16
Dr. Gu
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SINGAPORE
Wye Mun sat at his desk, studying the piece of paper his daughter had just handed him. The ornate desk was a replica of the one Napoleon used at the Tuileries, with a satinwood veneer and ormolu legs of lions’ heads and torsos that descended into elaborate claws. Wye Mun loved to sit in his burgundy velvet Empire chair and rub his socked feet against the bulbous golden claws, a habit his wife constantly scolded him for. Today, it was Peik Lin who substituted for her mother. “Dad, you’re going to rub off all the gold if you don’t stop doing that!”
Wye Mun ignored her and kept scratching his toes compulsively. He stared at the names Peik Lin had written down during her phone conversation a few days ago with Rachel: James Young, Rosemary T’sien, Oliver T’sien, Jacqueline Ling. Who were these people behind that mysterious old gate on Tyersall Road? Not recognizing any of these names bothered him more than he was willing to admit. Wye Mun couldn’t help but remember what his father always said: “Never forget we are Hainanese, son. We are the descendants of servants and seamen. We always have to work harder to prove our worth.”
Even from a young age, Wye Mun had been made aware that being the Chinese-educated son of a Hainanese immigrant put him at a disadvantage to the aristocratic Straits Chinese landowners or the Hokkiens that dominated the banking industry. His father had come to Singapore as a fourteen-year-old laborer and built a construction business out of sheer sweat and tenacity, and as their family business blossomed over the decades into a far-flung empire, Wye Mun thought that he had leveled the playing field. Singapore was a meritocracy, and whoever performed well was invited into the winner’s circle. But those people—those people behind the gates were a sudden reminder that this was not entirely the case.
With his children all grown up now, it was time for the next generation to keep conquering new territory. His eldest son, Peik Wing, had done well by marrying the daughter of a junior MP, a Cantonese girl who was brought up a Christian, no less. P.T. was still fooling around and enjoying his playboy ways, so the focus now was on Peik Lin. Out of his three children, Peik Lin took after him the most. She was his smartest, most ambitious, and—dare he admit it—most attractive child. She was the one he felt confident would surpass all of them and make a truly brilliant match, linking the Gohs with one of Singapore’s blue-blooded families. He could sense from the way his daughter spoke that she was onto something, and he was determined to help her dig deeper. “I think it’s time we paid a visit to Dr. Gu,” he said to his daughter.
Dr. Gu was a retired doctor in his late eighties, an eccentric who lived alone in a small, dilapidated house at the bottom of Dunearn Road. He was born in Xian to a family of scholars, but moved to Singapore in his youth for schooling. In the natural order of how Singapore society worked, Wye Mun and Dr. Gu might never have crossed paths had it not been for Dr. Gu’s maddening stubbornness some thirty-odd years ago.
Goh Developments had been building a new complex of semidetached houses along Dunearn Road, and Dr. Gu’s little plot of land was the sole obstruction to the project getting under way. His neighbors had been bought out under extremely favorable terms, but Dr. Gu refused to budge. After all of his lawyers had failed in their negotiations, Wye Mun drove to the house himself, armed with his checkbook and determined to talk some sense into the old fart. Instead, the brilliant old curmudgeon convinced him to alter his entire scheme, and the revised development turned out to be even more of a success because of his recommendations. Wye Mun now found himself visiting his new friend to offer him a job. Dr. Gu refused, but Wye Mun would keep coming back, enthralled by Dr. Gu’s encyclopedic knowledge of Singapore history, his acute analysis of the financial markets, and his wonderful Longjing tea.
Wye Mun and Peik Lin drove over to Dr. Gu’s house, parking Wye Mun’s shiny new Maserati Quattroporte just outside the rust-corroded metal gate.
“I can’t believe he still lives here,” Peik Lin said, as they walked down the cracked cement driveway. “Shouldn’t he be in a retirement home by now?”
“I think he manages okay. He has a maid, and also two daughters, you know,” Wye Mun said.
“He was smart not to sell out to you thirty years ago. This little piece of land is worth even more of a fortune now. It’s the last undeveloped plot on Dunearn Road, we can probably even build a very sleek, narrow apartment tower here,” Peik Lin commented.
“I tell you lah, he intends to die in this shack. Did I tell you what I heard from my stockbroker Mr. Oei many years ago? Dr. Gu is sitting on one million shares of HSBC.”
“What?” Peik Lin turned to her father in amazed shock. “One million shares? That’s more than fifty million in today’s dollars!”
