All the Flowers in Shanghai (9 page)

I had not been there since Bi had left. As summer had changed to early autumn, the grass had grown wild and the trees had lost their shape and needed pruning. The path that Bi and I had walked, tracing Grandfather’s steps as he accompanied the gardener, was gone and I could not recognize the part of the riverbank that used to be ours. The place where we’d sat had disappeared under long grass and flowers, as though the moments we’d spent together there had all happened in another life. A light wind swept through the tall reeds by the riverbank and brushed my cheeks. I had not brought a coat and my arms felt cold as I stood there alone. The sun seemed farther away. Its heat no longer warmed the gardens, and the flowers and trees were preparing themselves for the cold weather and snow. The perfect picture Grandfather had shown me had become dismal and threatening.

Bi was not waiting for me. Grandfather was not waiting for me. Still I kept searching although by now I could hear the maids shouting after me. They had already come into the gardens and were close behind. When they arrived they immediately led me back to the house. I did not struggle, knowing I must do as I was told.

Again I sat watching the seamstress. She glanced up at me and I looked directly into her eyes, and there I saw him.

“Where did you go, young miss?” she asked me.

“Just in the gardens next door. I was looking for someone.”

“My son told me you would often go there, and that you are very clever. He said you know the name of every flower and tree in a strange and ancient language, the original names.”

Hearing that he’d thought of me, I could not speak. I wanted her to tell me more but could not ask. My lips and tongue were lost to my control. I could only wait, mute. She returned to her sewing while I stared as hard as I could at the back of her neck, as if my gaze might force her to look up and talk to me again. Silence still.

Perhaps my own silence would tease her into filling it.

“He told me you were a very pretty girl and I think he is right,” she said finally. “You will look very beautiful in this dress—perhaps more so than your sister. I was sorry to hear that she died, I never spoke to her, but she was a beautiful young woman.”

Her accent was from the countryside, with a thickness and melody to it that made me feel warm and comfortable. It was not as clear or refined as that of city Society, but then it was not as sharp or cold, either. I wanted this accent for my own. I wanted to speak this way, too. I wanted to hear about her son, not about Sister and the dress. I kept staring at her but she did not turn to look at me, just continued sewing. Her long black hair was tightly coiled, high on her head, showing her smooth bare shoulders and neck above the line of her blouse. I wanted to lean my cheek against the back of that neck and put my arms around her, just rest and sleep in the warmth of her body. She looked so peaceful.

Instead I sat at the back of the empty room, watching her, a peasant in Sister’s eyes. Perhaps she would hold me as she had held Bi when he was a child, allow me to cry on that same shoulder so she could take my tears back to him. I wanted her to wrap her arms around me as she would him when she returned home. I watched for another hour and then I was told by the maid that it was time for supper. Before I left I wanted to say one thing, something for her to tell him, but I had no idea what it should be.

“Auntie, please tell him that I remember him and that the only reason I was so quiet was I liked listening to his stories. He will understand,” I said, finally.

She looked up at me and smiled.

The seamstress stayed for three more days but I was not allowed to talk to her again or even be in her company without a maid present. I wanted to know what she would say to her son. If she would say she had seen me. If she would say to him she thought I was pretty and would have been a good match for him. I wanted to know if she had understood how I felt and if she would explain it to him. I wanted to tell someone that I yearned to see Bi and no one else, and for someone to tell me that it would happen, but I saw no one except for Ma, Ba, and the maids. I hoped Grandfather might return early and tell Ma and Ba that it was not the right thing for me, to marry Sister’s fiancé. He had made the doctors come for Sister so he could change this for me.

When the seamstress finished she was sent directly from the house and so I had no chance to say good-bye or to pass her another message to give her son. I continued to dream of Bi, and spent my days waiting for sleep so that I could enter the world I shared with him.

