Properly, the moon was at its brightest on the fifteenth night of the Eighth month, the fabled dazzling apogee. This was the time for celebration of harvest, village, the tribe, safety, existence, life, celebrated only in China as it should be, for all other peoples were barbarians and would not know such things.
She had bought several heung, incense sticks, and placed them upright ready to light. A polystyrene cup of jasmine tea, which Heng O, the Lady in the Moon, would naturally love, was beside her.
“How foolish the English are!” Grandmother squeaked loudly in her ear, making her jump in fright. “They see the face of a man in the moon! Can you imagine?”
“No, Grandmother.”
“It is clearly a toad, and always has been. At least, ever since that Heng O stole her husband’s potion for prolonging life, and got herself chased from Earth – though you can’t really blame her – so she had to dodge into the Moon and now hides there. I never knew her.” Grandmother sniffed in disapproval. “Did you bring the water caltrops? And make sure they are correctly bat-shaped?”
“Yes, Grandmother.” Did Grandmother think she was stupid, not to check water chestnuts? Each one had to retain its horns so that, bat-like, they would bring good fortune.
“I heard you think that, rude girl!”
“I try to remind Ah Poh how careful I was, doing as you told me at the last Moon Festival!” KwayFay almost started to cry, but put a stop to that. She would not be cowed, not in this. Her survival might depend on it.
“So I did!” Ghost cooed. “I taught you how to choose vegetables! Good, good. Did you bring something red and something green, lazy girl?”
KwayFay swallowed her pride and said she had. Two scraps of expensive silk, one of each colour. She had had to steal them from the silk merchant shops in Wanchai, no big deal.
“And a lantern?”
“Only an oil lamp, Grandmother. I had no more money. It is open clay, with a little oil in a shoe-polish tin, and string for a wick.”
“It’s not much, is it? Not a decent lantern.”
“I sorry, Grandmother.”
“Did you bring a moon cake?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
She had begged Alice for one, who had three left over in her fridge at home. They kept, at least that was in their favour. She had brought it wrapped in a tissue. It felt heavy, as all Moon Cakes did, and was probably stiff with almond nuts and mashed millet seed, pork and fat, and sugar to make it absurdly sweet.
“Did you learn a poem of Li Tai-Po?”
“No, Grandmother!” KwayFay wailed. “You didn’t tell me to.”
“He composed poems to the moon, always the moon. You know he loved Heng O so much that he drowned trying to embrace her reflection?”
“You told me, Grandmother.”
“If you didn’t learn his poem, then you can only wait. People pass here at midnight. They tell answer.”
“What if nobody comes?” Then she would be left here until morning, and have to go to work worn out.
“Distrustful granddaughter!” Grandmother shrieked, and gave her what for, abusing her laziness, shiftlessness, ingratitude, when she should be grateful to a caring ancestor whose talents were renowned throughout…throughout…
KwayFay slept.
She woke, and saw from the harbour glow in the night sky and the positions of the stars it was almost midnight. She thought a thank-you to Ghost for rousing her, and lit her incense sticks. She made sure the cup of jasmine tea, now stone cold, was in position, and laid the unwrapped moon cake beside it. She had no paper crown to wear, as was proper, which was just bad luck. The two coloured silks she put beside her on the stone seat. She was stiff, wondering how much colder it would get. If it really had been the Fifteenth of the Eighth Moon, it would have been hot and sticky with Hong Kong’s enduring humidity. Now, she shivered in the cold and stayed quiet.
She must have dozed, for the stars had moved on when she heard voices. She thought in panic, voices? Miles from anywhere on the high mountain?
They were speaking English, and wore heavy boots. One was whistling, another calling for silence. A flashlight washed pallor across the stones and foliage on the steep hill. Soldiers came by, two of them Ghurkas. They were from the garrison, and each held a flashlight. The leading man carried a map. He stopped.
“Miss?” he said uncertainly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said back in English.
“What are you doing here?”
There was nothing for it. “I am praying.”
