The Language of Threads

by Gail Tsukiyama

  “How have you and Ji Shen been?”

  “We’re fine,” Pei answered.

  She lifted her hand up against the bright sunlight and saw Ho Yung glance uncomfortably toward his friends. They were all well dressed in dark suits or silk cheongsams.

  “How is your family?” She raised her voice against the flurry of noise.

  Ho Yung stepped away from the woman standing next to him and moved closer to Pei. “They’re as well as can be, considering the occupation. My brother, Ho Chee, and his wife are the parents of two daughters. My mother has been ill in the past few years and is bedridden.”

  “I’m sorry,” Pei said, at once struck by the sudden, sharp memory of the last time she’d seen Wong tai. The hard glare of hate still stung.

  “I’ve often wondered how you and Ji Shen were doing.”

  Pei looked away. “We’ve managed to get by.”

  Ho Yung searched for words. “You look well.” The young woman in a silk cheongsam tugged at his arm.

  “I’d better be going,” Pei said quickly. “I’m supposed to meet Ji Shen.”

  Ho Yung pulled a card from his pocket. “Please, take my card, and if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to look for me. Perhaps we can meet for tea?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Pei reached for the card and slipped it into her pocket. “I should go now.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ho Yung said, gently releasing the woman’s grip from his arm. “I hope we’ll see each other soon.”

  Pei nodded, then hurried away from King’s Theatre, too embarrassed to stop. Her heart was racing. She must look a mess in her old tunic and pants, among the bright silk dresses. She rushed down the street and pushed everything away—even Ho Yung’s serious dark eyes, whose gaze was too much like Lin’s.

  The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in early August left no doubt that a Japanese surrender was imminent. Pei could feel the rhythm of the streets humming again.

  The following week Ji Shen was late coming home. It was long after dinner and she still hadn’t returned. Pei glanced out the window and sighed heavily. “Where can she be?” she asked, more of herself than of the other women in the room. The image of Ji Shen’s friend lingered heavily in her mind.

  “Ji Shen can take care of herself. Besides, there have been rumors that Hirohito will surrender before the end of the week. Everyone is already out celebrating.” Song Lee tried to be reassuring, though her voice was cautious and measured.

  “It’s almost dark,” Pei added. Distant crackling noises sputtered through the night air.

  “Ji Shen’s probably with her friends,” Luling said. “She hasn’t needed any of our company for a long time.”

  Song Lee pulled Pei away from the window. “Don’t listen to her. Luling has forgotten what it’s like to be young.”

  Luling snickered.

  Song Lee leaned closer. “Quan will look after her.”

  “It’s her other friends I worry about,” Pei said.

  “I’m sure Ji Shen will have a good explanation,” Song Lee added.

  Pei sat down and continued sewing, though her fingers were stiff and her stitches too conspicuous. The memory of Ji Shen running after her friend returned again. She bit off the thread and took apart what she’d just sewn. “No more of this!” she said aloud. She grimaced, stood up, and set down the blue cheongsam she was mending, though it was supposed to be ready the next morning. “I’m going out to look for her.”

  Song Lee followed her to the door. “Wait a little longer. I’m sure she’s just late talking with her friends. The occupation is all but over! Everything will be easier then.”

  “I wish it could be so simple,” she sighed.

  “Anyway,” Song Lee continued, “where do you propose to start looking at this hour?”

  “Quan told me they often go to Central, near the theaters, where the best deals can be made.”

  “But it’s almost dark. I’ll go with you.”

  Pei turned and held out her arm to stop Song Lee from following her into the street. She touched the older woman’s shoulder to reassure her. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. There are lots of people out tonight.” She gestured at the crowds. “If Ji Shen returns, make sure she stays put. I won’t be long.”

  The night air had a smoky flavor, as if something were burning. In the near distance Pei heard quick popping noises that she hoped were firecrackers and not gunfire. She immediately felt something was different. There was an excitement in the atmosphere. A string of popping firecrackers twisted and snaked in front of her. The streets of Wan Chai were bustling as people gathered in the streets. There were no Japanese soldiers in sight.

