Journey across the Four Seas: A Chinese Woman's Search for Home

by Li, Veronica

  His face came into view. It was Hok-Ching, stripped to his undershirt like a coolie! The family had manservants to do menial labor. Why did he have to dirty his own hands?

  "Aya, this is too heavy for you," I exclaimed.

  He set the buckets down, his chest heaving in ragged breathing. "It’s good training for me. I haven’t been able to lift weights as much as I used to. This water is for your bath."

  I tut-tutted over the trouble I was causing him, but nothing could deter him from his mission. I followed him as he juggled the buckets into the bathroom. His back looked like an upside-down triangle, wide at the top and narrow at the waist. The muscles that fanned out of his undershirt were ropy and smooth, unlike the repulsive tumors of the man on the magazine cover.

  After pouring the hot water into the tub, he mixed in the cold, testing it many times before announcing that the temperature was "just right." I dipped my hand in the water and found that it was, as he said, "just right."

  2

  The war was still going on, but under the guard of American planes we lived in relative peace. Yolanda and I moved out of the bookstore and rented a room in an old house. She had a bed to herself while I shared mine with Sam-Koo, who’d made the dangerous trek from Macau to be with me. I’d had four bodyguards to escort me on that same trip, but Sam-Koo had only herself to rely on. A woman traveling alone was unheard of in those days and in those parts of the country. Her relatives had advised her to wait out the war in Macau, but she loved me like a daughter and was willing to leap over water and fire to reach me.

  In the beginning the three of us got along fine. Yolanda and I went to work during the day, while Sam-Koo kept house and cooked dinner for us. But by and by, Sam-Koo and Yolanda stopped talking to each other. I couldn’t understand why. There had been no open quarrel between them. The first time I became aware of the friction was when Sam-Koo said to me, "You have to watch out for Yolanda. She’s a calculating woman. You shouldn’t trust her." Sam-Koo’s words went in one ear and out the other. My godmother was a good-hearted person, but she also had a tendency to be bossy. Yolanda had given me no cause for complaint, and she was kind enough to let Sam-Koo share our room at no extra charge. Why should I be wary of Yolanda?

  One night, after spending a weekend on WongMountain, Hok-Ching rode back to the city in Lo Bak’s car. I thought he would get off with his father, but he insisted on accompanying me to my home. When we got there, it was only polite to invite him in. Sam-Koo and Yolanda, who were both home, became flustered at the sight of the visitor. They apologized for the humble abode, pulled up a chair for Hok-Ching, and hurried to boil water for tea. Hok-Ching, on the other hand, behaved graciously and made small talk with everyone.

  "I know of a place for horseback riding. Would you like to go next weekend?" he said to me.

  "I’ve never ridden a horse before."

  "Oh, it’s easy. The horses at the stable are very tame. Some of them won’t budge even if you kick them." Turning to Yolanda, he said, "You’re welcome to come too."

  "Thank you. I would love to," my roommate replied in her loud, brash voice.

  Thus began a series of group outings. Hok-Ching, Yolanda, and I made up the threesome, while Wai-Jing and Hok-Jit were a couple. All five of us went horseback riding, dancing, and hiking, and always at the end of the day there was a hot bath waiting for me at WongMountain. To tell the truth, I probably wouldn’t have kept the same company every single weekend if not for the bath. In fact, Yolanda seemed to be having more fun than I. Her fiancé was still in the U.S. She was lonely, but she couldn’t date another man. Surrounded by the safety of numbers, she could go out with the Wang brothers and flirt to her heart’s content. Bold and competitive, she loved to gallop off with Hok-Ching, leaving me ambling far behind. On the dance floor, however, Hok-Ching gave the two of us equal time, alternating between tangoing with Yolanda and waltzing with me. There was no tension among the three of us, at least not that I noticed, until our walk in the snow.

  On a fine winter day, the five of us hiked on one of the many trails on WongMountain. The sun warmed our backs, and the sharp air nipped our cheeks to a glow. We trekked in silence, our footfalls cushioned by the carpet of snow. On the slopes, patches of alpine buttercups glinted like gold. Winter to them was as spring was to other plants.

