“There’s no place for you here,” Micah explained.
“I’m taking Jadey with me,” she threatened.
“Whip won’t allow that,” her father-in-law warned.
“Jadey is for me!” Aloma Duarte stormed.
“He belongs in the islands,” Micah reasoned with her, and in the end she left exactly as the family had originally planned, with exactly the annuity they had suggested. In New York she told a friend, “I was more afraid of the three bearded ones than I was of my husband. He comes at you with his fists, but they soft-talk you to death. In Hawaii they run things pretty much their own way. But they were generous.”
And west of Honolulu, the once barren lowlands that had formerly required twenty acres to nourish a cow, blossomed into the lushest, most profitable agricultural lands in the world. When the sugar cane stood eight feet tall, bursting with juice, for mile after mile you could not see the red volcanic soil, nor could you see the water that Wild Whip had brought to it. All you could see was money.
IN 1885 Nyuk Tsin could no longer postpone decision about her sons, and as she studied Ah Chow, Au Chow, Fei Chow, Mei Chow and Oh Chow she realized both how difficult her job was going to be and how important. At Iolani, the Church of England school, she was giving the boys the best education available to them on the islands. Had they been able to get into Punahou, they would have learned more and would have associated with the missionary children who were destined to rule Hawaii, but for both financial and social reasons, entry there was forbidden, and they had done well at the second-rate school.
But now the older boys were ready for advanced education, and it was clear that each merited college and university. They were bright boys, well behaved, industrious and alert. Their pigtails were well tended and they had learned to keep their nails clean. They had good teeth and clear skins. They were reasonably good at games and spoke four languages with skill: Punti, Hakka, Hawaiian and English. Each was above high-school ability in mathematics and abstract reasoning, and to choose among them the boy on whose shoulders the entire burden of the family should fall was difficult indeed.
Nyuk Tsin was confused as to which of her boys ought to go to America, nor could she decide what he ought to study when he got there. In early 1885, therefore, she began her long inquiry, starting with Uliassutai Karakoram Blake, and he wasn’t of much help because he vigorously espoused two directly conflicting criteria. As an Englishman he swore: “No boy is worth educating unless he’s proved himself good at games. Europe is the one. He has spirit and quickness of hand. He looks you in the eye when he gives you an answer. Fine, clean-cut lad to be trusted. Grow up to be a substantial man.” That much was easy to understand, but when Uliassutai had said that—sort of in deference to British tradition—he promptly added, “But of course England’s the only place in the world where a man can get ahead simply because he has good character and the brain of an ass. Everywhere else you have to have intelligence, and let’s face up to it, Wu Chow’s Auntie, your son Europe is an ass, and I’m afraid that’s done it. The only one who shows the quick intelligence required in a scholar is America. But he’s so appalling at games I can never take him seriously. Probably turn out to be a pretty poor sort in the end, a thinker and all that. I’d never waste me money on him, but in France he’d likely end up in the cabinet.”
Nyuk Tsin pretty well agreed with Uliassutai in his analysis of the two boys. Europe was going to make friends wherever he went and was a fine, congenial boy, not too good at books, but an admirable son. America was clearly the ablest but he had a shy, withdrawing quality that sometimes frightened her. She concluded that what Blake was saying, in his cryptic way, was that he could not make the final choice.
Apikela and Kimo were certainly not obscure. “The only one is Australia,” they said firmly. “He speaks such good Hawaiian he sounds educated already.” When Nyuk Tsin tried to press them on things like character, ability to work, or insight in business they gave a quick, easy answer: “Only one’s Australia. When he sings a song, you can hear the words so beautifully.” Nyuk Tsin pointed out: “You two are with the boys more than I am. What do you see in them?” And again the answer was direct: “Australia is the one who will lead a happy life, because he has such a handsome smile and he knows how to laugh.” Whenever the boy visited the Kee house, slipping away from his Hawaiian parents, Nyuk Tsin would hear him joking with Kimo and Apikela, and once when she said to him, “Maybe you will go to America for your education,” he had replied, “I like it here.” His friends were divided into four almost equal groups: Punti, Hakka, Hawaiians and haoles. At Iolani he was elected president of his class and sang in the glee club. “Then you would send Australia to college?” Nyuk Tsin pressed, and big Apikela replied, “Oh, yes! He’d have a lot of fun at college.” Nyuk Tsin pointed out: “But we’re sending him to study,” and the Hawaiians laughed, “Give him just as much as his tired little head will take, and forget the rest.”
