Chinese Cinderella (6 page)

S
ix weeks after Nai Nai’s funeral, Ye Ye took Big Sister, Big Brother, Second Brother and me for an outing. To our surprise, our car stopped first at the railroad station. After instructing our chauffeur to wait outside in the car, Ye Ye marched the four of us onto a crowded platform marked with a sign ‘To Shanghai’. There, in a first‐class compartment, we came face to face with Father, sitting by himself. He was dressed in a black suit and black tie. His eyes were red and he had been crying.

We were delighted and astonished. Big Sister asked, ‘How long have you been back, Father?’ He told her he had just arrived a few hours ago but was planning to leave again almost immediately. He said he missed us and was in Tianjin specially to escort us south to Shanghai. He told us Shanghai was a large port city one thousand miles away and our Grand Aunt owned a big bank there. Father, Niang and Fourth Brother had been living there for one and a half years. Since Third Brother was still recuperating from measles, he would join us later with Little Sister, Ye Ye and Aunt Baba. Being devout Buddhists, Ye Ye and Aunt Baba wished to observe the traditional hundred‐day religious mourning‐period for Nai Nai before leaving Tianjin.

‘What about our clothes?’ Big Brother asked.

‘Aunt Baba is arranging to have them delivered separately,’ Father replied. ‘If you had taken too much luggage with you, the servants would have become suspicious. It’s important that the servants know nothing about my whereabouts. Otherwise, the Japanese might arrest me. During the train journey, talk to each other as little as possible so you’ll give nothing away. Now, say goodbye to your Ye Ye! The train is leaving in five minutes!’

Father’s Shanghai house was situated on Avenue Joffre, deep in the heart of the French Concession. It was a big, square, dark‐grey concrete building, just like all the other sixty‐nine houses within the same ‘long tang’, a cluster of houses surrounded by a communal wall. Father’s chauffeur drove us from the station through the main lane of our ‘long tang’, turned left into a narrower alley‐way, and stopped in front of a wrought‐iron gate. Father led us into a charming garden, with a small lawn lined by clipped camellia bushes, a magnolia tree with wonderfully fragrant blooms, and a wishing‐well next to a wooden dog‐house. A large, ferocious‐looking German Shepherd rushed out, jumped excitedly at the sight of Father, but barked at us. I glanced briefly at the large, brutish animal with its sharp teeth and pointed ears. Father noticed and said to me, ‘His name is Jackie. Don’t be afraid of him. Just behave naturally. He is getting obedience training lessons every week from a German dog‐trainer. He won’t dare bite you.’

All the same, I was nervous. I got away and followed Big Brother up three stone steps through tall French doors into the formal living‐room.

‘Here we are!’ Father said, looking around proudly as we gawked in open‐mouthed wonder at the burgundy‐red velvet couches, matching velvet curtains and thick woollen carpet partially covering a teak parquet floor. The wallpaper had long strips of raised velvet napping which matched the curtains. Beautiful white orchids in an antique Ming Dynasty vase rested on an elegant imitation Louis XVI coffee‐table. Everything was ornate, formal, polished and hard.

Niang entered, holding Fourth Brother’s hand. We greeted her timidly. Like the room, our stepmother was stylish and flawless with her large, piercing eyes, long shapely nails painted bright red, and enormous flashing diamonds at her throat, wrist and ears. Standing opposite her made me feel quite shabby and ill at ease.

‘Sit down, all of you! And welcome to our Shanghai home!’ Niang announced in a loud, clear voice. ‘The maids will show you to your rooms. This house consists of three floors. On the ground floor, the living‐room and dining‐room are in the front. The kitchen, garage and servants’ quarters are at the back. You are to enter and leave the house by the back door only. The front gate leading out of the garden is reserved for your father’s guests. So is the living‐room. You are not to invite any of your friends home, or to visit them in their houses.

‘The first floor is where your father and I, and your younger brother and sister, have our rooms. You are not allowed to enter any of the rooms on our floor without our permission.

‘All of you will live on the second floor. You three boys will sleep in the same room. Wu Mei (Fifth Daughter) will share a room with Aunt Baba. Ye Ye and Big Sister will each have a private room. Keep your rooms tidy because your father and I might come up and make an inspection at any time.

‘We have enrolled all of you at very expensive private missionary schools. School starts next Monday. Now go with the maids to your rooms and wash yourselves. In half an hour, Cook will ring the dinner‐bell. As soon as you hear it, all of you will come down at once. Do you understand?’

We nodded solemnly. As we climbed the stairs, Big Brother muttered, ‘To her, we are not separate people. Over here, we have become one single unit known as
all of you
. Seems like this is how it’s going to be from now on.’

Chapter Six

First Day at School

O
n Monday morning, with Aunt Baba still in Tianjin, a maid helped me put on my brand‐new school uniform. It was a little too long, stiff with starch, white in colour and had the name of my new school, Sacred Heart (Sheng Xin
), in bright‐red Chinese characters embroidered on the left breast‐pocket.

After breakfast, I stood in the hallway for what seemed like a very long time waiting for someone to take me to school, wondering who it was going to be. I was excited to be starting first grade in my new primary school, which was located next door to Big Sister’s Aurora Middle School. Big Sister, however, was still in bed. Her classes were scheduled to begin one hour later than mine. The chauffeur had already left to drive my brothers to St John’s Academy, which was in the opposite direction.

