“Little Jade has a fever. She is burning up.” She heard her grandmother, but that was not what she wanted to hear.
“Where is my mother?” Little Jade screamed as loudly as she could, but her voice barely came out. All the sounds she wished to utter seemed enclosed in her head.
“Poor child, she is sick. An Ling, go fetch a doctor,” the grandmother ordered. “And get Orchid to bring me some cold towels. She is hot.”
The father did not say a word. He walked away. Little Jade could hear the quickening pace of his footsteps against the tiled floor.
Little Jade clutched her grandmother’s skinny hands. She felt too hot to shed tears, as if all the tears were steamed out of her eyes. “Grandma,” she whimpered.
“Don’t be afraid. Grandma is right here. Kwan Yin will take care of you.”
A cold towel was placed on her forehead. Slowly, she started to drifted off.
As she slept, she dreamed that she was flying with wings made of mosquito netting. She was riding the smoke wafting from a sandalwood incense stick. She flew out the round window, heaven-bound, leaving her grandmother and father behind. She reached the clouds at the gate of heaven, but she was still looking back for her house, for her father. She shouted, “Father, where is my mother?” But he just stared back at her with glassy eyes. His eyes grew bigger and sadder and, like magnets, pulled her down. Her wings could no longer carry her, and she was slipping away and falling from the sky. She could not resist the pull of her father’s eyes, and she continued to fall, lightly and gently. As her body fell onto the soft quilt and pillow of her bed, Little Jade opened her eyes. Her father’s eyes met hers. She was not surprised or scared. She smiled at her father. He smiled back. He looked tired.
Little Jade tried to sit up as she looked around. Just as if he was reading her mind, her father said, “Your grandmother is in the kitchen brewing a tonic for you.” Hearing this, Little Jade smiled shyly, and looked up at her father’s face. She felt her father’s hand reach over and hold her’s gently--a moment that seemed to be suspended in time as the white porcelain Kwan Yin witnessed from a distance. Little Jade watched as her father reached into his pocket and produced a small padded red silk pouch. He loosened the string and pulled out a necklace. “Look,” he said as he laid the necklace across the quilt over her lap. It was a necklace with a disk of translucent green jade with a square cut out in the middle which was threaded through with a red string. The string was tied in an elaborate knot and, above it, the string threaded through a beautiful single, pink pearl, and another knot secured it on top of the disk of jade. Little Jade sat still as her father put the necklace over her head and tightened it by adjusting the looped silk cord. “Look, one side of the jade is carved with your name, and the other side is carved two words ”Wei” and ”An.” This piece of jade was made when you were born. The jeweler carved one side of the jade with your name “Ming Yu” and the other side with a combination of your mother’s name, the ”Wei” from her name Wei Jen, and the ”An”from my name An Ling. The word ”Wei” means “to keep”, the word ”An” means “safety.” The four words together mean ”To keep the bright jade safe. ”
Little Jade listened intently as her father continued to speak. His words were measured as he halted between sentences as if needing to take a breath. He said, “After I married your mother, Chang Wei Jen, we went to study at the Peking University as we had always planned. Wei Jen was very studious and was a favorite among the professors. She couldn’t finish the first year because she became pregnant with you. We determined that it would be best for us to go home until she gave birth. After your birth, Wei Jen was eager to return to the University, but the in-laws were against it. She fought hard and finally returned to Peking. Afraid that she might get pregnant again, she encouraged me to study in Japan while she stayed behind at Peking University. I visited her only once during the summer. This turned out to be a mistake. A young couple should never be parted during a chaotic time. When the war with Japan broke in 1937, I lost touch with her. When I went back to Peking to look for her, she had left the university. I was able to get in touch with an old classmate and was told that Wei Jen was pregnant and gave birth to another daughter while in Peking, but she disappeared after giving birth in the local hospital. I searched all over the city and could not find her.”
“I am sorry I cannot tell you more,” her father said. “You have a younger sister. Maybe we can see her one day.” He looked up wistfully, “This necklace was made for you. I added the pearl when I was in Japan. I am glad that you are finally wearing it.”
