by Robert Wang
Tears gathered in the corners of Su-Mei’s eyes when Pai Chu came to her chamber that evening. “What am I going to do? I don’t want to leave here yet. I want to learn more English, and I want to learn more about your god.”
“Oh, Su-Mei, this is very unfortunate!” Pai Chu replied. “Your time here is not up yet, and I’m not ready to let you go home!” There was a tightness in her chest, and she could hardly get the breath out of her throat.
“I have to find a way to keep us together,” said Su-Mei. She had always gotten her way before, and she saw no reason why that shouldn’t continue.
“Oh, I hope so, Su-Mei, I don’t want to be apart from you.”
Concentrating hard, Su-Mei missed the longing in Pai Chu’s voice and the stricken look in her eyes. She had to find a way to continue studying English and this new religion. If her father would not allow her to stay in Macau, then the only way to achieve her goals was to find a way to bring Pai Chu with her to Canton.
“I’ve got it!”
Pai Chu’s face lit up. “Tell me!” she begged.
“Pai Chu,” Su-Mei said, pleased with her own brilliant solution, “you speak Chinese and English fluently, and my father does big business with the foreign devils. If I can convince him that having you in Canton would be helpful to him in dealing with the foreign devils, then there is a chance that he will let you come with us and stay at our estate as an interpreter. He might even pay you!”
“Oh, that would be perfect. I can help your Honorable Father, and we’ll be together all the time in Canton.”
“The problem, though,” Su-Mei continued, thinking out loud, “is how to convince Mother Amanda to let you leave this place.” As Su-Mei uttered these words, the answer presented itself. “I have an idea!”
“What is it?”
“Mother Amanda is always very pleased when I ask questions about your god, and I remember one of her teachings was that sinners can be redeemed if they repent and turn to him. You and I must go to Mother Amanda and tell her that I am ready to repent and redeem myself before God, and I want to help spread the word of God in Canton, but I need you to come with me so that I can learn more about God. And together, we will help the sinners in Canton repent and redeem themselves!” Su-Mei paused for a second and then added, “If my father agrees to my plan of hiring you as his interpreter, then I will ask him to give a generous donation to this convent to help other orphans. That should make Mother Amanda very happy and may make her more likely to allow you to come with me!”
“You are the smartest person in the whole world, Su-Mei!” Pai Chu flung her arms around Su-Mei and squeezed her tightly. The threat of never seeing Su-Mei again had brought on a wave of confusing emotions in Pai Chu, but this new hope pushed them all away and filled her with relief and joy. Thank you, Heavenly Father, for hearing my prayer! I will do my best to show her the profound love and mercy of your son, Jesus Christ, and pray for her conversion with all my soul.
Su-Mei hugged her friend in return, but her mind was racing. All she could think of were the opportunities that would arise for her if she could speak fluent English. Honorable Father would never allow her to be a part of the family business, but maybe she could help Da Ping somehow when it was time for him to take over.
“Yes,” she murmured into Pai Chu’s dark braid, “we will spend every day together. It will be great fun.”
Su-Mei scarcely slept that night. She waited impatiently for Pai Chu to finish with the early morning singing. “Let’s go speak with Mother Amanda now.”
When Mother Amanda’s voice invited them to enter her office, both young women pushed through the door in excitement.
“Good morning, Mother Amanda,” they said in unison.
“Are you ready to return to Canton this afternoon, Lady Su-Mei? There’s a typhoon on the way, so you and your father might have to stay overnight, or until it blows over.” Typhoon season usually began in late spring in southern China, and one this early was unheard of, but the weather had been very strange that year.
“Yes, Mother Amanda, I am ready, but may I speak to you about a plan I have? It could benefit this beautiful place and spread the word of God.”
Mother Amanda looked surprised. “Yes, my child. Proceed.”
“Dear Mother Amanda,” Su-Mei had rehearsed her speech all morning. “The past ten days have been so inspiring and enlightening to me, and I have learned so much about God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and how the lives of sinners can be redeemed if we repent.”
