by Li, Veronica
I had a tearful reunion with my mother. She was heavier than ever, which wasn’t a good sign in her case. While most people gain weight in times of prosperity, Mother put it on in times of misery. Food was her replacement for happiness, and the more wretched she felt, the heavier she got. Her fine skin was rutted with worry lines. Five years was a long time to be separated from one’s children. She looked me over, her watery eyes searching out the oceans and fields I’d crossed on my own. I’d left home a delicate girl of ninety pounds, suffering from fevers and headaches; now I was a married woman, robust and big with child.
"I’ve been worried to death over you," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "All these years there wasn’t a word from you and Ngai. We had no idea whether you were dead or alive or sold as slaves to the Japanese."
"Here I am, none the worse for the wear. There’s not a hole or tear in me." I spread out my arms to show her my wholesome body. Ngai was noisily sucking on a pork bone at the table, reminding me how close he’d come to ripping apart the family fabric. This reunion wouldn’t have been the same without him.
Mother held me at arm’s length to study my belly. "It’s a girl," she declared. "The package is round and sloppy—it’s got to be a girl. If it’s pointed and tidy and you can’t see it from behind," she spun me around, "then it’s a boy."
Before Mother got too carried away with her old wives’ tales, I pushed forward the man who’d played a part in the creation of this baby. Hok-Ching gave a reverent bow, although an irreverent amusement shone in his eyes. I’d told him how Mother had raised us single-handedly, but I hadn’t mentioned that she was an illiterate, superstitious woman full of archaic ideas. Compared with Ah Yi, who held a high school diploma, my mother was a peasant.
"So your father is the famous bookseller," Mother said.
"He was the general manager of Commercial Press, China’s biggest publisher," Brother Kin corrected her. He was the only one who dared, having been caned the least. "And right now he’s Chiang Kai-Shek’s economic minister."
"Ah, so he’s an official!" Mother said, the folds of her chin quivering with every nod of approval. "Having an official in the family is the best. In everything you do, there will be somebody to smooth your path."
"I’ve always been a great admirer of your father," Brother Yung the scholar piped up. "Of all the methods of looking up characters in a dictionary, your father’s four-corner system is the fastest."
Was I glad that he mentioned Baba’s dictionary! Mother might be ignorant, but she’d managed to educate her children. Hok-Ching was most pleased to hear praises of his father, but he was even more pleased when Brother Kin mentioned Health and Strength.
"I’ve read many issues of your magazine," Brother Kin said. "In my youth I was interested in sports too. I used to go to the YMCA every day to train as a lifeguard. I had to swim fifty laps, plus exercise with weights, to build up my muscles."
"I don’t know who it is you saved, but you certainly didn’t save yourself!" Mother grumbled. She went on to tell the story of how her second son lost his scholarship.
I could see that Hok-Ching was anxiously waiting for Mother to finish. I also knew exactly what he was going to say: "I was the first in China to lift double bodyweight."
Well, I was right. That was exactly what he said. But while I’d heard his story a thousand times, it was new to my brothers. They didn’t have to ask many questions before my husband jumped up to demonstrate his clear-and-jerk method.
While the men carried on, Mother bustled around, ordering the servants to bring fruits. My mouth watered at the sight of the little juicy mangoes unique to Thailand. They weren’t much to look at, small and green even when they were rotting ripe. But once you peeled back the skin, you would see that the meat was creamy white, and the aroma of jasmine and coconut would invade your nose.
Hok-Ching declined. "You must like to drink," Mother declared. "People who like to drink don’t like to eat fruits."
Hok-Ching’s lips curled with amusement again. "You guessed right. I do like a drink now and then."
"What’s your fancy?" Brother Kin said. "I’ve got everything here. Black Label, Red Label, and even some local moonshine."
"Don’t encourage him to drink," I chided my brother.
"What man doesn’t like to drink?" Mother interjected. "You can’t control him too much. A man has to do what men do."
Hok-Ching looked at me triumphantly. I should have known Mother would say a thing like that.
