Except for occasional dinners at the Kuo Wah Restaurant or the Pacific Cafe with other Chinese students, Emma hadn’t been to Chinatown very often while she attended Lone Mountain. Yet, each time she did venture down to its bustling, noisy streets, all the small similarities brought her a sense of comfort, as if she weren’t so far from Hong Kong and her family after all. It always amazed Emma how bits and pieces of her childhood could follow her so closely into her present life.
Emma paused in front of the Golden Harvest Market, where a large red and gold 1955 calendar hung on the plate-glass window. An oversize head of a ram with spiraling horns stared at her, surrounded by the eleven other animal signs she could never fully remember—dragon, monkey, horse, tiger, rat, boar, rooster, rabbit, snake…. Her eyes drifted away. Emma watched the crowd push and pull to buy the best fruit. She remembered being a small girl, holding the warm, smooth hand of her mother as they walked through the bustling marketplace before one Chinese New Year. Mah-mee appeared so out of place with her immaculate makeup, and in her silk cheungsam, but Emma had never been happier, smelling Mah-mee’s sweet, flowery scent as she leaned over and whispered, “A secret, moi-moi…the oranges with smooth, thin skins are always the sweetest.” She handed Emma one, waxy and shiny as the moon. Emma carried their secret around like a gift, only to discover later that Joan had known about the smooth-skinned oranges for years.
Emma smiled at the memory and wondered if all these people were vying for the same sweet, thin-skinned oranges as they inched forward toward the crates. Emma wrapped her overcoat tighter around her body and kept walking. February was cold, with a sharp wind that stung. She couldn’t wait until spring.
She turned up Washington Street for her job interview at the Chinese Recreation Center. She had graduated from Lone Mountain College almost eight months ago and, except for a string of temporary office jobs, had had no luck in finding anything permanent.
Emma remembered the days before graduation, when she and Auntie Go spent an afternoon in Golden Gate Park—the sweet scent of the flowers and freshly cut grass intoxicating. By late afternoon, they stopped for tea at the Japanese Tea Garden. They sipped the bitter green tea and nibbled on rice crackers, gazing out to a large pond with a wooden bridge across it.
“What are your plans after you graduate?” Auntie Go asked, reaching out for a tiny square cracker.
Emma shrugged. “I’d like to stay in San Francisco and work for a while. I know Mah-mee won’t be too happy about it. But now that I’m going to graduate, I’d love a little more time to explore this city. There just seems to be so much here. Maybe for a year or two. Secretarial or very light bookkeeping. Something that would allow me to keep taking drawing classes in my spare time. Do you think Mah-mee would be very upset?”
Auntie Go sipped her tea. “Your mother will make a fuss, then accept it,” she answered matter-of-factly. “She misses you, moi-moi, even if she won’t say it aloud. And now with Joan at the studio all day…”
“I miss all of you, too. You can’t know how much it means to me to have you here.”
Auntie Go touched Emma’s hand. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
Emma smiled. “So, Joan’s finally found some happiness on the big screen. I just hope that one day she’ll find time to come visit me here. Maybe when she’s a big star!”
“It never hurts to keep your fingers crossed,” Auntie Go said, cradling her clay teacup in the palms of her hands.
“For me, too.”
Auntie Go lifted her crossed fingers and said, “Just for added protection. You’re a college graduate now. You’re going to be fine, moi-moi.”
The wind felt like ice on her face. The Chinese Recreation Center was Emma’s third job interview in the past week. The other two had also been clerical positions, one for an insurance company, and the other for an accounting firm. Both offices were large and cold, leaving Emma, at twenty-four, to question her decision to stay in San Francisco to work. Her office skills were limited at best, but being a woman and an art major left her with few other opportunities.
The past two months had been financially tight. Emma didn’t want to upset Mah-mee, so she wrote home saying, There are always temporary jobs whenever I need them. With Ba ba not well, she knew her mother had financial worries of her own. But the truth was, Emma struggled through the shorthand and typing and hadn’t been called back in the last month. She’d been living on her meager savings, and a flow of “lucky money” that came every month from Auntie Go.
