by Ang Li
Several months later, Yinghong was finally able to struggle out of the boundless sadness and hurt that had interfered with her ability to think clearly; now she realized that not only had Lin Xigeng not sent a car for her that night, but that he hadn’t made the call. Her uncle had called her for him, so that Lin could not be accused of being the first to attempt reconciliation.
Many more days passed. Once she’d made up her mind to ensnare him and had devised the means to do so, she knew it would require tremendous effort to feign weakness, using a woman’s frailty to get him back. It was not something she could have accomplished soon after they split up, since at the time she had been in great pain.
Besides, she was also troubled by a deep-seated fear of being hurt again, and that had stopped her from running into his arms that night. What had held her back and blocked an instinctive reaction was precisely this extreme fear.
She waited, biding her time till the acute fear of love receded from her heart.
But before that happened, she ran into Lin at a popular Taipei café.
It was like something out of a novel, a movie, or a TV drama. Taipei in the seventies had embarked upon a European style of interior decoration. Copies of European landscape paintings produced in Taiwan for export hung on the exquisitely carved mahogany posts and walls. Under soft lighting and amid a live performance, she looked up and spotted Lin walking in.
Though it resembled an ordinary gathering among friends, the purpose of the meeting was a billion NT loan that her uncle’s company planned to apply for. The bank had valued a piece of land he was using as collateral at only 800,000,000, which meant that he would get about 600,000,000 if the bank were willing to approve a loan at 80 percent of its worth, much less than he needed.
Yinghong was seeking the assistance of a Ms. Lin, the fifth concubine of a high-ranking government official. If Ms. Lin was willing to speak with the official on their behalf, they would get what they needed, or, for that matter, any amount they desired, since no land had a set value.
Her uncle had invited the dinner guests, all young ladies and married women who often got together for dinner. After dinner, he excused himself, saying he had another banquet to attend; Yinghong was charged with the task of bringing the ladies, along with Ms. Lin, to the European-style café.
It was not the first time the subject of the loan had come up; Ms. Lin had already agreed to help, and everything seemed to be progressing nicely. That night, Yinghong was there to give Ms. Lin a pay-to-bearer cashable check for two million NT. She looked up, and there he was. She knew from a single glance that it was him, knew it with a certainty that people often describe as being able to recognize your lover even if he or she had been burned to ashes. At first she didn’t think much about it, but then she began to wonder how such a coincidence could be possible, something that happened only in novels or movies. She had been talking to Ms. Lin when she happened to look up, and was unnerved by the impossible coincidence. Wanting to make sure, she took a quick second look, only to realize that her eyes had lost focus and that everything was a blur.
Her eyes came back into focus before she could rub them, and Lin Xigeng’s form immediately leaped into her consciousness.
She was momentarily shaken, but then she concentrated on how ridiculous the whole scene was, like a third-rate movie or TV melodrama. At such a moment, actors will rub their eyes to show that what they are witnessing is truly incredible. But then it dawned on her that even third-rate movies are based on reality.
Obviously Lin spotted her, and was surprised and somewhat incredulous; he returned her glance. They were separated by those mahogany posts decorated with dark mirrors intermixed with cheap, imitation European landscape paintings made in Taiwan for export. She was seated, he was standing, but the distance meant that she did not have to look up at his tall figure. Naturally, he walked straight up to her, but time seemed to stand still, giving the impression that it took a lifetime for him to get near her.
Feeling that she had been gazing at him for a long time made her uneasy. Finally she looked away, only to see multiple images of him in the dark mirrors on the posts: his back, one-quarter profile, half-profile, three-quarters profile. Each one was shown from only one angle, but there were so many of him from all directions that it seemed to be an endless image of him coming at her. It was so real and yet utterly unreal, and she had trouble telling the reflections from the real him. The mystifying sensation she’d had ever since their first meeting returned.
When he stood before her forcing her to look up, she was finally convinced that it was really him.
She greeted him casually and invited him to sit, but her heart was racing and her face was getting hot. As she rattled off a series of titles and introduced her friends to him, General Manager So-and-so’s wife, Section Head So-and-so’s daughter, etc., she could not keep from thinking that she should have changed out of her suit and blouse before coming to the café, because she knew that he had always liked her in more feminine clothes.
She tossed out one company and title after another, careful not to make mistakes. Mrs. Chen, whose husband was the Taiwan representative of an American fried chicken and hamburger firm; Mrs. Wu, whose husband was chairman of the board of a life insurance company; Miss Zhang, the youngest daughter of the chairman of the board of some enterprise, and so on. Her heartbeat quickened and she felt her smiling face beginning to quiver. Try as she might, she still got one title wrong; it should have been Dongqi Department Store, not Yuandong Department Store. Correcting herself, she quickly added that it was the first company to have a Japanese partner. At the grand opening the surge of shoppers had caused a huge traffic jam in the Eastern District, prompting the city to send more than a hundred traffic policemen to maintain order.