I saw Cook wheeling his bicycle through the hallway to go to market. Now he spotted me watching him.

‘Who is taking you to school?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’ I was nervous and couldn’t help shooting a wistful glance at the big clock ticking away on the wall. It was getting late and everyone had forgotten about me. What should I do? I was becoming panic‐stricken and felt tears rolling down my cheeks.

Cook shrugged. ‘It’s certainly not
my
job. No one mentioned anything to me about you.’ He was about to mount his bike and ride away when he noticed my tears. ‘Now, now! Don’t cry! Being late for school isn’t the end of the world . . . oh, all right! Come along then!’ he mumbled gruffly as he lifted me onto the handlebar of his bicycle. ‘Your Sheng Xin Primary School happens to be right next to the market. Sit here quietly and don’t squirm. We’ll be there in no time at all.’

After school was let out in the early afternoon, I waited with all the other first‐graders by the school gate. One by one they were greeted and led away by their anxiously hovering mothers. Eventually, I was the only one left. Nobody had come for me. The metal gate slowly clanged shut behind me as I watched my classmates disperse, each clutching her mother’s hand and eagerly recounting the adventures of her first day at school. After a long time, I peered through a crack into the deserted playground. Not a person was in sight. Cautiously, I pushed against the massive iron gate. It was firmly locked. Trembling with fear, I realised that nobody was coming to pick me up. Too embarrassed to knock or draw attention to myself, I walked out tentatively into the Shanghai streets. Surely, if I tried hard enough, I would remember the way home.

It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. At first I wandered along a wide, straight road lined with tall, leafy trees. Motor cars, trams, rickshaws, pedicabs and bicycles whizzed by. I kept walking but dared not cross the road, glancing briefly at the open‐fronted stores overhung with colourful, upright, bilingual signboards. I turned a corner and now the pavements seethed with people and noise and commotion: coolies shouldering heavy loads on bamboo poles; hawkers selling toys, crickets in cages, fans, cold tea, candies, meat‐filled buns, spring rolls, tea‐eggs and fermented bean curd; stalls and booths offering services such as hair‐cuts, shaves, dental care, letter‐writing, extraction of ear wax; beggars banging tin cups and chanting for a handout. Except for me, everyone was striding along purposefully, going somewhere. Everyone had a destination. I must have walked for miles and miles. But where was I?

Should I enter a shop and ask for directions? But I didn’t know my home address. What should I say? Should I approach that kindly old storekeeper smiling at me from the doorway of his antique shop and tell him, ‘Please, sir, I want to go home.’ But, where
was
my home?

It was getting dark. Bright neon signs in blue, yellow, red and orange came on and were blinking at me. Had anyone at home missed me? Did they think I was still at school? Were they looking for me? What should I do?

I walked past a bustling, brightly lit dim sum shop. Such a wonderful aroma was wafting through the door! Through the plate‐glass window, I saw roast ducks, soya‐sauce chickens, and hunks of glistening roast pork hanging from hooks. There was a young chef wielding his cleaver and deftly chopping a duck into bite‐sized pieces on a wooden block. Wouldn’t it be heavenly to be given a slice of meat? But that might be too much to hope for. I would be quite content with a piece of bone to chew on. As I salivated, I imagined the taste of the food sliding down my throat. Breakfast seemed such a long time ago!

Someone was touching my shoulder. I started and looked up. A large, red‐faced woman whom I had just seen bustling around the tables in the restaurant was speaking to me. ‘You have been standing here for almost half an hour. What’s your mother doing that she would leave you waiting out here all by yourself? Doesn’t she know it’s dangerous for a little girl your age to be hanging around on the street like this? Are you supposed to have dinner with her here?’

Terrified, I lowered my head and shuffled my feet. ‘Come and wait for her inside,’ she commanded as she glanced at my brand‐new school uniform. ‘My daughter started school today too.’

Inside, it was hot and noisy. I stood hesitantly by the door. Suddenly, I noticed a black telephone next to the cash register! Why, just yesterday, Big Brother and I were playing and he taught me a new ‘numbers’ game he had just invented. ‘Take any number and add, subtract, multiply, or divide it. The one who first comes up with number 13 wins!’

‘What number should we use, Big Brother?’ I had asked.

‘Run downstairs and get our telephone number,’ he’d said. ‘It’s marked on the front of the telephone in the stairway.’

I’d rushed down for the number and we’d played with it all afternoon: backwards and forwards, breaking it down and building it up again. 79281! That was it! 79281!

Finally, Big Brother had won! He’d broken 79281 into 9, 8, 21 and 7:

9 – 8 = 1

21 ÷ 7 = 3

He’d then placed the number 3 to the right of the number 1 and got 13, thereby winning the game. I had clapped my hands in glee and admiration. I felt honoured that Big Brother had deigned to play with me all afternoon.

No one was looking when I picked up the phone and dialled. Father answered on the third ring.

‘Speak up!’ Father was shouting. ‘There is so much background noise. Who is it?’

‘It’s your daughter, Fifth Daughter (Wu Mei
).’