Sister always seemed much older than I have ever been: instinctively aware of how adults live and what adults want. She was right: I did not understand yet. And even now, after all these years, I realize her understanding of life, how to win at it, had always surpassed mine. She was always more conscious of her direction; of where she was and how she would advance to her next objective. My childhood simply seemed to continue as it had started. It was not for me to be concerned with the niceties of afternoon tea parties and noisy evening dances. I spent my time with flowers and grass, running to school and eating noodles on the street. I was not required to know anything more than what I learned from Grandfather and Ba. I had not been chosen to fulfill anyone’s hopes and dreams. Instead Grandfather had showed me how to mirror Nature’s quiet acceptance; not to scheme and plan and get my own way. I had not understood or felt desire, nor were there any high parental aspirations for me to live up to.
Ma heard Sister’s shouting and arrived from the kitchen across the other side of the courtyard.
“What is it? Why are you shouting? People may hear us.”
“I’m scolding her for spending time in the Old Town and speaking to the people there.”
Ma looked at me.
“How did you get there?”
“I go there often, but this time I took Grandfather. He told me not to enter the alleys but I think it’s safe.”
“You think it’s safe? Who are you to decide? I heard your sister call you stupid and I was coming to reprimand her, but you are stupid. Those lanes are full of people who carry disease and could steal you away to some village in a distant province. You would never survive. Those aren’t the sort of people this family wants to know.”
She waited for a few seconds to see if I had anything to say in reply but I at least knew when to be quiet, to say nothing and act dumb.
“Do not go there again! What do you say, Feng?”
“I understand. I won’t go there again.”
Grandfather shuffled his feet behind me. Ma turned and went back across the courtyard and into the kitchen. I wanted to cry and shout but knew that I must obey. Sister looked past me to Grandfather and then turned to the maid who had been standing watching at the side of the room.
Sister held out the sugarcane stick in front of the maid. “Please take this away. You can finish it if you want—and if you see Feng with another one then you will tell me immediately.”
Sister was actually only five years older than me, but I think by the time I had been born Ma had already started molding her into the likeness of a grown woman, one who would care for little other than the things she would be instructed to love and pursue. Sister was generally unkind to me but I could not hate her for that because she always seemed so far above me, living a life of such complexity and sophistication I could only marvel at her. She was like a visitor from another family: unrelated to my shyness, beyond Ma’s belief in crude traditions and repetitive tribulations, far removed from Ba’s and Grandfather’s naïve belief in the teachings of Confucius. I did not love her, either, and she did nothing to make me love her, yet every day I still liked to see her and was glad of the touch of glamour she brought to my life.
She had always excluded me from mixing with her friends, not directly but subtly, as she shrugged aside anyone who was too quiet or too slow to keep pace with her own delicious charm and relentless activity. Encouraged by Ma’s ambitions for her, she had been quick to create a life for herself that made no concessions to helping out anyone unable to keep up. I was quiet by nature and, like a lame child, would always be left behind in the race to follow her. I never envied her or sought to be like her, knowing that would be impossible. At the time, I believed that Grandfather’s stories and wisdom were all I needed to know.
On certain days, at half past six in the evening, as I sat eating my supper of rice and vegetables with Grandfather, I would see Sister standing with Ba near the front door. We would be sitting in the kitchen on the opposite side of the courtyard, which lay at the center of the house. She would leave her bedroom on the upper floor. Grandfather and I would watch her walk alone beside the balcony rail then appear at the bottom of the steps that ended by the kitchen. We would watch her cross the courtyard then enter the sitting room and, because the maids would leave open all the inner doors to the courtyard unless it was very cold, we could then see Sister again, standing in the entrance hall with Ba. She would wait there patiently to be collected by her current suitor, who would always arrive at a quarter to seven accompanied by his father.