  Someone had turned a radio up loud, and through the static, the calm voice of Emperor Hirohito silenced the crowds as he surrendered to the world. A sudden roar of voices filled the air. A young man grabbed Pei and spun her around before rejoicing with the next person he saw. Groups of Chinese gathered in doorways or stood in the streets, while others ripped down any signs they could reach that bore Japanese names. A Japanese flag burned to cheers from the crowd. Pei raised her arms and cheered along with them.

  In the smoke-filled air, music played nearby, horns and cymbals resounding through the night. Groups of young people were laughing and dancing in the streets. Happiness washed over Pei as she continued toward Central. The occupation was finally over. Ji Shen must have known it and stayed out celebrating with Quan and her other friends. Pei took a deep breath, still angry, yet also relieved.

  Poor and rich alike were in the streets, cotton tunics and silk cheongsams together, laughing and celebrating the end of the occupation. Pei wondered how long it would take them to forget the long, gaunt years of humiliation and starvation, and all the loved ones who were no longer alive. If only Mrs. Finch could have lived to see this day. Pei missed her more than ever. She paused, only to hear Mrs. Finch’s words return: “Life is made up of change. You can’t run away from it.”

  The rapid popping of firecrackers and heavy clouds of smoke filled the air around her. The smoke made Pei’s eyes burn and water; tears streamed down her face.

  Ji Shen

  Ji Shen had indeed been out celebrating the end of the occupation. The smoke from her friends’ firecrackers cleared only long enough for another string to be set off. She was so caught up in the revelry with Lan Wai that she hadn’t even realized Lock had disappeared.

  “Don’t worry,” Lan Wai said. “He’ll show up again, he always does.”

  “Where did he go?” Ji Shen asked.

  Lan Wai shrugged. “Come on, don’t worry about him.”

  Ji Shen felt a twinge in her stomach. “No, I’d better get back. Pei will be worried sick.”

  She hurried back to the boardinghouse, then hesitated and turned down the street toward Lock’s apartment. Many of the street vendors stayed there. “We’re just like one big family,” he said. “Most of us lost our real families a long time ago.”

  The wooden stairs creaked as she climbed them. The shadowy thresholds looked dark and menacing. All she wanted was to be with Lock, to tell him she was pregnant with his child. He would have a real family of his own again. Lock would smile and wrap his arms around her happily at the news that he’d soon have an heir . . . or, at worst, he would be dismayed, but gladly take responsibility for his child.

  Ji Shen found the spare key she’d seen Lock hide above the doorjamb and slid it into the keyhole, then slowly turned the knob. She entered quietly and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light before she negotiated the maze of boxes. Reaching his room, she inched the door open. The room was hot and stuffy, the air tinged with sleep and sweat. She slowly made out objects in the cluttered space—boxes of canned meat, liquor, and cigarettes stacked to one side, clothes on the floor, Lock’s long body unmoving under a muted green blanket. Ji Shen smiled, then blushed, as she entertained the idea of slipping under the covers with Lock. Not until she moved closer to the bed did Ji Shen realize there was another
body entwined with his. The long black hair of a woman was draped over his arms. She grew warm all over and abruptly felt sick to her stomach. It was as if she’d been suddenly kicked, the air knocked out of her. Ji Shen lurched forward. With an unexpected heave, she vomited on Lock’s bed.

  “Who’s there?” his dazed voice rang out.

  Ji Shen’s heart raced. She gulped for air against her dizziness as she stumbled toward the door. She heard the muffled scream of the woman, but Ji Shen was already out of the apartment and down the stairs before Lock had time to slip on his pants.

  Ji Shen walked back to the boardinghouse, knowing Pei must be beyond worry. She felt numb to everything. She prayed to the gods that it was just a bad dream, that she hadn’t seen Lock lying with another woman. She stilled her trembling hands. Tomorrow he would welcome her and their child with soft whispers. . . . But the thought vanished in the dead of night, and Ji Shen began to cry. A few distant firecrackers still crackled through the night air, but the littered streets were largely deserted; almost everyone had gone home to sleep. Tomorrow the streets would be filled again, and all of Hong Kong would be celebrating the end to the Japanese occupation. How could she have been so stupid? Everyone had warned her. Ji Shen looked up at the moon that washed the streets with an eerie pale light. It was as if time were suspended somewhere between day and night, between truth and lies.

