"Does Hong Kong think he can do the work at Punahou ... if he is accepted?" Nyuk Tsin asked.
The boy was embarrassed by the attention focused on him, but he yearned to get into Punahou, so he bore the indignity. Hunching up one shoulder he said, "If the Lum boy can do the work, I can do the work."
At the mention of the Lum boy, the Kees grew bitter. For a dozen years they had been trying to get one of their sons into Punahou, Hawaii's source of excellence, but for one reason or another they had never succeeded, even though they were a fairly wealthy family and could boast of Africa as a leading professional man. Yet the Lums, who really did not amount to much except that their father was a dentist and a man who loved to speak in public, had maneuvered one of their boys into the cherished haven.
Nyuk Tsin said, "I think that this time we really have a good chance. I have asked a dear old friend to counsel with us as to what we must do to get Hong Kong accepted." She gave a signal and a grandson ran out to bring back a tall, bald Englishman with outrageous white mustaches and a flamboyant energy that projected him into the hot room, where he kissed Nyuk Tsin and cried in flowery Chinese: "Ah hal We plot against the white people! Strike the tocsin! China shall rise!"
It was Uliassutai Karakoram Blake, the mad schoolteacher and the trusted friend of all Chinese. He was older and stouter but no more subdued, and now he locked his hands behind his neck, rocking to and fro as if he were going to fall over. "Beloved and prolific Kees," he said, "let us face the truth. There are good schools and there are great schools, and every family is entitled to send his ablest sons to the greatest. lolani, where I slave for a pittance, is a good school. Punahou is a great school. It lends authority and glamour and caste. England is built on such foundations and so is Hawaii. Let a man use a wrong knife, and he is condemned to the Liberal Party for life."
"What's he talking about?" one of Australia's boys whispered.
"I'm talking about you!" Uliassutai Karakoram Blake shouted in English, flailing his arms out and thrusting his head a few inches from the face of the startled young Chinese. "Stand upl" Awkwardly the boy rose and Blake pointed at him as if he were an exhibit.
"Behold the scion of the Kee hui," he said in erudite Chinese. "He has done well at lolani School, but he has not yet been accepted at Punahou. He is therefore limited to a perpetual secondary acceptance in Honolulu. He cannot associate with the men who rule the city. He cannot learn to speak with their inflections. He lacks their peculiar polish. And he must remain the rest of his life a Chinese peasant. Sit down!"
Blake turned his back on the boy and said to the elders, "The
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compassionate Buddha knows that at lolani I have given you Chinese the salt of my blood and the convolutions of my brain, and I have raised you from ignorance into light, and the compassionate Buddha also knows that I wish I had done half as well with my light as you wonderful people have done with yours. If I had, I wouldn't now be toiling out the evening years of my life as an underpaid schoolmaster. Africa, how much did you earn last year?"
The Chinese loved this ridiculous man and his circumlocutions. With his British regard for proprieties and his Oriental love of bombast, he seemed Chinese, and now he got to the meat of his visit: "You might think that I, as an lolani teacher who had brought Hong Kong to this point of his education, would object to the proposal that you now transfer him to Punahou. Not at all. A family like yours is entitled to have a son at the best school Hawaii can provide. There he will rub elbows with future lawyers, business giants, community leaders. If I were a Kee, I would suffer any humiliation to get my son into Punahou. Hong Kong, stand up. I tell you, Kees, there is as fine a boy as Hawaii has ever produced. He merits the best. Hong Kong, depart."
When the embarrassed boy had gone, Uliassutai Karakoram said, "Wu Chow's Auntie, it will be very difficult indeed for you to get that boy into Punahou. He's too intelligent, and your family is too able. The white people want to have one or two Chinese in their school, but not the best. They prefer slow, stolid boys of no great imagination. The Lum boy is ideal. Hong Kong is not, because even Buddha himself would refuse to prophesy what Hong Kong may one day accomplish. Africa, are you aware that you have sired a revolutionary genius?"
"Hong Kong has far more power than I ever had, Mr. Blake," Africa confessed to his old teacher.
"Wu Chow's Auntie!" Uliassutai Karakoram pleaded suddenly. "Would you not consider trying to get some other grandson into Punahou?"
