Journey across the Four Seas: A Chinese Woman's Search for Home

by Li, Veronica

  TAPE SEVEN

  STILL SEARCHING FOR HOME

  1

  Hok-Ching sliced open the envelope from Baba. Unable to stand the suspense, I peeked at the letter over his shoulder. The word America jumped at me. Hok-Ching grabbed me and swirled me around. "We’re going to America!" he sang.

  I extracted the letter from his hand. Leaving him to dance by himself, I studied Baba’s communiqué. His language was as mysterious as an encrypted code. All he let out was that the scheme was rather complex and would take a few months to bring to fruition. The message was tightly woven, leaving no stray thread that could lead me to the nature of the trip: whether it would be for work or study, permanent or temporary. The letter ended abruptly, with Baba telling us to return to the family home in Shanghai and wait for further instructions.

  Apparently, Hok-Ching thought this was the best news ever. But I wasn’t so sure. Long before Baba started hatching this plan, I’d formed my opinion of America. Many Chinese worshipped America, which they called the GoldMountain. The American moon was rounder than any other, they said, and even their human wastes were fragrant. They were blind followers of the American dream, choosing to see only one side and not the other. From what I’d heard, not everything in America smelled of roses. An American housewife, for instance, led the tough life of a so-called "all-in-one," a single servant hired to do all the chores for a family. Housework had never been my strength, and so far I’d been able to avoid it. If I went to America, I would have to take care of the baby plus cook, clean, mop, wash, iron—my head spun just thinking about it.

  But what did it matter what I thought? My opinion weighed as much as a feather against Baba’s. He was the venerable elder whose every word weighed a thousand times mine. Nobody would dream of challenging him, and I didn’t want to be the first to do so. I therefore held my tongue and waited for Hok-Ching to finish dancing about.

  Like obedient children reporting to school, Hok-Ching and I arrived at the family home in Shanghai. The compound, which occupied an entire block in the middle of the crowded city, was as impressive as Hok-Ching had described. The property consisted of three connected buildings and an expansive lawn that ended at an iron fence. A watchman and his German shepherds patrolled the grounds. Not counting servants, the residents numbered more than twenty. They were Ah Ma, her crippled daughter and eldest son, several of Ah Yi’s sons, the wives of those who were married, and a gaggle of nieces and sundry relations. Baba, the master of the house, was only a part-time occupant. He and Ah Yi lived in a government house in the capital, Nanking, and came back only on weekends and holidays.

  The first house was Ah Ma’s domain. She had a rambling bedroom on the second floor, which was now occupied by her eldest son, his wife, and their year-old son. Ah Ma had moved to the third floor with her daughter, Hok-Yi. The second house belonged to Ah Yi, but since she’d moved to Nanking with Baba, Hok-Jit and Wai-Ching had taken over her room. The third house was Baba’s kingdom, which was off-limits to people with no business there.

  Being the last to return, Hok-Ching and I got a tiny back room in Ah Yi’s building. It was located at the end of a long, spooky corridor lined with ancestor tablets. The reminders of the dead made my skin crawl, and I always hurried past them. This was the worst room of the entire homestead, but I didn’t really mind. Shanghai was just a temporary shelter, not a permanent home, for me.

  What bothered me more was the malicious bickering among the residents. The household was divided into several factions. Even after Hok-Ching had explained to me the dynamics of the different groups, I still wasn’t sure who stood with whom against whom. Sometimes the fights were out in the open, but most of the time they were conducted with daggers concealed behind smiles. With Baba gone, there was no longer a lid on the hostility.

  Before he moved to Nanking, Baba had appointed Hok-Yi, the crippled daughter, to be the nominal head of household. Although Ah Ma was around, she’d been stripped of all power many years ago. According to my husband, Ah Ma had been a reckless spender with a habit of abusing charge accounts at the department stores. Baba used to have fits at the end of the year when the shops sent in their bills. Slowly, without making it too obvious, the purse strings were eased out of Ah Ma’s hands and given over to Ah Yi. In Ah Yi’s absence, Baba would rather give the responsibility to his daughter than return it to his first wife.

