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took up his English dictionary, and wrote him a long letter, asking him whether he should in fact come to England or not. The Reverend Ely was naturally tickled by the idea of a Chinese member of his church coming to England; he could show his parishioners that missionaries in China really did do more than eat food and collect money. He sent a reply to Mr Ma, telling him that he and his son absolutely must come to England.
    So Mr Ma took his son to Shanghai and bought two first-class boat tickets, two Western-style suits, a few canisters of tea and a few other odds and ends. As the ship left port, the elder Mr Ma got the sense that his innards were all surging in unison. He took off his spectacles and lay down in his cabin, and barely moved an inch.

III
    A LTHOUGH THE officials of the English Customs vary in appearance, you would never mistake them for those of any other profession. One of their eyes is always looking at you while the other is consulting some dog-eared book of regulations. A pencil, which is always a half-pencil, is stuck behind an ear. There are invariably a few wrinkles on their noses, contributing to the overall animation of their faces. Towards their fellow countrymen they are most affable, jesting and joking as they examine passports, and when it’s a lady they encounter, they’re particularly chatty. Towards foreigners, however, they have a different attitude. They straighten their shoulders, set their mouths and bring their imperial superiority to the fore. Sometimes, it’s true, they go so far as to give the ghost of a smile. Which is certain to be followed by refusal to permit you to land. When they’ve examined the passports, they disembark with everyone else, and, rubbing their hands together, they inform you, ‘Very cold weather.’ They might even praise your English, assuring you that it’s ‘quite good’.
    Mr Ma and son went through the passport examination. The elder Ma had several of his brother’s documents at the ready, and young Mr Ma had an overseas-study certificate issued by the Chinese Board of Education, so they both passed through peacefully and uneventfully, without the slightest fuss. They proceeded to the medical examination. Neither of them had any internal complaints – no afflictions of the heart, liver, spleen, lungs or kidneys – so they passed yet another barrier without hindrance. The doctor even smilingly gave them some advice, ‘Eat a bit more beef while you’re in England. Make you fitter still. England beat Germany in the last war, and we won because English soldiers eat beef every day.’
    The medical examination concluded, father and son opened their suitcases for the contents to undergo inspection. Fortunately, as it happened, they’d brought neither opium nor weapons with them, and the only duty that they had to pay was fifteen pounds or so on a few silk gowns of the elder Ma’s and a few canisters of tea. Mr Ma had no idea why he’d brought these treasures with him, nor why they should be dutiable. He puckered up his scrap of a moustache and quickly handed over the money, so as to be done with the matter. When he’d got through all the formalities, he was on the verge of fainting.
    If I’d known it’d be so tiresome, he told himself, I’d never for the life of me have let anything persuade me to go abroad!
    After leaving the dock, the pair boarded a train, where the elder Mr Ma plonked himself in a corner of a compartment, closed his eyes, and, without a word, went to sleep. Ma Wei sat by the window, looking out. The landscape was all ups and downs, no flatness anywhere. The high ridges of the land were green, and so were the dips, but the train was speeding along at such a pace that he couldn’t pick out any details. All that he could see was the bumpy green fields, green wherever he looked. The train went faster and faster, and gradually the green land became one verdant undulation. The few cows and sheep in the distance seemed like coloured