Chinese Cinderella

by Adeline Yen Mah

  ‘How can you say that!’ I exclaimed. ‘But then you’ve only just arrived. Besides, you’re a son, not a despised daughter, and you have England to look forward to. For me, it’s bad. In fact, very bad. To begin with, I have no future. I’m terrified they’ll force me into an arranged marriage like Big Sister’s just to be rid of me. I don’t know what they have in store, but you can be sure it’s not England. I’ve been here for over two years and this is only the third time I’ve been allowed home. The rest of the time I’m shut away behind convent doors like a nun. Last time I was home was six months ago at Chinese New Year’s. I was helping Little Sister with her homework when Niang pointedly told her not to spend too much time with me and sent her away. Who needs it? No one. She treats me like a leper, and I know she doesn’t like me. Quite honestly, I don’t like myself either. As for Father, he doesn’t even remember my name. In his mind, I’m nothing. Less than nothing. A piece of garbage to be thrown out . . .’

  ‘Don’t talk like that!’ Ye Ye interrupted. ‘You mustn’t talk like that! You have your whole life ahead of you. Everything is possible! I’ve tried to tell you over and over that far from being garbage, you are precious and special. Being top of your class merely confirms this. But you can vanquish the demons only when you yourself are convinced of your own worth.

  ‘The world is changing. You must rely on yourself and not end up married off like Big Sister. I have faith in you. Go out there and dare to compete in the most difficult examinations. Create your own destiny! Your Ye Ye is an old man now and his days are numbered. Who knows how long we have to talk like this? But no matter what happens, always remember that my hopes are with you. Trust me! Continue to work hard! One day you’ll show the world what you are really made of.’

  At that moment Ah Gum entered the room with our lunch. In contrast to Ye Ye’s spartan repast, she placed sweet and sour spare ribs, string beans with beef in black bean sauce and sautéed spinach on the table for Third Brother and me. As soon as she left the room, Ye Ye quickly served himself a generous helping of ribs.

  ‘I know I’m not supposed to eat this,’ he said, ‘and your father will probably yell at me should he find out. But my doctor has taken all the taste out of my food. Sometimes I ask myself, What’s the point of hanging on if I can’t even enjoy my meals? What else is there left for me?’

  There was so much despair in his voice it made me cringe. I longed desperately to make it up to him and ease his pain. So I said, ‘When I go back to school, I’ll try even harder. And if I should be so lucky as to succeed one day, it’ll be because you believed in me.’

  Chapter Twenty‐one

  Play‐writing Competition

  When I went back to school after one week, the holidays were not yet over and all the girls were still home with their families. The place was a tomb.

  Day after day, I sat in the library reading and chatting with Mother Louisa, who also served as the school librarian. In one magazine, I came across the announcement of a play‐writing competition open to English‐speaking children anywhere in the world. Inspired by Ye Ye’s exhortations, I approached Mother Louisa with some trepidation.

  ‘Should I enter this competition? Do you think I stand a chance?’

  ‘As good a chance as anyone else. Since you have time on your hands and wish to enter, why don’t you try? It will focus your energies and give you a goal.’

  ‘Because I don’t think I’m that talented. I’m afraid of losing.’

  ‘Look at it this way. Anyone who enters has a chance. However, if you don’t enter, then you certainly will have destroyed your chance before you even begin. First, you must believe that you can do anything you set your mind to. Remember the old adage, genius is ten per cent inspiration, ninety per cent perspiration.’

  I sent for information and was tremendously excited when I received the application form as well as four pages of extremely complicated rules and regulations by return post. That was the only mail I ever got during my entire time at Sacred Heart. Laboriously, I read and reread the instructions and set to work. I called my play Gone with the Locusts and created the story of an imaginary little African girl who was stolen from her parents by bandits during a famine brought on by locusts. Into her lips, I injected my loneliness, isolation and feelings of being unwanted. To my heroine, I gave everything of myself. What began as a diversion became a passion. In the end, I had her triumph over her adversities through her own efforts. I enjoyed my task so much that I was almost sorry when it was completed.

