Daughter of the Bamboo Forest

by Sheng-Shih Lin;Julia Lin

  Silver Pearl was dressing in the bedroom, putting on earrings before the large, cloudy mirror. Her eyes were glistening as she laughed at something An Ling had just said. The green crystal earrings dangled, sparkling against her powdered face. Her red lips opened a little and she sang along with the radio. An Ling’s hands rested heavily on her shoulders, his fingers played with the tear-shaped crystals that resembled drops of seawater from a distant place, salty and bitter. He smiled, watching her brush her hair and count the strokes. His hands slipped down the round curve of her shoulders and cupped over her breasts. Silver Pearl pressed her cold fingers over An Ling’s hands, trying to remove them. She muttered weakly, blushing: “Is the door closed?”

  An Ling withdrew his hands and put them in the deep pockets of his trousers. He looked around the room for cigarettes and a lighter. He remembered leaving them in the pocket of his tweed jacket. He glanced at Silver Pearl and saw that she was drawing her eyebrows with a pencil, holding her face still, completely absorbed. He left the bedroom.

  Little Jade heard his approaching footsteps. She hid behind the bathroom door. The towels hanging from the nails on the back of the door were damp next to her face. The house, full of its own secrets, was darkening around her. The walls turned from ash gray to charcoal gray. Her father switched on the light in the living room. The naked light bulb emitted a dim yellow glow, the color of water in a rusty bucket. He sat on the sofa, lowered his head to light a cigarette, and then he leaned back to blow out a puff of white smoke. He hummed absently to himself as he flipped through the newspapers on the coffee table. Little Jade listened to the rustling of the papers and his off-key humming. She wished that she could sit next to him. She wanted to put her head next to his and see what he was reading. She wanted to lose herself in the fog of his cigarette smoke.

  Silver Pearl’s high heels made a clicking sound on the living room floor as she entered the room with music from the radio trailing her. The air in the room changed when Silver Pearl appeared. Little Jade bit her lips with envy. Silver Pearl was wearing a beautiful lush green satin gown embroidered with countless pink peach blossoms. Her hair was shining and smooth and her lips and cheeks were red like a bride’s. An Ling gazed at her attentively, looking her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time. He pressed his cigarette into the ashtray and got up from the sofa. She stood there waiting, swaying her body to the melody of the music. Something got into Little Jade eyes and she couldn’t see clearly. An Ling walked toward Silver Pearl and somehow she was in his arms, his right hand squeezing her hip, creasing the smooth fabric of the gown.

  Little Jade’s face was burning and her hands and feet felt cold. She waited for an eternity for them to separate. Finally, they put on their coats and left the house. Little Jade emerged from the bathroom, feeling dizzy as she walked across the living room. She sat on the sofa, gazing at the newspaper in front of her, wondering which pages her father had read, smelling his pungent cigarette smoke that filled the still air.

  Chapter 14: The Addicts, 1946

  How does one tie down the heart of a man? Silver Pearl lay on her side, her fingers deep in the tangle of her hair, holding up her head as she looked out the window. She was lying on top of a platform next to the bedroom window—the opium platform. She spent more time here than anywhere else now. An Ling lay across from her. His eyes closed and his face still in anticipation of the pleasure of opium. A small lamp was burning brightly between them, always burning. Oh, it must be kept burning in the purple smoke from the opium pipe.

  “You must hold on to your husband,” Silver Pearl remembered her mother telling her again and again. Her old eyes would shine fiercely as she spoke like a predator intent on a kill. She would clench her fists in front of Silver Pearl’s face as if ready to strike. “During a chaotic time, there are no such things as rules of heaven or rules of men,” she would say in a voice that sounded like a rushing stream, as one word tumbled onto the next. “There is only the rule of survival. There is nothing in this world you can depend on but yourself. Never be so foolish as to feel safe, even in your husband’s house. He can change his mind, and he can change his heart. Even in peacetime, men change their hearts. In a time like this, they don’t need excuses. The future is hard, harder than it has ever been in the past. With the war, everything changes, and nothing stays the same.” Silver Pearl understood very well what her mother sought to tell her. She couldn’t blame her for being afraid. When An Ling left them to look for Little Jade, her mother had become a desperate, frightened old woman.

