by null
The head amah of Sky House, Ah-Ho, looked upon the girl before her with obvious distaste. Although she could not say so, she greatly resented a homeless Chinese female being brought into her domain without her knowledge or consent. Ah-Geet, the driver, had carried the girl through the lofty foyer, along a wide hallway to a small, bright room, and laid her down on its clean-smelling bed. The driver’s face was passive but his eyes were hostile. Li could not be sure if she heard the whispered word “cheep-see”—whore—before he left the room.
Her heart sank on seeing a face that reminded her of Ah-Jeh’s looking down at her with evident suspicion. This woman was taller than the superintendent, with the height and girth of a man; the broad muscular face was unpowdered, the wide mouth colorless. Her tightly combed hair was wound into the gleaming bun and fixed by the wooden comb of the sau-hai.
Instead of a tzow, Ah Ho wore wide-legged black trousers and a starched white jacket with the gilded frogging of her exalted station, jade studs in the lobes of her ears, and a wide leather belt about her ample waist, dangling with a wide assortment of keys. Ben addressed her briskly but with evident tolerance; even, it appeared to Li, with a little respect.
“Ah-Ho, this child has been through bad times; she is crippled and cannot stand. Send for Dr. Yap. She will rest up in this room until she can get about.”
The amah’s reply was cold and uninviting as her icy stare.
“And when she can walk, Master, where is she to go? Do you wish me to find a place for her as a mooi-jai? She may not be worth much, but I know of many who would be pleased to take her.”
Di-Fo-Lo’s reply was equally stiff and unenlightening. “I have purchased her sung-tip. She will stay in this room until she is able to walk. Then we shall find her work to do.”
Ah-Ho paused, her eyes avoiding his. “But Master, I am not in need of another mooi-jai. Who is to care for her? Surely not I … or those of my kitchen?”
Ben was thoroughly aware of how little the head amah had to do, as he was of the duties of all the staff of Sky House. He was also aware of the complex hierarchy of Chinese labor and responsibility, of reward and privilege, that governed a stately residence like his. Finding servants who could be trusted to run a house well and with a minimum of theft and intrigue was a foreigner’s most advantageous acquisition anywhere in the Far East. Once attained, such service could last for a lifetime and even into future generations. He would do nothing to put this delicate balance at risk, certainly not for an unknown waif whose life he had saved on an impulse born largely of ill-disposed and thoroughly unreasonable anger.
“Let the Fish take care of her. When she is well, I will find her something to do until it is decided what is best for her.” He became suddenly irritated by the amah’s stubborn face. “By God’s teeth woman, have you no compassion? Can’t you see she is little more than a child and has been savagely beaten? Fetch the doctor and send me the Fish.”
As though she had been waiting for the mention of her name, a sprightly gray-haired woman appeared, bowing energetically as a clockwork toy. Her greeting was as bright as Ah-Ho’s had been bleak. “Good morning, Master, how are you?” Age had not conquered the Fish. Her thinning gray hair, loosely held by a clasp carved from pearl shell in the likeness of a leaping carp, framed a face that was brown as dried tobacco. Beneath lids like finely crinkled leaves, her eyes were quick and alive. Her slight, wiry frame was garbed in a loosely fitting sam-foo, brightly decorated with the intricate beading of a Tanka elder, fastened by ivory toggles. In the center of her forehead, held by a band of black velvet, was a ring of deep green jade; several bangles of a lighter-colored stone clinked on her thin wrists.
Li was immediately drawn to the impish brightness of this lady called the Fish. Alert and inquisitive, this was a face that had survived many seasons, perhaps fifty, perhaps sixty or even more. Ben received the dignified elder with unconcealed affection. “Ah, Fish, this girl is from a bad place on the Pearl River. She cannot walk and needs attention. I have sent for Dr. Yap. When he has examined her, you will follow his instructions and care for her. Find her something to wear and feed her well. She has had a very bad time.” Ah-Ho stood aside in silence as the Fish bowed her clear understanding. With a hostile gleam in her eyes, the head amah of Sky House bowed stiffly, then turned and left without a further word.
