Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

The Nine Eels of Madame Wu by Edward D. Hoch

Madame Wu’s shop on a small street in East Bangkok was crowded with tourists that April afternoon and so she had to get the teenaged neighbor girl to watch the place while she went to the canal to release her eels. It was a ritual which had not varied in Madame Wu’s life since the American, Sid Crawford, had moved in with her. That had been nearly ten years ago now, during those crumbling final years of the Vietnam War.

While Madame Wu tended her shop of Chinese curios, Crawford made his living from February to June of each year by engaging in the traditional Bangkok sport of kite fighting. The events were usually held in the early evenings at the Pramane Ground near the Grand Palace, where a strong southerly wind provided fuel for the sky battles. And on the afternoons before Crawford’s especially important fights Madame Wu went to the Klong Maha Nak, the canal near her shop, to release the traditional eels. Nine was a lucky number in Thailand, and setting free that number of eels was considered to bring good fortune.

Madame Wu bought the eels in a water-filled plastic bag from a street urchin who sold them for that purpose. She often suspected he later recaptured some of the same eels from the canal to sell all over again, but that was not her concern. She was interested only in assuring Crawford’s victory in the kite fight above the Pramane Ground.

She went to the lily-strewn waters of the canal alone and dumped the writhing mass of eels into it, watching them splash and swim away, darting through the dark masses of lily pads until they disappeared from view. Then she returned to the little apartment above her shop, where Crawford was putting the finishing touches on his kites.

“I have released the eels,” she told him. “You will have good luck.”

He looked up at her and smiled. He was a slim man now in his middle forties, with a streak of grey knifing through his otherwise black hair. The handsome American, they had called him when he first came to Bangkok — but, if he was no longer quite so handsome, then neither was Madame Wu herself. They had both drifted uncertainly into middle age.

“I have little faith in your eels,” he admitted, “but if the ritual pleases you that’s enough. Will you be coming with me this evening?”

“Of course. I will close the shop early.”

“That is good, Anna,” he said, attaching another barb to the string of his star-shaped kite.

She had told him once how she came to be called Anna. Her Chinese parents, newly settled in Bangkok, had chosen to name her after Anna Leonowens, the Englishwoman who’d journeyed to Siam in 1862 to instruct the king’s many children. Crawford still called her that, though to the customers of her shop and the other merchants on the street she had long been Madame Wu.

No one ever used Crawford’s given name, either. When they arrived together at the Pramane Ground, a large open space just north of the Grand Palace, she heard several men calling out, “Crawford!” He waved each time but did not stop, walking through the gathering crowd of spectators with Madame Wu at his side, striding purposefully, like the champion he was.

The Pramane Ground was used regularly for events as diverse as weekend markets and royal cremations, and every May the king himself inaugurated the planting season by sponsoring a ploughing ceremony on the site. But on these spring evenings when the south wind blew strong and free it was given over to the kite fights.

Madame Wu could not remember now the sequence of events that had propelled Crawford to the forefront in the sport. It had started in a bar, certainly, as had so many events in her life. A drunken challenge, a large bet made in haste, and then they had gone across to the open space by the palace. She remembered only one thing about that first evening. She had tugged at Crawford’s sleeve and pointed across the street and said, “There is where Anna’s second house stood, when she was governess for the king’s children.”

The battle in the sky was waged between two kites — a five-foot-long “male” kite in the shape of a star with a thick barbed string, and a much smaller “female” kite with a thin unbarbed string but a long tail able to ensnare the points of the star kite. The star kite could tangle or cut the smaller kite’s string with its barbed cord and win, or it could lose the battle by being dragged to the ground by the smaller kite.

That first evening, Crawford flew a small kite, and he took naturally to the sport, maneuvering his kite so skillfully that the star kite was pulled ignominiously to the ground. But in the years that followed he had become an expert at flying both types. Whenever there was a challenger with money to bet, Crawford took him on. Now he mainly flew the larger star kites, often cutting through an opponent’s string in a matter of minutes.

