A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China

by Amy Kwei

  “They’re half dead anyway!” Glorious Dragon scrunched down in the front seat and removed his disguise.

  “The service people — they’ll be hurt!” As if handling a medical emergency, Purple Jade rapidly creamed Orchid’s face and scrubbed away her makeup. “And I helped you!”

  “There weren’t too many people inside,” her brother muttered.

  “Some addicts were so debilitated, they couldn’t even groan,” Orchid said in an excited whisper. “I saw some serving girls drag out the limp ones.” Her whole body shook, but she now looked like her normal self with a flushed face.

  With trembling hands, Purple Jade helped her maid put on her old cotton suit. She combed her hair and braided it into pigtails. “Orchid, why didn’t you stop him? Why did you let him do this?”

  “I didn’t know what happened. I was twirling the paste, and Master Dragon was so fast . . .” She started to cry.

  “Hush, hush.” Glorious Dragon put on his suit jacket. He checked himself in the rear-view mirror and found the reflection acceptable. “Orchid, are you ready? We should slip out of the car and pretend we meant to go to the restaurant, but stopped to watch the fire.”

  The steel in his voice calmed the women, and they obeyed. They joined the crowd of spectators. All eyes were on the fire.

  Orchid wrapped her arms around her middle to still her jittery stomach.

  “Lucky the mansion is in a large garden, and the fire cannot spread,” someone said.

  “Poor cousin Yu Wei; his mansion is destroyed.” Purple Jade felt strangely exhilarated.

  “He sold his mansion. Remember?” Dragon sneered.

  “Oh yes, it’s now Prosperous Dream.” Purple Jade grabbed Orchid’s arm and leaned on her. Orchid felt reassurance from the familiar grip, and both women grew calm.

  “Not so prosperous for General Chin anymore, eh?” Glorious Dragon whispered.

  “Oh . . .” The women felt dazed.

  A tiny hand tugged on Purple Jade’s jacket. It was a little girl of about ten. “Please,” she said in a pleading voice. “What am I to do?” The innocent but overly rouged face stunned Purple Jade. The child wore a slinky cheongsam, with exaggerated slits going all the way up her thighs. It was obvious that the girl worked at the opium den. Many dens combined opium with prostitution, but Purple Jade had assumed the prostitutes would be nubile young women, not children.

  “What’s your name?” Purple Jade bent down to take the child’s hand and tried to still her wobbly voice.

  “Little Six,” the girl replied. “Will they send me back in there?”

  “No.” Purple Jade suppressed a gasp. “No one will miss you there. Where is your home?”

  “In the mountains somewhere. A man took me and brought me to Hangzhou two years ago.” She sobbed.

  Purple Jade draped her black silk wrap over the child and edged her away from the crowd. She hustled all of them into the car. “Dragon-dee, stop gawking at the fire. Drive us home!”

  “How are we to hide the child? You know the underworld controls all the opium dens.” Glorious Dragon scowled.

  “We’ll sneak her into the house and tell people we picked up this beggar girl outside the restaurant because we need a new scullery maid,” Purple Jade replied.

  Dragon started the car. Once they were on their way, Glorious Dragon instructed: “Little Six, no one must know you worked for the opium den or you’ll be sent back. You can tell people your parents left your home in the mountains because of poor harvests. They passed through Hangzhou and somehow left you behind.”

  “I never, ever want to be sent back! I will die before I tell anyone!” Little Six cried.

  Purple Jade creamed the child’s face and scrubbed it. “I’ll teach you to read.” She held the child close.

  ORCHID’S FINGERS TREMBLED as she scrubbed away the smoky smell from Little Six’s skin before dressing the child in Silver Bell’s old play clothes. She would tell the kitchen staff that her mistress had found Little Six begging on the street, shouting, “No Baba, No Mama.” As she transformed Little Six into an ordinary child, she mumbled her thanks to the kind Buddha. Orchid could not remember how she herself was brought into this book-fragrant family who would never sell her. One day her kind mistress would arrange a suitable marriage and she would continue her life of service to her husband and his family. Yes, she would never suffer the same fate as Little Six.