After we’d licked up the mango juice dribbling down our hands and wrists, the servants brought us wet towels to clean up. Mother went into her room and brought out a wooden chest. It was similar to the one that she used to hide under her bed. She pulled it out only when she was short of money for the next meal.
The chest was filled to the brim with little brocade bags. One by one she showed me the items of my dowry: a ring crowned with a diamond as large as my molar, a heart-shaped jade pendant, a brooch of sapphire irises, a string of the purest pearls, and gold—plenty of gold hammered into chains, earrings, and medallions. I fought back tears when Mother handed me the chest. These weren’t playthings that she was giving me—they were my insurance against calamity. Having seen wars and galloping inflation, Mother knew that paper money might end up being worth just what it was—paper. The best security a woman could have was jewelry. It was also the most mobile, for she could always stuff it in her pocket and run.
My two elder brothers also presented me with a joint wedding gift. My breath took a sharp intake when I opened the box. Nestled against the satin cushion was a dazzling set of diamonds. Brother Kin held it up to show me what it was—a V-shaped necklace; not just one string, but many strands woven together into a solid plate. There were so many diamonds that I couldn’t even start to count them all. At my brothers’ urging, Hok-Ching fastened it around my neck. As he peered at it to make sure it was centered, I could see the diamond light dancing off his pupils. My heart filled with pride. In my husband’s eyes, I’d been a refugee living under the wings of his powerful family, but now he could see what I really was, a princess of a wealthy kingdom.
"One more present for you," Brother Kin said, waving a brown envelope.
"More! What can be more than diamonds!" I exclaimed.
My brother smiled magnanimously, but he wasn’t going to tell. I fished out a single piece of paper from the envelope. It was an official-looking document stamped with red ink chops.
"These are your shares in Southeast Asia Trading Company. Uncle Ben is the founder and major shareholder. I hold one-third of the shares, and now half of what I have is yours. In today’s value, these shares are worth $100,000 in Honk Kong money. So there you are, the co-owner of a company."
I scrutinized the paper to pretend interest. I had no idea what it meant to be a shareholder and frankly would rather have had the cash in my pocket. But the gleam on Brother Kin’s face suggested that this last item in my dowry was more valuable than any of the jewelry, more than even the diamonds. I had great difficulty believing him then.
*
We had much to celebrate, including two weddings that had been shortchanged by the war—Brother Yung’s and mine. His bride was a Chinese from Singapore, where he’d been living for several years. We decided to throw a banquet for our relatives. Given our family’s long history in Bangkok, our cousins in Thailand numbered in the hundreds. Brother Kin, the spendthrift, wanted to invite them all, but Brother Yung and I outvoted him. In the end, the guest list was limited to only the closest kin, and they alone filled three round tables.
That night I discovered something Brother Yung and I had in common. He cried like a woman when he was drunk. Memories of my "orange juice" night in Chungking came back to me. Some people are jovial when intoxicated, but I tend to think of the most tragic things that have happened to me. I knew exactly how my brother felt, but still I never dreamed that a grown man could sob with such abandon in public. His face bathed in tears, h
e slobbered over Hok-Ching: "I hope you’re taking good care of my sister. She’s the only sister I have, so you have to be good to her!" I thought that was sweet of him, but Hok-Ching didn’t seem to appreciate it.
"Do you know I was almost killed by a Japanese bomb?" Brother Yung sais as he turned to me. His poor wife, obviously embarrassed by the tearful outburst, tried to shut him up. "Let me talk, let me tell my sister," he blubbered.
This was when I found out that my brother’s life had been retrieved from the garbage heap. Brother Yung had been a seaman on board a ship the day Japanese planes attacked Singapore harbor. When his ship took a hit, he and two other seamen jumped into a lifeboat. Bombs were falling like rain around them. They didn’t know what else to do but row. Brother Yung heard something screaming down at him. He dove into the water. The sea howled, and when he came up for breath, the lifeboat was gone and his friends were nowhere in sight. He swam and swam until his feet touched bottom.
