Second Chance

Chapter 4 - The White-Haired Lady by the Creek

Jake used to go to church. He had studied the Bible and prayed often. The preachers had always encouraged him to surrender his life to God so that he would have a happy, peaceful life. Yet the opposite held true – his father was killed in a robbery when he was ten, his mother died of tuberculosis a year later, and he got bullied by the older children in the orphanage. Still Jake continued to place his faith in Him, even bringing Mei-suet to the church to make their wedding vows. But when she was taken away from him too, he had to force himself to believe what he knew was a lie all along: there was no God.

So when he got an invite to the monastery from Wing-mun, he flatly declined. He was also surprised; he thought the crime czar was an atheist like him.

“You of all people, a pious, self-righteous son-of-a-gun?” Jake exclaimed. He and Wing-mun were having breakfast at a teahouse famous for its abalone porridge. “And I thought I was the one who had changed.”

“I’m preparing for my eventuality,” Wing-mun said, finishing the last of his horse-shoe cruller with a single chomp.

“What are you talking about?”

“No one wants to die an atheist, Jake.”

“Ha! Don’t talk bull!” the ex-gunman derided him.

“I can understand your resentment towards your God,” Wing-chun said gently, refilling his friend’s cup with jasmine tea. “You blame Him for your wife’s death. But there are forces at work in this world that are beyond our comprehension. And because of this, all of us have our ups and downs. That’s life; great joy and great sorrow. The trick is to learn to take each day as it comes.”

“Unbelievable; this murderous head of the 888 Gang sitting before me is actually delivering a sermon!” Jake took a jab at Wing-mun.

“Hey, Dead-stick …”

“What, Joy-stick?”

“I read too.”

They chuckled. After that Wing-mun slurped his porridge while Jake sipped his tea. When breakfast was over and the bill settled, the mobster got up and smiled at the ex-hit-man. “Let’s go, Jake. My appointment with the head monk is at nine o’clock.”

“Forget it, Mun Gor. I am not going.”

The 888 Gang boss seemed not to hear Jake’s absolute refusal.

“Are you deaf? I said I’m not going!” the ex-gunman repeated. “It means a big, fat no!”

God damn it, no one, not even Mun Gor is going to push me around, he told himself.

It was a forty-minute drive to the monastery, which was located at the west end of the imperial city, surrounded by big walls, watchtowers and double gates. On the streets were hordes of people, including rickshaw pullers and women teetering on little bound feet. Horse-drawn carriages and camel caravans from other parts of Asia were a common sight. And in the narrow alleys, houses were shielded by grey-bricked walls and closed gates. Along the way, they bypassed the Forbidden City, a vast complex of palaces, temples, throne halls, and gates, which was home to the emperors.

When they finally arrived at their destination, Jake was confounded. Before them stood a broken-down and shabby single-storey building with a fallen fence.

“This is a monastery?” he asked. “It looks like it might have been carted here from the wrecks of some war-torn county.”

“Fret not, it will be grander than the Shaolin Temple after the restoration,” Wing-mun said, as he led Jake through an ancient-looking thatched gate beneath a wooden board bearing the monastery’s name which was faded and illegible.

“You don’t say. Who is bankrolling it? Wait, wait, wait … don’t tell me, let me guess. It’s you, right?”

Wing-mun nodded with pride. “I am here today to give the green light to the new building plan.”

“Oh, and I bet the monks, so deeply touched by your benevolence, are going to rename this monastery after you,” Jake said in jest.

“You got that right too. It will be called the Tong Wing-mun Monastery.”

Jake looked at his cash-rich friend; he was not laughing … Holy cow, he was serious!

