The Language of Threads

by Gail Tsukiyama

  Pei stood in the marble foyer and knocked lightly on the already opened double doors.

  “Come in, come in, Pei,” Chen tai said, from the far end of the room.

  Pei approached Chen tai, being careful not to knock anything down. Chen seen-san and Ying-ying were nowhere in sight. “You wanted to speak to me?”

  Chen tai sat against a maroon silk brocade cushion on one of the rosewood chairs. Dressed in an off-white cheongsam, she looked positively regal. “We will go down to Central tomorrow afternoon.” She smiled. “You can do some washing in the morning, and leave the rest for the day after.”

  Pei shuffled from one foot to the other. “Yes, Chen tai,” she answered, already warm at the thought of her first trip down to Central.

  “We’ll leave tomorrow after lunch, then,” Chen tai continued. “Tell Ah Woo to have Leen make me something plain—a bowl of jook will do.”

  Pei nodded, hesitated, then turned to leave just as Chen seensan walked into the room. Large and stocky, dressed in a dark Western-style suit, he appeared out of place amid all the delicate Chinese artifacts.

  “And just what are you two discussing so seriously?” he asked, speaking more words than Pei had ever heard him say.

  Chen tai laughed and waved her husband closer. “Pei is going down to Central with me tomorrow.”

  Chen seen-san cleared his throat; behind his thick, black glasses, his eyes traced Pei from head to toe and back again. “Can I trust you to keep Chen tai from spending all my hard-earned money?”

  Chen tai laughed again, high and shrill.

  “Yes.” Pei pinched the edge of her cotton tunic.

  Chen seen-san roared with laughter, his baldness glistening in the pale light. “I like this one!” He flipped open a black lacquer box and lifted out a cigarette. “Finally, someone to help keep me from going into debt.” He brought the cigarette to his lips, lit it, and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

  “I’d like to know who could stop you?” Chen tai waved the smoke away.

  “Perhaps Pei will come along with me next time.” He snickered and blew smoke in his wife’s direction. Then he turned to Pei and asked, “How would you like that?”

  Pei held her breath, the words refusing to emerge. She wished Lin were there to take charge, put Chen seen-san in his place with a few simple words—“No, I wouldn’t like it,” or “I’m too busy for your games.” Instead, she breathed out slowly, feeling the heat spread through her body, coloring her face. “I . . .” she began, but before Pei could answer, Chen tai spoke.

  “You can go now,” Chen tai instructed, her gaze remaining on her husband.

  Pei hurried out. She’d never been so happy to return to the safety of the bare, scrubbed kitchen.

  In the early-morning light, everything was muted, soft. Pei slipped out of her room, stepped quietly into the kitchen, and ladled some water into the kettle for tea. The house creaked in a long sigh, then settled into stillness. As the water boiled, Ah Woo emerged from her room. “Ah, you’re up early,” she said, settling down in her chair at the table.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Pei admitted. She took down another cup and poured Ah Woo some tea.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Ah Woo said knowingly. “Central is like everywhere else in Hong Kong: too noisy and crowded.”

  “What if I make a mistake and upset Chen tai?”

  Ah Woo laughed. “And what kind of mistake can you make carrying her packages?” She sipped her tea. “Let me tell you something I’ve learned over the years. Simply do as Chen tai instructs. She’ll tell you, ‘Come with me,’ ‘Wait here,’ ‘Take these packages,’ so there’s nothing to worry about. And, oh, yes,” Ah Woo added, “never speak unless spoken to first. Chen tai likes to be in charge.”

  Pei nodded, and finished her tea in one large swallow.

  After lunch, Ah Woo walked Chen tai and Pei to the front door; Lu was waiting with the car. From the corner of her eye, Pei saw Fong lingering in the stairwell. “You’ll be fine,” Ah Woo whispered in Pei’s ear just before closing the door behind them.