The women around the table broke into sobs. How terrible this war had been. How many lives had been lost, and for what? We shed tears of sorrow and also tears of joy that our family could gather intact. How many others could boast of such good fortune? Aside from the direct casualties of Japanese bombs, the mass dislocation had ruined many lives. With families dispersed, the old and weak often died alone, their remains lost in paupers’ graves. Yung-Jen’s father, the baker, was one of them. He’d fled to Canton, contracted some illness, and died with nobody at his side. A lot of good his eight wives and fourteen sons did him.
The weeping went on until Mother cracked her whip. "Yung, you must be itching for a beating. This is a double happiness occasion. From now on, I want to hear only good words."
"The war isn’t all bad," an aunt said. "If it weren’t for the war, those two would never have met." She pointed to Hok-Ching and me. "War can be a fine matchmaker. Look at the two of them. Aren’t they the perfect couple?"
Hok-Ching tried not to grin too widely, while I tried not to cry.
2
For the first time in years, I felt truly at home. Unlike my flat in Canton, where I had to fight to keep a window open, my brother’s house was the place where I could do as I pleased. My doting brothers aside, there were dozens of female cousins for me to call on whenever I wanted to go shopping or visit one site or another. Hok-Ching usually stayed back, but he was wise enough not to protest my going. In my brother’s house, I had too many allies to succumb to his bullying.
I wished I weren’t having such a good time, for the month went by faster than it should. It was the end of August, time for Hok-Ching to get ready for school. I should also get the apartment ready for the baby, who was due in October.
Sam-Koo and I were lounging in the living room when mother came in from feeding her dogs. Animals had always been her passion. While servants did every chore around the house, Mother wouldn’t trust anyone to take care of her pets. The sight of her huffing in the heat filled me with sympathy for my unlucky mother. She’d grown up in the home of an opium addict who claimed to be her mother but probably wasn’t. Becoming the second wife of a traveling merchant was the best fate she could hope for, but even that security had been snatched away. She’d longed for her older sons to grow up quickly, but just as they were capable of providing for her, the war started. The last few years had been spent crying for news of her two youngest children. Now that I had a little one kicking in me, I could understand the torment she’d endured. The thought of leaving her sent a pang through me.
"Look at you, big as a buffalo," Mother said as soon as she’d caught her breath. "How can you run around with a bloated belly like that? A woman in your condition should stay home. You know, I had a dream last night. I dreamed that I was by your side when your baby came into the world, and it was a girl. That means you’re destined to have your baby here."
I laughed at the ridiculous suggestion. My ship to Canton was leaving in a week.
"Come on, have your baby here," Mother pressed. "I can take care of both of you. There’s no one in Canton to help you, not even a ghost."
"Sam-Koo will be with me," I said.
Mother eyed her old friend. "She doesn’t know anything about babies."
"Of course I do," Sam-Koo said, indignant that anyone should tell her what she couldn’t do. "Don’t you remember? I used to babysit your children when you were out playing mahjong."
"Not when they were newborn," Mother shot back with a poisonous glance.
"I would love to stay," I said, "but Hok-Ching has to go back to work."
"He has to go, but you don’t have to," Mother said.
I was surprised at her words, but even more at my own: "Marry a chicken, follow a chicken; marry a dog, follow a dog." I was throwing Mother’s maxim back at her. She had a collection of old-fashioned sayings that she swore by. I used to think they were vulgar, but here I was, singing one out with the same gusto that Mother would.
"I know, I know," she said. "But it doesn’t mean that man and wife have to be together all the time. When your father was alive, I didn’t see him three, four years at a time." Seeing my nose twitch as if I’d smelled rotten fish, Mother went on the attack. "What’s wrong with that? As long as your husband earns money to take care of the family, you don’t need him around every day." In a softer tone she added, "For you, the separation will only be a few months. After you’ve had the baby and sat through the month, you can go back to Canton."
