Little Paradise

by Gabrielle Wang

  ‘Dressing the dead

  Treasure not wed

  Lost on the sea

  To fortune you’ll flee.’

  The soothsayer’s words echoed back to her. Not a single line had come true. Then a horrible thought arose in her mind. Surely it didn’t mean that JJ was her treasure and that now he was leaving … and they would never marry.

  Mirabel felt a surge of anger and looked possessively at him. No old bone was going to dictate her life. She didn’t care if the soothsayer had told the fortunes of kings and emperors; it was her life and she could do with it as she pleased.

  She grabbed the bag and leant out the window to throw it away.

  There was a movement in the garden. The tail of a white cat disappeared into the bushes. She felt a chill catch at her soul and the bone seemed to quiver. Mirabel looked down, astonished. Was it her hand shaking or the oracle bone? She glanced at JJ. He was reading her book, Gone with the Wind, mouthing the English words.

  Slowly, carefully, she tucked the pouch into the corner of her suitcase. But at the same time she made a promise to herself: no matter what had been predicted, she was going to fight for JJ, fight to keep him, fight for their future together.

  Away

  Mama cooked a farewell dinner the evening before JJ was to leave.

  She fussed over him, preparing his favourite meal – steamed fish with spring onions and ginger. JJ had been for dinner often, always acting appropriately, giving no sign of their relationship. Mirabel could tell Mama had grown very fond of him, and many a time she had been on the verge of telling her about their love. But their moments together were all too brief, too precious to be cut short if Father found out.

  As she sat opposite JJ at the table, Mirabel longed to touch him.

  Jimmy poked JJ in the ribs. ‘I wish you weren’t going.’ He was his bright Jimmy self again, and his weight was back to normal after his illness.

  JJ cuffed him gently across the face.

  ‘Will you be back?’

  ‘I do not know, Jimmy,’ JJ said, glancing at Mirabel.

  At the end of the meal, while Mirabel and Mama were washing the dishes and the men had retired to the front room, Mama stood back from the sink and put her arm around her. ‘I know you love that boy,’ she said.

  Mirabel gasped.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Mama said quickly. ‘Your father does not know. Men do not notice such things, and I won’t say anything. But it is true, isn’t it?’

  Mirabel sighed. ‘Yes, Mama. I love him very much. But now he’s leaving …’

  At evening’s end, Mirabel walked out to the front gate with JJ. They held each other without speaking, knowing that it might be the last time.

  ‘I will always love you,’ she whispered, not wanting to let him go.

  ‘There will be a time, when this war is over …’ He hesitated, then sighed.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ she said. ‘Just hold me until it’s time to go.’

  Standing under the dimmed street lamps, she watched his figure melt into the darkness.

  Mirabel sat in the car with Mama and Father, gazing out the window as they drove towards Port Melbourne where JJ’s ship was moored. The sea was an icy grey, cold and uninviting, so unlike that first day they had spent together on St Kilda beach.

  Mirabel wound down the window. She was suffocating.

  Father parked the car and they walked along Station Pier in the bitter wind. JJ was waiting for them, a leather suitcase at his side. He greeted Father with a smile and firm handshake and gave Mama a slight bow. Then he bid Mirabel a hasty hello. There was no other sign of recognition from him. What had she expected? A last embrace? A few minutes in private to say more intimate words? Panic came over her as she realised that this was it.

  A voice echoed through the loudspeaker but she did not register the words. The ship’s horn sounded loudly, urgently, calling him aboard. Mirabel watched JJ’s face. If only he would look at her. Reach out and take her hand. But he simply bowed to her parents and turned towards the boat.

  Mama put her arm around Mirabel’s shoulders as they watched JJ walk up the gangplank.

  He looked back, waved. Then he was gone.

  Mama’s Secret

  The days that followed JJ’s departure left Mirabel feeling numb.

  JJ had told her that he would be travelling to China through India, then Burma and on to Chungking. The journey would take months and there would be no way to get a letter to her. How long would she have to wait before she heard from him?

