Spilled Water (8 page)

Chapter Eighteen

You Have to Leave

One evening, when I had retired to my room and was on the verge of falling asleep, a furious row erupted in the apartment.
I crept over to my door and tried to make out what was going on, but the voices were too muffled. Intrigued, I opened the
door slightly, and heard my name spoken by Mr Chen. I heard Mrs Hong arguing with him, saying that she wouldn’t allow him
to do it if that was what they were planning, that it was wrong, that she couldn’t believe that a son of hers would behave
in such a way. I heard Mrs Chen telling her to be quiet and to mind her own business. Mrs Hong retorted that it was very much
her business and that her daughter-in-law should learn some respect. Mr Chen told her firmly that it was not her place to
interfere and that she must leave the subject alone. His words were final. A door slammed. I scuttled back to bed.

Several days later, Mrs Chen went out and left a carer in charge of Mrs Hong. I went about my duties as usual. Before very
long, though, I heard the apartment door open and close, and Mrs Hong’s wheelchair approaching. She came into the kitchen
and said, ‘That’s got rid of her. Now, Lu Si-yan, put down that saucepan and listen.’

I did as I was told.

‘My daughter-in-law might take me for an old fool, but I’m not senile yet. I have finally got to the bottom of what is going
on here, Lu Si-yan, and I am appalled. It’s wrong. My son and daughter-in-law, however, seem determined to ignore my views.
But I won’t let it happen. You have to leave. You have to leave now.’

I stared at her in amazement, unable to take in what she meant.

‘We haven’t much time, child,’ continued Mrs Hong. ‘My daughter-in-law may be back at any moment.’

She reached into the handbag on her lap and pulled out a purse. ‘I want you to take this. There should be enough to get you
home and quite a bit to spare for your family.’

I hesitated. How could I take this kindly old lady’s money?

‘Don’t argue, Lu Si-yan. I am well looked after, even if they do treat me like an invalid. I want you to have it. It’s the
least I can do to make up for my family’s behaviour. Now run and collect your things together.’

I hesitated again, then took the purse from her and ran to my room. I grabbed my old blouse from behind the chest of drawers
and piled my clothes into a carrier bag. My coat was hanging on the back of my door. Should I take it? Wouldn’t it be stealing?
It would be cold outside though, and all I was wearing was my servant’s dress. I put the coat on and walked back to the kitchen.
The enormity of what I was about to do made me shudder with apprehension.

Mrs Hong held her arms open and beckoned me towards her. I went to her and hugged her tight.

‘Go home, Lu Si-yan,’ she said. ‘Go and find that brother of yours.’

‘And my mother,’ I said.

‘But your mother –’ Mrs Hong began.

‘My mother is alive, Mrs Hong. I am not an orphan. Only my father is dead.’

The old lady’s face flashed anger, followed by despair. ‘Then go to your mother. She must be missing you terribly. Give me
your address and I will tell her to expect you.’

I quickly wrote it down, while Mrs Hong wheeled herself to the apartment door, took a key from her bag, and opened it.

‘Good luck, Lu Si-yan. Remember me sometimes.’

‘I will, Mrs Hong, and thank you.’

Chapter Nineteen

What’s Gone is Gone

I ran down the twenty-two flights of steps, too fearful to take the lift in case Mrs Chen should arrive back unexpectedly
and catch me in it. When I reached the front door, I checked carefully that no one was watching, slipped out on to the busy
street and mingled with a passing group of pedestrians. The freezing air shocked me. It was the middle of winter. The dense,
dull, grey sky threatened snow. I was glad I had taken the coat Mrs Chen had bought me, though what a waste of money it had
proved until now.

I turned into the first side road I came to. Initially on a level, leading me back behind the row of new apartment blocks
where the Chens lived, this road suddenly dropped steeply and took me towards the derelict buildings I had seen from my bedroom
window. I glanced back up at the new apartments, trying to work out which one was the Chens’, hoping to wave one final farewell
to Mrs Hong. But the windows were all blank canvases.

As I drew nearer to the derelict buildings, I was surprised to see that though they were appallingly dirty and crumbling,
several of them were still occupied, their balconies hung with washing and cluttered with bicycles, tin baths, old stoves
and other worldly possessions. A grubby-faced little girl waved at me from one of the higher balconies. I waved back and thought
how lucky I was to have grown up with my father’s luscious green terraces all around me, with fresh eggs every day, with the
river running close by, and the air clean and transparent.

The road petered out. I turned right along another decaying street, and was surprised this time to find a row of shops, their
owners trading as though nothing was happening around them and the new town above didn’t exist. Was the attraction of a brand
new apartment, a brand new shop, insufficient to tear them away from this squalor?

Yet how could I even ask myself such a question? This was where their roots were, this was their home. I was looking at these
people through the eyes of someone who had lived in a luxurious apartment for the past four months, and some of that must
have rubbed off on me. I knew that I would not have questioned their decision to stay, nor even noticed the squalor, before
I had been exposed to the Chens’ immaculate lifestyle.

