Spilled Water

by Sally Grindley

  ‘Then you will leave without pay,’ snarled Mrs Chen.

  As he headed for the door, Xiong Fei turned and said, ‘I’m sorry, Lu Si-yan. I will try to find help for you.’ But even as he said it, I realised that there was nothing he could do. Mr and Mrs Chen were powerful people. They would know how to deal with anyone who questioned my status within their household.

  Things deteriorated even more from that time onwards. Mrs Chen was incensed by what she considered the treachery of her pet chef and my role in his departure. She quickly replaced Xiong Fei with a much older man, who was under strict instructions to keep me in my place and only to talk to me, if necessary, to tell me what to do. Mr Tian, as I was to call him, clearly thought himself far too important anyway to speak to the likes of me, though he was not beyond pinching my bottom when the mood took him. When he arrived in the evenings, he often smelled of alcohol, and left mess all over the kitchen which he expected me to clean up.

  Mrs Chen made me work harder than ever.

  ‘You have made your own bed, Lu Si-yan – now you must lie in it. I have tried to treat you well, but you betrayed my goodwill. It is for you to prove to me that I can trust you again and that you can achieve the standards I expect of my future daughter-in-law.’

  And so the weeks went by. I was allowed out of the apartment once a month to have my hair cut. The summer turned to autumn, then winter, but my only experience of the changing seasons was through the apartment windows. The river came and went, shrouded most of the time in dense smog, and screened too by heavy cloud or driving rain. I struggled to hang on to the idea that it might one day take me home.

  No task was too menial. I disinfected toilets, scrubbed floors, cleaned windows, laundered underwear, ironed sheets, on top of my original kitchen and light housework duties. I learned to get on with my work, to avoid any confrontation that might aggravate Mrs Chen still further.

  I stopped looking in my bedroom mirror. The alien being who stood there was nobody I knew.

  Sundays were the worst. The meals I cooked always failed to live up to Mrs Chen’s high expectations, and Mr Tian made no effort to help me. On top of that, I didn’t know how to deal with Yimou. He would gaze at me with fascination, as though I were some kind of rare species. He never spoke directly to me, but often talked about me in my presence. One day, he asked Mrs Chen if I could stay with them for ever and ever. Mrs Chen replied that that would be my decision, and glared at me tight-mouthed in case I should dare to contradict her.

  Another day Yimou looked at me all glassy-eyed, then leant across the table to Mrs Hong and whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone, Grandma, but I love Lu Si-yan. She is so beautiful. One day I will marry her and then she’ll never, never, never go away.’

  ‘Behave yourself, Yimou,’ jumped in Mr Chen, while Mrs Chen gasped, and I stood there horrorstruck. Did Yimou know? Did he know what was being planned for him?

  ‘I think you have a fan there, Lu Si-yan,’ smiled Mrs Hong. ‘He has very good taste, I must say.’

  ‘He has very good taste, hasn’t he, Grandma?’ Yimou nodded.

  ‘That’s enough,’ thundered Mrs Chen. ‘Stop encouraging him, Mother. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.’

  ‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying,’ repeated Yimou.

  I disappeared back to the kitchen and sobbed.

  Mrs Hong saw what was happening to me. Occasionally, at meal times, I would catch her look of consternation as she glanced in my direction.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not overworking this child?’ she asked from time to time. Or, ‘Lu Si-yan is looking very pale and thin. Perhaps she needs a few days’ break.’

  But, on seeing his wife’s pursed lips, Mr Chen would reply, ‘I’m sure my wife knows what she is doing, Mother. Please don’t interfere.’

  Mrs Chen rarely left me alone in the apartment with her mother-in-law. She would arrange for a carer to come in and look after Mrs Hong’s needs whenever she went out. In that way, any contact with my sole sympathiser was kept to a minimum.

  One day, though, Mrs Chen had to go into town unexpectedly and left the two of us alone.

  Mrs Hong came to find me. She pressed some money into my hand.

  ‘Take it, child. I know you’re in training, but I think you should be paid something for all that you do, even if we feed and house you.’

