A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China

by Amy Kwei

  Copyright © 2013 Amy S. Kwei

  All rights reserved.

  US Copyright registration TXu 806-676

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without the written consent of the author. This is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to reality is coincidental.

  ISBN: 0981549918

  ISBN 13: 9780981549910

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9815499-2-7

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012940440

  Tats Publishing, Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Acknowledgment

  Author’s Note

  Diagram — Major Characters In The Novel

  Book One – A Concubine For The Family

  Book Two – The Dragon Uncle

  Book Three – Distant Love

  Historical Background

  Glossary Of Terms

  I want to thank my two grandmothers, whose exemplary lives of virtuous living, in times of war and Diaspora, inspired this book. Thanks also to my mother’s nursemaid, the many aunts and helpers in the house who told stories while they made dumplings or sat in sewing circles. They enriched my life.

  I owe my undying gratitude to my husband Tom, (who will not receive a concubine from me) for his unfailing support — technical and emotional — in all the years of preparing for this book. Many thanks go to Dalia Geffen, Sasha Geffen, Judith Neuman, Jane Rosenman, Cathy O’Connell, Sandra Chen, Marie Cantlon, Anna Fang, Sue Tatem, Zhou Xiofen, The Taconic Writers, The Tuesday Morning Writers, and the Aspen Tuesday evening writers. They offered constructive criticisms, encouragement and good fellowship. I specially appreciate the support of the Aspen Writers’ Foundation.

  Thanks also to Jonathan D. Spence, whose many books on China, especially The Search for Modern China, and The Chan’s Great Continent, Edmund Clubb, Twentieth Century China, Hallett Abend’s My Life in China (1926—1941), C.P. Fitzgerald’s China—A Short Cultural History, and John King Fairbank’s The United States and China, for much of the historical background. I owe my understanding on Chinese herbs and acupuncture to my friends, relatives and Alexander Macdonald and his book Acupuncture—From Ancient Art to Modern Medicine.

  Language can be a window to the mind and heart of a culture. Unfortunately, translations do not always convey a people’s zest and vibrancy. The Chinese often speak in metaphors, and their manner of expression reflects the vivid landscape of their culture. In order to retain the picturesque quality of the language, I have used many expressions literally. For instance, when a mother calls her child “my heart-and-liver,” it is clear how precious the child is to her.

  For thousands of years, countries surrounding China have borrowed from Chinese culture. On a visit to Kyoto, the cultural capital of Japan, one will see the finest examples of these: Chinese architecture, dwarf tree designs, bronze and porcelain ware, paintings on silk, calligraphy, origami and other features. The national costume of the Korean ladies today is in the style of fourteenth-century Chinese fashion. Whenever a meal is served in a Southeast Asian country, one will taste soy sauce, eat with chopsticks, and sample Chinese culinary touches. Cognizant of their great influence, the Chinese have fostered an ancient pride that is far more enduring than the twentieth century concepts of nationalism and patriotism. Many Chinese know that before the advent of the Westerners, they were never described as “primitive” or “underdeveloped.” In fact, for millenniums, neighboring cultures in Asia recognized the “Middle Kingdom” as the center of the civilized world.

  As a result of this perceived cultural supremacy, the Chinese language reflects an aristocratic pride. A person deprived of the old culture, whether Occidental or Oriental in origin, is considered a “barbarian.” When the barbarians became terrifying, they were called “foreign devils.” The “East Ocean Devils” were the Japanese; Westerners were the “West Ocean Devils.”

  Readers should keep in mind that the place of a Chinese in society is very much tied to his family. The word “individual” has connotations of selfishness and secretiveness. The word “independence” literally translates to “alone standing.” To the Chinese, “one” is an unlucky number.

