by Edi Holley
Holley is an artist and writer who has written eight books of stories, two novellas and three poetry chapbooks. She holds an MFA from Yale and reads on the New York Poetry Circuit. She has two children. She was born in China of missionary parents. She has lived in New York most of her life and now lives in New Hampshire. This memoir describes her experiences living in China.
Also by EDI HOLLEY
JUST STORIES
MAINE STORIES
FIVE CHRISTMAS STORIES
BY LOVE HELD BOUND
NOR’EASTER
GOOCHE’S BEACH
TAILS AND CLAWS
HOOFS AND PAWS
HONEY LOVING WAYS
SOLSTICE FISH
Acknowledgements
Heartfelt thanks to Brian Evans-Jones
For his inspirational editing
Oceans of appreciation to Jill Shook,
my computer maven.
Without her magic this book would not exist
THE DRAGON’S TALE
A MEMOIR
Copyright © 2018 Edi Holley.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.iuniverse.com
1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,
and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
ISBN: 978-1-5320-5160-9 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-5320-5161-6 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018906508
iUniverse rev. date: 06/07/2018
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Dragons Tale
Foochow/ Fuzhou
Rice Paddies
Story Teller On the River Launch
Jasmine Tea
Batik Quilts
Dragon Boat Festival
Japanese Bombs
A New Home In America
Edee
Rachel
Christmas
My New Old Family
Back To China
The Marine Lynx
Nanging
The Secret Of Silk
Kuling
Snakes
Maniac
Prayers In Blood
Chrysanthemum Festival
The Beggar
Persimmons and Mao-Tze-Tung
China New Year
Rice Riots
S.s. Hope
Japan
Crossing the Pacific Again
The
DRAGON’S
TALE
A Memoir
Story and Art
by
Edi Holley
DRAGONS TALE
A Memoir
FOOCHOW/ FUZHOU
My earliest memory was the irresistible, smell of Chinese cooking, with traces of soy, onion, ginger and other aromatic spices drifting through it. My amah, “Dwai-Moi,” padded around in her slippers holding me in her arms. She was constantly smelling my cheeks, the Chinese way of kissing. She would chatter away in Chinese with Ho-Chang, the cook. Chinese was the only language I heard, except for a few words in English from my mother. So naturally Chinese was my first language. And, as you may know there are many dialects in China. I learned Fukienese, the most difficult dialect, which had seven tones for each word. You could say “ma” with seven different inflections, each with a different meaning. If you said it one way it meant horse, another it meant water and so on. The Chinese would go into gales of laughter when they listened to my mother talk. She would get the tones wrong, like, “Give those oats to my water” instead of “give those oats to my horse”.
Sometimes Dwai-moi did our laundry. When she ironed it out she had a wonderful way of dampening the mouth with water and then just spew it out when she needed to dampen an area. I would clap my hands
and crow. My mother wouldn’t allow her to do this. But the moment her back was turned Dwai-moi went back to her tried and true method.
My Chinese name was E-daik, which meant the emotion you feel when you look at a beautiful flower. My sister who was six years older than me was “E-moi,” or, little sister. My brother Paul, who was seven years older than me could only say, “Eme.” Eme was what we always called her.
In the summer it was steaming hot in the Fukien valley. Air conditioning was unknown. We traveled by sedan chair to Kuliang in the mountains where it was cool. I remember hearing my mother tell about how frightened she was to be there because at night tigers prowled outside in the dark. One night we heard our goat bleating outside. In the morning she was gone.
RICE PADDIES
Our house was just outside Dionloh, a typical village of mud houses with upturned tiled roofs so the evil spirits would slide off. One or two women with infants tied on their backs, squatted at the stream to pound their laundry. Coolies trotted along the street selling their wares which hung on two ends of a bamboo pole. Our one landmark was a beautiful white pagoda with seven upturned tiers that stood on the hill nearby.
The countryside was always green from the monsoons, which made it perfect for rice paddies. They were prepared in late winter in stacked terraces carved out by hand with simple tools and water buffalos with their curved horns plodding through the water. Every square inch of land was cultivated. The swallows arrived in early spring and nested in the homes of farmers who allowed the timing of the rice planting to be guided by their arrival. A pair of swallows who mated for life brought good luck to the home where they nested.
Planting the rice was a project for the whole village. First the seedlings were uprooted from the nursery bed. Each person got a large clump. Then they would tear off smaller clumps and throw them out into the paddy. Later the clumps would be pulled apart and pushed down into the ooze to root. Toward autumn we could see golden carp swimming in the paddy. The farmer would drop a bamboo gate in one end to trap the fish and transfer them to a wicker basket. Then he would dry and sell them in the market. Occasionally Ho-Chang would buy a carp and cook it for our dinner.
