A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China

by Amy Kwei

  In a flash of inspiration, he decided that the American should meet his sister Purple Jade, who had so patiently taught him his classics. His brother-in-law, Righteous Virtue, had deplored Western powers’ competition for Chinese territory and trade. He had rejected communism, Nazism and materialism, but he was familiar with Western manners. He lived the life of an exemplary Confucian scholar: conservative, with a learned contentment and pacifism. Glorious Dragon was confident Strong would benefit from a meeting with his sister and brother-in-law — two living embodiments of the finest in Chinese culture.

  When Archie Strong entered the Huang family’s first court, he took a quick breath, arrested by the sight of a dwarf cedar leaning toward a structure of porous Taihu rocks. The beautiful formation towered over a small pool where silver, gold and red carps swam. A covered walkway surrounded the courtyard on three sides, away from the front gate and spirit screen wall. Under an overhang of terra-cotta roof tiles at the entrance to the first hall, Righteous Virtue stood waiting for his guests. He was wearing an ankle-length brown silk gown with cream silk cuffs and trousers.

  Strong was surprised that the mandarin spoke English. They took tea in the first hall and exchanged social pleasantries. Righteous Virtue suggested they visit the larger garden the Huangs shared with the Chous, his wife’s maiden family.

  “A walk in the garden is perfect after our train ride,” Strong agreed. Righteous Virtue instructed the servants to relay the following message to Purple Jade: they would dine in the moon pavilion.

  Leading the way, Glorious Dragon passed through a moon-gate faced with red-lacquered wood. The round frame offered a long vista across a lotus pond. A pavilion with latticed windows loomed in the right corner, towering over a blanket of budding azalea bushes.

  “I often come here to view the lotus when they’re in bloom,” Righteous Virtue explained as they strolled along the covered walkway surrounding the lotus pond. “Their beauty reminds me of the spirit of our nation.”

  “How’s that?” Strong raked his fingers through his brown hair.

  “The lotus grows from mud, but the flowers remain pristine. That is how I hope our country will emerge from its present troubles.”

  Strong nodded. They had arrived at another moongate, made of terra-cotta tiles. He had an open view of a large glistening pond. Marble walks and bridges led to rock arrangements and open pavilions — studios for painting and reading and terraces of bamboo groves, budding fruit trees, and swaying willows. Strong was guided slowly through the walled-in garden, viewing it from different terraced heights and angles. Throughout the tour, Righteous Virtue pointed out the compositions of light and shadows, the balance of yin and yan. Water, stone, trees and flowers had all been carefully coordinated.

  “I must thank you for allowing me to see this exquisite garden!” Strong exclaimed. Glorious Dragon smiled. Chinese etiquette would have called for a disclaimer, but he knew Strong was new in China; he accepted the compliment.

  When they arrived at the moon pavilion, the table was set, and Purple Jade was waiting. She wore a silk burgundy jacket with subtle shades of violet woven in a small floral pattern. Purple satin piped the borders of the thigh-length robe, flowing loosely over a floor-length skirt of the same color. The skirt obscured her feet.

  When the American guest was introduced, she got up, held both hands to one side at her waist, lowered one knee to the floor, and curtsied. She rose gracefully, then reclined. Archie Strong thought she looked like a princess from a storybook.

  Purple Jade knew most Chinese immigrants to America went from Canton and Fukien Provinces, so Americans were familiar with Cantonese food. She had ordered the kitchen to provide a light supper of dim sum, but she included a specialty of the region, the crab meat shao lun bao (Small dragon dumplings).

  Strong recognized the shrimp dumplings wrapped in thin rice dough right away. “These are my favorite when I go to New York’s Chinatown for Sunday brunch!”

  “Now try these shao lun bao.” Glorious Dragon said. He carefully picked up a dumpling and placed it on a spoon. He added a few drops of Zhenjiang black vinegar, and some julienned young ginger and passed the spoon to Strong. “Try to eat it in one bite and savor the burst of juice mixed with the crab and pork filling.”

  “Ah, this is heavenly,” Strong sighed. “How did they hold the juice inside such a thin piece of skin?”