“Yes—yes, they can,” said Mother Amanda, astonished and pleased.
“Mother Amanda, I have come to a decision. I want to repent, and I want to redeem my soul and serve God. I have much to learn still about becoming a Christian, as my time has been so short here, but I am eager to learn and spread the word of God back in Canton. There are so many sinners there who could use the word of God! But I know I must leave this place with my father, and I am heartbroken that I cannot continue my religious studies.”
“My child, God will show you the way,” said Mother Amanda thoughtfully. “There are many ways to serve God, and you can do his work whether you are in a convent or at home in Canton.” As Mother Amanda spoke these words, she looked at Pai Chu and heard what she thought was the voice of God. God sent Sister Maria to me, and she has become a strong and faithful Christian. Wouldn’t she be perfect to accompany Su-Mei to Canton and guide her to do God’s work? Lady Su-Mei is from an important family and in a position to influence others, and Sister Maria would be able to help her spread the word of God discreetly in Canton. An imperial edict forbade Chinese people from openly practicing Western religions, but if Sister Maria and Lady Su-Mei worked together to quietly spread God’s teachings, they would not be breaking the law, and sinners would be saved.
Sister Maria had not yet taken her holy vows, but Mother Amanda believed she was ready for this mission, and she could help Su-Mei prepare for her conversion—and maybe even holy orders herself! Excited by the prospect of bringing sinners into the fold, Mother Amanda forgot her concerns about the closeness of the relationship between Sister Maria and Lady Su-Mei.
“Sister Maria,” Mother Amanda said in a grave voice, “are you ready to do God’s work and help save the souls of sinners?”
“I don’t understand, Reverend Mother.” Pai Chu had been fiercely praying that God would speak to Mother Amanda and convince her that Su-Mei’s plan was a good one and hadn’t quite heard Mother Amanda’s words.
“Sister Maria, I have always believed that God sent you to us for a purpose. Today I believe I know that purpose. You have helped Lady Su-Mei see God’s way, and now she is ready to do his work. Are you ready to help her continue on her path to the Lord and help her spread his good word among the sinners of Canton?”
Pai Chu and Su-Mei looked at each other in glee. They could not believe their ears. This is proof that God answers prayers, Su-Mei thought. She could tell by the expression on Pai Chu’s face that she was thinking the same thing. Both of them were convinced that this was God’s plan, and Su-Mei believed more than ever that this new religion was for her and that God had revealed himself to her in this way. What began as a ploy to convince Mother Amanda to let Pai Chu come to Canton so Su-Mei could learn more English had become a revelation of divine will and yet more evidence that Christianity was the true religion for her.
“Mother Amanda, it would be my honor to accompany Lady Su-Mei to Canton to do God’s work.” Pai Chu tried to keep her voice steady when all she wanted to do was weep with delight and wrap her arms around Su-Mei.
“And it would be my honor to continue my studies with Sister Maria and learn how I can serve God and help my brothers and sisters in Canton to repent and redeem their souls,” said Su-Mei, flushed with her success and newfound conviction.
“Excellent,” Mother Amanda responded, “but we still require your Honorable Father’s permission. I do not know if he will approve of your conversion.”
“He has not se
en God’s way as I have, Mother Amanda,” Su-Mei said. “In time he will understand, but for now, please allow me to give him a different reason to bring Sister Maria to Canton.”
“And what reason is that, my child?”
“As you know, my father has many dealings with the for—with Western people in his business,” said Su-Mei. “I know that he could use the skills of someone who speaks fluent English and Chinese, and Father Afonso is not always available.”
Mother Amanda had already figured out that Lee Shao Lin could use Sister Maria’s linguistic gift to help him deal with the English. She knew the man was involved in the despicable opium trade and used Father Afonso as a translator. It must be God’s will that the sinner Lee Shao Lin should find his way to redemption, and that is why God sent Father Afonso to him, and that is what led him and Lady Su-Mei to us. The elegance of God’s plan satisfied Mother Amanda. She would do the Lord’s work in Macau among the many Westerners who were involved in the opium trade—and donated generously to the convent and orphanage—and the opium kingpin Lee Shao Lin’s own daughter would do the same work in Canton.
