Chapter Eight
A week later, Sai Ma asked me if I’d like to go shopping.
“We could use another catty of rice,” I remarked without thinking. “And more pork bones and fish maw for broth.”
She laughed. “I’m not going to the market. Susu will buy whatever we need.”
Then I noticed how dressed up Sai Ma was today. Her hair was curled into ringlets, her dusty pink lips defined with liner. On her shoulder was a round green purse that perfectly matched the floral devoré of her cheongsam, and the pearls studded onto her ears were as big as five-dollar coins.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To my favorite place in the world,” she replied. With that, she put on her hat, tilting it so it covered half of her face, and motioned for me to follow her into the waiting car.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at Bastion Department Store. It was the grandest place I’d ever seen, with its enormous shop windows, vertical granite walls, and blue marble pillars, all spanning an entire block.
A man in a suit opened the door for us, and two shopgirls bowed as we entered.
They were all looking at Sai Ma. How she glided inside in her velvet cheongsam, the jewels on her wrist as shiny as the polished floors, her steps small and fluttering like the belle of a Cantonese opera. She clearly belonged here.
“I’ll be on the second level with the tailor.” She opened her purse, taking out twenty cents. “Go to the basement and treat yourself to a bag of jellies. The pink ones are Lily’s favorite. The toy department is on the third level, and sometimes there’s a girl by the stairs singing.”
She knew exactly how to get my attention. Live music? I perked. “Thank you, Sai Ma.”
“No need to call me that while we’re in public,” she added. “Grace will do, it’s what your father calls me.”
I couldn’t fathom calling an elder by their first name, especially in English, so I simply nodded.
Once she was gone, I climbed the stairs to the third floor.
Nothing could tempt me, not the posters of sodas and silk-stocking milk tea or the warm aroma of toast wafting from the basement.
Not even the rows of lace-hemmed dresses and shiny buckled shoes or the stuffed bears in the children’s section on the second floor.
On the top floor of Bastion’s were two restaurants overlooking Hong Kong, as well as a stage surrounded by a smattering of bored husbands.
I picked a chair in the back row and sat, copying how I’d seen Sai Ma rest her hands on her lap and cross her ankles.
Before long, a willowy Eurasian woman ascended the five short steps to the parqueted platform.
Her black hair was swept to one side of her neck, pinned by a silken white flower, and she carried a feathered fan, batting it coquettishly while she swayed about. The men set down their newspapers.
With a beguiling twirl of her fan, she faced the audience. The piano whispered over the silence, an overture of wistful chords, then she began to sing.
I could have stayed there all day, listening, memorizing the gestures she made with her hands, the elegant way she leaned toward the microphone, how she dipped her head at passing customers.
She sang of love and heartbreak, and the yearning for days long past. Though I had yet to experience such emotions myself, there was a choked-up feeling in my throat from simply imagining.
Such was the enchantment of music. I clapped and clapped after each song.
At two o’clock, the concert ended and I found Sai Ma near the fabrics department. She was speaking with a stout middle-aged woman wearing white.
“Seven months pregnant!” her friend exclaimed. “When I was expecting my son, I could barely walk. But you, my darling, you’re hardly showing. You’ve been married how long? Seven years, and Pok Mun still adores you. It’s about time you had another baby.
“You know,” her friend continued, “I was worried about you two lovebirds. One of my girlfriends owned a factory like your sister-in-law’s, and the Japanese burned it down. They murdered her eldest son, too.”
“How horrible!” Sai Ma pursed her lips, as people did when they talked about the war. “It’s thanks to families like yours, Mrs. Tsang, that the Japanese are gone.”
That was when Sai Ma finally noticed me. “There you are. I was afraid you’d gotten lost.”
Mrs. Tsang regarded me with a smile. “Is this your daughter, Lily? She’s lovely.”
“No, no.” Sai Ma’s smile twitched. “This isn’t Lily, this is my maid.”
My eyes swung to Sai Ma. Her maid?
“She’s from Toisan,” Sai Ma went on. “Just arrived a few weeks ago.”
“My mistake,” Mrs. Tsang said, covering her mouth.