Chapter 2: Silver Pearl
Silver Pearl sat before the mirror, watching the maid brushing her hair. She had just learned that dinner would be delayed because Little Jade had a fever. Silver Pearl frowned, and asked: “Where is the Master?”
“The Master is getting the doctor and the Old Mistress is in her room looking after Little Lady,” the maid answered, counting the brush strokes silently.
The rich are certainly different, Silver Pearl thought. The entire family fusses over an illness that is no bigger than a garlic skin.
In Silver Pearl's silence, the maid said, “Young Mistress, you hair is so thick and shiny. Look, it falls like a black waterfall, and it is as smooth as a mirror.” She lifted the hair and let it fall over Silver Pearl’s back.
Silver Pearl turned sideways to look at her hair and said, “It's getting too long. I want to cut it.”
“Don't cut it, Young Mistress. It is beautiful. Beautiful hair is a woman’s most precious possession. Beautiful hair is her crown.”
Silver Pearl laughed, “Stupid girl, don't you argue with me.”
“I wouldn't dare, Young Mistress. Do you want some scented oil in your hair?”
Silver Pearl nodded and let the maid rub jasmine oil into her hair. The room was suddenly filled with the fragrance of a garden on a summer evening. Silver Pearl absent-mindedly opened the jewelry box on top of the vanity table and fingered its contents: two heavy yellow gold bracelets, a jade pendant with matching earrings, and several diamond and pearl-encrusted hair pins. She took out a black and white photograph from the bottom of the box and stared at it. The young woman in the picture looked back at her with startled eyes. Silver Pearl remembered the day she had that picture taken, just five months earlier.
***
It had been a chilly spring morning. The frost on the rooftops was beginning to melt as strands of cooking smoke drifted out of the chimneys. In the kitchen, Silver Pearl had sipped from a bowl of steaming porridge and scalded her tongue. Embarrassed, she did not make a sound. She opened her mouth a little, sucking in cold air to ease the pain, and poured the rest of her porridge back into the pot. Her mother was not looking.
Silver Pearl's mother stood over the stove making breakfast for her husband. She threw a handful of peanuts into the wok, roasting them with a pinch of salt. The aroma of the roasted peanuts filled the kitchen, and oily smoke rose from the wok and tearing up her eyes. The mother turned her face to wipe her eyes with the back of her left hand. She saw her daughter through her tears and sighed. Silver Pearl was squatting next to a basin of cold water, washing the dishes. She patiently rubbed a piece of rag against the smooth surface of each ceramic bowl, but she could not remove the greasy film that covered them. Silver Pearl felt as if her very soul was filmed over with a layer of poverty, greasy and stubborn. She had a sudden urge to smash the chipped bowl against the floor. Instead, she pressed her lips together as a tide of pink flush rose across her face. Finally, she gave up and stacked the bowls together and put them on the shelf which was dripping with water.
Her mother poured the peanuts into a deep dish and took some for herself. She chewed with small cracking sounds. She gave a few to Silver Pearl and said, “Have a taste.” Silver Pearl took the peanuts but did not eat them. She held them loosely in her fist and shook them gently to cool them. They felt hot and greasy against her palm. They were still roasting in their own oil, like
secret wishes smoldering in her dreams. She kept shaking her hand, feeling the peanuts cool as she bounced against her cold fingers. Silver Pearl followed her mother into the main room. She put the peanuts in her mouth, pushing them to one side of her mouth with her tongue. She smiled with her lips pressed together.
Her mother said, “Let’s get ready to go.” They were going to journey many miles to the next town where Silver Pearl would have her picture taken.