  Pei was terrified. The glare of the hot sun beat down on her. The last time she’d been so close to a car was years ago, during the strike at the Yung Kee silk factory. She remembered the angry voices and the thick crowd parting as Chung’s long black car inched through the gate, then flinched at the shock—she could still feel it—of seeing Sui-Ying’s lifeless body sprawled on the ground. In the end, they had won shorter working hours, but at the terrible cost of her friend’s life.

  Now just the thought of riding in the big black metal monster made her stomach turn. Ah Woo had called it the latest-model “Packard.” It was as long as two beds, with a roofless front seat that exposed the driver to the sky, while the backseat, where Chen tai sat, was separated from the front by a glass window and covered with a roof. The front grill shone bright silver in the sunlight, and the four black tires had bright white circles on them. Pei hoped she could sit up front in the open air, even if Lu didn’t say a word to her the entire trip down to Central.

  “You can sit on my other side,” Chen tai said, as Lu, dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform, with two rows of gold buttons up the front of his black jacket, opened the back door and stepped aside.

  “Get in from the other side,” she heard Lu’s voice command.

  Pei hurried around to the other side of the car and reached out to pull on the handle of the shiny black door as she’d just seen Lu do. The door opened with a deep click and swung out toward her. Pei quickly stepped in and pulled the door closed. The tan seats were smooth. They smelled of leather polish and, faintly, of cigarette smoke.

  When Chen tai settled into the seat next to her, she brought along the strong scent of gardenia. The slippery sound of her blue silk cheongsam against the leather suddenly made Pei conscious of her own simple tunic and pants. Until that moment, she had never felt out of place wearing them. Pei moved closer to the door afraid she was taking up too much room. From her purse Chen tai pulled out a flowered fan, flipped it open, and began fanning the thick air in the enclosed space.

  “It’s hot,” she muttered.

  Pei wasn’t sure if Chen tai was talking to her or not, so she simply stayed quiet, watching closely as Chen tai grabbed a handle on the door and rolled down the window.

  “Aren’t you hot?” Chen tai turned to Pei and asked. “You can roll down the window if you want.”

  “Thank you.” Pei smiled. She did the same thing with the handle on her side of the door, each revolution bringing the glass window down lower.

  When the big car roared to a start, then lurched forward, Pei gripped the door handle, white-knuckled. They pulled out past the iron gates; other houses darted by as they picked up speed. Pei felt as if she were gliding on air. Chen tai snapped open her compact and powdered her nose. For a moment, Pei allowed her body to relax into the soft leather seat.

  Central was, as Ah Woo had said, another world. Pei looked back and forth from one side of Des Voeux Road to the other. She was hypnotized by the tall buildings, the double-decker electric trams, the colorful signs, the throngs of people, the ragged beggars, the voices and bells that rang and clanged through the humid heat, the thick, sickening fumes from the cars that crowded the road.

  “I’d like you to stop at Lane Crawford’s,” Chen tai said into a horn-shaped speaker in front of her.

  Lu’s voice suddenly filled their enclosed space, hollow and distant. “Yes, Chen tai.”

  Pei sat up in her seat and stared through the window at the back of Lu’s head. He leaned over and replaced the horn-shaped speaker without turning back.

  “Let’s see how much it takes for Chen seen-san to really go into debt, shall we?” Chen tai said, not smiling, staring straight ahead.

  Pei made a small sound in response, wincing inwardly at the thought that she was again caught in the middle of the Chens’ game.

  Lu turned onto a wide, crowded street and coasted to a complete stop
in front of a large store with big glass windows.

  “The latest styles from London and Paris.” Chen tai stepped out of the car before Lu had a chance to open her door for her. Pei sat and waited for Chen tai to tell her what to do next.

  “Come along, then,” she heard Chen tai call.

  Pei quickly got out of the car and hurried after her. Horns blared at the Packard blocking the road, but Lu ignored them all. More people than Pei had ever seen in one place pushed along the concrete sidewalk. The hum of movement made Pei dizzy as she followed Chen tai through the glass double doors into the cool, quiet Lane Crawford department store. Instantly, Pei was embraced by the soft, hazy lighting, and the sharp, perfumed smell of cosmetics.