It was still hard for Emma to believe that her college days were over. She’d just begun to relax and enjoy the student life when the ordered rhythm of classes and studying came to an end. Emma recalled her first six months at Lone Mountain as being the most difficult. Sometimes, when she felt especially homesick, she reread bits of letters from Mah-mee, Joan, and Auntie Go, hoping their words would take away some of the emptiness.
Auntie Hong’s niece is getting married next month, Mah-mee wrote. She’s the one with the long face that some say resembles a horse. But you know what they also say, that if you resemble some kind of animal, you’re sure to bring good luck. Or Auntie Go’s calm voice: The Western Wind is doing well. I hope to come visit you in San Francisco at the end of the year if everything goes as planned. And finally, Joan’s words telling her, I can’t believe I’m really working for C. K. Chin. My first crowd scene was a success, even if you can barely see me! Keep your fingers crossed that somebody notices me next time. Each time Emma read Joan’s words, she couldn’t help but cross her fingers.
Emma slowly began to fit into her new life with the help of two new friends—Sylvia Lu and Margaret O’Leary. They were as different as night and day, and each in some way came to represent Emma’s old and new lifestyles. Sylvia was short and petite, full of energy, and from a rich Hong Kong family. She spent her free hours shopping instead of studying, “buying time,” she said, laughing, until she could graduate and return to Hong Kong.
“Why did you come here?” Emma had asked one evening when they were having dinner in the dark, stately dining hall.
“Ba ba wants me to have a good education,” Sylvia answered, reaching for her purse and clicking it open. Her tray of gray meat loaf, canned green beans, and lumpy potatoes was barely touched.
“It doesn’t seem like a bad idea,” Emma said, picking at a white mound of potatoes.
“He’s hoping I gain some character out of the experience.” Sylvia laughed, pulling out a silver compact and lipstick.
Emma wasn’t sure if she should laugh or not, until Sylvia nudged her softly with her elbow.
“It’s okay,” Sylvia said, “I’ll have all the brains that my father’s money can buy. Anyway, San Francisco isn’t such a bad place to be.” She flipped open her compact, powdered both sides of her nose. “I do miss my family, sometimes.”
Emma swallowed; a dull ache moved through her body and stopped at her heart. “Me too,” she whispered, then asked, “What surprised you the most when you first arrived here?”
Without missing a beat, Sylvia answered, “Everything was smaller than I expected. Even the city itself. Not to mention that the dorm rooms are no bigger than my closet back home! How about you?”
“The tasteless food,” Emma said, pointing at her tray. “And sometimes they’re so casual here. The students walk around barefoot. And saleswomen call me ‘honey’ or ‘dear’ when I don’t even know them.”
Sylvia nodded and laughed. “And what do you like most about San Francisco?” Then, twisting up her ruby red lipstick, she applied it to her full lips.
“Its openness,” Emma said, the words slipping out without thought. “I feel like I could be anything I want here.”
“Everything I want is back in Hong Kong,” Sylvia said, snapping her compact closed.
Still, with their similar roots, she and Emma spoke and laughed about people and places that brought back childhood comforts. Sylvia knew of C. K. Chin and the Tiger Claw Film Comp
any when Joan’s letter arrived with the news of her job there. And Sylvia also introduced an extra element into Emma’s life—dating. But after several double dates of dinner and dancing, Emma realized Sylvia’s friends were like all the spoiled Hong Kong rich boys Joan had dated. As “The Tennessee Waltz” and “Apple Wine and Cherry Blossom Time” played over and over in her head, Emma vowed never to go on another double date with Sylvia again.
Maggie O’Leary was opposite from Sylvia, not only in personality, but in her sheer physical height. From good Irish Catholic stock, she had flaming red hair and stood almost a full head taller than Emma. She was serious, scholarly, and driven to succeed.
Emma celebrated her first Thanksgiving dinner at Maggie’s Richmond District house in San Francisco. Then she watched the miracle of The Milton Berle Show on their Philco television.
At dinner, Emma sat between Maggie and Mrs. O’Leary. The five younger O’Leary children, who seemed intensely interested in Emma when she first arrived with candy and flowers, had since turned their attention to the table of food.
“And what are you planning to study, Emma?” Mrs. O’Leary asked. She was a big-boned woman with red hair and a kind face.
Emma chewed her piece of dry turkey, which she cautiously kept away from what they’d told her was a sweet, red cranberry sauce, and swallowed. “Right now it looks like art,” she answered, then sipped some water.
