by Gale Sears
“Miss Chen! I’m delighted to see you again. And these are the friends you said would be accompanying you?”
“Yes, sir. This is Wei Jun-jai and Song Li-ying.”
Mr. Smythe smiled at them. “Welcome, both of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jun-jai replied.
Li-ying only nodded.
“Mrs. Smythe will be in shortly. I believe she is bringing us a treat.” He sat in his chair on the other side of the large desk. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“First, Mr. Smythe, I want to thank you for rescuing Master Quan,” Wen-shan said. “He is a dear man, and I can’t tell you what my mother’s letters have meant to me . . . us . . . to my uncle and me.” She stopped, feeling momentarily flustered.
“It is my wife’s and my pleasure, Miss Chen.”
“And my grandfather’s paintings and the jade dragon box.” She ran short of breath. “Thank you.”
“Someday I would love to see your grandfather’s paintings.”
“You and Mrs. Smythe are welcome anytime,” Wen-shan replied, though she couldn’t actually imagine the elegant couple visiting in her little bungalow.
At that moment the door opened, and Mrs. Smythe came in with a tin of biscuits, followed by Mrs. Delany carrying a tray of crystal glasses filled with soda. Mr. Smythe and Jun-jai stood.
“Such the gentlemen,” Mrs. Smythe said, setting down the tin. “I hope I didn’t miss much. Just put the tray right here, Edith,” she instructed, patting at a place on her husband’s desk. He quickly moved some papers. The cook turned to leave. “Thank you, Edith.” Mrs. Smythe pulled up a chair next to her husband’s, and the men sat. “So, to what do we owe this delightful visit?”
Wen-shan started again. “I came to say thank you to you and your husband for rescuing Master Quan.”
“Well, how sweet of you. He was high on our list of treasures to save, wasn’t he, George?” Mrs. Smythe playfully batted her husband’s arm to hand around the sodas.
“Indeed.”
Mrs. Smythe opened the tin of biscuits. “He would have loved to have been here to see you, Miss Chen, but he’s off playing mah-jongg with some of his newfound friends.” Wen-shan smiled at the thought. “He certainly did love dinner at your home the other night.”
Wen-shan was flustered again. “Really? Well, it was a small payment for the jade dragon box he brought us.”
Mrs. Smythe raised her glass. “The jade dragon box . . . My, my, my! Filled with precious letters and paintings—so fascinating!”
Wen-shan raised her glass and looked over at Li-ying who raised her glass and her eyebrows.
Mr. Smythe raised his glass. “Here! Here!”
Jun-jai joined in the impromptu toast.
Wen-shan set her glass on a side table and rummaged in her schoolbag. “There is another reason I came to see you.” She pulled out the letter and stared at it a moment before looking up. “I wrote a letter to my mother in Guilin, and I wondered if there was any way you might get it to her.”
Mrs. Smythe reached out for it. “Oh, my dear . . . how tender.”
Wen-shan relinquished the envleope.
Mr. Smythe leaned over to study the address. “Is this a new or an old address?”
“What do you mean? It’s the address my uncle remembered.”
“From before the Communists took over?”
“I think so. He left Guilin in 1949.”
“Then this probably is not a valid address. When the Communists took control, they changed many of the street names and store names to sound less Chinese and more revolutionary.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, say a restaurant was called the Lotus Flower. The Communists would change the name to something like the Red Sun. The same thing went for street signs.”
Wen-shan felt dispirited. “Oh.”
Mrs. Smythe chided her husband. “Now, Mr. Smythe, don’t be so pessimistic. We have our ways.” Wen-shan looked up, and Mrs. Smythe smiled at her. “What say we give it a try?”
“Of course! I wasn’t saying we wouldn’t try,” Mr. Smythe defended.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Wen-shan said, knowing that if Mr. and Mrs. Smythe said they would try, then they would. She felt a wave of emotion and worried that tears would follow. She turned to her friends. “Li-ying, Jun-jai, are you ready to leave?”
Li-ying quickly shoved the last of her biscuit into her mouth and nodded.