  From a doorway, a strange man in tattered clothing, reeking of urine and alcohol, stepped out of the shadows. “Drink a little!” he spat out, and offered her the large green bottle he clutched tightly in one hand. Ji Shen dodged him. Her heart pounded in her chest; how would she find the right words to tell Pei she was sorry for everything? Ji Shen couldn’t remain silent much longer about the baby growing inside her. She wished Mrs. Finch were still alive to soften the blow, to ease her fears and make everything all right.

  “Please, Pei, can’t you understand?” The words she’d rehearsed so many times as she walked home came tumbling out into the dark, empty street. An urgent murmur. “I thought I loved him and he loved me. I knew he was someone you wouldn’t approve of, but I loved him anyway. And now I’m carrying his child. If it weren’t for Lock, we would have never had enough food to carry us through the occupation.”

  Lock had mesmerized Ji Shen from the beginning. He was everything Quan wasn’t—older, smooth-talking, self-assured. There were men and women working for him who hung on his every word and would do anything he asked. But Lock called Ji Shen his little lost swan, and he had chosen her, taken her under his wing, and helped guide her through the intricacies of the black market.

  “I would never hurt you,” he had whispered to her the first time he made love to her. “Haven’t I always shown you the way? Just relax and let me take care of you now.”

  Ji Shen had never expected it to be that way with a man. The only time she’d seen Lock lose control was when he was inside her. Although the weight of his body on top of her pinned her down, for the first time in her life Ji Shen felt as if she were the one in command.

  “Please, Pei, can’t you understand?” she asked again.

  The street was dark and empty: a sharp popping echoed in the distance.

  Lan Wai had been the only one she could confide in. Everything had been so difficult between Pei and Ji Shen, it seemed the words just froze before they could be said. With Lan Wai, everything was understood.

  “How do you feel?” Lan Wai had asked the other morning, seeing how pale she was.

  Ji Shen looked up, surprised. In the past few months, ever since she’d become closer to Lock, Lan Wai had kept her distance. “I’m having a hard time keeping anything down today.”

  She could barely swallow the strong po lai tea Song Lee liked to drink every morning.

  Lan Wai took a deep breath. “It was like that for me, too.” She glanced at Ji Shen. “Sometimes dry biscuits help.”

  “Thank you,” Ji Shen said. Her eyes met Lan Wai’s in surprise, then quickly pulled away.

  All day Lan Wai stayed close to Ji Shen and offered bits of advice. “It’s important to drink plenty of water,” she said, or “Later on you’ll want to stay off your feet as much as you can.” She glanced over at Lock across the room. “Don’t ever let him tell you otherwise.”

  “What happened to your baby?” Ji Shen found the courage to ask.

  Lan Wai hesitated, then said, “She died of sickness.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ji Shen reached for the young woman’s hand.

  Lan Wai shrugged. “I suppose it’s all for the best. This isn’t a life to raise a child in,” she said, and pulled her hand slowly away.

  Ji Shen opened the front door of the boardinghouse and winced as it creaked loudly. She tiptoed up the stairs, but went into the sitting room instead of going directly to the room she shared with Pei. A few more stolen moments alone might give her the courage to face Pei.

  Pei’s voice startled her. “You’re late.”

  Ji Shen’s heart raced as she turned to see the shadow of Pei sitting by the window. “You’re still awake?”

  “What did you expect?” Pei’s voice was low and tired. “Didn’t you think I would worry?”

  Ji Shen stepped closer. “I’m so sorry. Everyone was out celebrating the end of the occupation and I’m afraid I lost track of the time.” She suddenly wanted to hug Pei to show her how sorry she was.

  Pei leaned forward. “It seems you’ve lost track of many things lately.”

  “Yes,” Ji Shen agreed. She’d never seen Pei like this before, so distant and reserved, like a stranger. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “It’s late. I’m tired.” Pei rose from the chair. “I just wanted to make sure you were safely back home. We’ll talk more in the morning.” Not looking at Ji Shen, Pei walked past her without saying another word.

