I felt an intense heat spreading upwards from my neck. What she reported was true but I had no words to explain it away. The poetry and pathos of Lear had moved me so profoundly I simply couldn’t control myself. So much of his plight seemed to mirror that of my grandfather’s at home. Contrary to all logic, I had the uncanny sensation that Shakespeare had actually had my Ye Ye in mind when he wrote his immortal play four hundred years earlier.
When Lear knelt in front of his evil daughter Regan to plead for his food and lodging I saw my Ye Ye dropping to his knees to say the same terrible words to my stepmother,
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg
That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed and food . . .
However, Mrs Tan was looking at me with an odd expression on her face: halfway between pity and curiosity. It made me acutely uncomfortable. All I wanted was to make a quick getaway.
I glanced at the clock and feigned surprise. ‘Oh! Excuse me! Is it 10.15 already? I’d better go get ready. Otherwise I’ll be late!’
I strode out purposefully with an armful of books though I didn’t know where to head for, hating myself for my pretence. Why couldn’t I tell Mrs Tan candidly, ‘I hide out and read in the library because my parents never come to visit me. And I don’t like everyone to notice I’m the only one always left out. It’s easier to make myself invisible. I wish I had someone like you. Irene is very lucky.’
Tentatively I circled the bathroom. In American magazines, they described it as ‘casing the joint’. Thank goodness it was now deserted. Furtively, I walked away at first, then retraced my steps and quickly slipped into the last, most unobtrusive lavatory cubicle. I locked the door and carefully placed my stack of books on a ledge by the window, so that nobody would see them should anyone peek under the gap beneath the door. I ensconced myself on the toilet seat with a sigh of relief. It was smelly and damp but I felt safe. No one could get at me. Privacy at last! No prying eyes, spiteful remarks, pitying glances. I was alone with my beloved books. What bliss! To be left in peace with Cordelia, Regan, Goneril and Lear himself – characters more real than my family back home or my schoolmates downstairs. The rhythm! The story! The magical words! What happiness! What comfort!
All too soon, I heard a smattering of footsteps approaching. Were visiting hours over? Surely, it couldn’t be one o’clock already!
I heard the voices of Irene Tan and Eleanor Lui. They were trying on new dresses, hairbands and ribbons, chuckling at their reflections in the full‐length bathroom mirror.
‘What a stunning outfit!’ Irene was exclaiming. ‘Do you dare go into lunch wearing this skimpy little number after what happened this morning at breakfast?’
‘That was almost too close for comfort!’ Eleanor replied.
‘Why did you do it anyway?’
‘I thought Adeline might like an egg for breakfast once in a while. My number is 31 and hers is 37. Mama is always bringing me eggs on Sundays even though I tell her not to. I can’t stand eating them, especially the way they soft‐boil them here, with the yolk all runny. Reminds me of snot. Yesterday I wrapped a half‐eaten egg in my paper napkin and trashed it in the wastebasket in the study when no one was looking. Unfortunately Ma‐Mien (Horse‐face) Mother Valentino came across it and fished it out. At first I denied it was mine, but she merely pointed to the number on the shell. “It’s a sin to waste food like this when so many of your country‐men are starving to death!” she screamed. Then she forced me to get a spoon and eat it. Later in the day, I sneaked into the kitchen and changed the number on my egg from one to seven. Thought Adeline might get a kick out of having her number called for a change! How was I to know she hates eggs? All I’m aware of is that she gets neither eggs nor visitors on Sundays.’
‘They say Adeline is brilliant but, to me, she’s rather pathetic too. Rushing around in that infantile brown dress looking like a refugee fresh off a junk from the mainland. Never gets any letters either; though she’s always first in line when mail gets delivered. I heard Monica say to her yesterday, “Expecting a letter from someone? I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you!”’
‘Monica is just unhappy she and Adeline will be in the same class next term after the holidays. No “brain” likes to be upstaged. In spite of how she dresses, I think Adeline will be okay eventually. She has a sort of special spirit and it’s a person’s inner core that counts, don’t you think?’