  She could see her mistress was distressed; she resolved to never mention this to anyone. She knew she would be rewarded for her discretion. Since she was usually in her mistress’s quarters attending to her chores, no one in the household had suspected her afternoon activities.

  Purple Jade feigned a headache and excused herself from dinner. Still jittery from the day’s adventure, she could not understand why she had behaved that way. She could not believe that she, who had spent all her life facilitating a steady and orderly household, would participate in such a reckless act. Was she attempting to ward off her war fears? To ease her turmoil, she recited over and over again Tu Fu’s Quatrain:

  The evening sun colored the hills and streams,

  Spring winds bore scent from grass and flowers,

  Swallows flew over warming mudflats,

  Ducks mated and slept on cozy sand.

  These were the familiar scenes around her home. She must concentrate on them and never, ever again dream of flying to the bell-shaped mountains and transparent lake.

  Before he took the night train back to Shanghai, Glorious Dragon went to his sister’s room to bid her farewell.

  “Brother-in-law Virtue told me no one was killed in the fire this afternoon.”

  “Good. Ssh . . . not so loud.” Purple Jade mustered all her self-control to keep her voice steady. “Casualties?”

  “A few, but they’ll recover. I told Virtue we saw the fire, but we must forget everything else.” He stared at Orchid until she nodded and lowered her head.

  Purple Jade felt uncomfortable that her afternoon adventure could never be mentioned again. Still, that was the only prudent strategy. She had determined to banish any reckless behavior from her family life. She would expel the twittering bird inside her. For now, she must rally all her reserves and act normally so that Orchid would not be rattled.

  Glorious Dragon seemed to have forgotten his actions of the afternoon. He said: “The company books show you’ve added more than a dozen small silkworm farmers, so you’ll be sending well over two thousand skeins of raw silk to our Shanghai factory this year.”

  Purple Jade nodded.

  “Virtue-ko said you provided small loans, so the farmers’ wives can buy silkworm eggs and breed the worms. What a clever idea!”

  “Yes, my lord thought it was a good idea.” It was her habit to attribute any important decision she made to her husband. She also recognized that her brother was providing an opportunity for distraction.

  “But Lao Wang told me he brought in almost one hundred farm women for you to interview. What did you ask them?”

  “Oh, I asked them what they did every day.” Purple Jade was pleased that her brother recognized her initiative. She had prepared for this accounting for a long time. “Many women were surprised to be asked. They were impulsive and had no strict routine for their days, and their work depended upon their enthusiasm of the moment. I rejected them outright.”

  “So you chose those who were organized and disciplined?”

  “Yes, but I also wanted resourceful women.” Purple Jade knew that her brother also needed to distract himself from their conspiracy, and in any case he was always interested in practical details. “I asked how they might supply the mulberry leaves. I was surprised that many had no idea where they could gather the leaves or how much money they’d need to buy them.”

  “And still you were able to find more than a dozen women who had adequate supplies?”

  “Yes. They all have relatives who own trees with enough leaves to spare. Two women are related to our gardener, so I
won’t be surprised if they get a good supply from our garden.” She laughed. “All the women will be able to repay some of our loans when we buy their first crop of cocoons.”

  “Ah, what would I do without your Hangzhou supplies?” He took a sip of tea and opened his briefcase. “Here is a sample of the new Thai silk.”

  “I love the iridescent color. Do you think your factories can produce the same?”

  “I’m sure we can, if we spend some time analyzing it. However, I think I’ll just sell the Thais my extra raw silk for now.”

  “That sounds like a good beginning.” She stopped. She still didn’t feel right, but somehow this calm business conversation had steadied her nerves and she could see Orchid looking more relaxed while standing in the corner, waiting to prepare her mistress for bed.

  “How is Little Six?” Dragon asked.

  “The cook’s granddaughter died last year, so he is happy to take Little Six under his wings and teach her to read!”

  “The dragon slew an enemy, and you did a good deed today,” her brother whispered. “You must always remind yourself of that.”

  “Yes.” Purple Jade nodded. “Nothing will ever be mentioned outside this room. You have my word on it.”

