Mandarin Mannequins of Chinatown. Patricia Laurel

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      Unlike busy Ongpin Street with its jewelry stores, bakeries that offered delicacies like the flaky crusted Hopia or mooncake, restaurants mixed in with drugstores, fruit and vegetable stalls, Tambacan Sreet was dark and dismal, as if fortune forgot to smile on it. There were no brightly lit stores or restaurants to entice people; only alterations, computer, shoe and watch repair shops.

      A driver got out and started unloading the sparse furniture from the back of the van. The residents looked on, curious that someone would occupy the shop that had been empty for so long.

      Most of the owners lived right above their shops and it was rumored that bad spirits occupied the vacant store. Undaunted, young inexperienced entrepreneurs pooh-poohed the stories and set up shop enticed by the cheap rent.

      It was always the same story — each morning the shop was in total disarray and its contents strewn all over the place and vandalized by invisible beings. It didn’t take long before the new tenants ran out of the front door screaming, never to return.

      News traveled fast in the tight knit community. Soon a small crowd gathered to welcome and warn the new tenants of what to expect. Surely, the owner of the building would never divulge any information about the bad things that happened.

      It became a pastime for the shop owners to place bets on how many days it would take before the store was vacated. A man started collecting money from people placing bets when a chauffeured-driven limousine pulled up behind the moving van.

      The loud chattering immediately ceased. All eyes turned to the uniformed-female driver who got out of the car, and walked around to the passenger side to open the door.

      A shapely leg peeking from the slit of a long, red silk dress was the first glimpse the crowd had of the woman who emerged from the back seat. A collective gasp of admiration from the gaping men that made the women instinctively straighten their backs greeted Lily as she took her driver’s hand, and stepped out of the vehicle.

      No one took notice of the other two passengers. The plump woman and the young girl got out and stood on either side of Lily. They were used to it, as if Lily had celebrity status, and they were her assistants.

      Later, when questioned about Lily’s companions, the people had no clear memory of Blossom and Jade. All had the impression that the plump woman with the smiling, round face was the mother of the girl. They were always seen together, and wasn’t the girl almost afraid of Lily?

      If it were not for the steely eyes that dared anyone to look into them, and the unnaturally long strands of hair adorned with little bells and beads that rested on her cheekbones, Lily would make the list of one of the most beautiful women on earth.

      There they stood — the newcomers on one side of the street and the residents on the other. It was an eerie quiet; a standoff, a staring contest to see who would look away first. The teeny bells and beads dangling from Lily’s eyebrow moved slightly, accompanied by the slightest tinkling sound. The small crowd cowered and covered their ears, as if their eardrums were about to burst.

      Lily won, hands down.

      When the tinkling sound ceased and the spell was lifted, the losers looked around, anywhere but at Lily. The man collecting bets, with eyes fixed to the ground, approached and held out the money that was gathered.

      “Give it to my driver. She has a family to feed,” Lily said.

      She had a soft spot for women forced to earn a living. In her thinking, it was almost always a deadbeat man in the family who was the reason why women took on any job.

      She looked at the worthless man in front of her and imagined him in his shop. The most he probably did was meet and greet customers and turn over the hard work to his wife.

      Lily was tempted to dispatch him to his worse nightmare. It took all of her learned discipline not to give in to her desire to destroy the cockroach. It was more important for her to become familiar with the new neighborhood, scout around before getting down to the business of acquiring wealth. She would have preferred to remain in Hong Kong, but good things never last.

      The man gave the money to the driver and backed off. “Welcome to the neighborhood. May you have success,” he mumbled and turned away.

      As quickly as they gathered, the nosy neighbors dispersed, forgetting why they were there in the first place.

      Lily’s first day in Binondo was a breeze. She was going to enjoy it here.

      She thought briefly about being recognized by immigrants from Hong Kong or the mainland, or worse, her old village.

      She dismissed the latter from her mind; people from her village wallowed in poverty, there was no getting away from that pigsty she used to call home. Besides, she had the means and most of all; she had the magic to deal with trouble if it happened.

      “Come,” she beckoned to Jade and Blossom. “Let’s go inside and inspect our new home.”

      Lily was in a very good mood.

      7

      Dim-sum in Chinatown

      Solo strolled down Mauna Kea Street in Honolulu’s Chinatown, taking his time before meeting his friend Yi Fan, herbalist and part-time magician. Yi Fan owned an herbal and acupuncture shop, right across from the market place and Steve’s shop.

      Solo’s friend Patti considered Steve’s Chinese Curio/Antiques her most favorite-hated store in Chinatown. Favorite because she always found something precious to buy amid the touristy items on display, hated because the item almost always cost too much money and drained her over-burdened budget. But she always managed a way to pay for an item, and worried about the bill later, and explaining to John why she absolutely had to have whatever she bought.

      “Creative spending, Solo — the term I use for it.”

      Solo had been coming to Chinatown for as long as he could remember, back to the days as a young man when he rode his horse to Kailua beach and up over the Pali into town. His eyes twinkled as he mind wandered back to simpler days. Sometimes he made it to town, other times the ocean’s pull was too strong. Many a hukilau took place on the sandy shores of Kailua.

      Ah, no sense in dwelling on the past, he thought. Plenty of time for that when I’m really old with nothing better to do than reminisce. He pushed away the vision in his head of him seated in his favorite armchair in front of the television.

      Yi Fan was seated at a table when Solo entered Mei Fat's Dim-sum restaurant. His friend was ordering their favorite finger foods from a cart: squid, fried shrimp, roast duck, pot stickers, chicken feet, seaweed roll, manapua (char siu bao), and shumai.

      Mei Fat was a smooth, slick, moon-faced man, who stood at the register, carefully watching every transaction. He was famous for only hiring old waitresses. No gray hair, no wrinkles, no job, people said of Mei Fat.

      "Young waitress no good," Mei Fat exclaimed to Solo and Yi Fan. "Too pretty. They fall in love; get married; quit to go have babies. Too many GIs in Honolulu! You hire young waitress, train her, then GI come in, order fried rice and won ton soup, and steal her away."

      Mei Fat only hired old waitresses, and the older the better. Consequently, service СКАЧАТЬ