Sister would be dressed in a cheongsam, the red-and-gold flower-embroidered silk furled around her body so gracefully that it appeared like a beautiful scroll, and about her shoulders she would drape an elegant short fur stole that Ba had given her. As Grandfather watched, he would whisper to me, “Xiao Feng, I do not think the gods could have picked more perfect colors for your sister.” He would chuckle to himself. “You and I spend so much time together in the gardens, yet the most beautiful creature Nature could ever conceive is right here, heh?”
He would give me a little wink. It was true. Sister’s hair was beautifully set and gently waved, like white women’s hair, and she would wear the fur stole nestled around her neck, and carry a small bag. She always smelled of Florida Water, the perfume of the time, and whenever she walked past Grandfather and me the scent would hang heavily in the air, always just long enough for it to linger in our imagination.
“Your grandmother would be so proud of you,” Grandfather would shout out to Sister as she waited. She would smile in acknowledgment, but not with gratitude.
“Next time you must remind me to give you your grandmother’s old cheongsams. I think they would fit you perfectly.”
“I think Grandmother was a little fatter than me and those patterns are no longer fashionable. They’re too old for me, Grandfather,” she replied quickly, eyes fixed on the door while she spoke to him.
“Just like me, I suppose.” It was Grandfather’s turn to smile now but Sister did not see.
He mumbled something to himself and looked up briefly at me.
“Your sister is more radiant than Grandmother, isn’t she?”
I did not know, as she had died long before I was born.
During those few years I saw a succession of very different young men appear at the house to court Sister. Many were headstrong and foolish, living off family businesses and the hard work of others. Sometimes the same man would reappear a few times, his parents bringing Ma gifts and perhaps a big box of foreign cigarettes for Ba. Although our family was not rich or well-known, Sister was considered a woman worth marrying—beautiful, well-bred, educated, and thoroughly schooled. Not all her suitors were polite, though—one or two did not show Ba the proper respect. They did not give him face, merely sent a servant into the house to collect Sister, who would then be led to the car where the suitor of the day and his father sat waiting.
People knew that my parents were looking for a good match for her, and it was widely known that they had made the appropriate preparations to achieve this. Ba had saved a large dowry for her, and both he and Ma had ensured that Sister knew every aspect of etiquette, from table manners to Western dancing. She had been raised to put her husband first, but until she found the right man she saw every other woman as a rival, and was ruthless in her desire to surpass them all.
Some suitors came in sheepishly, like poor relations looking to borrow money, bowing and kowtowing so their fat backsides stuck out. The best of them came dressed in Western clothes, dapper suits and finely made fedoras, and the more traditional in beautiful black silk ma qua. In the summer, the fat ones would be dripping sweat from the brims of their felt hats, embarrassed and apologizing to Sister for the constant need to mop themselves with an already soaking handkerchief or, worse still, the sleeve of their disheveled suits. The handsome ones would stand like the Western movie stars I used to see on the film posters, striking poses and glancing over regularly to catch a gl
impse of themselves in a window or mirror. I loved to watch them when occasionally they had to wait for Sister and Ba.
Ma had her favorites, though I suspect Ba liked none of them. She would rank them according to family background, their job, and family business. A big family business, like shipping, trading, or banking, was what she preferred; professions were acceptable, but Ma was practical and considered capital preferable to intellect.
I liked certain suitors for their smiles and eyes. Some of them had warm brown eyes that greeted me welcomingly, without suspicion or disdain, and smiles that immediately disarmed me. I never went to speak to them, but sometimes I was there when they entered and would stand quietly by. I realized I looked awkward in my ill-fitting clothes but some of them were so handsome that I would forget myself. I would just stand and look at them, and sometimes if they noticed me they would smile, which made me look away in confusion and slowly retreat from the entrance hall back into the courtyard and the kitchen. Their looks were less important to Ma, but she did like height and Chineseness: she wanted wide eyes, black hair, and smooth skin. She did not want anyone too thin or with a dark complexion.
Sometimes Sister would see me hiding as she waited.
“You can come out if you want. You can come and join me and see how the grown-ups live. It is much more complicated than your safe little world with Grandfather, constantly dirtying yourself in the gardens next door!”