“He started buying HSBC shares in the forties. I heard this tidbit twenty years ago, and the stock has split how many times since then? I tell you, old Dr. Gu is worth hundreds of millions by now.”
Peik Lin stared with renewed wonder as the man with a shock of unruly white hair came hobbling out onto his porch in a brown polyester short-sleeve shirt that looked like it had been tailored in pre-Castro Havana and a pair of dark green pajama bottoms. “Goh Wye Mun! Still wasting money on expensive cars, I see,” he bellowed, his voice surprisingly robust for a man of his age.
“Greetings, Dr. Gu! Do you remember my daughter, Peik Lin?” Wye Mun said, patting the old man on the back.
“Aiyah, is this your daughter? I thought this pretty girl must surely be your latest mistress. I know how all you property tycoons are.”
Peik Lin laughed. “Hello, Dr. Gu. My father wouldn’t be standing here if I was his mistress. My mum would castrate him!”
“Oh, but I thought she did that a long time ago already.” Everyone laughed, as Dr. Gu led them to a few wooden chairs arranged in his small front garden. Peik Lin noticed that the grass was meticulously mowed and edged. The fence that fronted Dunearn Road was covered in thick intertwining vines of morning glories, screening the bucolic little patch from the traffic along the busy thoroughfare. There isn’t a single place like this left along this entire stretch, Peik Lin thought.
An elderly Chinese servant came out of the house with a large round wooden tray. On it was a ceramic teapot, an old copper kettle, three clay teacups, and three smaller snifter cups. Dr. Gu held the well-burnished kettle high above the teapot and began pouring. “I love watching Dr. Gu do his tea ritual,” Wye Mun said to his daughter quietly. “See how he pours the water from high up. This is known as xuan hu gao chong—‘rinsing from an elevated pot.’ ” Then, Dr. Gu began to pour the tea into each of the three cups, but instead of offering it to his guests, he flung the light caramel-colored tea dramatically from each cup onto the grass behind him, much to Peik Lin’s surprise. He then refilled the teapot with a fresh batch of hot water.
“See, Peik Lin, that was the first rinse of the leaves, known as hang yun liu shui—‘a row of clouds, running water.’ This second pouring from a lower height is called zai zhu qing xuan—‘direct again the pure spring,’ ” Wye Mun continued.
“Wye Mun, she could probably care less about these old proverbs,” Dr. Gu said, before launching into a clinically precise explanation. “The first pouring was done from a height so that the force of water rinses the Longjing leaves. The hot water also helps to acclimate the temperature of the teapot and the cups. Then you do a second pouring, this time slowly and near the mouth of the pot, to gently coax the flavor out of the leaves. Now we let it steep for a while.”
The sound of screeching truck brakes just beyond the fence interrupted the serenity of Dr. Gu’s tea ritual. “Doesn’t all this noise bother you?” Peik Lin asked.
“Not at all. It reminds me that I am still alive, and that my hearing is not deteriorating as quickly as I had planned,” Dr. Gu replied. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to hear all the nonsense that comes out of politicians’ mouths!”
“Come on, lah, Dr. Gu, if it weren’t for our politicians, do you think you would be able to enjoy this nice garden of yours? Think of how they’ve transformed this place from a backward island to one of the most prosperous countries in the world,” Wye Mun argued, always on the defensive whenever anyone criticized the government.
“What rubbish! Prosperity is nothing but an illusion. Do you know what my children are doing with all this prosperity? My eldest daughter started a dolphin research institute. She is determined to rescue the white dolphins of the Yangtze River from extinction. Do you know how polluted that river is? This bloody mammal is already extinct! Scientists haven’t been able to locate a single one of these creatures for years now, but she is determined to find them. And my other daughter? She buys old castles in Scotland. Not even the Scottish want those crumbling old pits, but my daughter does. She spends millions restoring them, and then no one comes to visit her. Her wastrel son, my only grandson and namesake, is thirty-six years old. Do you want to know what he does?”
“No . . . I mean, yes,” Peik Lin said, trying not to giggle.
“He has a rock-and-roll band in London. Not even like those Beatles, who at least made money. This one has long oily hair, wears black eyeliner, and makes horrible noises with home appliances.”
“Well, at least they are being creative,” Peik Lin offered politely.
“Creatively wasting all my hard-earned money! I’m telling you, this so-called ‘prosperity’ is going to be the downfall of Asia. Each new generation becomes lazier than the next. They think they can make overnight fortunes just by flipping properties and getting hot tips in the stock market. Ha! Nothing lasts forever, and when this boom ends, these youngsters won’t know what hit them.”