"No," Nyuk Tsin replied evenly. "He is a brilliant boy. He deserves the best."
The big Englishman shrugged his shoulders and said, "If you're determined to go against my advice, let's see what evil tricks you ought to attempt this time. Who visited Punahou last time?"
Mrs. Africa Kee, a handsome, modern Chinese wife, raised her hand. "Stand up!" Blake snapped. He studied her carefully, dressed as she was in western style, and said, "Couldn't we send someone a little less . . . modern? White people feel safer when an Oriental looks more like a coolie."
There were some things the Kees would not tolerate, which was what made them a significant family, and now Africa said simply, "If my son applies to Punahou, his mother goes with him."
"May Buddha bless all stubborn people," Blake said magnilo-quently, "for without them this would be a most miserable world. But could not your wife dress a little more inconspicuously? She must
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look prosperous enough to pay the tuition, yet not so self-assured that she would ever say anything in a meeting of the children's parents. We want her to look unalterably Chinese, yet aspiring to become a decent American. We want her to look proud enough to clean her fingernails, yet humble enough to remain slightly stooped over as if she lugged baskets of pineapples about the town." He bowed grandly to Nyuk Tsin and said, "Do you think your son's wife can acquire the proper look of a Chinese appealing to white people for help?"
"No," Nyuk Tsin said coldly.
"I thought not," Blake said sadly. "Then you are prepared for Hong Kong to be rejected again?"
At this point America, whose two sons had tried in vain to enter Punahou, returned to the meeting and growled, "We are prepared to be rejected forever, Mr. Blake."
"I am sorry that you were not all born a little more stupid," the flamboyant Englishman said, "because then, with your money, you'd be accepted gracefully. But of course, if you had been more stupid . . . that one in particular," and he pointed at Nyuk Tsin, "why you wouldn't have the money you now have, and you would be kept out of Punahou on grounds of poverty."
"Do you think Hong Kong has a chance this time?" Nyuk Tsin pleaded.
"No," Blake said. "If I were a white man in Honolulu, I would never allow one of you damned Kees anywhere. You're smart. You work. You gang together. You're ambitious. First thing you know you'll be teaching your daughters to lure white men into marriage."
"Sheong Mun is going to many a naval officer," Nyuk Tsin said softly.
In the hot room Uliassutai Karakoram Blake stopped ranting. He looked at the fresh, handsome child he had once taught. Little Ellen Kee, who could sing so charmingly. Gravely he went up to her, kissed her on the cheeks and said, quietly, "May the compassionate Buddha have mercy upon us all. The years of our lives are so short and the currents of the world are so strong. Good-bye, dear Kees. You will not get into Punahou ... not this time."
When he was gone the elders of the family considered the many ideas he had proposed, and Nyuk Tsin said, "That strange man is right. Hong Kong's mother does look too modem, as if she were forcing her way upon the haoles. It will be too easy to reject her. This time we really must send someone else. How about Europe's wife? She's Hawaiian."
"No!" Africa cried. "He is my son, and he will report to Punahou with his own mother, and if they reject us again, let it be so."
"This time, then, I will go along," Nyuk Tsin announced. "I will be barefooted and I will represent the old ways."
"No!" Africa protested again. "My wife, who will dress as she pleases, will take my son to Punahou and seek admission. I will tolerate no subterfuges."
"Africa," the old matriarch said softly, "the school has shown that it will accept one or two Chinese. Now it is terribly important that one of our boys be chosen. Please, this time allow me to arrange things."
"I have business on the Big Island," Africa said solemnly. "I shall go there and bear no part of this humiliation." He left the room and the clan breathed more easily, for he was a stubborn man.
"Now, when the Lums got their son into Punahou," Nyuk Tsin counseled, "the boy's mother wore a very pkin dress, and her hair straight back, and she kept her eyes on the floor. I am therefore going to say flatly that Hong Kong's mother cannot go this time."
"I will go with my husband to the Big Island," Africa's wife announced, and she too left the plotters.