The soldier behind him muttered something. They were all only young, just twenty perhaps. They carried many pouches.
“Yes, okay,” the leader said irritably in reply to his next soldier. “Do you want some water?” He saw her hesitation and said, “It’s a gift, love. Tide you over.”
“Thank you for your kindness.” She accepted the plastic bottle, saying “Doh jeh,” in thanks for something given.
“Mh sai,” the soldier said in quite the wrong tones, but trying. They went on their way, pleased.
As they left, she distinctly heard one of them say to a Ghurka behind him, “Third, then, Subardar Sahib.”
The Ghurka laughed and said something she could not catch. They went on in single file, chuckling and making remarks about returning to the meeting point.
Third! He definitely said third. Third what? It hardly mattered. Third of whatever she was told to choose from, was the answer.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” she told the night sky, now pale about Amah Rock. She asked the spirit if it had finished with the Moon Cake, picked it up, had a drink from the soldier’s bottled water, and went carefully downhill, eating the cake as she went. This was ever Hong Kong’s method: simple, but exhausting.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Why Bonham Strand?” KwayFay asked the driver.
He was Tang, the same driver who always wanted to smoke but was afraid to, in case he gave offence.
“It is here, Little Sister.”
“It is near many hospitals.”
“It is here.” The same calm inflexibility. He was male, and would never be called, as any girl sooner or later heard herself called, maggot-in-the-rice, a problem, taking up valuable assets that should rightly be spent on males. She envied him so.
The Tung Wah Hospital was one level up, with the Prince Philip Dental Hospital, the Tsan Yuk Hospital, the Sai Ying Pun Hospital… She shivered. Hospitals were bad luck, yet so many were given felicitous names as if they were not. Why, except for disguise?
She alighted when the man opened the door. The driver muttered to a man on the pavement in a voice of fear. KwayFay was astounded. The fear was hers, ne?
The new man was young, bit his nails to the quick and wore gold bracelets, gold rings, a gold watch the size of a clock and smiled with gold teeth. His hair was slicked down. His suit shone, lumpy with felling stitches testifying to its expense. His shoes were handmade.
“It is in here, Little Sister. Please follow.”
The driver was ignored, his mutterings unanswered.
Inside, a meagre hallway smelling of decaying food was littered with plastic bags and unswept debris including shards of glass crunching underfoot. One shard pricked through her shoes and hurt her foot so she cried out, then apologised profusely as the suited youth turned quickly, drawing a bulging black lump so swiftly from his sleeve she did not even see his arm move. It vanished when he saw there was no visible threat.
“I am sorry. Broken glass hurt my foot.”
He paled, licked his lips. They entered a lift, the gate clashing to. It rode to the third floor and she was ushered onto a landing.
There was one door. Two others had been blocked off with planks screwed against the door jambs. The place was filthy. A stink of stale urine hung in the air. Dead flies dotted the one opaque glass window. The landing was lit by a single bulb. She was shown into a bare room.
“Please, Little Sister.”
A screen made of carved redwood was erected at the far end. She could scent its aroma, not bad. Three windows were blocked, two light bulbs giving poor light. The man led her round the reverse of the screen and invited her to sit on a stool beside a ricketty card-table on which lay a slender file.
“This is your place, Little Sister. There is water and a note pad.”
“Write what?”
He looked flustered, as when she had exclaimed about the broken glass.
“I do not know. I was told.”
The man paused as if for instructions, then left. She waited in silence, wondering what to do. She afraid to open the file. It was a beige colour, as you got from near Central Market for Middle School. Should she open it? But what if she was not allowed? She knew the Hongs could knife people in the street with impunity – she had seen it. She sipped water. The heat was unbearable.
Quarter of an hour she sat there, in quiet only broken by the dull roar of traffic, the distant shouts of vendors and the clashing of lift doors. She felt tired and drowsy, wanting to keep awake.
