Chapter Seven
Hong Kong
Yut Ying
On Saturday, I met Lily.
That morning Yi Gor and I finally moved from the maids’ quarters to the second floor.
Another warm day. I could feel the air thickening as I ascended the stairs, the heat pooling against my skin in a stifling wave.
I didn’t complain. I’d heard there was running water and a toilet at the end of the hallway—an unthinkable luxury!
Back in Tunglam, the bathroom was an outhouse that everyone shared.
Yi Gor was less impressed. “What’s upstairs?” he dared ask, inclining his chin at a staircase opposite his room.
“Madam Chan’s rooms are on the third floor,” replied Susu, “and your father and Madam Ha’s.”
Yi Gor ventured up a step, his ear pointed to the ceiling. “What’s that whirring sound?”
“That’s the air conditioning unit,” Susu said before pulling my brother back by the arm. “You children aren’t allowed on the third floor.”
“I’m fourteen, I’m not a child,” said Yi Gor peevishly.
Susu chose not to hear. “You and your sister are not to leave the house without permission.”
My brother and I exchanged a look. We’d been confined to our rooms for nearly a week owing to a spell of food poisoning, and now we were desperate to get out.
We blamed our misfortune on the tofu pudding Tingting had bought us for our first breakfast, which had been so delicious we ate without restraint, forgetting it’d been years since our stomachs had digested anything sweet and syrupy.
“Are we allowed to take a shit without permission?” Yi Gor said irritably. “Or does Gu Ma want us to let her know beforehand?”
Susu offered a pinched smile.
“May I see Sai Ma?” I asked, trying to steer the topic to safer ground. It’d been four days since I’d seen my stepmother, and I was eager to start the music lessons she’d promised.
“Madam Ha is picking her daughter up from school,” replied Susu.
My heart gave a little leap. “When will they be back?”
“Madam should be back soon, but I wouldn’t disturb her if I were you.”
I frowned at the maid’s clipped tone. Sai Ma had offered to spend time with me. Why would I be disturbing her?
Without another word, Susu returned to the main floor, leaving Yi Gor and me to settle into our rooms. Though I was tired of my brother’s company, we both left our doors open as relief from the heat.
“Can’t go up there where there’s air conditioning,” he was muttering. “We could use a fan down here! It’s sweltering.”
“Hush,” I said.
“I don’t care if the maid hears me,” my brother said, louder than before.
“A whole week stuck in this house, and Gu Ma still hasn’t come back to welcome us—she might as well put up banners around the street that she doesn’t want us here.
Just look, the second floor was supposedly flooded, but everything is dry as a bone. ”
“Must you grumble about everything? We’re lucky to be here.”
“Are we?” My brother smirked. “I heard she asked you to cook.”
“I cooked in Tunglam, why not here?”
“You’ll see.”
I ignored him and plucked a giant spider off the wall, opening the window in my room to toss it out. The air was fresh, perfumed by the copious shrubs of myrtle in the planters. As I inhaled, the gates below opened.
A black car entered the driveway, and I spied a girl inside with spectacles and two braided pigtails under a broad straw hat.
“Lily’s here,” I exclaimed. “Get up, aren’t you going to come and meet her?”
Yi Gor tipped his head against the back of his chair and covered his eyes with yesterday’s newspaper. “I already have a sister,” he said. “One is more than enough.”
If I hadn’t been so excited, I would have flung my slipper at his head. I ignored him and flew down the stairs, racing across the hallway to the front of the house.
Lily was at the entrance, carrying a bundle of books under her arm, a leather satchel slung over one shoulder. “Where’s my mother?” she was asking.
I noted it wasn’t Sai Ma who had brought her home, but the younger maid, Tingting. She was cheerier and gentler than Susu, and I liked her even though she’d practically poisoned us the other day.
“She’s with Madam Kwok at the racecourse,” Tingting replied.
“And my father?”
“In his den.”
Lily let out a loud sigh. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Her back was to me when I approached. She was short, her nose level with the bronze knobs on the doors. Her straw hat was in one hand, and she wore a pink dress with ribbon rosettes on the ruffles and long lace-trimmed silk gloves.
How elegant, I thought. Just like her mother.
At the sound of my footsteps, Lily spun to face me. Her expression turned sullen. “Who are you?”
“That’s your sister, miss,” said Tingting in a low voice. “Yut Ying.”
“You mean, the bumpkin from the mainland.”
My smile fled, and Tingting winced. “Manners, miss.”
Lily’s gaze was hard. She looked up at me, her dark hooded eyes flicking up and down with the unmistakable rhythm of someone who didn’t like what she saw. After a deliberate beat, she dipped into a shallow curtsy.
