Joan held her breath and slid down under the water. She cleared her mind and tried to remember an early letter from Emma all about Jack. He’s a good friend of Wilson’s…half-Chinese and half-Portuguese…good-looking…His being of mixed blood won’t go over well with Mah-mee…. He doesn’t have a college degree…wants a career in the army…. He’s good and kind…. I’ve never been happier….
Joan stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel. The cool air raised goose bumps on her stomach and legs. She glanced toward the mirror, but couldn’t see a thing in all the heat and steam and didn’t bother to wipe it off.
She slipped into a white silk robe, then went straight to her desk to write a telegram to Emma.
Congratulations on your marriage. A new movie project means postponing my trip a couple of months…give you time for a honeymoon. You deserve to be happy.
Don’t worry about Mah-mee, she’ll get used to the idea.
Much love, Joan
Chapter 15
Sunrise—1963–64
Auntie Go
Death came quickly to Lew Hing, and not without pain. The year he returned to Hong Kong from Japan, he was already thin and weak. In the hospital, when the cancer was diagnosed, Kum Ling accepted the doctor’s words as if she were tasting something too cold. The words froze in midair: “In the pancreas…Too far gone…nothing we can do…Make him comfortable…. I am sorry….” When Auntie Go reached out to comfort Kum Ling, Go felt a chill spread from her cousin’s hand to hers and up and down her body.
In the taxi home from the hospital, Kum Ling had thawed and couldn’t stop talking.
“We will take him home,” she said, twisting the diamond wedding ring on her finger. “I’ll move into Joan’s room. He’ll be more comfortable that way. I have to remember…remember to tell Foon to buy some…some cat’s-paw grass to make a soup. The girls. I have to tell the girls….”
Auntie Go put her hand on Kum Ling’s to pull her back, slow her down. It now felt warm and clammy. “Joan is coming over later this evening. We’ll tell her then. I’ll send a telegram to moi-moi. There’s nothing they can do now, Kum Ling. It’s better not to disrupt their lives any more than we have to.”
“Yes. Yes, you’re right, Go.”
“We’ll have Foon make some po lai tea when we get back, and then you can lie down for a while. There’s plenty of time for everything else.”
Kum Ling nodded. She turned and stared out the window, her eyes fixed on the passing streets. Go watched Kum Ling’s reflection in the glass, the vacant eyes, the creamy, smooth skin, the full lips pressed tightly together. At fifty-nine, she was still very beautiful, not a gray hair on her head, while Go seemed to have turned gray overnight.
“Do you remember?” Kum Ling asked all of a sudden, still facing the window.
“Remember what?”
“Our wedding.” Kum Ling said, turning back toward Auntie Go.
Go smiled. “How could I forget? It was a beautiful wedding.”
“I was so young, sixteen. I refused to go by sedan chair, you know. Mah-mee wanted me to, but I refused. Money was tight. ‘He has seen me already,’ I told her. ‘What do I need to hide for?’ When the marriage broker told Hing’s family, they were appalled, but Hing wasn’t. He simply said, ‘She’s right.’ How could I have not loved him for all these years, through all the good and bad?”
“He’s a good man,” Go whispered.
“I haven’t always been easy. Not for any of you.”
Auntie Go didn’t know what to say. For so many years they’d been arguing on different sides of the wall, it felt strange to be sitting close to each other now in total agreement. “Neither of us has been easy,” Go said, “but, can you imagine our lives any other way?” Auntie Go gave her cousin’s hand a squeeze.
Kum Ling smiled. Her lips parted to say something, but froze again. Instead, Auntie Go felt Kum Ling move closer, closing the small space that still divided them.
“Eat, eat!” Foon commanded. “No use to Lew seen-san sick.” She dished rice into Kum Ling’s bowl and stood beside her until she raised her chopsticks.
Joan leaned over and whispered to Auntie Go, “Do they know how long?” It was the first full sentence she’d said since hearing the news about her father. The words came out sharp and sad.
“Six months, more or less,” Auntie Go whispered back.