  Yolanda and I were walking side by side when something whacked my backside with a resounding thud. I swung around and found Hok-Ching doubling over with laughter. White powder dusted his gloves. My rear end was stinging, but I felt I didn’t know him well enough to massage it in front of him. He certainly didn’t know me well enough to play this kind of joke on me. I couldn’t get angry, though, as it was done in jest. Everybody else thought it was funny, except Yolanda. Her face darkened, and she was clearly biting her tongue to keep it from blurting out whatever was on her mind. I thought it strange that she should be angry over something that didn’t concern her. A question popped up in my mind. Could she be jealous?

  *

  While I was walking out of my office at the British Information Service, a rickshaw sped past me. There was Hok-Ching, sitting handsomely on it. He stopped the rickshaw and jumped out.

  "Hello, what a coincidence," I said. "What are you doing here?" I looked over his blue suit and striped tie. He was always well groomed, but I’d never seen him so dressed up.

  "I was just at the British embassy to apply for a visa. LondonUniversity has accepted me. I’m going for a master’s degree in education."

  My insides felt a wrench. Our little group was breaking up. "Congratulations," I said. "When are you leaving?"

  "Not until the summer." His dark eyes flickered and he added, "Do you have time? Let’s have tea."

  "I have to post these photos on the bulletin board."

  "I’ll help you," he said, and reached for the folder in my hand.

  I was glad for his assistance. The bulletin board was in the open at a particularly windy corner. I always had a rough time keeping the photos from flying off. While we were pinning them up, Hok-Ching got interested in them. They were photos of the D-Day invasion of Normandy. The sight of Allied victory in Europe gave us hope that we too could defeat the Japanese. I proudly told Hok-Ching that I was the one who translated the captions into Chinese.

  When my job was completed, Hok-Ching took me to a western cafe. It was clean and quiet, the opposite of most Chinese eateries. The tables were covered with white tablecloths, and the cakes were displayed in glass cases as if they were precious jewelry. I would never have stepped into a fancy place like this on my own. My monthly salary of 50,000 yuan sounded like a lot, but in real terms it was equivalent to $25 in U.S. currency.

  We each had English tea, served with cream and sugar, and a thick slice of black forest cake. Since coming to Chungking, I’d shed most of the weight I put on because of the yam peddler in front of the dorm. Sam-Koo, my cook and housekeeper, was a careful manager of my salary. Our meals were simple and light, and I was down to a hundred pounds.

  "How long will you be gone?" I said. Despite the pleasant environment, a feeling of déjà vu saddened me. My former boyfriend, Yang, had left me for the military. This man smiling at me from across the table was about to leave too.

  "Two years. In the first year I’ll be taking courses and going on study tours. The second year will be spent writing my thesis. If I work hard, I’m sure I can finish in less time," he said.

  I nodded, but my mind was saying, one year or ten years, it’s no business of mine. Knowing that he’d be gone in a few months, I wasn’t going to bang my head against the wall again.

  "Why don’t we have dinner together?" Hok-Ching said.

  It took me only a second to decide. I had no plans for the evening. I also had no interest in the man, and an evening out with him wasn’t going to change that.

  Up till then, Hok-Ching and I had never had the opportunity to converse one-on- one. In the company of Hok-Jit, Waijing, and Yolanda, our conversation always revol
ved around our outings. If we weren’t relishing the good time we’d just had, we would be planning the next event. Everything we said was meant for the ears of all, and therefore nothing of importance was ever said. But now, with just the two of us sitting face-to- face, the crowds in the noisy restaurant seemed far away. We could be alone in a raft drifting on the sea. Our words were intended solely for each other.

  I told him stories of my childhood—how my father died when I was three, Mother raised the four of us on her own, and Sam-Koo helped out. He’d met Sam-Koo, or rather, Sam-Koo had met him and approved of our friendship. He swapped his childhood stories for mine and gave me a glimpse of a different world. While I was running errands for Mother as soon as I could walk, he was confined to a compound surrounded by walls and gates. Lo Bak was extremely protective of his children and wouldn’t allow them out unless they were accompanied by at least two grown-ups.