  I was astonished. I could feel tears pricking the backs of my eyes.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hong. That’s very kind of you.’ Then, without thinking, I said, ‘I shall send it to my mother.’

  It was Mrs Hong’s turn to be astonished.

  ‘But your mother’s dead, dear.’

  I didn’t know what to say then. I muttered something about being confused, and hoped Mrs Hong would go away. But instead she said, ‘You’re very unhappy here, aren’t you, Lu Si-yan?’

  She looked at me piercingly and continued, ‘She can be a little hard, my daughter-in-law. She was devastated when she discovered that her one and only child was brain-damaged at birth. She has never come to terms with it, wants someone to blame, and is desperate for Yimou to be normal. Of course he won’t ever be, but he’s such a sweetheart. The trouble is, my daughter-in-law simply can’t cope with the burden of him.’

  She stopped herself then and tutted. ‘You are only a child, and I am speaking out of turn like old women do sometimes, but I hope that by understanding her pain you will judge her less harshly.’

  ‘I miss my home,’ I said.

  ‘Come, I will make you tea and you shall tell me about your home.’

  Mrs Hong sent me to sit down in her room. I didn’t protest, I needed so much just to do nothing for a few minutes. I hadn’t the energy to worry about Mrs Chen’s reaction were she to find out.

  ‘Where does Yimou go during the day?’ I asked, when Mrs Hong returned with a tray full of tea and cakes.

  ‘He works for his father. Simple jobs that keep him busy and make him feel important.’

  I nodded, wondering again if this was the moment to let Mrs Hong know of the plans being made for me.

  ‘You are full of unspoken thoughts, Lu Si-yan. Tell me about your family.’

  So I told her. About Father and his love of life, the way he sang as he worked, about the carp we caught, about how I taught him to read, and how he was taken from us in a road accident. I told her about Li-hu with his rosy cheeks and how, when Father died, I helped to look after him and he helped to collect the eggs from our ducks and hens. I told her about Uncle, and how I didn’t think he really approved of us, but he had had a difficult time when he was young because he had had to bring up my father. I told her about my mother, and how hard it had been for her when Father died, but how we had become an inseparable team and had managed really well, until she became ill and there was a terrible drought and everything went wrong.

  Tears rolled down my face as all the memories came flooding back. I wanted my mother. I wanted Li-hu. I no longer blamed him for my plight. How could I? He was just a baby. He didn’t ask for this to happen. Mrs Hong looked at me pityingly.

  ‘What happened to your little brother, Lu Si-yan?’ she asked, patting me on the hand. ‘Is your uncle looking after him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I sobbed. ‘But one day I will go home and find him.’

  ‘Would you like me to write to your uncle?’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to be a burden to my family. I will go home when I am able to support them myself.’

  ‘That will be soon, Lu Si-yan, I promise. You are learning fast, and your resilience will see you through.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  You Have to Leave

  One evening, when I had retired to my room and was on the verge of falling asleep, a furious row erupted in the apartment. I crept over to my door and tried to make out what was going on, but the voices were too muffled. Intrigued, I opened the door slightly, and heard my name spoken by Mr Chen. I heard Mrs Hong arguing with him, saying that she wouldn’t allow him to
do it if that was what they were planning, that it was wrong, that she couldn’t believe that a son of hers would behave in such a way. I heard Mrs Chen telling her to be quiet and to mind her own business. Mrs Hong retorted that it was very much her business and that her daughter-in-law should learn some respect. Mr Chen told her firmly that it was not her place to interfere and that she must leave the subject alone. His words were final. A door slammed. I scuttled back to bed.

  Several days later, Mrs Chen went out and left a carer in charge of Mrs Hong. I went about my duties as usual. Before very long, though, I heard the apartment door open and close, and Mrs Hong’s wheelchair approaching. She came into the kitchen and said, ‘That’s got rid of her. Now, Lu Si-yan, put down that saucepan and listen.’

  I did as I was told.