  Glorious Dragon bade his sister good night and left to catch his train.

  In 1937, Shanghai had many miles of trolley lines, and crowds of human conveyers too. Hawkers scurried past. They carried yoked panniers of nuts and fruits, buckets of steaming hot bean-curd custard and live chickens squawking in baskets. Rickshaw pullers cursed and grunted; impatient bicycles and pedicabs rattled their tiny bells; motorists leaned into their horns; and buses ground and grated through the jumble of human traffic and rumbling streetcars. Chou Glorious Dragon thought Shanghai was a beautiful city.

  On this sunny Saturday afternoon, he lunched with his mistress Bright Crystal in her villa on Avenue Joffre.

  “Tonight’s dinner party will start late because General Chin will be coming back from Hangzhou. Remember? I told you he will be cutting the ribbon for his new opium den, Prosperous Dream,” said Bright Crystal.

  “Yes, one party after another with your General Chin!” Glorious Dragon puckered his lips and pushed away his lunch. He didn’t tell Crystal what had happened. “He is a busy man.”

  She detected his note of sarcasm. “So what’s the matter with your food? You hardly touched anything.”

  “I think I smelled something bad.” He made a face. “Maybe it is my sour stomach.”

  “Would you like to join me for an afternoon nap?”

  “You need your beauty rest. I’ll go for a walk.”

  “Remember to order the wine for tonight.”

  Once outside, Dragon hopped on the nearest trolley. He needed fresh air — a walk along the Bund. He was only twenty-six and in excellent health, but waves of disgust and agitation made him sweat in the cool breeze. Yesterday he was wound up and in full control. Today, he needed distractions.

  The trolley clanked down street after street flanked by unbroken rows of three-and-four-story apartment buildings. In the Chinese sections, laundry fluttered on bamboo poles jutting from the upper floors; restaurants, wedged into slots on the ground floor, flew red pennants proclaiming their specials; fortune-teller stalls dangled wind chimes; gold signs on red billboards advertised jewelry. The jumbled cloths in the fabric stores spilled out into the street; customers stopped by to finger the lustrous silks and complain about the itchy foreign wools. Jugglers were performing on the sidewalk and Dragon craned his neck to catch the act. Indeed, he was a juggler himself. So far, he had been able to keep all his balls in the air. A gong summoned all to form a circle and watch monkeys doing tricks and putting on masks to impersonate ancient heroes. Yes, he was also wearing a mask. His bravado and charm masked his anger at his predicament — the woman he loved could not be his. He took a deep breath. The air was thick with the aromas of incense shops; the scent of teakwood from the coffin-maker mingled with that of roasting chestnuts and savory meats from the peddlers. Beggars buttonholed passersby. They tangled with craftsmen repairing shoes or mending porcelain with rivets. The festive bustle in the streets restored Glorious Dragon’s spirits like a military reveille.

  Up one street and down the next the trolley danced along the tracks, passing movie houses and shops in the French Concession. Blond mannequins in exaggerated shoulder pads and glassy blue eyes stared out the windows. Paramount, the city’s biggest nightclub stood solid and sedate in the bright sunlight. The image of Little Six in her cheongsam came to Dragon’s mind. Yes, he had done something right; he had saved a child. He smiled.

  Still a nameless agony deep inside refused to let go of him. To distract himself, Glorious Dragon tried concentrating on Western fashions and the quiet glamour of the international restaurants and retail shops. Their shiny brass lanterns, sparkling plate glass and uniformed doormen contrasted with the array of Chinese shops on adjoining avenues. The sight of a black suited member of the Green Gang patrolling the street made him sweat. They were allied with General Chin.

  Whenever Glorious Dragon thought of his association with Bright Crystal, he grinned to think of the scandal, gossip and envy he had stirred up in Hangzhou. The family had sent him to Shanghai to attend St. John’s University, but his heart was not in formal learning. He dropped out of school, much to the chagrin of his father. His mother had died giving birth to him, so he had no maternal protection. But thanks to the pacifying counsel of Purple Jade, he was given a position in the family-owned silk factory. It was hardly a sinecure. In five short years not only did his natural acumen for business make him the director of the Chou family’s silk enterprises but he also functioned as a comprador between the Westerners and the silk trade council. His success provided jobs for all the Chou cousins. Though he was the youngest, he was proud to be the head of the whole Chou clan. Indeed, he felt he could overcome all obstacles.

