A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China

by Amy Kwei

  “All right!” Golden Bell rose to the challenge at once. After thinking for a few minutes, she recited:

  “A mist of silken veil crowning her head,

  A sprinkling of gemstones surrounds her skirt.

  She is a Queen,

  In regal repose.”

  “Ah, that is easy!” Silver Bell exclaimed. “It is Victoria Peak!”

  “But that is excellent, Golden Bell.” Her father smiled. “Now it is your turn, Silver Bell.”

  Silver Bell fell behind the others. She thought and thought; she scratched her head; she hopped from one foot to the other, but she couldn’t come up with a single line. Finally she ran to join the others and confessed, “Every time I start on a verse, I seem to slip into some song that I know.”

  Her mother came to the rescue. “Well, I’ll give you a riddle then.

  It does not knock;

  It comes uninvited.

  When we meet,

  We caress, and I’m refreshed!”

  Everyone walked on in silence, searching for an answer. Silver Bell became impatient with the quiet pondering. She tugged on her mother’s hand and squinted into her sun-dappled face. “Is it an animal, vegetable or mineral?”

  “None of the above.”

  “Is the judge allowed to guess?” Righteous Virtue ventured.

  “Yes, yes, tell us, Father,” Golden Bell chimed.

  “Is it the wind, Jade?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Purple Jade smiled with contentment. “You are still the most familiar with my mind.”

  BLINDED BY SUNLIGHT, Purple Jade sat transfixed in the ferry that carried her to Ling Ying Temple on Lan Tao Island. The rocky cliffs, pale silvery beaches and lush greenery — philodendrons and wild camellias— cascading down the mountainside added to her motion sickness. She turned her eyes away from the shore to face the offing. The South China Sea and the sky melded without a line of demarcation. The torrid tropical sun sent blue, green, and yellow blotches dancing before her eyes as she closed them to rest. The heaving roll of the steamboat, froth ruffling at its stern, ferried her to the temple.

  The gently rocking rowboats, the rhythmic dip of oars on West Lake and the hazy sun of Hangzhou had been familiar and temperate in scale. Now the excesses of the tropics, accentuated by the rude grind and groan of the motorboat, filled Purple Jade with dread. The indifference of this vast ocean aggravated her unease. She had known natural human pains — birth, sickness, and death. She had made peace with her path in life, but how was she to cope in a world gone mad with destruction and war? Purple Jade’s classical learning left her unprepared for action and the self-assertion necessary to deal with violence.

  In her heart, she knew her timid soul was frightened by the Western religions that involved a wrathful God who died a gruesome death on the cross. With so much poverty and suffering around her, how was she to accept such a God? In time, she had determined that the nature of God is beyond comprehension. She was concerned only with morality, the maintenance of peace and prosperity in her home. This left her without the counsel of a Western God, who intervened in human affairs through priests.

  She had never been consumed by a passion for religion, so she lacked the inner force that could bring her transformation and solace during a time of upheaval in her society. Buddhist priests prayed for the emptying of all human desire. Taoist priests taught the unity of reality and nonintervention — wu-way. These were the guiding lights of Purple Jade’s religious faith. She did not subscribe to any institution of religion, or dogma. Nevertheless, she was aware of a power transcending human comprehension. The power was not always benevolent. In times of stress, her fate depended upon a harmonious interaction between the yin and yan forces of the universe. Her actions must honor and be compatible with this essential symmetry. She asked for guidance in her family affairs, seeking the intercession of benign spirits and gods who had transcended time, space and matter.

  She now undertook this trip to the Ling Ying Temple to seek guidance. It was important that her actions be harmonious with chi, the life force that governed the world through the proper balance of Yin and Yan. To her, “chance” meant a future in which her chi might coordinate with the chi of the larger universe. For three days, Purple Jade fasted and cleansed herself of extraneous thoughts and worldly cares, so the path of divine order might enlighten her.

  The bus spewed noxious fumes and took her from the ferry to the temple. The engine rattled. Purple Jade felt faint and fanned herself, murmuring, “The superior man . . . interior peace . . . cool of the mind . . .” She took out her tiger balm ointment and applied some to her temples and underneath her nostrils. The elderly woman beside her watched and smiled, so Purple Jade offered to share her ointment.

