Chapter Twenty-Two
The day before the typhoon hit, Prince Cannonball returned to the house. He was an old cat now. He couldn’t jump as high as he used to, and his vigorous black coat had faded to a tinny gray, but I knew him right away by his growl.
I found him skulking in his old spot on the planter, nestled underneath a raft of myrtle as he pawed at the kitchen window.
“I thought you’d forgotten about us,” I said, letting him inside. In the past he would shoot through the window with one explosive leap. Today he dragged himself in, careful not to slip on the wet sill.
“I know I’m not the one you came to see,” I said, “but Lily’s not here.”
Prince Cannonball ignored me and sauntered into the pantry.
“There’s one can of luncheon meat left,” I informed him. “I’ve been saving it for you.”
I served him half, putting aside the rest for later.
While he feasted, dark clouds scudded across the harbor. A typical summer sky—it didn’t mean a storm was brewing. But Prince Cannonball had that touch of demon in him, like me. Rain followed when he appeared.
I brought my pots of spring onions and tomatoes inside and shut the window.
The storm arrived that night. Powerful winds assailed Gu Ma’s house, knocking over the bauhinia tree in the courtyard and smashing it into her car. Prince Cannonball woke me with a merciless pounce to my stomach.
I peered out the window. Lily! Lily was outside climbing the gate.
I hurried to let her inside. She had no umbrella, no protection from the storm. Barefoot, she climbed up to the door so drenched that I didn’t see the blood leaking down her knees.
I hugged her fiercely.
In the kitchen, I lit the stove. I stripped her wet clothes and wrapped a blanket around her. Her skin was cold. “Warm yourself here. I’ll get Gu Ma—”
“Don’t,” she said with a cough. She held on to my arm tightly. “They’ll send me back if they find out I’m here.”
“You need medicine—”
“I’ll be better in the morning. Just make me something to eat. Macaroni soup—and luncheon meat if you have it.”
I nodded mutely. I heated some chicken stock with noodles and set the luncheon meat to fry.
While I waited for the broth to boil, I went to get some dry clothes for Lily and candles from my room.
There was no electricity in the house, and outside the rain had only gotten heavier.
No one heard me padding up and down the creaky stairs.
When I returned to the kitchen, Lily was coughing into a handkerchief.
I’d brought my old porcelain doll, and the way she impatiently reached for it, nestling her chin against the doll’s black hair, eased some of the worries unsteadying my heart.
I helped her dress and dry her hair and put socks on her feet.
“How’d you get here?” I asked, serving her the noodles and nuggets of browned luncheon meat.
“Stole a bicycle.”
“You cycled here—in this storm?”
“I tried to.” Lily was still breathing hard. “It was only raining at first, then the winds got too strong. I hit a rock . . . and one of tires went flat.” She showed me the scrapes on her knees. “I walked the rest . . . of the way.”
Lily hadn’t eaten at all, and I took the steaming bowl from her, blowing at a spoonful. Years ago I’d fed Yi Gor like this, when he was sick in the hills. It was a memory I’d forgotten, and dredging it up now brought an ache to my chest. “Eat.”
She sipped at the spoon, barely taking in half.
“Not hungry?”
She didn’t seem to hear me. She was noticing the bare walls, the empty china cabinets and missing draperies. “I wanted to run away months ago,” she said faintly, though I hadn’t asked. “I couldn’t because Mrs. Tsang hid my spectacles. Had to wait until I could get them back.”
I didn’t need to ask how the Tsangs had been treating her—I saw the cane marks on her wrists.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you,” I blurted.
I regretted the words as soon as they left my lips. Nothing I could say was worthy of Lily’s forgiveness.
“You would’ve wasted your time,” she replied after a sigh. “The Tsangs have been looking for a way to end the engagement ever since they took Gu Ma’s money. I think they let me get away.”
So much for their being upright and honest people.
“So, how about it, Gah Jeh? Are we still running away together?”
“Not in this weather.”
“Once it clears, then. You can hide me in the cellar if you need to.” Lily leaned back against the chair, weariness stitching her eyes.
“Lily!” I shook her. “Lily?”
“I don’t want any ginseng, Mama,” she whispered. “It makes my stomach hurt. Please?”
“It’s me, Yut Ying.” I shook her again. She was scaring me.
Thunder rolled, and Lily blinked an eye open. “Sorry. I’m so tired. It’s loud tonight. The perfect weather for sleeping.”
Her body went soft once more, and I gave up poking her awake.
I put aside her noodles for tomorrow and gently carried her to my room, where I lay her on my bed.
I took off her spectacles and set them aside on a chair, then Prince Cannonball curled up beside us.
Together the three of us slept to the lullaby of falling rain.