It was her mother's idea. Her friend, the matchmaker, had told her that the young master of the Su family was looking for a second wife. This was the opportunity the mother had been waiting for. She knew that a rich and prominent family like the Su’s would not care about the size of the bride’s dowry. Moreover, taking a second wife was not like taking a first wife. Family background was not as important. The Su family was simply looking for a suitable young woman to carry on the family line. According to the matchmaker, the young woman herself would be the most important element in deciding the match. The mother knew that Silver Pearl, the daughter of a man who owned a tofu shop, would never have a chance to be chosen as the first wife of young master Su, but for a second wife she would do fine. The matchmaker also said that the young master’s first wife gave birth to a daughter who was six now. The young wife went away to a university and was lost in the Sino-Japanese war. The Su family was anxious to have the young master marry again so that he could produce sons. Silver Pearl had many child-bearing years before her. She was only fifteen. The second wife would be regarded as a proper wife, not a concubine. Her sons would be heirs to the Su fortune.
The mother knew that many families with grown daughters were sending cards with young women’s birthdays on them to the Su family. A fortuneteller would match the young master’s birthday against that of each young woman and decide on the best match. But Silver Pearl’s mother wanted to send something more than just a card with words and numbers. She heard that the young master Su was a man of modern mind. He had gone to Peking to attend university and then to Japan. She decided that in the red envelope containing Silver Pearl’s name and birthday there would also be a photograph.
“What a pretty girl,” the women of the Su family would say as they passed the photograph around the family hall. The young Su's mother would nod and think: “Let him marry a pretty one. Maybe she will keep him at home.” The fortuneteller would be able to judge Silver Pearl’s future both by her birthday and her photograph. The mother was confident that the fortuneteller would predict sons and good fortune for Silver Pearl, and even better if the young master ever stole a glimpse of Silver Pearl’s photograph. How could he resist choosing her? The other young women could only rely on the matchmakers to describe them. No one ever believed the lavish words of the matchmakers anyway.
There was just a hint of fog in the air as the mother and daughter set out. They walked down the street with their arms linked. The mother glanced at her daughter's profile and saw how thoughtful she looked. Her eyes were downcast, half-veiled by thick, long lashes above her smoothly curving cheeks. Her pink lips were pressed together. What was the girl thinking? The mother muttered a prayer to Buddha when she thought of how soon her daughter would become a rich man’s wife, that is if her plan worked. Silver Pearl was holding her tongue still and crunching the peanuts slowly, savoring the flavor. She felt her mother squeezing her arm, but ignored her. Silver Pearl was thinking of what her mother said to her several days ago.
The conversation had happened after dinner. Silver Pearl had cleared the table and was wiping the table top with a damp cloth. The last of the evening light was leaving the room and Silver Pearl moved hurriedly. Next to the table, her father sat crouching forward in a stiff-backed chair, fumbling to light his pipe. As Silver Pearl walked away, she saw a flame blossom near her father’s lips. The fire trembled briefly in the darkening room before it was blown out into white smoke that dissolved into the air in front of him. Reluctantly, Silver Pearl walked into the brightly lit kitchen carrying a stack of dirty dishes. Her mother had lit a new red candle which was usually saved for holidays. Silver Pearl thought it was odd and wasteful, but said nothing as she put the dishes in a basin of soapy water.
The mother had been waiting for her daughter. She watched Silver Pearl's slender figure bending over the dirty dishes and said, “Don’t bother with the dishes. I want to talk to you.” She took her daughter’s hands, which were cold and greasy, and led her to two squeaking wicker chairs.
They sat facing each other, knees touching, holding hands. Warmth flowed from the mother’s thick, coarse palms to the daughter’s slim fingers. She held up Silver Pearl’s hands, looking at them lovingly. She said, “If things go as I plan, your hands will never wash another dirty dish again.” Silver Pearl studied her mother’s face. It was flushed. The mother’s eyes sparkled like glazed porcelain reflecting the candlelight. She wet her lips and began to reminisce.