The Chinese community was again fairly clear in its recommendation. Partly because Asia was the oldest son and therefore to be respected unless he proved himself inadequate, but mainly because he had already opened a restaurant on Hotel Street that did a good business, he was their overwhelming choice. The Punti said, “This boy can be trusted. He buys wisely and sells with intelligence. At nineteen he’s already a better businessman than my son at twenty-five. I wish he were my boy.” The Hakka told Nyuk Tsin: “We have watched your boys for some years, and the others sometimes seem more Hawaiian than Chinese, but Asia is different. He has a real Chinese understanding, and he will do well.” Few Chinese deviated from this strong recommendation, and when Nyuk Tsin arranged a marriage for him with a Punti wife whose father owned land, he built himself even more solidly into the Chinese community. Asia Kee was bound to become a powerful man.
That left Africa, the middle son. He excelled neither in games nor in books, nor was he inclined toward business or singing. His face was rather squarish and unlike his brothers he wore his pigtail tied at the end in a blunt knot. He would fight anyone who got in his way, but he was not offensively aggressive. His principal characteristic was hesitancy in making up his mind, accompanied by a bulldog tenacity when he had done so. His personal affections were kept well masked: he had no special regard for either Uliassutai Blake, Apikela or Wu Chow’s Auntie. He studied each of them and knew their strengths but not their love. His brothers rarely shouted to him to join them in a game, but they often asked him the schedule for the next day’s lesson. His mother studied him with a good deal of care and concluded: “In his stubborn, square-faced way, Africa is deeper than the others.”
She had almost as much trouble trying to decide what the chosen son should study if he got to America. Here Uliassutai Blake was clear-cut in his advice: “The world is run by those who can manipulate, Wu Chow’s Auntie. There are only two decent vocations open to a man of talent. He should become a messiah and lead us into eternal darkness, or he should study to be a lawyer, and then God alone knows what he may accomplish. If I were a lawyer I would run for Parliament. If your son becomes a lawyer he will coach you in how to cheat the government, and heaven knows, that’s to be learned by all of us. Lawyer, Wu Chow’s Auntie, nothing less.” When she asked him, “Who would make the best lawyer?” he replied without equivocation, “America.” She thought the same.
Kimo and Apikela were of no help. They pondered the problem for a long time, their great brown bodies wrestling with strange ideas, and finally Kimo asked, “Why should fine boys like this be anything? Asia has a restaurant. Europe has a store. Australia has more friends than anyone in school. They like Hawaii. They fit in. Why bother them with all these big ideas?” Nyuk Tsin, who appreciated the insight of these huge friends, asked, “But which do you like better, a lawyer or a doctor or a dentist?” The two Hawaiians studied this for some time and replied, “For a Hawaiian a lawyer is better because he makes such wonderful speeches, but for a Pake maybe a doctor is better because he make
s so much money.”
The Chinese community was more practical. The Punti almost to a man advised medicine: “A doctor is always respected. He gets paid. He becomes a leading man in the city, and we need Chinese doctors.” The Hakka pointed out: “It takes two more years to become a doctor. Leave that to the haoles. Your boy should be a dentist. Quicker and in the long run just as much money.”
One hot July day in 1885 Nyuk Tsin was hurrying down Nuuanu, her two baskets of pineapples balancing on her carrying-pole the way conflicting advice balanced in her mind, and she was thinking of lawyer versus doctor and Asia versus America when two horses pulling a J & W dray reared in the air, dashed down Hotel Street, and threw their wagon against one of the poles that held up the roof of Asia Kee’s Chinese restaurant. The first pole snapped off and the sudden weight thrown upon the second caused it to collapse, allowing the roof to fall into Hotel Street. No one was hurt and a Hawaiian caught the reins of the runaway horses and easily brought them to rest.
