Three souls, p.12
Three Souls, page 12
“Your future husband is an only son, you’re fortunate.”
“I’d rather he beat me. I don’t want to marry this Lee person! Eldest Brother, please, speak to Father.”
“Little Sister, I warned you in Shanghai. I can’t help you.”
I met his eyes, then threw myself on the carpet and wailed in despair.
***
Don’t you have something to say about this? I address my yang soul, who is watching the scene with more than a trace of smugness.
I have nothing to add, he replies piously. He pulls a handkerchief from his sleeve. Your father said it all. Disobedient, impulsive, lacking in judgment.
He always favoured you, my yin soul says. But this time you pushed him too far. He had so many other worries on his mind.
Memories come to me of Father seated at his table with Changyin leaning over his shoulder, looking at papers. Father pondering a map of China, marking boundary lines where the Communists held territories. Where the Nationalists had pushed through. Where warlords ruled. Where the Japanese occupied towns, whether it was official or not. Where we owned land and houses, quarries and mines, shares in railways and banks.
Five hundred years of wealth, built up by your ancestors, my yang soul points out. All part of his legacy, all of it his duty to safeguard. Why didn’t you realize you were just adding to his worries?
In a flash, memories of a photo album, pictures carefully tucked into the gold paper corners glued to its pages. Father as a student in Paris, looking jaunty with a tweed cap pushed back on his head, his arm around another young man, a classmate. Father in evening clothes, opera glasses in one hand, a champagne flute in the other.
Oh, come now, my yang soul says. That was never your father, not really.
My hun soul voices what I finally realized that day. Those few years abroad were just a holiday before he took up his responsibilities as family patriarch. When he returned, no matter how much he admired Western culture, those few years could not compete with a thousand years of tradition.
8
There was no casting of horoscopes for my marriage, and no months of shopping for the dowry furniture I would bring to my husband’s home. With only two weeks before the wedding, and given the utter lack of interest on my part, Stepmother did all the work. She ordered a set of rosewood furniture, factory made rather than hand-carved, and packed our second-best Limoges in straw to ship to Pinghu. Only Father, Stepmother, and my brothers would come for the wedding. Sueyin wanted to come, but Liu Tienzhen didn’t want to make the long journey to a dusty little town. Gaoyin was not invited.
Father and Changyin went to Shanghai on business, but it was obvious they had left to avoid my tears. I was no longer confined to my room, but I wasn’t allowed off the estate. Lao Li, the gatekeeper, had strict instructions.
I had no way of contacting Hanchin. The only telephone in the house was locked in Father’s study. Nanmei couldn’t help me. She’d left for Soochow the day before I ran away to Shanghai and had no idea of my predicament. I couldn’t drag Sueyin into an escape plan, I knew better now. I had to do it on my own.
Sueyin brought me a wedding gift from Gaoyin. It was lovely, an English burr-walnut stationery cabinet no larger than a hat box. It opened to reveal vertical dividers filled with cream stationery and matching envelopes lined in navy tissue, the same as she had given Sueyin. There was also a heavy cardboard box with more of the luxurious envelopes and paper, enough to last for years.
“Gaoyin ordered this especially for us,” Sueyin said. She pulled out an envelope and opened the triangular flap. With a slim finger, she lifted the navy tissue away from the paper. “The tissue lining isn’t glued to the flap.”
The deliberate steadiness of her voice caught my attention and I stopped caressing the polished golden walnut veneer.
“Between the tissue and the paper, Third Sister, there’s a space, a pocket where you can hide a thin slip of paper. The letter you really want to write. Then glue the edges of the lining to the envelope. We’ll do the same.”
“Is this how you and Gaoyin . . .” Misery pressed into my chest like a fist, a foretelling of the loneliness I would face. That Sueyin already faced. “I won’t marry this man, Second Sister! And this Pinghu, it’s some dreary small town. I’ve never even heard of it. I won’t go. I won’t go!”
“The town isn’t that far from Shanghai. You could visit Gaoyin if you get lonely.”
