Ties That Bind, Ties That Break

by Lensey Namioka

  I caught my breath. James Chew had said something about his father’s restaurant being in Chinatown. I had thought about James on and off, but like my family, Miss Gilbertson, and Xueyan, he had become a figure from the past. Now I felt a tingle of excitement at the possibility of seeing him again.

  The very next morning Mrs. Warner took me by cable car to an entirely different part of San Francisco. Even before I got down from the cable car, I heard, saw, and smelled another world—a Chinese world. The street signs were written in Chinese characters. We got off on a street labeled Douban Jie. ‘‘This is Dupont Street,’’ said Mrs. Warner, ‘‘the center of Chinatown.’’

  I felt dazed as I stood on the sidewalk. I looked around at the vegetable stalls with bins containing all the familiar greens: bok choy, mustards, baby chrysanthemum leaves . . . I peered into the open storefronts and saw dried scallops, lotus stems, and bottles with Chinese writing on them.

  ‘‘Why, what’s the matter, Eileen?’’ asked Mrs. Warner. ‘‘Aren’t you feeling well?’’

  That was when I realized that tears were streaming down my face. I was too overcome to speak, but finally mopped my eyes and managed to clear my throat. ‘‘It’s like being back in China,’’ I whispered.

  For a moment it seemed that eight thousand miles of ocean no longer separated me from Nanjing, from the sweet-olive trees of the Tao residence, and from the faces of Mother, Second Sister, and Little Brother.

  After that I went back alone to Chinatown once a week to buy the ingredients I needed. Sometimes it made me laugh to remember the days when Mother didn’t even let me walk unaccompanied in the street and insisted that I go by rickshaw. Here in San Francisco I learned the right cable car to take so that I could make the trip myself.

  I looked forward to these weekly trips. It was almost like returning to my own country, to my home. In Chinatown I was among people who looked just like me. I didn’t feel like a foreigner there.

  Only that wasn’t quite true. Language was a problem, I found out immediately. When I picked up a bunch of greens and asked for the price in Mandarin, the shopkeeper didn’t understand me and answered in Cantonese. The two of us ended up speaking English to communicate.

  A good ear had always been my greatest asset. If I could learn English, I could certainly learn Cantonese. By my third visit, I could manage a few phrases.

  ‘‘I need a lighter soy sauce,’’ I was saying to a shopkeeper. ‘‘This one is too black.’’

  ‘‘I think you have to say sheng chou,’’ said a familiar voice behind me.

  I spun around and saw James Chew. ‘‘But your pronunciation is pretty good,’’ he added, smiling.

  Although I had half hoped to meet him every time I came to Chinatown, I was surprised at how delighted I felt to see him at last. The only thing I could think of saying was, ‘‘Do you live around here?’’

  ‘‘My father’s restaurant, the Green Pavilion, is just over there on the next block,’’ he replied. ‘‘If you have time, how about coming over for some dim sum?’’

  I had never been inside a restaurant in my life. Eating with total strangers was not for well-born young women, and Mother would be shocked at the very idea. But of course, I had already eaten in the huge dining room of the ship, with hundreds of strangers. And times were changing, even in China.

  Besides, I was nearly sixteen, old enough to make my own decisions. Nevertheless, I still felt a guilty thrill as I agreed to accompany James to his father’s restaurant.

  It was very noisy and crowded, with serving people rushing about like madmen. As the son of the proprietor, James was able to get a quiet table in a corner. We sat down, and I told him the reason for my trips to Chinatown. It was difficult to talk because I couldn’t stop gobbling down the delectable food that kept arriving at our table.

  I tried to make light of my attempts at cooking and my failures. Since the restaurant was so noisy, I wasn’t even sure James could hear me very well. I certainly couldn’t understand more than one word in three of his replies. But I could read the expression on his face. It was admiration.

  Love and affection I had received lavishly from Father, Grandmother, and Second Sister. But admiration was different. Admiration was closer to respect, as from one adult to another.

  The food was wonderful, but I was stuffed. When the next dish of steamed dumplings arrived, I waved it aside. ‘‘I can’t eat another bite.’’

  James nodded. ‘‘Let’s go outside. It’s too noisy in here.’’

  ‘‘Thank you for a wonderful treat,’’ I said as we emerged into the street. ‘‘I have to get back to the Warners’.’’

  As we walked to the cable-car stop, James suddenly stopped and looked at me. ‘‘For the past few months I’ve been trying to decide about my future,’’ he said slowly. ‘‘I don’t like the way my brother is running the restaurant, but I couldn’t find the nerve to break free. Meeting you like this has helped me to make up my mind.’’

