Night of Many Dreams

by Gail Tsukiyama

  “The devils,” Go whispered as she stood in the middle of the empty room wanting to cry, willing herself not to, the tears burning behind her eyes.

  “It’s not so bad,” Emma said, keeping her voice happy and optimistic.

  “There’s nothing left,” Kum Ling said, her hand still covering her mouth, holding in her surprise.

  Joan stood at the far side of the room, fingering a spool of blue yarn she’d found. “It’s like an empty tomb,” she said.

  “Don’t say such things,” Kum Ling said. “It’s bad luck!”

  Auntie Go nodded. “She’s right. Dead and buried. So I’ll just have to start again from the beginning,” she said, the words choking in her throat.

  The next month, Auntie Go sold some of her jewelry and managed to scrounge enough parts through the black market to get first one machine running, then a few more. Accounts began flowing slowly in from England, France, and even New York and San Francisco. Go knew if she could produce up-to-date styles at a reasonable price, her business would grow. Three difficult years later, Auntie Go was riding the wave of prosperity that had flooded Hong Kong after the war.

  Since the war, Auntie Go had seen more new places than she had ever dreamed of, traveling to Europe and the United States. Sadly, each trip also took her farther away from Kum Ling. The success of the business was becoming a growing barrier between them. At the same time, her cousin’s husband, Lew Hing, had lost money exporting his silks and art to a growing market in Korea and Vietnam. Several large shipments of Hing’s goods had not been paid for after arriving in the hands of foreign merchants.

  On one rare evening when Auntie Go left work early, she was delighted to find Lew Hing home from Tokyo. The family had just finished dinner and Kum Ling had been called away to the phone. Joan and Emma had excused themselves, leaving Go at the table with Lew Hing. He looked thin and tired sitting in his chair at the head of the table. Over the years, it had been vacant more often than it was filled with his presence.

  “Will you be traveling again soon?” Auntie Go asked, leaning over and choosing a pear from a bowl Foon had placed in the middle of the table.

  Lew Hing cleared his throat, his eyes watching her hands as she began peeling the pear. “Things have been difficult with these new business partners.”

  Auntie Go continued to peel, the white flesh cool in her hand. “Perhaps you might consider helping me at the Western Wind.”

  “I’m much too old to learn a new trade.” Lew Hing forced a smile. “Besides, these setbacks are just temporary. I don’t expect them to last.”

  “The offer is always open,” Go said, dropping the spiral of pear skin onto her plate.

  Lew Hing scraped his chair back, and for a moment, Go thought he was rising to leave, but he reached for a pear and sat back down.

  “Thank you, Go,” he said softly.

  Auntie Go had no idea Kum Ling would be made uncomfortable by her offer. The following day Kum Ling seemed awkward and unusually quiet around her. What’s wrong? Go wanted to ask, then thought the better of it. A few months later, Lew Hing returned to Japan in hopes of resurrecting his import-export business. His refusal to join her company was a subject she and Kum Ling stayed as far away from as they could.

  As different as they were, only Go knew that Kum Ling’s own life had been one of ups and downs. Her once wealthy father had lost most of his money in bad investments. Go knew it was her cousin’s good fortune to have been betrothed early on to the Lew family. It was love at first sight on Lew Hing’s part. Kum Ling was no more than a girl of thirteen, helping to carry home vegetables from the market, when he first saw her. A marriage broker appeared a week later on behalf of the Lew family. Her parents had to sell most of their possessions to secure Kum Ling a decent dowry before she turned sixteen, if she was to marry Lew Hing. In turn, Kum Ling’s new husband worked hard and was good to his new wife. But although Lew Hing’s import-export business flourished, the first few years of her marriage brought Kum Ling unexpected grief. She miscarried twice, becoming anxious and despondent at the loss of two sons. “Be happy you have your health. The rest will follow in time,” Go had said to console her cousin.

