A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China (41 page)

As for her two daughters, she loved them with an intensity that frightened her. Golden Bell seemed to have been wise from birth. She learned the Chinese classics at Purple Jade’s knees with such voracity that Purple Jade was elated, astounded, and later, deeply wounded when her Golden glory preferred Western learning. Golden Bell’s quick adjustment to Miss Tyler and her keen perception of Western values had annoyed her. She had tried desperately to protect her daughter from a culture that she herself did not understand. Now she knew Golden Bell was astute. She must send her to America where her daughter might flourish in safety. Since the family’s move from Hangzhou, their mutual respect had grown — their time together crowded with consultations, intoxicating challenges, and the tenderness of confidences.

And oh, how her spirits had soared and fallen on Silver Bell’s songs. The gift of music to the house of Huang was most gratuitously endowed. Purple Jade could not fathom the sources of this talent. She herself could not carry a tune; nor had she ever known her husband to hum or play an instrument. The cadence of their poetry was the music Silver Bell never shared, yet her little girl had trilled her way into her soul. Purple Jade’s responses to her “little heart-and-liver” were inexplicably physical and unrestrained. Her deepest recesses ached and she became aware of a maudlin depression when she noticed Silver Bell sprouting tiny breasts. The flowering of her baby delighted her, but how she wished she could spare her the discomfort of her menstrual years — her little girl was meant to run, sing and be free! In the sweetness of sorrow, she felt rich and gratified.

But how did she feel about Little Jade? She was her namesake, and the true daughter of the family. Yes, she loved her, but she was a doll, the idol of the house. Strangely, she found she could stand away from her a little. After all, Little Jade was the third child. Child rearing was already a well-trodden path.

Righteous Virtue was her friend, companion, and coconspirator in their journey together. She savored his presence every evening. When he left for work, her mood was redolent of quiet trust and silent affection. Words were often unnecessary between them. Both understood that their only recourse was stoic acceptance. In an unspoken pact, they never mentioned the impending family separation to the rest of the family. They held on to the thread of hope that perhaps the combined power of the American fleet in Hawaii, the British fleet in the harbor, and the limited air defense force in Kaitak Airport might deter the Japanese advance.

After dinner, a gentle breeze lifted the heavy, sluggish air of September. The whole family piled into the Buick. Righteous Virtue drove slowly toward Wan Tsai Gap and the Peak. As they passed the white mansions of the British, they admired the trim, neatly manicured lawns and hedges.

“Father.” Silver Bell poked her head close to the front seat. “When you wrote to us in Shanghai, you said the foreign women garden with their gloves on. How come we never see the English women gardening here?”

“The English at home are different from the colonists here, I can assure you.” Her father kept his eyes on the road. “Ordinary middleclass people in England become pinnacles of society in the colony. They have to put on airs because they are not used to their good fortune.”

“You mean when the women return home, they will be expected to garden again?” Purple Jade asked, feeling sorry for these elegant “madams and misses.”

“Oh yes.” Her husband grinned. “Not only will they have to garden, some may even have to cook and scrub their own floors!”

“Oh no!” Purple Jade recoiled in mock horror.

“Yes, the colonists are too pampered in Hong Kong — too much alcohol and too many servants.” Comely Brook seldom ventured her opinion, but now she spoke with authority: “When a person is not book-fragrant — not immersed in the wisdom of our ancient scholars — it is best to keep busy, or there will be trouble.”

“You have excellent common sense, Brook-
mei
.” Righteous Virtue beamed. “Our cousins Yu Wei and Chou Ling are good examples of the troubles you speak of.” He pointed to a fancy rock garden at a white mansion. “Here the small isolated society of white people, living their elegant lives in these palaces, are segregated from the realities of our local population. The Chinese feel humiliated, and ‘white’ arrogance breeds antagonism. Someday, they — and unfortunately we, too — may suffer for it.”

They arrived at the Peak and took a leisurely walk on the path surrounding the major summit. The evening sun dazzled the hazy ocean in a golden sheen. Triangular dots of Chinese sail boats wobbled red and brown in the offing. The English warships lay like toy pieces in a harbor glistening in the light. A breeze sent tufts of silky vapor scudding across the greenery and buildings beneath them.

“Virtue-
ko
.” Purple Jade touched her husband’s hand. “Doesn’t the view remind you of Tu Fu’s quatrain?” Her eyes glazed over and she recited:

“Ah, that’s beautiful.” Her husband nodded. Their classical learning clothed the foreign glamour of their surroundings. “Why don’t we have a riddle game? Each of us describes something in verse. The rest of us must guess.”

“Wonderful idea! Today is your day off, so you and Comely Brook must be our judges.” Purple Jade was ever aware that Orchid was still ill equipped to participate in games of the mind. “Golden Bell, you begin.”

“All right!” Golden Bell rose to the challenge at once. After thinking for a few minutes, she recited:

“Ah, that is easy!” Silver Bell exclaimed. “It is Victoria Peak!”

“But that is excellent, Golden Bell.” Her father smiled. “Now it is your turn, Silver Bell.”

Silver Bell fell behind the others. She thought and thought; she scratched her head; she hopped from one foot to the other, but she couldn’t come up with a single line. Finally she ran to join the others and confessed, “Every time I start on a verse, I seem to slip into some song that I know.”

Her mother came to the rescue. “Well, I’ll give you a riddle then.

Everyone walked on in silence, searching for an answer. Silver Bell became impatient with the quiet pondering. She tugged on her mother’s hand and squinted into her sun-dappled face. “Is it an animal, vegetable or mineral?”

