Old Town

by Lin Zhe

  What was she like, that Third Sister who could make Ninth Brother fall so deeply in love with her?

  When I was little, Granny would often take me from West Gate to Drum Tower, to her old home, her own parents’ home. The eating, drinking, whoring, and gambling of her wastrel brothers had finished this place off. The only thing left was a small rundown house filled with ancestral portraits. The street we walked along was called West Street. Not far off from Drum Tower, on the north side of West Street, was a dilapidated residence compound. From the main gate, you could look in and see the many households squeezed and crowded in there. Under the sky well, there were always clothes of every imaginable color hanging out to dry. Only a few dark red stone steps in front of the main door still looked smooth and bright from the years of buffing and polishing. Every time my grandmother passed by here she couldn’t help slowing down and peering fondly inside. This compound had been her real home, where she had been born, and where several generations of Guos had likewise been born. Whether or not I fully understood, she just always wanted to tell me about all the bygone events connected to that place and her family.

  Third Sister had been born in the small wing off the sky well. Her mother had already given birth to two girls. That the third birth also was a girl clearly made the Guo clan elders exceedingly disappointed. Her mother cried for several days and nights because of that belly of hers failing to meet expectations. She wouldn’t let this infant suck at her breasts. In those days, getting rid of a female infant was no different from flinging out a newborn kitten or a puppy. She quoted the old maxim to her husband, “‘Failing to give birth to a son is the worst way to be unfilial.’ Just go and take a concubine to give you a son.” Though my great-grandfather longed for a son in concept, he also truly loved his daughters. Early in their young lives, each one of them had shown unusual intelligence and charm. On their part, they seemed to know that being born in girls’ bodies they were indebted to their parents. So they were all the more solicitous of their mother and father and worked to win their favor. It was the custom of Old Town that not until five days after childbirth could a husband visit his wife. When, accordingly, Great-Grandpa entered her wing of the courtyard, bent over, and saw the infant girl abandoned at the corner of the bed, at that very moment Third Sister opened her eyes for the first time in her five days of life. The look from her crow-black eyes told her father of the wrong being done to her, and curling her tiny lips, she began to cry softly. Immediately, her father was smitten by this daughter. He picked up the child and, holding her close to him, said to his wife, “We’ll just keep her.”

  Third Sister had better luck than the other two girls in the family. When she was seven years old, Old Town got a “Western” school. Folk in Old Town called anything at all imported from the outside world, “Western things.” “Coal oil”—kerosene, that is—was called “Western oil,” matches were called “Western fire,” and so on. Before the Western school, private teachers had tutored educated people in Old Town at home. Wealthy people would set up a study room and invite someone well versed in the doctrines of Confucius and Mencius to be the teacher. Or else the teacher would arrange a schoolroom at his own home and take in several children to learn to read and write Chinese characters.

  The earliest Western school in Old Town was church-run. Nowadays it is a famous institution. Family heads consider it an honor for their children to study in this school. The history of that school building goes back more than eighty years and the children’s loud and clear recitations have never been interrupted.

  Little Third Sister saw the young ladies and gentlemen from the wealthy homes wearing their neat school uniforms pass by her doorway. She asked Eldest Sister, “What are they doing?” Eldest Sister told her that they were the pupils at the Western school. She asked Eldest Sister to take her to see just what sort of place the Western school was, and Eldest Sister did so. The school was built beside Little West Lake. There for the first time they saw a two-story, Western-style building and heard the sound of school lesson recitations wafting out from within, which greatly moved Third Sister. Returning home, she begged and pleaded with her father to send her there to school. By that time my grandma’s two younger brothers had been born. The older of the two was almost three years old but he still couldn’t speak. Second Younger Brother at one year old was a “nighttime crybaby,” asleep all day long, and crying up a storm the rest of the time. There is a saying in Old Town, “Look at youth to foretell maturity.” Boss Guo concluded that his sons would never amount to anything and so cherished his daughters all the more. And so he gave in to Third Sister’s pleas.