It was a total contrast to how Wing-mun had been born into desperate poverty in a squalid slum in Shanghai thirty-seven years ago. His father was a coolie in a sundry shop, and because of his compulsive gambling, was always in debt. He never knew his mother. When he was nineteen, he joined the 888 Gang and began pushing opium – the gang’s main source of revenue – in the city. Brave, witty, with a hell-given gift for inducing fear, he handled all his assignments without any problem. He made friends everywhere with his easy manner and generosity. One of his closest friends whom he considered his equal in bravery and cunning was Jake; the green-eyed Eurasian’s proficiency with the gun had helped them get out of many tight spots when they roamed the city streets during their younger days. He rose rapidly from the ranks and became fabulously rich. When the big man of the 888 Gang died of a sexually-transmitted disease, he terrorized the other seniors into supporting him as the new boss. He then persuaded the heads of rival gangs to form a cartel to move the opium market and split the take. They wisely decided to cooperate and soon he became the undisputed leader of the underworld in Shanghai and other parts of southern China.

The two sworn brothers walked past the monastery’s surprisingly well-kept garden complete with hundred-year-old pine trees and stone statues of Chinese deities. An elderly bald-headed man in grey robes, his beard whiter than snow, stood by the doorway – Jake reckoned he must be the head monk. Short and slightly-built, his face was serene and smiling like a child’s. When the monk saw Wing-mun and Jake, he put his palms together, as if carrying a small lotus flower, and bowed to them. Like monkey see, monkey do, Wing-mun and Jake did the same. Thereafter the crime czar introduced the monk to Jake as Master Muk Long, whom he got to know through General Tang Chok.

After a few minutes of chin-wagging, the monk took the two men to the praying chamber. There, they were asked to burn incense before a bronze statue of the Buddha while the old monk chanted some mumbo-jumbo. Then as if on cue, a few younger monks suddenly appeared out of nowhere and joined their master. Wing-mun and Jake stood behind them, heads down like two little naughty schoolboys being punished by a teacher. Jake thought it was one hell of a bore.

“Hey, Mun Gor, I think I’ll hang around the garden,” Jake whispered. “Holler once everything is over.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The overwhelming sanctity of this place is driving me nuts.”

Once outside Jake heaved a huge sigh of relief; the shackles on his liberty were unbolted at last. And the brisk weather made his freedom even sweeter. The air was crisp, the kind of cold that made him feel alive when he breathed it in, as he watched the leaves falling off the trees that swayed gently in the howling wind … wait a minute … that wasn’t the wind howling. It sounded like someone tootling a tune on a flute. And it was a lovely piece. He pricked up his ears – he knew this song; he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

The ex-gunman followed the tune, which led him to a creek at the back of the monastery. And there, about a hundred yards ahead of him, a slender figure with long white hair was sitting on top of a boulder on the riverbank. It was a girl … or a toothless old hag; he couldn’t tell from her back.

As Jake drew nearer he saw she was dressed in a white silky gown, her hair blowing in the wind like a field of white daffodils swaying side by side. When she heard him approaching she stopped playing and looked over her shoulder. To Jake’s pleasant surprise, she was a young woman and quite an attractive one too. Her pencilled eyebrows were unusually white. She smiled – even her teeth were white – and he smiled back.

“Hi there,” Jake greeted her, “you played beautifully. Are you a nun from this monastery? I am just guessing, because as far as I know, Buddhist nuns are usually bald like the monks.”

“The folks here call me a witch,” she answered, her voice soft like her music.

Ah, a girl with a sense of humour, he thought, how do you like that? Well, he was not too bad himself. “And they call me the Monkey King,” he wisecracked.

“Does the Monkey King need to carry a firearm?” she asked, gesturing at his chest. “I thought he is all powerful.”

He glanced at his unbuttoned coat and saw that his shoulder holster was exposed. Even though he had retired, he never left home without his gun out of habit. Darn careless of me, he cussed to himself.

“Actually I am a tea merchant,” he finally said, adjusting his attire. “The gun’s for my own protection. Can’t be too careful nowadays, you know.”

