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

by Li, Veronica

  I changed into a gown and lay down in bed. The churning in my belly was getting uncomfortable, but I was too distracted to pay much attention to it. The woman on the other side of the wall was squealing like a pig in a slaughterhouse. I’d never heard a grown-up make such unbecoming noise, and I felt rather embarrassed on her behalf. She was just having a baby—why did she have to scream like that?

  A warm flow gushed between my legs. Oh no, I thought, I’d peed on myself. I rang the bell in alarm. Minutes passed and nobody came. I rang the bell a second time. Again, there was no response. My imagination conjured up disasters. What if the baby were bleeding? I pressed the button once more—this time I kept my finger there until a nurse appeared.

  "What’s going on?" she squawked. The nurse was Thai and she’d been giving me sour looks the moment my yellow face appeared in the ward. She was used to waiting on white-skinned women.

  As I didn’t know much Thai yet, I spoke to her in English. "I’m sorry I got the bed all wet. I don’t know what happened. It came so fast."

  "Is that all?" she spat out. "I thought somebody was dying. That’s just your bag of water."

  Whatever that was, it sounded serious. I immediately asked to see Dr. Chat—the obstetrician Brother Kin had found for me and reputed to be the best in the kingdom. My brother had figured that a doctor worthy of delivering babies for the royal family was worthy of tending to his sister.

  The lemon-faced nurse threw me a look of contempt. "Dr. Chat is very busy. He’ll come when you’re ready."

  "When am I going to be ready?" I asked, but the nurse had disappeared before I could finish my sentence.

  Nobody had told me anything about a bag of water. Actually, nobody had told me anything about childbirth, and it had never occurred to me to ask. Mother had her babies at home, in the company of an aunt or two and a midwife to catch the baby. Whenever she talked about it, it always sounded as if it were a party. How I wished she or Sam-Koo could be with me now. But this was a high-class, exclusive hospital where no visitors were allowed.

  As long as the French woman kept up her raving, my pain seemed tolerable. But after she was wheeled away and I was left alone in the ward, the wrenching in my guts got sharper and sharper, and I was beginning to understand what my neighbor had been going through. Even so, there was no need to wake up the whole hospital. No matter how great the pain was, I was determined to suffer in honorable silence. Just as the resolution formed in my mind, a growl ripped the room. The noise startled me—who could have made this ugly sound? Then a howl pierced my eardrums from the inside. I was the one making the beastly shrieks! My eyes darted anxiously at the door. Now the nurse was going to come in and insult me again. But what did I care? I was going to die anyway. Tears gushed out the corners of my eyes—not so much out of pain, as grief for my short unfulfilled life, which I was sure was expiring within minutes.

  Looking back, I’m still mad that nobody had informed me beforehand. Had I known that labor pain couldn’t kill, I would have borne it better. But with not a soul to reassure me, my first childbirth turned out to be a most frightful experience. The worst part was that it was unnecessarily so.

  Agnes crawled out at 7 am, October 31, 1946. As I held her in my arms, the horrors of the night vanished. I stared at my daughter with amazement. This lump that used to be part of my flesh was a little person with eyes that rolled with alertness and a mouth that was already making her demands known. Stroking her soft, fuzzy head, I swore to her that I would fulfill her every need. She would never suffer the hardships that I’d suffered in my childhood. My father wasn’t around to provide for me, and my mother, with all her good intentions, was too ignorant to know how to raise me. I would be an educated, well-informed mother, and I would guide my child every step of the way. She would grow up to be the best she could be.

  I sniffed her baby perfume and whispered "Agnes" in her ear. This would be her baptismal name. A girl called Agnes had been a classmate at Italian Convent, and I’d always thought it was a pretty name. I also tried out my baby’s Chinese name—Man-Kuk, which was Cantonese for Bangkok. Baba was the person who christened all his grandchildren, and he’d devised a system of creating names based on birthplaces. His method was indeed visionary. He could already foresee that the next generation of Wangs would be born in cities across the world.