The lunch‐bell sounded and they scurried off. I waited a while longer, then opened the door a crack to make sure no one was around. Whew! What a relief! The coast was finally clear!
In the bathroom mirror I stared at myself while washing my hands, full of inarticulate emotion. I mulled over Eleanor’s secret attempt to pass on her unwanted egg for me to consume, thinking, Who am I kidding? The whole world knows of my ‘eggless state’ and some even feel sorry for me. No way will I ever allow myself to be the object of anyone’s charity or pity. Besides, in spite of everything, is there not a hint of respect in their sentiments towards me?
I walked to my dormitory and sat at the edge of my bed after drawing the curtain around me for privacy, then stacked my books beside my torch in the bedside locker. Did the sisters know that I frequently read by torch under the bedclothes after ‘lights‐out’? Did other thirteen‐year‐olds also have terrifying thoughts at night and difficulty sleeping? Were they sometimes besieged by anxiety and nameless ‘monsters of the deep’? If so, how did they deal with these paralysing fears about their future? What was their escape route?
I looked down with distaste at my shrunken brown dress two sizes too small . . . my ‘refugee costume’! Better change back into my school uniform before joining my peers for lunch, I thought. At least my uniform was the right size and still fitted me.
Chapter Nineteen
End of Term
It was the last day of term. Classes had finished and we boarders sat in the lounge waiting for our parents to take us home for the summer holidays.
Eleanor Lui was wearing her ‘good’ shoes with the two‐inch heels, examining herself in the mirror and fluffing up her hair.
‘I must admit my bangs are rather nice . . . even if I say so myself,’ she announced.
They certainly look better than your legs!’ replied Monica unkindly, thereby drawing attention to her own slim, well‐shod feet. It was true that Eleanor’s legs did appear somewhat fat and beefy in comparison as she tottered around unsteadily on her high heels.
‘The problem is I love to eat too much,’ Eleanor said candidly with a giggle. ‘Remember yesterday when we had a discussion on crocodiles in Ma‐mien Valentino’s science class? I was wondering how barbecued crocodile meat would taste when Ma‐mien suddenly asked me whether crocodiles have lungs. As long as their meat tastes good, who cares how they breathe?’
‘That’s why you are such a marvellous cook!’ her loyal friend Irene Tan exclaimed. ‘Everything is reduced to a recipe in your head. Do you remember that discussion we had in English class on the word “serendipity”?’
We all burst out laughing. Our English teacher, Mother Louisa, had just defined the meaning of ‘serendipity’ as ‘a discovery by accident of things which one is not in search of’.
‘Now, girls, I want you to give me some examples to illustrate this word and make it come alive for the class,’ she instructed.
Rachel raised her hand. ‘How about the discovery of America by Columbus? He was looking for a shortcut to the East Indies when he came upon a whole new continent.’
‘Very good indeed! Another example, girls?’
‘Last Sunday my dad was telling me about the Korean War,’ Daisy Chen said. ‘He read in the newspapers that many badly wounded American soldiers were being saved by this medicine called penicillin. Ten years ago they would all have died. Apparently an English doctor in London called Alexander Fleming dropped some mould on a plate of germs and noticed how all the germs around the mould got kil
led. That’s how he discovered penicillin. Completely by accident!’
‘This is another excellent example. Now, do you remember last week’s lesson on the word galvanism? Can we combine the two concepts: serendipity and galvanism?’
The week before, Mother Louisa had said that the word galvanism came from an Italian man named Luigi Galvani who first noticed a frog’s leg‐muscle twitching when its nerve was stimulated. However, no one knew the answer to the question because she hadn’t mentioned what Mr Galvani was doing with the frog’s leg to begin with when he made his discovery.
‘Eleanor!’ Mother Louisa finally asked. ‘Wake up! Do you have a theory? What is the story about Mr Galvani and his frogs?’
