Her mother taught them only what was necessary. She told them over and over again, “Too much knowledge will only lead to heartaches for a female. Especially for one as curious as you!” she said, turning towards Pei.
That evening, when her father returned, he whispered a few words to her mother before leaving them and closing the curtain to their room. For the first time Pei could see tiny lines from the corner of his eyes, and his shoulders seemed heavy with some invisible load.
“Is Ba Ba all right?” she asked, looking up at her mother.
“He is tired. He has traveled a long way today.”
“Where did he go?” Pei persisted.
“Far away,” her mother snapped, turning abruptly around and putting an end to her questions.
Pei was relieved when they were finally lying quietly in their bed. Her mother’s anger would, she hoped, be put to rest with the beginning of another day. Pei lay still and listened to Li’s quiet breathing. Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to be more like Li, to move through each day with so little trouble. When Pei turned towards Li, she could only see the shadowy outlines of her sister’s face, a face so similar to hers. And even as Pei began to drift off to sleep, she couldn’t help but smile about the piece of sugar candy Li had finally given to her.
Chapter Two
1919
Pei
Pei felt herself being awakened by a tapping on her arm. She opened her eyes to the murky light a single candle gave off, barely able to make out the dark figure of her father standing over her. With the back of her hand Pei rubbed her eyes and looked again. Her unsmiling father was still there. When he bent closer to her, Pei could smell his salty scent, of work and the ponds.
“You must get up now,” he whispered, trying not to awaken Li.
“Why?” Pei asked, before her father put his finger to her lips. She moved quickly and quietly into the chill of the morning air.
“You and I must go on a journey,” her father then answered.
Behind him Pei could see her mother sitting as still as stone at the wooden table. Pei put on her summer clothes, whose last bit of dampness sent a shiver through her. She watched as her father said something to her mother and then went outside. When Pei was dressed and sat down at the wooden table, her mother quickly put a bowl of jook in front of her.
“Where are we going?” Pei asked.
There was a long pause before her mother answered. “You will see soon enough. Now you must eat.”
Pei looked down at her bowl of jook and took a large swallow of the thick porridge. Her mother stood behind her, combing out her hair just as she did every morning. Then with quick and able fingers she divided the hair into two parts and braided two even pigtails.
“Are you going?” Pei asked.
“No.”
“And not Li either?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because your Ba Ba has decided that you are to go.”
Pei turned to look at her mother, whose hands rested gently on her shoulders. But before Pei could catch sight of the dark, sad eyes she knew so well, her mother turned away and was back standing by the fire.
The dirt road was a dull orange as Pei and her father began their journey on foot. Her father walked in silence, his quick pace easily leaving Pei behind. As the sun rose, its light spread across the open fields, revealing a beautiful puzzle of land and water, which seemed to come together in one silent breath of air. Pei lingered, picking up rocks and pulling out wildflowers for Li and her mother. Every once in a while, she waited to see if her father would turn back to make sure she was still following, but he never did.
At first the daylight opened her eyes to all that was around her. Pei watched the small birds in the trees, fluttering from branch to branch. It was almost as if they were watching her, too, their wings spread open before folding neatly back to their sides. In the far distance there was the lonesome sight of a farmer working in his field, following his dark, strong oxen. But soon the sun felt very hot on the open road. Pei’s legs ached from trying to keep up with the long strides of her father. More than once Pei tried to capture his attention by clearing her throat, but her father walked on with no regard for her until she ran after him and was forced to tug at his sleeve. By noon Pei had traveled farther than she had ever gone before.
“Ba Ba, is it much farther?”
Her father cleared his throat. “A little farther and we will stop.” .
Pei watched as he shifted the cloth sack he carried from one shoulder to the other, then followed him obediently. Gradually the land changed to a flatter, more populated area, with ponds and whitewashed brick houses sitting closer to the road.
They finally stopped under a thick cluster of trees that shaded the road. From the cloth sack her father brought out two Jong, and handed her one of the fist-sized balls of sticky rice. Pei loved eating Jong. They were stuffed with salted pork, nuts, and an egg yolk, all completely wrapped in lotus leaves like a small gift. Usually, her mother made them only once a year, on the day of the Dragon Boat Festival. Then her mother would repeat the story of Ch’u Yuan, a high official who had drowned himself in the river Mih Lo when he could not fulfill his duties to the emperor. Each year after, on the very day of his drowning, the officials and village people would throw these Jong into the river so that he would not go hungry. Pei thought of the story and relished every mouthful. When her father finished eating, he stood up, glanced toward her, and began walking again.
The afternoon sun beat down so heavily on the dusty road that Pei felt as if her feet were swollen. Nothing could distract her from the heat and tiredness that filled her entire body. But as they followed the turn in the road, Pei saw that just beyond them was a river, and beyond that, the tallest buildings she had ever seen. When they came to the edge of the very large river, her father put the cloth sack down and said, “We will wait here.”
