by Alexa Kang
“Uncle Six,” Clark greeted the man. Uncle Six had served as the Yuan family’s head of household staff and his father’s right hand since Clark was a child.
“Young Master. Good to have you home.” Uncle Six looked at Clark from head to toe. “You’ve grown tall!”
“Yes,” Clark said. In fact, at one hundred eighty centimeters, he’d reached a height taller than most Chinese men. Clark stared back at him. “What happened to your hair?” He didn’t remember the loyal servant being bald at the top of his head.
Uncle Six let out a hearty laugh. “Got old. Got old.” He held out his hand. “Come. Let me help you. The car’s waiting.”
Clark handed over his small suitcase. Uncle Six took it and led the way. As they walked, the savory smell of fried pork buns drew Clark’s attention to the food vendors on the side of the street. Scallion pancakes, soup dumplings, egg pancakes, glass noodle soups. Food he’d longed to taste over the years when he lived in America. He wanted them all.
“Buy some flowers, sir?” A little girl came up to them. Her pants reached only above her ankles and her shoes were almost falling apart. Before he knew it, five other children followed, all holding out stems of wilting peonies. “Want to buy some flowers, sir?”
Clark slowed his steps. The little girl lifted her head and smiled. All he could see were the gaps in her teeth. With hesitation, he reached his hand into his pocket.
Looking straight ahead without any change of expression, Wen-Ying placed her hand firmly on his wrist. “Don’t.”
Clark curled his fingers, then dropped his hand. She was right, of course. These children were most likely pawns of gangsters and swindlers preying on the sympathy of unwitting travelers. An act of generosity would not benefit the children. Rather, it would encourage the perpetrators to kidnap and abuse children to run more of such schemes. Still, six years away from home must have softened his heart. He wanted to help the girl.
“Shoo. Shoo.” Uncle Six swatted at the children, keeping a distance in case they had lice. “Go away.”
Finding no success, the children soon lost interest and went away to hustle a foreign couple walking toward them.
Clark turned his head slightly and glanced at the kids. This will change, he thought to himself. China will rise and get better. This was why he decided to return home instead of continuing his studies for a master’s degree overseas. The country needed capable people to build a better society. He was fortunate enough to have been born into a wealthy family and given educational opportunities beyond the reach of most people. It was time for him to take up the mantle and contribute his part.
They came to their Cadillac parked on the sidewalk and found their chauffeur, Huang Shifu, in a heated argument with another chauffeur. The other driver’s Rolls Royce was blocking half the road.
“What’s going on?” Wen-Ying demanded to know.
“Da xiao jie,” Huang addressed Wen-Ying and pointed at the other driver, “he wants me to move my car. How can he be so unreasonable? I was here first.”
“This is Mr. Keswick’s usual spot.” The other driver held his hands to his waist. “Mr. Keswick will be arriving any minute. You need to move.”
Wen-Ying stepped forward. “Why? Keswick doesn’t own the road. Do you know who we are? We have as much right to park here as he does. In Shanghai, who hasn’t heard of our Yuan family?”
Keswick’s chauffeur pressed his lips and cowered. His nervous eyes shifted left and right.
Clark came forward between them. “Let it go.” He pulled his sister’s arm. “Don’t argue with him anymore. We’re leaving anyway.” He glanced at the Rolls Royce’s driver. “You can have the spot.”
“But Young Master—” Huang protested.
“Never mind. I want to go home.”
Grudgingly, Huang opened the passenger door of the Cadillac. Mei Mei climbed in while Uncle Six handed him the suitcase and took the passenger’s seat in the front. Wen-Ying glared at the Rolls Royce’s driver before taking her seat, and Clark got in after her. Huang mumbled another insult to the other chauffeur as he put Clark’s small suitcase into the trunk. The other chauffeur started to say something back, but held his tongue and returned to his car.
On the way, Wen-Ying started to gripe. “Keswick. Who does he think he is? Stepping all over us Chinese on our own land. He’s nothing but another British thief robbing China dry. He and his lot don’t belong here. This is our city. Our country.”