Chapter 6

F
or the first time I could remember the house felt empty and I was alone. The courtyard was still, and I could sit in any of the three front rooms without worrying I would meet anyone. The sitting room was not very comfortable, containing old heavy wooden chairs with marble backs and some dark lacquered chests on which Ma had placed Tang ceramics that Grandfather had given her. She had originally partly covered the chairs with embroidery made by her parents, but had felt this to be out of place once Sister’s sophisticated suitors started to come to the house. Grandfather had always filled the house with flower arrangements. Those that remained since he had left had died and there was no one to replace them. Ma and Ba did not seem to notice, even when they started to fill the house with the acrid smell of death. Perhaps that was as it should be.

Occasionally Ma would find me sitting in Ba’s office, which adjoined the sitting room. In the winter it was a warm and comfortable place, lined with his drawings and notes and always with plenty of paper and pencils on his desk. He also had a bookshelf packed with journals and thick books. One day she found me curled up reading in the armchair by his desk, one that she would sit in sometimes while they discussed money.

“I’m glad I have found you . . . I wanted to tell you how very lucky you are. Getting married is not something every girl is fortunate enough to do, particularly to a man with such a good family background. Of course, it should have been your sister . . . they all thought she was so beautiful and talented. Please, never let her memory down. Do not disrespect her name and ours.”

Ma had sat down in Ba’s chair. She always sat with a perfectly straight back and her cheongsam was always tidy and clean. She wore very little makeup but always ensured her eyebrows were plucked properly and her hair neatly pushed up into a bun. She did not move without a clear purpose and hated people who fidgeted or moved carelessly, with exaggerated gesticulations. She always wore a warm smile, which stemmed from a genuine belief that what she said to people was in their best interests. That conviction was reflected in her eyes, which she would focus intently on the other person until she had finished speaking.

I listened but I wanted to run.

“You will be the First Wife of the eldest son of a very highly regarded family. This is your sister’s legacy to you and you should be very grateful. Your sister herself told me she was so very happy to give this opportunity to you, if the Sang family asked.

“I wish that your father’s family had been so well-respected and influential in the community. We would have been a great family. Think of all the things I could have done.”

She paused, perhaps to remind herself of all those things, something she had probably done hundreds of times before, each time hating Ba a little more. I wanted to ask what she would have done differently but I could not.

“But will it be like Grandfather and Grandmother?” I suddenly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Grandfather wants to be with Grandmother all the time. Even though she died so many years ago, he has often told me how much he still wants to be with her.”

“Women have to be sensible. We cannot all live like your grandfather, hiding in gardens and playing in dirt. This is a very good match for you, you are very lucky. As I have told you many times before, you need to learn quickly not to be so foolish!” Ma snapped.

She looked at me, giving me the opportunity to reply, but I had nothing to say. It was too late for that. She finished and left me alone. I stayed in Ba’s office and waited to see if he would come in, but after several hours I realized there was still no one in the house except for Ma and myself. By the time I left the room, it was growing dark as the maids had yet to light the candles and lamps. It was mid-autumn and the days were quickly growing shorter and colder.

Ma and I never spoke about Sister again. I floated around the house like a ghost, waiting for the first day of the wedding ceremony. Ma forced me to practice how to walk in my dresses, change my clothes, how I should behave and perform during the tea ceremonies. The wedding ceremony itself required me to change four times; there was another dress for the tea ceremonies and several more for the banquets. Ma did not explain any of this with any of the excitement and anticipation she had shown while discussing it with Sister, merely ensured that she had instructed me in everything she felt I should know in order to behave correctly. It was a job that must be done. Alas, all this teaching did not stay with me more than a few minutes after I had been instructed. I did not want to think of it.

The whole wedding ceremony would last three days, with several banquets and tea ceremonies in which I and my husband would serve tea to both families. My eighteenth birthday would fall in the week following the wedding. I imagined my new family might welcome me with a celebration then; perhaps Grandfather would be invited to visit.