  At work she put on a brave face, laughing along with Jock and Murray, keeping her head down, concentrating on her maps, blocking out the pain. But as she lay in bed at night, these thoughts were like ticks burrowing under her skin.

  One night, as she was heading for her bedroom, Mirabel was suddenly yanked out of her misery. Father and Mama were arguing in their room. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she heard Father repeat the name Chen Su Ting vehemently.

  Mirabel’s memory was drawn back to the day she delivered the package of money.

  ‘What are they arguing about?’ Lola said, as Mirabel entered their bedroom. ‘She’s not having one of her turns again, is she?’

  ‘They’re talking about a man called Chen Su Ting. Have you heard of him?’

  Lola stood in front of the mirror applying mascara. ‘Don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘I took some money to him for Father once.’

  Lola turned around. ‘Actually, so did I.’

  ‘I wonder if he gets it regularly?’ Mirabel climbed onto the bed, trying to think back.

  Lola’s eyes widened. ‘Do you think he’s blackmailing Father?’

  ‘What for? Father is a good man.’

  ‘Maybe it’s something to do with the market. There’s a lot of black marketeering going on; you know, selling fruit and vegetables above the fixed price.’ Lola arched an eyebrow.

  ‘But Father wouldn’t have anything to do with that kind of thing.’

  ‘Good men stray too, Mirabel,’ Lola scoffed. She turned back to the mirror and stretched her lips to apply a coat of bright-red lipstick. ‘Chen … It’s a common family name – Mama is a Chen too.’ She smacked her lips together and used her index finger to wipe around the edges.

  Mama and Father’s room had grown quiet, but Mama’s words from so long ago echoed inside Mirabel’s head. I am not the person you think I am.

  ‘I have to go.’ Lola picked up her handbag and flicked back her hair. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Fine … you look nice.’ Mirabel frowned. ‘Where are you going?’

  Lola raised her eyebrows and swaggered out of the room.

  Mirabel flopped face-down on the bed, glad to be rid of her. She needed time to think. Could Mama and Chen Su Ting be related?

  She felt under her pillow for her sketchbook and leafed through the pages. There was the dress she had designed for Eva’s second wedding anniversary. Eva had sent down her measurements and Mirabel had Mrs Lam make it up. This was the first dress she had designed since JJ left. She turned to the previous page. It was a pencil and pastel drawing of JJ when they were in Tasmania. She smiled and opened her box of pastels to work on the drawing some more, adding a shadow to his cheeks, under his lips, bringing out the brightness in his eyes.

  As she drew, she let the memories drift. They had returned from a walk along the clifftop, and JJ had relaxed into one of the cane chairs on the verandah. Dreamily, he had spoken of a future together where they might have a cottage like this one, with children and chickens and dogs and ducks and maybe a black sow with piglets. She had laughed.

  A noise startled her. It sounded like low chanting.

  She reached over to turn off the bedside lamp then stepped warily across to the window. The bedroom she shared with Lola was at the back of the house, overlooking the concreted yard where Father kept his car. It was dark below, except for a small fire. Who could have lit it? Then she saw a figure, rocking back and forth.<
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  Lola had gone out and Jimmy would be fast asleep by now. Mama and Father were surely in bed too – Father had to be up at three to go to the market. So who was it?

  Mirabel tiptoed downstairs, through the hall and into the kitchen. From a drawer she took out the Chinese meat cleaver. Inch by inch, she opened the back door.

  The figure had its back to her but at once she recognised Mama’s small frame. She wore only a thin nightie, and as she rocked and chanted, she seemed to be tearing up tiny pieces of paper and throwing them on the fire. Sparks floated up into the darkness.

  Mirabel laid the meat cleaver on the counter by the door.

  ‘Mama? What are you doing, it’s cold,’ she said. ‘Please, Mama, come inside.’

  In the darting light of the fire, Mirabel could see a corner of a photograph Mama held in her hand. It was part of a girl’s face.

  ‘Do you think you know me, Lei An?’ Mama murmured, staring at the fragment.

  ‘What are you talking about, Mama? Of course I …’

  Mama looked at her and Mirabel’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes seemed so haunted.