One evening she looked at me impatiently and ordered: “Xiao Feng, come here!”
Even though there was no one else in the room, I moved quietly. I stood with my back to the door and we just looked at each other.
“Those trousers are funny . . . you always look like you’ve just come from the countryside. Perhaps,” she teased, “a village is the best place for you.”
Sister continued looking at me and I could not move; my feet seemed suddenly to be made of stone. I remained standing there expressionless, caught in her stare. The suitor arrived and she released me. After greeting Sister, he turned and smiled at me. I blushed and slipped back into the house.
Then, for many months, this same man came to collect Sister. He was not as you see him today, but with skin as smooth and shiny as a honey-glazed roast pig. He was always a big man, but he was thinner at that age and had an air of hesitancy that sometimes made him seem vulnerable. This was most noticeable when his father was with him because although the suitor himself was a big man, with large hands, a barrel chest and wide face, he would still manage somehow to shrink behind the slightly smaller frame of his father. His eyes would look away while his father barked out his opinions to Ba. Grandfather said the young man would probably have been a very pleasant and generous person had his father taught him strength of character and a sensitivity toward others as well as pride. I did not like his father; he seemed to me like a mean-spirited man and one who knew that he had power over others. He and his son would arrive preceded by their driver. They would march to our front door, knock hard, and stand waiting impatiently. After the maid let them in, Grandfather and I, from our vantage point in the kitchen, would watch them wait for Sister and Ba if they were not already there.
In those days, the young man could be rude when his courage was bolstered by his father’s sour-faced presence, and take an arrogant air, not paying proper respect to Ba or Grandfather by calling them “sir” or offering gifts. But mostly he would stand meekly behind his father like a child, waiting for him to say a few polite words to Ba or Grandfather, and then at his father’s signal they would both nod and lead Sister away for the evening.
When the young man came on his own, which happened rarely in the beginning, he would stand quietly twiddling his thumbs or scratching his head while he waited for Sister. If he saw Ba, he would leap forward to shake hands, like a huge dog eager for a walk. When Sister came to join him, they would leave Ba standing alone in the entrance hall, a weak and unconvincing smile forming on his thin pale lips as he watched the young man lead her to his large black chauffeur-driven car.
Sometimes I would be awake when she returned, her heels striking the stone paving of the courtyard, and I would listen until I heard her close her bedroom door. It was never too late, perhaps half past ten, though everyone else had gone to sleep by then. I would hear her singing foreign songs to herself. She would dance in the courtyard, her heels beating out a strange and happy rhythm on the stone. She had learned the words to three songs in English and would sing these again and again so that she could pronounce the words perfectly. Sister could not speak a word of English except for those three songs. In these quiet moments, when she did not know I was listening, I felt closest to her.
Eventually a routine was established and the shy young man would return twice during the week and on Saturdays. Even though everything was prearranged, Ba would still try to be there when he arrived to collect Sister. Grandfather explained it was a father’s duty and yet I do not think I ever saw Ba actually do anything. He never refused any man’s approaches, and Sister’s hand could be taken by anyone who passed the requirements set by Ma.
Once I found the young man standing alone waiting for Sister.
“Xiao Feng,” he spoke softly to me. I quickly glanced up at him then returned to studying his shoes. “Don’t you think your sister is beautiful? She is probably too beautiful for me. My father is very impressed by her, though.”
I kept looking at his shoes, which were very large.
“I have been learning to dance like your sister. Have you seen her dance?”
Ba appeared at that moment. The young man smiled at me then bounded forward to shake his hand.
I had only ever heard Sister dancing late at night in the courtyard and it had sounded lovely and silky, the sharp rhythmic footsteps echoing off the walls and filling the empty rooms downstairs. I loved the ringing sound in my ears; forever afterward it would summon up my most beautiful images of Sister. I had heard that at the tea dances she would attend at Western-style hotels, young couples would dance close together, holding each other and sometimes even changing partners. Grandfather said the music they danced to was loud and aggressive. He also thought it rude and ill-mannered of them to touch each other in public that way. I thought of Sister there with this awkward young man, her dark eyes burning up at him.