  Hok-Yi, however, couldn’t help being her mother’s daughter. Instead of playing referee, as a head of household should, she jumped headlong into the fray. Her loyalty, needless to say, belonged to her mother. Even the meals she ordered the cook to prepare were different for the different groups. For instance, Baba often received gifts of ham and other delicacies from people who wanted to curry favor with him. None of us on Ah Yi’s side ever saw the ham. The only people entitled to ham-and-egg breakfasts were members of Ah Ma’s camp.

  The wife of Ah Ma’s eldest son was the greatest hog of them all. She was less than five feet tall, shaped like an eggplant, and had a temper as spicy as the food she ate. She lorded it over the household, and by power of association even her servant, Number Eight, reigned supreme over the other domestics. Every morning, this maid would center herself in the living room, holding herself like an empress giving audience to her subjects. All the other servants had to kowtow to her or their jobs would be in jeopardy.

  I tried my utmost to mind my own business, and luckily or not, I had Agnes to keep me busy. At several months old she was already manipulating her parents as if they were puppets. Hok-Ching and I had nobody but ourselves to blame. Novices in child rearing, we couldn’t stand the least whimper from her. We picked her up the moment she started. Her nanny, Ah Hing, helped out during the day, but at night Agnes always returned to the crib by my side. Used to being couched in the warmth of a human body, she screamed the moment her little head touched the bed. Hok-Ching would waltz her around while singing the rhythm of "boom cha cha." When she finally dozed off, we would gently lay her down, praying that those big bright eyes wouldn’t spring open again. This often went on all night. The severe sleep deprivation played tricks on my brain, and I sometimes had difficulty distinguishing fact from fiction. Once, while I was feeding Agnes, her bib fell off. Unable to find it in the dark, I woke Hok-Ching to help me. When he turned on the light, I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, my arms cradling air, and Agnes sound asleep in the crib.

  On one of Ah Yi’s visits, she noticed we were doing everything wrong. "For crying out loud, leave her in the crib! Shut the door, go downstairs, and close yourself in a room where you can’t hear her. Let her cry till she’s exhausted; then she’ll fall asleep."

  We followed her advice and went downstairs, but not as far as Ah Yi had suggested. We stayed within hearing range, pressing palms over ears to muffle the howling, and yet not so tightly that we couldn’t hear her altogether. Hok-Ching and I pulled each other back, reminding ourselves that the treatment was for Agnes’s own good. After a while, Ah Yi’s prediction came true. The wailing stopped. We tiptoed up the staircase and peeked into the room. Agnes was lying in her crib, staring at the ceiling. Her head turned, tear-washed eyes flashed at me, and the screaming started all over again.

  My preoccupation with Agnes kept me out of the family squabbles. But sometimes even when you’re not looking for trouble, trouble finds you anyway. Aside from my immediate family, the most important person to me was Ah Hing. Without her, I would get no rest from my cranky baby. She was a patient young woman who didn’t get ruffled easily, but that day she couldn’t control her sobbing. The tyrannical Number Eight had told her to pack up her things and leave, she told me. I calmed her down by pointing out that I was her employer and not Number Eight. The incident blew over, but it made me more anxious than ever to get away. I pushed Hok-Ching to pursue our trip to America with his father. Slaving over housework in my own home would be better than being waited on in this vicious jungle. The last three months had felt like three years.

  The
news I was praying for finally arrived. Baba summoned Hok-Ching and me to his study. The room was similar to the one in WongMountain, humble in furnishing but grand in wisdom. Books paneled the wall. They were of every kind, from modern, hardbound volumes to old-fashioned hand-sewn texts and ancient scrolls. My eyes landed on the set of Encyclopedia Britannica. The volumes leaned crookedly against each other like a troop of wounded veterans. Their covers were tattered, spines rutted with crease, but instead of diminishing their worth, their injuries gave them a venerable sheen. Legend had it that Baba had studied the eighteen volumes and memorized their content. Now I could see that it wasn’t that tall a tale.