I walked faster, partly because of the sense of freedom I began to feel, partly because I did not want to attract too much
attention. I turned down a quiet, narrow alleyway to continue my descent towards the river. Shortly, I came to the wasteland
that had lain grey and melancholy as a backdrop to my bedroom panorama. The scale of it took my breath away. To the right
and left, for as far as I could see, there was nothing but pile upon pile of dust-smothered rubble, the odd twisted pipe sticking
up through it as though searching for a vital puff of air. I started to pick my way across it, my progress slowed by the unevenness
of the ground. Looking at the rubble more closely, in order to avoid treading in potholes or cutting myself on jagged edges,
I spotted tiny fragments of the lives that were once lived where I now stood. A doll’s head, a strip of blue material, an
old shoe, a broken bowl. Ahead of me, I saw a man and a woman pulling at the rubble with their hands as though they were looking
for something. Had they lived there once? I wondered if they had left some indispensable part of their lives behind them and
were now engaged in a frantic search to find it. Or were they simply hoping to find treasure amongst the fallen landmarks
of somebody else’s life?

I reached a path and quickened my pace again. It narrowed and began to slope abruptly. I followed its meandering line with
my eyes. It led all the way down to the river, where a ferry was moored and dozens of people were milling around. My heart
skipped a beat. Nearly there. Freedom just a few hundred yards away.

I broke into a jog. The path gave way to coarse grass on either side. Ahead of me, the ferry passengers were strung out along
the path, large bundles tied to their backs. I realised that they were coming in my direction, that the crowd by the ferry
had disappeared. I saw then that the ferry was moving away. Even as I realised that I had missed it, I kept running towards
it in some vague hope that it might stop.

‘’Fraid you’re too late, dear,’ the first man I reached said. ‘There won’t be another one till morning now.’

‘But there’s got to be,’ I replied. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Seven o’clock tomorrow morning’s the next one. Nothing till then.’

The straggle of climbers passed me one by one as I stood in the middle of the path gazing in utter dismay at the departing
ferry. What was I to do? By now the Chens might well be scouring the streets of the old town for me. It was late afternoon.
Where could I go until the morning?

The last of the ferry passengers walked by, several of them staring at me curiously. I hurried down the path and waited for
them to disappear along the streets behind me. To the left of the path, some hundred yards away, the remains of a small dwelling
protruded through the grass. When I was sure nobody was looking, I scrambled over to it. The stubs of the walls were just
high enough, if I lay down, to screen me from the path and protect me from the bitter wind. I decided to stay there until
darkness fell, then to find somewhere in the old town to spend the night.

With my coat wrapped tightly around me and my bag clutched in my hand, despite my fear of being found and the constant noise
from boats labouring along the river, I fell asleep.

It was twilight by the time I woke again. The surrounding peace was punctuated every so often by warning sirens from somewhere
along the river, but otherwise all was quiet. I left the safety of my hideout and made my way back up the path through the
wasteland towards the old town. As I drew closer, I could see that the shop-lined street was still busy with people fetching
last-minute provisions, chatting with friends, playing cards, eating meals at pavement tables, the heat from ash-filled grill
cookers keeping them warm. Although I was hungry by now, I dared not stop to buy food, nor to thaw my frozen fingers. I slipped
quickly past the end of the street, and kept going until I found a whole row of deserted apartment blocks. The door of one
of them was partially open. I pushed it hard to make enough room to squeeze through, listened for any sound that might mean
it was occupied, then ran up the stairs right to the top floor and into a room at the front.

A meagre thread of light penetrated through the cracked windows. The room was bare apart from a filthy blanket in one corner,
a pile of old electrical wire in another, and a scattering of litter across the floor. It’s only for one night, I told myself.
I sat down on the broken floorboards with my back against a wall. I was too scared and too cold to go to sleep. I kept hearing
unfamiliar noises: creaks and scratches and rasps and whines. I prayed that there were no rats around. Surely they wouldn’t
climb that high. Part of me began to long for the comfortable bed in my room at the Chens’, but I reproached myself for even
thinking that I wanted to go back.

Then I heard footsteps on the stairs. Two sets. Men’s voices. I grabbed the filthy blanket and pulled it over me in terror.
I shrank into the corner, hoping that if I made myself as small as possible I wouldn’t be noticed. The footsteps kept on coming.
The voices grew louder. They were outside the room. I heard a door creak, then close. The voices immediately became muffled.
The two men had gone into the room opposite and closed the door behind them.

It was stifling under the foul-smelling blanket. I lifted it away from my face, only to be teased by the smell of food. The
men were obviously eating next door. I could hear music too. I was desperate for them to leave. Why couldn’t they have chosen
one of the other apartment blocks? Why mine? They were probably regular visitors. I wondered whether to steal out of the building
while they had their door closed, but it was dark outside now, as well as freezing cold, and I was too scared to move in case
they heard me. I could only hope that they would leave me alone in my room while they remained locked in theirs.