  There was one thing we had in common—we’d both been sickly children. I’d thought that poverty had been the cause of my ailments, but here was this rich kid suffering from a mysterious pain in the stomach. His father took him to the best doctors in Shanghai—one was a German, another Japanese—but none could diagnose his problem. Looking at his sturdy build now, I couldn’t imagine him scrawny and jaundiced. I laughed when he told me his nickname, Hsiao Huang Di. Huang was a pun that could give the name two different meanings—Little Emperor or Little Yellow Face.

  His health turned around when he was fourteen. After the family moved into the International Settlement, he stumbled across a gym down the street. There was a class going on, and the owner, a white Russian, invited him to join in. He got hooked at once. Every day he went to the gym to pump iron. His shoulders filled out and he became strong and healthy.

  It would have been a good story with a happy ending, if only he’d ended it there. Instead, he went on and on about his lifting double body weight and his "clear-and-jerk method." I nodded from time to time to show that I was with him, even though my mind had gone on a tour around the world.

  We parted after dinner. Hok-Ching put me on a rickshaw and we waved goodbye. There was no mention of when we might meet again. If he were at WongMountain next time I went there, that would be fine with me. If he weren’t, that would be fine too. In six months he would disappear from my life. After what I’d gone through with my former boyfriend, I wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.

  *

  On Chinese New Year’s eve, Wai-Jing appeared at my doorstep with a message from Lo Bak. He was hosting a dinner in a restaurant that night and would like me to attend. I was speechless. Lo Bak’s kindness was overwhelming, but it also put me in a difficult spot. To reject his goodwill would be rude, yet to accept it would be unbefitting. Chinese New Year’s eve was a special night for families to get together and enjoy the happiness of kinship. I was neither a relative nor even a close family friend. Such a gathering had no place for me.

  I used Sam-Koo as my excuse for refusing. Yolanda was out with friends, so if I went out Sam-Koo would be left alone on New Year’s eve. But when Wai-Jing extended the invitation to include Sam-Koo, I couldn’t cook up a fresh excuse. Sam-Koo and I quickly changed into our blue cheongsams. The sky blue cotton, which symbolized frugality and endurance, was the latest craze in wartime fashion.

  At the restaurant, the owner whisked us into a private room. The entire crew from WongMountain was present, as well as an aunt and uncle whom I’d never met before. Lo Bak seated me next to Hok-Ching and placed Sam-Koo between his two wives. Waiters ran in and out carrying dish after dish. Everything was beautifully prepared in both taste and presentation. The restaurant owner dropped in from time to time to make sure that the food was to Lo Bak’s satisfaction. There was a lot of thumbs up and approvals of "Hao, hao, hao." We were all having a great time, and even Sam-Koo, who’d been a bit stiff in the beginning, began chatting with Ah Ma and Ah Yi.

  Lo Bak held center stage. Whenever he spoke, everyone would hang on his words. If anyone interrupted him, it was to indicate agreement or tell him how great he was. I thought the bootlicking was a bit much, but who was I to judge? Lo Bak was the star of the National Assembly, an independent and outspoken thinker not beholden to any party. His stubborn refusal to join the Kuomintang was well known, yet Chiang Kai-Shek held him in high esteem and sought his advice.

  "I must have been born under a lucky star," Lo Bak said in his commanding voice. A hush fell on the table. "Death has knocked on my door several times, but so far I’ve always managed to slip away. The first time was in Shanghai, when I was kidnapped and held for ransom." His wives clucked their tongues and shook their heads, and he began to tell a most fascinating story.

  He was riding his rickshaw to work when two gunmen jumped on him. They hustled him into a car, blindfolded him, and drove him to an unknown destination. He was locked in a cell with a ceiling so low that he could only sit cross-legged. The same day, a ransom note was delivered to his home. Do not contact the police, it said, or Mr. Wong’s body would turn as cold as ice water.