The next morning, as the night sky melted into dawn and the kitchen gas lamps still hissed white, Ah-Ho sent for Li, who had no choice but to hobble behind the scullery maid sent to fetch her.
The head amah was seated at a round table set with tea things and a single high-backed chair. Erect as a wooden goddess, she sipped from a large glass of black tea, held in the grip of a silver serpent—its arched coils serving as a handle, its venomous head guarding the lid with open jaws. Li noticed that the marble top of the table was fractured by a web of cracks. The table is old … as unsound and imperfect as she of the arched eyebrows, she thought to herself, no longer pleasing to look upon, but deceptively strong. Ah-Ho savored the tea unhurriedly, watching closely for signs of pain as Li shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I regret I cannot ask you to sit, but as you see, this kitchen has but one chair.”
Li recognized the sullen-faced youth wearing the uniformed trousers and polished boots of a driver. His shirt was off, a singlet hung loosely from a lean muscular frame, his thin face fixed in a complacent smirk. He leaned against the wall behind Ah-Ho, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, a cigarette drooping from his lower lip.
“A night has passed and you are still under this roof. It is time you are told the truth.” The amah spoke with slow deliberation. “Master Devereaux has chosen to dump you among honest, hardworking folk like the last skinny shrimp grabbed from the bottom of a slimy barrel. He sees you as helpless and deserving, but I see you as the makings of a slut, or he would not have bothered. He is a gwai-lo, sometimes a wise one, but with the heart of a fool; he cannot see what we can see.”
Setting the glass down, Ah-Ho thumped her closed fists on either side of it, causing it to spill. “I will know all there is to know of you before you have spent one week beneath this roof. You will not deceive me as you deceived him. Dr. Yap has seen to you at great cost; you can walk now, well enough to stand before me. My advice to you is to leave while the master is away and go where he cannot find you.” Ah-Ho fetched a purse from her pocket, counting out crumpled notes, tossing them onto the table. “Here are ten dollars, the wages of a mooi-jai for many months. Take it and go where you will … there is nothing but bad joss for you here … for Di-Fo-Lo too. He has given you your life. Do not make him pay too high a price.”
Li found her inner voice. I have faced your kind before. I learned from her the meaning of injustice but she taught me how to live with pain… . One such as you will never make me cry, nor will you throw shadows on my path. She met the cunning eyes of the chauffeur, squinting narrowly through the plume of cigarette smoke, holding them until he looked away with a sneer of disdain. And you who wear such a fine uniform, you are no larn-jai; there are no yellow dogs to fight for you.
When she spoke aloud, it was with great humility and downcast eyes. “I am not worthy of such generosity, or of a place in this noble house. I think you must ask your master to send me away. Until then, I will not insult his hospitality, but await his decision.” Bowing with great humility, she turned and walked away, showing no sign of her pain and nothing more of her secret thoughts. Ah-Ho came to her feet so violently the glass of tea was overturned, to roll across the table and crash to the floor. Every word she spoke was a threat.
“So be it, little river rat. But do not speak of this conversation; it never happened.”
With the guiding hand and ready wit of the Fish at her side, Li grew accustomed to her new surroundings in a few enthralling weeks. Such a world unfolded about her that each new awakening was greeted as a dream that must surely be snatched away.
Thanks to the Chinese doctor, Yap-Lau, and his evil-s
melling poultices, she was soon able to walk to the window and tend herself without help. The little balcony of her room looked down upon the curving concourse of the Pria Grande, across the bay with its fleet of anchored junks and busy sampans, out to the wide blue of the sea.
No one had told her to leave the room she found so splendid, with its comfortable bed, a dressing table with a chair, and the wonder of a mirror. It took her many hours alone, with the door bolted on the inside, to explore the miracles of the mirror. It tilted up and down, and with practice Li was able to see herself as never before. At first she had quickly looked away from her still-swollen face, cuts still healing, bruises discoloring her skin. Her hastily cropped hair sprouted in uneven tufts that left her small, neat ears uncovered.