‘Oh! Mother Louisa!’ gushed Eleanor enthusiastically. ‘Frogs’ legs are delicious stir‐fried with a little ginger and soya sauce. So tender and juicy. In my dad’s restaurant, we have frogs’ legs and I order them every time. Only they’re called “field chickens” on the menu. Same thing really.’ She paused briefly and must have suddenly remembered to whom she was speaking. ‘I think Mr Galvani was eating frogs’ legs for dinner. Maybe he bit on a nerve by mistake and the leg twitched or something. That’s another example of serendipity.’
Mother Louisa arched her eyebrows while the whole class roared. ‘Amazing! So you have Mr Galvani chewing on a bunch of twitching frogs’ legs!’ She waited for the uproar to die down, then continued, ‘In actual fact, Mr Galvani was hanging frogs’ legs by a copper wire from an iron railing at his home. A gust of wind blew the copper wire against the iron railing and the frogs’ legs twitched. Without meaning to, he had accidentally created an electric current. This serendipitous event in the eighteenth century resulted in the discovery of galvanism.’
One by one my fellow boarders left, calling out ‘best wishes’ and ‘happy summer holidays’ to each other. Eventually, only Rachel Yu, Mary Suen and I were left behind.
Though I felt a special closeness to these two friends, I was never able to openly confide in them anything about my family. Those were emotions I repressed and hated to even think about, let alone express. Besides, they had their own problems.
Mary’s father kept a small wife and spent most of his time with his second family. Her mother, though ostensibly his ‘big wife’, only saw him on Mary’s birthday and Chinese New Year. Neglected and ignored, Mrs Suen became bitter and quarrelsome. On the rare occasions when he did come ‘home’, he and Mary’s mother argued constantly.
Rachel’s parents were separated. Her father, a well‐known jockey and horse‐trainer, saved every penny to keep her at Sacred Heart. She was his sole reason for existence and an investment for his future but she felt smothered by his expectations.
After the hubbub and excitement of everyone’s departure, I developed a stinging headache. Even though I had mentioned nothing of my summer plans, all the girls knew I was again the only boarder not going home for the holidays because I had not bothered to pack. It was hard to be the only one left behind time after time and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for myself. Mary and Rachel were probably staying around deliberately for as long as possible to keep me company. Did they sense my mood?
I sauntered out onto the balcony and they followed me. It was getting dark and lights were coming on all the way down the slope, across Victoria Harbor and into the peninsula. We could see the giant ships dotting the bay below, and well‐lit ferry boats moving smoothly to and fro between Hong Kong and Kowloon. I was seized by a longing to escape.
‘More than anything,’ I told them, ‘I yearn to grow up, get out of here and see the world. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the three of us could sail away together on one of the big boats down there to all those countries we’ve been reading about: Japan, England, Australia, America? We must get away, stand on our own two feet and create our own destiny.’
‘Let’s make a pact,’ Rachel said, ‘that we’ll always be there for each other, wherever we may be.’
Solemnly, the three of us placed our six hands on top of one another’s and made a giant fist.
Chapter Twenty
Pneumonia
My headache worsened after Mary and Rachel went home and I was left alone. All night long I tossed and turned, feeling hot one minute and cold the next, trying to find a comfortable position. There was a tickle in my throat and I couldn’t stop coughing.
Next morning, the sight of my breakfast sickened me. It was very depressing to sit in the refectory all by myself, filled with a feeling of déjà‐vu. In the middle of it I had a coughing fit and ended up vomiting. When I came back from the bathroom, I coughed up some blood.
Mother Mary felt my forehead and told me I was burning up. She ordered me to go to bed and called a doctor. My temperature shot up to 104 degrees. When the doctor came, he immediately admitted me to the hospital.
While I was hospitalised, Mary Suen came to see me every day. She was my one and only visitor. Her mother lived within walking distance of the hospital and Mary told me she had nothing better to do. On one occasion Father dropped in; Mary saw him because she happened to come into my room while he was leaving. Later, she was able to report to our friends that not only did I actually have a father, but he was also handsome, well dressed and looked ‘very important’; thus disproving once and for all the widely held suspicion that I was an orphan.