“We will offer Sister Maria to serve as his translator!” Mother Amanda and Su-Mei said simultaneously, with big grins.
“It’s settled then,” continued Mother Amanda. “Lady Su-Mei, when your Honorable Father arrives later, I think you should be the one to suggest Sister Maria as a translator.”
“Yes, Mother Amanda,” Su-Mei agreed, “it would be best for me to explain to him the benefits of having Sister Maria on our household staff.” Su-Mei couldn’t believe that Mother Amanda had agreed to her plan. This was even more evidence of God’s will. She vowed that she would devote herself to this new religion with all her heart and do her best to convert the sinners of Canton.
“Sister Maria,” Mother Amanda said after a short pause. “You are nearly ready to take your holy vows, but it would serve God better if you waited. It is against the law in Canton for Chinese women to wear the habit. You must identify yourself as Chinese—use your Chinese name, don’t reveal your English side, and only speak Chinese, except when you are translating for Lord Lee Shao Lin.”
“Yes, Mother Amanda,” Pai Chu replied. “I will follow your good advice.”
“There are some clothes in the storage room that are appropriate for a servant in a wealthy Chinese household. I suggest you dress yourself in those for your introduction to Lord Lee. And while you two are getting ready, I must send a message to Father Afonso. He should be aware of this change in plans.”
Chapter Seven
Father Afonso was getting old. He had just turned eighty-two, and although his mind was still sharp, it was overfull. The early memories flooded in sometimes, interrupting him at prayer. The colors, the smells, were so vivid they made him weep. He remembered very little of his days in the orphanage at Sao Roque in Lisbon. The deep azure sky and the sun heating the stones in the courtyard until they burned his feet, the interior of the church a storm of gold that took his breath away, the scent of the incense at Mass, and the layers of sound that the priests made with their voices. Orphans were not required to attend all the divine offices, but little Caetano, as he was known then, crept out of his dormitory when he heard the bells for matins and lauds and crouched just out of sight of the chapel doorway. He was certain that what he heard issuing from within was the voice of God.
He was too young to know anything about the plot against the king and the prime minister that resulted in the expulsion of all Jesuits from Portugal in 1759. One morning Father Francisco was stuffing clothes, blankets, and books into a sack and telling him to fetch his box of treasures, the one that all small boys, especially orphans, kept. Caetano ran to retrieve the rough wooden box from under his cot. Its contents—a few interesting stones, a little horse an older boy had carved for him, a copper coin—rattled like dried peas in a bowl. Wordlessly, he followed Father Francisco into the kitchen and watched the priest gather loaves of bread, bottles of wine, and handfuls of the sweet, tiny oranges he loved.
“These are called portugals in other lands, my son,” Father Francisco said to him over his shoulder. “They’re also called mandarins because they grow in China, and that’s where we’re going.”
He trusted Father Francisco, who never beat him for making backward letters or failing to scrub away the dirt under his nails. Sometimes he brought Caetano a heel of bread late at night, even though eating between meals was forbidden, because he knew that little boys woke up with hunger pangs. If there were nice little oranges in this new place and Father Francisco would be there to look after him, then everything would be all right.
The voyage was long and horrible. The smells of unwashed bodies, mildew, and livestock belowdecks combined with the heaving ship to make him empty his stomach over and over. He wished he was back in his clean, bare cot in the orphanage—or dead and in the arms of the Blessed Virgin.
When they landed at last, everything looked different, as though the light itself was a new color. He remembered trailing behind Father Francisco, walking until he thought his leg bones would crumble, until a man, a regular man like someone from home, not one of the new people with golden skin and strange eyes, offered them the use of his donkey. Caetano collapsed over the beast’s withers, his nose and fingers buried in the stiff, musky hair. He had retained a fondness for donkeys ever since. A humble donkey had carried the Son of God, and one had appeared as if sent from heaven to help a small, exhausted boy in a strange land.