“This is why I force my kids to work for a living—they are not going to get a single cent out of me until I am six feet underground,” Wye Mun said, winking at his daughter.
Dr. Gu peeked into the teapot, finally satisfied with the brew. He poured the tea into the snifter cups. “Now this is called long feng cheng xiang, which means ‘the dragon and phoenix foretells good fortune,’ ” he said, placing a teacup over the smaller snifter cup and inverting the cups deftly, releasing the tea into the drinking cup. He presented the first cup to Wye Mun, and the second cup to Peik Lin. She thanked him and took her first sip. The tea was bracingly bitter, and she tried not to make a face while swallowing it.
“So, Wye Mun, what really brings you here today? Surely you didn’t come to hear an old man rant.” Dr. Gu eyed Peik Lin. “Your father is very cunning, you know. He only comes calling when he needs to get something out of me.”
“Dr. Gu, your roots go deep in Singapore. Tell me, have you ever heard of James Young?” Wye Mun asked, cutting to the chase.
Dr. Gu looked up from pouring his own tea with a start. “James Young! I haven’t heard anyone utter that name in decades.”
“Do you know him, then? I met his grandson recently. He’s dating a good friend of mine,” Peik Lin explained. She took another sip of the tea, finding herself appreciating its silky bitterness more and more with each sip.
“Who are the Youngs?” Wye Mun asked eagerly.
“Why are you suddenly so interested in these people?” Dr. Gu queried.
Wye Mun considered the question carefully before he answered. “We are trying to help my daughter’s friend, since she is quite serious about the boy. I’m not familiar with the family.”
“Of course you wouldn’t know them, Wye Mun. Hardly anybody does these days. I have to admit that my own knowledge is very outdated.”
“Well, what can you tell us?” Wye Mun pressed on.
Dr. Gu took a long sip of his tea and leaned into a more comfortable position. “The Youngs are descended, I believe, from a long line of royal court physicians, going all the way back to the Tang dynasty. James Young—Sir James Young, actually—was the first Western-educated neurologist in Singapore, trained at Oxford.”
“He made his fortune as a doctor?” Wye Mun asked, rather surprised.
“Not at all! James was not the sort of person who cared about making a fortune. He was too busy saving lives in World War II, during the Japanese occupation,” Dr. Gu said, staring at the crisscrossing patterns of ivy on his fence as they suddenly seemed to transform into diamond-like patterns, reminding him of a chain-link fence from a long time ago.
“So you knew him during the war?” Wye Mun asked, jarring Dr. Gu out of his recollection.
“Yes, yes, that’s how I knew him,” Dr. Gu said slowly. He hesitated for a few moments, before continuing. “James Young was in charge of an underground medical corps that I was briefly involved with. After the war, he set up his clinic in the old section of Chinatown, specifically to serve the poor and elderly. I heard that for years he charged his patients practically nothing.”
“So how did he make his money?”
“There you go again, Wye Mun, always chasing after the money,” Dr. Gu chided.
“Well, where did that huge house come from?” Wye Mun asked.
“Ah, I see the true nature of your interest now. You must be referring to the house off Tyersall Road.”
“Yes. Have you been there?” Peik Lin asked.
“Goodness, no. I only heard about it. Like I said, I really did not know James very well; I would never have been invited.”
“I dropped my friend off at the house last week, and I could hardly believe it when I saw the place.”
“You must be joking! Is the house still there?” Dr. Gu said, looking quite shocked.
“Yes,” Peik Lin replied.
“I would have thought that the place was long gone. I must say I’m quite impressed that the family never sold out in all these years.”
“Yes, I’m quite shocked that there’s a property this large on the island,” Wye Mun cut in.
“Why should you be? The whole area behind the Botanic Gardens used to be full of great estates. The Sultan of Johore had a palace over there called Istana Woodneuk that burned to the ground many years ago. You say you were there last week?” Dr. Gu queried.
“Yes, but I did not go in.”
“A pity. It would be a rare treat to see one of those houses. So few are left, thanks to all the brilliant developers,” Dr. Gu said, glaring in mock anger at Wye Mun.
“So if James Young never made any money, how did—” Wye Mun began.
“You don’t listen, Wye Mun! I said that James Young wasn’t interested in making money, but I never said he didn’t have any. The Youngs had money, generations of money. Besides, James married Shang Su Yi. And she, I can tell you for a fact, comes from a family so unfathomably rich, it would make your eyes water, Wye Mun.”
“Who is she, then?” Wye Mun asked, his curiosity piqued to boiling point.