  Vendors and peddlers besieged worshipers outside the temple gates. They sold sundry items used in the veneration of spirits and gods: packets of incense, flowers, paper money, bullion made from golden foil, fruits, snacks and other ornaments. Purple Jade bought a packet of incense and a bundle of paper golden bullion. The fierce sunlight dazzled her.

  Once inside the cool temple, Purple Jade was blinded by the change of light. Sunbursts of colored shadows danced before her eyes. She leaned against a red wooden beam and rested. As her eyes adjusted to the shade, her soul felt soothed by the chant emanating from the inner chambers of the temple. She knelt before the Buddha and pressed her palms together. She placed them before her forehead. She bowed and touched her hands and head to the floor.

  Her initial devotion over, she burned the gold bullion in a bronze brazier. She prayed and directed the spirits of Glorious Dragon and Bright Crystal to accept the offering and procure for themselves the earthly comforts to which they were accustomed.

  “Dragon-dee, Bright Crystal,” she prayed, “lead me to the right decision.”

  A small procession of monks entered the side altar, chanting, jingling bells, and marking a familiar rhythm with wooden clappers. Purple Jade emptied her mind. She no longer felt the physical strain of her existence. Slowly she rose, unselfconscious and vacant, and walked toward a monk who provided fortune sticks.

  Purple Jade placed her container of fortune sticks beside her and lit her incense. She bowed and prayed for guidance. Then she stuck the incense into the giant brazier filled with sand. She knelt before Kwan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, and shook her container of sticks, concentrating on her question: “Should I send Golden Bell to America now?” She repeated the question in her mind.

  “No.” She shuddered. “One is an unlucky number!” One was loneliness, isolation, the absence of family and communal support! Her focus on only one question had been an outrageous oversight. Dread intruded. She stopped shaking her fortune sticks.

  She rose, bought and lit more joss sticks. She bowed three times and added her scented sticks to the other incense burning in the giant brazier before the Buddha. She kneeled again and kowtowed. She asked for forgiveness and reverently rephrased her questions: “Should we send Golden Bell to America? Should we send Silver Bell as well? Should we send them right away?”

  Satisfied with the three questions, she touched her head to the floor and concentrated on them. Kneeling and mumbling “oh-me-to-fo” all the while, she shook the fortune sticks and tilted the container toward the altar. She shook them more gently now, as some sticks began to move ahead. Carefully, she shook and asked for guidance until one stick fell out.

  With fear and trepidation, Purple Jade picked up her fortune stick and took it to the medium —a stocky man dressed in a rough gray robe. His head was shaved, and two golden teeth glistened in his mouth. This sign of prosperity comforted Purple Jade, because it meant that the medium was much consulted, and therefore a good one.

  The medium fanned himself and read the number written on the stick. He consulted a corresponding text and read in a laconic drawl: “Kwan Kung, the honorable hero, faithfully followed the direction of Tao, sent his two nieces to safety.”

  Fanning himself with a tiny flutte
r of his wrist, the medium looked into Purple Jade’s eyes, and with the air slipping through his gold teeth, he sibilated with strange energy: “You have been virtuous and patient. You must be more patient and wait. The hand of fate will lead things to fruition. Do not interfere and rush into deeds against your heart. Your life will be outstanding.”

  Purple Jade received her message in stunned silence. Wringing her hands in anxiety, she stood and responded in Cantonese, “Duo-chai” (Many thanks).

  On her return journey, her heart lightened. She had initially responded with dread to the medium’s pronouncement that her life would be “outstanding.” Again, that was an indication of oneness, a lone, singular existence. Yet, the first part of her message was vastly comforting: she must not act precipitously. She would not have to send her children away soon. Golden Bell would finish high school here. She would be patient and wait for the kind hand of Buddha. She felt a strange exhilaration.

  Golden Bell had always dreamed of going to America to study. However, the war tempered her enthusiasm. She was happy to finish high school and stay at home for another year.

