The Language of Threads (26 page)

“In the end, it doesn't matter what words are said or unsaid.” Song Lee sipped her tea. “Life's mistakes are made whether you can see them or not. What counts is how we learn to live with them.”

Pei nodded.

“And what of the father?” Song Lee asked.

Pei sighed. “It doesn't seem as if he has any intention of taking responsibility. Ji Shen found him with another woman.”

“The dirty dog!” Song Lee said under her breath.

Pei paused in her mending and looked her friend in the eye. “From what I know, it might be best if she were rid of him.”

“Whatever happens from this moment on, we're all part of Ji Shen's family here, and we will welcome this child,” Song Lee said.

Pei continued with her work. Her needle and thread slipped
in and out of the material with ease. After so many difficult months, she felt as if the heaviness had been lifted from her shoulders.

In the days after peace came, Pei saw most of the silk sisters return to work as domestic servants. Song Lee and her committees had organized more meetings in the last month to help situate them. While some returned to their old households, many were placed in new positions, whose number increased each week with the growing prosperity of the colony. The interruption in their normal life was over, and Hong Kong again offered her sisters a means of sustenance.

Before long, the boardinghouse was nearly empty of Pei's sisters. Pei herself was wondering if she might start a seamstress business of her own. Her skills as an invisible mender had continued to grow through the occupation. Hong Kong Tai tais were anxious for their old and new dresses to be ready for them now that the round of parties had begun again. Pei dreamed of opening a small shop in Wan Chai, near the boardinghouse, so she wouldn't be far from Ji Shen and the baby when it came. She hadn't told Song Lee yet, but she had no intention of returning to the false smiles and difficult personalities that came along with working in a big house with a new Tai tai and Seen-san.

It was a bittersweet time for Pei. Just after the Japanese surrender in September of 1945, the Japanese soldiers withdrew and the British civilians interned at Stanley were officially released. But most of the ex-prisoners stayed on at the camp for a month or more, for lack of transport and housing.

Meanwhile, Ji Shen was having a difficult pregnancy. Ever since she told Pei about the baby, she felt so nauseated she stayed in bed each morning, barely able to speak.

With Song Lee watching Ji Shen, Pei caught a ride with Mr. Ma out to Stanley in mid-October. She felt a burning need to visit Mrs. Finch's grave and see Stanley Camp one last time.

As they drove through the Hong Kong streets, Pei saw how rapidly the city had regained some of its former glory. After the British government had regained possession of the island, they immediately set to work repairing all the destruction done during the three years and eight months of Japanese occupation. Within a month of their return, the rubble had been cleared and the pockmarked streets were temporarily patched with gravel and tar. The boarded-up windows of businesses, Pei saw, had been replaced with plate glass. Even a few electric trolley lines, quickly repaired, were running again.

Every now and then a car came lumbering down the road, and Mr. Ma would swing abruptly to the side, but cars were still scarce. The streets, though, bustled with Chinese entrepreneurs who raced to rebuild the businesses stalled during the occupation.

The entire ride flitted by like a dream, filled with the soft touch of the approaching ocean and the sweet smells of the cooler, fresher air. Pei sat back and tried to remember the last time she'd felt so light and happy.

A truckload of British soldiers stood by the front gates of Stanley Camp. Most prisoners had already been transferred back to Hong Kong. The camp felt deserted. Pei tried to imagine how it must have felt to be held captive for so long. How many others, along with Mrs. Finch, had died during their long imprisonment?

Pei climbed the dirt path to the cemetery. Only four months had passed since Mrs. Finch died, and already her grave looked as if it'd been there for years. “If only you could have stayed with us a little while longer,” Pei whispered as she touched the wooden marker, fingering the fading black letters of her name. She wished Mrs. Finch were alive to help her with Ji Shen's pregnancy. How would they ever be able to take care of a baby and still go out
and make a living? A sudden warm breeze stirred. Pei looked up at the bright glint of the sun, which awakened the sudden memory of Mrs. Finch's jewelry, taped behind the dresser. She had expected to give it back to Mrs. Finch when the occupation was over. Now that she was gone, Pei knew exactly how Mrs. Finch would want her to use it. It might even be enough for her to open a small seamstress shop while they waited for the baby's birth. Another gust of wind blew, and Pei could almost swear she heard Mrs. Finch's voice say, “That's my girl.”

Pei glanced down at Ho Yung's card to make sure it matched the address on the rusty gate. Now that she had the means, she needed someone with the resourcefulness to help her rent a shop. The house was old and large, not unlike Lin's old house in Canton that Pei had visited so many years ago. Its square brown walls were in need of paint, and the bushes were unkempt and overgrown.

Pei stood at the front door. She had no idea what she would say to Ho Yung if he was home. She had spoken to him only once in all these years, and had barely known him before Lin died, but he was the only one she could turn to. She lifted the knocker and let it fall hard several times against the door. There wasn't a moment in the past eight years that Pei hadn't wished Lin were still with her, guiding them with her strength. It felt just like yesterday that they returned to Lin's home in Canton. Once again Pei felt the cold fear of leaving Yung Kee and being in Lin's childhood home for the first time.

“Yes, yes,” a voice boomed from behind the door.

Pei took a step back as the door swung open and an older, thinner Mui stood before her. For a moment Pei didn't know what to say to Lin's childhood servant.

“We aren't hiring anyone today!” Mui snapped, taking Pei for one of the many men and women who went from house to house looking for a day's work.

“I'm not looking for work,” Pei quickly said. “I was wondering if Wong seen-san was in.”

Mui stopped at the sound of her voice. She stepped closer to scrutinize Pei, squinting. Then, as if drawing from deep down in her memory, Mui said, “You came with Lin.”