  West Street consisted of several hundred households, but of these there was only one pupil in the Western school, and that was Third Daughter Guo. Thereupon she became renowned on West Street, like a movie star of today. Every word she said, every move she made, was scrutinized by the people of that neighborhood. Every day she tripped down those dark-red stone steps on her way to school and, every day after school, she tripped back up those same dark-red steps. Such a pretty sight on West Street! From grade school to junior middle school, she grew more beautiful and dignified all the time. The womenfolk of West Street would get together and express all kinds of dire worries about Third Sister: whose home would be graced by this sort of a girl that everyone loved at first sight? Afterward, with Third Sister always in and out of the West Gate church, the West Street women said she was a Western sort of Buddhist nun. They all sighed over the beautiful girl with the unlucky fate. Still later, when people discovered that Third Sister was going from door to door with a male preacher, there was a mighty uproar throughout West Street. Women traded gossip and made up many scandalous stories about her: the “preaching” was faked; what was true was something improper; conditions at the Guo home weren’t lucky; and Boss Guo had no face to meet anybody and so just stayed at home pretending to be sick!

  As my great-grandfather Guo became more bedridden, he was taken care of by my great-grandmother and thus became increasingly cut off from the world outside his door. Since they stayed at home the whole time, all the commotion on West Street had not reached inside the Guo residence. Eldest Sister and Second Sister heard these sarcastic comments and idle gossip but didn’t give any weight to them. Third Sister believed in the god of the Western people. She was always mouthing “God this” and “the Lord that.” The two sisters were worried that the girl might go and become a Western-Buddha nun, and so they took her aside and asked her, “If you believe in the god of the Westerners, can you still get married?” Third Sister replied that God is happy when people get married and have children,” which was a relief to her two older sisters.

  Chinese Medicine Practitioner Chen, who looked after Boss Guo, belonged to a family whose friendship with the Guos spanned several generations. When, one day, Mr. Chen came in response to a call for his presence, he did not immediately take pulses and make his diagnosis as he normally did. He just sat in the main hall on the old-fashioned wooden armchair drinking cup after cup of tea. By coincidence, Granny’s younger brothers just then got into a scrap over something or other and tussled from the back courtyard to the one in front. Mr. Chen took this opportunity to raise the subject with his old friend of restraining and disciplining children. He began by praising Third Daughter’s beauty and intelligence, and, with much meandering, touched on the various rumors about her. Boss Guo didn’t say one word, but the fine porcelain cup he was holding suddenly shattered into pieces. Toward evening, when Third Sister returned from school, her mother and father rained blows on her head, and forbade her from ever again crossing the threshold out of the Guo home. Her mother brought in a widow from the countryside to live in Third Sister’s room and ensure that the girl’s virtue was well guarded. The widow never let her go out of sight. But Third Sister’s good name was now ruined in Old Town and she could never get married. Her mother sent a message to an uncle holding some official position in a faraway mountain district “to find a mother-i
n-law” for the girl.

  What a disaster! I can’t think of anything to compare it to in accurately describing just how serious this all was. At that time, neither Eldest Sister nor Second Sister “had a mother-in-law” and Third Sister’s bad reputation had certainly made the two of them despair of their own prospects. Did they feel anger and resentment toward their younger sister?

  Grandma’s uncle arranged for Third Sister to be the lesser wife of a wealthy yokel in his mountain district. This bumpkin sent a team of porters with the betrothal gifts, and so around West Street the Guo family was judged to have regained a little face. Not only was Third Sister going to be married, she was going to enter a good man’s home. So many poles of gifts were brought in and deployed like impressive battle formations in the Guo home that all of West Street grew alarmed.

  It rained heavily that night and the virtue-guarding widow slumbered deeply. By the time she awoke, Third Sister was nowhere to be seen.

  This was an even greater disaster! The skies above the Guo home had collapsed.