This time Sam-Koo sided with Mother, and together the two painted a picture of life after childbirth. It’s like a sickness from which the woman has to recover. She has to stay in bed for thirty days after the delivery, and hence the phrase "sitting through the month." Her duty is to rest and feast on revitalizing foods such as pig’s feet stewed in ginger and vinegar, and chicken cooked in rice wine. She should also be served, preferably in bed, an extra meal at five in the morning. All this cooking, plus taking care of the baby, would be too much for Sam-Koo alone.
Beset by their eloquent appeal, I said lamely, "The decision isn’t up to me. If Hok-Ching agrees, I don’t really care one way or the other."
"I’ll talk to Hok-Ching," Mother said. "He looks like a good boy; he’ll listen to me."
I’d never thought of my husband as a boy, but that was what he was to Mother. Already I could see that she’d taken a shine to him, solely because he was a boy.
At dinner that evening Mother said to me in front of everyone, "In a few days you’ll be gone. You’ll be all by yourself when you have your baby, and I’ll be too far away to help. You’re my only daughter, and this is my first grandchild. My heart hurts to think of you leaving. Can’t you stay until the baby is born?"
Her eyes were wet. My brothers looked concerned.
"My home is your home," Brother Kin said to me. "You can stay as long as you want. Bangkok has a first-rate hospital that admits only Europeans. My American boss plays tennis with the hospital director. I’m sure he can get you in."
All eyes were on Hok-Ching, and Hok-Ching’s eyes were on me. He was sitting next to me, his square shoulders almost touching mine.
"I’ve been thinking about the return trip to Canton," I said, keeping my gaze on the table. "The voyage out was rough. Who knows what the weather will be going home? In my condition, should I take the risk?" After eight months of living with my worrywart husband, I’d found the shortcut to his heart.
His teeth clenched with a click. I glanced sideways at his long lower jaw, which seemed to have grown longer since we got married.
After a pensive silence, he said, "It’s up to Flora. If she wants to stay, I don’t mind going back first."
*
Two of the happiest months of my life flew by. Although I stayed home with Mother most of the time, I didn’t feel bored at all. My cousins called on me, offering to take me here and there. Sometimes I went with them, but mostly I was content to stay put. I had all the company I needed within myself. A human being was growing inside me, and I felt as whole as th
e universe. All the mysteries of the world were contained in my belly and there was nothing more I needed.
My labor started in the early afternoon. Brother Kin came home from work to personally drive me to the hospital—the exclusive French hospital that he’d promised to arrange for me. Mother saw me to the door and bid me to "watch my step," as she always did when I went shopping or sightseeing. She gave no indication that this trip was anything out of the ordinary.
To get to the hospital as fast as possible, Brother Kin cut through a street where the Chinese embassy was located. He cursed himself the moment he turned in. He’d forgotten that the next day was the birthday of Chiang Kai-Shek. Regarded as the vanquisher of the Japanese, the Generalissimo was worshiped as a hero throughout Asia. People went wild with celebrations. Already on the day before his birthday the street was chock full of cars bringing guests to the embassy. Stuck between vehicles on every side, Brother Kin couldn’t even double back and try a different route. My contractions were becoming more frequent, but I clenched my jaws and kept very quiet. I didn’t want to alarm my brother.
After an hour or so, we crawled out of the congestion. Brother Kin sped to the hospital. "Give me a call when you’re done," he said before leaving. "I’ll come and pick you up." He had no idea about these things and neither did I.
I handed the receptionist the letter from the hospital director. Brother Kin had been made to understand that this violation of policy was exceptional. The hospital had only two single rooms in the maternity ward. If two Europeans happened to be giving birth that night, he was warned, his sister would be out in the corridor.
The receptionist rang for a nurse, who took me upstairs. I passed a room where I caught a glimpse of a woman tossing in bed. She was yelling in French, and her vocabulary wasn’t the kind Mother Angelica had taught me. Its meaning, however, wasn’t difficult to guess. The nurse took me to the next room, which, luckily for me, was empty.