  ‘My daughter-in-law might take me for an old fool, but I’m not senile yet. I have finally got to the bottom of what is going on here, Lu Si-yan, and I am appalled. It’s wrong. My son and daughter-in-law, however, seem determined to ignore my views. But I won’t let it happen. You have to leave. You have to leave now.’

  I stared at her in amazement, unable to take in what she meant.

  ‘We haven’t much time, child,’ continued Mrs Hong. ‘My daughter-in-law may be back at any moment.’

  She reached into the handbag on her lap and pulled out a purse. ‘I want you to take this. There should be enough to get you home and quite a bit to spare for your family.’

  I hesitated. How could I take this kindly old lady’s money?

  ‘Don’t argue, Lu Si-yan. I am well looked after, even if they do treat me like an invalid. I want you to have it. It’s the least I can do to make up for my family’s behaviour. Now run and collect your things together.’

  I hesitated again, then took the purse from her and ran to my room. I grabbed my old blouse from behind the chest of drawers and piled my clothes into a carrier bag. My coat was hanging on the back of my door. Should I take it? Wouldn’t it be stealing? It would be cold outside though, and all I was wearing was my servant’s dress. I put the coat on and walked back to the kitchen. The enormity of what I was about to do made me shudder with apprehension.

  Mrs Hong held her arms open and beckoned me towards her. I went to her and hugged her tight.

  ‘Go home, Lu Si-yan,’ she said. ‘Go and find that brother of yours.’

  ‘And my mother,’ I said.

  ‘But your mother –’ Mrs Hong began.

  ‘My mother is alive, Mrs Hong. I am not an orphan. Only my father is dead.’

  The old lady’s face flashed anger, followed by despair. ‘Then go to your mother. She must be missing you terribly. Give me your address and I will tell her to expect you.’

  I quickly wrote it down, while Mrs Hong wheeled herself to the apartment door, took a key from her bag, and opened it.

  ‘Good luck, Lu Si-yan. Remember me sometimes.’

  ‘I will, Mrs Hong, and thank you.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  What’s Gone is Gone

  I ran down the twenty-two flights of steps, too fearful to take the lift in case Mrs Chen should arrive back unexpectedly and catch me in it. When I reached the front door, I checked carefully that no one was watching, slipped out on to the busy street and mingled with a passing group of pedestrians. The freezing air shocked me. It was the middle of winter. The dense, dull, grey sky threatened snow. I was glad I had taken the coat Mrs Chen had bought me, though what a waste of money it had proved until now.

  I turned into the first side road I came to. Initially on a level, leading me back behind the row of new apartment blocks where the Chens lived, this road suddenly dropped steeply and took me towards the derelict buildings I had seen from my bedroom window. I glanced back up at the new apartments, trying to work out which one was the Chens’, hoping to wave one final farewell to Mrs Hong. But the windows were all blank canvases.

  As I drew nearer to the derelict buildings, I was surprised to see that though they were appallingly dirty and crumbling, several of them were still occupied, their balconies hung with washing and cluttered with bicycles, tin baths, old stoves and other worldly possessions. A grubby-faced little girl waved at me from one of the higher balconies. I waved back and thought how lucky I was to have grown up with my father’s luscious green terraces all around me, with fresh eggs every day, with the river running close by, and the air clean and transparent.

  The road petered out. I turned right along another decaying street, and was surprised this time to find a row of shops, their owners trading as though nothing was happening around them and the new town above didn’t exist. Was the attraction of a brand new apartment, a brand new shop, insufficient to tear them away from this squalor?

  Yet how could I even ask myself such a question? This was where their roots were, this was their home. I was looking at these people through the eyes of someone who had lived in a luxurious apartment for the past four months, and some of that must have rubbed off on me. I knew that I would not have questioned their decision to stay, nor even noticed the squalor, before I had been exposed to the Chens’ immaculate lifestyle.