But now each night, in total privacy, she inspected herself more thoroughly, tilting the oval mirror to examine every inch of her body and watch its healing. She would sit before it in the soft light of the orange-shaded flare of gaslight and study herself for hours at a time. As the blemishes faded, so did the horrors of the pig basket, until she was able to see herself anew. She saw the details of her large, almond-shaped eyes and fine brows, the thick curling lashes of her beautiful mother. These were unusual in the south, the Fish informed her, where Cantonese eyes were narrowed with caution, the lashes were sparse and straight, and most brows wore the frown of poverty.
Every day without fail, the Fish brought food she had cooked herself, as well as a pail of hot water to wash her feet and change the dressings. The lively old lady had a habit of looking left and right whenever she wished to speak intimately, which seemed to be much of the time. “The day will come when you will bathe like a princess in the master’s snow-white bath.” She stretched her arms wide, jangling the jade bracelets. “It is big enough to wash a buffalo and its calf.” She lowered her voice. “I know of the words of Ah-Ho. Nothing occurs in Sky House that I do not know about. When the master is at sea, or visiting Hong Kong, I am his eyes and his ears.” She chuckled. “You were wise to speak as you did.”
The Fish, she explained with pride, was set apart from the other servants, the only one to be appointed by Ben himself. It was he, she said with pride, who had named her the Fish. “When he was young and building his first lorcha on the mudflats, no one would sell him food or fetch him water. All mad gwai-los are known to eat Chinese babies when they can, but I was not afraid. I know the eyes and heart of a good person when I look into them, and I know there are fools among our people who know nothing but say much. So I sold him fresh fish every day, got him vegetables straight from the market, and kept his water keg full. My clan name is Kwai-Tzing-Tze, and no matter how many times he tried to say it he could not. So he named me after the fish I caught and cooked for him in my sampan. His favorite was Macao sole, and I knew exactly where to find them on the sand at low tide.
“We shared many fine suppers on the mudflats by the light of a pitch flare. I taught him words of the Tanka and learned words of the barbarian in return. We laughed often and sometimes sang, so no one troubled us. He told me stories of the sea and of the great fortune he would find in the future. I told him stories of the great Tung Ting lake and the dreams I had lost in the past.” She gave way to her soundless laugh, tapping the side of her head.
“They thought we were both mung-cha-cha. When he could not pay, I kept a tally, and he paid back every copper coin with interest. Then, when he became rich, he came to find me and took me into this fine house.” The old woman’s face grew calm.
“Devereaux is an honorable man; he is not like other gwai-los. He has told me that he saved you from a cruel fate and believes his own gods took a hand in this. You will have nothing to fear from him—you have my word on this. He finds much in you that others cannot see, and says you have great courage.”
The Fish was proud of her Tanka stock, still strong enough to carry out her work in spite of her advanced years. Born among the boat people, who lived and died upon the water, she had grown too old to scull a sampan, but she was still sharp of mind, kept faith in her chosen gods, and was cheerful, honest, and an excellent midwife.
It was almost two months before Li could walk any distance without help. Her feet had known nothing but rope-bottomed sandals and tree-bark leggings. The canvas slippers worn by a mooi-ja, little maid, were too tight even in the largest size. Leather sandals and all manner of shoes were impossible to fit, until the Fish took her to a cobbler, who made three pairs of soft leather shoes to fit her feet alone and one special pair decorated with silver flowers to wear when visiting the temple at festival time.
“It is the order of the master himself that you must have shoes to fit your feet, and clothes that are comfortable to wear,” the Fish confided with much relish. “Ah-Ho would have you in the rags of a scullery maid, with wooden keks upon your feet, scrubbing floors for her to spit upon, but I am here to care for you and this will never happen.”