  3

  Halfway through "sitting my month," I got a letter from Hok-Ching. The postage stamp bore an image of King George. I tore it open, anxious to find out what he was doing in Hong Kong. His neat handwriting on the airmail stationery read:

  My dearest darling,

  I am very happy to hear about the birth of our baby and hope you are both well. Your mother, I am sure, is taking good care of you. My heart can rest knowing that you are in good hands.

  I have a piece of news for you: I have quit my job at the university as of the end of last month. As you know, the budget allocated to my department is so measly that I can’t do anything with it. There is also a lot of bickering among the department heads, and the principal is a man of mediocre talents who is easily swayed left and right. I have decided not to waste any more time there.

  I have come to Hong Kong to check out the prospects for getting a job. I am staying with Yolanda’s parents, who have been very kind to put me up. Please do not worry about me. Take your time to rest and recuperate. I want you and the baby to be strong before you undertake the trip to join me. You may continue to send letters to my apartment in Canton. I have kept it for the time being and will go back once in a while.

  Your loving husband,

  Hok-Ching

  What! How could he have quit his job without consulting me? His last letter had given me no inkling whatsoever. And why on earth was he staying with Yolanda’s parents? He had an uncle and aunt in Hong Kong; they could have taken him in. Staying with Yolanda’s parents was the same as staying with Yolanda. Her fiancé was still in the States, and she’d moved back with her parents. I scanned the letter again and again to tease out more clues. Yolanda and Hok-Ching, Hok-Ching and Yolanda: I kept seeing them together. Sam-Koo had warned me about Yolanda. Worldly and calculating were the words Sam-Koo had used to describe my former roommate. To those I must add competitive. To steal my husband would be a victory that she could gloat over the rest of her days.

  I scanned the opening and closing of his letter once more and my heart sank further. Usually his letters were full of yearning for me: how he was counting the days to our reunion, how he worried about my well-being, and so on. But now that he had Yolanda to keep him company, his worries and longings had vanished like mist in sunshine. Now he was encouraging me to rest and recuperate for as long as I wanted. How I regretted giving him full control of the gold bullions from Brother Kin. That money bought him the freedom to quit his job and shuttle between Canton and Hong Kong like a swinging bachelor.

  I wanted to fly to him immediately, but knowing that Mother wouldn’t let me leave until my month was over, I asked Brother Kin to book me a plane ticket for early December. To Mother, I explained that I wanted to be with my husband at Christmas time. This excuse preempted her objections, for Christianity was a world where she was absolutely powerless. She only shook her head and gave her usual line: "If I’d known you would convert, I would never have let you study at Italian Convent."

  In the meantime, I wrote back to Hok-Ching, telling him about our beautiful baby, and how anxious I was to resume our life together. I sent my best regards to my friend Yolanda, and asked when her fiancé was coming home.

  Agnes was five weeks old when we landed at Kai Tak airport. As only ticketed passengers were allowed to enter the airport terminal, I had to manage the baby and suitcase on my own. Once outside the building, I saw Hok-Ching’s uncle and aunt wave to me behind the chain-link fence. I looked beyond them, but there was no sign of the person I was expecting.

  "Where’s Hok-Ching?" was my first question.

  They demurred for a second, but Uncle was quick-wi
tted. He told me that Hok-Ching was waiting for me at the Peninsula Hotel, which was the terminal for the airport bus. As no one was allowed into the airport anyway, Hok-Ching decided it was just as well to meet me at the hotel. Uncle’s explanation sounded good, but it had one major flaw. Why was it that an uncle and aunt would go to the trouble of meeting me at the airport and my husband wouldn’t? However, I held my tongue and saved my question for the right person at the right time.

  I spotted Hok-Ching the moment I entered the hotel lobby. He was lounging in a sofa chair, all dressed up in suit and tie, a martini glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Upon seeing me, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked briskly toward me. He reached out for an embrace, but I pushed him back so that he wouldn’t squash the baby between us. We stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds to find the persons we’d left behind four months ago. His long face was the same, but I know mine had undergone a rebirth. Childbirth had sharpened my features. The soft childish lines were gone, and the person I saw in the mirror was a woman, not a girl anymore. I’d also started putting my hair up in a matronly chignon.