  Two years after her second miscarriage, Kum Ling had Joan, followed by another miscarriage, and finally, after a great many complications, Emma. From then on, Kum Ling led the involved life of a Hong Kong tai tai, balancing lunches and mah-jongg games with business and social obligations. Kum Ling lit up a room with her delicate beauty, while Go marveled at how well she orchestrated every event, easily fitting into Hong Kong’s top society.

  But recently, as Lew Hing’s business ventures failed, and Joan remained unmarried, Kum Ling began again to mumble that her daughters were poor answers to her prayers for sons to carry on the Lew family name. To Go, however, Joan and Emma were sweet voices that helped to fill her own emptiness.

  Of course, Auntie Go knew that the girls’ fates would be determined by their strengths and weaknesses. Whereas Joan was gifted with Kum Ling’s beauty, she could also be an impulsive daydreamer. And while Emma was quick and intelligent, she often worried too much. Auntie Go could only hope that both of them would find balance in their lives.

  During the past year Auntie Go prayed to the gods that Joan might find some solid ground again. Her part-time work at the knitting factory seemed to have helped. Go despaired as much as Kum Ling over Joan’s breakup with the Wong boy, if not for the same reasons. Auntie Go hated to see how Joan suffered in silence, while Kum Ling’s motherly concerns were also intensified by the missed opportunity of such a prodigious union.

  After the mah-jongg game, Auntie Go returned to her flat, thankful for the silence. The clacking of the tiles and the chatter of voices had given her a headache. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down, grateful that the servants were still out at the market. Go looked around her spare living room, still not completely furnished since the Japanese had appropriated everything not bolted down. For the most part, there wasn’t anything that couldn’t be replaced, except for the mother-of-pearl cabinet left to her by her parents. The empty place where it stood still felt like an open wound. Go had hidden and carried all the important things with her to Macao—the family photos and her mother’s jewelry.

  Distant voices woke Auntie Go from her thoughts. She heard her servant Ming’s voice echo up the stone steps and was delighted when Emma followed Ming through the front door.

  “Moi-moi,” Auntie Go said, opening her arms to greet her niece. At seventeen, Emma was too old to be addressed as “little sister,” but old habits were hard to break. “How was your day?”

  “I think I did well on my English exam,” Emma answered, her dark eyes widening with anxiousness. “It’s important for my college applications.”

  “Good, good.” Auntie Go looked up to see her niece shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her arms tightly clutching a load of books. “And what else do you have to tell me?”

  Emma hesitated, sat down on the chair across from Go, then let her words pour out. “What do you think about my going to a university in America?”

  Auntie Go smiled. “Does it matter what I think?”

  “Of course it does. I need someone to tell Mah-mee for me.”

  Auntie Go looked closely at her younger niece and saw how she had grown in the past few years. Emma would never be as beautiful as Joan was, but Auntie Go saw a quiet strength in her dark eyes that had been there since the day she was born. It was something the winds would never blow away with time, and in the long days of life, she knew that it was a priceless trait.

  “I think you should talk to your mah-mee by yourself. You don’t need to involve me,” Auntie Go answered, remembering the sharp words that she had had with Kum Ling just that afternoon.

  “You’ve been to America. You can tell Mah-mee there’s nothing for her to worry about.”

  Auntie Go sighed. “It’s one thing to visit. It’s another thing to live there.”

  “It
won’t be for at least another year or more, and I’ll be over eighteen. Lots of girls go to study overseas.”

  “But why so far? You can do your first two years here, then think about going.”

  Emma’s dark eyes pleaded with Auntie Go. “Have you ever felt that if you don’t do something as soon as you can, you’re never going to do it? Well, that’s how I feel about going to school overseas.”

  Auntie Go thought about the buying of the Western Wind. She knew deep down that for her own selfish reasons she wanted Emma to wait two years. Go hated to think of her so far away from the family.

  “All right,” Auntie Go gave in, “I’ll speak to her.”

  Emma leaned over and hugged her. Auntie Go breathed in deeply, smelling the faint scent of mothballs on Emma’s winter coat.