The doctors injected me with penicillin and I recovered. Father’s chauffeur came to fetch me when I was discharged. To my amazement, instead of taking me directly back to school, he drove towards the car ferry terminal instead.
‘Am I going home?’ I asked, half hopeful and half fearful.
‘Yes. Those are your mother’s orders.’
Third Brother opened the door when I rang the bell. He had recently arrived from Shanghai. I was overjoyed to see him and had a million questions.
‘Where is everyone? The flat is so quiet!’
‘Father is at the office. Niang, Fourth Brother and Little Sister have been invited to a friend’s house. Before Niang left, I heard her tell the chauffeur to bring you home so you can recuperate here for one week.’
I was greatly relieved. ‘So it’s just the three of us for the time being. Where is Ye Ye?’
‘He is having lunch. Let’s join him. I’ve been waiting for you.’
We found Ye Ye sitting by himself in the dining‐room, despondently staring at his plate. On it were some steamed carrots, a small piece of poached fish, a mound of rice and a few potatoes. His face lit up when I ran to his side and greeted him. ‘Ye Ye!’
‘Ah, Wu Mei! You’re home. I must apologise for not waiting for you to have lunch. My diabetes is worse and this English doctor friend of your father’s has put me on this special diet.’ He looked down with distaste at his food. ‘I have to eat punctually at eight, noon and six. Otherwise my blood‐sugar goes sky‐high. The trouble is, I get so tired of eating the same thing three times a day every day.’
He sounded so sad I felt like crying. Instead I sat down beside him to keep him company and asked Third Brother, ‘How is Aunt Baba?’
‘She’s fine. Still working at Grand Aunt’s bank. She keeps worrying about you and Ye Ye.’
‘Did the Communists bother you?’
‘No. Life in Shanghai is better than ever. Actually,’ he lowered his voice, ‘I was having such a good time I didn’t want to come to Hong Kong at all. Big Brother and Second Brother left over a year ago to go to university in England. So at home it was just Aunt Baba and me. She treated me like a king!’
‘Life in Shanghai won’t be like that forever!’ Ye Ye warned. ‘The Communists will show their true colours sooner or later. Besides, your father has plans for you to study in England next year. Just like your two older brothers.’
‘How lucky! Oh! If only I could go to university in England too! I’d give anything in the world to be able to do that! Alas! It’s not for us girls.’ A thought struck me and I continued, ‘Where is Big Sister? Is she still in Taiwan?’
‘No! Against everyone’s advice, she went back to Tianjin with her husband and took their baby daughter with them. Yes! Big Sister is now a mother and I have my first great‐granddaughter,’ Ye Ye replied. ‘What a mistake she’s making in going back to Communist China! Mark my words! She’ll come to regret it.’
‘What are your future plans?’ Third Brother turned to me and asked. ‘How are you doing at school these days?’
Before I could reply, Ye Ye said proudly, ‘True to form, she continues to top her class year after year. She started in Form 1 when she first came to Hong Kong. The next year, she skipped a grade and attended Form 3. We just received a letter from Mother Superior saying that they’re encouraging her to skip another grade. In September she’ll be going into Form 5; and she’s only thirteen years old.’
‘Not bad!’ Third Brother exclaimed. ‘You must feel pretty good about yourself.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. What good does it do? Being top of my class and skipping grades and all that. My friends probably think I’m some sort of freak: reading all the time. Not that it’ll get me anywhere. They nicknamed me “scholar” but I don’t know whether that’s complimentary or derogatory. I read because I have to. It drives everything else from my mind. It lets me escape to find other worlds. The people in my books become more real than anyone else. They make me forget.’
‘It’s not so bad here, is it?’ Third Brother asked wistfully.
Chinese Cinderella Page 14