“I see,” she said, her smile sticking to her oval-shaped face like glue. She descended from the rock and moved towards him. Suddenly the morning became foggy. Shavings of ghostly white mist drifted over the stream, tickling the water as it passed. The mist wrapped around them, and Jake saw the creek and the adjacent woods looming out at him like an image from a half-forgotten dream.

When they were inches from one another, he saw that she was tall and pale-skinned. She smelled good too. But her smile had faded out and she had grown silent. He sensed she was sizing him up. Women do that from what I heard, he thought to himself, it is supposed to reveal things about the guys they are going to be friends with. Did she notice I have one eye smaller than the other? Did she like my white leather shoes by Bally?

“It’s Gymnopédie No.1,” she said at last. “That is the title of the song I’d just played.”

“Oh, I ought to be shot! How can I not know this one?” he replied, doing a face-palm. “Yes, it’s a piano composition written by the French composer Erik Satie.”

“It was Mei-suet’s favourite song, wasn’t it?”

Jake was taken aback; how could she possibly have known that? And he didn’t recall Mei-suet having a lady in white in her small circle of friends. He stared at her: she was wearing nothing underneath her almost-transparent gown. Holy cow! he murmured. What is she trying to do? Seduce me? Steady yourself, Jake Lone!

Ignoring his lewd look, she added, “Under the dim light, you two would whirl and sway to this tune in your study while it was being played on the gramophone. Even after she had passed away, you would still do the same in your highly intoxicated state, imagining your shadow on the wall to be her.”

She paused briefly before resuming, this time in a choked voice. “It was a poignant sight. I can see you truly miss your wife.”

Jake was irked now. He should be; no one was privy to his private moments with Mei-suet except himself. Had this woman been spying on him? “Who are you, really?” he asked in a slightly raised voice.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the shrouding mist.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Jake cried, chasing after her. “Stop! You haven’t answered my question.”

Despite the almost zero visibility, he managed to catch up with the woman. Grabbing her shoulder, he forced her to turn around and face him. But when she did just that, he froze. He might have even died for a few seconds. For the woman now before him was Mei-suet!

“Hello, Dear,” she said, gazing at him, her radiant smile as fine as wine. “How are you? Are you taking good care of yourself?”

Under absolutely no circumstances did he think he would see Mei-suet again in this lifetime. Yet he had. Thus there was only one reaction from him: he fainted.

He didn’t know how long he was out. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the grassy ground. Quickly he got up and darted his eyes around the creek. The gem-blue waters, babbling and burbling, were streaming out of the woods. Brilliant rays of yellow sunlight shone down from above, showering the surface in glittering gold. The mist had dissipated. And the woman was nowhere to be seen. He scratched his head, trying to figure out what had happened.

Just then, he heard someone calling his name. He looked back and saw Wing-mun walking briskly towards him.

“So there you are,” the crime czar said. “I’ve been looking all over the monastery for you. What are you doing alone in the creek?”

“I was not alone,” Jack replied. “There was a woman here with me.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Where is she now?”

“I … I don’t know. She’s vanished, disappeared, poof, all of the above.”

“Just like that?” Wing-mun said, snapping his fingers.

“Yeah, just like that.”

Wing-mun gave his buddy the raising-one-eyebrow-while-lowering-the-other stare that said I think you’re going slightly mad.

“It’s true, I tell you,” Jake mumbled feebly. “She said she is a witch. She has white hair and wears a white gown. And wait till you hear this: I also saw Mei-suet … alive …!”

“Sure, sure,” Wing-mun cut him off.

“You don’t believe me?”

Wing-mun answered quietly: “Come on back to the car. This windy weather is beginning to get to you.”

The asshole didn’t believe me! Jake whispered to himself, feeling sore. He wanted to protest but thought better of it; Wing-mun would probably take him to the mental institution to have his head examined.

As they moved away from the creek, Jake looked back one more time, hoping that she or Mei-suet would re-emerge. They did not. He was disappointed. And confused. Had their presence just been a figment of his imagination?