Finale, page 1
The Ava Lee Series
The Dragon Head of Hong Kong: The Ava Lee Prequel (ebook)
The Water Rat of Wanchai
The Disciple of Las Vegas
The Wild Beasts of Wuhan
The Red Pole of Macau
The Scottish Banker of Surabaya
The Two Sisters of Borneo
The King of Shanghai
The Princeling of Nanjing
The Couturier of Milan
The Imam of Tawi-Tawi
The Goddess of Yantai
The Mountain Master of Sha Tin
The Diamond Queen of Singapore
The Sultan of Sarawak
The Lost Decades of Uncle Chow Tung
Fate
Foresight
Fortune
Bonnie Jack
Copyright © 2022 Ian Hamilton
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Published in Canada in 2022 and the USA in 2022
by House of Anansi Press Inc.
www.houseofanansi.com
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
House of Anansi Press is a Global Certified Accessible™ (GCA by Benetech) publisher. The ebook version of this book meets stringent accessibility standards and is available to students and readers with print disabilities.
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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Finale : the lost decades of Uncle Chow Tung / Ian Hamilton.
Names: Hamilton, Ian, 1946- author.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 2022015726X | Canadiana (ebook) 20220157294 | ISBN 9781487010188 (softcover) |
ISBN 9781487010195 (EPUB)
Classification: LCC PS8615.A4423 F56 2022 | DDC C813/.6—dc23
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Book design: Alysia Shewchuk
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House of Anansi Press respectfully acknowledges that the land on which we operate is the Traditional Territory of many Nations, including the Anishinabeg, the Wendat, and the Haudenosaunee. It is also the Treaty Lands of the Mississaugas of the Credit.
We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Government of Canada.
For my three clever, loving, and supportive daughters:
Jill Hamilton, Stephanie Woodward, and Alexis Pinson.
( PROLOGUE )
Chow Tung, a man most people called Uncle, was walking along a street in the town of Fanling, in Hong Kong’s New Territories. He wasn’t sure why he was there, other than that he had an irresistible urge for a plate of Dong’s chicken feet.
Uncle had lived in Fanling for forty-five years before moving to Kowloon eleven years ago. He had left of his own choosing, and none of his friends and colleagues in the Fanling Heaven and Earth Society, also known as the triads, would have objected in the least if he had stayed. Uncle had been the leader, the Mountain Master, of the Fanling Triad for more than thirty years, and had made it the wealthiest and most respected gang in all of Hong Kong. Because of his foresight, the Fanling Triad was guaranteed a secure future.
He had first started to delegate some of his Mountain Master responsibilities when he was elected chairman of the triad societies, a position he had helped create to resolve disputes among the more than twenty gangs that existed in Hong Kong. When Uncle’s second two-year term as chairman had expired, it was assumed he would return to his activities in Fanling, but he believed his much younger deputy Mountain Master had grown into the job and deserved it permanently. So, feeling the gang was in good hands, Uncle had resigned.
He had been back to Fanling many times to see friends and — because his opinions were valued — to meet with the new Mountain Master. Those meetings were frequent during his early years in Kowloon, but gradually diminished as time went by. A trip to Dong’s Kitchen was invariably part of any visit.
The weather was pleasant for January, with a moderate temperature, a few clouds, and a light wind. Uncle rarely wore anything except a black suit and a white shirt buttoned to the collar, and on this day it was all he needed to be comfortable. As he walked, he was surprised at how little the street had changed over the years. Among other businesses, the newsstand where he had bought his newspapers and racing forms was still there, but he was surprised to see the old owner standing outside. Uncle thought, or at least had been told, that he had left Fanling several years before.
Ten minutes later, he reached Jia’s Congee Restaurant, where he had eaten breakfast virtually every morning of those forty-five years. He peeked inside and saw Jia standing at the rear, talking to a customer. He didn’t expect to see her. She had to be at least ninety, and though she had always sworn that she would never retire, he thought her work would have taken its toll. Still, she seemed to be keeping at it, and truthfully, she didn’t look like she was anything close to that age. He considered saying hello, but she seemed busy with her customer, so he turned away and continued walking.
Instead of going left, which would have taken him towards the gang’s administrative offices, Uncle went right and was soon in an area of town which wasn’t familiar to him. He thought he was going in the proper direction, but he had never walked to Dong’s this way, so he wasn’t completely sure. The street he was on was quiet, with hardly any traffic and only the occasional pedestrian. He tried to stop one to ask if he was headed in the right direction, but the man brushed past him. Uncle began to feel ill at ease. This wasn’t an emotion he was accustomed to, particularly when the cause was as trivial as being in a part of Fanling he didn’t know. Pull yourself together. Just keep walking and you are bound to reach Dong’s eventually.
