Chapter Fourteen
My brother Richard was born on the first day of February, just before Chinese New Year.
The birth was difficult, and Sai Ma was confined to bedrest for the next month to recover.
Some people were meant to be mothers, but she was not one of them.
Having to miss all the New Year parties put her in a foul mood, and everyone strived to stay out of her way, especially Baba.
The baby, however, was angelic. He had a triple chin and dough-soft thighs that I loved to squeeze. He never cried except when he was hungry, and he cooed at anyone who came to his bassinet. Even Lily was charmed. She liked to tickle his feet and watch him squirm.
Soon after the birth, Baba came home with a telephone.
Sai Ma squealed with delight when it arrived.
Brass with gold-painted filigree, it looked like a pair of antlers sitting on a cradle, and was the shiniest thing I’d ever seen.
Quickly upstaging the baby, it went in the parlor, where everyone—even the maids—began making excuses to admire it.
Sai Ma used it daily, lying on the settee and dialing her friends to announce her new son.
“We’ve named him Rich-ard,” she’d say proudly.
Even I knew what rich meant in English. “Yes, I had a boy, did you have any doubt? We’re talking to a fortune teller to pick a date for his full moon party. I’ll expect you there.”
After the calls, Sai Ma would get lonely and summon me or Tingting.
I avoided her by sneaking out. Gu Ma’s factory was closed for a week and the last thing I wanted was to spend my holiday massaging Sai Ma’s feet.
Sui Chan and I took the ferry into Tsim Sha Tsui, threw poppers on the streets and watched lion dances, then stuffed our bellies with dumplings and strawberry candies.
It was the first New Year since the war had ended, and the city’s celebration was extra raucous, extra carefree.
I only wished Lily could come. Every time I passed a bookshop, I thought about getting her a present—except it was bad luck to give books since the word was a phonogram of “losing.”
In the end, I bought her an egg tart. All bakeries were closed for the New Year, but an enterprising young woman was shouting “dan tat” on the street, and the smell of butter and egg from her cart tantalized my nostrils.
“How much?” Sui Chan asked.
My friend and I gawked when she told us the price. “That’s robbery!”
“Tarts are a delicacy from the West,” replied the hawker, “only offered at fine restaurants.”
“Then how do you have them?” Sui Chan asked boldly.
“Just try a sample.”
She cut one tart into eight delicate pieces and gave us a morsel each.
Sui Chan nibbled at hers, while I devoured the entire sample at once.
The custard was creamy and sweet, and as smooth as the silkiest tofu.
And the pastry! Its buttery crust melted in my mouth, flaking onto my tongue in crisp flecks. It was a nibble of heaven.
And for the joy it brought Lily, it was worth every cent.
My sister split the treat in half and together we ate, licking the crumbs off our fingers. For years afterward, she’d rhapsodize about egg tarts, though it’d be years before we could find them in our local bakeries. None would taste as good as that first one.
. . .
When Richard turned a month old, Sai Ma hosted a grand red egg party at the house.
Preparations had begun as soon as he was born, and Sai Ma spent two entire weeks fasting so she could fit into her cheongsam.
After a month of being sequestered from society, she was determined to make sure no one had forgotten her.
A hundred guests were invited. Sai Ma fixated on every detail, from what song she would sing to the French wines that Gu Ma would serve.
I was given one of Sai Ma’s old cheongsams to wear.
It was far too long, and I spent every free moment I had hemming the skirt and altering the bustline, but I didn’t mind.
I adored the beaded roses and the lace along the collar. I’d never owned anything so pretty.
Alas, I’d never have the chance to wear it. For early on the morning of the party came the dreaded knock on my door.
“Yut Ying.” Sai Ma burst inside, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “I hate to ask this of you, but the extra helper I hired for the kitchen still hasn’t shown up. Do you think . . .”
As her voice trailed, I knew exactly what she wanted to hear. “I can help.”
“Would you?” Sai Ma clasped her hands. “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go to Bastion’s once I’m well again. We’ll buy you a beautiful new dress.”
“I’d just like to go to school.”
“Ah yes, school. You’ve been so patient, I’ll speak to your aunt about it first thing in the morning. There are two reopening in the neighborhood. I’m sure either would be suitable.”
I didn’t want to believe her, but wretch that I was, I nursed an inkling of hope. “Really?”
“First thing in the morning,” she repeated. She sucked in a breath. “Oh, and it’d be best if you stayed out of sight tonight. Our family would lose face if guests saw you working in the kitchen.”