  “That’s the cook’s secret.” Righteous Virtue smiled. “These dumplings have been made here for centuries.”

  Purple Jade sipped tea; the men drank beer and translated the conversation for her. As they ate, they discussed Chinese regional cuisine, garden design and architecture. They noted that while food differed from one region to the next, China had a common goal: to lead a quiet life in harmony with nature.

  The conversation soon drifted toward the Confucian ideal of a simple, reclusive life away from the crass concerns of the material world. Strong heartily approved. He laughed and allowed that he too would love to be a recluse in such a home as this.

  “But if I may ask my question,” he began, his eyes flashing. “Do you feel strange that the Xian incident involved so much contorted maneuvering by your leaders? Why did Marshal Zhang return to Nanking with Chiang Kai-shek?”

  “Ah, Zhang must return to give Chiang face,” Righteous Virtue answered.

  Strong had heard of the importance of face. “What can face do for Generalissimo Chiang, or for China?”

  “Now that he was given face, Chiang must act like the paragon of Confucian virtue. We expect our leaders to act with honor. In other words, Chiang must fulfill his agreement and ally with the Communists to defend our homeland against foreign aggression!”

  Strong wanted to know if the people wanted unity and democracy, but he remembered how America had long ignored Chinese interests and benefited from the British colonial trade in opium. He decided to concentrate on the Xian Incident. “So why did the generalissimo offer to resign? He knows the West supports him and he controls the best army.”

  “He must resign to regain face,” Righteous Virtue said again.

  “Doesn’t his strength give him face? I’ve learned that the generalissimo is neutralizing Marshal Zhang’s power by transferring his northeastern forces. These are now being absorbed into the Nationalist army in Hunan and Anhui.”

  “He must regain face by acting virtuous. Most Chinese detest the Japanese occupation,” Righteous Virtue said. “All the armies must come under central government control. I understand even the Communist Red Army will become the Nationalist Eighth Route Army. I believe Chiang Kai-shek’s son, Chiang Ching-kuo, will soon return from the Soviet Union to help integrate the Communists into our Nationalist government.”

  “Imagine, Chiang Kai-shek sent his son to the Soviet Union to study while he was being advised by the Nazis! I can’t believe the Chinese will ever unite.” Strong shook his head. He handled his chopsticks like an expert. He knew he was a quick study and thought he understood the contentious Chinese.

  There were days when Purple Jade felt the suffocating worries of the Japanese threat and her divided country could wither the blossoms in her garden, but Strong gave her a chance to speak of her hopes. “Tell him our folk tale of the three defective sons-in-law.” Purple Jade nudged her brother. She had often taught her brother through parables.

  “My sister wishes me to tell you this story.” He nodded to his sister and then to Strong. He took a sip of beer to clear his throat.

  “Once upon a time, there was a man with three married daughters. One son-in-law suffered from an itchy scalp and had the bad habit of scratching his head in front of company. The second son-in-law suffered from an itchy back and could not resist twisting to reach and scratch his back even on the most formal occasions. The third son-in-law suffered from a runny nose, and had to blow, despite the solemnity of any event.”

  Strong relaxed into his chair with his arms crossed before him.

  “It so happened that the father-in-l
aw had reached his sixtieth birthday and planned a sumptuous feast to celebrate. The noted gentry of the town had been invited. It seemed the sons-in-law were doomed to commit the gravest faux pas in front of the whole town. Not only would their improprieties bring disgrace to their families, but the father-in-law would lose face on his birthday. The daughters fretted and wrung their hands in dread of the feast, and their husbands promised to control themselves as best they could.

  “The day of the party came, and all three daughters and their husbands went in all their finery. At the banquet, they sat together to give each other courage. The sons-in-law behaved admirably until the sixth course when they could no longer endure their itches and runny nose. They looked to each other and carried out their plan. The first son-in-law raised his voice to praise his father-in-law’s virtues, then he volunteered to entertain the guests by relating an unusual adventure.

