A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China (9 page)

“The generalissimo went to Xian on December 7 to meet Zhang. He thought Zhang would help him wipe out the Communists!” The flour tycoon picked up a jumbo shrimp. “Treachery! Sheer treachery!” He chewed up the shrimp.

“Perfidy!” the Eurasian from Shanghai Power and Light shouted.

“Treason!” Eugene Ma nodded.

“Why did Madam Chiang and her brother T.V. Soong go to Xian?” Dunning asked.

“Zhang and Mr. T.V. Soong have been friends from way back — since their student days, I think.” General Chin turned his cup to Glorious Dragon, nodding and smiling — a signal to drink more. “It is in the national interest that they join the negotiation.”

Glorious Dragon raised his cup, but Wilson frowned. He knew that instead of fighting the Japanese, Chiang Kai-shek had used American aid to wage war against the Communists. “Did Chiang Kai-shek agree to form a united front with the Communists on Christmas Day, just to buy his freedom?” Wilson asked.

“I’m ignorant like a foreigner,” Strong joined in quickly. “If Marshal Zhang achieved his objective of uniting the Chinese, why did he accompany Chiang back to Nanking?”

“We’re all upset by Chiang’s kidnapping.” Glorious Dragon took a sip. “Let’s not worry about things we can’t understand.” In his mind, he wondered:
If Chiang honored his agreement to unite with the Communists, what would happen to foreign trade in Shanghai?

Dunning was thinking along the same lines. “Chiang and the Soong family have been most accommodating to Western trade. How will the Communists proceed?”

“The Communists will not favor trade with the West,” said the White Russian. “Chiang did a good job driving them into the barren Shensi Province.”

Everyone knew that since 1930, the generalissimo had launched five campaigns to eradicate the Communists.

“I agree,” added Eugene Ma. “The Communists were almost decimated during their Long March to Shensi.” He smacked his lips. “The generalissimo must not let them recover.”

“So you think the generalissimo will renege on the promises he made at Xian?” Strong looked to General Chin for an answer.

General Chin raised his winecup, waving it in front of the guests. “We’re making far too much of this incident.” He assumed the cheerful mask of the diplomat.

Glorious Dragon made a mental note. The generalissimo was trained in the Chinese classics — bound by the traditional ethics of a scholar. Should he honor his promise, and should the coalition become a reality, Japan surely would not accept a united China. If open warfare erupted between China and Japan, the foreign concessions would become sanctuaries of peace; real estate prices would skyrocket. A look into further investments in the area would not be amiss.

The Englishmen also found the discussion intriguing, but the Kaoliang was warm and the chicken in garlic sauce was superb. That dapper Dragon chap would surely clarify everything for them in the morning. So ignoring Strong, they readily agreed to learn the finger-guessing game Glorious Dragon suggested.

“You see, the game is quite simple,” Glorious Dragon explained in a cheerful voice, his face flushed from the Kaoliang. “Both of us must shout out a number together from one to five. The rhythm picks up as you become familiar with the game, but for now, let’s use this simple rhythm: one, two, three, shout . . . one, two, three, shout . . .” He smiled, waved his arms, and conducted the chorus of robust voices shouting numbers from one through five. “Now, as you shout, you throw out a fist for a zero, or a one, two, three, four or all five fingers.” He gesticulated with his right hand, throwing out a fist, then one finger or more to demonstrate. “If the added number of fingers on the two competing hands equals the number that one of us shouted, you win. The loser drinks the wine.”

“Oh-ho.” Dunning laughed. “That’s insane! Why should anyone play to lose?”

“It’s only a game. Let’s try.” Glorious Dragon smiled. “Three,” he shouted, throwing out two fingers while Dunning shouted “two” at the same time and threw out one finger. Glorious Dragon won and Dunning had to drink. A serving girl stood behind each guest and replenished the cup after each drink. Bright Crystal urged food on the guests.