“But that’s so little time,” Joan mumbled, more to herself than to Auntie Go.
“What was that?” Kum Ling asked, cradling the untouched bowl of rice in the palm of her hand.
“I think it might be better if I move back home for a little while,” Joan quickly answered.
“Nonsense!” Kum Ling snapped, her old spirit returning. “You have your own apartment now. An actress needs a quiet place to study her lines.”
Auntie Go smiled hearing the same advice she had once given Kum Ling now repeated in her cousin’s voice.
“But, you’ll need…” Joan protested.
“If I need anything, I’ll ask,” Kum Ling said, ending the small struggle.
Joan picked at her food. “What about Emma?”
“I was going to telegram her tomorrow,” Auntie Go said. “She must have her hands full with the baby and their move to the new house.”
“Please,” Joan asked, “please let me do it?”
Auntie Go watched Joan’s face, flawless as her mother’s. After all her years of pretending before a mirror, she’d become a big star in her first starring movie, A Woman’s Story. Since then, Go detected a profound change in her. Joan’s nervous energy had calmed. It seemed she had discovered something much more important than fame—an understanding of who she was, and what she could do.
“Of course.” Auntie Go smiled. “Tell her not to worry, he’s being well taken care of.”
Joan nodded. With her chopsticks she raised a piece of Chinese mustard green to her mouth, then let it fall back to her bowl.
Kum Ling refused to let Auntie Go spend the night with her. “I’m all right, Go. Foon’s here. You have a business to run and have to be up early. Tomorrow I’ll make arrangements with the hospital to bring Hing home. Please, go home.”
Auntie Go hesitated, then saw in Kum Ling’s eyes that she meant what she said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.”
“Fine, fine,” Kum Ling said, holding the front door open. “Thank you, Go,” she whispered as a cool November wind whistled up the stone steps. “For all these years.” Then Kum Ling quickly closed the door between them.
Auntie Go started to walk down the block to her flat, then changed her mind and caught a taxi to Kowloon. Her keys jingled on the ring as she unlocked the door of the Western Wind. When she stepped in and turned on the overhead lights, the bright, white glare startled her. The slightly sour smell of wool and metal reached her first. The idle machines were silent. Just the sight of them brought back the phantom swishing sounds that filled her days. Go had no idea why she had returned to the factory at this time of the night, but she locked the front door behind her and with slow, deliberate steps climbed the stairs to her office.
“Why here?” Auntie Go whispered to herself, though she didn’t have an answer. She entered her office, flipped on a softer lamplight, poured herself a sherry, and sat down at her cluttered desk. Auntie Go sipped the sweet wine, then leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as the alcohol flowed through her blood, warming her body.
Go thought of how some memories hung on like small burdens. Even held back, they pushed forward, reentering her life as if they belonged in the present. And now was no exception. She knew why she had returned to the Western Wind. It was here in her office that Lew Hing had come to see her so many years ago. Auntie Go counted back the years. It was over fifteen now, though she could still feel his presence as if it were yesterday.
He had knocked and entered her office so quietly, she might not have looked up if it wasn’t for the sudden loud waves of swishing and the strong, sweet scent
of his cologne, which preceded him.
“Hing!” Go had said, surprised.
He smiled, put down his suitcase, and stood there pressing the rim of his hat between his fingers. “I’ve just flown in from Tokyo. I came here straight from the airport.”
“Is there anything wrong? Kum Ling? The girls?” Auntie Go asked, half rising from her chair.
Hing shook his head, lifted his hands in explanation, but they remained suspended in the air. “I…I came to talk to you.”
Auntie Go sat back down, relieved. Her next thought was that he’d come about the job offer they’d discussed months before. She gestured for him to sit down, but Lew Hing fingered a button on his overcoat and remained standing.
“We could certainly use your help here,” Go said, hoping to ease into the conversation and make him more comfortable, “A man of your business sense—”
“You don’t understand,” Hing interrupted. “What I’m about to say comes after a great deal of thought. You know that I love Kum Ling with all my heart….”