  ‘I have never told anyone. Only your father knows,’ she whispered.

  ‘Come inside. We can talk in there. I’ll make a nice cup of tea.’ Mirabel placed her hand under Mama’s elbow.

  ‘No.’ Mama stood up, brushing her away. She sat down on a low wooden bench across from the fire. Mirabel sat quietly beside her, staring into the flames as her mother began her story.

  ‘There were two girls who lived in a village called Chen’s Dog,’ Mama said. ‘They were best friends. One girl was called Ai Ling, the other Dan Dan. Ai Ling was pretty. She wore her hair in plaits tied at the end with bright red twine. Dan Dan’s hair was short, held off her face with a peony clasp Ai Ling had given her as a gift.’

  Out of the blue, Mirabel remembered the peony clasp Mama had given her when she turned twelve.

  ‘Both families were poor but Ai Ling did not have to work in the fields and so her skin was fair. Dan Dan worked alongside her parents and the sun darkened her skin.’

  A cold wind lashed about the yard and Mama shivered.

  ‘Come, Mama, you can finish this story inside,’ coaxed Mirabel.

  As if in a trance, Mama continued, her voice reedy and thin. ‘Ai Ling’s parents sent for a matchmaker when she turned eighteen. The matchmaker told them that there was a young Chinese man who lived across the sea where people had long noses, light-coloured eyes and pale skin. This young man’s father had travelled to Australia from China to look for gold last century. Now his son was looking for a wife.’

  Mama twisted the gold wedding ring around her finger.

  ‘Ai Ling was perfect, the matchmaker said. Her name and birth date matched those of the young man’s. And so it was arranged.’

  ‘For them to be married?’ asked Mirabel.

  Mama nodded. ‘The girls were sad to leave each other. Ai Ling was scared. What sort of man was he? Would he be kind? And what of this strange land where people spoke a foreign tongue?

  ‘Ai Ling’s mother prepared a dowry – a pair of scissors to symbolise never separating, a pair of chopsticks for the quick birth of sons, vases for peace and wealth, and a quilt embroidered with a dragon and phoenix design. A beautiful red wedding dress was being made, embroidered with eight colourful butterflies.’

  The fire sparked, sending embers into the sky. Mama’s brow furrowed and she shifted uneasily.

  ‘But a week before Ai Ling was to leave, she came down with a fever. Her face and body swelled. The doctor was called but the herbs could not bring down her temperature. Just as the last butterfly was being embroidered on her dress, Ai Ling died.’

  ‘But Mama, I don’t understand. You are Ai Ling, and you are not dead!’

  Mama’s face appeared ghostly in the flickering firelight.

  ‘Don’t you see? I swapped places with Ai Ling. I was … I am that girl, Dan Dan.’

  Mirabel stared at Mama in shock.

  ‘My parents visited Ai Ling’s grieving family and proposed that I switch places with her. We were the same age, and the young man had not asked for photographs. In exchange, my parents promised to pay Ai Ling’s family, even though they could barely afford it.

  ‘A monthly payment was set, and the migration papers handed over.’

  Mama drew in a shivery breath. ‘I married your father when Ai Ling should have. That is why everything has gone wrong for me. You cannot take someone else’s life …’ Mama’s voice trailed off.

  Mirabel stared blankly as the last ember flared then died. Memories, images, rearranged themselves in her mind, settling into a new pattern. What floated to the surface was that day on her thirteenth birthday when Mirabel came home with a new name. She remembered how disturbed Mama had been.

  Changing your name was one thing, but Mama had taken on someone else’s life. All these years she had been living a lie.

  ‘When did Father find out?’ she asked.

  Mama sighed. ‘When my father died there was still the money to be paid to Ai Ling’s family. I had to tell your father. I was afraid he might send me back … to China. But he didn’t. He began forwarding money to the Chen family in the village. But then they demanded something more. Chen Su Ting asked your father to help him come to Australia. Of course your father had to agree.’ Mama dropped her head. ‘It has been over twenty years and Ai Ling’s ghost still haunts me.’