  Chinese do not call each other by name except when addressing children, servants and others of lesser station. Relational address delineates their position in the family clan: e.g. “jei jei” for older sister, “dee dee” for younger brother, “jeo jeo” for mother’s younger brother, “soo soo” for father’s younger brother. Relationships are specified even to the point of identifying whether they are of paternal or maternal origin. Even when two people are not related, a relational appellation is added. Therefore, Peony calls Iris, “Iris-jei.” It is also polite for husband and wife to address each other as brother and sister. Righteous Virtue calls Purple Jade, “Jade-mei.” To avoid confusion, only the appellations for brothers and sisters are used in the book.

  The author, with help from her friends, translated all the Chinese poems and songs. Some relational addresses, commonly used idiomatic expressions, popular philosophies, salient historical events, names, and places referred to in the story are clarified in the glossary.

  I was born a blue-hearted baby. As a sickly child, I was given the gift of reading and listening. This novel is a fictional account based upon family history. The characters and their experiences are composites, drawn from stories I have heard. They are not intended to represent real people or events.

  Since most of the story is set in 1937, I have rendered the Chinese names in the Wade-Giles system familiar at the time. The Pinyin system is used only for some famous people and a few places, such as Hangzhou and Beijing that have become popular tourist attractions on recent maps.

  Hangzhou, 1937

  IT WAS EIGHT in the morning. A gentle breeze rustled the bamboo grove outside Purple Jade’s window like ten thousand fans waving moist air into the room.

  Rain is coming.

  Purple Jade, lying on her rosewood four-poster bed, turned in the dark alcove to face the light. She waited for her personal maid.

  Orchid came in carrying a basin of warm water and laid it beside her mistress’s footstool. “Morning peace, Tai-tai.”

  “Orchid, have you eaten your morning rice?”

  “Yes, Tai-tai.” Orchid touched her mouth, deciding not to mention the uproar in the kitchen where all the servants were discussing the drowning of a girl in the river. To announce bad news first thing in the morning would mean bad luck for the rest of the day.

  She pushed aside the embroidered silk panels hanging from the intricately carved wooden valence edging the canopy. With her other hand she led her mistress out of the enclosure.

  Purple Jade leaned heavily on Orchid’s arm as her foot, wrapped in silk bindings and stockings, touched the ground. She wobbled unsteadily toward her rosewood armchair.

  A washcloth, a towel and a porcelain soap dish were assembled on the bedside table. Purple Jade sat expectantly as Orchid moved the basin of water closer. Her sure hands slipped off Purple Jade’s silk night tunic and laid it on the bed. Lines of concentration etched Orchid’s round, dewy face. She dipped the washcloth in the basin and lathered it. Then she gently rubbed her mistress’s face, chest, breasts and armpits. She tackled each task like an artist and handled the details with care. The rustle of leaves outside the window accompanied the swish of bathwater as Orchid rinsed her mistress’s supple upper body three times. At thirty-nine, Purple Jade’s creamy skin was still unblemished. Her flesh shone like a silken chemise. Orchid did not seem to notice the sensual gleam. She had served her mistress since she was five years old and performed the same task for almos
t eighteen years. Orchid’s experienced fingers dried Purple Jade with the towel and then dressed her in a fresh silk undershirt. She was now ready to wash her mistress’s lower body.

  The early morning light cast somber shadows on the walls. Purple Jade saw herself reflected in the mirror and turned away. Her inbred modesty forbade her to gaze at her naked and still sinuous torso, but she took note of her sagging breasts. She lowered her eyes. Her lips lifted to smile, and for one instant she beamed with pleasure at Orchid’s gentle message and the clean, fresh feel of soft silk.

  Purple Jade tilted her head toward the ceiling, examining the shifting shadows, while her maid helped her to stand. Orchid washed her hips, her legs and her private parts. She repeated the rinsing and drying routines and finally helped her mistress into fresh undergarments. She directed her mistress to sit, and then handed her her embroidery. She left to fetch hot water.

  Although Orchid was not quite five feet tall, her big feet made a soft putt-putt sound as she walked in again with a pitcher of hot water. Carefully, she set it down. She emptied the bathwater outside the window, and refilled the basin from the pitcher.