We both knew it might be a while before Shen allowed me into his home again. However, he had forgiven Gaoyin. She was pregnant.
“Shen will deny her nothing if she has a boy,” said Sueyin. “Let’s wait until the baby is born. Then we can make plans to meet in Shanghai.”
“Second Sister, I’m not going to marry Lee Baizhen. You’ll see.” My words were defiant, but the escape plans I had conceived and discarded were as numerous as memorial stones in a graveyard. How could I get away this time?
***
The Lee family sent a delegate to our home a week after Father’s announcement. Madame Pao was middle-aged, a third cousin. When she bowed, her plump figure strained against a too-tight beige silk qipao. Her heavily powdered face beamed goodwill and excitement.
“I’m so honoured to have the duty of telling the bride about her family. And to have the opportunity to travel to a big city.”
Jewelled tassels dangled from her earlobes, old-fashioned earrings that swung in tiny flirtatious arcs when she nodded, much too youthful for a woman her age. Her voice reminded me of Nanny Qiu, loud and overeager. My determination to avoid the marriage was bolstered by the prospect of being related to Madame Pao.
She looked around the drawing room at its parquet floor and wallpaper. Her gaze swept out toward the terrace. The French doors were open to let breezes through, but the sheer silk draperies floating across the portals caught the sunlight, softening the harsh brightness of a hot summer morning. Outside on the terrace, urns overflowed with frothy late-blooming roses, white and pink.
“Your new home is just a traditional, old-fashioned house. But it’s the largest of the properties owned by the Lee clan.”
I knew that a bride must enter her husband’s home with an understanding of the family hierarchy, its history, how its members are related. Madame Pao launched into a recitation of the names of the members of the Lee household. It was a short list. Lee Baizhen had no siblings, nor did his father. Then she moved on through the previous five generations of Lees, then the names and degrees of kinship of various third cousins living in the town of Pinghu.
I remained silent, my face in as bland a mask as I could muster. Sueyin and Stepmother kept the conversation running smoothly.
“Where do you live, Madame Pao?” Sueyin asked when the woman finally paused.
“Ai-ya! No need to be so polite. Call me Auntie. Are we not as good as kin already? Well, my home is very close to the Lee estate. In fact, our house used to be part of the larger main estate. My husband’s family bought it the year we were married. It used to be Great-Uncle Lee Zhong’s house, before he fell on hard times.”
She caught herself, and leaned toward me reassuringly.
“But your father-in-law has no problems with money, oh no. He married well, very well. Your mother-in-law is from the wealthiest merchant clan in Hunan and brought a huge dowry with her, enough to keep the household in comfort for three generations, so it is said. And, of course, Lee Baizhen is the only son of an only son.”
I knew what she meant. No spiteful unmarried sisters spying on you or gossiping about your every mistake. No brothers and their jealous families fluttering about, hoping to win favour from the patriarch. That was the life most women had to endure in the inner courtyard. But I’d had enough of being told how lucky I was to be marrying the only son of an only son.
“Auntie Pao, tell me more about Lee Baizhen,” I said, in my most innocent voice. “Which university did he attend?”
Her face fell, her hands fluttered.
“He was tutored at home. He didn’t have your brothers’ advantages. But his tutor is the most respected in our town, a true scholar of the classics. Baizhen is an open-minded young man, he has the highest regard for education. He’s delighted with you already. A scholarship to Hangchow Women’s University, why that’s almost as good as graduating from college . . .”
“Madame Pao, do you enjoy gardens?” With her sweet voice, Sueyin could interrupt without giving the slightest impression of disrespect.
Sueyin led the way, taking Madame Pao’s arm. Stepmother and I followed, her hand firmly grasping my forearm. She gave me a stern look, which I ignored. Several paces ahead, Sueyin pointed out the different roses, saying their names in English and then in French: Gloire de Dijon, Celestial, La Reine Victoria.
Madame Pao clapped her hands in delight. “And you all speak foreign languages!”