“Jeh Jeh, it’s nice to meet you,” she said blandly. “Welcome to Hong Kong.”
I took an awkward step forward. “I wanted to give this to you,” I said, offering my doll with both hands.
I’d sewn her a new dress in yellow, my favorite color, brushed her hair a hundred times, and picked off every speck of dirt, but suddenly it didn’t feel like enough. I stammered, “I’ve . . . I’ve had her ever since I was a baby.”
“Giving me your castaways already, Jeh Jeh?” said Lily, sparing my doll the limpest glance.
I jerked back, stung. I couldn’t bring myself to explain to Lily that the doll and I had been through the hardest and happiest times. That she was all I had.
Lily took it, then turned to Tingting. “May I go play now?”
“Wait,” I said. “Can I join you?”
Lily finally looked me in the eye. Her countenance was dark. “Yut Ying. That’s a funny name. Why would anyone name you after a shadow?”
I stood straighter. She was trying to unsettle me, but it wouldn’t work. “I was born after an eclipse,” I replied. “My mother was tired from labor, and everyone thought I was going to die at birth, so they didn’t bother coming up with a prettier name for me like yours.”
“My name is pretty because I’m not.” Lily pushed her spectacles up her nose. “Don’t taunt me.”
If she hadn’t looked so serious, I might have laughed. “I think you’re very pretty.”
“Then you’re a liar,” she replied with a glare. “You’ll fit right in here.”
Leaving me speechless, she swerved on her heel and headed upstairs for her room.
. . .
During the war, Mama was often too busy to cook, so the task of preparing meals fell to me.
The kitchen became my refuge from Ah Ma’s harangues, and I learned to appreciate being surrounded by burning coals and knives instead of people, to revere the clay pots and bronze pans that my forebears themselves had used.
After years of near starving, I strove to make every meal as delicious as it could be.
During my last months in Tunglam, when we had meat to eat and our farms produced fresh fruit and vegetables, I inhaled Mama’s recipes the way scholars worshipped ink.
I only prayed my skills would be enough to win Baba’s favor.
Dinner was served promptly at eight-thirty. I’d prepared a feast of poached chicken, smothered tofu over cabbage with mushrooms and tiny scallion rings, and a nest of egg noodles blanketed by tomatoes and scrambled egg. Last was a pork patty with salted fish—Baba’s old favorite.
“You made all this?” said Baba as the maids laid the food out on the table. I could tell from his raised eyebrow that he was impressed.
“I did,” I replied proudly. “Mama taught me the recipes.”
At the mention of Mama, Baba looked at Sai Ma, who was coming to the table carrying two metal soup canisters.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, touching Baba’s shoulder.
“You went to see your parents?” said Baba.
She nodded. “I’ve been worried about Syun Kit and Yut Ying’s stomachaches, so I visited their shop for healing soups. I’ll have Tingting heat them up after dinner.”
That was when Sai Ma acknowledged me. “Yut Ying, my goodness, I haven’t seen you in days! Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, Sai Ma, thank you. Please come and eat.”
She saw the feast and clapped. “My, this looks delicious. You’re a marvel for preparing all this. Go ahead, don’t be shy. Eat!”
My brother certainly wasn’t shy. He loaded his bowl with chicken while I glanced at the empty place between Sai Ma and me.
“Will Lily be joining us?”
“Not tonight.” Sai Ma picked the plumpest mushrooms for Baba’s bowl. “Tingting told me how she was rude to you this morning. It’s my fault, I’ve spoiled her.”
I was taken aback. Not once had my own mother ever apologized to me—I didn’t know how to react. “I’m sure Lily mui mui was just tired,” I began, not wanting to get her in trouble.
“Don’t make excuses for her. Lily has always been stubborn, even more so now with the new baby coming.
” Sai Ma touched her belly. “I thought by sending her to boarding school she’d learn to behave herself, but .
. . well, not all mothers are blessed with a daughter like you, Yut Ying.
” Sai Ma beamed at me while chewing the noodles. “This is delicious.”
I could feel my whole face radiating with pride. Yi Gor saw it, too, and he rolled his eyes.
“When will Yut Ying start school?” he asked pointedly.
“Many of the local schools were damaged from the war and are still rebuilding,” replied Sai Ma. “Not to worry, we’ll find a suitable one soon.”
“I asked my father, not you.”
I kicked my brother’s shin under the table. What are you doing?
Throughout dinner Baba had been quiet, but now he set down his bowl with a vigorous thud. “Syun Tung, that is no way to speak to your mother. You will apologize immediately.”
My brother flushed. “I’m Syun Kit, not Syun Tung,” he said through his teeth. “And she’s not my mother.”
“I don’t care who you are, do as I tell you!”