Chinese Cinderella (26 page)

Time went by relentlessly and it was Saturday again. Eight weeks more and it would be the end of term . . . in my case perhaps the end of school forever.

Four of us were playing Monopoly. My heart was not in it and I was losing steadily. Outside it was hot and there was a warm wind blowing. The radio warned of a possible typhoon the next day. It was my turn and I threw the dice. As I played, the thought of leaving school throbbed at the back of my mind like a persistent toothache.

‘Adeline!’ Ma‐mien Valentino was calling.

‘You can’t go now,’ Mary protested. ‘For once I’m winning. One, two, three, four. Good! You’ve landed on my property. Thirty‐five dollars, please. Oh, good afternoon, Mother Valentino!’

We all stood up and greeted her.

‘Adeline, didn’t you hear me call you? Hurry up downstairs! Your chauffeur is waiting to take you home!’

Full of foreboding, I ran downstairs as in a nightmare, wondering who had died this time. Father’s chauffeur assured me everyone was healthy.

‘Then why are you taking me home?’ I asked.

‘How should
I
know?’ he answered defensively, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. They give the orders and I carry them out.’

During the short drive home, my heart was full of dread and I wondered what I had done wrong. Our car stopped at an elegant villa at mid‐level, halfway up the hill between the peak and the harbour.

‘Where are we?’ I asked foolishly.

‘Don’t you know anything?’ the chauffeur replied rudely. ‘This is your new home. Your parents moved here a few months ago.’

‘I had forgotten,’ I said as I got out.

Ah Gum opened the door. Inside, it was quiet and cool.

‘Where is everyone?’

‘Your mother is out playing bridge. Your two brothers and Little Sister are sunbathing by the swimming‐pool. Your father is in his room and wants to see you as soon as you get home.’

‘See me in his room?’ I was overwhelmed by the thought that I had been summoned by Father to enter the Holy of Holies – a place to which I had never been invited. Why? Was I to be forced into an arranged marriage?

Timidly, I knocked on the door. Father was alone, looking relaxed in his slippers and bathrobe, reading a newspaper. He smiled as I entered and I saw he was in a happy mood. I breathed a small sigh of relief at first but became uneasy again when I wondered why he was being so nice, thinking, Is this a giant ruse on his part to trick me? Dare I let my guard down?

‘Sit down! Sit down!’ He pointed to a chair. ‘Don’t look so scared. Here, take a look at this! They’re writing about someone we both know, I think.’

He handed me the day’s newspaper and there, in one corner, I saw my name ADELINE YEN in capital letters prominently displayed.

‘It was announced today that 14‐year‐old Hong Kong schoolgirl ADELINE JUN‐LING YEN of Sacred Heart Canossian School, Caine Road, Hong Kong, has won first prize in the International Play‐writing Competition held in London, England, for the 1951–1952 school year. It is the first time that any local Chinese student from Hong Kong has won such a prestigious event. Besides a medal, the prize comes with a cash reward of FIFTY ENGLISH POUNDS. Our sincere congratulations, ADELINE YEN, for bringing honour to Hong Kong. We are proud of you.’

Is it possible? Am I dreaming? Me, the winner?

‘I was going up the lift this morning with my friend C. Y. Tung when he showed me this article and asked me, “Is the winner Adeline Jun‐ling Yen related to you? The two of you have the same uncommon last name.” Now C.Y. himself has a few children about your age but so far none of them has won an international literary prize, as far as I know. So I was quite pleased to tell him you are my daughter. Well done!’

He looked radiant. For once, he was proud of me. In front of his revered colleague, C. Y. Tung, a prominent fellow businessman also from Shanghai, I had given him face. I thought, Is this the big moment I have been waiting for? My whole being vibrated with all the joy in the world. I only had to stretch out my hand to reach the stars.

‘Tell me, how did you do it?’ he continued. ‘How come
you
won?’

‘Well, the rules and regulations were so very complicated. One really has to be dedicated just to understand what they want. Perhaps I was the only one determined enough to enter and there were no other competitors!’

He laughed approvingly. ‘I doubt it very much but that’s a good answer.’

‘Please, Father,’ I asked boldly, thinking it was now or never. ‘May I go to university in England too, just like my brothers?’

‘I do believe you have potential. Tell me, what would you study?’

My heart gave a giant lurch as it dawned on me that he was agreeing to let me go. How marvellous it was simply to be alive! Study? I thought. Going to England is like entering heaven. Does it matter what you do after you get to heaven?