Tony spoke of a singing act he used to do with his brother. Alice said she was hoping to win a calligraphy competition, but that art was impossible for females as everybody knew. Calligraphy was for males, since calligraphers had been men since the dawn of time. Benny Weng, who had joined as a computer expert three weeks before, said he was going to set up some website scheme Americans were sure to go mad for, and had gone about the office asking people for investors. He claimed he had a friend in Manhattan who knew the Rockefellers.
“Good evening.”
She jolted from slumber, almost crying out in alarm. She glimpsed a figure through the minute fenestrations in the carved wood. Somebody must have come in as she dozed. It was a girl’s voice. She noticed the girl remained standing a few paces away. KwayFay leant forward and put her eye closer to the screen.
Beautiful, alert, young, exquisitely dressed in a costly outfit. She was at ease, confident in her beauty and knowing her allure could only serve to please. She was one of the girls at Lamma Island.
The girl could see nothing of KwayFay. The screen, KwayFay knew instinctively, was old, cunningly made perhaps for this purpose. Was this girl the first of the ones she must choose among?
Perhaps the file held details of the girl’s name, her origin, her talents.
“Yes?” she said tamely, ashamed that no question came to mind.
“Thank you,” the girl began easily. “I am Cantonese, born in Jahore Baru. I am seventeen, and know eight languages. I excel in investment economics, history, art, am capable in computer science, clothing design in western and oriental traditions. I am able in several sports, and have directed five student films, three of which won international awards.” The girl smiled a lovely smile, waited a moment before giving herself a nod to carry on. “I am learning Hindi and Arabic – though the pronunciation of the Maghreb dialects I find unpleasing.”
“Yes?” KwayFay said in the next pause. What was the girl telling her all this for?
“My family has no connections that would make difficulties to the Triad master. I understand the implications of being promoted Jade Woman, and would serve with all my skill and endeavour. I am virgin, and harbour no problematic religious or political convictions. My family support this move, if the Triad masters would give me the honour of this advancement.”
“Go now, please.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” the girl said, brightening the room with a smile, turned on her heel and walked to the door. She left, closing the door gently.
KwayFay pondered. Jade Women? She had seen one once, in the Yau Ma Tei street market. She had been twelve, stealing from a street barrow belonging to a hawker called Chun, who used to thrash her if he caught her. The wretched man whipped her with a knotted rope if he caught her or any of the street urchins stealing rotted fruit long since thrown away. Chun was not kind.
The day KwayFay saw the Jade Woman, she was hiding between two barrows. She became aware of cries of adulation. She had looked up thinking perhaps the Governor himself was passing, only to see the most beautiful of women. The lady was in silks, not young, and went among the stalls as if royalty. Vendors pressed wares on the lady. She sailed through with serenity, but did not stop. Henchmen went ahead to clear a way through the crowd. KwayFay wanted so much to be her, pausing whenever she wanted, looking at anything while Triad men guarded her progress like some warrior maiden, maybe even the exalted White-Haired Girl of legend who was universally adored and saved all who loved her. She cried herself to sleep that night under the shrine in the bus station in Kennedy Town, where the leper hospital used to be.
“Good evening,” a new voice said in the room beyond the screen. “I am instructed to enter and explain myself. I thank you for your kindness in honouring me with this interview.”
KwayFay said nothing. Another girl.
“If I may begin?” The girl politely allowed a moment then started with assurance, “I am the only Cantonese-speaking girl left from among the seven hundred and eighty-nine who applied from the Philippines and Indonesia, representing over four thousand finalists from different regions of South-East Asia. I hope for promotion to Jade Woman. I have eleven languages including Tagalog and the major western languages, Punjabi, Urdu, Hindi and Mandarin. I …”
KwayFay was lulled by the girl’s voice. She took a look, eye pressed to the fragrant screen. The girl was nineteen, expert in perfumes, commerce, engineering and pharmacy, and had a degree in the history of art. She could dance in every known style, and her Russian was exemplary …
She waited another ten minutes, during which the girl gave her instances of her inordinate skills, beliefs, talents.