Five minutes turned into ten and then fifteen, and still there was no sight of Dong’s. Uncle’s unease increased. He began to consider turning around and heading back to his apartment, but he wasn’t sure he could find the way. Could I be dreaming? he thought as he approached an intersection with a four-way stop. He could go straight, turn right, or turn left. He went straight and started down a steep hill. He hadn’t gone more than halfway when a familiar aroma tickled his nose. He took a deep sniff and smiled as he recognized the scent of Dong’s secret chicken feet sauce.
At the bottom of the hill there was another four-way intersection, but this time there was no indecision on his part, as Dong’s Kitchen came into view across from where he stood. Uncle crossed the street and paused for a few seconds as he wondered why the windows were covered with blinds and the door was closed. Then he heard voices inside and his questions were forgotten. He turned the handle and stepped inside.
PART ONE
( 1 )
Kowloon, Hong Kong
September 2015
Uncle had faced the prospect of death before, but this time was different. He was no longer the young man living in the Chinese village of Changzhai, trying to survive the famine triggered by Mao Zedong’s Great Leap Forward — a famine that had taken the lives of his entire family and countless friends. He wasn’t standing at two a.m. on the Chinese side of Shenzhen Bay looking across four kilometres of dark, dangerous water at the flickering lights of Yuen Long, wondering if he, his fiancée, and his friends would survive the swim to freedom. He wasn’t the newly initiated forty-niner stepping in front of his Mountain Master as a brother from another gang ran at them wielding a knife. He wasn’t the Fanling Mountain Master who on two occasions faced down rival gang members trying to hack him to pieces with machetes. He wasn’t on his knees in a Chinese prison with a gun being held to his head as a pla officer pulled the trigger on five empty chambers and told him to get ready to meet his ancestors as he prepared to fire the sixth. This time was like none of those.
Uncle was sitting in the office of Doctor Graham Parker in a building located a few blocks from the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Kowloon. Parker was an oncologist who Uncle had been quietly referred to by his family doctor. Doctor Cho had first recommended that Uncle see a Chinese specialist, but Uncle had demurred. Always a private man, the fact he could be seriously ill wasn’t something he wanted known, and the chance that a Chinese doctor might let it slip was something he didn’t want to risk. So Cho had referred him to Parker, but not before discussing Uncle’s wish for privacy and getting assurances from Parker that things would be handled properly. Parker had not disappointed.
On his first visit two weeks previous, Uncle had detailed his symptoms. Parker had made notes as he spoke about heartburn, indigestion, stomach pain, and nausea. When he mentioned nausea, Parker looked up.
“Have you been throwing up frequently?”
“Yes. It used to be just once in a while, but then it started happening every time I ate anything spicy,” said Uncle. “It has gotten better since I began eating blander food.”
“And when you throw up, is there ever blood with the food?”
“Yes.”
Parker nodded, and Uncle thought he detected a hint of resignation.
“Have you had any trouble swallowing?” Parker continued.
“Sometimes, and there are days when I lose my appetite completely.”
“Have you lost weight?”
“I don’t know. I never
“That’s not important. Your other symptoms tell their own story,” said Parker. “I have to tell you that Doctor Cho suspects you have stomach cancer, which is why he sent you to me.”
“I am aware that’s what he thinks. It has been difficult for me not to draw the same conclusion.”
Parker looked at the file in front of him. “According to your file you have never been seriously ill before now.”
“That’s true. I might have had the occasional cold or flu bug, but nothing more than that.”
“It also says here that you smoke.”
“I do. Doctor Cho has been haranguing me for years to quit, but I never listened to him. Are you going to tell me the same thing?”
“No,” said Parker. “Short-term smoking is not going to cause any additional damage, but quitting could put extra stress on your system, and until we finalize a diagnosis there’s nothing positive to be gained.”
“If I have stomach cancer, Cho said smoking could have been a cause.”
“Indeed, but first we have to determine what exactly is the problem — and if it is what Doctor Cho suspects, what stage it’s at,” Parker said. “We need to run some tests. What is your availability?”
“I have no plans past this meeting.”
“Then I will schedule an endoscopy and a scan, and depending on what they reveal, we’ll do some biopsies,” Parker said. “Do you know what an endoscopy is?”
“No.”
“Do you want to know? I only ask because I have some patients who prefer not knowing anything.”
“I’m the opposite. I would like you to be totally honest with me about everything.”
“Good, I prefer that,” said Parker. “An endoscopy is a procedure that allows us to see what’s going on in your upper digestive tract. A long, flexible tube with a tiny camera attached to the end will be passed down your throat and we’ll take pictures.”
“And the biopsies?”
“If I don’t like what the pictures show, I’ll bring you back to the clinic for those.”
“Will I be hospitalized for this?” Uncle asked.