On this night, in a contest important enough for Madame Wu to have freed nine eels, Crawford was being challenged by a Pakistani youth who’d built a solid reputation in the sport since his recent arrival in Bangkok. Already she could see that the betting was heavy, and Crawford himself had wagered a large amount of cash on the outcome. Spectators were lining up, waving tight wads of money.

“Will you win?” she asked him, experiencing an uncharacteristic twinge of doubt.

He glanced around at the faces in the crowd, as he always did. “Why not? You freed your eels, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then I’ll win,” he said with a smile. “It is written in the heavens.”

“You make fun of me now.”

“After so many years? I would be a fool!”

She’d asked him once, years ago, why he always studied the faces in the crowd so carefully. “Because,” he had replied, “someday someone will come to kill me.” His answer had terrified her, and all that night she’d lain awake sobbing, unable to accept even the remote possibility of his death. She’d never asked him the question again, though he still gazed out at the gathering crowds each evening before a kite fight as if anticipating some danger that never arrived.

This evening the south wind was perfect, and the young Pakistani launched his kite easily while the crowd cheered. Many of them came, Madame Wu realized, hoping to see the American defeated. She’d told Crawford that once, but he didn’t seem to mind. It only made the bets against him larger and increased his own winnings.

Now, gauging the wind by the movement of his opponent’s kite, he released his own star kite and ran with the heavy barbed string until he could position it for the attack. For several minutes the rival kites maneuvered close to one another. Then the smaller kite managed to snare Crawford’s star with its long tail. Madame Wu drew a sharp breath and waited while Crawford yanked his barbed string again and again. He had to get free quickly, before he could be dragged to earth.

Madame Wu thought of her eels flashing free through the lily-covered waters of the canal.

Then Crawford gave a final jerk to his kite string and the crowd cheered. He was free. Even those who had wagered against him applauded his skill. Madame Wu wanted to add her praise but she knew better than to speak to him during a match. There would be plenty of time to replay the details back at their apartment over the curio shop while he relaxed with a pipe.

Now there was still the match to be won. Crawford released more of his barbed string, and let the star kite climb gently with an updraft. His kite was positioned well above the challenger, in a near classic posture for attack. The heavy barbed string moved in, but the Pakistani still had a few tricks left. He sent his smaller kite into several dipping spins, bringing it almost to the ground, each time managing to avoid the cutting barbs.

The kites maneuvered in the wind for another ten minutes before the end came quite quickly. Crawford saw his opportunity and took it, swooping down to loop his string around that of the smaller kite. Then he pulled it in and the barbs sliced easily through the Pakistani’s string. The small kite, freed of its mooring, rose with the wind and drifted over the trees as the crowd cheered. Crawford allowed himself a slight smile as he began pulling in his own kite. Then he went around collecting on his bets as Madame Wu trailed behind.

Later, over drinks at a nearby outdoor nightclub, one of the other gamblers conceded, “Crawford, you’re the best there is. You’re better than any of these local lads, and better than the Pakistanis, too.” His name was Bates and he was a British merchant who often made big wagers on the kite fights.

Crawford smiled his sleepy smile and said, “It was Madame Wu’s eels that did it for me. I’m a great believer in local customs.”

“I can see that.” Bates drained his glass and ordered another drink. “There’s a young American in town,” he said casually. “Have you met him yet?”

“Who would that be?” Crawford asked.

“His name’s Michael Fleet. He says he was in Vietnam, like you were.”

Crawford merely grunted. A great many young Americans had passed through Bangkok in the years he’d been there. But Madame Wu sensed there was some other purpose to the Englishman’s inquiry. “What is so special about this American?” she asked.

Bates toyed with his empty glass while awaiting a refill. “He says he wants to learn kite fighting. I thought he might look you up.”

“Maybe he will,” Crawford conceded. He put down his glass and stood up. “Come on, Anna. It’s time we were getting home.”

“When will you be fighting again?” Bates wanted to know.

“When the south wind is right and the bets are big.” Crawford picked up the star kite, which was leaning against the wall, and went out with Madame Wu behind him.