Lily was sick. In the middle of the night, I woke to the heat of her skin burning against mine. Her temples, her hands, her back—everywhere I touched was feverish. I couldn’t rouse her.
I ran up the stairs two at a time. “Help, help!” I shouted.
My shouts woke Richard, whose screaming in turn woke everyone else on the floor. Sai Ma was the first to come out of her room.
“What’s going on?”
“Lily’s here,” I said. “She’s got a fever.”
Sai Ma’s expression darkened, and I immediately regretted asking for her help. She spun back for her room.
“Wait!” I grabbed her arm. “She isn’t breathing. She won’t wake up.”
“I’ll check on her,” said Baba. He came with me and sat on the bed. Lily’s eyes were still closed. Baba moved her head. A splatter of blood stained the pillowcase, and the lines between her teeth were red. He yelled, “Grace!”
Sai Ma hurried down. When she saw the blood, her face drained of color. She checked Lily’s heart. “It’s fast.”
Gu Ma had come too, with a radio. The static was noisy and sharp. I touched my left ear, the injured one. It throbbed with pain.
“This is Hong Kong’s worst typhoon in over twenty years,” the newscaster was saying.
Between the static, she described how the storm had slammed the harbor last night, ripping the fishing boats and ferries from their moors and leaving them in splinters.
A tidal wave had formed, destroying several coastal villages and over a dozen ocean liners. Hundreds were presumed dead.
“There’s herbs in my medicine box,” Sai Ma said, tossing me a key. “Boil some soup for Lily. Chicken with red dates and chin pi. Quickly! And bring the pei pa koa.”
I ran to the cupboard in the corner of the kitchen where Sai Ma kept her expensive herbs and grabbed the pei pa koa, a medicine for coughs.
When I returned, Sai Ma was wiping Lily’s face with a cold compress. Her condition was getting worse. She was delirious, mumbling to herself, and her lips had turned blue.
“Stay with me, precious baby,” I heard Sai Ma say. “Stay with me, and Mama will bring you home.” Sai Ma’s voice grew hoarse. “I wasn’t a good mother to you.”
Sai Ma wiped at her eyes. She took my arm and pulled me outside the room.
“This is your fault,” she cried. “You! You poisoned her with ideas about running away. If she hadn’t left the Tsangs, she wouldn’t have gotten sick.”
“They were beating her!” I exclaimed. “She didn’t want to tell you that she was here. Maybe if you hadn’t sent her away—”
“I had no choice,” Sai Ma snapped. “If your useless brother hadn’t shot Zhou Hin Kong—”
“Seet Ling!” Gu Ma warned.
“—our family wouldn’t be under investigation. I wouldn’t have had to send Lily away.”
“That’s enough,” said Baba. “Blaming Yut Ying won’t help Lily.”
Sai Ma, for once, stopped. She was crying, and the tears looked real.
“You have to take her to the hospital,” Gu Ma said.
“You think I don’t want to?” cried Sai Ma. “But we have no car, and even if we did, the roads are flooded. At this point, she’s better off dead.”
I looked outside. Though it was day, the storms had charred the sky black. The roads were empty, and I couldn’t even see what lay a meter ahead. What doctor would make a call in weather like this? The fact that Lily had made it to the house was a miracle.
“I’ll go,” I heard myself saying. “I’ll get the doctor.”
The storm hunted me. The trees were wailing, their boughs waving in surrender as the winds uprooted those unfit to resist. I ran, ducking flying branches as the rain pounded down, submerging me with its might.
At some point I lost my shoes and no longer felt my feet hit the ground.
I was wading across the streets, gasping because there was more water than air. Still I kept going.
Gu Ma had given me a list of addresses. First was Tung Wah Hospital, which wasn’t far from where Lily had been staying with the Tsangs, except I didn’t know whether the hospital was even open.
Dr. Wong was closer. He lived only two kilometers from Harbourage Road, and he’d always been kind.
Even if he wanted nothing to do with my family, I would beg and beg until he changed his mind. Lily was innocent. He had to save her.
My flashlight gave out right before I reached Dr. Wong’s house. The fence had toppled, and the stairs to the door had become a roaring waterfall. I fought my way up and seized the bronze knocker on the door. I pounded as hard as I could. “Dr. Wong! Dr. Wong!”
No one came. I tried to turn invisible and go through the door, but there was too much rain. I couldn’t hold my breath.
“Dr. Wong!” I cried again. I was being washed away, my fingers clinging to the knocker as though it were a lifeline.
It felt like an eternity that I hung there, my consciousness ebbing into the bleak dark of the storm.
In my delirium I saw the window glowing, like the paper panes in my old house in Tunglam when the moon was full and bright.
A woman appeared at the door. She looked like my mother until I realized she wasn’t.
“Mrs. Wong,” I croaked. “Lily—”
That was all I could manage before I collapsed into her arms.