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Chinese Magic
My father wore stiff starched collars to his shirts which he changed twice each day without ever once unfastening his necktie. He would loosen his tie and unfasten the front and rear collar studs then slip the whole thing over his head. Never once did I see him without a shirt. Even when washing and shaving he would keep his shirt on. Very strange. He would tuck a towel in around the top of his open shirt and then shave. Very strange indeed. Anyway, the reason I mention this is because with fastidious regularity his collars had to be taken to the Chinese laundry to be washed and starched, and this was one errand I came to welcome. So much so in fact that I'd remind my mother that they either needed taking or collecting. This impressed her greatly for it prevented violent scenes of meals, and plates, being thrown into the back of the coal fire by my angry father. Remembering the collars saved many a fight. My remembering, however, was not for my father's benefit, nor, I have to admit, for my poor mother's. I remembered because it brought magic into my life.
The first time I ever went to collect the collars I was taken aback. At first because the shop was like no other I'd ever been into. There was no counter. Instead, on entering the shop I stepped into a tiny room about five feet square. As I did so the bell which was attached to the door signalled my arrival. On one wall, directly facing the shop door, was another door. Into that was cut an eighteen-inch square hole, on the base of which a shelf had been fixed. I was fascinated not only by this but by the wonderful smells which filled the tiny room. Smells of clean clothes and cooking all rolled beautifully into one. Everything was painted brown, a colour I'd never liked before. But here, it was just right. No other colour would have so enhanced this magical place. I stepped up to the hatch in the door and looked through. The walls in the main part of what should have been the shop were covered with shelves. Between the shelves partitions had been fixed which gave the shelves the appearance of boxes. All the walls were covered in these boxes. In most of the boxes were brown paper parcels tied neatly with string. I deduced these to be the cleaned and starched laundry. On the end of each parcel was pinned a piece of paper on which was written something or other in Chinese. All those tickets were in different colours and made a most beautiful pattern. In my hand was such a piece of paper and after I'd studied it for a long time I tried to match it to one of the boxes. Before I could manage this, however, I saw him. The Chinaman. He was the strangest looking man I'd ever seen. His face, his beard, his clothes... I'd seen nothing like it. He smiled a smile of welcome. His walk was slow, like a priest saying mass. He was confident and calm and I felt myself smiling back. I couldn't take my eyes from his. We just stood there and smiled. It took some time for me to realise that he was waiting for the ticket. I handed it to him. As he moved to the boxes my eyes were attracted to his shirt, or was it a coat. It was silk and had a high-buttoned neck. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. He seemed to have all the time in the world and seemed as old as the world. His face though wrinkled had eyes younger than mine. They danced. His hair was the blackest I'd ever seen and the shine of it reflected the magic of the place. Handing me back a small parcel he smiled again. I took it and without taking my eyes from his I handed him the money. He had to look away to get change from under the hatch but as he handed me the change his eyes danced another smile. He bowed his head ever so slightly, so I did the same. He turned and went through to the back of the shop. I left the shop and walked home in a daze.
I found it difficult to get through the next week for my mind was constantly turning itself to the old Chinaman. I was punished at school for not paying attention and got my fair share of the belt at home for similar crimes. I didn't mind this at all for Saturday was getting closer and closer and my father's collars would need collecting. I had the most wonderful secret and I wasn't even going to share it with James. Besides, he was growing up real fast, just as my cousin who lived with us had done. He'd joined the merchant navy almost two years ago after working in a pawnbrokers for a bit. I envied him going to sea and I missed him greatly, even though he always went too far in play fights. This secret would be mine. I'd found a magic place. It was the most exciting secret I'd ever known. This was a secret which was nothing like the secret I'd kept about 'Old Boots'. I felt I knew the old Chinaman and yet not a word had been exchanged. How could that be?
Not concerned to meet the milkman's horse the next Saturday I told my mother that my father's collars needed to be collected. I walked slowly to the shop enjoying each step. It was as before. Nothing had changed, not even the smiling. This time, though, I pointed to the box the parcel had been in the week before. The old man looked at it and then back to me. He shook his head very gently. He could obviously see that this meant a lot to me, and as he took the ticket from my hand he pointed to the writing on the ticket and then generally at the boxes. So, it was the writing which indicated which box. As I studied the ticket he opened the door with the hatch in it and indicated that I should find the parcel myself. Amazing. I was to be allowed into the room of boxes. Silently, and for quite some time, I studied the ticket and those on the parcels then I confidently pointed to a parcel. His face lit up. He nodded. I'd found it. I could read Chinese writing. My heart leapt with joy. The old man was delighted and allowed this little routine each and every Saturday. He would even let me put the money in the drawer and take whatever change was due. But this was quite difficult. Not because I couldn't count and things but because he trusted me and I didn't want to make a mistake just in case he thought I was trying to cheat him. To counter this fear I would take less than I felt the change to be and he would then correct me. Never a word was spoken.