She carefully filled the long pipe and handed it to him as he lay on the bed. “What are you thinking of?” she asked.

“Lots of things. How it was back home — and in Vietnam.”

Madame Wu took a deep breath. “You said once, a long time ago, that someday a man would come to kill you. Do you remember that?”

“I remember,” he said.

“You are different tonight — since the Englishman mentioned this young American. Do you fear him?”

He turned away from her on the bed. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“Why would anyone come after all these years?”

“Some people have long memories,” he said simply.

“Is that why you never went home to America?”

“That, and other reasons.”

She sighed and changed the subject. “How much money did you win tonight?”

“About six thousand bahts,” he said and turned back to her with a smile. “That’s around three hundred American dollars. Very good for an hour’s work.”

She smiled too. It was very good. But it reminded her that she had not checked the day’s receipts in the curio shop. “I will be back,” she told him. He nodded and drew on his pipe.

Downstairs she went quickly about the task of counting the cash in the register and adding up the credit card purchases. While she was working she happened to glance out the big front window and saw a man standing in the shadows across the street. Though she could not see his face, she thought he was watching the building.

When she went back to the apartment she did not mention the man to Crawford.

The following morning over breakfast she asked, “Why do we stay in Bangkok, Crawford? We could go to Australia and I could open a new shop there.”

“Australia? What gave you that idea?”

“Perhaps it is time for a new beginning.”

He grunted and sipped his coffee.

“I’d better go down and open the shop,” she decided.

The sign over the front read MADAME WU’S CURIO EMPORIUM. Crawford had christened it that when she opened the place with money he’d supplied. She’d never asked him about the money, which somehow had come with him out of the jungles of Vietnam. She had learned long ago to accept without question whatever life had to offer her.

But now there was a man waiting for her to open the shop. Instinctively she knew it was the man she’d seen in the shadows across the street last night. She tried to smile as she unlocked the door and said, “Come right in. We’re open for business.”

“Does Sidney Crawford live here?” he asked.

She studied his tanned face and saw a young, innocent expression that might have belonged to an angel in an old painting. Surely that face could hold no danger for Crawford. “Yes,” she said. “He lives here. Who are you?”

“Name’s Michael Fleet. Mike Fleet. I want to learn kite fighting.”

She recognized the name as the one Bates had mentioned the previous evening. “Were you there last night?” she asked.

“I sure was! But afterward you all went off in a crowd to the nightclub and I didn’t want to intrude. An Englishman named Bates said I should see Crawford. He said he’s the best kite fighter in the city.”

“I suppose he is,” she admitted. “But why would you want to learn such a sport? It is not like boxing or takraw or sword duels, our more traditional sports. Some even say that kite fighting is only a game for boy-men who have never grown up.”

“There’s money in it. I won a hundred bahts myself last night, betting on Crawford.”

The idea of winning a five dollar bet seemed to excite him so much that she knew she had to let him meet Crawford. His innocence was genuine. “Wait here,” she told him, and disappeared into the back of the shop to climb the stairs to their apartment.

When she told Crawford he eyed her with suspicion. “It’s the boy Bates mentioned,” he said.

“Yes. He is harmless. He only wants to kite fight, to learn from the master. He won five dollars betting on you last night.”

Crawford snorted. “He mustn’t consider me much of a master if that’s all he bet.” He buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his pants. “All right. Send him up.”

But as she went back downstairs she saw him reach into the drawer where he kept his Beretta pistol beneath a pile of underwear.

Mike Fleet was twenty-six years old, a young man from California who’d gotten to Vietnam just as the Americans were withdrawing. “I never did get to see enough of this part of the world,” he told them when they’d welcomed him upstairs, “so I decided to stay over here and bum around for a few years.”

“It’s a long few years,” Crawford pointed out. “The war ended in ’75.”

“Yeah. The time does pass quickly when you’re havin’ fun.” For just an instant Madame Wu thought she saw the mask of innocence slip. Then it was back in place as the young American said, “I want to learn to kite fight like you, Mr. Crawford.”