Auntie Go stood up slowly, matching his height. “What are you trying to tell me?” she asked, hoping to the gods that what she feared was just some kind of misunderstanding.
He ran his fingers through his hair, looked Go in the eyes, and said, “There’s been someone else for a long time now.”
Go stood there, stunned. In their younger days, Kum Ling had traveled with him as much as she could, even when her fear of flying increased, and she left the girls with Go and Foon for weeks at a time. But as the girls grew older, Kum Ling elected to remain in Hong Kong, while Lew Hing conducted his business in Tokyo. Go could well imagine that they might have grown apart over the years.
“Is she in Tokyo?”
“No,” he answered, looking away. “She’s here.”
Go felt the heat of anger rising. She leaned forward, her arms braced against her desk. “Here! How?” She tried to steady her voice.
Lew Hing clutched his hat tighter. “Here. Right here in this room.” A smile transformed his face.
For a moment, Auntie Go didn’t understand. Then she stepped back. “What?” she whispered.
“I’ve loved you for a very long time.” Hing’s words came quickly now. “You needn’t say anything, Go. Lives are fated to take different paths. I know this. Kum Ling will always be my wife whom I dearly love. But, I couldn’t let my life pass by without saying what I feel. Have always felt.”
Auntie Go sat down, speechless, her mouth dry and bitter. She had known Hing most of her life, was only fourteen when he and Kum Ling had married. Go loved him as a brother. He had no right to change that. She didn’t dare look up at him, even when she knew he was putting on his hat, picking up his suitcase, turning to leave.
“I’ll leave now. I won’t ever speak these words again, Go. You needn’t worry.”
Then he let himself out of her office as quietly as he had entered, leaving behind the flowery scent of his cologne.
In the five months after Lew Hing came home from the hospital, Kum Ling became another person, shedding her makeup and silk cheungsams in favor of tunics and pants. Go stood by as her cousin nursed Lew Hing, doing everything in her power to ease his suffering—endless cool cloths, soothing teas, soft words.
His pain took its toll on all of them, but Auntie Go and Joan grew increasingly worried about Kum Ling’s health. She refused to slow down and slept only a few hours every night, preferring to sit by her husband’s bed in case he needed anything.
“You need to sleep,” Auntie Go pleaded. “Joan or I will stay with him.”
“What if he needs something?”
“I’ll wake you.”
“I don’t know,” Kum Ling said, shaking her head slowly, a frantic look in her eyes.
“Emma called yesterday. She’s concerned about you. Baby or no baby, she says she’ll fly back if you’re not taking care of yourself,” Auntie Go threatened.
After almost two years of Kum Ling’s barely speaking to Emma, the birth of Kum Ling’s first granddaughter broke the silence between them. In place of anger at Emma’s marriage came joy in a new generation.
Now Kum Ling relented. “My grandchild needs her mother. Tell her I’m fine.” She sipped the tea Foon had brewed with mulberry branches and dragon’s-eye meat to help her sleep. “You promise to wake me?”
Auntie Go smiled. “Of course I will. And Joan will come to help you, first thing in the morning.”
Kum Ling’s smile flickered and faded. Fine lines had deepened of late across her forehead, spread like angry creases from the corners of her eyes.
Two nights later, Auntie Go sat by the window of Lew Hing and Kum Ling’s bedroom, listening to his raspy, labored breathing. She and Lew Hing had rarely been alone since his confession years ago. Always the girls or Kum Ling stood between them to erase the words he had spoken, to cover her shame and confusion. Auntie Go made sure of it. And true to his word, Hing treated her as before and never mentioned that day again. Go was grateful for his restraint. Yet, she could never step into this bedroom without feeling slightly uncomfortable. Now, in the darkness, the room felt cold and sterile, the strong smell of rubbing alcohol, medicines, and herbs making her eyes water.
Right here in this room, Go thought, he’ll take his last breath. The doctor had said it was just a matter of time. He was already comatose. What does that mean? she had wanted to ask the doctor. Weeks? Days? Hours? Hing already lay withered and stripped as branches under a blue sheet and blanket.