Pei sat down and watched, fascinated with all the river life that moved around her. The river smelled different from the ponds. There was a lingering heaviness in the air that was both fishy and something else, something like night soil left in its jar too long. Pei wrinkled her nose, but was quickly distracted by the men and women traveling across the river in small, half-covered boats her father called sampans. She watched as they balanced themselves on the edges, maneuvering their boats away from the others with long, thin poles of bamboo. On the larger sampans anchored to the side of the river, Pei saw entire families moving within their cluttered bounds as if they were on dry land. Their voices sounded strangely familiar, yet unlike anything she had ever known. The boats moved rhythmically from side to side, pulling away from one another, then coming back and touching with a dull thud.
Across the river sat more of these floating houses, a dark outline of boats among the tall sturdy buildings behind them. Pei had never seen buildings like these before. Each one seemed ten times the size of the buildings in their small village back home.
“Where is that, Ba Ba?” Pei asked, pointing across the river.
“That is the village of Yung Kee. Would you like to go there?” her father asked.
“Oh, yes!” Pei answered. She saw her father smile for the first time in a very long while.
The buildings across the river were of all shapes and sizes. From some of the larger buildings, thick, gray smoke billowed out of long pipes protruding from the roofs.
“Why is there smoke coming out of those buildings?” asked Pei.
“Those are the factories that breathe life into China,” her father answered. “You will see soon enough what they are about.”
Pei looked on in quiet amazement.
The boat that arrived to take them across the river was a larger sampan. It hovered at the edge of the river, allowing the people to disembark before Pei and her father could board. The sampan creaked and swayed and was badly in need of paint, but Pei thought it was the loveliest boat she had ever seen. Hanging on to the edge as it
slowly glided across the water, Pei no longer felt the heat or the tiredness that accompanied it. Instead, she tried hard to remember every small detail of her journey to bring home to Li and her mother.
The streets of Yung Kee were hot and dusty. More people than Pei had ever seen before were gathered at storefronts, bargaining in high, experienced voices. “Too much, too much, I will give you half that!” an old woman said. “Do you think I was born yesterday?” another voice cried out. Pei watched shirtless young and old men pull carts and sedan chairs down the wide street, skillfully avoiding the throng of people moving toward them. She and her father walked past rows and rows of tall gray buildings, divided by narrow passageways that led in and out of other streets. She held on to her father’s sleeve as they walked deeper into the maze of streets and people.
From one passageway they emerged onto a wide dirt road shaded by trees. Pei’s father looked down at her and said, “It isn’t far now.”
“Where are we going, Ba Ba? Did you come here yesterday?” Pei asked. Her throat was dry and scratchy from the heat.
“It isn’t far,” her father repeated, suddenly quickening his step.
When they finally did stop, it was at a large wooden gate with a surrounding stone wall that made whatever lay behind it difficult for Pei to see. Her father pulled the string dangling on the side of the gate and immediately a small bell began chiming with each tug he gave.
“Who’s there?” a high singsong voice asked from the other side of the gate.
Her father cleared his throat and said, “Pao Chung and daughter Pei.”
There was little hesitation before the heavy wooden gate swung open. Behind it stood a short, heavyset woman who smiled widely, exposing a set of crooked, discolored teeth.
“We have been waiting for you,” she said, opening the door wider so Pei and her father could enter. “It must have been a very long and hot journey!” She smiled at Pei.
“Yes,” her father answered.
Inside the gate was a large courtyard with a table and several ornately decorated stools around it.
“I’m Auntie Yee,” the smiling woman said to Pei. “Please sit.”
The house itself was a two-story red-brick building tucked securely away from the street. It was the biggest, most beautiful house Pei had ever seen. She stood gazing at the one floor built on top of another, with flat, wide steps you climbed just to reach the front door. She’d never seen anything like it before. Pei could have gone on staring at the house in a daydream, if she had not seen another woman peering out from behind the opened door.
“Moi!” Auntie Yee called out in her singsong voice.
In the next moment Pei saw the woman disappear back into the house, only to return again carrying three cups of tea. Pei was then introduced to Moi, who was Auntie Yee’s cook and housekeeper. Moi was younger and thinner than Auntie Yee, and she had a bad foot, which dragged slightly behind her as she walked.
The warm tea soothed Pei’s parched throat. She looked over at her father, who sipped his tea slowly and avoided her questioning looks. Pei wondered who these women were and what they were doing here, but she knew it was not her place to ask such questions. Instead, she watched in silence. Auntie Yee appeared nice enough, with her crooked teeth and her round, smooth face that glowed with a perpetual smile on her lips. Pei wanted to laugh at the tight knot of jet-black hair on the top of her head.
“Would you like to see the house?” Auntie Yee asked.
Pei looked to her father. He hesitated a moment and stood up awkwardly, then nodded his approval. “My daughter would be very pleased to see the house.”
“Very good.” Auntie Yee smiled.
Pei watched her father move from one foot to the other. He watched them with an uncomfortable look in his eyes, a look Pei sometimes saw when she asked him a question he couldn’t answer.
“You be good with Auntie Yee,” her father said.
“You aren’t coming?”