“I’m just Crawford here, son. And if you stay you’ll just be Fleet. The locals don’t have time for two names — not when they’re making bets before a match.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Crawford eyed him for a moment before replying. “Maybe.” He got to his feet. “Come on — I’ll take you along to the Pramane Ground while I try out a new kite.”

It was some time before Madame Wu could close her curio shop for an hour and join them. When she reached the open space north of the palace she saw that Crawford had turned the kite string over to Mike Fleet, who was guiding it well, listening while Crawford coached him on every movement.

As Madame Wu stood watching from the edge of the field she was joined by the Englishman, Bates. “I see that young American found Crawford.”

“Yes,” she replied. “He came to my shop this morning.”

Bates nodded. “Seems like a nice chap.”

Presently the two Americans ceased their sport and walked over to Madame Wu and the Englishman. “He’s got the makings of a champ,” Crawford conceded, patting the younger man on the shoulder. “Come back tomorrow, Fleet, and we’ll put up both kites at once and spar a bit.”

“You mean that?”

“I mean it.”

Mike Fleet left with a grin on his face.

“Where do all these young Americans come from?” Bates wondered aloud. “What in God’s name brings them to Bangkok? Is it drugs, or women, or what?”

“We have plenty of both,” Crawford replied. “He sure didn’t come all this distance to learn kite fighting.”

Later, back at the apartment, Madame Wu asked, “Do you want me to prepare your pipe?”

Crawford shook his head. “Not yet. Come here. I want to talk. I want to tell you about Vietnam.”

“There is no need.”

“I want you to know about it in case anything happens to me.”

“Crawford — you will live forever!”

He laughed and took her in his arms. “I believed that myself once, when I was younger.”

“All right,” she agreed. “Tell me about it.”

“When I was in the army,” he began, “in 1970, right before I came here and met you, I was given a great deal of American money and sent on a mission into the jungle. I was to meet a man and pay him to assassinate one of the North Vietnamese leaders. The assassination would have been carried out by powerful explosives which would also have killed a great many innocent people. It was war, they told me — and innocent people die all the time in war.

“I knew it was true. I’d seen a village destroyed by napalm just the week before. Well, I went off on my mission, but somewhere along the line I decided it was time for the killing to stop. I never met the man in the jungle, I crossed over into Cambodia and kept going until I reached Thailand. I moved along the coast, sometimes paying native fishermen to take me short distances by boat.”

“But why would they want to kill you for that?” Madame Wu asked. “What you did was a good thing, not bad.”

“That depends on how you look at it. I imagine there are people back home who figure I betrayed my country and lost the war all by myself.”

“It was a long time ago, Crawford.”

“Nearly ten years now,” he agreed.

“Why are you telling me now? Because you fear this boy who has come looking for you?”

“He’s no boy. He’s twenty-six years old. Old enough to be a trained assassin.”

“Why would they send a trained assassin when any one of a hundred persons in the crowd could kill you at a kite fight?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“And if you fear him so much, why have you agreed to teach him to kite fight?”

“Maybe I’ve got some crazy idea of winning him over. Maybe I figure if he gets to know me well enough he won’t be able to kill me.”

“And maybe you’re wrong about him.”

“We’ll see,” he said quietly.

They held a mock kite fight the following evening and though Crawford cut up the younger man’s kite quite badly, Fleet managed to stay in the contest for nearly an hour. Then they switched kites and Crawford demonstrated the techniques of soaring and gliding by which the smaller kite’s long tail could be used to entangle the star points of the larger kite. The young man learned fast, with an intensity Madame Wu could only admire.

But at the end of the evening she had a question for Fleet while Crawford gathered up the fallen kites. “The other morning when you came to my shop — I saw you watching it the night before.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I was trying to work up my courage. Finally I decided to wait till morning.”

“I see.”

“He’s a great man, Crawford is.”

“I think so,” Madame Wu said. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him.”

“You speak English quite well,” Fleet observed, studying her closely for the first time. “Did Crawford teach you?”