  The ringleader of the gang went to see Lo Bak in his cell. The kidnapper turned out to be a gentleman who apologized for the inconvenience he was causing. He was a discharged soldier from Shandong, and was merely doing what he could to earn a living. Lo Bak expressed his sympathy, but he explained that he didn’t have the kind of money his captor was asking. He was just an editor-in-chief of Commercial Press, and prestigious as the position sounded, the salary was barely enough to feed the many mouths in his family. The kidnapper heard him out, but he parted with this piece of advice: life is more precious than money; think about it.

  Frightened out of their wits, Ah Ma and Ah Yi sought help from the managers of Commercial Press. A decision was made to call on the good offices of Mr. Chang. At Commercial Press Mr. Chang was just a translator, but in Shanghai’s underworld his position was equal to that of an executive. He was a leader of the Green Gang, an organization that was more powerful than the government. In the Chinese section of Shanghai, this group of mobsters was the government.

  Mr. Chang took action at once. He invited the kidnappers to the finest restaurant. Over a nine-course feast and the best brew, he explained Lo Bak’s financial situation. It turned out that the kidnappers had thought that Lo Bak owned the row of houses on his lane. When Mr. Chang pointed out their misunderstanding, they were willing to take his word for it. The underworld had its own ethics, and one of its principles was never to challenge a gang member’s honor. On the other hand, the kidnappers couldn’t go away empty-handed after all the trouble they’d taken. The two sides negotiated. Finally, they agreed on an amount to compensate the kidnappers for their "travel expenses."

  "I never found out how much my life was worth," Lo Bak said. His laughter ricocheted around the room, and everyone laughed with him.

  The second narrow escape, Lo Bak went on, was on the eve of the "128" Incident. 128 stands for January 28, the day the Japanese launched its first attack on Shanghai. It was 1932, but the trouble had started the year before, when a group of Chinese thugs allegedly killed two Japanese monks in a dark alley. In protest, the Japanese ambassador presented the mayor of Shanghai with a list of humiliating demands. Meanwhile, Japanese battleships sailed up the WhampooRiver into Shanghai.

  Fearful of an invasion, Lo Bak moved his family from the Chinese district into a rental house in the International Settlement. As this part of town was British-administered, he trusted that the Japanese wouldn’t have the audacity to step on the toes of a western power.

  Negotiations went on for months. To everyone’s relief, the mayor of Shanghai gave in to the Japanese demands on January 27. Everyone was sure that war had been averted. Lo Bak thought it was high time to go home and check on the house. He left his family in the International Settlement and went with a brother-in-law to the Chinese district with the intention of spending the night. Around midnight, the telephone rang. The anonymous caller told Lo Bak that the Japanese were about to attack.
If he didn’t get out immediately, it would be too late. Lo Bak cranked up the phone and got through to a newspaper editor who was a friend of his. The man said he’d seen a dispatch that the Japanese had added one more demand at the last minute, but since he couldn’t read it to him over the static, he invited Lo Bak to come to his office and read it himself. Lo Bak’s brother-in-law had turned in already and didn’t feel like venturing out in the dead of night. However, he changed his mind just as Lo Bak was leaving. The two went to a nearby garage to hire a car. Right after their cab drove across the bridge, they looked back and saw Japanese troops moving in to seal off the district. Then the bombing began. The Japanese destroyed the warehouses and printing presses of Commercial Press, and the next day they came to Lo Bak’s home to arrest him.

  A chill went down my spine. Had Lo Bak fallen into Japanese hands, his fate would have been unthinkable. To keep his head on his shoulders, he would have to collaborate with the enemy. That kind of living would be worse than death.

  "Big men have big lives," somebody said to dispel the gloom.

  "A person who survives a major disaster will have great fortune afterward," another said.

  Everybody showered praises on Lo Bak. Even Sam-Koo, who wasn’t easily impressed, was spellbound. Lo Bak was an extraordinary man, and he’d done me great honor by inviting me to his family reunion. However, when everyone was praising him to high heaven, I kept quiet. I wasn’t that kind of person.

  "I used to lie awake every night worrying about Father," Hok-Ching said to me. "I could never fall asleep until I heard his car enter the gates."