  Mirabel sat back. ‘But why doesn’t Father tell Chen Su Ting that it’s over? Father’s a leader in the Chinese community. Everyone respects him, right? He could easily do something like that.’

  ‘If your father stops the payments, Chen Su Ting has threatened to go to the government and report me as an illegal with a false name and passport. Do you know what that would mean? Your father could go to jail and I would be sent back to China. Your father’s reputation would be ruined.’

  Mirabel was silent.

  ‘I can still see her, Ai Ling … she was gorgeous and proud of it. I’ve always felt it was wrong using her name with my plain face.’ Mama looked at Mirabel. ‘I am not exactly a beauty, I know. In a way, you remind me of her – small face, long hair, eyes that dance.’

  The nightmare Mama had been living was clear, now. At such a young age, before she even knew who she was, Mama had been forced to give up her own identity and adopt someone else’s, someone she loved and admired. Guilt had overwhelmed her, guilt that her friend Ai Ling was dead while she still lived, guilt that she had taken the man destined for her friend, and above all, guilt that while the true Ai Ling had been beautiful, she, the false Ai Ling, was plain. It was, in Mama’s confused mind, the final insult to her best friend’s name.

  Mirabel put her arm around Mama’s small shoulders.

  They sat together in the stillness of the night.

  A tawny frogmouth made a soft ooo ooo ooo sound, then spread its wings and flew away.

  Part Three

  FAREWELL

  Those nights of pleasure at the pavilion –

  I never thought you could leave.

  But clouds disperse, wordlessly

  And I sleep alone.

  Still, around the wicked lamp, now fading,

  A wild moth flutters.

  Yu Xuan Ji (844–71 AD)

  The Curse

  ‘Wanna come to the city with Lola and me, Mir?’ Jimmy asked, as he popped his head into Mirabel’s bedroom.

  She had been doing sit-ups and her stomach muscles were on fire.

  ‘There are big celebrations today ’cos the war’s over. It was the atom bomb that did it. They dropped two on Japan and then they surrendered! I knew we’d beat ’em.’

  ‘You go first. I might come a little later,’ Mirabel said, straining to catch her breath.

  ‘Hurry up, Jimmy. We’ll miss all the fun,’ Lola yelled from downstairs.

  Jimmy stood a moment, holding the doorknob, and gave Mirabel a puzzled look. Then he shrugged and ran downsta
irs.

  Mirabel was as excited as everyone else that the war was over, although the news about this new bomb that fell on Hiroshima was a bit frightening. It meant that the Australian soldiers would be coming home. And that the Japanese armies would withdraw from China. It also meant that maybe she and JJ could be together soon.

  But Mirabel had a bigger problem. Her periods had always been regular. Ever since she was twelve years old they had come month after month without fail.

  At first she thought the stress and emotion of JJ leaving was the reason she had missed one whole cycle. But now she had missed two. And the sight and smell of certain foods made her feel ill.

  She remembered a girl telling her in eighth grade that if you didn’t get your period you would die. Mirabel had laughed at her naivety, but that was exactly how she felt now – she would die if she found out that she was …

  Oh God, she dared not even say the word in case thinking it would make it true.

  She had heard that rigorous exercise could bring her period on, but she had been exercising strenuously for three days now and still nothing. Come on, Mirabel, ten more sit-ups. One, two, three, four … five … six … seven … eight …

  She felt a wave of nausea and rushed down the hall to the bathroom, leant over the toilet bowl and threw up. She didn’t want to believe it. But feeling as wretched as she did, how could it be anything else?

  Mirabel doused her face with cold water, looked at herself in the mirror and groaned. She had to know for sure.

  She caught the tram to a suburb on the other side of town. She already knew what the doctor would say, and when he congratulated her on being a new mother, she smiled, holding back the tears until she was outside on the street.

  This terrible thing would bring shame on her family. It might even send Mama spiralling back into madness.

  The river was high and muddy after heavy August rains, and part of the bank had washed away. Mirabel and Rose picked their way along the broken path, following the curve of the river’s rolling current.