“He’s a board member of the Shanghai Municipal Council,” Mei Mei said. The SMP was the local governing body of the British and American concessions that made up the International Settlement. Only the wealthiest taipans could be nominated to serve as its twelve members.
“Hm!” Wen-Ying sneered. “Shanghai’s more than just the International Settlement. These British taipans only run it because they took a piece of land from us by force.”
“You wouldn’t dare to say that out loud at work.” Mei Mei sneaked a smile.
“Work?” That piqued Clark’s interest. “You never mentioned you’re working in your letters. Why do you have to work? What kind of job are you holding?”
“She’s a translator for the British consulate.” Mei Mei’s grin grew wider.
“The British consulate!” Clark’s mouth dropped. “I thought you hate the British.”
“I despise them.” Wen-Ying folded her hands on her lap. “I’m there to keep an eye on what they’re doing next to take advantage of us Chinese. Besides, my job enables me to stay aware of all their major business transactions in this city. I use the information to steer businesses to our family’s companies. If those snakes take from us, we’ll take back from them.” She lifted her chin.
Clark smiled and sat back into the seat. He understood how she felt, but the British and other foreigners dominated the most prosperous parts of Shanghai. No amount of frustration could change the situation.
“She even has an English name,” Mei Mei said. “Estella.”
“Estella?” Clark laughed. “It sounds nice.”
“Mr. Findlay, her boss, gave it to her.”
Wen-Ying’s frown grew deeper. “Findlay’s an idiot. He didn’t even give me a choice. He simply decided to call me Estella because he can’t pronounce my name. These people. They live in our country for years and years, and they can’t be bothered to learn to speak our language.”
“Well, I think Estella suits you,” Clark said. “I should call you Estella from now on.”
Wen-Ying glowered at him.
“Take it easy.” Clark patted her on the shoulder. “Try to keep an open mind. Not all foreigners are bad. I made a lot of good friends in America.”
“Clearly, you’ve been living abroad too long,” Wen-Ying said. “It’s polluted your mind. The Americans aren’t any better. They’re all foreign invaders.”
“Maybe you should go studying abroad like I did, then you’ll find out not all of them are that bad.”
Uncle Six, who rarely interjected himself in their family conversations, turned around from the front seat. “I agree. Da xiao jie has a better business mind than men. She steers a lot of British businesses our way. If she has a foreign degree, everyone, watch out.”
“I wouldn’t go if my life depended on it. I’m fine right where I am.” She sat even straighter. Her expression firm and unmoved.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. We’re home.” Mei Mei looked past Wen-Ying and said to Clark, “Ba and Ma are very anxious to see you.”
The chauffeur turned the corner and Clark’s thoughts shifted to his parents, who were waiting for him at home.
2
The Kuomintang
The car pulled up to the front garden of a large three-story villa on the right side of the street. Clark gazed at the familiar brown brick exterior walls and pedimented gables of the Queen Anne style house he’d grown up in. For all of Wen-Ying’s complaints, their family had lived comfortably in the British-controlled International Settlement for
three generations. The foreign infusion of cash had fueled Shanghai’s economy, and no other city in the country—perhaps no other city in the world—could boast of having as many opportunities for anyone to amass wealth or to remake oneself.
As soon as he walked into the house, his mother came to welcome him. “My son,” she said with happy tears in her eyes, “I can rest my mind now that you’re back.” His father stood by her side, holding his pipe and unable to stop smiling.
“Ba, Ma.” Clark came forward to greet them. In only her mid-forties, his mother still looked radiant and well-maintained. She could easily pass for a woman in her thirties. His father, on the other hand, had noticeably aged. The deepening crow’s feet around his eyes and greying hair on the sides of his temples made the ten-year age gap between him and his wife appear ever more visible.
“His health isn’t very good these days.” His mother gave his father a reproachful glance. “He has asthma.”
“Asthma?” Clark asked, worried.
“I tell him not to smoke so much.”
“Ba.” Clark looked at the pipe his father was smoking. “Ma’s right.”
