“All the way?” Sooey Wan’s voice cooed like a flute.
“All the way and back, Sooey Wan. I’m done. You’ll have to leave me now and go back to China. I cannot afford to pay your wages any more.”
“To hell with wages!” Sooey Wan, for the first time in his life, was genuinely angry, disgusted and humiliated. His eyes showed it, his wrinkled lower lip twisted and revealed his yellow fangs, his voice reeked with the very soul of profanity as he rasped out a few words in Chinese. Then: “Big fool, wha’ for you talkum money to Sooey Wan?”
“You know very well I didn’t mean to offend you, you old idol,” Dan protested. “I spoke the truth. I am broke, utterly smashed.”
“Shut up!” screeched Sooey Wan. “Wha’ for you all time tellum lie?” He set down untasted the highball he had planned to drink in profound sympathy with his adored boss and left the room.
“Sooey Wan, come back here!” Dan ordered.
Sooey Wan’s voice rose in a shriek like the bull fiddle of his native land. “Shut up! Shut up! You klazy fool, wha’s mallah you? You no bloke. You bet. No can do.”
Dan sighed and sipped his highball. At the same moment Tamea slid out from under a dark afghan on a divan in the far corner of the room. She had fallen asleep there and, unknown to Sooey Wan and Dan, had been listening to their conversation. Swiftly she crossed the room to him now; as he rose to greet her she put her arms around his neck and drew his head down until his cheek caressed hers. Thus she held him a long time, in silence, save for the plainly discernible, regular beat of her heart. Then:
“Poor boy! You are hurt? But yes, I know it.”
He nodded. “Smashed,” he murmured. “All my money gone. Ruined.”