It soon became apparent that Wilson often shouted the same number of fingers as he threw out. He formed the numbers with his lips even before he shouted, so he was losing and drinking heavily. Bright Crystal quietly maneuvered herself next to Wilson. Twice, she squeezed his arm and soothed him with her soft eyes; flashing her sweet dimples, she purred, “I’ll drink for you.” She motioned her serving girl to pour, and while the guests cheered and hooted, she downed her drink in one toss. “
Kang-pai
,” she hummed. She drained her cup and held it in an upside-down position. The men cheered wildly; it was intoxicating to see a refined lady drink with such liberal gusto. Following her example, shouting “
Kang-pai, kang-pai
,” they drained their cups. The guests were soon rendered rosy-faced and hazy-minded. Even Strong joined in the merriment. “This is very similar to a finger game I played as a child in the U.S. I can’t remember what it’s called now,” he said.

The Xian incident was completely forgotten.

No one at the table, not even General Chin, was aware that although Bright Crystal and Glorious Dragon’s first few cups contained liquor, they had drunk nothing but colored tea the rest of the evening. Their serving girls had been instructed to pour only for them, and in the excitement of jovial carousing, no one noticed. The Westerners couldn’t tell one serving girl from another. They complimented Bright Crystal’s generous capacity for wine.

The following morning, Messrs. Wilson and Dunning, thoroughly dazzled by the hospitality, acceded to all terms of the contract drawn up by Glorious Dragon.

A
RCHIE STRONG ENJOYED his evening on Avenue Joffre. Nevertheless, during the following week, he contacted all the party guests to discuss their understanding of the Xian Incident. When he called on Glorious Dragon, he was surprised to be invited by the young man to visit his sister and brother-in-law in Hangzhou. The beauties of the idyllic West Lake in Hangzhou had been renowned since the time of Marco Polo, so he accepted.

The diligence of the American reporter impressed Glorious Dragon. He understood the foreigner’s confusion. He mulled over Strong’s questions at the dinner table but could not respond without giving him a lecture on Confucian culture and ethical behavior. Although this was already 1937, the Chinese people understood that the emperor ruled with a mandate from Heaven based upon his exemplary life. Zhang would go down in history as the quintessential hero who had kidnapped the present emperor, Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, and forced him on a course of virtue — unification with the communists to fight Japan. Zhang would accept whatever punishment, including death, if required. For centuries, storytellers, singers and actors had celebrated such courageous men, in households, theaters, operas, teahouses, wine shops and restaurants with slight variations on the theme. How could Strong even begin to understand the emotions simmering in the Chinese soul? Glorious Dragon would not know how to tell him. Should he take Strong to a Chinese opera based on the same heroic theme? The falsetto voices of the singers on a bare stage would be trilling in half tones and would drive Strong away from his seat within minutes. No, he could not lecture Strong on Chinese thought and maintain a cordial relationship.

More to the point, Glorious Dragon wanted to know what Mr. Strong had already discovered about the recent events in Nanking. Would the generalissimo continue to keep Marshal Zhang under house arrest? Would he integrate the Communists into his army, and thus pose a serious threat to the Japanese occupation?

In a flash of inspiration, he decided that the American should meet his sister Purple Jade, who had so patiently taught him his classics. His brother-in-law, Righteous Virtue, had deplored Western powers’ competition for Chinese territory and trade. He had rejected communism, Nazism and materialism, but he was familiar with Western manners. He lived the life of an exemplary Confucian scholar: conservative, with a learned contentment and pacifism. Glorious Dragon was confident Strong would benefit from a meeting with his sister and brother-in-law — two living embodiments of the finest in Chinese culture.

When Archie Strong entered the Huang family’s first court, he took a quick breath, arrested by the sight of a dwarf cedar leaning toward a structure of porous Taihu rocks. The beautiful formation towered over a small pool where silver, gold and red carps swam. A covered walkway surrounded the courtyard on three sides, away from the front gate and spirit screen wall. Under an overhang of terra-cotta roof tiles at the entrance to the first hall, Righteous Virtue stood waiting for his guests. He was wearing an ankle-length brown silk gown with cream silk cuffs and trousers.