Mrs. Smythe’s brow furrowed. “Are you leaving us so soon?”
“Yes . . . yes. I just wanted to thank you and drop off the letter. You are very kind.”
Jun-jai stood with Wen-shan. He bowed to Mr. and Mrs. Smythe. “It was very nice to meet you.”
They bowed in return, and Mr. Smythe fixed Jun-jai with a knowing grin. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wei. When Miss Chen called the other day, she made introductions of her friends who would be attending with her. She told me that you, Miss Song, are tops in your class.” Li-ying blushed. “And that you, Mr. Wei, are a scholar of Confucius.”
“It is a lifelong study, Mr. Smythe.”
“Indeed.”
“Would you be so kind as to favor us with some of the teacher’s wisdom?” Mrs. Smythe inquired.
Jun-jai was silent for a moment. “The teacher says, ‘Men’s natures are alike, it is their habits that carry them far apart.’”
Mrs. Smythe nodded. “Perfect.”
Wen-shan moved toward the door. “Thank you again, Mr. and Mrs. Smythe. I will hope, but I won’t expect.”
Mrs. Smythe led them out into the hallway. “We will do our best.”
Wen-shan nodded. “Thank you.”
At the door, Mrs. Smythe issued them a hearty farewell and told Wen-shan that a thought had just popped into her head about hosting a showing for her grandfather’s paintings.
“I’ll telephone in a fortnight with all the details!”
After Mrs. Smythe shut the door, the friends looked at each other with expressions of amazement. Jun-jai was the first to speak as they walked through the garden to the front gate.
“I like her. If anyone can get your letter to your mother, Wen-shan, it will be her.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
As the three friends walked their way to the ferry station, Jun-jai and Li-ying chatted about the curios they’d seen at the Smythes’ mansion, and Wen-shan imagined scenes of Mrs. Smythe poling down the Li River on one of the fishermen’s flatboats with the precious letter safely tucked inside the pocket of her safari jacket. The thought made her smile.
Notes
Chinese astrology: In this discipline, there are twelve signs named after twelve animals: Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, and Pig. Legend says that the Buddha honored these animals by deciding that those people born during that year would inherit some of the personality of that animal.
Marriage in Communist China: Since religion played no part in the communist society, marriages were simply contracts of the State and were normally performed at the party offices with a picture of Chairman Mao overseeing the marriage agreement.
Changing street names: From the beginning of communist rule in China in 1949, many of the names of businesses and streets were changed to reflect the new revolutionary spirit. This was especially true during the time of the Great Proletariat Cultural Revolution.
Chapter 26
I am surrounded by people, but I am alone in my work unit. No one will come near me because they fear that madness touched my life when the ghost woman stole my child and vanished. An old man said he saw the ghost woman walking into the Li River, dragging my daughter with her. He has spread the rumor throughout the neighborhood, and many people have put mirrors and scissors over their doorways.
My father is also alone. No one will come near him because they fear the new secretary will think they have sympathy for the counterrevolutionary artist with his twisted fingers and shuffling walk. But at h
ome, Father and I are content to be alone. It is as though we have become invisible. It is easier to grieve when one is invisible. We have not had to worry about the new man, Secretary Luo. He is very cautious. He does not want to offend the party, but he also does not want his throat cut. I am using the last of the paper. I will place a few more letters in the box and one more of father’s paintings that I have hidden. I will instruct Master Quan that he can then do what he thinks best.
The cold days will arrive soon. I will hardly feel them.
Wen-shan’s mind was thinking of many things as she rolled the scroll. “I think it’s good for them to be invisible. If they’re invisible, then no one will bother them.”
“Yes,” her uncle concurred. “I also think that Secretary Luo is more than just cautious—I think he is afraid.”
“I would be if I were him.” She placed the letter in the drawer. “Do you think grandfather will ever paint again?”
Her uncle lowered his head. “I do not know.” He looked at his watch. “Ah, you’d better get ready for school.”
Wen-shan shut the drawer and stood. She hesitated. “Uncle?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Ming-mei actually dragged me into the river?”