  ENGLISH INVOLVEMENT IN the European war made daily headlines in the Hong Kong papers. Many Chinese hoped and prayed the British would help them drive out the Japanese. But the British did not intervene in the war among the yellow people. Meanwhile, the island was at peace, living under British rule. The household on Blue Pool Road took on a new rhythm.

  Over the year, Purple Jade’s reputation for benevolence had spread among the boat people. Her midwifery duties often called her away in the evening. On her free days, she enjoyed the cool nights and read into the wee hours, getting up late the next morning.

  Comely Brook gave birth to another daughter, Coral Bell, in May 1940. She wept and apologized for not having produced a son. To distract her, Righteous Virtue began giving his concubine driving lessons. Up at night with the new baby, Comely Brook was also late to rise. Righteous Virtue returned from the newspaper office every morning, and had breakfast with Golden and Silver Bell and Little Jade before seven. As he prepared for bed, the older girls left for school, and Winter Plum took Little Jade to the open market in Happy Valley.

  The morning marketing was the highlight of Winter Plum’s day. She fingered the vegetables, pinched the fruits, bargained with the peddlers, met her friends, and gossiped with the other amahs. Several months earlier, she had become acquainted with the young owner of a rice shop.

  It was Little Jade who initiated the friendship. Wherever she went, Little Jade licked her chubby fingers and waved “hello” and “bye-bye.” With her hair swaying and her cow eyes sparkling, she recited her greetings and farewells in Shanghainese, Cantonese, Hangzhounese and English. The fruit peddler always added an extra fruit, the vegetable peddler more greens. Thus Winter Plum became friendly with Mr. Cheng Big Fortune, the young owner of the rice shop.

  In June 1941, Golden Bell matriculated with distinctions in mathematics, English and history. Her passport and student visa were ready. Purple Jade helped her daughter pack and reminded her repeatedly that she was to behave like the son of the family — she must uphold their dignity and that of her country at all times. Golden Bell left on July 30 for Syracuse University in New York.

  On December 8, Righteous Virtue was more than an hour late coming home. After her breakfast, Silver Bell went to school at seven thirty. Winter Plum decided to wait no longer and left for the market.

  “Where is everybody?” Righteous Virtue bellowed as he stormed into the quiet house. He woke up Purple Jade and Comely Brook.

  “It’s almost eight,” Comely Brook said. “Winter Plum probably left for the market with Little Jade, because she doesn’t like to be left with picked-over produce.”

  “The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor last night!” Righteous Virtue said, his voice weighted by the new horror. “This morning they declared war on America!”

  “Oh my lord, how are we to communicate with Golden Bell?” Purple Jade exclaimed.

  “Worse yet,” Righteous Virtue growled, “the Japanese will surely attack Hong Kong soon. The American navy for the Pacific is all destroyed!”

  “Then you must flee!’ Purple Jade had long contemplated this possibility. Panic reminded her of her recurring nightmare. She saw anew the devastation of her home, the fly-infested, blackened carcasses, the grunts, the screams, the smell of smoke, and the drone of . . . airplanes? Bombs?

  The distant detonations grew louder. Thundering roars followed as windows shook. An earthquake seemed to have been set off and its vibrations continued long after the planes droned by. Righteous Virtue pulled Purple Jade to the floor. They cowered near the sofa. Comely Brook flew upstairs to fetch Coral Bell, who was crying.

  Sirens wailed, dogs barked and columns of thick black smoke curled up into the sky and darkened the morning sun. People were struck dumb, and everyone craned their necks and stared as another swarm of Japanese airplanes flew in formation, swerving past Happy Valley. One plane released, as if in an afterthought, what looked like a black egg. This last bomb was the worst. A deafening roar of flames and the sound of crashing buildings followed. Windowpanes shattered; plaster fell from the walls, and people screamed on the street.

  Comely Brook ran downstairs with Coral Bell sucking on her breast. “Where did the bomb fall? Causeway Bay? Central? The market?”

  “Little Jade!” cried Purple Jade in a shrill whisper. She sensed the proximity of the last bomb, and remembered Winter Plum and Little Jade were out shopping. Her regular route to the harbor was to walk through the marketplace. She staggered into the street.