“The Americans taught me. Crawford was the last of many, but the most important one. After Crawford, I want no more teachers.”

“What about this man Bates?”

“He was a doctor once, but when he came here a few years back he was a merchant, employed by a British company. He doesn’t talk much about his past. No one does in Bangkok.”

“Does Crawford?”

Her eyes searched his face. “He talks to me. Why do you wonder?”

Mike Fleet shrugged. “I don’t know. I asked him about Vietnam and he changed the subject. Hell, we were both there! I thought he’d want to talk about it.”

“Some things are better left in the past.”

Bates had appeared from somewhere to speak with Crawford and when they parted Crawford came over with the kites to where Fleet and Madame Wu stood waiting. “Bates says the Pakistani wants a rematch.”

“Will you give him one?” Fleet wanted to know.

“It’s customary. One rematch — like in championship boxing.”

“When?” Madame Wu asked.

“Tomorrow evening.”

“I will need to free more eels.”

Crawford’s eyes twinkled. “What’s the matter? The last batch run out of steam already?”

“For the major kite fights a new ritual is needed.”

He smiled at Fleet. “I taught her everything I know about business but she still can’t face a decision or a kite fight without releasing her eels.”

“She’s a fine woman,” the younger man said. “I wish I could find one half as good in this city.”

“There are new ones arriving every day from the rural areas. Some say there might be as many as two hundred thousand prostitutes in Bangkok.”

Fleet blushed at his words. “I don’t mean a prostitute.” Crawford turned to Madame Wu. “Tell him what you were when I found you, Anna.”

She sucked in her breath and said, very quietly, not looking at either of them, “I was a bar hostess at the Café of Floating Lights. Crawford took me away from that and set me up in business.”

“You’re a lucky man, Crawford. With a woman like this I wouldn’t have gone back home either.”

“Let’s hope you find one,” Crawford said.

They parted then, and Madame Wu fell into step beside Crawford. “What do you think of him?” she asked.

Crawford pondered a moment. Then he said simply, “I think he’s been sent to kill me.”

Over breakfast the next morning Crawford made plans for the day. “I need to fix up the kite a bit for tonight. Fleet will be there and I have to put on a good show for him.”

“Even if he plans to kill you?”

“I could be wrong. Maybe he’s as innocent as you think. Anyway, I can’t go through the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

She went downstairs to the shop with him. He needed to buy more heavy kite string so she unlocked the door to let him out. It was not yet nine o’clock, and the little street of shops was still nearly deserted. As he stood in the doorway she heard something like a muffled cough. He stepped back into the shop and slammed the door. He was holding his side and when he took his hand away Madame Wu saw the blood.

“Crawford — what is it?” She tried to keep her voice calm, though her heart was racing.

“Someone just took a shot at me from across the street. Either he used a silencer or it was a small-caliber target pistol.”

“Did you see anyone?” she asked, pulling away his shirt to expose the wound.

“No. Don’t bother with that. It just grazed me.”

“You’re bleeding. You need stitches.”

“He’s a damned lousy shot.”

“Lucky for you! I must get you to a doctor.”

“No. A little tape will close the wound.”

“You will bleed to death!” She was insistent now. Though there was not much blood, his face was very pale.

She helped him upstairs and brought some tape, but after an examination of the wound in a mirror he was forced to agree with her.

“All right,” he said. “Call Bates. He used to be a doctor.”

“Why not go to a hospital?”

“I’d just as soon the word didn’t get around quite yet. Right now, whoever tried to kill me doesn’t know how badly I’m hurt. That could be an advantage for the next few hours.”

She tried Bates’s number three times before he answered. When his voice finally came on the line she said, “Mr. Bates, someone tried to kill Crawford. Could you come here right away, please?”

“What? How badly is he hurt?”

“Not too bad, I think.”

“I’ll be right over.”

When she hung up she started thinking about the eels. Now, it seemed, they were more important than ever. It was no longer merely a kite fight that was at stake, but Crawford’s life.

She went to him and said, “When Bates comes I must go out for some eels.”