After a time the young man started buying Sister jewelry and this made Ma very happy. In fact, she seemed to be happier about it than Sister, who acted unimpressed. These presents were things that Ba could never have afforded. The young man would always present the gifts before he and Sister left for the evening and on those occasions Ma would appear. Afterward she would stand with Ba to watch them go.
“How much do you think their family pays for the jewelry?”
Before Ba could answer, she would reply herself.
“I think they have special discounts at some of the best jewelers. It must be wonderful to live like that!”
Ba remained quiet.
Ba and Grandfather rarely said anything to confront other people, as if they simply could not find a way to force the words out. In their self-imposed silence, their eyes would focus hard on a distant object, gazing past any imminent awkwardness in the desperate hope of finding escape. They shared their thoughts only by passing comments aloud as if speaking to themselves; the words spoken softly, under their breath. They might as well have been the declarations of a beetle sheltering under a petal for all the notice the world took of them. If by chance you happened to hear them, then you could discuss things or argue with them. But neither of them would ever force a direct confrontation in order to make a point. Mostly, they avoided quarreling, preferring always to be “polite.” They would tell me this was the Confucian way. Grandfather would say it was better to drink your tears and eat your sorrow than to lose face. I wish they had spoken up, though. I wish they had said something when it was necessary. They opposed very little except when they felt they must save face, but I know now it is sometimes better to lose face than to lose
a life.
Ba always paid uncomplainingly for Sister’s elegant and extravagant upbringing, no matter what Ma wanted. She had realized even before marrying him that he would never be rich. He was clever, creative, a talented architect, but lacked the ability to play the subtle games necessary to secure promotion and advancement.
Ma’s family had immigrated to Shanghai from a small town in the north of China many years ago. Her parents worked with textiles and were good at dyeing cloth but poorly educated. They worked hard and were able to earn a reasonable living and send Ma to school, trying to ensure she gained a greater level of sophistication than they had. Ma also forced herself to learn other things that she thought would advance her position, such as good table manners, dancing, politeness, and some foreign customs. She gleaned these from wherever she could. Her whole life revolved around making better connections and marrying well: helping herself and her family to rise above their low position.
Although Ba did not share her ambitions, he recognized in the youthful girl he first met a strong sense of discipline and a willingness to educate herself, and found he could love her for these qualities. He had been raised by his own father to be happy with simply completing his day’s work to the best of his ability. His family had lived on the fringes of Society, enjoying an acquaintance with the rich and powerful but knowing that any further intimacy would always be denied them. But they were content with that prospect, and since they represented a step up for her, so was Ma. Within their own family, though, which she had decided would consist of a single child, Ba passively agreed with her plan to stop at nothing, sacrifice everything, so that their offspring made the right marriage. Another child would serve as the warm blanket for their old age and that would not need education and sophistication.
Being a member of Society required strict conformity to all its petty and remorseless rules and customs. After Sister was born, Ba knew he would have to set aside a lot of money for her dowry, dance lessons, music lessons, elocution, even skin-whitening treatments. But it was never enough. They should have sold the jewelry Sister was given, but Ma insisted it should be kept. It would have repaid at least some of Ba’s outlay, but no, everything must be kept as proof that they were not desperate and had no need to sell the gifts they had received. Such was Ma’s dream: to marry a daughter into Society, to the wealthiest family in town. Entering into such an association would bring Ma herself good standing and esteem. Or so she believed. Ba never told her that he felt such an ambition was wrong, that she was being selfish. Over the years he had come to understand that, like so many others, he had lived without any dreams to inspire him. Perhaps he’d decided hers were better than none. Although I have missed my father over the years, I recognize that he was a coward in some matters, and I think he knew it, too. Alas, I believe he even became comfortable with it.
All the Flowers in Shanghai Page 2