  Sitting at a corner where such guests as Chiang Kai-Shek were received, Baba said to Hok-Ching, "You can go to America as early as next month. A trading company is willing to give you a job in its U.S. branch. The company is state-run, and you’ll be starting at a junior position. In other words, your salary won’t be high. You won’t starve, but after paying for room and board there won’t be much left. Eventually, when Flora joins you, she’ll have to work too."

  "What do you mean by ‘eventually’?" Hok-Ching said. "Isn’t Flora traveling with me?"

  "The visa to the U.S. is only for you. But don’t worry," Baba quickly added, "there are plenty of other opportunities for Flora. I can get her enrolled at a university, after which she’ll be eligible for a student visa. That’s no problem at all. The only person who can’t go is Man-Kuk. As both of you will be working or studying, there’s no one to take care of the baby. America is not China. Life is tough there. For the two of you to succeed, Man-Kuk must stay behind with me."

  "How can you ask me to abandon my child?" Hok-Ching said. His voice had a shrill edge, a sign that he was about to throw one of his temper tantrums. "I’m not going unless all three of us go together."

  "I’ll take good care of your child," Baba insisted. "I don’t want your life to be so hard that you want to come back. You’ve given up too easily and too often in the past. America is your only chance to make something of yourself. I want to lighten your burden so you can focus on your career."

  "I’m not going without the baby!" Hok-Ching barked.

  "Do as you please, then. You have several brothers who will appreciate the opportunity."

  "I’ll have my own opportunities. I don’t need your help." Hok-Ching got up and marched out of the room, his elbows rigid with anger.

  My instinct was to run after my husband, for I couldn’t agree with him more about abandoning Agnes. At the same time, his behavior toward his father was appalling. I faced Baba awkwardly and said, "I’m sorry he was rude to you. As you well know, he has a hot temper. I’ll talk it over with him when he’s cooled down."

  "It’s no use, no use," Baba muttered, his ponderous head lolling from side to side. "You don’t know this son of mine. He’s been like this since he was a child. I’d hired a scholar to cultivate him in the Four Books and Five Classics of Confucius, but all that effort has been lost on him. The difference between a barbarian and him is very little."

  That night at dinner, Baba showered praises on Hok-Jit. Hok-Jit was doing a fine job at Commercial Press, Hok-Jit’s son was the brightest of his grandchildren, and Wai-Ching was fine material for graduate studies. As for Hok-Ching, Baba didn’t even deem him worthy of a glance. Anyone with the least bit of intelligence could see Baba’s brush writing on the wall—Hok-Jit was going to America.

  So there we were, living indefinitely in the middle of several warring factions. Hok-Ching was unemployed but didn’t appear in a hurry to look for work. He spent his days at the mahjong table, playing and joking around with his relatives. When he wasn’t frivolous, he would be storming over what so-and-so had said. His archenemy was Ah Ma, who took pleasure in picking on him at every opportunity. Her attacks consisted of a pinch here, a pinch there—not painful enough to really hurt, but enough to make Hok-Ching hop with annoyance. The pressure would build and build until one of them blew up, and from thereon there would be no hold on the mud they slung at each other. After everything had been said, they would retreat to an icy silence for several days. Then the sniping would start again.

  I soon discovered that Hok-Ching actually enjoyed the bickering. He loved to hate Ah Ma. If several days went by without the stimulation of her needling, he would squirm as if he had an unreachable itch on his back. Why am I surprised? I asked myself. This is his home. He grew up in this environment, strange as it seems to me. He’s in his father’s house, as safe a place as can be, and to him safety is the most important thing in the world. He can go on like this the rest of his life.

  The thought was frightening.

  *

  I poked my head into Baba’s study. "I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have a matter to discuss with you."

  Putting down his brush pen, Baba welcomed me in. He invited me to pull up a chair and sit across from him at his desk. The smell of ink and paper was overwhelming. I steadied myself a second before beginning: "Please forgive Hok-Ching for disobeying you. He’s a very sentimental man. Asking him to leave his child behind is worse than taking his life."

  "Yes, yes, I know," Baba said with a sigh.