“None of the above.”

“Is the judge allowed to guess?” Righteous Virtue ventured.

“Yes, yes, tell us, Father,” Golden Bell chimed.

“Is it the wind, Jade?”

“Yes, my lord.” Purple Jade smiled with contentment. “You are still the most familiar with my mind.”

B
LINDED BY SUNLIGHT, Purple Jade sat transfixed in the ferry that carried her to Ling Ying Temple on Lan Tao Island. The rocky cliffs, pale silvery beaches and lush greenery — philodendrons and wild camellias— cascading down the mountainside added to her motion sickness. She turned her eyes away from the shore to face the offing. The South China Sea and the sky melded without a line of demarcation. The torrid tropical sun sent blue, green, and yellow blotches dancing before her eyes as she closed them to rest. The heaving roll of the steamboat, froth ruffling at its stern, ferried her to the temple.

The gently rocking rowboats, the rhythmic dip of oars on West Lake and the hazy sun of Hangzhou had been familiar and temperate in scale. Now the excesses of the tropics, accentuated by the rude grind and groan of the motorboat, filled Purple Jade with dread. The indifference of this vast ocean aggravated her unease. She had known natural human pains — birth, sickness, and death. She had made peace with her path in life, but how was she to cope in a world gone mad with destruction and war? Purple Jade’s classical learning left her unprepared for action and the self-assertion necessary to deal with violence.

In her heart, she knew her timid soul was frightened by the Western religions that involved a wrathful God who died a gruesome death on the cross. With so much poverty and suffering around her, how was she to accept such a God? In time, she had determined that the nature of God is beyond comprehension. She was concerned only with morality, the maintenance of peace and prosperity in her home. This left her without the counsel of a Western God, who intervened in human affairs through priests.

She had never been consumed by a passion for religion, so she lacked the inner force that could bring her transformation and solace during a time of upheaval in her society. Buddhist priests prayed for the emptying of all human desire. Taoist priests taught the unity of reality and nonintervention —
wu-way
. These were the guiding lights of Purple Jade’s religious faith. She did not subscribe to any institution of religion, or dogma. Nevertheless, she was aware of a power transcending human comprehension. The power was not always benevolent. In times of stress, her fate depended upon a harmonious interaction between the yin and yan forces of the universe. Her actions must honor and be compatible with this essential symmetry. She asked for guidance in her family affairs, seeking the intercession of benign spirits and gods who had transcended time, space and matter.

She now undertook this trip to the Ling Ying Temple to seek guidance. It was important that her actions be harmonious with
chi
, the life force that governed the world through the proper balance of Yin and Yan. To her, “chance” meant a future in which her
chi
might coordinate with the
chi
of the larger universe. For three days, Purple Jade fasted and cleansed herself of extraneous thoughts and worldly cares, so the path of divine order might enlighten her.

The bus spewed noxious fumes and took her from the ferry to the temple. The engine rattled. Purple Jade felt faint and fanned herself, murmuring, “The superior man . . . interior peace . . . cool of the mind . . .” She took out her tiger balm ointment and applied some to her temples and underneath her nostrils. The elderly woman beside her watched and smiled, so Purple Jade offered to share her ointment.

Vendors and peddlers besieged worshipers outside the temple gates. They sold sundry items used in the veneration of spirits and gods: packets of incense, flowers, paper money, bullion made from golden foil, fruits, snacks and other ornaments. Purple Jade bought a packet of incense and a bundle of paper golden bullion. The fierce sunlight dazzled her.

Once inside the cool temple, Purple Jade was blinded by the change of light. Sunbursts of colored shadows danced before her eyes. She leaned against a red wooden beam and rested. As her eyes adjusted to the shade, her soul felt soothed by the chant emanating from the inner chambers of the temple. She knelt before the Buddha and pressed her palms together. She placed them before her forehead. She bowed and touched her hands and head to the floor.

Her initial devotion over, she burned the gold bullion in a bronze brazier. She prayed and directed the spirits of Glorious Dragon and Bright Crystal to accept the offering and procure for themselves the earthly comforts to which they were accustomed.

“Dragon-
dee
, Bright Crystal,” she prayed, “lead me to the right decision.”

A small procession of monks entered the side altar, chanting, jingling bells, and marking a familiar rhythm with wooden clappers. Purple Jade emptied her mind. She no longer felt the physical strain of her existence. Slowly she rose, unselfconscious and vacant, and walked toward a monk who provided fortune sticks.

Purple Jade placed her container of fortune sticks beside her and lit her incense. She bowed and prayed for guidance. Then she stuck the incense into the giant brazier filled with sand. She knelt before Kwan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, and shook her container of sticks, concentrating on her question: “Should I send Golden Bell to America now?” She repeated the question in her mind.

“No.” She shuddered. “One is an unlucky number!” One was loneliness, isolation, the absence of family and communal support! Her focus on only one question had been an outrageous oversight. Dread intruded. She stopped shaking her fortune sticks.

She rose, bought and lit more joss sticks. She bowed three times and added her scented sticks to the other incense burning in the giant brazier before the Buddha. She kneeled again and kowtowed. She asked for forgiveness and reverently rephrased her questions: “Should we send Golden Bell to America? Should we send Silver Bell as well? Should we send them right away?”

Satisfied with the three questions, she touched her head to the floor and concentrated on them. Kneeling and mumbling “
oh-me-to-fo
” all the while, she shook the fortune sticks and tilted the container toward the altar. She shook them more gently now, as some sticks began to move ahead. Carefully, she shook and asked for guidance until one stick fell out.