by Iris Yang
“Watch out,” someone yelled as a stretcher went by. A white sheet with dark stains covered the body. A young woman walked alongside like a zombie, her hand still holding the dead man’s limp hand.
Mary’s jaw dropped. She recognized the primrose yellow dress. She lowered her head and chewed her bottom lip, trying to quell her anxiety.
Her silence invited her father to continue: “How do you plan to take care of him? Are you prepared to face a life-long hardship?”
“We’re not talking about a day or two,” her mother said. “We’re talking about a lifetime.”
“What about Birch?” Mary protested in a feeble voice. “He needs me.”
“Life isn’t always fair, Ma Li. You have to think of yourself, your life.” Mrs. Ma paused to let the message sink in. “Fu qi ben shi tong lin niao. Da nan lin tou ge zi fei.”
“I don’t usually like that saying,” her father admitted, “but in this case, it makes sense. Couples are birds in a forest; they fly away in separate ways when a disaster strikes. You’re not even his wife. Don’t waste your life. Walk away before it’s too late.”
“No, I can’t!” The thought of losing Birch forever released another downpour of tears.
The father expelled his frustration in a gust of breath, and Mrs. Ma parted her lips to speak. The couple traded helpless glances.
Just then, conversation in the next room broke the silence. “It’s such a tragedy,” said one voice. “I heard he’s unable to have any children…even if he comes out of the coma. He may have trouble being with…a woman, you know?”
“Really?” came another voice. “That’s so sad. Hopefully Dr. Deng will come up with a different diagnosis. Major Bai is a real hero. Too bad. Who’s going to be with him…?”
Mary couldn’t bear it any longer. I’m so sorry, Birch. She let out a desperate wail as her parents led her away. With her hands curled over her face, she didn’t notice General Bai passing in the hallway.
Chapter 18
General Bai sat at a redwood desk in his study. Bookshelves lined two sides of the room, filled with Chinese, English, and Japanese titles. A large map of China covered the wall behind him. Two scrolls of Chinese paintings of plum blossoms flanked the window on the left side. Morning sunlight poured in and shone on top of the cluttered desk where his elbows rested, his fingers squeezing his temples. The experience he’d had in the past few days had given him a headache.
It had been two weeks. Although Birch was receiving excellent care in the hospital, there was no sign he’d wake up any time soon. “I’m sorry,” the chief administrator apologized. “There is not much we can do for Major Bai, other than wait. As you can see, we need more beds than we have.” The man paused, readjusting his steel-rimmed glasses. “Is it possible to take your son home? We’ll provide everything he needs.” The administrator waited, and the father’s silent consent prompted him to continue. “Forgive me, General, I’m afraid we can’t offer a full-time nurse. But if you hire a caregiver, I promise we’ll train her until we’re sure she can take good care of him.”
General Bai understood. With the end of the war, the hospital was flooded with people from smaller cities and towns. He’d already noticed the congested condition. Even the hallway was jammed with temporary beds. He was sympathetic to those less privileged patients—soldiers and civilians. Eight years of war had left the nation in shambles, wounded in more ways than he could count. Injury, disease, and starvation ravaged the country. “Give me a couple of days to arrange things,” he complied.
But he’d had no idea that it would be so difficult to find help.
It wasn’t normal for a man to be a live-in caregiver. All the women he’d interviewed had declined, once they understood Birch’s condition. As a general, he could easily order his subordinates to do the job. But he refused the temptation.
He despised those individuals—government officials, military commanders—who wielded their powers for personal benefit. Sadly, such misconduct was widespread. And corruption was a major complaint that the Nationalist’s government received from the ordinary people, who gravitated to the Communist’s policy and promises. How can I do what I look down on? Besides, no soldier would be patient enough to care for a person in a coma.
To fend off the frustration, he pushed himself away from the desk, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked in circles around the room. Pressure was growing on the back of his skull. Worries made the lines on his forehead pronounced. As he paced, pounded by a headache, he spotted a small figure stepping into his study.