  Auntie Go let a few weeks go by before she dared to bring up the subject of Emma’s leaving. She knew it was important to go slowly with her cousin, plant the seed and let it grow, until it ripened into Kum Ling’s own idea. The right time presented itself one evening after her cousin had won big at mah-jongg. Joan and Emma had gone out to the movies, Lew Hing was working in Japan, and spring had brought warmer, softer weather.

  “The girls should be home soon,” Kum Ling said, sitting on the sofa and unbuttoning the collar of her cheungsam.

  Though she had put on some weight during the past few years, Go thought Kum Ling still looked remarkably beautiful.

  “Joan seems much happier,” Auntie Go said.

  “Yes.” For a change, Kum Ling added nothing to lead the subject in another direction.

  “Perhaps she’s finally over the Wong boy.”

  Kum Ling smiled thoughtfully. “It’s about time she met someone else.”

  “Yes. Does she intend to go to Lingnan, or Hong Kong University?” Go knew very well her older niece had long ago given up any intention of continuing her studies.

  “She wouldn’t be able to get in,” Kum Ling answered matter-of-factly. “She doesn’t have the diligence of moi-moi.”

  Auntie Go paused and sipped her tea. “Emma could go anywhere. She has always had the desire to learn.”

  “Now, Emma could get into Hong Kong University!”

  “Or go to school elsewhere,” Auntie Go added, putting down her cup of tea.

  “Where elsewhere? There are plenty of schools close by. Anyway, elsewhere costs money.”

  Auntie Go carefully chose her next words. “You know your daughters seem like my own. It would give me great honor to help them with their education. It’s true an education extends outside the classroom. It might do moi-moi good to go elsewhere, get out of the shadow cast by Joan.”

  “In our generation, you simply stayed home with your family until you married. When did it become so complicated?”

  “It’s a different world now.” Auntie Go paused and waited. They both knew Joan could still prove herself socially, whereas Emma could succeed academically. Go watched her cousin sip her tea, turning the words over in thought.

  “Maybe,” Kum Ling finally said. “We’ll see what time brings.”

  Auntie Go smiled. She laid her hand lightly on Kum Ling’s arm for a moment, pleased that her cousin didn’t pull away.

  That night Auntie Go slept lightly, dreaming her parents were alive again. Every so often they came to her, making sure she was all right, reassuring her on decisions she’d made. Go thought they looked younger, their hair no longer gray, their movements no longer stiff and frail. “But will she be all right alone in a foreign land?” she heard herself asking them about Emma. Her parents mouthed the word yes. “And have I done the right thing getting involved?” Auntie Go stared hard and waited for a response. It felt like an eternity before her mother rose above her, smiled gently, then nodded her head.

  Chapter 8

  The Voyage—1950

  Emma

  In the darkness of her room, Emma lay wide awake, breathing in and out slowly to calm herself. In two days she would fly on Pan American Airlines to Tokyo, where Ba ba would meet her at the airport. She’d spend the night with him before boarding the President Coolidge and sailing for America. After Tokyo, the ship would dock briefly in Honolulu, then sail on to its final destination—San Francisco.

  Emma had finally realized her dream, thanks to Auntie Go and Ba ba, who convinced Mah-mee that Emma should study abroad over the year. The sharp, flat declarations of “No” or “Not yet” of their early debates slowly gave way to more fluid ones such as “Maybe” and “We’ll see.” There had been several discussions every time Ba ba came home from Japan. One evening, Emma came home unexpectedly to find her mother and father arguing. She closed the front door quietly, then tiptoed into the living room and stood soundless behind the black lacquer screen, listening to her name startle the air as if they were talking about someone else.

  “Emma’s ready to leave. And more importantly, it’s what she wants,” Ba ba said resolutely.

  Emma heard Mah-mee snicker. “How does she really know what she wants? A young girl can change her mind many times before she settles on something!”

  “Joan, yes. Not Emma.” Ba ba cleared his throat. “She has always known what she wanted.”

  Emma watched her mother lean forward on the sofa as if she were ready to strike. “But it isn’t necessary for her to go so far. She can go to Hong Kong University for the first two years.”