  Third Sister had “died.” All the Guos could do now was to bear an empty coffin out of the house. However, this empty coffin couldn’t put an end to all the conjectures and rumors of the West Street neighborhood. Just about everyone knew that Third Sister had eloped with “that man.” West Street’s several “Western religion” households said that she had followed the call of God to go off and spread the Gospel. But those who had quite different feelings about the Western religion considered such talk to be the same as the Guo family’s empty coffin—the more that was hidden, the more was exposed, and that’s all there was to it.

  Old Town’s photo studio was next door to the Guo Family Cloth Shop. There my grandma left more than a few memories of her youth. For sure, Third Sister also had many photographs taken. The Guo family refused to keep such shameful memories, particularly the wife of Granny’s younger brother. Pure as the driven snow all her life, she would not hang any photograph of Third Sister on her wall.

  4.

  IT’S NEW YEAR’S now. The older members of the family have to give the festive presents of a little cash to the children. I receive a lot more money than my peers. My cousins almost don’t know my granny’s relatives, but I’m a member of this large clan. Because I am Granny’s little tail, wherever she goes, I tag along behind.

  I have two great-aunts and four great-uncles. First Great-Uncle is a muddled drunk. On the first day of the New Year when we meet, he still knows enough to fish out a few small coins to give me. There are numerous older children and they will all give me money.

  That night, before falling asleep, I’m like a miser, counting this year’s take. The total wouldn’t have exceeded the equivalent of fifty yuan today, but for me then that simply would have been an astronomical sum. Counting money is really fun. Granny is at my side and, watching me with a smile, asks, “How much? Granny will make it a round sum.” Suddenly I think I should also have a third great-auntie. Big Great-Auntie and Fourth Great-Auntie both give me New Year’s money every year. Granny ranks second among them in age, so where has Third Great-Auntie gone to? How come she doesn’t give me New Year’s money? I ask Granny this. The smile on her kindly face doesn’t change, just seems to add a trace of sorrow. “She left us when she was quite young.” I don’t ask the reason for this, and lower my head to continue counting the money.

  Third Sister was dead. After a few years, the Guos no longer thought of that coffin as having been empty. People’s memories have a way of rewriting history and creating stories.

  When Grandpa was seriously ill, Great-Auntie lived in Hangzhou at her eldest daughter’s home. When she found out that Second Sister’s husband was about to enter the True World, that very night she rushed back to Old Town by train. Her daughter bought her a sleeping-car ticket but she never lay down for a minute. Instead, this eighty-year-old lady actually spent the entire night in the dining car writing a letter. Even when young, she had always liked writing letters. At that time, her husband’s family as well as her own all rode the buses for no more than eight fen, but she preferred to spend that amount on postage stamps. Frequently she had to add another eight fen for overweight. Anyway, writing letters was her hobby. She hunched over the swaying and lurching dining table and wrote to Third Sister: Second Sister’s husband has traveled to the end of his human life. Great-Auntie’s memory restores order out of chaos. She thought of Third Sister and believed that she lived in this world in perfectly good condition.

  My dear Third Sister, Second Sister’s husband, Ninth Brother, is about to return to his heavenly home. He has been the best doctor in the world, the best husband, and the most ethical and compassionate man. You don’t know him, although you and he worshiped together at the West Gate church. Maybe you never paid any attention to him. But Ninth Brother knew you, because in those days you were so extraordinarily pretty. Ninth Brother liked you and hoped that he and you might form the Hundred-Year Happy Union. His big sister-in-law had a matchmaker visit us and discuss things. That was when Daddy couldn’t bear the idea of your getting married and leaving home. Daddy doted on you the most. So why did Ninth Brother marry our Second Sister? It’s a long story. I remember the first time I met him when he appeared on our gate steps. It was like the sun was in my eyes. I secretly hoped that he would become my husband. On the day he and your Second Sister were betrothed, I buried myself in a cotton quilt and cried and cried until my eyes were swollen…

  Before our old place was razed flat by the bulldozer, every time I would return to Old Town to see relatives I always got to read the thick stack of letters that Great-Auntie had written. Her characters were packed tightly together, and everything was unpunctuated and without paragraph divisions. At the time when she was learning to read and write, Chinese didn’t have punctuation. Probably I was the only person patient and serious enough to read those letters, for I was born a curious cat.