A high wall surrounded the compound around our house, located at the edge of town. It had a garden and a well nearby, plus a small building where the Toppings, another missionary family, kept their goat. There was a huge jar by the back door where water drawn from the well was kept for use in the house.
STORY TELLER ON THE RIVER LAUNCH
When we wanted to visit other families in Foochow we had to take the river launch which sailed each day. The launch blew a whistle to announce its arrival. We had to be ready to go by the time the whistle blew for the third time.
My older sister and brother, Eme and Paul, were able to walk with one of our parents through the village. They passed the home of the magistrate who governed our village. He had been educated at Harvard and had a French wife who was a friend of my mother. As a toddler I was not
allowed to walk to the launch. So my father devised a solution. Two large baskets with ropes attached were hung on either end of a dang, or long bamboo pole—the universal Chinese carrying pole placed over the shoulders of a strong coolie. I was placed in one end.
shoulder of a strong coolie. I was placed in one basket. At the other end of the dang hung a large boulder. I bounced along with the rhythm of the coolie’s gait.
On the launch my brother and sister loved to listen to the story teller in the hold. He would ding on a gong for dramatic effect. My sister remembers the smell of opium coming up from below on wisps of smoke. My brother and sister always sat on deck with the baskets of live ducks and other food items going to family in Foochow from their country cousins in Diongloh. When we returned from the outing we always had a refreshing cup of Jasmine tea.
JASMINE TEA
Fuzhou (Foochow), in Fujian Provence is located on the coast half way between Shanghai and Hong Kong. Jasmine tea, lacquer, and batik were made here. Jasmine Tea, its most well known gift to the world, is the most famous scented tea in China. It was grown in the hills behind our house. Leaves were picked early in the spring and stored until late summer when fresh jasmine flowers were in bloom. The flowers were picked at dawn when the small petals were tightly closed. They were kept cool until night when the flowers opened, releasing their heavenly fragrance. The tea was then blended with the flowers and stored overnight. It took over four hours for the tea to absorb the fragrance and flavor of the Jasmine blossoms. This scenting process could be repeated up to seven times for top grades, such as Yin Hao. Jasmine tea was our local beverage, but in north China it was served to guests as a welcome. Drinking it has many health benefits: it contains several different kinds of antioxidants that protect the membranes of red blood cells. It is also recommended for losing weight. No Chinese meal is complete without a pot of hot “cha”.
BATIK QUILTS
Batik bridal quilts were made in our village of Dionloh by one family, the only family in all of China. The story was painted in bright colors, red, green, white and blue on a deep indigo dyed background . This gave a dramatic and colorful effect. It depicted a famous story, such “Quan Yin and the Han Lin Scholar”. Thise story illustrates of one of the “virtues”, filial piety. In it Quan Yin gives the scholar an award for giving up his studies at the university to take care of his elderly parents. There a were stylized clouds and birds. It was beautiful. I was especially interested in Quan Yin. She is the Goddess of Mercy and Healing. This was the one my mother gave to me. It made a striking wall hanging stretched across the living room wall. in my apartment in Brooklyn Heights years later.
My aunt Edee always wanted me to be named Mercy, after my great-grandmother, Mercy Jenness. As a child I was horrified at the idea of being called Mercy, but now I have a different feeling about that name. She is commonly called “the thousand eyes, thousand-arms” bodisattva. In this aspect she is the omnipresent Divine Mother, looking in every direction at once sensing the problems of humanity. She is reaching out to soothe all beings with boundless infinite expressions of her compassion and mercy. If you call upon her when you have a real need for healing you can actually feel the loving touch of her hand.
DRAGON BOAT FESTIVAL
In spring, on the fifth day of the fifth moon, a dragon boat festival was held on the Min river. The entire population participated in the races in long red boats shaped like dragons the entire population participated in the races in long red boats shaped like dragons with eyes painted on the front of the boat so they could see where they were going. . Up to seventy rowers were needed to power each boat. Drummers along the shore beat their drums—boom, boom, boom. Firecrackers crackled and snapped all around us. Cymbals clang and gongs beat to make this a noisy and exciting festival. Families collected along the shore
cheering the rowers on. We ate duck Eggs and Zong Zi which were delicious pyramid shaped dumplings wrapped in reed leaves. They were filled with sweetened bean paste or fresh meat. Dwai-moi dressed me in a red Chinese jacket and carried me to join the rest of the family.
JAPANESE BOMBS
When I was two and a half, Japanese bombs started zinging out of the sky over Dionloh and the surrounding area in Southern China. We received an official notice from the consulate that all American families were being evacuated. My father accompanied us, my mother, brother, sister and me, as far as Fuchow.. A launch took us to Hong Kong where we boarded a big Pacific Steamer boat with several other missionary families. Then we sailed back to America.