  ‘This play is dedicated to my grandfather’, I wrote proudly on the cover sheet and sent it off the day before the girls came back from vacation.

  School restarted and I was in the fifth form. Though I wrote many letters to Father and Niang begging them to allow me to go to university in England with Third Brother, they never replied. In fact, they seemed to have forgotten me entirely. When they moved into a bigger house, I was never told but discovered it by serendipity. I was helping Mother Mary sort out a bulky pile of incoming mail addressed to the sisters during Christmas vacation. To my amazement, I came across a card sent by my parents! Besides holiday greetings, Joseph and Jeanne Yen informed the nuns of their change of address. Instead of Boundary Street in Kowloon, they were living on Stubbs Road in Hong Kong. Of course, they had not thought it necessary or worthwhile to write to me.

  Chinese New Year’s came and went in 1952 without any contact from home. There was also no news about my play even though six months had gone by.

  Mother Louisa consoled me. ‘Be patient. No news is good news. As long as you don’t hear, you can keep on hoping. Pray hard. Miracles do happen.’

  ‘If I win, will you help me inform my Ye Ye? He’ll be so pleased! He really believes in me and I dedicated my play to him.’

  March, 1952.

  I was playing basketball and the score was close. I lowered my head and lunged towards the basket, eluding my defender by suddenly switching to her left. I found myself free and took careful aim . . .

  ‘Adeline!’

  Ma‐mien Valentino was calling me. I shot the ball anyway and watched its arc as it sailed through the air and through the hoop. Swish! Two points! The score was tied. For once I didn’t miss.

  ‘Adeline! Come here at once!’

  ‘Aw, Mother! Can we please finish our game? Five more minutes? Please . . . ?’

  ‘No, Adeline! This can’t wait. Your chauffeur is waiting for you downstairs to take you home.’

  ‘My chauffeur? Am I hearing correctly? Take me home? Have I died and gone to heaven?’ There was a hush and all the girls on the basketball court were listening, with their faces upturned. I knew what was going through their minds because I was thinking the same thing. ‘Adeline actually has a chauffeur?’ We were all equally astonished!

  I left the court and ran to Mother Valentino. ‘Go wash your hands and comb your hair,’ she said. ‘There is no time for you to change clothes. Your father has sent his chauffeur to take you directly to the Buddhist Temple. Your grandfather has died. Today is his funeral.’

  I sobbed throughout the long ceremony, besieged by sorrow and loss. No one else was crying. Father, Niang, Third Brother, Fourth Brother and Little Sister sat stony‐faced next to me as the monks chanted endless prayers and extolled Ye Ye’s virtues. The heady smell of incense permeated the air.

  Between masses of white flowers I saw my Ye Ye’s kind, sad face peering out at me from his photograph perched on his coffin. I heard his voice once more, exhorting me to try my best and create a life of my own. It was because of him that I had dared to enter the play‐writing competition. Now he would never know how much he had influenced me. Did anyone else in the world care whether I won or lost?

  I saw Niang looking at me with open disdain as we filed out and waited for Father’s chauffeur to drive us home. I knew I looked ghastly with my dirty school uniform, scuffed tennis shoes, straight unpermed hair, bitten fingernails and swollen eyes red from crying. Standing beside
her made me feel especially worthless, plain and small. I caught a whiff of her perfume and was sick with fear.

  As the Studebaker approached, Niang turned to Father and announced in a loud voice that I was looking uglier and uglier as I grew older and taller. Hearing this, Fourth Brother gave a snort of contempt. Oh, the misery of it all! I felt as if I was being skinned alive.

  At home, Niang called me into the living‐room. She instructed me to look for a job when school ended that summer because Father had too many children to support and could no longer ‘afford’ my school fees. She reminded me that I was fourteen years old and could not expect to live in luxury at the expense of Father forever.

  After lunch, the chauffeur brought me back to school. It was the free interval after tea and my fellow boarders were playing a game.

