Kowloon Tong by Paul Theroux

Author:Paul Theroux [Theroux, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Monty was waiting for him in the Hong Kong Club foyer, under the portrait of the Queen. He unzipped his briefcase as soon as he saw Bunt.

"Should I have signed you in, squire?"

"No," Bunt said. I'm still a member. I don't know why. I never use it."

"I know why. It's because the waitresses aren't topless," Monty said. "Sorry. Bad joke, squire."

He had quickly apologized because Bunt's face had darkened. But Bunt was ashamed of himself. So that was how he was thought of, as a regular at the chicken houses and karaoke bars and the topless clubs and blue hotels. What made it all the more pathetic was that he lived with his mother.

"That's me," Bunt said, "another gweilo whore-hopper."

"Not at all," Monty said, being brisk to cover his embarrassment, pulling a file of papers from his briefcase. He went on, "We'll have to deal with this here. It's forbidden to transact business in the Jackson Room. Club rule, as you no doubt recall."

Monty seemed pleased to be reminding Bunt of this, the oddity and inconvenience of it. It was something expatriates seemed to relish, and Bunt, who was not an expatriate but Hong Kong born and bred, regarded it as pure foolishness, that worst of English traits, eccentricity for its own sake, making a vice into a virtue, a maddening nuisance into something lovable.

"Stupid rule," Bunt said as he signed the papers headed Full Moon (Cayman Islands) Ltd. "I reckon that's why I never come here. I mean, you can transact business at Bottoms Up, what?"

"Very British," Monty said.

"That's what I mean," Bunt said. In a teasing voice he added, "But aren't you supposed to be German?"

"Austrian," Monty said. "But do keep your voice down, squire. That's supposed to be hush-hush."

They went upstairs to the Jackson Room, Monty greeting other members on the stairs.

"Get out while you can," one man was saying.

"Nonsense, this is a great time to be here," his partner replied.

"Quite right," Monty said, genial again.

After they were shown to a table, Monty leaned over and said, "Austrian passport. It's not quite the same thing as being an Austrian."

"I must be stupid," Bunt said.

"Is everyone who carries a British passport British?" Monty asked.

"I should jolly well hope so," Bunt said. He sulked for a while, wondering what had happened to his mood—he had been looking forward to this lunch. He glanced around the crowded restaurant, at the murmuring diners in their dark suits, nearly all gweilos, and at a waiter trundling a trolley of bleeding beef. Then he said, "Monty, I want to finish this business."

"Soon, squire, don't you worry. The third company is registered. I've prepared the documents." Monty was sipping a gin and tonic. "Are you sure you don't want a new passport?"

"I've got a passport."

"Something a bit more convenient than the standard U.K. issue?"

"Austrian?"

"Squire" Monty pleaded and became businesslike again. "Cayman Islands is a good bet. Or you could become an American."

"Me—a Yank!"

"Nonresident, squire," Monty said. "It makes all the difference."

"No bloody fear of that," Bunt said, and muttered, "Yank? I met your Yank friend the other night.

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