In between the practicing, the fittings, and the loneliness, I thought about my husband-to-be. He still looked to me like a giant glazed piglet, with his fat shiny face and flat nose with pronounced nostrils. His hair was always worn neatly parted and swept across to his left ear. He was not elegant like Ba but round and heavy-looking. Grandfather had told me he had been to university and was near the top of his class, the first of his family to attend, and he did look very clever behind his glasses. He had spoken to me when he had been waiting for Sister and had seemed friendly and kind enough, his name was Sang Xiong Fa and I would be his wife. I did not want to marry this man or any man.

S
ince Grandfather had left, my parents and I would have dinner together. I would sit on one side of the table and Ma and Ba on the other. Every night we ate in silence, Ma picking small pieces of food and Ba quietly and slowly chewing. We both waited for Ma to say something, but she never did. There was only one question that would break our silence. I thought of nothing else, because everything, I felt, stemmed from this question. Yet I could not speak a word about it until Ma had spoken to me. I could not speak out of turn, and she seemed content for all of us to keep silent.

The night before the ceremony I realized I must ask. I simply could not stop myself. I could not sit and eat another meal with them, because I could not eat anymore. Everything that came from our kitchen seemed tasteless and without nourishment. Toward the end of the meal, the maids had served the rice and left. We started on our bowls and I spoke. Ba looked up, startled that I had dared to speak. I looked at Ma but all I could see was the narrowing of her pupils. I stared at her hard and asked the question again. She kept on eating but I could see her eyes hardening, holding me again and forcing me to be quiet. I was determined that this time it would be different.

“Why?” I asked.

She continued to look at me without any reaction, then glanced down into her bowl and continued to eat. After another mouthful she reached over and put some food on my plate.

“You should eat to keep your strength. You do not want to be ill for the ceremonies.” It was her only response.

My question would remain unacknowledged because it needed no answer: the answer was already part of history itself. Unlike the ancient dead empire whose language described the flowers and trees, China had flourished and survived for five thousand years. It had survived because it must. It had survived by forcing its people to adhere willingly to ancient customs and rules, no matter what self-mutilation and pain that entailed or what self-deception was required.

Ba glanced at me, then quickly focused on something behind me. His gaze returned timidly to me, but only for a moment. He continued to eat.

I finished and left to go to my room, where I sat waiting for tomorrow. Ba came to my door. I could hear him breathing on the other side of it. I felt his hand press against the paneling and after a short while it sounded like he was crying. A long time later he walked away. I did not understand why he could not come in and talk to me. I wanted him to tell me there was nothing to fear, but he could not.

I was woken at around half past four in the morning to wash and dress. It was still dark and the servants were tired. There was a chill in the air and everything was cold to the touch. We worked in silence, my only distraction a few moments spent running the stitching of the gown between my finger and thumb so that I could feel the work of Bi’s mother.

After bathing, I stood naked in front of the mirror, waiting for the maids to dress me. My body looked young and weak. I had rarely studied myself so closely. Physical relationships with people were never discussed, and comments about one’s own body, apart from height and weight, avoided. Only lower-class people would even mention such things.

I looked at myself more closely. My skin was still slightly brown from the summer sun and, although that would fade, it would never become the milky white so many women, and men, sought. I saw my own height and felt large, even though I knew from comparison with Sister’s that my body was slender. My legs had little scars on them where the grass had cut me when I ran through the gardens. My feet were muscular and flat from treading the hard ground. My breasts were small and my nipples seemed too big. I wondered if I would have a baby that would suckle from me one day.

The maids plucked my eyebrows and rubbed my skin with balm. A woman entered to apply the makeup and to coil my hair so that it disappeared into the wedding headdress. Once that was done I saw that I looked like Sister. I did not recognize myself. I put on the dress and stood waiting. The palanquin would arrive in three hours to take me to my fiancé’s house. I could not even cry, could not feel or understand what any of this meant.