“Nonsense.” Mr. Yuan took another drag on his pipe. “I’m strong as a mountain.”
Madam Yuan rolled her eyes. “His hematuria is the real concern. I thought he might have kidney stones. I was worried to death. Thankfully, Mei Mei’s violin teacher introduced us to that Jewish doctor.”
“A Jewish doctor?”
“Yes. Dr. Levine. He came to Shanghai only two months ago. From Germany. He’s a miracle physician, I tell you. We saw several doctors before him. Western medicine doctors and Chinese medicine doctors. They were of no help. But whatever Dr. Levine did, your father’s hematuria is gone!”
“That’s good to hear.” Clark breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Yuan gave a dismissive wave of his hand, then returned to his cup of tea at his sofa seat. Wen-Ying and Mei Mei followed and they each took a seat around the coffee table.
Mrs. Yuan told a young maid to bring them more tea, then led her son to sit down on the couch next to her. “When you’ve rested up from your trip, you must go see Dr. Levine and thank him for us.”
“Certainly.” Clark turned to his sister. “Mei Mei, how did your violin teacher know a Jewish doctor?”
“My violin teacher is Jewish himself. Professor Alfred Abraham. He teaches music at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music.”
“All my friends recommended him as an instructor,” Madam Yuan said. “I heard he was quite well-known in Germany before coming to China.”
“I have to say,” Wen-Ying chimed in, “Mei Mei plays the violin much better now since she started taking lessons with him.” She looked at Mei Mei and assumed her big sister demeanor. “It goes to show, you can become good at something if you dedicate yourself to it.”
“Don’t pressure her,” Madam Yuan said. “Mei Mei plays the violin well enough. Besides, what am I to do if all my children take on serious jobs and hobbies? My son, of course, has to help his father manage our business. You won’t play mahjong or go shopping with me, and when you join me and my friends for afternoon tea, you always look bored to death.”
Wen-Ying threw her head back in exasperation. “Ma. All those things don't interest me.”
“They don’t have to interest you. You join me to keep me company. That’s what good daughters do.” Madam Yuan gave her a stern look. “Good thing I still have Mei Mei.”
“Ma, don’t give her a hard time,” Mei Mei said.
“Ah! Defending me,” Wen-Ying said, bouncing back up. A mischievous twinkle came to her eyes. “Saving yourself an escape route for me to speak up for when it’s your turn, I see. Ma, pretty soon she won’t have much time to accompany you anymore. She’ll be too busy accompanying Zi-Hong.”
“Jie!” Mei Mei yelled in protest while Wen-Ying broke into laughter. “Don’t tease me. Ma, she’s teasing me!”
Clark sat up from his seat. “Zi-Hong? Who’s Zi-Hong?”
“Liu Zi-Hong. Her boyfriend,” Wen-Ying said.
“Your boyfriend?” He watched Mei Mei sulk. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. At seventeen, she wasn’t too young. But as her oldest brother, he had to look out for her. “What’s he like?”
“He’s very smart. Just like you,” Mei Mei said with a proud smile. “I’ll bring him home and you can meet him.”
Clark still had more questions, but a small woman in a white tunic top and black pants entered carrying a tray with five bowls. “Young Master.”
He stood up. “Peng Amah!”
“Sit,” Peng Amah said. “Sit down. I made your favorite dessert. Tang yuan.”
“Really?” Clark felt his mouth watering as she passed the bowls around. How he missed these little glutinous rice balls served with goji berries in sweet wine water. So many times, he’d longed for the taste of them when the college cafeteria served up yet another night of overly sweet, heavily cream-filled sponge cake called Twinkies.
Peng Amah knew what he liked best. She was the one who took care of him and his sisters since they were born. They thought of her more as family than a servant. Besides, what could be a more proper occasion than today to serve tang yuan, a food symbolic of family reunion? When the first mouthful of gooey goodness hit his tongue, he felt a taste of heaven.
“In any event, I’m glad you’re home,” Madam Yuan said to Clark while they ate. “It’s better to have another man at home. Sometimes, I worry what we’d do if your father falls ill.”