“Very little, Auntie. Only some polite phrases.” Sueyin picked a pink bloom and presented it to the beaming woman. “This one is called Souvenir de la Malmaison. It’s the most fragrant of all the roses. Would you like to see our traditional garden?”
By the time Madame Pao had taken a walk through the Old Garden, it was time for late-morning tea. Stepmother insisted our guest try one of everything: the lotus-seed buns, the fruit tarts, the little squares of iced sponge cake. Madame Pao, already in raptures over our gardens, the houses, and the quality of our tea, twittered her praises even more forcefully.
“What a delightful visit this has been.” Madame Pao bowed to us. She looked at me with a fond smile. “And what a beautiful, clever bride for young Baizhen. We’re fortunate indeed to have you join our family.”
Father’s sedan chair and two chair bearers stood in the forecourt ready to take Madame Pao to the train station. The sedan chair departed. The gates shut. My sister and stepmother turned back toward the path that led to the villa. I hurried after them.
“I refuse to get married.” The cry came out of me unbidden, words I had wanted to shout at Madame Pao, words I hadn’t dared shout at my father.
They didn’t seem to hear.
“You liked those little sponge cakes, didn’t you, Second Stepdaughter? I’ll put some in a box for you to take home.”
How could they talk about cakes?
“Stepmother, Second Sister. You must help me.”
They turned in unison, my stepmother stern, my sister troubled.
“We have been helping,” Stepmother said. “No thanks to you, Madame Pao will return with favourable reports. Sueyin has been so charming she’s managed to dazzle that woman into believing that you’re capable of gracious manners as well.”
“I don’t care what they think of me.”
Sueyin looked at me, anxiety and exasperation creasing her brow.
“But you must care, Third Sister. You’ll be living with them for the rest of your life. Don’t you understand?”
I ran ahead of them into the house and up to my room. I slammed the door. I did understand. To be treated well by one’s in-laws was considered good enough. But a wife had to gain her in-laws’ favour, otherwise, life could be unbearable. But it was all irrelevant because I wasn’t going to marry Lee Baizhen. I wasn’t going to forget what Madame Sun Yat-sen had said about the duty our generation’s young women owed to China. I wasn’t going to give up on my dream of a life with Hanchin.
I still had the money Father had given me before my journey to Shanghai. I opened my jewellery box and wondered how I could trade its contents for cash. If I went to a pawnshop, how much would that jade pendant fetch? Or my pearl necklace? I had no idea. How would I even find a pawnshop, one that wouldn’t cheat me?
I stretched my hands out, inspecting the three jade bangles on my wrists. They were the most valuable things I owned, their colour a pure deep green like moss, their sound when tapped together a sweet chime. They had been my mother’s and I would never sell them.
Tomorrow, when Father returned, I would beg him to cancel the betrothal. If he didn’t, I would lean the gardener’s ladder against the orchard wall and climb over. I would take a rickshaw to China Millennium’s offices. If Hanchin wasn’t there, I’d wait all night. I’d beg or bribe his colleagues not to tell my family, to lie about my identity if anyone asked. This was the plan that had come to me since Madame Pao’s visit, which had focused my thoughts, made me realize that my impending marriage was no idle threat.
But if I ran away again, Father would never take me back.
There was a knock on my door. It was Stepmother, her voice low.
“I’m taking you out.”
“But I’m forbidden to leave the house.”
“I’ll wait outside while you get ready.”
My heart beat wildly, hope stirring inside me. I rolled up some clothing and stowed it in the largest bag I owned. Money, jewellery, and my precious letter from Hanchin.
We left through the laneway beside the orchard, Stepmother unlocking and then relocking the side door. At the top of the laneway, she unlocked another door. This one opened out to the street around the corner from where Lao Li kept guard at the main gate. A rickshaw waited there and we squeezed onto the seat. I fought to keep eager questions from spilling out as hope and excitement pulsated through my veins.
“To Comb Alley Market,” she said to the rickshaw puller. “But first, take us through the mill district.”