  Ever since foreigners had arrived to trade in China they depended on compradors to explain their barbarian business ways to the Chinese. While the foreigners masked their ignorance with hauteur, the smooth compradors became fabulously rich, carrying themselves with the urbane self-confidence of multinational sophisticates. Five years earlier, Glorious Dragon had aspired to this role, but his English was poor. He had enrolled in an intensive English-language course. There, by pure serendipity, he met Bright Crystal. With her help, he became fluent in English within eight months. He was ready now to broaden his trade beyond the silk industry. But he was also “swatting a fly on the tiger’s head” — he shared General Chin’s mistress and tried to destroy his opium dens.

  Chin was a member of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek’s entourage. His wife and concubines lived in Nanking, the nation’s capital. But his business interests reached all over the country. He bought a red brick villa for Bright Crystal in Shanghai’s French Concession to facilitate his transactions in China’s largest city. Bright Crystal lived as a socialite of independent means — a situation far more acceptable to the foreigners who wanted to do business in Shanghai.

  To add respectability to her household, Bright Crystal called Glorious Dragon her Tang-ko. Everyone knew that a Tang-ko, an elder cousin from the father’s side, was almost as close as a full brother. Therefore, it was taboo to marry a Tang cousin. Marriages among Piao cousins were common, because Piao indicated the mother’s side — a distant relation. As a Tang-ko, Glorious Dragon often played host in Bright Crystal’s house and extended his hospitality.

  Glorious Dragon hated General Chin and his stranglehold on Crystal’s life. He and Bright Crystal joked about their clever deception, but anxiety always clouded their passionate love. Out of sheer outrage, he wanted to shout and punch everyone associated with the general. He chuckled to himself when he remembered the fireworks outside Prosperous Dream. Yes, he had hit the general where it mattered — his pocketbook. There were many factions in the underworld. It would be natural for the general to suspect foul play from a competitor. P
eople could not possibly link him to the fire. No one would suspect him even if he had been seen there. He was with his sister — a woman with a reputation for righteousness. Everyone knew her to be a whetstone, ever ready to sharpen a sword in defense of virtuous living. He smiled at his cleverness.

  He stepped off the streetcar near the esplanade on the Bund of the International Settlement area that operated as a British port. Concrete and steel buildings housing the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, the Cathay Hotel and the Customs House with its clock tower dominated the Bund. A cool breeze from the Hwangpo River soothed him. Pale young sycamore leaves fluttered over the paved promenade. He strolled under the trees and lit a cigarette. Lingering on the walkway, he watched the river traffic. All manner of watercraft plied the waterway at his feet: sampans festooned with laundry and larger boats loading and unloading rice, vegetables, and furniture. Coolies squatted to smoke and food vendors clustered around the wharves. Farther out, the masts of large junks contrasted with the sturdy funnels and cables of ocean liners, warships flying flags of many nations and cargo ships anchored in deeper water. His own life was a mirror of this harbor. He straddled the East and the West — the nobility of his sister’s household and the duplicity and adventures of his life here. Feeling calmer, he remembered he could not tarry. He must be on his way to order the finest Kaoliang — potent whiskey made of sorghum. Prominent persons from the Chinese and European business communities would be attending Bright Crystal’s party that evening.

  Glorious Dragon walked briskly to the wine shop. He tasted and selected the liquor for delivery to Avenue Joffre. On his way to his bachelor apartment on Seymour Road, the scent of frying bean curd wafted through the air and hit his nostril. He ordered a string. The vendor’s sweaty face grinned with pleasure as he fished out three cubes of golden crispy bean-cakes from the pot of boiling oil. With the fried bean-cakes nesting in the wire-basket ladle in one hand, he threaded a straw through the cakes with the other. He laid down the ladle, brushed red chili pepper sauce over the cakes, and served the bean-cakes dangling them over a piece of brown paper.