“No, that’s not necessary. There is an outpatient clinic on the ground floor of this building which is very competent. I use it all the time. The only problem is that they are busy, so it may take a day or two to get you an appointment.”
“Like I said, I am available whenever you need me.”
As it was, the day or two had turned into a week, and after the various tests, Parker had asked Uncle to return to the clinic for biopsies. This trip to the doctor’s office was to get those results, and despite his outward bravado, Uncle was anxious as he sat in the waiting room.
“Mr. Chow, Doctor Parker is ready for you now,” the nurse said.
He followed her into Parker’s office, took a seat, and looked at Parker across the desk.
The doctor glanced up, hesitated, and then returned to what he was reading.
“Are those my biopsy results?” Uncle asked.
“Yes,” Parker said. Then he closed the file and leaned back in his chair. “They aren’t what I’d hoped for.”
“How bad is it?”
“You have cancer, as we suspected, and unfortunately it is metastatic. It has invaded your lymph nodes and is attacking your lungs and other organs.”
Uncle felt a cold chill and struggled not to tremble. “That sounds very bad.”
“It is.”
“Is it curable? Can it be contained? Will surgery help?”
Parker sat forward, put his hands together on the desk, and shook his head. “I don’t think surgery is a realistic option right now, but there are treatments we can employ. If they work, then we can revisit the subject of surgery later,” he said. “But, being totally honest with you, we can’t avoid the fact that the cancer is pervasive.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I thought it did. To be blunter, I could tell you there is hope, but truthfully I think the best we can do is contain it for as long as we can. Without a miracle of some sort, it is going to kill you. The question we can’t answer is when. The treatments could extend your life by months, and maybe even a year or two. Right now, that’s the best I can offer.”
“I know I asked you to be honest, but you didn’t have to go overboard,” Uncle said, and then when he saw Parker’s face stiffen, he smiled. “That was a joke, doctor.”
“You have a strange sense of humour, Mr. Chow,” Parker said.
“If I wail and moan and throw myself on the floor, will that make things any better?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why not make a little joke instead?”
“I admire your attitude,” Parker said.
“Thank you. Now please tell me about the treatments and how soon I can start them.”
“I would like to begin with chemotherapy, which involves taking a series of drugs designed to kill the cancer cells. At this point that’s our best bet for extending your life,” the doctor said. “If it works and we can isolate the tumours, then we could switch to surgery or radiation therapy to go after them as more specific targets.”
“Will I have to be hospitalized?”
“No, you will be a day patient at the Queen Elizabeth, unless there are some unforeseen complications. But I have to warn you that there will be side effects. The drugs can be debilitating. You could suffer hair loss, feel fatigued, and have severe nausea and vomiting. You would also be more susceptible to infection.”
“I’m experiencing most of those symptoms now.”
“This could be to a stronger degree. Do you have someone who can drive you to the hospital?”
Uncle did, but he wasn’t about to use him. Sonny Kwok had been his bodyguard and driver for twenty years, but the two men kept their personal lives out of their relationship. Uncle knew virtually nothing about what Sonny did when he wasn’t working for him, and the same was true in reverse. “I’ll figure that out,” he said. “I’m sure I won’t be so weak that I can’t take a taxi.”
“Everyone reacts a little differently to the treatments. But in case you react badly, do you have someone who can help you at home?”
“I have a housekeeper,” said Uncle.
“Good, does she live in?”
“Yes.”
“Even better.”
“When can the treatments start?” Uncle asked.
“I’ll have my assistant book some sessions. Unfortunately, demand is high right now, so I don’t expect we’ll be able to start until next week at the earliest. Someone from my office will contact you when we have dates.”
“I’ll wait to hear from them,” Uncle said, rising from the chair.
“Before you go,” Parker said as he stood, “Doctor Cho explained your desire to keep this situation private. I would like you to know that my office will do everything it can to honour your wishes.”
“Thank you,” said Uncle.
When he reached the sidewalk, Uncle decided to walk to his apartment on Kwun Chung Street. What had been a hot and humid summer was finally easing, and they had entered what was usually a short window of pleasant weather before the onset of a cold and wet winter. Days like this shouldn’t be wasted.
Uncle wasn’t surprised by Parker’s findings. Cho had made his suspicions clear. His stomach had been acting up for more than a year, and he had ignored it until a few months before, when after a dinner with his friend Fong, he had thrown up. The vomit was streaked with blood. It had alarmed Fong, and truthfully — although he had downplayed it — Uncle was alarmed as well. Still, thinking it was a one-off thing, he had delayed going to see Cho. Then a month or so later he’d thrown up again, with the same result. Now he chided himself for letting it get to that point. Well, what’s done is done, he thought. There was no going back, and as difficult as going forward might be, there was no other choice, so he needed to figure out how best to handle it.