  “‘Last week, I went to gather wood in the mountains,’ he said. ‘Suddenly I saw a ferocious tiger on a ledge in front of me. I was so scared, I dropped all my wood, scratched my head, and wondered what to do.’ He shook his hands toward the ground and dumped the load of imaginary wood. He scratched his head to demonstrate his story and satisfied his itch.

  “The second son-in-law quickly took up the story: ‘Ah, you shouldn’t have wasted time to think! You should have run inside a narrow cave to hide!’ He backed into a wall, rubbed his back against it, then squatted under the table and twisted into his seat, giving his back a vigorous scratching in the process.

  “The third son-in-law could hardly breathe by this time, but he shouted, ‘You two are not brave! Huh . . .’ He took a breath and blew his nose in one big heave. ‘I’ll take my bow and arrow and shoot the tiger!’ His arm swept up as he spoke. In one swift motion of drawing his imaginary arrow from his back and pulling the arrow from the phantom bowstring, he wiped his nose on his sleeve, demonstrating his skill. The guests enjoyed the pantomime and congratulated the old man on his witty sons-in-law.”

  Strong enjoyed the story but failed to see the point.

  “You see —” Righteous Virtue took a deep breath, reluctant to have to explain again. “— all the Chinese political factions are like the sons-in-law. With all their imperfections, they cooperated to save the family face.”

  “Yeah, but they still suffer from the itches and the runny nose!” Strong retorted.

  Purple Jade winced at the forthright American talk. She whispered to her husband, “It would be at least five years before the old man would celebrate another important birthday.” Righteous Virtue translated for Purple Jade. “The ‘face’ gave the sons-in-law time to correct their faults.”

  “That’s positive thinking, I suppose,” Strong conceded. He looked at this self-contained fairy princess in her orderly garden and was more moved by the lady’s gentle, obliging manner than by her logic.

  “Of course, the situation does not allow for outside intervention,” Glorious Dragon said with some vehemence. “If one guest encouraged the first son-in-law to sell the third one’s arrows to cure his itchy scalp, and another guest encouraged the second one to grab them for the benefit of his back, then all that ‘face’ would turn to squabbles in no time.”

  Glorious Dragon’s face was flushed with emotion; both Purple Jade and Righteous Virtue remained unnaturally still.

  Strong knew that Western philosophies like democracy, communism, nazism all brought competition, war and suffering to China. By contrast, the old Confucian teachings of hard work, education, and respect for authority had given China centuries of peace and prosperity. This family, like most Chinese, valued the traditional way to solve problems within the family and nation.

  The vehemence in Glorious Dragon’s voice made Archie Strong uneasy. He thought he had taken a proper measure of Glorious Dragon. He saw him as a shrewd and opportunistic businessman. Suddenly he felt the man’s intense antagonism toward foreign meddling in Chinese affairs. He held his tongue, because he had studied Chinese history in preparation for his trip. Although America did not own a concession on Chinese soil like the Europeans, none of the Western powers had been blameless. All had played a role in causing havoc within the Chinese body politic.

  “Look, the moon is out,” whispered Purple Jade in Chinese. She pointed to the brilliant full moon in the clear dark sky, hoping to defuse the tension. Strong looked at the broken, wrinkled moon in the pond before them and thought: People at home will see only this reflection of a broken disk from my reports. They will never see that bright moon in a cloudless sky.

  A SHAFT OF MOONBEAM stole into the room where Purple Jade sat rubbing her temples. Her feet were soaking in a basin of hot water. Outside her window, the silvery West Lake shimmered. Tender spring greens of bamboo framed her view, obscuring the shadows of distant mountains. The drumbeats of war seemed to echo in the darkness. An ominous thud in her head filled her with foreboding. Her heart raced, but she directed her thoughts to the light and her good fortune: She never had to move into her husband’s home and live under the tyranny of a mother-in-law. She truly appreciated her husband’s unconventional courage. Yes, she must ignore all thoughts of chaos. She would maintain the normalcy of her household.

