The Language of Threads (31 page)

“I have a small sewing business here in Hong Kong, and a four-year-old adopted son named Gong.”

Li smiled. She would never have expected Pei to have a business or a child. She saw once again the little girl with pigtails, who rolled in the dirt and moved quickly from one thing to the next, never settling down except to sleep. Li could never catch up, and simply took to scolding Pei instead: “You'll get in trouble if you dirty yourself! Ma Ma wants us back at the house for our lessons!” Pei listening and not listening.

For years Li had wondered why she wasn't the one given to the silk work. She was the elder daughter, the one who should have gone first, but was left behind. When she awoke alone in their bed that morning, she somehow knew that Pei had raced ahead of her again. Li was too slow, too cautious to ever catch up.

Li took a deep breath. She was happy that her younger sister had found such a good life in Hong Kong. Pei had her own business and a life Li could only dream about. And now, after so many years, Pei had stopped long enough to wait for her.

“Could life be so kind as to grant us another chance to see each other again? Now that you're alone, you could come to Hong Kong.”

Li had grown so old and hard in the years since the sugar candy, fish ponds, and mulberry groves of their childhood. How would Pei recognize her? What would they have to say to each other after the novelty had worn off? She took a deep breath. Besides, the Communists had sealed all the borders since they'd come to power. She'd have to be smuggled by boat across the sea to Hong Kong.

In all her adult life Li had never been farther than the village
of Kum San. At first, the idea of being smuggled on a boat and going to a large city with tall buildings and people from all over the world terrified her. Then she realized this might be the first time in her life she felt really alive. The numbness of the past years lessened with each letter. Li closed her eyes and could almost feel the warm blood rushing through her body. It was no longer an extravagant wish to think of seeing Pei again.

Li smiled to herself. She would not let the fates guide her through the rest of her life. Now there was Pei. She carefully put each letter back into its thin blue envelope, then stood up and lit an oil lamp. The dark room was suddenly awash in a flickering of light and shadows, though Li no longer felt afraid.

Ho Yung watched Pei pace back and forth across the crowded room, moving in and out of the late-afternoon shadows. He knew she was more determined than ever to get her sister Li out of China and bring her to Hong Kong. She still held the pale pink blouse she had been mending when he bounded up the stairs to speak to her. He could see the tiredness around her eyes, the lines of her forehead wrinkling in thought.

Ho Yung sipped his tea and looked around the small upstairs room that still functioned as Pei's office and workroom. He had come to like the room as much as she did. Over the years, both business and personal discussions had taken place in the small, cramped room, surrounded by clothes, spools of thread, pins, needles, and jars filled with buttons, sequins, and beads. On another table was a piece of embroidery she'd begun and worked on religiously every time she had a spare moment.

By a stroke of luck and good timing, Ho Yung had been able to purchase the building next door. They'd simply torn down the common walls to expand the Invisible Thread, without ever
having to displace Pei. In the new, larger building, Pei had living quarters upstairs as well as an expanded downstairs storefront. Pei had since hired two other seamstresses besides Mai and herself.

“I should go and get Li myself,” Pei suddenly said.

Ho Yung looked up. “What good would it do if you both get caught by the Communists?” he demanded angrily. If anyone were to go, it would be he.

“She'll be too afraid to come out alone,” Pei answered.

“It's too dangerous.” His words were flat and final.

“Then what do you think we should do?” Pei asked.

Ho Yung took another sip of his tea. “We'll pay to have her smuggled out.”

“Isn't that just as dangerous?” Pei asked.

Ho Yung had an answer ready. “But then we'd only have to worry about Li, not about both of you. The fewer people involved, the better.”

Pei paced and stopped, then turned to him. “Just how dangerous would it be?”

Ho Yung pulled no punches, knowing that Pei needed all the details in order to make up her mind.

“People are being smuggled out of China every day. The lucky ones make it to Hong Kong and live in the streets or in squatters' camps. The unlucky ones are caught by the Communists, or drowned at sea. If Li were caught, she'd most likely be sent to a reform camp. Then we might not be able to find her again for years, if ever.”