  Righteous Virtue stood in a tremor of sweat. Without a word and wild with terror, he forced himself out of the house, confused and uncertain of the directions of the bomb. At a half-run, he tottered toward Causeway Bay and Silver Bell’s school.

  As planes appeared from nowhere, Winter Plum was telling Cheng Big Fortune, “My master was still not home when we left. I wonder what kept him.”

  When the plane dropped its last bomb, everyone in the market was still gawking, pointing at the strange sight. They had lived with the threat of war for so many years that no one actually expected it. Then there was a loud explosion. Arms, legs, bricks, vegetables— everything — flew into the air and came tumbling down in a shower.

  Winter Plum saw a flash of blood as a bright light splashed before her face. She felt a sharp pain in her gut; vomit rose in her throat, and she lost consciousness.

  Righteous Virtue and Silver Bell met Comely Brook on the street outside their house — the baby still asleep on her breast.

  Comely Brook wailed: “Where is Little Jade? Have you found Little Jade?”

  When no one responded, she placed baby Coral Bell in Silver Bell’s arms and ran toward the market. Righteous Virtue told Silver Bell to stay home. He followed his concubine.

  Chaos reigned in the market. Smoke and dust choked the streets. Smoldering buildings and flickering fires lit up the dust-covered faces. Frantic people clawed at the tumbled portals, archways and cracked cement, calling out the names of friends and family members. Many were blood-drenched. Animals escaped from their cages. Squawking chickens, flapping ducks and pigeons waddled amid the rubble, pecking at the smashed tomatoes, melons, cabbages, and spilled rice. Snakes slithered in and out of the fallen bricks and crevices. Turtles waded into the bombed-out wine shop and recoiled from the streams of pungent liquor. Comely Brook elbowed her way into the turmoil screaming “Little Jade, Winter Plum, where are you?” Her voice was lost in the chaos.

  Buffeted on all sides by the uproar, Righteous Virtue realized that he must remain calm. He soon caught sight of Purple Jade working feverishly to clean wounds, bind cuts, and clear spaces for the wounded. Toddling on her small feet, she was an unlikely figure of authority as she commanded an army of confused people. She had somehow stationed herself near the bombed-out pharmacy, so had a liberal supply of salves, bandages and even brand-new acupuncture needles. Righteous Virtue nudged
close to her and reassured her that Silver Bell was home safe. The sight of the wounds sickened him. Inspired by his wife’s fortitude, he went to help with the digging. By ten o’clock, he saw Comely Brook working beside him.

  “Go home,” he urged hoarsely. “I’ll find them. Coral Bell needs you.”

  “Silver Bell is minding the baby.” Comely Brook carried on the grim work without another word. She waded through a pile of vegetables and began to stack them. She pulled up an apple and found that she had grasped the fingers of another hand clutching the same fruit. The hand belonged to a severed arm. She flung it off with a loud scream and collapsed. Righteous Virtue had to carry her home.

  All morning Purple Jade ministered to the wounded. She frequently stopped to question the others whether they had seen Winter Plum and Little Jade.

  At noon, Purple Jade went home with a group of volunteers. On the stretcher lay Winter Plum and Little Jade. Someone had cleaned their faces, but they were cold and stained with blood.

  Comely Brook began to retch and wail. Righteous Virtue nearly fainted at the sight. Purple Jade revived him by massaging his neck and rubbing him with tiger balm. When Righteous Virtue recovered, he wiped his tear-stained face with his sleeve, and went to the coffin maker.

  Purple Jade trudged upstairs, and stripped a sheet from a bed to cover the bodies. She saw Silver Bell holding the new baby and rushed to hold them both.

  In the living room, the neighbors stayed to commiserate and gossip.

  “Kaitak Airport was bombed, and so was the center of the city.”

  “We can’t see it in the valley, but I heard that the whole British Air Defense fleet was parked neatly in Kaitak Airport, and the Japs got every one!”

  “The entire British air defense was bombed out at Kaitak?”

  “Yes, the entire British air defense for the Pacific!”

  “The British always seemed so efficient, but they were incompetent!”