The puller set off on callused bare feet, the knotted muscles of his thin brown calves bulging as he ran.
“Where are we going, Stepmother?”
“I want to show you something.”
“Are you helping me escape?”
“After we go to the market, you can decide.”
This was more help than I had hoped for from Stepmother. The threat of Pinghu and the Lee family suddenly felt slightly less ominous. We left the streets I knew so well, the ones that were wide and smoothly paved, shaded by old sycamores and elms and lined with high whitewashed walls, a gatekeeper seated at every grand entrance. The rickshaw turned away from the canal and soon we were in a warren of narrow streets and dilapidated buildings that gave way to small, dirty storefronts. Ragged beggars, some with stumps instead of hands and feet, called out to us. Every corner and alcove seemed to shelter a vagrant. Our own street saw very few beggars, for the gatekeepers shooed them away.
A fetid stench assaulted my nostrils. Rotting food and worse filled the cracks between the paving stones. An ox cart ambled down the centre of the street probably after having delivered vegetables to the market. Some wilted cabbage leaves clinging to the side of the cart peeled off as I watched. An old woman, her back so crooked and bent she had to crane her neck to see ahead of her, picked her way quickly through the street, reached down, and stuffed the musty leaves into her mouth. I wanted to gag.
Stepmother tapped the rickshaw puller on the shoulder with the tip of her parasol, and pointed at a long, two-storey building. “Stop there and wait for us.”
The entrance to the building bore no sign, there were just the words Tang Shan Cotton Factory painted in red on the dingy grey wall. A rank smell hung in the air. As soon as we entered the vestibule, the smell intensified and I could hardly think for the noise of machinery pounding behind the heavy double doors in front of us. An elderly clerk seated behind a battered desk stared at us with suspicion, squinting in the dim light. He stood up, a thin, short man in a faded blue tunic, his luxuriant grey hair out of place on his desiccated form. Then he broke into a smile, showing stained, broken teeth.
“Second Young Mistress, welcome, welcome!” He bowed to Stepmother. “I haven’t seen you since the day you left home. What brings you here?”
“Good day, Ah Mao. I’m here to show my stepdaughter what a cotton mill is like. May I take her up to the observation floor?”
“Please, please. No need to ask. Your father and uncles are the owners! Please, up those stairs.”
Stepmother and I ascended metal treads that clanked with every step. At the top she pushed open a door and the din grew louder. We emerged into a long gallery that ran the length of the building. A few light bulbs hanging from wires criss-crossed the ceiling, so dim I felt as though I had walked into twilight. There were large windows near the ceiling, but they were so dirty they seemed to keep out rather than let in the light. The stagnant air stifled my lungs.
“This part of the factory is for weaving.” Stepmother’s voice was matter-of-fact.
There was barely enough space between the looms for workers to pass one another, and the machinery looked very dangerous. Some of the workers were just girls.
“They work more than fourteen hours a day,” said Stepmother, “and get nothing more than a bowl of millet gruel at noon to eat.”
“What’s that smell?”
“That comes from the other room, where the cotton is dyed. The dyes are cured with urine.”
I counted about fifty women sweating behind looms, hair bound tightly in kerchiefs, arms in constant motion, faces grey with exhaustion. I looked closer.
“Those are babies and small children down there! Sleeping between the machines!”
“Yes. The little ones look after the babies and try to keep out of the way.”
“What about their husbands and fathers? Why do they allow this?”
“Some of the women are unmarried. Some are widowed or were abandoned by their husbands. Some have husbands but can’t get by with one income. Some were sold into labour to pay off their families’ debts.”
A foreman carrying a thin bamboo cane patrolled the narrow aisles, his cane swinging from side to side while he shouted at the women. A boy ran to hide behind his mother and crossed the foreman’s path. The cane shot out, slicing the boy’s cheek. The foreman didn’t pause in his stride, even as the child’s shriek tore the air. No one bothered to pick up the child, not even his mother. The boy ran sobbing to wrap his arms around her knees.