  Without a word, Orchid knelt to remove Purple Jade’s silk socks and unwind the yards of silk bindings. A musty stench filled her nostrils and her nose twitched in spite of the familiar smell. Purple Jade’s club-like feet were arched and small. The last two toes on each foot had been bent under the soles and the toe bones crushed when Purple Jade was only three years old.

  Orchid placed the feet in the basin and Purple Jade sighed with relief.

  “Sorry this is taking so long, Tai-tai.” Orchid lowered her head — time to inform her mistress. “Everyone in the kitchen is talking about a body found in the river.”

  “The river brings such horrors!” Purple Jade’s arched brows pulled her long eyes into dark pools of anxiety, distorting her oval face.

  “Do you think the East Ocean Devils are killing people upstream?” Orchid asked.

  “No, they have not occupied the land there.” Purple Jade answered in a flat tone.

  Anxiety about war hung like a shroud over Purple Jade. She was proud the Chinese had repelled several Japanese attacks on Shanghai but was still alarmed by reports of the enemy extending their control from Manchuria to the neighboring provinces and using local slave labor to cultivate opium on all the arable land. The dribble of news about cheap opium flooding all corners of China set her insides quivering. Now, even the poorest rickshaw puller could afford a smoke to soothe his aching muscles. She had warned her household staff to avoid the drug or to risk dismissal. Good news would not come. This drowned girl felt like the harbinger of more devastation. She took a deep breath. She must concentrate on her family affairs, and her words must sound casual. She proceeded to talk about her old pains — her bound feet.

  “Ah, last night you left the bandages so loose, my feet felt like lost ships tossing in the ocean.”

  Orchid added more hot water to the bath. “Are your feet hurting you again? Tai-tai, in a few months you’ll get used to the looser binding.”

  “No one calls them golden lilies anymore. Now they are only tiny feet, and worse than your big feet.”

  Orchid looked at her mistress; her round eyes glistened. She quickly lowered them. It would not do for her mistress to know that she pitied her. Gently, she massaged Purple Jade’s feet.

  “Li tai-tai told me that after soaking and loosening her bindings, she could wear the modern high-heeled shoes!” Purple Jade said. “I don’t know how she can tolerate the pain.”

  “Today, I’ll have to leave the bindings very loose and try to bring out one toe from under your feet.” Orchid carefully lifted one bent toe.

  “Better leave them alone. The last time you tried, I was up all night with the pain.” Their eyes met in a shared memory. Long ago Purple Jade had told Orchid that when she was two, her mother had wept while ordering her nursemaid to bind her feet. She did not dare to leave Purple Jade’s feet unbound. In a family of their stature, it would be a disgrace to bring up a daughter with big feet — as if the family had to prepare her for menial labor.

  “Yes, it is cruel,” Orchid said, as if she, too, remembered the pain. She rubbed her mistress’s feet in the hot water.

  “At first, it didn’t hurt much,” Purple Jade continued. “Of course, she wound the bandages a little bit tighter each day to get me accustomed to it.” Purple Jade rambled on as if she were telling Orchid the story for the very first time. “Later, when I was three, they brought in a professional foot binder and she broke the bones and bent the last two little toes under my feet. I screamed and cried every night.”

  Orchid knew the next step was to force the heels under the instep to meet the toes.

  Purple Jade moaned, reliving the torture. “I became delirious. My mother and my nursemaid stayed up night after night weeping with me. Finally, they could no longer stand to see me suffer. They loosened the bandages somewhat, so that at least my ankles and heels were not completely deformed.” She grimaced. “There is never a day when I am not in pain.”

  Orchid looked at the clublike feet in her hands and smelled again the odor of compressed flesh. Her hands shook, and she massaged Purple Jade’s feet more vigorously.

  “My mother berated herself and the nursemaid for allowing my feet to grow almost six inches long, instead of the ideal three-inches.” Purple Jade clutched her embroidery to her heart. “Father took pity on me, and promised Mother that my dowry would be so handsome that any smart family would overlook my oversized feet!”