  “Do you remember when Emma was just a little girl?” Ba ba’s voice suddenly dominated the room. “You were visiting me in Tokyo with the girls, and Emma was fascinated with all the places on the small globe in my office. Do you remember? She began to cry when it was time for us to go have dinner, until I finally allowed her to take the globe with us. How can we stop her now, Kum Ling? She has grown into a young lady, and still she carries all the places on that globe with her.”

  The room became quiet as her parents sat looking away from each other. Emma leaned back against the wall and swallowed, astonished her father had remembered. She had only a vague memory of the globe in his office. It was blue, with raised brown continents, and it had felt much lighter in her hands than she’d expected. She remembered carrying it around all that summer like a plastic ball.

  “You would send her so far away then?” Mah-mee accused, her voice piercing the silence.

  Ba ba weighed his words carefully before he answered. “Sooner or later, she will be going anyway.”

  On a windy Saturday in mid-February, just after lunch, their stomachs full of Foon’s duck and thousand-year-old-eggs jook, Mah-mee sat up straight in her chair and said, “Moi-moi, Ba ba and I discussed it when he was home for the New Year. Now that you are nineteen years old, we think it would be good for you to go abroad and get an education.”

  Emma glanced first at her mother, in hopes that what she had heard wasn’t her imagination, then at Auntie Go in gratitude, and finally at Joan, who smiled at the news, leaned over, and whispered, “Bon voyage, moi-moi!”

  “Thank you,” Emma gasped, taking hold of her sister’s hand and squeezing it tightly. She hugged both Mah-mee and Auntie Go until they were breathless.

  Then came the exciting search to find the right colleges to apply to. Emma treaded carefully, to avoid a battle of wills. All the marketplace bargaining skills she had learned from watching Foon over the years would finally be put to use.

  “Why not England?” Mah-mee asked. “Hong Kong is a colony, and there is no language problem like in Europe.”

  Emma shrugged her shoulders. She already knew enough about the English culture. “What about the United States?”

  “New York is too far away,” Mah-mee said emphatically.

  “California isn’t so far,” Emma said, thinking of all she’d read about Hollywood and the Golden Gate Bridge.

  Mah-mee fell silent. Her tongue flicked across her upper lip before she pressed her mouth tight in thought. “It is closer,” she finally said.

  To satisfy Mah-mee’s requirements for safety and Emma’s for locat
ion, it was decided Emma would apply to private schools in California. She immediately chose the cities of San Francisco and Los Angeles, steeped as she was in all the mysterious, alluring books she’d read—The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett, and The Last Tycoon by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Emma repeated the name of each city every night, the exotic words filling her mouth, humming through her head like a chant. She hoped it would somehow bring her luck. And it did. Two months later, Emma opened a fat envelope from Lone Mountain, a small Catholic girl’s college in San Francisco. She had been accepted with a full academic scholarship.

  Emma realized that she would be alone, at nineteen, for the first time in her life, and just the thought made her stomach feel unsettled. For a few days after she’d learned she was really going, Emma’s legs felt wobbly, as if she were already bracing herself against the sea. Each morning, she planted her feet squarely on the floor and took a deep breath against the swaying.

  Besides her family, Emma would miss a few good friends from school, and of course, Lia in Macao. But there was no serious boyfriend to keep her in Hong Kong. She had grown tall and slender like Joan, but had not made the leap to ravishing beauty. She was no longer the bud that would eventually blossom into a beautiful flower. Her nose was a little too large, her lips too thin. And all the makeup in the world wouldn’t change that. She had accepted the truth that she would never be as beautiful as her mother and sister. But what Emma secretly wished was that Mah-mee would see who she was, instead of seeking new ways to re-create her.

  Emma blossomed in her own way. In her last year of high school, she had remained at the top of her class, kept up with her piano recitals, and often entertained classmates with her poetry and drawings. Going to America was the culmination of hard work and a persistent dream she had built from the books she’d read and the movies she’d seen. Leaving the protected confines of Hong Kong would lead Emma in new directions, down a path she’d never traveled. But she yearned to see the unknown faces, the empty rooms she could slowly fill herself.