  Purple Jade sighed. Things changed so fast! No one suspected her involvement in the Prosperous Dream fire. The opium den was being rebuilt, as the drug dealers were unstoppable. The only good thing that had come out of that incident was her rescue of Little Six, who was thriving under the cook’s supervision. The visit of the American reporter had been stimulating, but she was exhausted. With his big blue eyes, he seemed as guileless as an inquisitive child. He might have understood the Chinese’s strong desire for freedom and independence as a nation, and perhaps even understood the individual family’s ideal of reclusive living in a crowded country, but did he understand the drama and nobility displayed by Marshal Zhang and the generalissimo? She was not sure if a foreigner could ever savor the heart-swelling glory of “giving face,” and subjecting oneself to the rule of “virtue.” She remembered her husband telling her that Miss Tyler had studied Confucian teaching thoroughly. She had been in the country a long time. Both Mr. Strong and Miss Tyler would be invited to the birthday party, she decided. Perhaps the foreign lady could help Mr. Strong understand.

  Her mind drifted to an unpleasant task that morning. The family of the drowned girl had claimed the body. Her name was Chen Snow Song. Apparently, it was a suicide, yet no one knew the cause of the tragedy. The girl lived in town with her widowed mother, and her family owned a small stationery store. She had been a scholarship student at the missionary school. As the mistress of a leading family in this region, Purple Jade would be obliged to receive the mother in her home in a few days. Her heart quailed at the unpleasant task. What words of comfort could she offer to a bereaved mother who was a widow? Why would a young girl want to kill herself? How could she be so unfilial as to leave her mother to grieve? How did a Chinese girl become so radical that she placed her personal emotions above her family’s welfare? Her headache intensified. A persistent fear needled her. She assumed that Snow Song’s Western education had played havoc with her values, just as it had with her daughter Golden Bell.

  “Evening peace, M-ma.” Golden Bell came in carrying an American magazine. She saw Orchid massaging her mother’s back. “M-ma, I’m sorry I was rude earlier.”

  Her eyes fell on her mother’s small, arched feet; they looked pale gray and puffy in the water. She winced.

  Purple Jade misunderstood Golden Bell’s emotion. She thought she saw shame. “Come sit by me, my hot-headed heart-and-liver.”

  “I brought you a Western magazine to look at.” Golden Bell edged close to her mother and opened the magazine, shielding her eyes from the sight of the grotesque feet.

  Purple Jade did not look at the magazine. Instead, she warmed to her daughter’s closeness. “You’re young and restless. If the weather is nice this weekend, would you like to go boating with us on West Lake? I intend to i
nvite your Miss Spicy-Too-Hot.”

  “Great! It’ll be interesting for you to get to know her.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Purple Jade replied with a tinge of regret. She did not want to mingle with the foreign lady who had chosen to enter strangers’ homes to educate strangers’ children. However, years of self-restraint had forbidden her to show disdain. “Yes, it is time to meet her. We won’t stay out long, because young ladies can turn into brown prunes in the sun.”

  “M-ma.” Golden Bell smiled at her mother’s analogy. “If I work very hard and write a very good poem in Chinese for Father, may I have my hair bobbed?”

  “You have such thick glossy hair; it is positively enchanting when you let it fall loose around you.” She looked at her daughter hungrily, not wanting to spoil the harmony of the moment.

  “Then you won’t allow me to cut my hair?” Golden Bell recoiled from her mother.

  Purple Jade shuddered at this sudden display of hostility. She groped for some understanding. “Fashions are always changing. Hair will grow back after it is cut, so I guess it is all right. Just make sure you tell the barber to save your long hair for me.”

  “Oh, thank you, M-ma, thank you. I thought you might reject all my wishes just because they seem Western.” Golden Bell moved close to her mother again.

  “My dear heart-and-liver, as you grow older, you will learn that the best weapons for a woman are tears and gentle persuasion.” She held her daughter’s hand, pleased that they were reconciled. “How you ask for something is as important as what you ask.”

  When Golden Bell stood up to leave, her mother reminded her: “You may take back your magazine. I’ve seen them before. The foreigners all look alike.”

  “But M-ma, Western women do not have bound feet!”

  “Yes.” Purple Jade took several deep breaths. She straightened in her seat. “Western women can go everywhere with their big feet, but they become too brazen from having so much freedom!”