  I found my face growing warm. ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  James’s eyes were very bright. ‘‘You left your family and took a position as a nanny because you refused to give up your independence.’’

  ‘‘You mean you might leave your family, too? Even work as a servant?’’ I was dismayed. I didn’t want to be responsible for such a move.

  ‘‘Even while slaving for a foreign family in a foreign country, you managed to keep your self-respect. That’s what made me come to a decision. I’ve decided to start my own restaurant!’’

  Something close to fear made my heart beat faster. ‘‘I don’t want the responsibility! I’m not the one who makes up your mind!’’

  James grinned. He looked younger, even mischievous. ‘‘But you are the one, whether you meant to be or not, and if I go bankrupt and lose my savings, it will all be your fault!’’

  We both laughed. ‘‘When can I see you again?’’ James asked when we heard the clang of the cable car approaching.

  ‘‘Well, I usually shop here once a week,’’ I replied. Then I added softly, ‘‘I can make it a definite time every Wednesday morning, say, at eleven?’’

  ‘‘I’ve made my decision,’’ I told Mr. Warner. ‘‘I’m not returning to China with you. I’m staying in America.’’

  ‘‘My dear, are you sure?’’ asked Mrs. Warner. ‘‘I can’t help thinking that you’re very young to be making such a very serious decision.’’

  I had to hide a smile. I had made other serious decisions, and at an even earlier age. ‘‘Don’t worry, Mrs. Warner. I know my own mind.’’

  ‘‘Aren’t you anxious to see your family again?’’ asked Mrs. Warner. ‘‘I know you’ve not been on close terms with them, but don’t you want to see your mother and your brother and sisters? If you stay, it might be a long time before you get a chance to go back.’’

  Mrs. Warner had put her finger on the hardest thing about my decision: my family. It might be years before I could feel Second Sister’s comforting arms around me again. I wouldn’t be able to talk to Little Brother about his public school. I might not see him grow up.

  ‘‘May I ask you to bring these English books to my younger brother?’’ I said. I wanted to send Little Brother some toy trains, but realized that he might be too old for them. The sad thing was that I didn’t know what sort of toy he enjoyed. Books would always be welcome, I thought.

  Mrs. Warner cleared her throat. ‘‘Would you like us to bring some message to your family?’’

  I had corresponded with Miss Gilbertson and Xueyan but not directly with my family. Something had held me back. Although I was not ashamed of my position in the Warner family, I was afraid my relatives might not feel the same way about one of their members’ working as a nanny. So I just shook my head. ‘‘I’ll write to my family someday.’’

  Mr. Warner continued to look grave. ‘‘We’ve met James Chew, and he seems like a responsible young man. We’ll be honored to give you away at your wedding. But you haven
’t known him that long. Have you considered the fact that after we leave, you will have no other protector?’’

  ‘‘I’ve considered it,’’ I said.

  ‘‘And helping him run his restaurant!’’ said Mrs. Warner. ‘‘That’s backbreaking work!’’

  Again I hid a smile. I knew a lot about hard work, from taking care of Grace and Billy and from cooking for the Warners right here in San Francisco. But all I said was, ‘‘Don’t worry, I’m prepared to work hard.’’

  Actually, James had said the same thing when he proposed marriage. ‘‘I’m not offering you an easy life. You’ll be working much harder than you’ve ever done before.’’

  And I had said, ‘‘I’m prepared.’’ Then I added shyly, ‘‘If you need money to start your restaurant, I have a little bit saved up that you can have.’’

  He laughed when I told him about the money my uncle had returned, and about my pay from the Warners, which I had carefully saved. ‘‘I’m afraid that to start a restaurant, we need more money than that—a lot more.’’

  But he seemed deeply touched by my offer. He seized me in a fierce grip and kissed me hard.

  EPILOGUE

  As the details of my life flashed before me, I was almost startled by Hanwei’s voice. ‘‘Why didn’t you wait, Ailin? Why did you run away to that American family?’’ That was Hanwei’s question.

  His eyes were full of regret and reproach. ‘‘Things are changing in China,’’ he said. ‘‘And more and more of my parents’ friends are leaving their daughters’ feet unbound. If you had waited, we could have gotten married, and you’d be leading a much easier life.’’

  ‘‘An easier life as what?’’ I asked. I wasn’t being sarcastic. I really wanted to know.

  ‘‘Well . . .’’ He wasn’t prepared for my question. ‘‘Well, as any upper-class wife, I suppose . . . you know, you’d be living like my mother, your mother. . . .’’

  I thought of my mother’s life of ease. I thought of Big Uncle’s two wives. Of course, Hanwei wouldn’t browbeat me like Big Uncle, but what would there be for me to do all day?