Mr. Yuan finished his last spoonful of dessert as though he didn’t hear her. “A cross-ocean journey on a ship is very uncomfortable. Take a good rest,” he said to his son. “In a couple of days, we’ll have a sumptuous meal out to wash the dust off you.”
“Also,” said Madam Yuan, “when you’ve rested up and settled down, you should make a round of visits to the uncles and aunties who watched you grow up. They’ve all been asking about you, knowing you’ll be coming home. Master Shen especially. He said Shen Yi’s looking forward to seeing you again.”
Shen Yi? Clark hadn’t had a serious thought about her in ages. Technically, she was his fiancée. They’d become engaged through the outdated practice of betrothal by “designation in womb.” Their families had been longtime business associates for several generations. When their mothers became pregnant at the same time, they made a pact that if one of them had a boy and the other had a girl, they would wed their son and daughter by arranged marriage. Consequently, he and Shen Yi had been engaged since birth. He was fifteen years old the last time he saw her. Before that, they didn’t see each other very often. Like most children, boys mainly made friends with boys and girls made friends with girls.
“Shen Yi really got prettier and prettier as she grew up,” Madam Yuan said.
She did? Clark didn’t feel much curiosity one way or the other. He didn’t remember her as particularly good-looking, but then they were only children. And if she had grown prettier, she would have multiple suitors by now anyway. Master Shen, her father, probably only told his parents she wished to see him as a matter of courtesy.
He chucked the matter to the back of his mind and finished his tang yuan. He thought he would head to his old room to unpack, but Uncle Six brought in an unexpected visitor.
“Yuan Guo-Hui. You finally returned,” said the young man Uncle Six brought in. He was shorter than Clark and had a leaner physique. But his light build didn’t hamper his sense of confidence. He walked with the ease of someone who was always sure of himself. He extended a courteous greeting to Clark’s family. “Your father told me you’d be returning today.”
“Tang xue-zhang,” Clark greeted him. Tang Wei was a former schoolmate, an upperclassman two years ahead of Clark in secondary school before Clark went to study abroad.
“Don’t call me xue-zhang anymore.” Tang held up his hand. “You’ve drunken Western water. You’re way ahead of me.”
“That’s impossible . . .” Clark muttered. He couldn’t imagi
ne thinking of himself being ahead of Tang. Back in secondary school, Tang always ranked first in his class. He surrounded himself with all the top students and his ethics were exemplary. The teachers and the principal always held him up as the role model for everyone, and Clark had always looked up to him.
“Stay a while and have some tang yuan.” Madam Yuan invited Tang to take a seat. “We’ll leave you two old friends to catch up.” She told everyone else to leave the room.
“I won’t be a stranger then.” Tang sat down and lit himself a cigarette. “So tell me, what was America like? Is the moon brighter and rounder there than the moon at home?”
Clark laughed. “You’re joking now.” He sat down across from Tang and poured him some of the freshly brewed dragon well green tea that the maid had brought out. “America was good. Where I lived was quiet. Peaceful. You almost feel it’s a place where you can stay forever, live a simple life, and leave the rest of the world behind.” He glanced at the tea leaves floating in his cup. “But you couldn’t find tea this good there.”
Tang gave him a half smile. He took a slow sip of his tea and kept his eyes intently on Clark.
“I completed my secondary education at a private boarding school in Connecticut,” Clark continued. “After that, I was admitted into Wesleyan. I got a degree in economics. What about you? What are you doing now? I heard you went on to study at Fuh-Tan University. Where do you work now?”
“That’s just what I came to talk to you about.” Tang blew out a breath of smoke and leaned forward. “I work for the government.”
“The government? Meaning . . . the Kuomintang?” The KMT was the Nationalist Party currently controlling China.
“Yes.” Tang took a deep drag. “I work as a propaganda specialist for the Shanghai Foreign Affairs Bureau.”
Clark hadn’t expected that. He’d always thought Tang Wei would go on to do big things, but he never thought Tang would choose a career in government. Back when they were still in school, Tang never showed any interest in politics.