The Harmony Silk Factory. Tash Aw

If you look closely, you can see where Snow inherited the cold streak that she was said to have possessed. Patti’s mouth is drawn tight and thin, her eyes hard and dark. Her looks are not dissimilar to her daughter’s but her beauty (if it is beauty) is of a harsher variety.

      Though I close my eyes and search my memory I cannot recall ever having seen TK and Patti Soong, my grandparents. They exist only as ghosts, shapeless shadowy imprints on my consciousness. Sometimes I wonder if there is any chance that I might have liked them, loved them. Even ghosts and shadows are capable of being loved, after all. But always, the answer is ‘No’. I would not have loved them even if I had known them, because when the debits and the credits have been weighed, TK and Patti fall on the wrong side of the line between good and evil. It was their desire for Snow, my mother, to marry a rich man that pushed her into the arms of Johnny. Nothing can ever atone for that.

      By the time Snow was of marriageable age, Johnny was already well known across the valley. He was the sole owner of the most profitable trading concern in the valley and was widely admired in all circles. As with all beautiful young women of a certain background, Snow had already had a good deal of experience of suitors and tentative matchmaking. All of these possibilities had been created and choreographed by her parents. They took her to Penang, KL and Singapore, where she was displayed like a diamond in a glass box. Yet it was closer to home, at the races in Ipoh, that they found the first serious contender. He was a beautiful-looking boy with a powder-pale complexion to match Snow’s. He had large, clear eyes and stood tall and erect with all the dignity you would expect from a son of the Chief Superintendent of Police. When he was introduced to Snow he kissed her hand – kissed it – a gesture he had learned during his days travelling in Europe. He complimented Patti on her sumptuous brocade dress and quietly whispered a tip for the next race in TK’s ear.

      It wasn’t long before Snow and the Superintendent’s son were allowed to take tea together. They sat exchanging polite conversation. She talked about books – novels she had read – while he nodded in agreement. Although TK and Patti were pleased with his dignified manner and solid background, it was his family’s home which brought greater excitement to them, for the Superintendent had recently built a modern, Western-style house in which many of the rooms had wall-to-wall carpets. The main dining room had one wall of pure glass so that it served as an enormous window. Such daring was indicative of considerable wealth, an impression which was confirmed by the quality of the jade jewellery worn by the boy’s mother: dark in colour with a barely marbled texture. To top it all, Snow and the boy looked such a pretty pair and would surely attract all the right comments when the time came for them to venture into the public eye.

      Thankfully, before such an understanding was reached between the parents, TK and Patti discovered that the boy’s parents were not quite as wealthy as they seemed. The Superintendent’s lavishness at the races had taken its toll on the family’s finances, and it was thought that much of his wife’s fabulous jewellery was borrowed from sympathetic relatives. It was clear that the dowry which TK and Patti expected in return for the hand of their daughter could never be fulfilled.

      Scarred by this experience, TK and Patti became cautious and especially thorough in their appraisal of potential suitors. They asked many questions, they made enquiries. They did not want to make the same mistake twice. In letting the match with the Superintendent’s son progress to the extent it did, TK and Patti had been careless. One such mistake was forgivable; two mistakes would not be. Not only would it reflect badly on them, it would also diminish the value of Snow’s attractiveness. The size of the dowry would almost certainly be smaller. Yet their diligent investigations made the prospect of a match more and more remote. Every search turned up some unpleasant detail about the family in question, ranging from full-blown scandals to questionable associations: lunatic grandfathers, homosexual uncles, bastard children, gambling debts, hushed-up divorces.

      The plain truth of it was that it was 1940, and there was little money in the valley, certainly nothing that could match the wealth of the Soong family. Snow was not yet twenty. There was still time, but a suitable match had to be made soon.

      For all their meticulous planning, TK and Patti’s first proper meeting with Johnny was precipitated by events beyond their control. It so happened that a new man was appointed as head of the British mining concern in the valley, a fine young gentleman called Frederick Honey. He arrived with impeccable credentials, having gained a rugger Blue at Oxford and a keen grasp of tropical hygiene and colonial law from the School of Oriental Studies. His reign over the British tin-mining enterprise was, ultimately, short-lived, for he was lost to a boating accident in 1941, when he drowned in the waters off Pangkor island in a treacherous monsoon storm; his body was never found. It is clear, however, that during his short tenure in the valley, he was much admired. TK Soong was, as you can imagine, quick to see the value of having Mr Honey as an ally, and eager to make an impression on this formidable new tuan besar as soon as possible. It was decided in the Soong household that a gift should be sent to Mr Honey, something instantly suggestive of the Soongs’ status and influence in the valley; something unusual and beyond the reach of an Englishman newly arrived in the country. But what? A whole roast pig, perhaps? No – too ostentatious. A scroll of the finest Chinese calligraphic paintings? No – not grand enough.

      ‘How about some textiles,’ Patti said in desperation to her husband. ‘From that man, what’s his name – Johnny Lim?’

      TK paused. He was inclined to dismiss the idea at once, but the paucity of previous suggestions persuaded him to consider for a moment. He paused for quite some time. ‘It’ll be fruitless,’ he said, but nonetheless decided to summon Johnny to the house.

      Johnny had long since ceased to tour the countryside by bicycle, but the call of TK Soong was one he could not resist. He arrived at the house and found himself seated in the enormous room in which the Soongs received their visitors. Its vastness amazed him; his eyes could barely take in the details of its space: the rattan ceiling fans rotating slowly, arrogantly, barely stirring the air; the softness of the light through the louvred shutters; above all, the books, which lined an entire wall, row after perfect row.

      ‘We have heard many good things about you,’ TK said as Johnny began to unpack his bags on the table which had been specially set up for him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, still marvelling at the books.

      Behind his back Patti tugged at TK’s sleeve. ‘How old is he?’ she whispered. She had heard that Johnny Lim was a young man, and in her mind’s eye had pictured a wild-haired, loud-mouthed tearaway with dirty fingernails. Yet before her stood someone neat and compact, who seemed almost middle-aged, whose movements were laborious and heavy with experience. A fleeting image tickled her imagination: Johnny and Snow seated on bridal thrones of the type that perished with the death of nineteenth-century China. ‘I must say, Mr Lim,’ she said as she fingered a piece of English chintz, ‘now that I see your wares, I can understand why people are so complimentary about you. About your shop, I mean.’

      Johnny lowered his head and did not answer. He unfolded a length of songket, its gold threads shining and stiff and stitched into an intricate pattern.

      ‘This piece of cloth, for example,’ Patti continued, running her hand over a piece of brocade, ‘is very beautiful. Very fitting for a woman, wouldn’t you say?’

      Johnny nodded.

      ‘Not for an old woman like me, of course, but for a younger woman. Do you agree, Mr Lim? It must be very popular with fashionable ladies.’

      ‘No, not really,’ he said truthfully. ‘It’s too expensive.’

      ‘Ohh, Mr Lim,’ Patti laughed. ‘Truthfully, do you think it would suit a young woman? No one very special or very beautiful, of course.’

      Johnny half shrugged, half nodded.

      ‘Would you mind if I asked my daughter to see this? I’m sure you’re too busy to spend much time with her, but if you could spare a few moments –’

      ‘I would be pleased to meet your daughter,’ Johnny said. His pulse quickened. Even though he had heard about the Soongs’ famous daughter he had not