  So it turned out Granny’s Third Sister hadn’t actually died. I was deeply fascinated by the story that Great-Auntie related.

  Grandpa’s Big Sister-in-Law got wind of the “empty coffin” story that blew about Old Town. She also heard the theory of her fellow believers—that the young lady had left for distant places to preach the Word. Although Big Sister-in-Law believed in Jesus the Savior, she also believed that a young lady who flaunted herself in public abandoned decorum by doing so. Inwardly she rejoiced that none of this disgrace touched the Lin family. If Ninth Brother had been betrothed to Third Sister, that empty coffin would have had to be carried out of the Lin home.

  Grandpa’s eldest brother had been an official of the Qing dynasty, as had several generations of family members before him. What we today would call our monthly salary was known then as their monthly “rations.” They had to use a washbowl to hold the heavy, shiny silver yuan pieces. One silver yuan would be enough for a poor family to live on for half a year, so it was obvious how rich the Lins were. After the Revolution and the cutting off of the braid that men wore, Grandpa’s big brother straightway became unemployed and a housebound invalid as well. His two sons idled about the house chanting poetry, painting, and raising songbirds. They were a pair of spoiled playboys who affected the manner of eccentric intellectuals. With a great fortune being thus frittered away, the family’s days went from bad to worse. Big Sister-in-Law let Ah Mu and Ah Hua go. And even when all that remained was a cook, she planned not to use him either. Her two daughters-in-law had come from grand families and didn’t even know how much rice and water went into the boiler. When the Lins’ own girls left in marriage, Big Sister-in-Law could count only on Ninth Brother who was then away studying. If he brought a daughter-in-law into the home, this would help her prop up the tottering House of Lin.

  During his third year’s summer vacation, Ninth Brother received a letter from Eldest Brother and Big Sister-in-Law asking him to come home to get married. Just which girl was being arranged for him wasn’t made clear. But surely it had to be Third Sister Guo. While in
Shanghai, Ninth Brother had kept a three-volume diary for her, and even the barest of entries, like “Raining today. All day long bent over my desk studying,” was written with Third Sister in mind. The diary itself was Third Sister. Every day, under the lamp she would quietly listen in on all of Ninth Brother’s subtlest feelings. Unrequited love is a beautiful sign of sincerity. Studying all by himself in a strange place, Ninth Brother was never alone.

  Ninth Brother took the entire surplus of what he could save daily from his scholarship fund and bought presents. Eldest Brother, Big Sister-in-Law, nieces, and nephews—everyone got a “meeting gift.” For Third Sister Guo he bought a jadeite ring, which he wanted to put on her finger in the church with the pastor’s blessing. At this time, Mr. Qiao had accepted the position of church pastor in Beijing. Ninth Brother wrote to Mr. and Mrs. Qiao to announce the happy news that during this year’s winter break he would bring his bride to Beijing to visit his two benefactors.

  The rich love and affections within his Old Town home and its joyful air of marriage arrangements intoxicated Ninth Brother. He never even asked anything about the bride. All he thought about was the coming night of the painted candles and the nuptial chamber.

  One night, when he was reading a book in his wing of the courtyard, his eldest nephew walked in. Ninth Brother assumed he wanted to discuss brush pen script. Uncle and nephew were only about two years apart. They had both studied and played together from when they were little and their feelings for each other were sincere and generous. This nephew was keenly interested in brush pen script, and the gift Ninth Brother had brought him was a copy-book of Song dynasty calligraphy masters. His nephew never let this out of his sight.

  Nephew didn’t bother with conversational amenities but came right to the point, “Ninth Uncle, do you know whose family your bride is coming from?”