  Did I ask that question aloud? Perhaps Hanwei read my mind, because he answered. ‘‘You could have become an English teacher. Some schools now have Chinese women teachers. Wasn’t that your ambition?’’

  ‘‘No, I can never become a teacher,’’ I said slowly, and for a moment I felt keen regret. ‘‘I never finished school.’’

  ‘‘You could have gone back to Nanjing, at least!’’ cried Hanwei. ‘‘Instead, you stayed on in America! I can’t bear the thought of all the work you’ve had to do!’’

  He was right about that. I did have to work hard. Some of the wives in Chinatown, those with bound feet who were married to wealthy businessmen, led lives of ease, shut up in their upstairs rooms. I knew I would lose my mind if I had to spend my days like that. I had chosen a different life.

  Starting the restaurant with James had been truly backbreaking work during the first two years. He had warned me about the hardship, but it had been even worse than I had expected.

  It was only recently that things had improved. Now James and I could afford to hire help, and we occasionally found opportunities to go out by ourselves to the zoo or take the ferry to the East Bay. I even had time to sit and chat with a guest about old times.

  Seated across the table from Hanwei, I looked down at my work-worn hands. My fingers would never regain their slenderness and delicate tips. In comparison, Hanwei’s hands were still the soft, pampered hands of someone who never had to rinse his socks, much less wash huge stacks of dishes day after day.

  Suddenly I knew that I was ready at last to communicate with my family again. I wanted them to know exactly what my life was like. ‘‘Hanwei, can you take a message from me to my mother? And tell her all about this restaurant?’’

  He looked at me. ‘‘You don’t mind if I tell them how hard you’ve had to work?’’

  ‘‘I’m proud of the hard work I did because by standing on my own two feet, I helped my husband make this restaurant a success,’’ I said. I thought of the people who loved me. I knew my father would have been proud of me. I laughed and added, ‘‘By standing on my two big feet.’’

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  A Note on the Chinese Tradition of Foot Binding

  The practice of foot binding in China began around the end of the Tang Dynasty, or about 900 A.D. According to a popular legend, a dancing girl at the court of the Tang emperor bound her feet so that she could dance on her toes, somewhat like a ballet dancer. She was so graceful that many dancers imitated her, and the practice spread to court ladies and other aristocratic women.

  Most historians, however, do not believe that the Tang Dynasty ladies had bound feet, because in sculpture and paintings they are generally shown as robust, even athletic. Polo was a popular sport among high-born women of the Tang era.

  It wasn’t until the Song Dynasty (960–1279) that there were definite records of women’s having their feet bound. At first the practice was confined to aristocratic women, but gradually it spread to other classes of society. Peasant women and those who had to do hard physical labor escaped foot binding because it would have crippled them and made it impossible for them to move around efficiently.

  In spite of the fact that foot binding was an excruciatingly painful process and rendered the victim useless as an active worker, the practice continued for more than a thousand years. Why did women allow themselves to suffer this procedure? The reason given was that men found bound feet attractive.

  Chinese women, to be sure, were not the only ones who suffered agonies to attract men. Victorian women wore corsets so tight that they swooned at the slightest excitement. African women stretched their lips as big as plates or endured female circumcision. Some American women wear four-inch-high heels that force them to totter around.

  I won’t go into why high heels, tiny waists, or plate-sized lips are attractive to men. My aim is to try to understand why Chinese men were so entranced by women with feet less than three inches long. Photographs of these naked, crippled feet are a sickening sight. So what was the attraction?

  There are a couple of theories. One is that having crippled feet makes a woman helpless and unable to run away, and some men are excited by the thought of helpless women.

  But this does not explain everything. Not all Chinese men were sadists who enjoyed the idea of women in pain and at their mercy. The other theory is that it gave a man status to be able to afford a wife who could not work. It showed he was rich enough to support a ‘‘trophy’’ wife.

  By the early years of the twentieth century, the practice finally began to die out, although among the upper classes women with bound feet were still preferred. Even today you can find a few isolated cases in China of old women with bound feet. They are ashamed of their feet, but they cannot remove the strips of bandages and wear normal shoes because it’s too painful to walk without the support of the bindings.

  It wasn’t until the 1930s that the practice stopped more or less completely and mothers allowed their daughters’ feet to go unbound. In some isolated areas, however, the practice went on until the 1940s! I met a woman in a small village who had bound feet, and she was in her fifties.

  —Lensey Namioka

  To the memory of my mother,

  whose name, Buwei,

  means ‘‘Giant Step,’’

  because she was one of

  the earliest to have unbound feet

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  Copyright © 1999 by Lensey Namioka

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