Ian Hamilton - The wild beast of Wuhan

“Like the military?”

“Yes, and Customs, and provincial government officials, and city officials. All of them used him, and they still do.”

“The Emperor of Hubei.”

“Yes, he is in many ways the line connecting all the dots.”

“So what does it matter if he bought some fake paintings? No one will think any less of him.”

“First of all, I am the one who bought them. I did it with his knowledge and approval, but I am the one who hired the dealer, negotiated the terms, and convinced him they were a good investment.”

“I see.”

“But they were his paintings, you can be certain of that. He was a bit embarrassed at the beginning, the idea of someone like him collecting fine art and specializing in something as abstract as the Fauvists. He never talked about it with our Chinese friends.”

“What about the ceramics?”

“Those? That’s what every successful Chinese businessman or official buys. Old Chinese plates, paintings, sculptures. Those people who were here last night, they all have houses full of them. No, the paintings were different. He was the one who first saw them, and he was the one who — on his own — fell in love with them. They symbolized in his mind what he had become: a man of taste, of culture, a worldly man. They gave him a sense of self-worth that money alone could never do. And let me tell you, others began to look upon him in that way as well. I can’t begin to guess how many Western diplomats, politicians, and businessmen have been to our house. Every visit starts the same: they expect us to ply them with liquor and food and then — their idea of our culture — sing karaoke with them. Well, we are always good hosts when it comes to food and liquor, but karaoke is for the Japanese and Chinese visitors. Instead we would take the Westerners upstairs to see our collection. Their reaction was always the same: they would be dumbfounded, and then impressed. And whatever opinion they had of my husband would never be the same again. What he especially liked was that many of these people stayed in touch with him because of the art, not the business.”

“I think I understand a bit better,” Ava said.

“A bit?”

“Yes.”

May’s eyes became more focused. “That’s such a little word. I would have thought my husband’s pain would be clearer to you.”

“I have had less than fifteen minutes of actual contact with him.”

“I have tried to explain.”

“And I haven’t spent that much more time with you.”

May lowered her head. “It is still a little word,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.”

May Ling nodded. “I know I’m going on too much. The thing is, you need to understand how he felt about the paintings so you can understand how devastated he was when he found out about the fakes.”

“So tell me more.”

May Ling shifted and then looked up at the ceiling. “He said to me that it was like falling in love with a beautiful woman, courting her for years, falling more and more in love with her every year, until she finally agrees to marry you. Then, on your wedding night, she climbs into bed and you find out she’s a man.” She moved closer to Ava, then reached out and grasped her knee. “All I want you to do is try to find out who did this to him.”

“For what purpose?”

“I could tell you it’s because I want our money back, and maybe that is part of it, but mainly I need you to do it so I can help my husband get some of his pride back. He hasn’t actually said it to me, but I know he equates those pictures with the image he has of himself. If the paintings are shams, then so is he.”

“What if no one knows? What if you don’t say a word?”

“He would know, and that’s all that matters. He’s the kind of man who could never show them to anyone again, because if he lied about them, he would be as fake as they are.”

“Then let them be.”

“He won’t have any peace. Someone, some people somewhere have made a fool of him. They took his dream and they mocked him. He is convinced that they talk about him, laugh at him — the Chinese ignoramus in backwater Wuhan spending millions of dollars on fake art.”

“What if I find someone, or some people, who might be responsible?”

“Then get back as much money as you can. Let us prosecute them in a proper legal manner and expose them so they can’t do this to anyone again.”

“Are you just telling me what you think I need to hear?”

“No, I’m being sincere.”

“But what about your husband?”

“We won’t tell him.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll do the work for me. I’ll pay you. He doesn’t have to know. If you’re successful, then I’ll tell him.”

“That’s not how — ”

“Please,” May Ling said, squeezing Ava’s knee again. “I feel responsible for this calamity that’s fallen on my husband. I found the dealer. I encouraged my husband. I even pushed him at times to buy paintings he thought we should hold off on.”

“But, Auntie, even if I do this I have to tell Uncle.”

“I know he’s a man who can keep a secret.”

“And truthfully, I wouldn’t even know where to start. This is so far out of my area of expertise — ”

“You can find a way, I know you can. Will you do it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ava, please, I need to absolve myself of the blame for this. Every time I look at my husband I want to cry,” May Ling said, her eyes filling with tears. “Do this for me, please.”

Ava looked into her face, searching for any hint of insincerity. All she saw was grief. “I still don’t know where to start,” she said.

“The man from Harrington’s — go and see him. See if he can point you in some direction. I’ll give you everything I have on the art dealer Kwong, his business, his family, his friends. Just spend a few days in Hong Kong and then decide. Do that for me. Just that.”

Ava sighed. “Okay, I’ll tell you what: I will go to Hong Kong. But that doesn’t mean I’m taking the job.”

“I’ll pay you anyway.”

“No, I don’t want anything from you unless we have an actual agreement in place. If I decide to take this job, then you can work out the financial details with Uncle.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You can’t say anything to your husband.”

“I won’t.”

“And I’m not making any promises past Hong Kong.”

“I understand.”

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Ava said softly. “You should know that I’m not hopeful.”

May Ling touched Ava’s hand. “My husband was the one who insisted on calling Uncle. When I found out, I was nervous. Uncle hasn’t lived in Wuhan for many years, but people here know all about him. They take pride in a hometown boy doing well, even if his chosen profession doesn’t always sit well with the authorities. I made some phone calls and was told that he had retired from the old business to start a new one, and that there was a young woman working with him whom he admired, a young woman who had special talents. So I told my husband he could invite Uncle here only if you came with him.”

Ava nodded.

“They told me you were extraordinarily pretty. I admit I was surprised when I saw you, so plainly dressed, hardly any makeup, simple hair. Not what I expected, but very pretty all the same. When my husband saw you, he said that you reminded him of me when I was younger. I know he meant it as compliment, but no woman likes to be told that she’s aged.”

“Auntie, you’re beautiful and very elegant.”

“Stop calling me Auntie. It really does make me feel old.”

“What should I call you?”

“May.”

“May, you are very beautiful and very elegant.”