  But Silver Pearl had a plan. She would get An Ling to smoke opium again. Silver Pearl felt that they were truly husband and wife during the times they smoked opium together. She recalled how they’d had the same flow of pleasure traveling through their brains, a sweet dizzying rush fogging their eyes. They would gaze at each other as if they had always been together. Silver Pearl had never felt so safe. She would get him to smoke again, and then he wouldn’t want to leave. He wouldn’t want to go anywhere. They would stay in the rented house—or any other house because it didn’t really matter—and live off his inheritance until the civil war ended.

  She knew that An Ling had never been an addict, but he often smoked opium when he felt pressured or afraid. She knew that he felt the burden of providing for the family. She couldn’t imagine how he asked for the rent from the tenant farmers, or how he could look into the faces of people who tilled the land and harvested the crops and asked for a share of their hard work.

  Silver Pearl didn’t know how much money An Ling had. She thought of money in a vague, narrow way—the cost of a pair of shoes, a new gown, and a month’s rent. She didn’t know where An Ling’s money came from or even where he kept it. She only knew that what held a man was not a woman’s scented skin or family obligations to his children and wife, but something less apparent and very simple. It was a need for a safe haven, and opium was nothing less than a haven clouded with sweet, numbing smoke.

  With opium, they would wake up in the late- afternoon when dusk was not far off. It would be late enough to look forward to the comfort of night, to anticipate it, to long for its opaque darkness, and its ability to provide a soft, enclosing place to dream.

  Dreaming, the two of them shared an opium lamp. Everything else was nothing but darkness, a darkness that was all-consuming. The world beyond had nothing to do with them. It was just an opera playing somewhere far, far away. Then and there, it was just the two of them. She was his woman, his one and only for neither future nor past mattered anymore. There was only the present.

  The yellow ring of light from the opium lamp lit their faces. They looked at each other through the curvature of the glass that enclosed the flame. His face looked strange and contorted. Suddenly it became the face of a stranger. But then she glanced again and thought: Yes, it’s him. He wouldn’t leave her again. He was like an insect under a glass jar, and she was there with him, an insect as well—the two of them trapped inside the same glass jar. They could see the world outside, but the turbulence and threatening noises barely reached them. They were here together, gazing at the same flame, breathing the same intoxicating air

  It was a suicide pact in a way, but it was not unpleasant. They would go through this together, and they would have each other’s company. They wouldn’t be lonely. In this unreasonable, unpredictable world—who could come out alive? Who could outlast this madness? Silver Pearl had few choices. Opium was one thing she understood, and with it, she could understand An Ling.

  ***

  Dawn hovered outside the window. A lone rooster was crowing somewhere. The sky was fading and the moon was translucent and spent, hanging exhausted over the horizon. Little Jade lay on the bed and pulled the quilt over her head. Her face was warmed by her own breath under the heavy, musty quilt. She listened to her step-grandmother get up from her bed, coughing loudly. She turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. In the quiet of the morning, the scratchy transmission reached through the quilt
and filled Little Jade’s ears with news of the civil war reported in a monotone by a solemn-voiced man--news that frightened the twelve year-old child. The Nationalists were coming to rescue the people of the northeast. The Communists must be defeated. The Communists had replaced the Japanese as the enemy. The newscasts were followed by a woman’s high-pitched voice urging listeners to buy a palace-formulated pearl cream that would keep skin forever young. Little Jade could hear her step-grandmother making breakfast and boiling water in the kitchen, heating up the leftovers from last night’s late snack. There was the sound of the spatula shoveling inside a wok and then the smell of food, oily and heavily seasoned with scallions and garlic. The smell of burned soy sauce made Little Jade hungry.

  The noise of the day started to rise from the house in the gray, misty morning air. Little Jade turned in her bed fighting the smell of food and the pangs in her stomach, not wanting to get up. Her throat was sore and her eyes were hurting, as if they had been soaking in vinegar. But she had to go to school. Little Jade sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. In the chilly air, she stepped into the shoes next to her bed and dressed quickly. She pulled on the padded jacket and pants and closed the buttons with icy fingers.