My throat burned as I spoke, “I understand.”
“That’s a good girl, Yut Ying.” She folded an arm around my shoulder. “I’ll tell Lily you aren’t feeling well. Hurry now, Susu’s waiting downstairs.”
She left, and for the first time, the smell of lavender made me feel sick. That’s a good girl, Yut Ying. You’re so obedient, Yut Ying.
Was I a dog? All my life, I had wanted Mama to stand up to Ah Ma. To push back when she was being mistreated, and to let her thoughts be known. What a hypocrite I was, because here I was doing the same thing with Sai Ma.
Of course my brother just had to rub it in.
He entered my room right after Sai Ma left. “Let me guess,” he said, “she’s making you into a servant for the night.”
“I volunteered.”
“Liar. I bet she didn’t even hire an extra helper. This was her plan all along.”
I wouldn’t let my brother see me cry. “Doesn’t matter. It’s only a silly baby party, I didn’t want to go anyway.”
“Mm, so there’s no reason why your face is all red and puckered up. You weren’t looking forward to sitting with Lily, to dancing with the rich city boys and hearing all the guests tell you how pretty you are—”
“Will you shut up?” I redirected my rancor to my brother, noting he was holding a pair of white driving gloves. “Who are you to talk? Baba asked you to be a valet.”
“He did,” Yi Gor said, dropping his cigarette on the wooden floor. “But unlike you, I’m not lying to myself about it.”
He was right, though I’d rather swallow a toad than admit it. Lies taste sour, Mama used to say, but the truth is bitter.
Smoke curled out of Yi Gor’s cigarette butt. I stamped on it with my heel until the embers went out.
I regretted agreeing to help Sai Ma. It was one of the rare crisp and breezy days in Hong Kong, neither humid nor hot, and I was wasting it working in the kitchen.
First I had to boil an emperor’s ransom in eggs, then dye them as red as Sai Ma’s lipstick.
When that was done, Susu dropped a punchbowl full of ginger on my table for me to peel and slice and pickle.
The red eggs signified good fortune and prosperity for my new half brother, and the ginger was meant to bring energy back to Sai Ma.
All day, I worked. I made dough for noodles, then cut them fine as strands of rabbit hair. I chiseled roses out of carrot chunks and mashed red beans with my knuckles to make a dessert soup. By sundown, my feet ached like mad, and I rolled my soles over a fat turnip for relief.
I had begun starting on the cake when a gentleman in a black hat tapped the kitchen window.
“I’ve never seen you before,” he said. His voice was porous and sponge-soft and carried the trace of an accent that I could not place. “You look too young to be Yan’s new cook.”
“I’m just a helper,” I replied.
“Not her niece?” He tracked me with his eyes, wearing a leering look that made me glad I had a cleaver nearby. “I’ve heard that Yan took in a girl about your age, very pretty with round eyes like coins.”
It was a rare time that I was grateful for Susu appearing. The old maid barged into the kitchen, about to reproach me for dawdling, when she noticed the man at the window. “Mr. Zhou!” She took a step back, looking clearly alarmed. “Madam Chan is waiting for you in the parlor, sir.”
“Thank you.” He tipped his hat the way the Americans did and sent me a half smile before he disappeared into the house.
Susu yanked on my braid. “Don’t you go around talking to strangers. If your aunt finds out, she’ll have you whipped.”
“Why?” I asked. “Who was that?”
“Zhou Hin Kong. One of Mister Chan’s former associates.”
It was the first and only time I’d heard my uncle’s name spoken, yet I was mostly struck by Susu’s worried tone. She made it clear that no more questions were to be asked, and after a while I stopped dwelling on it.
Life was too short to be apprehensive of everything.
. . .
Guests began arriving at six o’clock. From the kitchen window, I had a partial view of the courtyard.
Sai Ma’s friends were locked around a Eurasian lady dripping with diamonds while Gu Ma cruised about, toasting her guests with shandy.
My brassy aunt was drunker than usual, and I briefly wondered what had happened with the mysterious Mr. Zhou, who wasn’t on the guest list and was nowhere to be seen.
Baba was under the bauhinia tree smoking a cigar, and Sai Ma was ushering people into the banquet room and collecting red envelopes while she showed off her new baby.
Even Lily was enjoying herself. I wished I could be with her, sipping on grape juice and watching the guests all try to impress one another.
I waved, but she wasn’t wearing her spectacles and didn’t see me.