He tried to laugh, but she could see he was in pain.

“Is it bad, Crawford?”

“A scrape. I’ll be good as new.”

She went downstairs to wait for Bates. When he arrived he was carrying a small black medical bag she’d never seen before. For the first time she believed the story that he had been a doctor once.

“Who shot him?” he demanded.

“We don’t know. We saw no one. Go up to him, Bates, and patch his wound. I must do some shopping, but I will be back.”

She made her way down the street, past the other shops that were just opening their doors. The morning mist was burning off early and the sun would quickly warm the air.

At the great outdoor market there was no sign of the boy who sold the eels, and for a moment she panicked. Then she saw him across the field near one of the dried-up canals. He had a pushcart full of brown plastic bags that seemed to writhe even as she watched. “Quickly, boy!” she called out. “Sell me nine eels for luck!”

Clutching her purchase close, feeling the eels move against her as if anxious for their coming freedom, she was tempted to go immediately to the Klong Maha Nak. But then something stirred in her memory. Something dangerous.

Crawford was in danger.

She hurried back to the shop, still clutching the plastic bag. She climbed the stairs to the kitchen and listened.

Bates and Crawford were talking in the bedroom. The Englishman laughed about something and then came out to the kitchen with his black bag.

He saw Madame Wu by the table and smiled. “He’ll be as good as new. I took a couple of stitches and taped him up well.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll go now,” he said. “Let him get a bit of rest.”

“Mr. Bates—”

“Yes?”

“When you arrived you asked who shot Crawford. But on the phone I only told you someone tried to kill him. How did you know it was by shooting?”

“I—”

“I think it was you, Mr. Bates, hiding across the street when he came out this morning.”

“What? What are you talking about?” His black bag had come open and he was reaching inside.

Madame Wu saw the bread knife on the table, just out of reach. She knew she had made a terrible mistake. Even as she tried to speak again, Bates raised the silenced pistol and fired three times.

Crawford opened his eyes. Bates was coming back into the room. “What was that noise?” Crawford asked.

Then he saw the gun in the Englishman’s hand. It was a hit man’s weapon — a .22 caliber target pistol with a silencer.

“I had to kill her, Crawford, so I might as well finish you off too. I can make it look as if you killed each other.”

“It was you across the street this morning!”

“Yes,” Bates said, raising the pistol until Crawford was looking down it. “You always knew someone would come, didn’t you?”

“You came three years ago. Why did you wait so long?”

“My position was too safe here. I didn’t want to jeopardize it with a foolish killing. Once I knew it was you I spent some time trying to find out what you did with the money.”

“It’s downstairs in the curio shop.”

“I know that now.”

“What business is it of yours whether I live or die?”

Bates shrugged. “None, personally. It wasn’t my war, after all. But I’m an arms merchant, selling to various factions in Southeast Asia. There are people who still remember you — who say you lost the war. They told me I had to kill you if I wanted to stay in business. So I waited for the right opportunity — the appearance of a young American I could pin it on. That’s why I patched you up just now. It wouldn’t do to kill you here, where Fleet might not be blamed. I planned to have another try tonight after the kite fight. She forced my hand — so now you’ll die together.”

“Wait—” Crawford began, trying to rise from the bed.

“I’ll miss you, Crawford,” Bates said, his finger whitening on the trigger. “I won a great deal of money on you.”

That was when Madame Wu plunged the bread knife into his back.

“You made a terrible mess,” Crawford told her. “There’s blood all over the place.”

Madame Wu sat trembling in the chair while they waited for the police. “I never killed anyone before. Is that what it’s like?”

“That’s what it’s like. You saved my life, Anna.”

“It was the eels,” she told him. “I was holding them to my chest when he shot me. The bullets knocked me over, but they hit the eels.”

“I guess I’ll never doubt you again when you say that they bring good luck.”

“Will there be others like Bates who come to kill you?”

“Perhaps.”

“What will you do now?”

He touched his side and winced. “I may not be able to handle the kite this evening. I’ll have to see if young Fleet can carry on for me.”