  Rachel screamed out, ‘Join us! What in your opinion is your best physical, intellectual or social feature, Adeline? Each player first writes her own notion on a sheet of paper. The rest of us then put down their views for comparison.’

  As we progressed, it was illuminating to see how differently my friends viewed themselves and one another. One by one, without realising it, we each revealed our inner beings.

  We went down the list alphabetically. Daisy (Style vs Sincerity). Eleanor (Hair vs Lips). Mary (Legs vs Hands). Irene (Eyes vs Friendliness). Rachel (Intelligence vs Generosity).

  Because I came in late, I was allowed to go last. It was my turn. My paper remained blank as I thought desperately, Do I have any redeeming features?

  ‘Come on, Adeline!’ Rachel prompted. ‘Write something!’

  ‘Okay!’ I finally blurted out. ‘Here it is!’

  Rachel opened my paper, ‘What’s this? You wrote “nothing”. What does that mean?’

  ‘That’s right! Nothing! I don’t think any of my features are good. That’s what I mean.’

  ‘And that’s your honest opinion of yourself?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘Yes! That’s it. Everything is ugly. I loathe myself.’ ‘Well, we beg to differ. In fact, we have voted you most likely to succeed.’

  The combination of Ye Ye’s sudden death and Niang’s undisguised disdain sent me into a horrible depression. Night after night, I was unable to sleep – worried about my future, wondering what was to become of me. I spent hours praying in the hushed solemnity of the school chapel, trying to figure a way out. I dreamt of running away and sneaking back into mainland China, rejoining Aunt Baba and my schoolfriends in Shanghai. I wrote numerous beseeching letters to my parents, begging them to let me go to England, where my two oldest brothers were studying. ‘Third Brother is leaving for London in August,’ I wrote. ‘May I please accompany him? I do so yearn to go to university. I have skipped two grades in the last three years and am still top of my class. I know I’m only a girl and don’t deserve it, but will you please be so kind? I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I graduate and get a decent job.’

  During the days I was unable to eat, but spent hours gazing at the harbour below, dreaming of a time when I could board one of those ships anchored in the bay and sail away to fabulous institutions of learning far, far from home.

  Every afternoon at tea‐time I waited in line when mail was distributed, hoping for a letter from home. It was a standing joke among the girls that I was always there waiting, though I had only received one single letter in my three years at the school. Not from home but from the play‐writing board. Still, I couldn’t help being there every day.

  The idea of leaving school forever in a few months enveloped me in a constant state of gloom. Without the prospect of furthering my education, my dreams were withering and I was in agony. Day after day, anxiety spun its web around my thoughts and spread to all corners of my heart.

  Time went by relentlessly and it was Saturday again. Eight weeks more and it would be the end of term . . . in my case perhaps the end of school forever.

  Four of us were playing Monopoly. My heart was not in it and I was losing steadily. Outside it was hot and there was a warm wind blowing. The radio warned of a possible typhoon the next day. It was my turn and I threw the dice. As I played, the thought of leaving school throbbed at the back of my mind like a persistent toothache.

  ‘Adeline!’ Ma‐mien Valentino was calling.

  ‘You can’t go now,’ Mary protested. ‘For once I’m winning. One, two, three, four. Good! You’ve landed on my property. Thirty‐five dollars, please. Oh, good afternoon, Mother Valentino!’

  We all stood up and greeted her.

  ‘Adeline, didn’t you hear me call you? Hurry up downstairs! Your chauffeur is waiting to take you home!’

  Full of foreboding, I ran downstairs as in a nightmare, wondering who had died this time. Father’s chauffeur assured me everyone was healthy.

  ‘Then why are you taking me home?’ I asked.

  ‘How should I know?’ he answered defensively, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. They give the orders and I carry them out.’

  During the short drive home, my heart was full of dread and I wondered what I had done wrong. Our car stopped at an elegant villa at mid‐level, halfway up the hill between the peak and the harbour.

  ‘Where are we?’ I asked foolishly.

  ‘Don’t you know anything?’ the chauffeur replied rudely. ‘This is your new home. Your parents moved here a few months ago.’