Her uncle looked at her with understanding. “Maybe she did. It would have been easy for her father to hide a small boat in the rain and darkness.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m such a coward when it comes to water.”
“You are not a coward, Wen-shan. Look how many times you ride the ferry across the deep water of Victoria Harbor.”
“Well, I have a big boat under me, don’t I?”
Her uncle chuckled. “Off you go, or you’ll be late for school. And remember to be home early this afternoon.”
She brightened. “Of course! I can’t leave you alone to get ready for the party.”
“Is Mrs. Yang coming?”
“I think she is. I’ll check with her at school.”
“Yes. Yes. Off you go now. I’ll get breakfast ready.”
Wen-shan headed for the bathroom. “Just cornflakes this morning,” she called back.
“So Western,” she heard her uncle mumble.
She smiled.
• • •
Mrs. Wong from the Golden Door Bakery came along with the delivery boy to drop off the dim sum order at the Zhao home. She stood at the gate, beaming when Wen-shan approached to let them in.
“Mrs. Wong? This is quite an honor.” Wen-shan undid the latch and swung the gate wide.
“Oh, this great honor for me to bring order for your party.”
A big order, Wen-shan thought.
Mrs. Wong swatted the arm of the delivery boy who carried a stack of bamboo steaming baskets. “Get in there, you lazy boy! And be careful!” She followed the young man’s progress and gave advice at every step. When they reached the porch, she sighed as though she’d carried the baskets by herself up Victoria Peak and back. “So difficult to get good help these days.”
Wen-shan tried to look serious as her uncle opened the door.
“Ah, Mrs. Wong, what a nice surprise! Come in.”
The advice started again until all the baskets were safely deposited in the kitchen. Mrs. Wong looked around proudly. “You have all the ones you ordered, plus a few extra-special ones I added. Everything from shrimp and chive dumpling to char siu bao. I have cooks make everything bite-sized for party. Your guests will like.”
“I’m sure they’ll love everything.” Wen-shan breathed deeply. “It smells wonderful, Mrs. Wong.”
Mrs. Wong tried to look humble. “You keep steam under baskets just right, yes? That way dim sum will be warm, but not overcooked.”
“I promise to be careful.”
“Good girl.”
Her uncle brought out his wallet. “What is the total, Mrs. Wong?”
“Total?”
“The cost for the dim sum?”
Mrs. Wong looked confused. “No cost.”
Wen-shan was shocked. All this food had to be two-day’s pay! Obviously her uncle was just as staggered, as he stood there with his hand on his wallet, not speaking.
Mrs. Wong chuckled. “Already paid for.”
“By whom?”
“Some British gentleman who said not to tell you.”
“Some British gentleman?” He looked at Wen-shan. “Hmm, I wonder who that could be?”
“I will not tell you, so do not try to make me. Confucius say, ‘Do not look gift horse in face.’”
Wen-shan burst out in giggles. “That’s a good one, Mrs. Wong.” She turned to her uncle, who was also smiling. “You’ll have to remember that one, Uncle.”
Mrs. Wong tapped the side of her head. “Ah, I know more than just bakery.” She looked around. “Now where is that lazy delivery boy?” She walked into the front room and found him staring at the painting of the heavenly mountains. “What you doing?” she snapped.
“I’m looking,” he said. He reached out to touch the path disappearing into the stand of bamboo.
“Ah! Don’t touch that!” Mrs. Wong barked. “What are you thinking?”
Wen-shan stepped forward. “It’s all right, Mrs. Wong. I know how he feels. These are my grandfather’s paintings. Please, take some time to look.”
“Your grandfather?” Mrs. Wong glanced around. “You do not mind?”
Uncle Zhao stepped forward. “No, of course not. Please.”
Mrs. Wong swatted the boy’s arm. “Just look! No touching!”
The bell rang at the gate, and Wen-shan hurried to look out the front window. “It’s Jun-jai and Li-ying!”
Her uncle frowned. “They are early.”
“I asked them to come early in case I needed help.” She went out onto the porch and waved to her friends at the gate. They waved back. As she started down the steps, Yan and Ya Ya popped out from behind the garden shed.