As time went by I became very good at reading the tickets and getting the right change. I got so I could do it as quickly as he did. But he was never in any kind of rush doing anything so it wasn't that hard really. In fact, doing things quickly didn't seem to impress him in the least so I slowed down. He approved.
On entering the shop one Saturday I instantly felt something to be different. There were voices. Happy voices. Many voices. Chinese voices. The lyrical sounds matched the new addition to the shop - a Chinese lantern. He came through, as usual, and was followed by six or seven others. They seemed to be a family. He opened the hatch door and I silently went about my business. After I'd finished they all applauded. All, that is, except the old man. The others had watched me and were obviously impressed. The old man had somehow been with me as I did things, as if he was taking part too. He wasn't just an onlooker. Anyway, I enjoyed the applause. It felt good. I felt good. The others began to move into the back room and as they did they beckoned me to follow. I hesitated and looked to the old man. His open face reassured me. I followed them into the back room. In the centre of the room was a round table. I'd not seen a round table before. The table was full of food and they were having some kind of party. I ate my first ever Chinese food. To this day it remains my favourite. One of the old man's guests spoke to me in broken English. She wished me a happy new year. She must have been daft or something because new year had been about two months ago. I laughed and tried to explain that it wasn't new year. They laughed and said it was. It was a wonderful party. Throughout the events I rarely took my eyes from the old man. After what seemed the right amount of time I explained that I would have to leave. They wished me happy new year again, mostly in Chinese. Every week after that I would eat a simple rice meal with the old man. Always in silence and always alone. It was sheer magic.
Saturdays being Saturdays meant that they followed Fridays and I've already told you what they were like. Anyway, after one of our simple meals and with the parcel beside me on the table I didn't take my usual leave. I didn't want to leave. It had only been a few days ago that I'd run away from home. As was always the case the police had picked me up. Instead of finding me new parents - because I never spoke a word to them - they handed me back to my parents in the middle of the night. They always found me. I sat there in silence with the old man. He made no effort to encourage me to leave. For the first time he spoke. His voice was strong yet gentle. He spoke in Chinese and I listened in English. When he finished I told him absolutely everything about my world. My story was punctuated with customers coming and going. After he'd served each customer he'd return to the back room and indicate that I should continue my story. I told him about the unreal world of my father and the beautiful real world which existed inside me. I told him about everything and anything. I talked and I talked. I talked as I'd never talked before. Eventually, I cried. Once again he spoke to me in Chinese and held me gently in his wisdom. Later, much relieved of a burden, I thanked him and left for home. When I arrived home my mother asked me what had taken so long and where had I been. I just said:
'I've been to China.'
She looked at me oddly, shook her head and went about her business.
Each week after that I'd tell the old Chinaman everything. He always listened. I decided that I would help him in any way I could by way of thanks. He taught me to starch collars, the details of which I won't trouble you with. I tried to teach him English but our efforts ended in laughter each time. I tried to teach him to do sums as well for it was clear that they obviously didn't do sums in China. You see, he used a counting frame with beads on. He would slide these beads backwards and forwards and somehow find an answer. The bead frame reminded me of a child's toy. The kind of thing they put in front of babies in a pram. Teaching him to do sums became my prime concern but I have to tell you that despite my efforts and his obvious wisdom he continued to use his bead frame. Nonetheless, he rewarded my efforts by allowing me to serve in the shop. Never once did I get the change wrong. If the old man was in the front shop he would talk to me in Chinese and I would answer him in English. Customers would ask me if I understood him and I would answer proudly and truthfully, 'Yes, yes of course I do.'
Not long after this, when I was eleven, we moved to a different district and I grieved for the old man. When I finally got around to going to see him he was gone. A new family had taken over. A noisy family too. When I asked where the old man was they couldn't understand me nor I them. I was horrified at my loss. Or hadn't it all been just another of my magic dreams? I left the shop. That night the police picked me up twenty miles away in Southport.
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