Asia, who was inside the restaurant, exploded onto the street shouting curses at the horses who had so unexpectedly plunged his dining room into chaos. Nyuk Tsin hurried up, adding to the confusion by shouting, “I saw them! I saw them!” And the Hawaiian policemen agitated everyone by roaring, “Don’t bring those horses back this way! Turn them around and get them out of here!” When the beasts reared he bellowed, “Turn them around!” A man from J & W hurried up to assure everyone that the driver was at fault because he had stopped to watch a pool game, and was going to be fired; and then amidst the confusion Nyuk Tsin, herself in great agitation, saw her son Africa, who had been helping wash dishes at his brother’s restaurant, moving among the crowd and quietening the Chinese. “All right, Wu Chow’s Auntie!” he said forcefully. “No more shouting. Nobody’s hurt. Did you see what happened? Where were you standing?” And while the policeman fought with the man who had caught the horses, making him turn them around lest they stampede again, Africa Kee quietly got the names of all who had witnessed the accident. “The driver was nowhere to be seen?” he asked repeatedly. “You saw the wagon hit the pole?” By the time Africa reached the J & W man, the latter’s story about the driver’s having been in a poolroom had been changed. It was now quite a different story, but Africa had the names of everyone who had heard the first version. The extent of the damage was not great, and the cash award grudgingly given by J & W did not amount to much, but restitution was made and the money went into the fund that would send Africa Kee to Michigan … to become a lawyer.
He was seventeen years old when Wu Chow’s Auntie made her decision, and the family had practically no spare cash to spend on their living in Hawaii, let alone to send a boy to America. Yet in those important days Nyuk Tsin started many ventures. She made Asia and Europe, who were already in business, borrow money to pay Africa’s ship passage. She sold pineapples and vegetables six hours a day, tilled her fields eight hours and kept two for scouting around. Finally, one evening when the scholar at the Punti store assured her that the time was auspicious, she washed her muddy feet, brushed her one blue uniform, tied a widow’s cloth about her sparsely haired head and topped it with her wicker hat. Brushing her cheeks with her hands so that she might look as presentable as possible, she left home without speaking to anyone, and walked resolutely down Nuuanu, where she purchased a bag of brown, chewy candies covered with poppy seed.
Clutching the candy in her hand, she entered busy Hotel Street, in the heart of Chinatown, and turned right, walking past Asia’s restaurant and Europe’s vegetable stand, while she looked for a narrow alley that cut back among a maze of Chinese shacks. At last she found it, and with a prayer to Kwan Yin for mercy on her mission, she ducked beneath the bamboo poles that suspended drying laundry completely across the alley. Finally she reached a kitchen door which belonged to a house somewhat more pretentious than the rest, yet one of which few haoles could have known the existence, for it was well hidden by hovels. This was the home of Ching, Honolulu’s wealthiest Hakka, and it was presumptuous of Nyuk Tsin to be calling there. She knocked and waited obediently until the tall, well-fed mistress of the house appeared and looked out in the darkness to identify her impecunious visitor. The taller woman did not speak, and Nyuk Tsin said deferentially, “May a thousand benedictions fall upon you on this auspicious night, my dear mother-in-law.” The phrase was an honorary one and implied no relationship, so the wealthy woman accepted it imperiously and said, “Come in, my dear sister-in-law. Have you had your meal?”
This again was a formality, so Nyuk Tsin replied, as custom required, “I have eaten, but how about you?”
She was impressed by the munificence of the kitchen and its close attention to detail. The two windows were sufficiently high so that the Ching money could not leak out; the doors were not in a straight line, which kept the dragon of happiness from escaping; and the land leading up to the doors did not slope away from the house, so that good fortune did not drift away. The kitchen had a brick stove on which a permanent teapot rested, and now the Ching woman poured Nyuk Tsin a cup of the stale stuff, not too big a cup, which would have accorded Nyuk Tsin an esteem she did not merit, nor too small, which would have brought reflections of niggardliness upon the Chings.