He awoke in darkness, in a dormitory almost identical to the one at home: rows of narrow cots with a boy starfished beneath the blanket and a plain wooden cross nailed to the wall above. Afraid to explore, Caetano lay awake until he heard the bells of prime. A man in what looked like a lay brother’s robe entered the room. Familiar with the routine, he made his bed, washed and dressed, and followed the other boys to a long refectory table set with deep bowls in a perfectly straight line.
In the days that followed, Caetano learned that he and Father Francisco had found refuge in a church called St. Anthony’s in Macau, which was in China. Father Francisco was right—there were small oranges there, peeking like suns out of the dense green foliage. They reminded him of home. He adapted to the new orphanage and learned enough words of English and this very strange Chinese language to make friends. The young priest who taught the orphan boys their letters and catechism was very impressed with his progress and moved him to the class of older boys.
After his lessons and chores in the kitchen or garden were completed, Caetano tended to Father Francisco, who rarely left his cell except to attend Mass and eat. The boy never knew what he might find when he entered. Some days Father Francisco seemed very sad and angry, and when he had drunk a lot of wine, he muttered about the injustice of his exile in “this godforsaken den of heathens.” Caetano nodded and swept the cell, setting his books and pens to rights and collecting his soiled linen. At other times the priest was all smiles and kept interrupting Caetano’s tidying to embrace him or pat his cheek.
As Caetano grew older, the embraces lasted longer and became more intimate. Father Francisco often pushed him onto his cot, shoved his clothing out of the way, and hurt him. He cried alone in his bed later from the pain and from a shame that he didn’t quite understand. When Father Francisco was through with him, he wouldn’t look him in the eye, only turned to the wall of his cell and fell asleep, which made Caetano feel as if he’d committed a grave sin. He was afraid to mention it to his confessor, however, even though he knew that God saw everything. Instead, he took it upon himself to say extra rosaries, abstain from a second helping at meals, and volunteer for the hardest and most unpleasant chores: cleaning the lavatories and raking the ashes out of the cooking pit and big brick oven. Surely God would forgive him if he worked very hard and was penitent.
His efforts to repent for a sin he didn’t understand proved unsustainable, and he began to feel a deep bitterness and anger toward Father Francisco, his first and oldest fri
end, his mentor. He’d heard the other priests saying uncharitable things about him. He hurts me, Caetano wanted to say to them, but he dared not. When he tried to think about the things Father Francisco did to him, he felt a lurch of nausea as though he was back in steerage on the leaky ship to Macau, and his memory went blank. He told God, though, and in his evening prayers, the words Please, Lord, take Father Francisco far away crept in unbidden.
When Father Francisco grew ill, instead of praying for his recovery, Caetano prayed earnestly for his death. Please, Lord, let his pain end, he corrected himself instantly. That’s what I meant. One morning in his twelfth year, he found that his prayers had been answered. He felt an instant of lightness when he heard the news and then the crushing weight of a guilt that would last a lifetime.
Caetano had long ago surpassed the orphanage tutors, and the fathers sent him to a local school for Western children. “A boy with your gifts could go to a university anywhere in Europe,” his teachers informed him. “You could be a man of science, of letters. You could study medicine.”
“I will take holy orders,” he repeated stubbornly. “God has given me these gifts to use in his name.” It was the only penance he could imagine that would ever cleanse his soul of his foul sins.
And so he had. Taking the name Afonso, he had used God’s gifts for more than seventy years to assist Westerners in their dealings with the Chinese. Many of these men, he was reluctant to admit, were criminals, smuggling in opium that destroyed Chinese lives. For decades he allowed himself to work for men like Lee Shao Lin because they donated large amounts of money to the church, which helped other poor orphan boys and sent missionaries out to spread the gospel to those in need of God’s healing truth. But there would be no healing for Father Afonso. Even so many years later, the headaches and nausea would rise up at the merest thought of Father Francisco’s dark-spotted hands on his skin.