One day the Fish appeared early with the tray of congee. Li had never seen her looking so resplendent, wearing the festive garb of her Tanka clan: a sam-foo ablaze with embroidery of tiny, brilliantly colored glass beads, the same brightly beaded hat coverering her white hair. She proudly announced she had stitched every bead herself “with the eyes of a sea ea gle that do not fail me.” She continued, “I have come to drink tea with you on this, the birthday of Tien-Hau, the goddess of the sea, the patron saint of my people.” She ladled the congee into their bowls. “The Tanka fishing fleet will stream the pennants of their clans, and decorate their junks with great displays off lowers, raise high the flags and banners of their ancestors, and sail to the the temple in Joss House Bay to lay offerings at her feet.” The Fish’s eyes were filled with pride. “Once, my clan owned seven river junks that sailed the Grand Canal from the Yangtze Valley to Chungking… . But all were lost to the water dragons.”
She sighed, filling their cups with strong black tea. “You are young. Your past does not cover many mountains. I think you have no wish to speak of a journey just begun. So I will speak to you of mine, which will soon be ended.” She looked dreamily through the windows, at vessels of every size filling the harbor, each one competing with the next for the extravagance of their finery.
“My family fished the Yangtze River for many generations. I grew up beside the rushing waters, sometimes yellow as a peach, sometimes brown as a yam, sometimes green as a fresh apple. The voice of the river sang me to sleep and I awoke to the chanting of the trackers hauling junks against the rapids, men as strong as oxen, bent to the towrope till their noses touched the ground.”
She lifted her head and squared her meager shoulders. “I had a cousin, about my age but perhaps a little older. We were friends and he taught me many things. I could lift a dip net jumping with small silver fish when I was three. I knew the name and hiding place of every frog, and where the white crane made its nest.” She paused at the memory. “We grew our own rice and picked pomegranates and pomelos from our own trees. Our life was good, and the river was abundant, our bowls were always overflowing.”
Her tone was shaded with sadness. “A great storm came, thundering like ten thousand white horses through the gorges—they say it was the greatest of all storms. The old people on the river had never seen the river gods so angry. The gods let loose their dragons and swept away the fruit trees, our goats and our pigs, and the temple where we prayed in the great flood. Everyone in my family perished, with many thousands of others, except my cousin To-Tze.”
She lifted her voice from this passing shadow. “But the gods decided to spare us. We clung to a fallen tree and were swept into the great Tung-Ting Lake, the Place of Peace and Harmony. Reed-cutters took us in and I was raised in the lake’s marshes, but To-Tze was given to the Voice of Buddha monastery, named after its great bell that can be heard across the lake. They say he became a great master of White Cane wu-shu and left the Voice of Buddha to teach all over China, that he returned to live as a hermit on the wildest slopes of the lake to meditate and
become a barefoot doctor.” She paused to shake her head and lift her cup. Her hand is steady, thought Li, she is strong of heart and knows so much of life; there is nothing she does not understand.
“Perhaps he is still there,” the Fish concluded. “It is the most beautiful place in all of China. It is my huang-hah, the place of my childhood, in the central hills of Hunan. One day, when I can no longer thread the needle, and my hands can no longer find the beads, I will return there perhaps to find To-Tze. There is nowhere else I would rather take my final journey.”
Seeing that freedom was so new to her, the Fish delighted in taking Li on her visits to the markets, teaching her to haggle over the price of vegetables, freshly cut or dug that morning, and of fish and crabs still flapping and crawling in butts of seawater.
Each day they discovered another hidden corner of the waterfront and the labyrinth of narrow streets, alleys, and lanes that led to its busy and ever-crowded center. Only a moment’s step from the fine residences and fashionable shops of the Praia Grande and the constant breeze off the mudflats, the real Macao began—the Old Quarter, where the first traders had put down roots, many of their families still living above their original shops. The Fish seemed to know every inch of the cobbled streets crammed with narrow shop fronts, streetside vendors, and artists and artisans of every description, threading through the bustling crowds with such energy that Li had to step briskly to keep pace with her.
“They call this the city of sin, and sin can be easily found here. There are many devils—smugglers and pirates, harlots, gamblers, and opium eaters—but it is also a city of angels if you know where to seek them. Many different gods reside here.” They passed a street of shuttered houses, large red lanterns hanging from every upstairs window—invitations to sample exotic services from every corner of the Orient scrawled on banners of scarlet silk. “Red Lantern Street, home to whores from every province and beyond. A man can buy an hour in his choice of heaven for a dollar or two.”