The women, married or not, all sat up and took notice. They knew he was the newest real estate tycoon, whose total worth was several billions; he would surely be the topic of conversation at their next social. To be sure, they would talk about him in a nonchalant manner—Lin Xigeng wasn’t as imposing as people said; or, he was nice and polite, to which someone would be sure to respond by saying, Mrs. So-and-so, he was only nice to you. With others, he was a different person.
Lin nodded to each of them while handing out his business cards. Yinghong knew he wasn’t paying much attention, until Ms. Lin was mentioned; then she detected something in his eyes and sensed that he must know who Ms. Lin was. But he just kept smiling, joining in the conversation every once in a while and never initiating any topics on his own. Yinghong thought he must be feeling awkward, and the odd discomfort he had displayed at that late-night snack joint was now turning into restlessness.
She was sitting so close to him she could hear him shift in his chair or change his posture. He crossed one leg, but quickly drew it back. Then he took out a cigarette and lit up, without even inquiring if the ladies would mind, totally ignoring etiquette. No one objected, but he quickly snubbed it out. Yinghong was too busy to notice if he’d switched to a different brand.
Equally uneasy, she began to talk, faster and faster, and even attempted a joke to erase the uneasiness. She was not unaware that she was saying too much and laughing too loudly at such an occasion, but she simply could not control herself.
Then he caught her off guard by suddenly standing up and saying he had business to attend to. The surprise sent stabbing pains through her heart, though she was still conscious of the popular romantic song being played on violin and piano by the live performers. She maintained her smile as he said good-bye to all the women before leaving.
Several years later, Yinghong would be entertaining guests in their luxurious home (Lin would be absent, as usual), at a time when the government official Ms. Lin had been living with would have just stepped down from his position, yet was still considered a force to be reckoned with in the complex political scene. Everyone present continued to treat Ms. Lin with special attention, but, of course, by now they were also flattering Yinghong.
S
he would smile as she listened to the pleasant and yet proper flattering words. It might have been the group of female guests, all with a similar background, or the languid air of the damp spring weather, or even the fragrance of lilies wafting through the house, but she was reminded of the day at the European style café and their chance encounter.
Sitting in her meticulously decorated house, she was forced to believe that it was precisely at the moment when he stood up to leave that she made up her mind. She wanted him, and would do anything and pay any price to have him, for that was the first time in her life that a man could repeatedly get up and walk away from her, and with such determination that nothing would change his mind.
TWO
Her first truly indelible memory of her mother was in the year she passed the exam for the provincial girl’s middle school.
When the new students registered, the school conducted the customary hair-length inspection. School regulations stipulated that all female students must keep the length of their hair short, not reaching below their earlobes, which meant they would have newly shaven napes. For several days, Father had shown strong displeasure with the hair-length regulation. He was able to accept the requirement for school uniforms, but not the forced haircut that gave teenage girls an ugly appearance with the stubby ends in back looking like the rear end of a chicken. In fact, he was so upset he cursed repeatedly, using the Japanese word bakayaro, which was rare in his daily speech.
“I should have sent you to Japan earlier. With your two brothers there, and your Sixth Aunt in Tokyo, you’d have plenty of people to look after you. And you’re not like me, who has to stay here as a hostage…”
Mother coughed to cut him off, and then went up to close the windows facing the lily pond, while telling Yinghong to return to Lotus Pavilion to review her English lessons. Yinghong acknowledged her mother’s instruction and got up to leave, when Father said unhappily:
“If Ayako cuts her hair, Otosan won’t want to see her again.”
The moment she stepped out of Flowing Pillow Pavilion, Mother shut the doors behind her. Father had never said anything so severe to her before; she forced back her tears and, standing outside the door, was at a loss as to where to go. Then she heard her father complain in rapid Japanese about the educational system, with the names of some famous political figures thrown in.
When preparing for the entrance exam, all the students had been told that, in addition to the written test, there would be an oral exam that might involve current affairs. Having been told to memorize the names of important political figures, she had copied down all the names her teacher wrote on the blackboard, filling up a whole page of her notebook. Besides foreign officials such as the U.S. President Eisenhower and Secretary of State Dulles, she also had to memorize the names of domestic figures, President Chiang Kai-shek, Vice President Chen Cheng, and Premier Yan Jiagan.
She had committed their names to memory just as she had memorized all the subjects she’d be tested on, though it proved to be difficult, nearly impossible. She was only twelve, and in the town of Lucheng, like the rest of the island, there was no television, and newspapers were not commonly available. Furthermore, her father had often pointed at the papers and said:
“No need to read these useless things. They’re all lies, made up to deceive people.”
As a result, the politicians were new to her and, hence, completely meaningless; but because of the exam, she had forced herself to memorize the names, from the president to all his ministers.
She was surprised to hear the name of a minister she had memorized pop up in her father’s tirade, so she stayed put and listened carefully. But he lowered his voice, and all she could hear through the heavy door of Flowing Pillow Pavilion was the angry tone in words she couldn’t make out.
To everyone’s surprise, Father had displayed such a strong objection to her new hairstyle that even her mother didn’t dare take her to her favorite beauty shop, Eastman, on Zhongshan Road in town, for Mother’s usual stylist, Lina, to cut off Yinghong’s long hair. Many years later, in the United States, when Yinghong came across articles on modern Taiwanese history she thought back to that day and realized that her father’s objection at the time clearly was not limited to her haircut.