  “Good afternoon, Chen tai,” the saleswomen called as she moved from one department to another, trying on hats, then gloves, then shoes. Chen tai lingered longest in the dress department, caressing a red taffeta evening dress from Paris, only to abruptly let it go, hissing, “Chen seen-san prefers cheongsams.”

  As the afternoon drifted on, Pei carried more and more packages, stumbling after Chen tai, who never seemed to tire. Waiting in the handbag department, Pei stared down into a glass case where black and brown bags were on display. She wondered what she would put into one of them. She had traveled through life with so few possessions. Pei closed her eyes against the glare of the glass, then opened them. She looked up, and a face across the wide aisle made her heart clench, then beat rapidly. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt dry and sore. That narrow face was so much like Lin’s. Pei stared a moment longer, stunned, but when Lin’s brother Ho Yung looked over in her direction, she quickly turned away from those dark eyes, Lin’s eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Chen tai said. “You’re as pale as a ghost!”

  Pei gathered up all Chen tai’s packages, the pulse throbbing at her temple. “I’m fine.” She struggled, willing herself to keep moving. For a moment, it was almost as if Lin had returned and were right across the room from her.

  Chen tai glanced at her watch. “Well, we’d better be getting back. Lu must be waiting for us in front.”

  Pei didn’t dare look over in the direction of Ho Yung again. She bowed her head low and quickly followed Chen tai back out into the blinding white sunlight.

  Chapter Four

  1939–40

  Pei

  Pei awoke just before dawn, a gray light seeping through the window of her small room. She pushed herself deeper down into the bed, wrapped herself tighter in the thin blanket. Since she’d seen Ho Yung at Lane Crawford’s, her nights had been restless, punctuated by dreams that left her exhausted in the morning when there was so much work to be done. It was as if some small part of Lin had come alive again, bringing back a dull ache of memories.

  Pei stared up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She remembered again her first morning at the girls’ house. The biting smell of ammonia. The low hum of voices. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old. She’d awakened to see someone staring down at her. “My name is Lin,” the girl had said, her face so smooth and delicate compared to Pei’s large features. It took little time for Pei to realize that Lin’s beauty was second only to her kindness.

  Pei opened her eyes and forced the memory away. The house creaked and shifted in the wind. She couldn’t help but wonder how Ho Yung might have reacted if she’d dared to approach him that afternoon. “Do you remember me?” she might have asked. Or she could have said, “Ji Shen and I are managing quite well here in Hong Kong.”

  A faraway rooster crowed the start of another day. What if Ho Yung hadn’t remembered her? Pei grew warm at the thought. She flung off her blanket, her feet touching the cold wood floor as she hurried to the small dresser and carefully pulled open the top drawer. Buried beneath her clothes was the worn envelope that held all her savings. She extracted it and flipped through the bills until she found what she was looking for: Ho Yung’s card, with his Hong Kong address printed in careful black lettering.

  Each day Pei immersed herself in the monotony of washing and ironing. When it rained she worked in the cluttered laundry room next to the kitchen. But despite the cooler winter weather, Pei preferred to wash in the gray tub out in the backyard. She looked forward to being in the fresh air every morning, and to the occasional visits from the gardener, Wing, who was usually carrying a rake or broom when he sauntered by, just in case Ah Woo or Chen tai should catch him loitering.

  “She’s in a bad mood today,” Wing said that morning, gripping the broom in front of him. He made halfhearted sweeping motions.

  “Who?” Pei poured the hot water from the kettle into the washtub.

  “Chen tai. Always gets into a mood when Chen seen-san’s away on business.”

  Pei pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, then dropped a pair of Ying-ying’s overalls into the hot water. “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone knows that Chen seen-san supports another family in Singapore.”

  Pei jerked her head up. “Even Chen tai?”

  Wing nodded. “It’s been going on for years now, but everyone pretends otherwise. It’s the way of the rich.”

  “And how many wives do you have?”

  Wing laughed. “One is more than enough for this poor man!”