  "Now that we’re not going to America, we’ll have to make other plans. Shanghai is a prosperous city, but there is one slight problem about our staying here. Hok-Ching and I are now sleeping in a small back room, which is fine for a few months. But Man-Kuk will soon be walking, and if I have another child, the space will be a bit too tight for us. I wonder whether it’s possible for Hok-Ching and I to move into your house in Nanking. With your help, I’m sure he can find a job there."

  I lowered my eyes, hoping that he could read between the lines. His family home was a viper’s nest, not a place for human beings to live in. A clever man like Baba should be able to get my message.

  "I understand your difficulty," Baba said. "My house in Nanking has plenty of spare rooms. You can have one for yourselves, and another for Agnes and her little brothers and sisters." Baba’s eyes danced with delight at the prospect of more grandchildren. Becoming serious again, he added, "With regard to a job for Hok-Ching, it can be arranged. Commercial Press has a big office in Nanking. I’m sure it can accommodate him."

  Baba’s active hand came to a sudden standstill. Although it wasn’t visible behind the desk, I could tell that he’d been doodling characters on his lap as usual. "There’s only one problem," he said. "You know how sensitive my son is. He’s still angry with me. If I were to tell him I want him to go to Nanking, he’ll say no for sure. How about this? I will talk to the Nanking manager of Commercial Press. He will contact Hok-Ching directly and offer him a job. That way, Hok-Ching won’t know that I’m involved."

  "Whatever you say must be for the best," I said respectfully. Inside I was shouting with joy.

  Baba’s ploy turned out to be brilliant. For days my husband beamed like a newly discovered star. He said that at long last the world had discovered his literary ability. He wasn’t just a muscle man putting together Health and Strength, but an artist of many talents. For this reason, Commercial Press had offered him the post of assistant manager in the Nanking bureau.

  I started packing without a moment’s delay. Since my marriage, I’d allowed my husband to be captain of my ship. He’d steered aimlessly from place to place without getting us anywhere. Financially, we were down to just my dowry. Professionally, he’d lost whatever status he had in the education community. If he continued to have his way at the helm, we would be shipwrecked in a few years. By charting the course to Nanking behind his back, I’d wrested control of the steering wheel without his noticing.

  2

  The train pulled into Nanking late at night. Baba’s chauffeur met us at the station and drove us to our new home. As the car pulled into the driveway, I stared out into the darkness. Goosebumps broke out on the back of my neck. The place was as eerie as Ah Yi had described it.

  Baba’s house was an old building at the edge of town, next to a lar
ge barren field. This land was a mass grave for Chinese soldiers who’d died defending Nanking. In their haste, the Japanese had dug a shallow pit and dumped thousands of bodies in it. Neighborhood dogs had since discovered that this was a bountiful source of food. They were often seen gnawing at human thighbones and playing with scalps that still had full heads of hair on them. My mother-in-law swore that she’d heard the soldiers marching at night. Shaa, shaa, shaa, their footsteps went, like trees thrashing in the wind.

  My heart stopped when a mummy ran out of the house straight toward me. A maid’s pajama suit was wrapped around the skeletal body. The skin on her face was like dried orange peel. The skull was bare but for the few strands that were bunched back into a loose bun. While I shrank back, Hok-Ching bounded up to her. She opened her toothless mouth and yammered a string of gibberish. The only words I could make out were "Ah Nu," Hok-Ching’s baby name. Then she started patting him first in the face, moving to the arm, head, bottom, and everywhere. She was treating him like a little boy!

  For me, the mummy had only a most reluctant nod. The sockets of her eyes were fixed on the baby in my arms. Her claws reached for Agnes. To my surprise, Agnes didn’t cry. She flapped her arms and made an ugly face that sent everyone doubling over with laughter.

  "Who’s the old woman?" I whispered to Hok-Ching.

  "I’ll tell you later," he said, his eyes soft and damp with emotion.

  We didn’t get back to the subject until the next morning, after Agnes had been fed and turned over to Ah Hing. I was lazing in bed, savoring the tranquility. "Who was that old woman who was touching you all over last night?" I said.

  Hok-Ching laughed and rolled on his side toward me. "What, are you jealous of Old Mama? She’s my nanny. She’s cleaned and fed me ever since the day I was born. There’s no part of me she hasn’t touched."