  I walked faster, partly because of the sense of freedom I began to feel, partly because I did not want to attract too much attention. I turned down a quiet, narrow alleyway to continue my descent towards the river. Shortly, I came to the wasteland that had lain grey and melancholy as a backdrop to my bedroom panorama. The scale of it took my breath away. To the right and left, for as far as I could see, there was nothing but pile upon pile of dust-smothered rubble, the odd twisted pipe sticking up through it as though searching for a vital puff of air. I started to pick my way across it, my progress slowed by the unevenness of the ground. Looking at the rubble more closely, in order to avoid treading in potholes or cutting myself on jagged edges, I spotted tiny fragments of the lives that were once lived where I now stood. A doll’s head, a strip of blue material, an old shoe, a broken bowl. Ahead of me, I saw a man and a woman pulling at the rubble with their hands as though they were looking for something. Had they lived there once? I wondered if they had left some indispensable part of their lives behind them and were now engaged in a frantic search to find it. Or were they simply hoping to find treasure amongst the fallen landmarks of somebody else’s life?

  I reached a path and quickened my pace again. It narrowed and began to slope abruptly. I followed its meandering line with my eyes. It led all the way down to the river, where a ferry was moored and dozens of people were milling around. My heart skipped a beat. Nearly there. Freedom just a few hundred yards away.

  I broke into a jog. The path gave way to coarse grass on either side. Ahead of me, the ferry passengers were strung out along the path, large bundles tied to their backs. I realised that they were coming in my direction, that the crowd by the ferry had disappeared. I saw then that the ferry was moving away. Even as I realised that I had missed it, I kept running towards it in some vague hope that it might stop.

  ‘’Fraid you’re too late, dear,’ the first man I reached said. ‘There won’t be another one till morning now.’

  ‘But there’s got to be,’ I replied. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Seven o’clock tomorrow morning’s the next one. Nothing till then.’

  The straggle of climbers passed me one by one as I stood in the middle of the path gazing in utter dismay at the departing ferry. What was I to do? By now the Chens might well be scouring the streets of the old town for me. It was late afternoon. Where could I go until the morning?

  The last of the ferry passengers walked by, several of them staring at me curiously. I hurried down the path and waited for them to disappear along the streets behind me. To the left of the path, some hundred yards away, the remains of a small dwelling protruded through the grass. When I was sure nobody was looking, I scrambled over to it. The stubs of the walls were just high enough, if I lay down, to screen me from the path and protect me from the bitter wind. I decided to stay there until darkness fell, then to f
ind somewhere in the old town to spend the night.

  With my coat wrapped tightly around me and my bag clutched in my hand, despite my fear of being found and the constant noise from boats labouring along the river, I fell asleep.

  It was twilight by the time I woke again. The surrounding peace was punctuated every so often by warning sirens from somewhere along the river, but otherwise all was quiet. I left the safety of my hideout and made my way back up the path through the wasteland towards the old town. As I drew closer, I could see that the shop-lined street was still busy with people fetching last-minute provisions, chatting with friends, playing cards, eating meals at pavement tables, the heat from ash-filled grill cookers keeping them warm. Although I was hungry by now, I dared not stop to buy food, nor to thaw my frozen fingers. I slipped quickly past the end of the street, and kept going until I found a whole row of deserted apartment blocks. The door of one of them was partially open. I pushed it hard to make enough room to squeeze through, listened for any sound that might mean it was occupied, then ran up the stairs right to the top floor and into a room at the front.

  A meagre thread of light penetrated through the cracked windows. The room was bare apart from a filthy blanket in one corner, a pile of old electrical wire in another, and a scattering of litter across the floor. It’s only for one night, I told myself. I sat down on the broken floorboards with my back against a wall. I was too scared and too cold to go to sleep. I kept hearing unfamiliar noises: creaks and scratches and rasps and whines. I prayed that there were no rats around. Surely they wouldn’t climb that high. Part of me began to long for the comfortable bed in my room at the Chens’, but I reproached myself for even thinking that I wanted to go back.

  Then I heard footsteps on the stairs. Two sets. Men’s voices. I grabbed the filthy blanket and pulled it over me in terror. I shrank into the corner, hoping that if I made myself as small as possible I wouldn’t be noticed. The footsteps kept on coming. The voices grew louder. They were outside the room. I heard a door creak, then close. The voices immediately became muffled. The two men had gone into the room opposite and closed the door behind them.