“Let me do it, General,” said Xiao Mei.
“You?” General Bai drew up short. Glancing at the servant girl in a toffee brown apron and a leaf-green shirt, he shook his head. “You’re just a girl. How can you take care of him?”
For centuries, physical contact between a man and a woman had been forbidden unless they belonged to the same family, although the custom had been relaxed in recent years when women joined the workforce.
“Nurses are girls.”
“They’re professionals. They’re just doing their jobs.”
“It is my job to take care of Shao Ye.” Xiao Mei always called Birch Shao Ye—Young Master.
General Bai was startled. He stood with feet planted apart and arms folded across his chest. Turning his gaze to the maid, he saw a four-foot, ten inch woman in her early twenties. Neatly trimmed bangs nearly covered her eyebrows. Two waist-length pigtails fell on each side of her heart-shaped face. Her limbs seemed too thin to hold her own weight. But he knew that beneath her deceptively weak appearance, she was tough.
“You were very young when you started to work for my brother, weren’t you?” General Bai ran a hand around his jaw while he reminisced. Xiao Mei had been a live-in servant in his brother’s household. Both his brother and sister-in-law, Jasmine’s parents, had been professors in Nanking before the war. The young housemaid had survived the Nanking Massacre and the death of her entire family.
“Fourteen.”
“I remember the day you showed up here.” The middle-aged man shook his head. A mental snapshot of a skinny, ghost-like girl burned in his mind.
“I was lucky,” she answered in a quiet voice. No sadness. No self-pity. Only her left thumb rubbed a small scar on the back of her right hand.
General Bai lowered himself back onto the chair. His hands rested on the edge of the desk, fingers laced. His eyes searched hers in a silent query and found nothing but calm determination. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll let you try. But I’ll keep looking,” he added.
“I can handle it, General.” Her voice was soft, but with an undertone of something much stronger.
Birch was carried home the next day on a stretcher. When Xiao Mei spotted his face, she stood frozen, staring at him with incredulity. The last time she’d seen him was eight months earlier. Both Birch and Danny had come home to celebrate Chinese New Year. In her mind, the Young Master was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and he’d always carried a gentle smile, but now, lying motionless in the bed, he looked nearly dead. His eyes were closed, his face discolored by bruises, a slashing scar underneath his left eye and a cut at the bottom of his chin. His thick dark hair was gone. Instead, a bandage was wrapped around his shaved head.
“Shao Ye,” she called out, moving closer to him. Her voice was shaky.
A nurse was sent to train her. She wasted no time. “Let me show you how to take care of Major Bai.” She removed the blanket that covered Birch.
Xiao Mei let out a horrified gasp as her hands flew to cover her mouth. Shaking her head, she backed away a few steps. She hugged her arms around her middle as if she suddenly felt cold.
Standing by the door, General Bai emitted a sigh. “I understand,” he said, disappointment obvious in his voice. Fatigue bent his shoulders as he moved toward the two women. “I’ll interview another caregiver this afternoon. I hope she’ll—”
“No, no, no!” Frantically, Xiao Mei waved her hands. Sh
e closed the gap between herself and the bed in two strides. “No interview; I can do it!” she proclaimed.
Chapter 19
Wang Hong, the nurse, stayed at the general’s house for a few days. She had to make sure that Xiao Mei was well trained. The servant girl needed to handle everything—from attending to his wounds, to changing medicine bottles on the IV, to cleaning and turning his body.
“You like him, don’t you?” Wang Hong commented as she watched the girl change his bandage on the third day.
“Yes,” Xiao Mei answered without thinking. Realizing that she’d made a slip of the tongue, she then hurriedly denied her admission: “Oh, no, no, no—”
“It’s okay. I understand. Major Bai is a great man. I met him a few times. He was…head-turning handsome. My husband is also a pilot. They—”
“No, you don’t understand. He’s my young master. I’m his Ya Tou. That’s it. And that’s all. I’m just grateful. Without Shao Ye and General, I’d be homeless. I would have nowhere to stay, no place to live.”