“This is what I’ve always known, Lew Hing, that you are a kind man.” She spoke aloud, wanting him to hear her. “Your daughters are doing well, and I’ll always take care of Kum Ling. You needn’t worry.” From the courtyard below she heard the high, whining snarls of the neighbors’ cats, which masked for a blessed moment his thick, struggling breaths.
Auntie Go was awakened sometime before dawn, stiff from sleeping in a chair. She could have sworn someone had touched her shoulder, had gently shaken her awake, but she found herself alone in the darkness. Go stood up, straightened her aching back, rubbed her eyes, then listened to the silence of the room. Heart beating in her throat, she moved closer to the bed. Go bent down to touch King’s hollow cheek, thin wrist, only to feel a coldness. A small cry escaped her. She sat down again to wait. In a few hours it would be sunrise and she would wake Kum Ling.
Chapter 16
Song on a Rainy Night—1964–65
Emma
Emma sat in the living room of their new house sipping a cup of lok on tea. The warm afternoon sun streamed a hazy light into the room, making her drowsy. She looked at the empty white wall across from her; just that morning, Jack had said, “We could put a bookcase right over there.” Emma smiled. She knew Jack was happy with the house by the way he carried on about building her bookshelves for the boxes of books still stacked in the garage. “I don’t plan to be hauling them around again for a while,” he said, laughing.
Before, Jack would have been content to stay in apartments. “I’m comfortable in small spaces,” he had told her. All of his life, Jack had lived in cramped, solitary rooms, first with his mother and brother in an apartment on the outskirts of Chinatown, then in assigned army quarters that were no more than a room and bed, and finally in her apartment on Geary Boulevard after they were married in May of 1960.
When Emma discovered she was pregnant with Emily a year later, she insisted they move to a house by the time the baby needed more room to play and grow. Just past Emily’s second birthday, Emma had gotten her driver’s license and gained a new sense of freedom. In Jack’s green and white Ford convertible, she drove around San Francisco neighborhoods—Sunset, Noe Valley, Richmond, Twin Peaks—past rows of houses, some alike, while others were as unique as the charms on her bracelet. Emma finally found a white Mediterranean-style house in the Richmond district for sale. It reminded her of her family’s Macao house and was also near a quiet park and grocery store, which she presented to Jack. Emma hadn’t: gi
ven him a choice. Even if the house was more expensive than planned, she wanted to give her baby as stable a home as she could, since Jack was determined to stay in the army. “This is the house I want Emily to remember growing up in,” she had told him—grass in the front and back yards, Emily’s own cream-colored room, a bright yellow kitchen where Emma would teach Emily a few Chinese characters when she grew older, and a large, light-filled living room.
Adding to the appeal, they only lived a few blocks from the O’Learys’ house. Emma heard Maggie was now living and practicing medicine in Portland, Oregon, but Emma had never forgotten her first Thanksgiving there.
“What a wonderful surprise!” Mrs. O’Leary had said when Emma brought Emily over to say hello. “You are a wee cute little lady.” Mrs. O’Leary tickled Emily.
“She takes after her daddy.” Emma smiled. Emily had Jack’s dark coloring, his high, straight nose.
“But she has her mother’s pretty eyes,” Mrs. O’Leary added.
“How is Maggie?”
“Likes it up there with the trees and nature! Maggie’s life is medicine. No time for babies she says. But if she could see your little precious one, I’m sure she’d change her mind.”
Mrs. O’Leary had aged since Emma had last seen her. She still had the same easy smile, but her red hair had dulled with gray. She had also put on a bit of weight, now that all the kids were grown and out of the house.
Emma smiled. “Maggie’s fulfilled her dream. Not many of us can say that.”
“Looks to me like you have a little dream right there in your arms. I can see you with a couple more like her in a few years.”
Emma laughed out loud. Emily had been such a difficult birth, she often wondered if she dared to have another baby. The long, horrendous labor, followed by the tearing, cutting, and stitching, had left her unable to walk for days. Emma had decided to leave any more children up to fate.
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