Pei nodded.

“Yes, the tall one who made her so happy. Come in, come in.” Mui took Pei's hand and pulled her into the cool, dark entrance.

“Is Wong seen-san at home?” Pei asked again.

“Come this way.” Mui led Pei into a large sitting room, devoid of any furniture but a few wooden chairs. “The Japanese devils came. Took everything. You wait here.” Before Pei could say anything else, Mui quickly disappeared.

Pei wandered over to the fireplace and the small picture frames perched on the mantel. They were the only objects left in the room. Everything else had been stripped to the hardwood floors. Only from so close up did Pei see that the grainy photos showed Lin and her brothers as small children—their spirits frozen in black and white. Pei stared hard at one photo of Lin standing by herself, already beautiful in a light-colored Western-style dress. She must have been no older than ten or eleven when the photo was taken, a few years before she joined the silk work. Pei felt the tears well at the sight of the young Lin, who appeared so alive.

“Pei?” Ho Yung's voice filled the empty room.

Pei swung quickly around, looking first at Ho Yung, then down at the floor so he wouldn't see that she was crying.

“Are you all right?” he asked, walking over to her.

Pei nodded embarrassed. “Yes,” she said. “It's just . . .”

“The photos,” he finished.

Pei looked up at Ho Yung and tried to smile. “I've never seen a photo of her before.” She cleared her throat. “She was so beautiful, even as a child.”

“Lin resembled our mother from the day she was born”—Ho
Yung touched the photo—“but she had my father's heart and strength. She had the best of each of our parents, only to die so young. It still seems so unfair.”

Pei turned away and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her tunic.

“I'm so sorry,” Ho Yung quickly added. “I didn't mean to upset you. Please sit.”

Pei sat down just as Mui returned with a tray of tea. The old woman mumbled something and smiled as she handed Pei a cup; then she left the room.

“Is everything all right?” Ho Yung asked, watching Pei closely.

“I've come to ask you a favor.” She didn't dare look him in the eyes.

“Anything.”

Pei sipped her tea, then said in one breath, “I need your help in starting a business.”

Ho Yung's face turned serious. “What kind of business were you thinking about?”

“A small seamstress shop. I have some jewelry to sell, and I'd like to find a location in Wan Chai.”

“What do you know about running a business?” Ho Yung questioned.

Pei realized she knew nothing, apart from what she'd been doing in a small way for the past two years. She wavered, thinking that this project might be more complicated than she had hoped.

“I already have a steady flow of customers,” she said finally. “Many of the Tai tais feel I do good work. I just need a place to open a shop and expand the business I already have.”

Ho Yung began to pace the sitting room. “I don't know very much about the sewing business,” he began.

Pei quickly stood and put down her cup. Ho Yung had no reason to take the time to help her just because she asked. He must be busy with his own family's investments and obligations.

“I'm sorry to have bothered you,” she said. “I know the
occupation has been difficult for all of us. Please forgive me for disturbing you. It was a foolish idea.”

Ho Yung stopped short. “No, not foolish at all. Please, let me finish. What I meant to say was that it may take a short while for us to get the right location, but I'd be happy to help you find a place, and I'll talk with my brother about investing in your shop.”

Pei didn't know what to say. In just a breath's time his simple words had changed her life. She smiled shyly at Ho Yung, her gaze moving beyond him to the photo of Lin on the mantel.

1946–47

Song Lee walked briskly back to the boardinghouse, laden with bags of herbs, bean sprouts, bok choy, and fresh Chinese mustard greens. In another bag were oranges, apple-pears, and starfruit. After so many years of so little, food was once again fresh and abundant. The streets were vibrant and alive. Song Lee was glad to think that Ji Shen would soon give birth to a new life in a much better world. The sudden thought struck her of all the fancy black-market food Ji Shen had brought home for them just before the occupation ended. She'd surprised them with a multitude of exotic canned foods with strange-sounding foreign names—cans of garlicky “es-car-got” or musty-smelling “truf-fles.”

“The snails were imported from France,” Ji Shen had said, quickly swallowing another one.

Too fast to taste anything
, Song Lee thought.

“It's interesting.” Pei chewed slowly.

Song Lee spat the chewy snail out into her bowl. “Tastes like rubber,” she'd said. “Tomorrow I'll bring home dinner!”

Song Lee had taken care of filling their stomachs since the occupation ended. She made it her personal mission to find the best
deals she could each day. “Bean sprouts and radishes for half the price of yesterday!” she yelled triumphantly when she returned with something good from the market. “Tomorrow, old man Fu says he'll have long beans if I arrive early!”

Pei laughed. “You're getting to be as good as Ji Shen.”

“Better,” Song Lee retorted. “At least I bring home food we can eat!”

With Ji Shen's difficult pregnancy and the work of starting up her own seamstress business, Pei had her hands full, Song Lee knew. The small daily details swelled and seemed to grow. Tears filled Pei's eyes the evening Song Lee took her aside and simply told her, “I'm staying until the baby comes.” There would be plenty of time to return to work for her old employer after the baby was born. Meanwhile, cooking had become just one of Song Lee's many household tasks.

Song Lee pushed open the front door of the boardinghouse and slowly climbed the stairs, breathing heavily by the time she reached the landing. A soft buzz of voices came from Pei and Ji Shen's room. Song Lee smiled. Over the months, as Ji Shen's stomach grew round and hard and she stayed away from the black market, Song Lee heard their words grow easier and softer, melting the thick silence that once lay between them. She could see the relief on Pei's face, the ready smile and new light behind her eyes.