. Snow was not yet twenty. There was still time, but a suitable match had to be made soon.
For all their meticulous planning, T.K. and Pattis first proper meeting with Johnny was precipitated by events beyond their control. It so happened that a new man was appointed as head of the British mining concern in the Valley, a fine young gentleman called Frederick Honey. He arrived with impeccable credentials, having gained a rugger Blue at Oxford and a keen grasp of tropical hygiene and colonial law from the School of Oriental Studies. His reign over the British tin-mining enterprise was, ultimately, short-lived, for he was lost to a boating accident in 1941, when he drowned in the waters off Pangkor Island in a treacherous monsoon storm; his body was never found. It is clear, however, that during his short tenure in the Valley, he was much admired. T. K. Soong was, as you can imagine, quick to see the value of having Mr. Honey as an ally, and eager to make an impression on this formidable new tuan besar as soon as possible. It was decided in the Soong household that a gift should be sent to Mr. Honey, something instantly suggestive of the Soongs status and influence in the Valley; something unusual and beyond the reach of an Englishman newly arrived in the country. But what? A whole roast pig, perhaps? No too ostentatious. A scroll of the finest Chinese calligraphic paintings? No not grand enough.
How about some textiles? Patti said in desperation to her husband. From that man, whats his name Johnny Lim?
T.K. paused. He was inclined to dismiss the idea at once, but the paucity of previous suggestions persuaded him to consider for a moment. He paused for quite some time. Itll be fruitless, he said, but nonetheless he decided to summon Johnny to the house.
Johnny had long since ceased to tour the countryside by bicycle, but the call of T. K. Soong was one he could not resist. He arrived at the house and found himself seated in the enormous room in which the Soongs received their visitors. Its vastness amazed him; his eyes could barely take in the details of its space: the rattan ceiling fans rotating slowly, arrogantly, barely stirring the air; the softness of the light through the louvred shutters; above all, the books, which lined an entire wall, row after perfect row.
We have heard many good things about you, T.K. said as Johnny began to unpack his bags on the table which had been specially set up for him.
Thank you, he said, still marvelling at the books.
Behind his back Patti tugged at T.K.s sleeve. How old is he? she whispered. She had heard that Johnny Lim was a young man, and in her minds eye had pictured a wild-haired, loudmouthed tearaway with dirty fingernails. Yet before her stood someone neat and compact, who seemed almost middle-aged, whose movements were laborious and heavy with experience. A fleeting image tickled her imagination: Johnny and Snow seated on bridal thrones of the type that perished with the death of nineteenth-century China. I must say, Mr. Lim, she said as she fingered a piece of English chintz, now that I see your wares, I can understand why people are so complimentary about you. About your shop, I mean.