  Hok-Ching beamed at the baby. Having slept all the way from Bangkok, Agnes was wide-awake. Her bright eyes roamed about, and her arms were squirming to free themselves from the blanket. Hok-Ching peeled away the layer and found his finger caught in the baby’s grip. He brought the little hand to his lips and kissed it.

  My heart warmed, although not enough to thaw the ice. "I thought you were going to meet me at the airport," I said.

  "Uncle told me he was meeting you there. So I decided to stay on this end just in case he missed you. Oh look, she won’t let go of my finger. She knows I’m her father."

  Uncle and Aunt oohed and aahed over the baby, and the subject was conveniently dropped. Uncle drove us back to his apartment, where we were to stay until we decided on our next move. I wanted to pounce on my husband with the many questions on my mind, but in the presence of others I had to hold them in till bedtime. As soon as the bedroom door closed, my worries frothed over. We were jobless and homeless, and the money from my brother’s gold bullions was running out. What were we going to do?

  "We don’t have to depend on your brother’s gold to stay alive," Hok-Ching said with a shrug. "I’ve written Baba. He hasn’t replied yet, but I’m sure he’ll find a solution. If he can be in charge of the economy of China, he can surely take care of my economy." He chuckled at his clever statement. "Come on, let’s not worry about money. This is our first night together."

  I started to grill him about his relationship with Yolanda, but it soon became exceedingly difficult to get my words out while I was being smothered with kisses.

  During the next few days, the fiancé whom I thought had died came back to life. Hok-Ching was once again the carefree and playful man whom I’d dated in Chungking. Instead of standing guard over me behind locked doors, he took me out every night. Uncle and Aunt were all too happy to watch over Agnes, and after a month of "sitting," I was ready for action. Hok-Ching, who had scouted out the best restaurants, introduced me to his culinary finds. This period could have been a sort of honeymoon for us, as we never had one after our wedding—if not for the intrusion of the third party by the name of Yolanda.

  Our first threesome get-together took place at Chanticleer, a western restaurant with a giant rooster hanging above its entrance. The moment we walked in, a hoarse voice shouted, "Over here!" It could be only one person, for I’d never met another who sounded as if she had a piece of sandpaper stuck in her throat. Yolanda was beckoning to us. My husband disappeared from my side and I heard him say, "Have you been waiting long?"

  Yolanda stood up. A pang of envy hit me. While my waistline had expanded from childbearing, hers was still the coquettish figure of a girl. She showed it off shamelessly in a tight cheongsam of bright, bold peonies. Her long lashes fluttered over her big round lychee eyes, but alas, her skin was also as dark and rough as that of a lychee. No amount of facial powder could hide that.

  Yolanda swept her eyes over me and exclaimed, "Flora, you look prosperous! You must have eaten a lot of good food when you were pregnant. My mother ate three eggs a day when she was carrying me. The egg white was supposed to make my skin smooth and white."

  "She must have eaten thousand-year-old eggs," I said. Yolanda was asking for it—her complexion was closer to the black ash-cured eggs than the fresh ones.

  After an awkward pause, she resumed her eyelash batting. "My brother Hok-Ching missed you terribly," she crooned.

  When did he become your brother? I thought to myself.

  The waiter came over. "Mr. Wang, Miss Kwok, what kept you away so long? Would you like the usual today?"

  My heart felt the slam of a hammer. How many times had they eaten here for the waiter to know them by name? I stole glances at the two, but they didn’t seem the least disturbed.

  "Give us an extra large borscht," Yolanda said. "We have one more person today."

  "Their borscht here is authentic," Hok-Ching explained to me. "The owner is originally from Shandong, where he learned to cook from the Russians. The steaks here are also excellent. The chef really knows what ‘rare’ means."

  "I hate beef," I said gruffly. Being Buddhist, Mother would never let me touch the meat of a sacred cow.

  The waiter brought me a menu. My eyes swam over it. Food was the least of my interests when Hok-Ching and Yolanda were behaving like a couple, with me as the extra.