  Before Pei could say anything else, the back door swung open. Wing quickly began sweeping the stone pathway, just as Ah Woo stepped out.

  “What are you doing back here? You know Chen tai wants fresh cut flowers in her room now!” Ah Woo snapped.

  “Yes, yes, right away.” Wing winked at Pei, then hurried back to the front garden.

  “Don’t know what I’m going to do with that old man!” Ah Woo continued, her face stern and tired.

  Pei scrubbed the overalls. She’d never seen Ah Woo so harried. “Is everything all right?”

  Ah Woo paced back and forth, then stopped in front of Pei’s washtub. “I guess there’s no way to ask you this, but to just come out and ask you.”

  Pei stopped washing, her hands slippery with soap and water. “What is it?”

  “Have you seen Chen tai’s pearl necklace?”

  “No.” Pei dried her hands on her black cotton trousers. “I didn’t know she had one. I’ve never seen it.”

  “After breakfast, when Chen tai went back to her room, it was gone.”

  “You don’t think I—”

  Ah Woo’s face softened. “You’re the only one who has been in her room this morning.”

  “To pick up the laundry,” Pei said, her voice tight and strained. “Just like every morning!”

  “You know I have to ask,” Ah Woo continued. “Perhaps Chen tai just misplaced it. She’s not herself when Chen seen-san’s away.” She touched Pei on the arm. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the necklace will turn up.”

  Ah Woo stood there awkwardly for a moment, then mumbled something about Leen and hurried back to the kitchen. When the back door clicked shut behind her, Pei felt a cold breeze graze the back of her neck. The sky turned heavy and gray as she plunged Chen seen-san’s white shirt into the washtub and began scrubbing furiously.

  That night at dinner, Pei only sipped at her winter-melon soup. She could hardly eat. Everyone was quiet except for Fong, who spoke nonstop about Ying-ying.

  “That girl is a monster,” Fong said, helping herself to more rice. “I waited, then circled the school four times before I rushed back here to find her in her room. And do you know what she said to me? ‘You were late, so I walked home myself.’ She is a demon!”

  “Ssh!” Ah Woo said. “Watch your tongue if you value your job!”

  Leen stood up and spooned more soup into Pei’s bowl.

  Fong smiled, pushed more rice into her mouth. “It’s not my job you should be worrying about,” she said, glancing at Pei.

  Again Pei couldn’t sleep. She lay perfectly still until her every worry was magnified in the darkness. Since the shopping trip to Central a few weeks ago, everything had gone
so well. Chen tai had even turned to Pei and said, “We’ll go again soon,” before she stepped out of the Packard.

  Now everything had changed. All day Pei stayed in the laundry room and kitchen, away from the others. But when Chen tai came into the kitchen after dinner looking for Ah Woo, Pei couldn’t avoid her cold glare. Afterward, Pei retired to bed early with an upset stomach.

  Chen tai’s pearl necklace was missing, and how could they not suspect Pei, when she alone entered the Chens’ bedroom each morning? Pei kicked away her thin cotton blanket, punched her pillow. She’d never so much as seen Chen tai’s necklace, and even if she had, why would she risk her job by taking it? Pei was relieved that she hadn’t brought Ji Shen into the house. What if blame had been placed on the girl because she dusted Chen tai’s room, or picked up the laundry for Pei? As unhappy as Ji Shen was attending Spring Valley, Pei was at least thankful she was above suspicion at Ma-ling’s boardinghouse.

  The next afternoon, Ah Woo was waiting for Pei in the kitchen when she carried in the laundry to be ironed. From the pale, severe expression on Ah Woo’s face, Pei knew something was very wrong.

  “There you are,” Ah Woo said, more to herself than to Pei.

  “Did you find the necklace?” Pei put down the basket of clothes and sat down.

  Ah Woo nodded.

  “Where?”

  From her lap Ah Woo lifted the black candy tin that Fong had given her. “Is this yours?” she asked.

  Pei sat up stiff and straight in her chair, as if she had suddenly awakened from a dream. “Fong gave it to me a few weeks ago.”