  “Yes, I remember old master Chou was always kind and thoughtful.” Orchid could not express her outrage and disgust. Why did they impose such suffering in a home that had never known hunger and cold?

  “We were supposed to be seductive, stir up men’s desires with our undulating lily walk.’ Who could imagine things would change so . . . Now big feet are in fashion, and I have to suffer again to straighten my feet.”

  Orchid nodded. She said, “I wonder what does stir men’s desires?”

  Purple Jade blushed. Restraint and reciprocal affection dominated her relationship with her husband after seventeen years of marriage. She shifted in her seat, too embarrassed to answer. She had long accepted her bound feet as her fate. She had buried her anger, tolerated indignities, and accepted her deformity; now they were barriers to a modern life in which she had no desire to participate. She returned to her embroidery and began stitching; her hand looked like a small bird pecking at the cloth.

  Orchid had often noticed how her mistress’s and the lord’s eyes gleamed and their cheeks flushed after a game of chess. Another time, she had noticed the lord’s trembling hands as he bade his wife good night. Her mistress had never spoken of desire, so it must be something that was not talked about. She pressed and squeezed her mistress’s feet. “No one should have to suffer like this just to please men.”

  Purple Jade stirred to attention. This uneducated girl had voiced a truth she herself did not dare contemplate. She looked into her maid’s unusually large round eyes. Ah, those cow eyes have seen my sorrow.

  “Orchid, you’re almost twenty-three. Soon I must find you a husband.”

  “Tai-tai, you’ve been like a mother to me. I don’t wish to leave your side.” She continued to manipulate her mistress’s feet. Remembering the fiery eyes of the male servants in the house, she trembled.

  “Because you’re like a daughter to me, I must find you the right husband. Ah, how will I manage without you?”

  “Then I shall stay.” Orchid added more hot water to the footbath.

  Orchid went behind her mistress and loosened her chignon. Thick and dark long hair tumbled loose. Orchid began combing. “Aiya, here are two more white hairs!”

  “Don’t fuss about hiding them. Pull them out!” Purple Jade winced as Orchid yanked the hairs out. I’m already thirty-nine. My two daughters were difficult births, and still we have no sons. Who will carry on the Huang family name and perform th
e necessary ancestral rites?

  A son would mean the continuation of the family. Her half-brother, Chou Glorious Dragon, was the savior of her maiden family—the Chous. Her father took a concubine, who gave birth to Glorious Dragon when Purple Jade was thirteen years old. She had been an only child for a long time. Her father had educated her as if she were a son, but the Chou family could not maintain its social standing without a boy in the family. Now she managed the Chou silk factory books and supervised the Chou family homestead next door, and her brother lived in Shanghai and managed the business there. Though Dragon consulted her on all aspects of Chou family welfare, she directed everything in his name. She shivered. Who else would want to take business advice from a woman with bound-feet? And now, with only two daughters, who would save the Huang family?

  “Dragon is always so busy with his own pleasures in Shanghai,” she said aloud. “I hope he will come to check on our Hangzhou factory today.” Totally immersed now in her household concerns, and feeling refreshed from her morning routine, she felt she had walked out from a fog into a shaft of sunlight.

  “Tai-tai, the water must be getting cold.” Orchid finished setting the chignon and quickly brought out fresh bindings. She dried her mistress’s feet and loosely bound each foot.

  Without another word, she knelt and put on her mistress’s tiny silk brocade shoes. She had embroidered tiny plum blossoms near the tips. Since a maid could embroider only under poor light when the day’s work was done, it would never equal the fine stitching of a lady. It was a great honor that her mistress had accepted the new shoes at the New Year and begun wearing them.

  Orchid dressed Purple Jade in a dark silk skirt and a blue and silver brocade jacket.

  “Orchid, tell Golden Bell and Silver Bell we must go boating on the West Lake when the weather clears.”

  After completing the cleansing rite, in the dim comfort of her mistress’s bedroom, Orchid smiled and proceeded to tidy up.