Wang Hong liked Xiao Mei. This petite girl had impressed her. It was hard to take care of a comatose patient. “You know, he may never wake. It’s a shame. He’s such a courageous man.”
“Never?” This prognosis stunned her. “General Bai never mentioned… I thought he would wake once his wounds were healed. How…”
“Even if he wakes,”—Wang Hong lowered her voice as if vouchsafing a secret—“he won’t be able to have children.”
Xiao Mei was shocked by the news.
“It’s sad.” The nurse went to the door to make sure she was out of earshot. “He’s probably incapable of being intimate with a woman. You know what I mean?”
Wang Hong wasn’t naïve. The young major belonged to an elite group, whereas the servant girl was a member of the lowest class. The social barrier between the two was insurmountable.
In fact, Communists had used this injustice as a weapon against Nationalists; they promised equality for all. The idea was so enticing to the poor majority in the poverty-stricken country that the Communist’s followers believed the principle blindly, never questioning how it could be achieved.
In Chinese society, a relationship between master and servant was not possible. Yet Wang Hong was compelled to caution the housemaid. She’d seen the desire in her eyes and hated to see the innocent girl hurt by falling for the wrong man.
Xiao Mei grabbed the nurse’s arm. “What can I do to help? How can I wake him? He must come out of the coma. Please!” she begged.
Wang Hong sighed. Evidently her warning had fallen on deaf ears. “You must keep his body clean to avoid bedsores. That’s a big problem for comatose patients.”
“Anything else?”
“Besides turning him, you can give him massages.” Wang Hong put her hands on Birch’s arm, stroking softly. “You can also move his arms and legs.” She bent his arm a few times. “A person in a coma for a long time will lose muscle strength. By massaging and moving, you’ll help him flex his muscles.” As a nurse in a busy hospital, she had no time to do either for her patients.
Xiao Mei nodded.
“And exercise his amputated stump, too. That helps to reduce swelling…or the risk of developing muscle tightness around the joint. If either happens, it can be bad for the remaining limb.”
“What else?”
Wang Hong pondered a few seconds. “The other thing I can think of is to talk to him or read to him.” She’d learned the theory. But again, it wasn’t a standard practice.
“But he can’t hear or feel…”
“Well, it’s like massaging—he can’t move, but you can help him exercise. He may not understand, but hearing stimulates his brain.” So she’d heard, and assumed. The kind nurse was eager to offer help to this desperate young woman. “And when he does wake,” she added, “dietary supplements will be helpful for his long-term recovery.”
“You mean ginseng?”
“Yes. But in his case, deer antler will be very helpful.”
“Deer antler?”
Wang Hong hesitated a moment before continuing in a confidential tone: “In herbal medicine, deer antler is a potent ingredient to enhance blood flow. It’s been used to restore…male sexual vigor and performance for thousands of years. It’s a Yang tonic. It’ll help him to restore his natural ability…” She couldn’t specify further. Anything related to sex or sexuality was taboo.
Hopefully, Wang Hong thought, the young woman understands.
Xiao Mei followed Wang Hong’s instructions faithfully. Since the day Birch was brought home, she’d thrown herself into work. She bathed him and turned his body regularly, massaged and moved his arms and legs as often as possible, talked to him or read to him almost non-stop, and spoon-fed him ginseng tea. When she was exhausted, she just sat in the chair, folded her arms on the edge of his bed, put her head down, and allowed herself to rest for a while. Within days, her thin body became slimmer. Dark circles formed underneath her eyes.
“You can’t keep doing this,” General Bai warned her. He ordered a cot and set it up next to Birch’s bed. “You must rest. If you fall apart, you won’t do good for anyone.”
Xiao Mei didn’t mind hard work. She was thrilled to help the Young Master. On one hnad she hoped he would wake soon. Everything she did was aimed toward that goal. On the other hand, she also relished the time she had with him. Although she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself, she was taken with this gentle and kind Young Master.