  “Please,” Ji Shen pleaded, her voice small and frightened. “I need to talk to you.”

  Simple Words

  Forgiveness was a soothing balm, a cool breeze of relief. Pei finished mending last night’s cheongsam while Ji Shen slept late into the morning upstairs. It was the calm, unhurried sleep of a child, not a soon-to-be mother. Last night Ji Shen’s words had spilled over. She couldn’t stop talking, until Pei stepped forward to take the quivering girl into her arms. “Everything will be all right,” she whispered, smelling fear and sweat. “I won’t let anything happen to either of you.”

  Song Lee poured herself another cup of tea and sat down across from Pei. “I knew Ji Shen would have to tell you soon that she was pregnant,” she confessed. “I could read her movements as if they were characters on a page.”

  Pei looked up from her mending. “And you didn’t say anything?”

  Song Lee cleared her throat and continued in a calm voice. “I knew you would find out sooner or later. It was better for me to stay out of it.”

  “Was I so blind?” Pei shook her head.

  Song Lee smiled kindly. “Sometimes a person is too close to see the truth.”

  “I should have paid closer attention, but what with all Ji Shen’s growing pains, then Mrs. Finch’s death and the mending business . . .”

  “In the end, it doesn’t matter what words are said or unsaid.” Song Lee sipped her tea. “Life’s mistakes are made whether you can see them or not. What counts is how we learn to live with them.”

  Pei nodded.

  “And what of the father?” Song Lee asked.

  Pei sighed. “It doesn’t seem as if he has any intention of taking responsibility. Ji Shen found him with another woman.”

  “The dirty dog!” Song Lee said under her breath.

  Pei paused in her mending and looked her friend in the eye. “From what I know, it might be best if she were rid of him.”

  “Whatever happens from this moment on, we’re all part of Ji Shen’s family here, and we will welcome this child,” Song Lee said.

  Pei continued with her work. Her needle and thread slipped in and out of the material with ease. After
so many difficult months, she felt as if the heaviness had been lifted from her shoulders.

  In the days after peace came, Pei saw most of the silk sisters return to work as domestic servants. Song Lee and her committees had organized more meetings in the last month to help situate them. While some returned to their old households, many were placed in new positions, whose number increased each week with the growing prosperity of the colony. The interruption in their normal life was over, and Hong Kong again offered her sisters a means of sustenance.

  Before long, the boardinghouse was nearly empty of Pei’s sisters. Pei herself was wondering if she might start a seamstress business of her own. Her skills as an invisible mender had continued to grow through the occupation. Hong Kong Tai tais were anxious for their old and new dresses to be ready for them now that the round of parties had begun again. Pei dreamed of opening a small shop in Wan Chai, near the boardinghouse, so she wouldn’t be far from Ji Shen and the baby when it came. She hadn’t told Song Lee yet, but she had no intention of returning to the false smiles and difficult personalities that came along with working in a big house with a new Tai tai and Seen-san.

  It was a bittersweet time for Pei. Just after the Japanese surrender in September of 1945, the Japanese soldiers withdrew and the British civilians interned at Stanley were officially released. But most of the ex-prisoners stayed on at the camp for a month or more, for lack of transport and housing.

  Meanwhile, Ji Shen was having a difficult pregnancy. Ever since she told Pei about the baby, she felt so nauseated she stayed in bed each morning, barely able to speak.

  With Song Lee watching Ji Shen, Pei caught a ride with Mr. Ma out to Stanley in mid-October. She felt a burning need to visit Mrs. Finch’s grave and see Stanley Camp one last time.

  As they drove through the Hong Kong streets, Pei saw how rapidly the city had regained some of its former glory. After the British government had regained possession of the island, they immediately set to work repairing all the destruction done during the three years and eight months of Japanese occupation. Within a month of their return, the rubble had been cleared and the pockmarked streets were temporarily patched with gravel and tar. The boarded-up windows of businesses, Pei saw, had been replaced with plate glass. Even a few electric trolley lines, quickly repaired, were running again.