  "You should try the pepper steak at Ruby," Yolanda said to me. "It doesn’t taste like steak at all. I bet even you would eat it. It’s tender and smothered with a spicy sauce. My mouth waters just to think of it. Remember that?" she said, and elbowed Hok-Ching on the arm.

  "Ruby? Isn’t that a nightclub?" I heard myself say. This conversation was feeling more and more unreal.

  "Oh yes, it’s got a beautiful dance floor, and a very good band. But Hok-Ching thinks the music they play is too slow." Another flutter of lashes. "He prefers ChinaPalace because the music is lively and the hostesses are prettier than those at Ruby." She cackled a naughty laugh.

  "Don’t listen to her," Hok-Ching said to me. "She loves to tease."

  "Of course, none of them is as pretty as your own wife," Yolanda added, as though she could make everything right again with one compliment. Swiveling toward me, she said, "So how was your trip? Must have been hard traveling with the baby."

  How nice of her to show concern about me. "It was all right. The baby slept through the flight, and the plane was on time."

  "On time? I thought it arrived early." Swiveling back to Hok-Ching, she said, "It landed before you could finish your lunch." He stared at her with a hint of alarm, but Yolanda wasn’t one to notice subtleties. She went on, "The service at the Peninsula was frightfully slow. We had to wait the better part of an hour for the food to be served. When Hok-Ching called to find out about your flight, it had already arrived."

  "Was that why you didn’t meet me at the airport?" I said to my husband.

  "The most important thing is that you landed safe and sound," he said, without replying to my question.

  The waiter uncovered the tureen. The sweet and musty smell of cabbage rose to our noses, and Hok-Ching and Yolanda went "mmm." Watching the two lick their lips, I thought of my dreadful night at the hospital, my body ravaged by pain, alone and scared, laboring to give birth to the offspring of this unfaithful cad. That same night he was probably here, eating borscht with his girlfriend—or worse, twirling with her on the dance floor at Ruby or ChinaPalace.

  Yolanda had unwittingly cracked the pot and now the soup had leaked out. My husband had been lunching with his girlfriend when my plane landed. That was the reason he couldn’t meet me at the airport. My anger was boiling over, but I knew that I must keep the fire down until we got home. Kicking up a fuss in public wasn’t my style. I sat patiently through the rest of lunch and the taxi ride—of course we had to drop Yolanda at her home first.

  When we go
t back to Uncle’s flat, I went to look in on Agnes. She was sound asleep in the amah’s arms, just the way she liked it. After feeling her head to make sure that she was neither too warm nor too cold, I joined my husband in our room.

  "So you and Yolanda have been eating out every night," I said matter-of-factly. Straining against my chest was the urge to scream and cry and throw things at the despicable traitor.

  "Not every night. Just once in a while—"

  "Often enough for the waiter to know you by name. I’m surprised he didn’t call her Mrs. Wang."

  Hok-Ching chuckled. "Is that why you’re mad at me?" He sidled up and encircled my angry shoulders in his arms. "You’re my Mrs. Wang. Yolanda is Miss Kwok, and she’s just a friend."

  "Some friend. I can’t believe your heart can be so easily distracted. We’ve been separated for only a few months, and you’re already running after another woman. Yolanda, of all people!"

  "I told you, she’s just a friend!" he shouted, as if loudness were more convincing.

  I put a finger to my lips and pointed to the wall. It would be shameful for others to hear us quarreling.

  "You were away," Hok-Ching said, his neck bulging with the effort to keep the volume down. "Yolanda’s fiancé was also away. We were two people in the same lonely situation, so we went out just to cheer ourselves up. There was nothing more."

  "Are you sure there was nothing more?" I said. That was the closest I could come to asking him: Did you sleep with her?

  "Of course that was all. Come on," he pinched my chin to make me look at him. "It’s over now. We’re back together, in addition to a baby girl and many more to come."

  He tried to kiss me, but I pushed him away. What he said was exactly what any man would say under the circumstances. He could deny all he wanted, but my suspicions would always remain. The thought of another three-some outing with Yolanda turned my stomach. Even living in the same city as she did was repulsive. I wished Baba would hurry up and find Hok-Ching a job. Any job, anywhere would do, as long as it got him away from that woman.