“If Ayako kept her hair, the school would not allow her to attend. Then Otosan would teach Ayako himself. Ayako would not learn the useless things they teach at school; instead Otosan would give Ayako real knowledge and there would be no need to believe in their lies.”
Father kept repeating these words, in a calm but determined voice, and as the registration date drew near, Yinghong began to feel anxious, fearful even.
She had been taught to follow Father’s every word. Back in elementary school, when her teacher had sometimes presented different views, she had always sided with her father. But with this matter regarding the hair, she knew she had no choice but to follow the school’s rules.
On the night before registration, her mother brought Mudan over and wrapped her shoulders in a piece of navy-blue cloth printed with two large cranes with spread-wings. With a pair of scissors from Japan, Mother deftly cut off her long hair and then wrapped the shorn hair in a narrow white band of the type normally used to make elastic bands for pants, before handing the scissors to Mudan
“Why don’t you finish up and trim the hair?” Mother said with noticeable apprehension.
One summer afternoon shortly before she left for Japan, Mother took a bundle wrapped in navy-blue cloth from a black lacquered drawer with embossed human figures. After carefully laying the bundle out on the bed, she opened it to reveal prints of two giant cranes, whose white tails were tipped with yellow and green. On the white cranes was scattered a small cluster of long hair that had turned dark brown and lost its luster. Gathered in a yellowed band, the hair was a mess, with tangled fine ends.
“I cut your hair but had no confidence in myself, so I slept badly that night. The next day I asked Otosan how you would be able to study in Japan without middle and high school diplomas.”
“Of course Otosan knew it had to be done; it was just that … you must understand how he felt, Ayako.”
Yinghong remembered her long, beautiful hair, which Mudan had often praised, saying how a woman with fine hair like gold filigree was destined to live an easy life as the mistress of a wealthy family. Yinghong’s was just like that—fine, satin-shiny hair that was soft when you held it in your hand. The hair, with a brown sheen, looked like threads of gold when the sun shone on it.
“Back then I was afraid Otosan would blame me for taking matters into my own hands. So after giving you the haircut, I explained to him that I’d just trimmed it shorter so you wouldn’t look different from the others.”
“When you came home with hair regulation length, short enough to show your earlobes, I told him it had been done by the school’s military instructor.”
Yinghong’s hair had grown a bit by the time she graduated from high school; naturally wavy, it was black and thick, no longer golden and fine, as in her childhood, which prompted Mudan to complain that thick hair can suck away all of a woman’s good fortune. Yinghong responded with a smile, for she liked her hair that way, and, besides, it was just like her mother’s.
“I wasn’t afraid of taking responsibility, nor did I want you to help me deceive your father. All I wanted was to give him an excuse to vent his anger. He could fault me or the military instructor, either one, which would give him a way out. It would have hurt his feelings if he’d known that I’d cut your hair and was not on his side. He’d suffered enough, and I simply couldn’t bring myself to make him feel more alone. And this matter with the hair was a particularly touchy issue with him.”
As she went on, Mother’s voice regained its usual cheerfulness.
“You’re a grown-up now, Ayako, so I can tell you this with a sense of relief.”
“I understand, Okasan,” Yinghong said with dutiful respect.
Shortly after they got back t
ogether, he left space between them in his Rolls Royce. On hot summer days, she was in the habit of wearing her long hair up, secured in the back with hairpins. But in the car, with its arctic air-conditioning blasting, she removed the pins and shook her head to let the long tresses cascade down like a waterfall. It now covered her exposed shoulders and back, and the inside of the car was infused with the clean orchid fragrance of the newly washed hair.
She knew he was fond of seeing her hair loose like that. As expected, he was unable to keep from reaching over to grasp her hair.
“I like women with unshaven underarms,” he whispered almost incoherently. “Taiwanese women these days like to imitate the foreigners and shave the hair under their arms. They say that social etiquette demands it.”
She responded with an alluring smile, which he took as an encouragement.
“You have so much black and soft hair,” he continued. “I wonder what your body hair is like …”
Like him, she was becoming aroused, but she sat up with an exaggerated gesture of determination. He stopped touching her hair, which she gathered and pinned up again.
“My uncle says that sales are going well at the development project you two are working on,” she said to change the subject, but leaned slightly into his arms.
“You’ve been clever ever since childhood, but a bit of a busybody. Your hands are good at learning whatever you want to do, and family and friends called you jiapo, meaning you like to meddle in others’ business.” Mother often said to her.
Mudan would not allow her to help with work around Lotus Garden, except when she had permission from her mother. But Yinghong enjoyed pitching in with household chores, particularly during holidays and festivals, when they needed to prepare sacrifices, slaughter chickens and ducks, steam rice cakes, and fry sweet desserts. Naturally she usually made a mess, which so annoyed Mudan that the maid felt like striking out, but couldn’t, so she’d sit by the stove, stewing in her anger, ignoring Mother’s summons.