  Little Jade walked toward the kitchen. She stopped and leaned against the greasy doorframe. Her step-grandmother hunched over the stove. She tucked her hands into her sleeves and walked over to her step-grandmother who was looking at the contents of the wok. Next to the wok, the porridge was bubbling in a pot, and as Little Jade lifted the lid to check it. Her face was momentarily lost in a rush of white steam.

  The step-grandmother turned around, and frowned as she looked at Little Jade. “How come your eyes are swollen? They are as big as walnuts.”

  Little Jade answered hoarsely, “My throat hurts.” The old woman walked away, muttering that the girl must have caught a cold and that she should stay in bed. Little Jade looked inside the wok, picked up a greasy steamed bun with her fingers, and bit into it. She chewed slowly. The steam from the kettle condensed into tiny droplets of water all over her face. Little Jade was warm on the outside, but the inside of her chest and stomach felt cold and hard.

  The old woman returned with a dark green bottle with a bright pink label. She unscrewed the cap and poured out its thick, black contents into a large spoon. “Take this,” she said. Little Jade swallowed the sweet, minty syrup that cooled her tongue and squeezed out a smile at the old woman. The step-grandmother said, “You better stay home today. You shouldn’t go to school.”

  Little Jade touched her forehead with the back of her hand and said, “I don’t have a fever. I can go out.” The old woman looked at Little Jade suspiciously and pulled at her eyelids, looking inside them for infection. The pulling hurt and brought tears to Little Jade’s eyes. She felt nauseous from smelling the old woman’s breath.

  “You’re fine,” the step-grandmother said finally.

  Little Jade slammed the door shut behind her and headed for school. There was a layer of white winter frost covering the gray tiles on the neighbor’s roof. It covered the top of the red brick wall that lined the narrow stone-paved road. Strands of smoke rose from the chimneys in straight lines, into the pale morning sky. There was no wind. The wet gutters along the road were shimmering, reflecting the sunlight that warmed her face. She shoved her hands deeply into her jacket pockets as she walked down the street.

  She had been going to school on and off since spring, and had been living in the rented house for nearly a year. During the summer, her father talked about moving the family to the south where there was no war. He said that they would move as soon as he could sell more land and get enough money together. He often went away, sometimes for a few days and sometimes for nearly a month. He would come home haggard and even quieter. He hadn’t said anything about moving since the weather turned cool. Little Jade’s father and Silver Pearl no longer went out during the evenings. Instead, they stayed in their bedroom smoking opium and listening to the radio. They had a platform built beside the window on which they laid side by side sharing an opium lamp. Sometimes Little Jade heard them moving about in the house, running water and clearing their throats in the bathroom, looking for food in the kitchen, their slipper-clad feet dragging across the squeaking wooden floor, but Little Jade didn’t see them much.

  Still, there were times when Little Jade’s father called her into his room, turned down the radio, and told the girl to recite texts from her school book. Little Jade found herself standing uneasily in front of the opium platform while her father and Silver Pearl watched her with half-opened eyes. The purple haze made Little Jade blink as she recited from the ancient text, “If a man doesn’t learn, he is less than an object. He learns when he is young, and he works when he is grown.” As Little Jade recite, Silver Pearl cracked salted melon seeds and threw them into her mouth or fed them to her husband.

  Silver Pearl was pregnant again. She had cut her hair and had it curled. Her hair spread around her face like a heap of overgrown weeds. She didn’t wear much make-up anymore, except for blood-red lipstick, carelessly applied. It stained the food she ate and the rim of her teacup. She didn’t look so beautiful anymore. Her face had grown thinner as her waist had thickened. Little Jade’s father was looking gaunt as well. His gown lay in deep folds along his lanky body. He glanced at his daughter’s textbooks as he listened, nodding his head.