Her smile was gone, and she ignored me. “Anyway, darling, do let me know when we can get together for mahjong with Crystal Kwok. You remember that bean farmer’s daughter—Fung Pui Ling?
She’s been begging to be our fourth ever since Kar Yee’s stopped coming.
You should’ve seen how upset she was when I told her we’ll only play with three. ”
“I’ll let you know.” They laughed together and waved goodbye.
I didn’t budge. Why did you tell her I’m the maid? I wanted to ask Sai Ma, but my tongue had gone leaden.
Sai Ma seemed to read my thoughts. When Mrs. Tsang had gone, she took me aside.
“People in Hong Kong are judgmental,” she explained in a low voice. “Your father hasn’t told his friends that you and your brother have come to live with us.”
My chest sank, feeling as heavy and leaden as my tongue, as I realized that in Hong Kong, Sai Ma was his first and only wife. Baba hadn’t told anyone about Mama. “When will he?”
“Patience, Yut Ying,” said Sai Ma. “You only have one chance to make an impression. Best that your father and I take our time to introduce you—we’ll wait until you’ve sanded off some of your village accent.”
My village accent? I swallowed. Maybe I didn’t speak English, but did my Chinese sound so different from everyone else’s here?
“I will be starting school soon, won’t I?” I asked.
“I told you, we’re still looking.” Sai Ma patted me on the head. “You must trust me to take care of you.”
“I do.”
“That’s a clever girl.” She pinched my chin. “Now, did you enjoy your time at Bastion’s?”
“I liked the music.”
“Ah, that showgirl upstairs? You should’ve heard me when I was in my prime. People said I belonged in the pictures!” Sai Ma chuckled as she glanced at her wristwatch. “We’d better get home, your aunt must be back. You’ve met her before, haven’t you?”
“When I was small.”
The store attendant opened the door for us, and Sai Ma hurried out. “Well, whatever you do, Yut Ying, don’t tell her you want to be a singer.”
. . .
Gu Ma was in the parlor drinking tea and smoking a cigarette.
My aunt was a younger, rounder version of Ah Ma.
Her bountiful figure would have been a questionable sight during the war, when even the rich were walking bones, but now some plumpness was in vogue—a telltale mark of post-occupation success.
And Gu Ma glowed with success. Gold beads hung from her earlobes, making the delicate skin droop, and when she opened her mouth, there were tiny silver bullets lodged in the backs of her teeth, so she glimmered when she spoke.
Baba was sitting beside her looking more lucid than usual.
“Welcome back,” said Sai Ma. “I trust Big Sister had a pleasant trip to Macau.”
“Enough with the small talk, Seet Ling.” Gu Ma set down her teacup with a clatter. She gestured at the cushion she’d thrown to the floor. “How much did you spend on this monstrosity? You should know we’re not supposed to sit on dragons, it’s bad luck.”
A flush came upon Sai Ma’s cheeks. “Dragons are fashionable these days.”
“Fashionable among who? Your gweilo friends?”
“Now, now,” said Baba, taking the cigarette from his sister’s hand. He smothered it into the ash tray and lit her a new one. “Don’t be so hard on Grace, the cushions she bought aren’t so bad. The silk is high quality.”
“A washrag to you is high quality,” Gu Ma retorted.
“Big Sister, I apologize.” Sai Ma refilled my aunt’s tea, something I’d never seen her do for anyone, even herself.
“The merchants at Bastion’s talked me into buying this pattern.
They said it was a favorite of the British king himself.
But if it’s not to your taste, I can see if they will take it back. ”
“Forget it, it’s not worth the trouble.” Gu Ma took a long drag from her cigarette, its ashes falling into her tea. “Honestly I can’t believe you, Seet Ling, gadding about Central in pearls and high heels in your condition. Who’s that little mouse behind you?”
Sai Ma nudged me forward, and my aunt took my chin between her fingers.
“So,” she said, “you’re Yuk Fong’s girl. You’re quite fair for having grown up in Tunglam.” She squeezed my jaw until my lips parted. “No missing teeth. Forehead is a bit low, but maybe it will stretch out once you finish growing.”
She let go of me and took a noisy sip of tea. “It’s to your fortune you don’t take after the Lei family. The last time I saw you, my mother was smearing chili powder on your thumb so you wouldn’t suck it so much. Surprising that she should write us to take you in. What’s special about you, neh?”