As a servant, she had no excuse to be close to him. They’d chatted once in a while when he was home. But that was all. She’d never touched him, not even a handshake. They belonged to two different classes, two separate worlds.
Now she was close to him. Free to stare. Free to touch. Xiao Mei was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to go near Birch once he woke. This is selfish, she scolded herself. But she couldn’t help it. She wished that he was hers and hers only.
Chapter 20
Xiao Mei had grown up on the outskirts of Nanking, the capital city of the Republic of China. Her parents made firecrackers for a living. The family wasn’t wealthy, but they got by without much trouble. Neither Xiao Mei nor her brother had had the opportunity to go to school, though. Even at a young age, they’d had to help the family run the business.
In May, 1934, an accident occurred. Her sixteen-year-old brother was severely burned by an explosion. The hospital refused to treat him without payment first, but the medical expense was beyond their means. So the parents made a decision that no parent should ever have to make: to sell one child in order to save the other.
The night before she was sent away, her brother begged their mother and father, “Don’t sell Xiao Mei. Please!” Lying in his bed, he was too weak to speak up clearly. “It’s my fault. Let me die. Don’t give Little Sister away.”
But the parents had no choice. That night, the entire family wept together. When the sun came up, her father dragged her away. He had to pry her fingers from her brother’s. Their hands were interlocked. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks when she thought she’d already cried them dry.
At age thirteen, Xiao Mei became a Ya Tou—a slave girl sold for life.
A family of three bought her. In their mid-fifties, Mr. and Mrs. Gao had enough money to play Mahjong with their friends all day. They weren’t gentle souls, but they were tolerable. As long as Xiao Mei finished her job of cleaning, cooking, and gardening, they left her alone.
Gao Da, their grown son, was a different breed. Short and thin, he was exactly opposite of his name. Gao Da meant tall and big. But even as his stature fell short, his hot temper lived up to his name.
At age thirty, Gao Da had gambled away half his inheritance, but he wasn’t always in a foul mood. When he won, he wasn’t unbearable to be around. Occasionally, he even offered a smile, revealing ugly yellow teeth. But when he lost, he took out his frustration on Xiao Mei—yelling, pinching, hitting—whatever he chose to release his anger.
Once he
asked for hot tea. With one hand holding a cigarette, he picked up the cup with the other. After taking one sip, he slammed the cup onto the table. “Are you trying to kill me?” he shouted. The fine porcelain cup cracked, and hot water spilled over the tabletop. He squealed when a few drops splashed on his hand. As Xiao Mei hurried to clean up, he rammed the burning cigarette butt into the back of her right hand.
That was only one of his many bad days. A year later, Gao Da got himself into deep debt. Without telling his parents, he sold Xiao Mei to a brothel. She was fourteen.
Although she was shy and terrified, she fought him tooth and nail when he dragged her to the bawdyhouse. The overheard word “brothel” prompted her to fight for her life. Her kicking and screaming enraged him. He slapped her across the face, knocking her to the ground in the middle of the street. “You little whore,” he yelled. “The brothel is the right place for you to learn how to treat a man.” He lifted his foot, ready to kick.
A tall man dressed in a well-tailored suit stepped in. “Stop!” That one firm word spoke volumes. Bookish and genteel, Bai Wen was a professor, chairman of the Department of Art at Nanking University. Like most educated men, he seldom interfered in others’ lives, but the bully’s viciousness had shocked him, and he felt he had no choice but to intervene.
“Mind your own business,” growled Gao Da, lifting his fist, ready to hit again.
A fine-looking lady had already pulled Xiao Mei off the street. Mrs. Bai was also a professor. She shielded the girl with her own body.
Even their daughter stepped up. She touched Xiao Mei’s arm, reassuring her. Jasmine Bai was only a couple of years older than Xiao Mei. With silky skin, delicate features, and shiny hair cascading like a cloak of satin down to her waist, she was as gorgeous as the soft lilac georgette she was wearing. “Don’t worry,” she said in a honey-smooth tone, “my uncle is a commander in the Air Force. He won’t allow anyone to treat a girl like this.”