  ***

  Silver Pearl looked at the overcast sky and murmured, “It’s going to snow today, look at the sky.” Her voice trailed off, heard by no one. She leaned against the window, listening to An Ling flip through the newspaper as he reclined on the sofa. Her mother was sweeping the room. The brittle broom scratched the wooden floor as waves of dust rose up around her giving off a dull shimmer in the sluggish gray light. It was only late morning and Silver Pearl was already tired. The oppressive sky outside the window made breathing harder. Her lungs felt tight as she inhaled the dusty air. She fingered the butterfly knot at the base of her collar, touching the intricate twists of the smooth silken cord, feeling bloated in her gown. Her eyes were filled with the shadows around her—the bookcase with a few books and piles of movie magazines, the tall basket of coal next to the kitchen door, a slender blue vase filled with dry stems of coiling vines and dusty peacock feathers on a tall rosewood stand.

  An Ling got up from the sofa and entered the bedroom dragging the heels of his slippers along the creaking floor. Soon she could hear him adjusting the radio dial. A loud voice burst out from the static behind the half-closed door. Her throat felt grainy and dry. She went to the kitchen to get something to drink. There, in the darkness, a kettle of water was steaming on top of the stove about to boil. She looked around for a jar of tea leaves, and heard shuffling footsteps behind her.

  She turned and saw Little Jade standing next to the cupboard, holding a red bean cake in each hand. Little Jade looked startled, but she was still chewing with a full mouth. Silver Pearl frowned at her. “Always eating,” she said, “you little motherless beggar.”

  A narrow beam of sunlight filtered through the dirty windowpanes and lit up Silver Pearl’s face. Little Jade watched her garish red lips spit out the hateful words. Her eyes burned. She strode up to Silver Pearl and pushed her as hard as she could.

  It was the one of the few times she had ever touched Silver Pearl. The fabric of her gown felt cold and slippery. The flesh underneath was soft like dough and gave no resistance to her push. Everything happened in a flash. Silver Pearl let out a short cry and stumbled back, her left elbow knocking over the kettle on the stove as she reached back to steady herself. She fell against the greasy kitchen wall. Boiling water splashed all over the kitchen floor. White steam filled the kitchen and warmed the air. She covered her belly with her hands, groaning as she slid down against the wall. She stared at Little Jade with hatred and fear.

  The step-grandmother and the father rushed into the kitchen, pushing Little Jade aside. “What happened?” An Ling
asked loudly, shooting accusing looks at his daughter. Little Jade avoided his eyes and hid her hands behind her back. Silver Pearl pointed at the girl with her hand, unable to speak. “Aiya...Aiya...” The step-grandmother shook her head nervously. They carried Silver Pearl into the bedroom leaving Little Jade alone in the kitchen.

  Little Jade stood there trembling, blinking hard, and trying to absorb the magnitude of what had just happened. She clenched her teeth and her fists, thinking that the fight was over all too soon. And she had lost. The smoke-blackened portrait of the hearth god looked down at her in silence.

  She had crossed a forbidden line, and she did not know what the penalty would be for this violation. She felt her heart tightening. “I’m doomed,” she whispered, though there was no one to hear her. Yet hearing her own voice, Little Jade felt strangely assured. In the corner of the kitchen, she found a dry spot and crouched down snuggling next to a bag of rice. She could see water gathering into puddles on the concrete kitchen floor reflecting the weakening beams of sunlight from the window. She hugged her knees and closed her eyes, imagining herself shrinking smaller and smaller, into a bug or a mote of dust, disappearing altogether. Her father was shouting at her step-grandmother to get a doctor quickly. Little Jade knew only too well that Silver Pearl had become a victim, just as surely as she had become a villain. Left with the choice of protecting his errant daughter or his pregnant wife, her father would have to protect Silver Pearl.

  ***

  Soon afterwards, An Ling decided to send Little Jade away to an abbey school for girls run by Catholic nuns from France. He explained to his daughter that she needed better schooling, and then he paused and promised that he would come to get her when everything calmed down. Little Jade stared at him as he told her this, feeling her fingers turning cold and her eyes filling with tears. She felt ashamed. She said nothing.