Silver Pearl had heard it all before. Her mother had been a maid in a rich man’s house. She had often told Silver Pearl about life inside a rich household and about the extraordinary food: the fin of sharks, the paws of bears, the cucumbers picked from ocean floor, the black glistening eggs of a giant fish from the deep northern river. Her mother also told her about the fine clothes that the wealthy wore: chiffon and silk during the summer, sable-lined brocade in winter. Instead of working, the rich thought up ways to pass the time. They played chess, watched operas in their private courtyards and planned lavish dinner parties. The young mistresses would spend the entire spring chasing butterflies with silk fans in gardens where a hundred different flowers bloomed. Anticipating the same story, Silver Pearl tried to hold back her irritation. Her mother’s dreamy description of the past only made the present and future bleaker, but her mother said something different this time.
“Silver Pearl,” the mother whispered conspiratorially, “I have a plan to marry you to the young master of the Su family.”
“But I thought he was already married,” Silver Pearl said in surprise.
No one in the county was likely to forget the Su wedding, even though it had taken place seven years ago. The young Su master had married a girl from the neighboring county. On the wedding day, the procession climbed over hills and crossed rivers, traveling miles to reach the groom’s house. The villagers who witnessed the wedding procession claimed later that it had stretched as far as the eyes could see. There had been hundreds of coolies carrying boxes and crates with yokes and pulling donkey carts full of dowry furniture. A group of musicians wearing red cloth bands across their foreheads led the procession, playing a wedding tune over and over again.
It was a hot July afternoon without a trace of wind. The sunlight beat the earth relentlessly. In the trees the cicadas sang, holding a note infinitely in the stagnant heat. The streets were empty. Behind the counter in the tofu shop, Silver Pearl had been sitting on a short stool, watching her baby brother sleeping in a wicker crib. The boy had had the measles. His body was covered with tiny pink dots. That afternoon he had been sleeping, his mouth dripping with saliva and his nostrils flaring rhythmically. Silver Pearl could smell the mixed scents of sour milk and sweat as she rested her chin on her knees. Her hands massaged her bare calves, and she felt the bumps of new mosquito bites from the night before.
Suddenly, Silver Pearl heard music approaching from far away accented with cymbals and gongs that reverberated in the still air. She ran out of the store and saw dust rising at one end of the main street. The wedding procession emerged from behind the dust. People came out of their houses and lined the street, chatting loudly as they fanned themselves. Among them, Silver Pearl stood in her straw sandals in front of the tofu shop where she watched the coolies and donkey carts passing by, and she waved at them. People talked and looked on with envy as they watched the handsome dowry parading by. Children chanted, “Where is the bride? Where is the bride?”
At last the bride’s red sedan chair appeared, but Silver Pearl was disappointed. A red curtain shielde
d the bride from the villagers’ view. The crowd dispersed after the procession passed, but Silver Pearl ran after the red sedan chair along with a few shouting children. They ran and ran, and then they stopped at the edge of the village. The sun was losing its strength as she walked back to the tofu shop. She was filled with resentment and emptiness and thought how unfair fate had been to her.
Back in the tofu store, she found her baby brother crying loudly and incessantly. His face and body were bright red and bloated. Silver Pearl went running to the backroom calling for her mother. But to be poor was to be short on effective remedies. The infant died two weeks later.
***
The sun was high in the sky when the mother and daughter reached the center of the small town. The streets were bustling with people exchanging greetings. Silver Pearl felt anxious. She had only been to town a few times before, and today the streets seemed even busier than she had remembered. Her eyes darted about, and her attention was distracted by the noises and the heat of the crowd. Then she saw an elegant woman sitting primly on a sedan chair being carried down the street. She was wearing a yellow silk gown with glittering gold earrings to match a gold flower in her smooth, black, hair bun. Silver Pearl’s eyes followed the sedan chair until her mother took her hand, and led her around a corner. They wove through the crowded street and ended up in front of a shop with glass windowpanes.
A small boy was splashing water from a bucket to wet the dust in front of the store. In the window, displayed against faded blue velvet drapes, enlarged photographs of smiling women and children were framed. As they opened the door and walked inside, two copper bells tied to the door handle jingled. A plump woman greeted them and directed them to two cushioned chairs. She poured them cups of tea before disappearing behind a curtained screen. Her face was one of those displayed in the window.
Daughter of the Bamboo Forest Page 2