My mother loved to tell how I swung on the ship’s railings. The only way she could get me to come down was to tell me that if I fell, it would be like having my hair washed (the thing I hated the most)!
A NEW HOME IN AMERICA
After traveling across the Pacific we boarded a train to Boston, where my uncle Charles met us and drove us to my Grandfather’s farm in Dover, New Hampshire. We settled into the family’s large comfortable colonial house with my two aunts, Edee and Rachel, and Grampa and “Charlsie”. I hadn’t spoken a word after leaving the nurturing arms of my beloved Dwai-Moi. Then all of a sudden I started speaking English in this new welcoming family home. The farmhouse faced east, overlooking green hayfields that swept down to the woods. The first room you entered was a warm cozy kitchen that smelled of good things baking. Grampa
Jenness sat in the center in his maple, straight- backed rocking chair with his feet in the oven. He stroked his gray goatee and looked down over his wire- rimmed spectacles at his youngest granddaughter—me. SheI returned the look with a timid but admiring glance. He was lean and spare, used to relentless hours of farm work from five to dusk. He was a practical man who had managed a family of eleven children. He had been active in the community too. He set up the one- room schoolhouse and drove the children on the “barge” to school. He had even taught mathematics himself and loved to throw out a simple problem for the children to solve. (Example: How long would it take you to shovel a pile of manure if it had a circumference of seven feet, a height of three feet and you could shovel at the rate of one and a half cubic feet every five minutes?) He had been a member of the New Hampshire State Legislature and played a leadership role in our Quaker Meeting. He had learned from his father back in the days of the Underground Railway when they gave horses and food to runaway slaves to help them on their way to Canada.
EDEE
My Aunt Edee, who did not have any children of her own, took me under her maternal wing. My mother was away almost constantly on “speaking” engagements where she spoke to churches and other organizations about life in China. My Aunt Edee was an amazing woman. She was a medium- sized, rather ordinary middle-aged woman who wore her straight dark hair pulled back, fastened with combs. She had been voted “the prettiest girl in her class” at Westtown, a Quaker boarding school she attended in Pennsylvania. She had a large mole on her left arm. When I asked her what it was she told me a witch had touched her there. Somehow I thought it made her magic. She filled me with stories which she told while we made molasses cookies together. They were wonderfully scary, about traveling through the woods at night and seeing a pair of glowing wolf eyes in the dark., or sometimes an owl hooting, or the scratchy sound of a fox. She grew all our vegetables and flowers. She even sent baskets of vegetables to town with Charlsie when he delivered eggs at “Skipps” or Fernald Hackett’s (both restaurants). She gave vegetables to St. Charles Orphanage and to people in our Quaker Meeting.
I walked with her down the “lane” at four o’clock each day to bring back the cows. My grandfather had a herd of twelve shorthorns. We would stop to gather flowers andsometimes Edee would pick a soft
gray green leaf called, a “lamb’s ear” which she wrapped around my ankle so I could feel its softness. When we got the cows back to the barn and in their stancheons, Edee would come around their sides and card them. The carder was a thin block of wood with small nails embedded in it. It combed their s
hort hair and was like a massage. They loved it, you could tell because they would moo appreciatively and roll their eyes. Edee called them by name, “Grayfer, Snowball, Marybelle, Lucy, Jonquil, Lilac, and Katie.”
My uncle Charlsie and Freddie, our French Canadian hired man, did the milking. All you could hear in the cow-tie-up was the “ping-ping” of streams of milk hitting the sides of the big silver milk pails. The pails of frothy white milk were carried back to the dairy room” next to the kitchen where it would be “‘separated”:, some churned to butter by Edee, some sold, and some would be used by us. On the way to the dairy room some was tipped into a huge round top of a milk can where at least a dozen cats were impatiently meowing for their supper.
As the quiet of night descended, all you could see in the cow tie-up was a row of big cow backs and big round eyes glowing in the dark, and mouths comfortably chewing their cuds.
RACHEL
Rachel was our spy. When any of us children stole a molasses cookie from the jar, or even if “Freddie”, the French Canadian hired man did anything that wasn’t allowed, Rachel would report it to Edee. She had straight black hair which she wore in a long braid at night and then wound into a bun at the back of her head in the day. Like all Scorpios she had a deep and passionate nature. She was devoted to Grandpa and at night always sat at the end of the kitchen couch near his rocking chair. Once a beam fell on her head in the barn. She was never quite the same after that. Sometimes at night Rachel would have a nightmare and let out a bloodcurdling yell in the middle of the night. My sister, who slept in her room was terrified.