Pei sat down in the chair across from him. “I suppose we have no choice but to smuggle her here,” she finally said, accepting the words as she said them.

“Let me see what I can do,” Ho Yung said. He had already set up a meeting with Quan for the next morning. If anyone might know about hiring a smuggler with a fishing boat, Quan would.

Pei looked at him with gratitude. “Thank you, Ho Yung. For
all these years of taking care of the details.” Her voice had a softness to it that took him by surprise.

“You don't have to thank me,” he said, clumsily. He felt his face color, and looked away.

Ho Yung caught a taxi home. From Pei's office, they'd joined Song Lee and Gong for dinner. If he wasn't attending to other family business matters, he usually ate with them at least twice a week.

The warm September evening was still and calm, showing no signs of the typhoon season that was likely to begin any day now.

The heavy winds and rain would make it virtually impossible to walk down the street. Ho Yung rolled down the window and breathed in the tranquil night air as the taxi began its uphill climb toward Macdonnell Road.

As Ho Yung stepped through the iron gate of his old house, he made a mental note of all the repairs he needed to make after the rainy season—replacing the warped window frames, filling the cracks in the front steps, tending to the garden. He had to start paying more attention to his own life.

Once inside, Mui took his jacket, and Ho Yung went into the sitting room and poured himself a brandy. The pale brown liquid tingled, then burned his throat slightly as it went down. Two more sips and he could feel his entire body warming. Reinforced, he moved slowly toward the family photos neatly lined up on the mantel. He had only added a single photo in the past year, one of Pei, Gong, and himself, taken on Gong's fourth birthday. That same day, Pei had asked him to be the boy's godfather.

“I didn't know you believed in God,” Ho Yung had teased.

“I believe that you would be a good father, God or no God attached,” Pei answered.

He smiled at the thought. In the photo, Pei had only a slight, embarrassed smile on her lips, as if she'd been caught off guard.
He thought she was still very beautiful; her once-strong features had softened over the years, yet her inquisitive dark eyes had grown even more searching. He'd found Pei striking from the first moment he met her, back in Canton over twenty years ago. Tall and shy, she had accompanied Lin home for his brother Ho Chee's wedding.

Ho Yung turned to the photo of the young, smiling Lin. What had she felt upon returning to their opulent house in Canton? Lin had given herself to the silk work so that their family could survive. He remembered how excited she had been, moving through the house like a whirlwind, while Pei stood awkward among all the antiques and dark wood. Ho Yung had felt timid around Lin until she laughed at seeing how tall he'd grown, and said, “What happened to my little brother?” Then she took his hand and held it in hers, and in that instant, he knew how special his sister was.

And even then, Ho Yung could see that there was extraordinary happiness between Lin and Pei. It had taken him years to realize just how rare it was, this joy, like catching a shooting star or watching a flower just as it blooms. He took another swallow of brandy. Perhaps even from afar, he understood how Pei could cherish one person for a lifetime.

The next morning, Ho Yung walked quickly down to the harbor, already late to meet Quan. Quan made his living as a fisherman, and even after Ji Shen's death, he came to visit Pei and Gong whenever he was back in Hong Kong.

Life aboard the fishing boats began when most of Hong Kong was still asleep. Sometimes, when he'd had trouble sleeping, Ho Yung would get up and gaze from his bedroom window down to the harbor. He'd see the winking lights of the fishing boats going out to sea in hopes of a profitable catch. Usually Quan did most of his fishing out by the island of Lantau. It was Ho Yung's luck
that he was back just now, visiting his family and staying on his uncle Wei's boat.

Ho Yung saw that harbor life was already in full swing. The smells and sounds of cooking and eating floated through the air. Men who had returned from fishing bathed from wooden buckets, while their wives scooped them bowls of thick white jook, flavored with dried fish and green onion. He passed children who had gathered their books together and were heading off to school, carrying tin buckets filled with rice and fish.

“Quan!” Ho Yung yelled, seeing the young man waiting down by the dock.

Quan turned around and waved for Ho Yung to join him. The past three years had been good to him as a fisherman. He'd made enough money to rent an apartment for his mother, brother, and sister in Causeway Bay, and even had some leftover money to put away. Now he wore a well-pressed white shirt and slacks.

