(Written by a former physics teacher in Shanghai.)

          One day as my friends and I were chatting, one of them said that I studied too much and the others agreed.  They invited me to play Mah Jong with them for they said it would change my life.  I told them I knew how to play, but had rarely  done so.  If I played with them, I added, I’d probably confuse everybody and they’d be unhappy when I discarded the wrong way.  They said that they played for fun, not for money, and that it wouldn’t matter what I’d do so I finally agreed to play just that once  – for a short time.

          Mah Jong is a popular Chinese game played by four people sitting at a square table.  The tiles are made of bone or ivory (and sometimes plastic nowadays) with patterns in bamboo.

          After my father died, my mother played it for a couple of years, as it made her happy, and my brother liked to play it during his lunch breaks, so he taught me the rules.

          My mother was sometimes happy about the results but at other times very unhappy.  It depended on whether she won or lost.  One of my cousins told me that if I wanted to help my mother win I should plump up her pillow, and I found that to be very efficacious.  When she discovered what I was doing, however, she asked me why, and when I told her, she laughed.  She thought it was superstitious.  Because I was very little and really didn’t understand, I thought she had caught me cheating.

          I regard Mah Jong as a waste of time, and another reason I don’t like it is that sometimes gambling is involved.  I’ll never forget an event that happened in our home one night.  Mother had been playing Mah Jong with someone, and I suddenly heard some harsh words being yelled.  That was followed by someone rushing out of the house.

          I asked her what had happened and she said they had been playing for a little money and the man had lost and then ran back to his house while screaming those bad words.  He had been very rude, and I told her she shouldn’t play May Jong with him anymore.  My brother then told me that the man was an ambassador.  I couldn’t believe it.  A government man with a good education shouldn’t lose his temper like that.

          The next day the man returned and apologized.  I didn’t see him after that; I suppose he was busy with his work, but I hid the Mah Jong pieces so there wouldn’t be a repetition of that outbreak.

          My mother actually preferred reading books and the daily newspapers.  She was especially concerned about the fortunes of war during the Japanese invasion.  Everyone hoped that the war would come to an end as soon as possible.  Not much thought was given to Mah Jong anymore.  The disappearance of the game wasn’t noticed.

          Here in Portland, some of the seniors in our building spend their time playing Mah Jong.  I learned recently that one of them became so excited about winning that he collapsed at the table and died immediately.  He’d either had apoplexy or a heart attack.

          It’s fortunate that as a result of the man’s death my friends have stopped  playing Mah Jong.  I’m pleased that they never mention it now.