Strong was surprised that the mandarin spoke English. They took tea in the first hall and exchanged social pleasantries. Righteous Virtue suggested they visit the larger garden the Huangs shared with the Chous, his wife’s maiden family.

“A walk in the garden is perfect after our train ride,” Strong agreed. Righteous Virtue instructed the servants to relay the following message to Purple Jade: they would dine in the moon pavilion.

Leading the way, Glorious Dragon passed through a moon-gate faced with red-lacquered wood. The round frame offered a long vista across a lotus pond. A pavilion with latticed windows loomed in the right corner, towering over a blanket of budding azalea bushes.

“I often come here to view the lotus when they’re in bloom,” Righteous Virtue explained as they strolled along the covered walkway surrounding the lotus pond. “Their beauty reminds me of the spirit of our nation.”

“How’s that?” Strong raked his fingers through his brown hair.

“The lotus grows from mud, but the flowers remain pristine. That is how I hope our country will emerge from its present troubles.”

Strong nodded. They had arrived at another moongate, made of terra-cotta tiles. He had an open view of a large glistening pond. Marble walks and bridges led to rock arrangements and open pavilions — studios for painting and reading and terraces of bamboo groves, budding fruit trees, and swaying willows. Strong was guided slowly through the walled-in garden, viewing it from different terraced heights and angles. Throughout the tour, Righteous Virtue pointed out the compositions of light and shadows, the balance of yin and yan. Water, stone, trees and flowers had all been carefully coordinated.

“I must thank you for allowing me to see this exquisite garden!” Strong exclaimed. Glorious Dragon smiled. Chinese etiquette would have called for a disclaimer, but he knew Strong was new in China; he accepted the compliment.

When they arrived at the moon pavilion, the table was set, and Purple Jade was waiting. She wore a silk burgundy jacket with subtle shades of violet woven in a small floral pattern. Purple satin piped the borders of the thigh-length robe, flowing loosely over a floor-length skirt of the same color. The skirt obscured her feet.

When the American guest was introduced, she got up, held both hands to one side at her waist, lowered one knee to the floor, and curtsied. She rose gracefully, then reclined. Archie Strong thought she looked like a princess from a storybook.

Purple Jade knew most Chinese immigrants to America went from Canton and Fukien Provinces, so Americans were familiar with Cantonese food. She had ordered the kitchen to provide a light supper of dim sum, but she included a specialty of the region, the crab meat shao lun bao (Small dragon dumplings).

Strong recognized the shrimp dumplings wrapped in thin rice dough right away. “These are my favorite when I go to New York’s Chinatown for Sunday brunch!”

“Now try these shao lun bao.” Glorious Dragon said. He carefully picked up a dumpling and placed it on a spoon. He added a few drops of Zhenjiang black vinegar, and some julienned young ginger and passed the spoon to Strong. “Try to eat it in one bite and savor the burst of juice mixed with the crab and pork filling.”

“Ah, this is heavenly,” Strong sighed. “How did they hold the juice inside such a thin piece of skin?”

“That’s the cook’s secret.” Righteous Virtue smiled. “These dumplings have been made here for centuries.”

Purple Jade sipped tea; the men drank beer and translated the conversation for her. As they ate, they discussed Chinese regional cuisine, garden design and architecture. They noted that while food differed from one region to the next, China had a common goal: to lead a quiet life in harmony with nature.

The conversation soon drifted toward the Confucian ideal of a simple, reclusive life away from the crass concerns of the material world. Strong heartily approved. He laughed and allowed that he too would love to be a recluse in such a home as this.

“But if I may ask my question,” he began, his eyes flashing. “Do you feel strange that the Xian incident involved so much contorted maneuvering by your leaders? Why did Marshal Zhang return to Nanking with Chiang Kai-shek?”

“Ah, Zhang must return to give Chiang face,” Righteous Virtue answered.