“Be seated, my dear sister-in-law,” the wealthy woman said. In her outward appearance, nothing betrayed the fact that she controlled a good deal of money. She wore no jewelry, no paint, no combs in her hair. Her simple dress was the same as Nyuk Tsin’s and she also was barefooted; but to her visitor’s calculating eye Mrs. Ching was obviously a person of wealth: her kitchen was crowded with food! Three hams hung from bamboo poles, and five glistening dried ducks, their bills hanging downward with drops of redolent oil gathering at the tips. There were bunches of white cabbage, baskets of vegetables and bags of nuts. Throughout the kitchen there was the grand confusion loved by people who have money, and Mrs. Ching grandly swept aside some of the clutter that hid her table, making a small space on which Nyuk Tsin placed her bag of candies. Neither woman spoke of the bag, but each was painfully aware of its presence, and as the conversation developed, they stared at the candies with positive fascination.
“Why do you come to my poor house on such an auspicious night, my dear sister-in-law?” the older woman asked with studied sweetness.
Nyuk Tsin sat with her stubborn, hard-working hands folded in her lap and her brown feet flat on the floor. Bluntly she said, “Since I am not as wealthy as my honored mother-in-law, I cannot afford to hire a go-between, so I have been shameful and have broken the rules of decent behavior. I have come to ask for your daughter, Siu Kim.”
Mrs. Ching showed no surprise, but unconsciously she drew back and took her hands far from the candies. Nyuk Tsin detected this and was hurt, but she continued to smile frankly at her hostess. Finally, after an awkward moment, Mrs. Ching said in a silken voice, “I thought your son Ah Chow already had a wife.”
“He does, my dear mother-in-law,” Nyuk Tsin replied evenly, launching her first barb of the evening. “I arranged a very fine marriage for him with the Lam girl.”
Mrs. Ching said, “A Punti, I believe?”
Nyuk Tsin dropped her eyes modestly and confessed: “A Punti, yes, but she brought a good deal of gold with her and now my son owns his restaurant.”
“He owns the building?” Mrs. Ching inquired in surprise.
“Completely,” Nyuk Tsin said with firmness, “but of course our family controls it.”
“It was my understanding that your second son was intending to marry a Hawaiian.”
“He is,” Nyuk Tsin confessed. She waited so that Mrs. Ching could react with distaste, then added quietly, “I was able to find him a Hawaiian girl with several large pieces of land.”
“Indeed! And does the land now belong to your family?”
“It does.”
“Mmmmmm,” Mrs. Ching mused. She leaned forward ever so slightly and the talk resumed. She said, “I observe that your youngest son plays mainly with Hawai
ians. I suppose that one day he will marry one.”
“There are many Hawaiian girls who seem to like my son, and fortunately they all have large land holdings,” Nyuk Tsin said. Then, to establish herself on an equal footing with Mrs. Ching, she added boldly, “Since my family will not return to China, I think it best that the boys find wives here.”
“So that you were even willing to allow your oldest son to marry a Punti?”
Nyuk Tsin was not going to be stampeded by this woman. With a good deal of self-possession she said, “I want my family to live in the new style. Not as in the High Village that you and I knew as girls.”
Mrs. Ching sensed a rebuke in these words and said bluntly, “What you mean is that you are building a family into which a decent Hakka girl, like my daughter Siu Kim, would hardly want to marry and into which I would not permit her to marry.”
This was an important speech, for although it was harsh, Nyuk Tsin did not know whether Mrs. Ching was formally ending negotiations or whether she was trying legitimately to undermine Nyuk Tsin’s bargaining position so that when final discussions of money came up, the girl’s side could drive a harder bargain. At any rate, Nyuk Tsin felt that the time had come for her to detonate her first bomb, so she dropped it gently, letting it explode among the hams and glistening dried ducks. “I realize, my dearest mother-in-law, that a wealthy woman like you would have objections to marrying a fine girl like Siu Kim into a poor family like ours, but there is one thing you have overlooked. Yesterday the scholar at the Punti store cast my son Africa’s horoscope,” and she placed on the crowded table, beside the bag of candy, a slip of paper, “and when it was done, the scholar gasped for sheer pleasure, for he said, ‘I have never seen a finer horoscope for a young man in my entire life.’ That’s what he said.”
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