“Well, look at you.” Ho Yung shook Quan's hand and patted him on the back.

“You're looking rather prosperous yourself.” Quan teasingly pointed at Ho Yung's stomach.

“Which reminds me—let me buy you some breakfast.”

Quan nodded. “I want to show you something first.” He walked a few feet down the dock, then stopped and pointed to a fishing boat. “How do you like her? She's all mine!”

Ho Yung inspected the good-sized boat. It was rusty in a few spots, but otherwise looked in good condition. “She's a beauty,” he said, slapping Quan on the back. “Your family must be proud of you, I'm proud of you.”

Quan smiled. “I can't wait to show Pei and Gong. The little guy will love it!”

Ho Yung knew how devastated Quan had been when Ji Shen died. The loss was so unexpected, like a light suddenly being turned out. It took time for each of them to find their way in the darkness. Quan had left for Lantau right after the funeral; he
didn't come back to Hong Kong to see Pei and Gong until six months later. No one had worked harder than he had since then. Ho Yung watched the young man move from one end of the boat to the other.

“And look here.” Quan pointed to the stern.

Ho Yung moved toward the back of the boat and saw the name “Ji Shen” painted in bright red letters.

“Do you think she would have liked it?” Quan asked, his voice slightly shaky.

Ho Yung breathed in the fishy air. “I think she would have loved it,” he said.

They had breakfast in a small bird-walking teahouse not far from the harbor. Every morning men and women aired their birds by carrying them out in their cages and taking long walks. Then they gathered at one of the many bird-walking teahouses for their morning meal before returning home. By the time Ho Yung and Quan arrived, most of the early-morning bird-walkers had left, and only a few iron cages still hung from the hooks on the ceiling. Ho Yung ordered jook and long fried Chinese doughnuts, which they tore into pieces and ate with their jook.

“It would be easier if Pei's sister could get to Macau first,” Quan said, as soon as Ho Yung explained the situation. “From there it would be simpler to arrange for a boat to bring her to Hong Kong.” He swallowed a large spoonful of jook.

“How dangerous is it?” Ho Yung wanted to be able to answer this question the next time Pei asked.

Quan shrugged. “There's always danger involved, but many more people have made it out than have been caught.”

“How soon could it be arranged?” Ho Yung fingered a watermark on the table.

“For the right amount of money, it could happen within a few weeks.” Quan scraped the last of his jook from his bowl.
“But it would be better if you waited until spring. It's already September, and the typhoon season is just around the corner. The winds will be high, and the rough waters are notorious. There'll be more chance of the boat capsizing than of the Communists ever catching them.”

Ho Yung sipped his tea and watched Quan finish the rest of the food. He knew Pei would have to agree that there was no use in rushing to get Li to Hong Kong while the waters made the journey so treacherous. If they waited until early spring, they would have another six months to prepare. Ho Yung sat back and listened to the low murmuring of the voices around them, the clinking of bowls and dishes, the high-pitched whistle of a bird from the lone cage left hanging from the ceiling.

Pei was having trouble sleeping again, the clearness of daylight giving way to the murky fears that always emerged at night. She wanted to sleep, deeply and tranquilly, conscious of nothing, but instead she lay on her back, listening to Gong's regular but almost labored breathing coming from the bed next to hers. Pei worried. The old herbalist said it was a chronic condition, which he'd most likely grow out of. “Keep the house clean, and have him drink this three times a week.” He measured the dark leaves, dried flowers, twigs, and roots into separate packages. Song Lee kept their upstairs apartment spotless, boiled the tea, and prayed that the pungent odor wouldn't chase away any of their customers.

Pei turned on her side. Ever since Ho Yung had returned with the news that it would be another six months before they could bring Li to Hong Kong, she had been restless with fear and anticipation. Was it possible for her to come this close, only to never see Li again? Pei felt that old childhood urgency rising up
in her, the conviction that if something wasn't done right away, it might never happen. She knew her thoughts were foolish but they possessed her nonetheless.