“Leave now.”
With elegant expressions of thanks, the girl left. KwayFay wondered what happened to the girls who were rejected.
“They become Flower Girls,” Ghost said in her ear, full of scorn for a granddaughter who did not know obvious facts, “but of the highest order. To be a nearly Jade Woman is honour, ne?”
“On the Flower Boats near the godowns?” KwayFay asked. “You told me about the ones along the Canton godowns, and the Shanghai Bund where the foreign devils used to assemble.”
“That’s stupid!” Grandmother cried. “Flower Boats were for Chinese and sometimes for opium smokers, not for foreign devils, foolish girl!” Grandmother cackled a laugh and confided, “Have you been in the opium divans in the lighters moored near Stonecutters Island off Sham Shui Po here, west of Kowloon?”
“No, Grandmother!” KwayFay was shocked.
“Don’t you get high and mighty with me, girl!” Grandmother screeched. “Putting on airs, just because I was once a Mui Chai. Being a slave sex-girl takes skill. I should know!”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“The next one will wear a pearly pendant. You will like it.”
“The third one, Grandmother?” KwayFay said with meaning, remembering the soldier’s remarks at Amah Rock.
“I rather liked the first one, didn’t you? She was slender. I loved being slender. I was exquisitely slender. Everybody looked at you.”
“They were both beautiful.”
“Call that beauty?” Grandmother sneered. “They would have been laughed at when I was girl.”
“The one chosen will become a Jade Woman?”
“Yes.” Ghost’s voice grew dreamy. “They will be multi-millionairesses. Their families will bask in money. They will be hired out by the Hongs to visiting princes, businesses, arrange functions for world leaders and entertain kings. They are educated to speak with the world’s greatest minds, and know everything. They never know hunger or want. They are the most perfect women on earth. Idiots think they are the same as geishas. Japanese trollops! Can you imagine?”
“Ridiculous, Grandmother.”
“The next girl’s pearl pendant is a baroque. She has common sense. She is from the Tai Pu Sea, that used to be called the Mei-Chu Pool
during the Five Dynasties. You won’t remember. You call it Tai Po, near the Lei Yue Mun Channel leading to Hong Kong main harbour. That’s because you copy the barbarian English, who don’t know any better.”
“I sorry, Grandmother.”
“It’s where best pearls came from,” Ghost said wistfully. “The conches were huge in the old days, much bigger than you get now. All China wanted Hong Kong’s pearls and incense. The Emperor Liu Ch’ang of the Nan Han – I only just missed seeing him go by during last year’s Ching Ming Festival – loved pearls so much he sent nine thousand men to work our pearl fisheries. That was in the sixth year of Ta-pao, a thousand years ago.”
“How lovely, Grandmother.” KwayFay wanted the third girl to hurry, so she could go home.
“That’s why the Great Pearl Legend persists, of the Pearl Nullah, a great underwater cavern. All Nan Han pearls were stored in a water channel. Thousands and thousands of the choicest specimens. I never saw it. Divers all along the coast of the Celestial Empire still seek it!” Ghost cackled, setting herself coughing again and coming to only when she calmed down. “What fools people are!”
“Are they fools, Grandmother?” KwayFay knew she had fallen quite asleep, because she could no longer hear the traffic and the room was darker. She felt comfortable and no longer so hot that she was almost dripping with sweat.
“Of course, silly girl! They say Hong Kong’s name comes from that horrid woman pirate Hsiang-Hu – the written characters of her name look like Fragrant Harbour, see? Or from that waterfall – you know the one crossing Pokfulam Road near Dairy Farm? Stupid, stupid!”
“What is it from, Grandmother?” KwayFay had heard it all before but as long as she was allowed to doze undisturbed. She was so tired.
“Incense!” Ghost screeched triumphantly. “It’s from kuan-hsiang, incense. Hong Kong is the incense port, the Fragrant Harbour!”
The Year of the Woman Page 24