“No,” he said looking down. “You be good.”
“I will, Ba Ba,” said Pei.
“I’m certain Pei will be a very good girl,” Auntie Yee said. She took Pei’s hand and led her up the steps to the house. At the top of the steps Pei turned around. Her father still stood by the table watching them.
The house was large and cool inside. A sharp smell Auntie Yee called ammonia filled Pei’s head. Downstairs were four large rooms, one of which was the dining room, with an enormous round table. Beyond that was the kitchen, larger than their entire farmhouse; in the corner was a stained screen, and behind it a bed where Moi slept.
“This is the reading room,” Auntie Yee said proudly. She swung open the doors to a large, airy room with shiny wooden tables and cushioned chairs. Along the walls were rows and rows of books. “The girls have reading lessons in here. It’s also our gathering place to talk or to read and write letters, or for when family and friends come to visit.”
Pei nodded her head and followed Auntie Yee up a flight of wooden stairs.
“This is where the younger girls sleep. The older girls share the room across the hall,” said Auntie Yee, stepping into a long, open room. Against the wall was a row of narrow beds with a small basket beside each one. And like the rest of the house, the room was spare and clean.
“Do you like it?” asked Auntie Yee.
“Yes, it’s very nice,” Pei answered, remembering to be on her best behavior. “How many daughters do you have?”
Auntie Yee laughed. She put her arm around Pei gently. “I think you will like it here.” She walked down to the bed at the farther end of the room. Patting the gray blanket that was fitted tight and smooth over it, she said, “This will be your bed, then.”
Pei stood still, saying nothing. For a moment she thought she had heard wrong. Surely there must be some mistake, because her father was waiting for her downstairs and they would soon be going home.
“I don’t understand,” Pei finally said.
“You will be staying with us now, child. It won’t be bad, I promise,” said Auntie Yee, stepping toward her.
“It can’t be, it’s a mistake! My father wouldn’t leave me!”
Pei turned around and in the next moment was stumbling down the stairs towards her father. “Ba Ba! Ba Ba!” Pei screamed as she swung open the front door and looked out to the empty courtyard. Panic and fear twisted in the hollow of her stomach as she ran down the steps and through the courtyard to the gate. Once again she was out on the hot, dusty street, but her father was nowhere in sight.
The Girls’ House
If it had been a dream Pei would have awakened huddled beside Li as the thick warm smell of boiling jook filled the room. But when she opened her eyes, all she could see was a plain brick wall in front of her. The sharp smell of ammonia made her feel sick to her stomach. It was hard to tell how long she had been asleep, but light still filtered in from the window and the beds beside her remained empty. Pei tried to move, but her legs ached and her head throbbed with a pain she had never felt before. But it did not compare to the ache she felt at being left alone at this house with strangers.
She thought of everything she had done to deserve such a fate. She tried not to cry, but the tears came anyway, hot and burning. When she closed her eyes she saw her mother hovering over her, as clearly and painfully there as her mother had been for so many mornings. Once the tears came, she couldn’t stop crying for her mother and for Li. Everything else seemed too hard to imagine.
Pei cried until there were no more tears, only the dry heaving that made her entire body shake. And then, before she knew it, she fell asleep again. When she awoke some time later the room was dark and cool. She tried to lift herself from the bed, but her head felt light and dizzy. No sooner did she rise than she let the weight of her body fall back down again. A thin dull light now came from underneath the door. Her body shivered when she heard voices and movement coming from downstairs.
There were three quick knocks on the door that sent her
heart racing. The door opened slowly and a bright glow of light and shadow entered the room, followed by someone other than Auntie Yee or Moi. Pei tried to sit up straight. When her eyes grew accustomed to the light, she could see that the person who approached, carrying a lamp, was a girl, slender like herself, but older.
“Are you feeling better?” the girl asked. Her calm, steady voice was very pleasant.
“Yes,” Pei quickly answered, though her head was still spinning.
When the girl held the light up closer to her, Pei could see that she was wearing white cotton clothing and her hair was cut straight across her forehead, with one thick braid that swung to the side when she turned to put the lamp down. The girl’s gentle smile met her frightened gaze, clear dark eyes staring with kindness out of a pale, slender face. Pei had never seen a face so smooth and delicate before. The girl’s face was so different from the large features that she and Li shared. It was the most beautiful face she had ever seen.
“My name is Lin,” the girl told her. “Auntie Yee asked me to bring you down to meet the others if you are well enough.”
She nodded and immediately tried to get up, but the room began to spin again.
“Do you feel faint again?”
“Did I faint?” Pei asked.
“Yes, Auntie Yee and Moi found you on the street and brought you back up here.”
Pei looked away from Lin, ashamed of her weakness.
“Many of us have a difficult time when we first come here, but it passes.” Lin smiled.
“Where am I?” Pei asked.
“You’re at Auntie Yee’s girls’ house.”
“What if I don’t want to be here?”
“I’m afraid it’s not your choice to make right now,” Lin said gently.
Women of the Silk Page 3