Wen-shan jumped. “You two!”
Yan stepped forward, giggling. “We scared you!”
Wen-shan kept walking and they followed.
“We get to go to your house for the party.”
“I know, we invited you. Now go away; the party hasn’t started yet.”
“My father isn’t going to come,” Yan said in a snickering voice. “He says he doesn’t want to look at silly art.”
Wen-shan stopped and glared at the two tagalongs. “Well, that’s his loss.”
Ya Ya piped up. “That’s what my mother said.”
“You need to go home now until the party starts. I have to meet my friends. They’re going to help me get things ready.”
“Can we help?” Ya Ya asked.
“No. No, thank you.” Wen-shan turned and walked to her friends. “Hello! I’m so glad to see you. Thank you for coming early to help.” She opened the gate, and her friends came into the garden.
Jun-jai smiled. “It looks like you have lots of helpers.”
Wen-shan turned around to see Yan and Ya Ya staring at them. She was about to scold them when Mrs. Tuan’s voice punctuated the air.
“Yan! Ya Ya! You leave Miss Chen alone and come home. You have to get ready for party.”
Yan kicked at the dirt. “I’m not going to dress up,” he grumbled, turning dejectedly toward his house.
Ya Ya followed. “I want to dress up. I know just the dress I’m going to wear.”
“See you soon!” Mrs. Tuan called cheerily. She waved and Wen-shan waved back.
“Those children sound like my brothers and sisters,” Li-ying said.
“Maybe I’m glad I’m an only child,” Wen-shan answered. “I hope they behave at the party.” She headed back to the house. “Come on, you can help me set out the dishes.”
“Who’s coming again?” Li-ying asked.
“The Tuans—minus Mr. Tuan—our other neighbor, Mr. Yee, Mr. Pierpont, and Mrs. Yang.”
“It will be odd to see our teacher somewhere other than school,” Li-ying said. “What about Mr. and Mrs. Smythe?”
; “We invited them, but they had a previous engagement. Master Quan, too.”
“Is anyone here yet?” Jun-jai asked as they climbed the steps to the porch.
“Just Mrs. Wong and her delivery boy.” Wen-shan opened the front door and the savory smells of dim sum assaulted the three.
“Oh,” Li-ying sighed. “This is going to be a wonderful party.”
• • •
Wen-shan thought her uncle looked nervous as he stood before their guests holding the final silk scroll, but maybe he was just emotional. She had been proud of him accommodating so many people in his house, and as the night progressed, it seemed as though he was actually having a good time. He greeted Mrs. Tuan in her red, flowered hat without looking too shocked, he complimented Yan and Ya Ya, who were both dressed up for the occasion, and he even invited Mrs. Wong and the delivery boy to stay—which they did. Her uncle was most at ease with Mr. Pierpont, of course, but surprisingly spent a good deal of time talking with Mrs. Yang. Wen-shan figured they had many similar stories to tell of their lives in China. Mr. Yee and Mr. Pierpont talked business, Mrs. Tuan and Mrs. Wong talked food, and both ladies were amazed when Mr. Pierpont spoke to both of them in flawless Cantonese.
Wen-shan enjoyed herself too. It was fun to play a waiter with Li-ying and Jun-jai. Everyone loved the food and complimented Mrs. Wong over and over.
Now the group was closely assembled in the front room, waiting for the purpose of the gathering—the opening of the final painting. Throughout the evening, Wen-shan watched people as they stood in front of her grandfather’s paintings looking mesmerized, moved, or enchanted. Wen-shan saw the emotions play on their faces, and even caught the delivery boy muttering to himself as he stared at the calligraphy of Truth.
Her uncle’s words brought her to the present.
“Wen-shan and I are glad that you could be here to share this with us.” People turned to look at her and she lowered her head. Her uncle continued. “This has been a journey for us. We could not have imagined where the treasures inside the jade dragon box would take us. And now, we have come to this.” He held out the painting, and surprisingly, people clapped. “The final painting.” He motioned to Wen-shan. “Wen-shan?”
“Yes, Uncle?”