I wasn’t meant to answer.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Baba grinned, bestowing me with an expression that was unexpectedly tender. “She’s my bengyun.”
For him it was a brief throwaway look. For me it was momentous.
I’d spent my childhood pining for Baba, and in that moment hearing him call me his mooncake mold again, my young brain filtered out the seven years of neglect and suffering he’d caused us.
I smiled at him, buoyantly hoping to earn more attention. But his gaze was already back on Gu Ma.
“At least you have one good-looking child,” she was saying. “Take note, Seet Ling, if there was one clever thing my first sister-in-law did, it was to shut herself off when she was pregnant. You wouldn’t have caught her shopping at Bastion’s or taking supper with her friends.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Sai Ma’s features, so brief I was left wondering if I’d imagined it.
“Big Sister is ever wise,” she said, rising to keep Gu Ma’s teacup three quarters full. “I see why you are so successful in business.”
Though Gu Ma harrumphed, she was not impervious to flattery. She lifted her shoulders, puffing up with pride. “Have you found a new cook yet?”
“The candidates weren’t suitable. Good helpers are hard to find these days. I hear even your factory is short-handed.” A pause. “However, I did find someone to cook instead of Susu while I continue searching.”
“Who?”
“Yut Ying.” Sai Ma touched my shoulder. “Turns out, she’s quite the chef.”
“Oh?” My aunt passed her cigarette to her brother. “Pok Mun, finish this for me. Don’t waste it. Susu, turn off the music—this song is miserable, I feel doomed just listening to it.”
“I don’t have enough fine things to say about Yut Ying,” Sai Ma continued. “She’s been a blessing in the kitchen and a comfort to me in my condition. I only feel bad I haven’t been well enough to give her the singing lessons I promised.”
I stiffened, but Sai Ma sent me a look. Trust me, it read.
“Singing lessons?” Gu Ma echoed. “What use does she have for singing lessons? We Chans are respectable—I won’t have you raising her to be a showgirl.”
“Yut Ying’s expressed an interest in music,” Baba interrupted. “That’s why Grace thought to teach her.”
“Is that so?” My aunt turned to Sai Ma. “You’re oddly fond of the girl.”
“She’s eager to please and more capable than most her age,” Sai Ma replied. “I didn’t want her to be idle.”
“If that was your concern, I surely can find something for her to do.” Gu Ma angled forward, grabbing my wrist and massaging my bones with her thumb. The pressure hurt, but she wouldn’t let go.
“Do you know what we make in my factory?”
“Shoes,” I replied.
“Not just shoes. We make rubber-soled shoes—and boots! Our shoes are sent across the world, as far as California and Australia. A few months ago, we started making house slippers.”
The jade beads on Gu Ma’s bracelets pushed against my skin. “Your mother must have taught you how to sew—why don’t you come to the factory? It’ll be good for you to see what your family does.”
I balked. “I’d like to, but Baba promised to send me to school.”
“School?” repeated Gu Ma. “Look at me, I didn’t go to school and I have a driver and a brand-new DeSoto from America, and a factory with over forty workers.”
You wouldn’t have been able to get all those things without a husband, I thought, but I wisely kept silent.
“An educated woman is a worthless woman,” said Gu Ma, quoting Confucius. “These days, school is for ugly girls who will wear glasses and become a man’s secretary. Do you want that future?”
“But—”
“Then what’s a girl like you need school for?
” Gu Ma pressed. “You’ll learn more in the factory than from books, and you’ll make two a day.
” She spoke as if two Hong Kong dollars was a fortune, when now—since the war had ended—it was barely enough to buy a pineapple bun and sugarcane juice.
“Your grandmother sent you here to help the family. I’m family. ”
My heart sank. I looked to Sai Ma, who reached for my fingers to squeeze them. Gu Ma held the power in the house. She could do nothing to save me.
I looked to Baba, but, caught between his wife and his sister, he merely sank into his cigarette. Behind him, Susu lifted the needle from the record, and the song gave a whimper before the last note trailed off.
It was the sound of all my dreams whining down into the rubbish.