  ‘I had forgotten,’ I said as I got out.

  Ah Gum opened the door. Inside, it was quiet and cool.

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Your mother is out playing bridge. Your two brothers and Little Sister are sunbathing by the swimming‐pool. Your father is in his room and wants to see you as soon as you get home.’

  ‘See me in his room?’ I was overwhelmed by the thought that I had been summoned by Father to enter the Holy of Holies – a place to which I had never been invited. Why? Was I to be forced into an arranged marriage?

  Timidly, I knocked on the door. Father was alone, looking relaxed in his slippers and bathrobe, reading a newspaper. He smiled as I entered and I saw he was in a happy mood. I breathed a small sigh of relief at first but became uneasy again when I wondered why he was being so nice, thinking, Is this a giant ruse on his part to trick me? Dare I let my guard down?

  ‘Sit down! Sit down!’ He pointed to a chair. ‘Don’t look so scared. Here, take a look at this! They’re writing about someone we both know, I think.’

  He handed me the day’s newspaper and there, in one corner, I saw my name ADELINE YEN in capital letters prominently displayed.

  ‘It was announced today that 14‐year‐old Hong Kong schoolgirl ADELINE JUN‐LING YEN of Sacred Heart Canossian School, Caine Road, Hong Kong, has won first prize in the International Play‐writing Competition held in London, England, for the 1951–1952 school year. It is the first time that any local Chinese student from Hong Kong has won such a prestigious event. Besides a medal, the prize comes with a cash reward of FIFTY ENGLISH POUNDS. Our sincere congratulations, ADELINE YEN, for bringing honour to Hong Kong. We are proud of you.’

  Is it possible? Am I dreaming? Me, the winner?

  ‘I was going up the lift this morning with my friend C. Y. Tung when he showed me this article and asked me, “Is the winner Adeline Jun‐ling Yen related to you? The two of you have the same uncommon last name.” Now C.Y. himself has a few children about your age but so far none of them has won an international literary prize, as far as I know. So I was quite pleased to tell him you are my daughter. Well done!’

  He looked radiant. For once, he was proud of me. In front of his revered colleague, C. Y. Tung, a prominent fellow businessman also from Shanghai, I had given him face. I thought, Is this the big moment I have been waiting for? My whole being vibrated with all the joy in the world. I only had to stretch out my hand to reach the stars.

  ‘Tell me, how did you do it?’ he continued. ‘How come you won?’

  ‘Well, the rules and regulations were so very complicated. One
really has to be dedicated just to understand what they want. Perhaps I was the only one determined enough to enter and there were no other competitors!’

  He laughed approvingly. ‘I doubt it very much but that’s a good answer.’

  ‘Please, Father,’ I asked boldly, thinking it was now or never. ‘May I go to university in England too, just like my brothers?’

  ‘I do believe you have potential. Tell me, what would you study?’

  My heart gave a giant lurch as it dawned on me that he was agreeing to let me go. How marvellous it was simply to be alive! Study? I thought. Going to England is like entering heaven. Does it matter what you do after you get to heaven?

  But Father was expecting an answer. What about creative writing? After all, I had just won first prize in an international writing competition!

  ‘I plan to study literature. I’ll be a writer.’

  ‘Writer!’ he scoffed. ‘You are going to starve! What language are you going to write in and who is going to read your writing? Though you may think you’re an expert in both Chinese and English, your Chinese is actually rather elementary. As for your English, don’t you think the native English speakers can write better than you?’

  I waited in silence. I did not wish to contradict him.

  ‘You will go to England with Third Brother this summer and you will go to medical school. After you graduate, you will specialise in obstetrics. Women will always be having babies. Women patients prefer women doctors. You will learn to deliver their babies. That’s a foolproof profession for you. Don’t you agree?’

  Agree? Of course I agreed. Apparently, he had it all planned out. As long as he let me go to university in England, I would study anything he wished. How did that line go in Wordsworth’s poem? Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive.

  ‘Father, I shall go to medical school in England and become a doctor. Thank you very, very much.’

  Chapter Twenty‐two