But Father was expecting an answer. What about creative writing? After all, I had just won first prize in an international writing competition!

‘I plan to study literature. I’ll be a writer.’

‘Writer!’ he scoffed. ‘You are going to starve! What language are you going to write in and who is going to read your writing? Though you may think you’re an expert in both Chinese and English, your Chinese is actually rather elementary. As for your English, don’t you think the native English speakers can write better than you?’

I waited in silence. I did not wish to contradict him.

‘You will go to England with Third Brother this summer and you will go to medical school. After you graduate, you will specialise in obstetrics. Women will always be having babies. Women patients prefer women doctors. You will learn to deliver their babies. That’s a foolproof profession for you. Don’t you agree?’

Agree? Of course I agreed. Apparently, he had it all planned out. As long as he let me go to university in England, I would study anything he wished. How did that line go in Wordsworth’s poem?
Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive
.

‘Father, I shall go to medical school in England and become a doctor. Thank you very, very much.’

Chapter Twenty‐two

Letter from
Aunt Baba

22 September, 1952

My precious little treasure,

What a surprise to hear from you after four long years and to learn that you are on your way with Third Brother to study in Oxford, England. Your letter (post‐marked Singapore) gave me more happiness than anything else in the world. The only thing better would be a personal visit from you. Thank you for thinking of me on your long ocean voyage. What an adventure for the two of you!

Here in Shanghai, I share your father’s big house on Avenue Joffre with Miss Chien and two maids. I am tired this evening after my usual long day’s work at the Women’s Bank. However, I have so much in my heart to say to you that I must write to you tonight.

I must confess that I have been much worried about you since we have been apart. Before he passed away in March this year, Ye Ye used to write and give me news of you. I knew Aunt Reine had taken you from Tianjin to Hong Kong and that you were in boarding‐school there. In his last letter to me, Ye Ye was gravely concerned about your future. That is why it is such a pleasant surprise to learn that your father has agreed to send you for further studies in England.

Tonight I miss Ye Ye more than ever and that is another reason why I am writing. Some day, you will be my age and may wish to speak to me but I may no longer be around. Keep in mind always, always, no matter what, that you are worthwhile and very important to me, wherever I may be.

When you were little and things were going badly, you used to run to me and ask me to take away this ‘big, black cloud’ in your head, do you remember? I’d tell you a story and you would fall asleep listening. Here is a new story I want you never to forget. Whenever you feel discouraged, and those clouds come back, take out this letter and read it again. It is a message from your Aunt Baba, who will always hold you precious in her heart.

This story was told to me by my own mother (your Nai Nai) many years before she passed away. It is part of our Chinese folklore.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl called Ye Xian
who lived during the Tang dynasty in China. Her father had two wives and two daughters, one by each wife. Ye Xian’s mother died, followed by her father. Her stepmother maltreated her, showing preference for her own daughter.

Ye Xian was a talented potter and spent her time at the wheel perfecting her skill. People came from far and wide to purchase her pots. Her only friend was a goldfish which she loved. Her stepmother became jealous, caught the fish and ate it, hiding the fishbones under a pile of manure. Ye Xian found the bones and hid them in her room. The presence of the fishbones gave off magical rays which imparted a special sheen to her pots.

A Great Festival was being held but Ye Xian was forbidden by her stepmother to attend. After her stepmother and sister left, Ye Xian dressed herself in a beautiful cloak of kingfisher feathers and a pair of gold shoes which were light and elegant.

At the festival she spoke briefly to the local warlord who was much struck by her beauty. Her stepmother recognised her and gave chase. Ye Xian ran home but lost one of her shoes, which was found by the war‐lord. He ordered all the girls in his kingdom to try it on, but it was too small. The cobbler who made the shoes came forward and told the war‐lord of Ye Xian, who had traded one of her pots for the gold shoes. Through her own talent and effort, Ye Xian had bought the shoes which led eventually to marriage with the war‐lord. They lived happily ever after.

In England and America, your Grand Aunt tells me there is a similar story called Cinderella. In a way, both Ye Xian and Cinderella are like you: children who are mourning for their dead mothers. Their stories may be perceived as talismans against despair.

By winning that prestigious international playwriting competition, you have climbed another rung on the ladder of success. Like Ye Xian, you have defied the odds and garnered triumph through your own efforts. Your future is limitless and I shall always be proud of you,

my Chinese Cinderella.

The Story of
Ye
Xian
:
The Original
Chinese Cinderella