“All right, I will tell you and shut you up once and for all. She is the daughter of Shang Loong Ma. Never heard that name, either, right? He was an enormously wealthy banker in Peking, and before the Qing dynasty fell, he very smartly moved his money to Singapore, where he made an even greater fortune in shipping and commodities. The man had his tentacles in every major business in the region—he controlled all the shipping lines from the Dutch East Indies to Siam, and he was the mastermind behind uniting the early Hokkien banks in the thirties.”
“So Nick’s grandmother inherited all of that,” Peik Lin surmised.
“She and her brother, Alfred.”
“Alfred Shang. Hmm . . . another fellow I’ve never heard of,” Wye Mun huffed.
“Well, that’s not surprising. He moved to England many decades ago, but he is still—very quietly—one of the most influential figures in Asia. Wye Mun, you have to realize that before your generation of fat cats, there was an earlier generation of tycoons who made their fortunes and moved on to greener pastures. I thought most of the Youngs had long since dispersed from Singapore. The last time I heard any news, it was that one of the daughters had married into the Thai royal family.”
“Sounds like a pretty well-connected bunch,” Peik Lin said.
“Oh, yes indeed. The eldest daughter, for instance, is married to Harry Leong.”
“Harry Leong, the fellow who is director of the Institute of ASEAN Affairs?”
“That’s just a title, Wye Mun. Harry Leong is one of the kingmakers in our government.”
“No wonder I always see him in the prime minister’s box at National Day celebrations. So this family is close to the center of power.”
“Wye Mun, they are the center of power,” Dr. Gu corrected, turning to Peik Lin. “You say your friend is dating the grandson? She’s a fortunate girl, then, if she marries into this clan.”
“I was beginning to think the same thing myself,” Peik Lin said quietly.
Dr. Gu considered Peik Lin thoughtfully for a moment, and then he peered straight into her eyes, saying, “Remember, every treasure comes with a price.” She caught his gaze for a moment, before looking away.
“Dr. Gu, it’s always good to see you. Thank you for all your help,” Wye Mun said, getting up. He was starting to get a backache from the rickety wooden chair.
“And thank you for the wonderful tea,” Peik Lin said, helping Dr. Gu up from his seat.
“Will you ever accept my invitation and come over for dinner? I have a new cook who makes amazing Ipoh hor fun, Dr. Gu.”
“You’re not the only one who has a good cook, Goh Wye Mun,” Dr. Gu said wryly, walking them to their car.
As Wye Mun and Peik Lin merged into the early-evening traffic on Dunearn Road, Wye Mun said, “Why don’t we invite Rachel and her boyfriend to dinner next week?”
Peik Lin nodded. “Let’s take them somewhere classy, like Min Jiang.”
Dr. Gu stood by his gate, watching as their car disappeared. The sun was setting just over the treetops, a few rays of light penetrating through the branches and glaring into his eyes.
He awoke with a start in the blinding sun to fin d his bleeding wrists bound tightly against the rusty chain-link fence. A group of officers walked by, and he noticed one uniformed man staring at him intently. Did he look familiar somehow? The man went up to the commanding officer and pointed directly at him. Curse to the gods. This was it. He looked at them, trying to muster up as much hate as he could in his expression. He wanted to die defiant, with pride. The man said calmly, in a British-accented English, “There’s been a mistake. That one over there in the middle is just a poor idiot servant. I recognize him from my friend’s farm, where he rears the pigs.” One of the Japanese soldiers translated to the commanding officer, who sneered in disgust before barking out a few curt orders. He was cut loose, and brought to kneel in front of the soldiers. Through his bleary eyes, he suddenly recognized the man who had pointed him out. It was Dr. Young, who had taught one of his surgical classes when he was a medical trainee. “See, this is not a man of importance. He’s not even worth your bullets. Let him go back to the farm where he can feed the dirty pigs,” Dr. Young said, before walking off with the other soldiers. More arguing between the soldiers ensued, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself on a transport truck bound for the work farms in Geylang. Months later, he would run into Dr. Young at a meeting in the secret room hidden behind a shop house on Telok Ayer Street. He began thanking him profusely for saving his life, but Dr. Young brushed him off quickly. “Nonsense—you would have done the same for me. Besides, I couldn’t let them kill yet another doctor. There are too few of us left,” he said plainly.
As Dr. Gu walked slowly back into his house, he felt a sudden pang of regret. He wished he hadn’t said so much about the Youngs. Wye Mun, as usual, had steered him toward the stories about money, and he had missed the chance to tell them the real story, about a man whose greatness had nothing to do with wealth or power.