After perhaps an hour, maybe two hours, the voices and the music stopped. I was struggling to keep my eyes open, but I stayed
awake for another half an hour or so, before deciding that the two men must be asleep and that I was safe at least for a while.
I lay down, pulled the collar of my coat round my ears, wrapped the blanket round the lower part of my body and hid my bag
under it as well, then fell asleep myself.

I woke again at dawn, stiff with cold and ravenous. All was quiet in the building. The ferry would leave, I judged, in about
an hour. I had to be on it. I couldn’t stay here another day and night, but how would I know whether it was safe to leave?
I decided that the only thing I could do would be to make a dash for it. I waited for another nerve-wracking stretch of time.
There was still no sound from the room across the hall. I stood up quietly and stretched my legs, picked up my bag, then moved
silently towards the door. I peered round it and my heart skipped a beat. The door opposite was open. I listened hard. Not
a sound. The men must have gone already. I took a deep breath, leapt out into the hallway, then belted down the stairs, two
at a time, and out through the front door.

It had snowed during the night. A sprinkling covered the ground, smoothing its jagged edges and bleaching the greyness from
the landscape. The murky sky suggested there was more to come. I hurried down the path, joining a steady stream of people
who were also heading for the river. Their early-morning chatter cheered me, a sense of excitement eclipsed my fears.

As I drew closer to the waiting ferry, I scoured the quayside for the Chens, but saw no one of their grandeur. I mingled with
a large group of women who, it appeared from their conversation, were on their way to work at a factory further down the river,
and boarded the ferry with them. It seemed an eternity before the engines started up, but at last they roared into action.
The horn sounded, and we moved slowly, slowly away from the landing stage, away from a period of my life I was only too happy
to leave behind.

The ferry picked up speed. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was safe at last. I would stay on the ferry for as long as possible,
then make my way home somehow or other, by bus or by train. It couldn’t be that difficult, I thought, to work out a route
back. I stood by the edge and gazed over to the far side of the river, where buildings lower down had been obliterated and
smallholdings abandoned. Higher up, another new town stood proud.

‘Lucky people, aren’t they?’

A rather overweight man had come to stand next to me. I looked at him, bewildered. He pointed across the water.

‘Nice new homes they’ve got now. New jobs too, most of them. Nice warm factories instead of having to break their backs digging
for a pittance.’

I didn’t think my family would have agreed. Father had always refused to work in a factory, however much Uncle had tried to
persuade him. I didn’t want to talk to this man, though. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts.

‘Are you going far?’ he asked.

I nodded but made no effort to continue the conversation, hoping he’d go away.

‘Bit young to be on your own, aren’t you?’

‘I’m older than I look,’ I said, trying to sound tough.

‘Old enough to work?’ he continued. ‘My wife and I, we’re always on the lookout for girls to work in our factories. You won’t
find better.’

‘I don’t want to work in a factory,’ I said. ‘I’m going home.’

‘That’s our loss, then,’ said the man. ‘I hope you have a good journey.’ He flashed me a smile before turning away.

I was relieved that at that moment the ticket man approached me.

‘Where to, Miss?’ he asked.

‘All the way, please.’

He told me how much I had to pay and I reached into my bag to take out the money. I delved down to the bottom, my fingers
itching to touch the fat wad of crisp notes Mrs Hong had given me. I couldn’t find it. I could feel my face turning red, my
heart thumping. I searched around with my hand, then opened the bag wider and pulled out my clothes to look underneath. The
money wasn’t there.

‘Got a problem, Miss?’ asked the ticket man.

‘My money – it’s gone. Someone’s taken my money,’ I wailed. It hit me like a sledgehammer, the awful realisation that it must
have been the men I had heard in the night. I knew something had been wrong that morning. It was the pile of electrical wire.
It had gone. The men had come into my room for the wire. They had discovered me sound asleep. They had found my bag and stolen
my money.

I must have fainted at the thought of it, for the next thing I knew I was sitting on the floor of the ferry being comforted
by a tiny woman.

‘Don’t you worry, my darling,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve paid your fare. You just sit there until you feel better.’

‘But the money,’ I sobbed, as I realised again what had happened. ‘I need it to get home. My mother’s expecting me.’

‘What a terrible stroke of luck you’ve suffered, but I’m afraid there’s no use crying,’ said the woman, not unkindly. ‘What’s
gone is gone.’

I hauled myself to my feet, aware of the pitying stares of the other passengers.

‘You don’t understand,’ I sobbed again. ‘I need it for my mother. I can’t go home without it.’

‘That bad, eh?’ sympathised the woman. ‘I wonder if there’s anything my husband and I can do to help you.’

She called across the boat, and the fat man who had spoken to me earlier came over to us.

‘This young lady’s had her money stolen, poor thing,’ she said to him. ‘And there she was saving it to help her poor mother.’

‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to,’ said the man. ‘It’s always the good folk who get taken advantage of.’

‘We can help her though, can’t we?’ urged the woman. ‘Help her earn some money for her family.’

‘Like I told her, we employ a lot of young girls in our factories,’ said the man, ‘but she doesn’t want to work in a factory,
so I’m afraid we can’t really help.’