After much discussion, and after carefully studying the devices by which earlier Chinese families had managed to get sons into Punahou, the Kees hit upon an involved strategy. Barefoot Nyuk Tsin would go in smock and pants to give the proper coolie touch. Europe's wife would go as a pure-blooded Hawaiian to show that the Kees respected local traditions. And Australia's wife, the pretty Ching girl, would go in a very modest western-style dress to prove that the family knew how to eat with a knife and fork. The boy Hong Kong, who had an intellectual ability four levels higher than anyone then Studying at Punahou, would tag along in a carefully selected suit that bespoke both the ability to pay tuition and a quiet gentility not common among newly rich Chinese families.
It was a hot day when the four Kees drove up to Punahou in a rented carriage, it having been decided that this was slightly more propitious than walking, and in the interview the three women played their roles to perfection, but Hong Kong squinted slightly and thought just a little too long before answering questions, brilliant though his replies were, and in due time the family got the news: "We regret that this year, due to overcrowded conditions, we can find no place for your son, whose marks and general deportment seemed otherwise acceptable."
The letter was delivered to Africa in his law offices, and he sat for a long time pondering it. At first he was consumed with rage at the humiliation his family had willingly undergone, and then he spent about an hour shoving the formal letter about his desk into this position and that. Finally he summoned his son and waited until the boy came in breathless from play along the river. In even, un-impassioned tones he said, "Hong Kong, you will not go back to school any more."
"I thought you said I was to go to Michigan."
"No. What you require to learn, son, you can learn right here. Tonight you will start reading this book on Hawaiian land systems. When you're through I'll give you your examination . . . sitting in that chair. Are those your schoolbooks?"
"Yes."
"You'll never need them again." Slowly Africa Kee, who loved
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education, took the books and tore them apart. Throwing them into the wastebasket he said, "When you study your new book you are to memorize the end of every chapter. Hong Kong, you're going to get an education that no man in Hawaii has ever had before."
Ultimately, of course, the Kees did squeeze a boy into Punahou. It happened in a most peculiar way. In 1910 the Republican Party had difficulty finding the right man to run for the legislature from Chinatown and somebody made the radical proposal, "Why don't we run a Chinaman?"
"Oh, no!" one of the Hewlett boys protested. "I don't want that radical Africa -Kee in government."
"I wasn't thinking of him. I was thinking of his brother Australia."
A hush fell over the caucus and smiles began to play upon the faces of the white men who ran the islands, for Australia was a man whom men could like. He wasn't too bright, played a good ukulele, was honest, didn't have too much education but did have a host of friends among both the Chinese and the Hawaiians, with whom he had been reared. Furthermore, he had an appealing nickname, Kangaroo Kee, and without even taking a vote the caucus decided that he was their man.
Kangaroo Kee was elected by a huge majority and kept on getting elected, and in time he became the leading Chinese in the Republican Party, a man everyone loved and trusted. Fortunately, he had a son who like himself was gloriously average, and in 1912 Punahou felt that at last it had found a Kee who could be safely admitted to the school.
On the day this boy enrolled, Nyuk Tsin walked secretly to the entrance of the school and hid behind one of the palms to watch one of her grandsons at last enter the great school. As she saw the bright faces of the haole children gathering for the beginning of the new term, chatting of vacation experiences, she recognized here a Hale and there a Whipple, and thought: "The white people are crazy to allow Chinese in this school. This is the secret of how they rule the islands and they have a right to protect their interests."
Then, coming up the street, she saw her grandson walking with his father, the politician Kangaroo Kee, and she withdrew into the shadows, mumbling to herself, "This boy knows nothing. He is not worthy of this great school. But he is our beginning."
FOR THIRTEEN YEARS Kamejiro Sakagawa rose every morning at three-thirty to cut wild plum, storing it for his hot bath. He then ran to work, labored till sunset, ran home and lighted his fire. He now charged two cents for the first ten men to enjoy the clean hot water, a penny each for all who cared to follow. Over the course of a year he obviously earned quite a few dollars, and like all the Japanese laboring on Hanakai he watched with excitement as his hidden funds reached toward the mystic number: $400.
From the arrival of the first Japanese back in the 1880's, it had been agreed that a man who could return to Hiroshima with $400 in cash could thenceforth live like a samurai. "With four hundred dollars," the workmen assured one another, "a man could buy three good rice fields, build a large house, get all the kimonos you would ever need, and live in splendor." Every plantation laborer was determined that he would be the man to accumulate the $400, and almost none did.