The Wild Beasts of Wuhan by Ian Hamilton Read Free Book Online

time to sit, ladies.”
    May Ling lightly touched Ava’s elbow, guiding her to the enormous dining room table, and whispered, “It is General Pan’s birthday that we are here to celebrate.”
    The general sat to the right of Wong, and Uncle to the left. Ava was directly across from them, sandwiched between two wives. At each place setting was a gold-plated Dupont lighter and a pack of Dunhill cigarettes. The women on either side of her lit cigarettes, and Uncle and most of the other men did the same. He looked at her across the table, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. You are in China now , he mouthed.
    The meal was served with almost military precision; each dish was brought out to a side table and served at the exact moment when the previous dish was finished. It was a meal designed to show respect, a parade of the most expensive, top-quality food. Shark fin soup. Whole abalone. Jumbo prawns in chili sauce. Slivers of filet mignon. Crispy pigeon. Fukin rice. A live fish that must have weighed two kilograms was brought to Wong before being prepared. He tapped the fish on its chin with a chopstick. The mouth flapped up and down. That redefines fresh , Ava thought. To end the meal, long boiled noodles were served with sesame paste.
    Four glasses were placed in front of each guest. One held cognac, another beer, the third wine, and the fourth maotai , a Chinese liquor made from fermented sorghum. Two servers with a bottle in each hand were in constant circulation behind the diners. This is sophisticated China , Ava thought.
    Once all the courses had been served, one of the servers brought out a huge mango cake with one lit candle. A magnum of Dom Pérignon was opened and the group sang “Happy Birthday.” Red pockets — small envelopes filled with cash — were passed to the general.
    The Wongs invited their guests to retreat to the karaoke room. Ava sat quietly for an hour as the guests became increasingly drunk and more adventuresome in their song choices. Out went the Chinese revolutionary marching songs and in came Rod Stewart, Elton John, and Céline Dion. In the midst of a murderous rendition of a Joe Cocker–Jennifer Warnes duet, May Ling slipped into the seat next to her. “Come upstairs with me,” she said, her hand sliding into Ava’s.
    Wong and Uncle had already left without Ava noticing.
    They rode the elevator in silence to the eighth floor. “Over here,” May Ling said to Ava when the elevator doors opened, directing her to the right.
    Wong and Uncle were standing in the middle of a huge foyer, looking at a large glass case that showcased some of the most beautiful Chinese ceramics Ava had ever seen. Wong looked over at her, and Ava saw a tension in him that she hadn’t noticed before.
    “We started collecting these about fifteen years ago,” May Ling said. “The paintings came a little later.”
    The other cases in the room were in small lit alcoves. They housed more ceramics, some earthenware vessels, and several small statues, many of Buddha.
    “I don’t see any paintings,” Ava said.
    “Come with me,” May Ling said.
    They walked through a door at the far end of the foyer and into a cauldron of intense colour.
    Twenty paintings hung on the walls of a tiny room not more than six metres across. Its diminutive size seemed to add to the intensity of the colours in the paintings, none of which were Chinese. Ava felt as if her senses were under attack.
    “Wong Changxing was in London as part of a trade mission and they were taken on a tour of the Tate Gallery. You’ve heard of the Tate?”
    “I’ve been there.”
    “Well, he went and he fell in love.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    May Ling pulled her towards one wall. “Have you heard of the Fauves?”
    “No.”
    “It means ‘wild beasts.’ It was a French art movement at the beginning of the twentieth century. As you can see, the artists were in love with colour and were famous for their bold brushwork.”
    Ava walked up to one of