“Emma’s sister is an actress back in Hong Kong,” Maggie offered.
“Really? An actress! Is she famous?” Mrs. O’Leary asked.
“She’s going to be.” Emma grinned.
“Our Maggie’s going to be a doctor,” Mrs. O’Leary said proudly. “All she ever wanted to be. And to think I never even finished high school! It is a wonderful country we live in.”
Emma simply nodded and smiled. She sometimes wished she could have her own life as well planned as Maggie’s. She had no idea what she would do with an art degree, but art gave her a great deal of gratification. Emma glanced quickly around the cluttered, comfortable room, her eyes resting on the rows of porcelain figurines that lined the shelves against the wall behind Mrs. O’Leary. Most of them were of animals—turtles, horses, swans, and birds.
“Another?” Mrs. O’Leary smiled, lifting a slice of turkey in the air. Emma politely declined the slice, which was quickly snapped up by one of Maggie’s younger brothers.
There were so many younger O’Learys that it took the entire evening for Emma to get all the children’s names straight. In descending order, there were Patrick, Daniel, Barbara, Sean, and the youngest, Mary. For the first time in her life, Emma realized what it was like to be in a big, unruly family, with each child fighting for attention. Even Maggie came alive when she was with her family, as if some secret door had been unlocked and a flood of boisterous voices streamed into the room.
Every time Emma had dinner with the O’Learys, she couldn’t help but think of Joan and wish they’d had more brothers and sisters to keep Mah-mee busy.
Sylvia had returned to Hong Kong, and Maggie had been accepted to medical school. Life had gone according to plan for them, while Emma felt as if she were floating. As a young girl, there were so many places she’d wanted to see, things she wanted to do. Now, her days were fixed on finding a job so she could pay her rent at the Bellevue Apartments for Women, where she’d been staying since she graduated.
Emma always knew that when her reserves were gone, she could wire Auntie Go for help. For the time being, she had no intention of giving up. Still, if Emma didn’t find a steady job soon, Mah-mee would ask her to return to Hong Kong. Already the words echoed through Mah-mee’s letters in less than subtle ways: Now that you have seen some of the world, it’s about time you came home and settled down; or, Joan doesn’t listen to a word I say! Maybe when you come home, you can talk some sense into her. She insists on staying in this acting business.
Every time Emma returned to her apartment, she felt hot and nervous at just the possibility of a letter from Mah-mee waiting for her.
Emma had returned to Hong Kong just once in the five years since she’d been in San Francisco. She could almost smell the thick heat of that summer, walking with Mah-mee into the suffocating flat with all its wonderful and familiar scents—her mother’s perfume, salted fish, herbs, and the welcome aroma of Foon’s cooking. But, in that instant, the longing that had gripped Emma all year disappeared in a few short steps.
Foon had come out of the kitchen, taken one look at her, and said, “You too skinny.”
“I’ve missed your cooking,” Emma practically blurted out. “They need you in the kitchen at my school!” She wanted to hug her old servant, but knew Foon was more likely to accept words with greater ease.
Foon smiled, the glint of her gold tooth a welcome sight. “I cooked one of your favorite dishes tonight. Stuffed bitter melon.”
Aside from Foon’s cooking, Emma’s biggest thrill was finally getting to see Joan on the big screen. And though Joan’s role had been small—a woman in a crowd scene who screams and faints when her child is taken away from her—Emma knew Joan had star written all over her the moment the camera lingered on her beautiful, haunting face. Emma sucked in her breath, not daring to let it out until the short scene was over.
“You were so beautiful! So tragic!” Emma exclaimed when the lights came on. The audience around them stood up and moved toward the door, the faint smell of dried plums and Chinese beef jerky filling the air. Emma sat next to Joan, still clutching her arm, while Mah-mee sat on the other side of her. Auntie Go wasn’t able to get away from the knitting factory for the afternoon showing, but would meet them later at the Peninsula Hotel for tea.
“It was a much bigger role this time,” Mah-mee said, adding her approval.
Joan smiled. “Less of me ended up on the cutting-room floor.”
“Does that really happen?” Emma asked.
“More than you know, moi-moi!” Joan laughed.
That evening Emma and Joan were able to spend a rare evening alone together. Mah-mee and Auntie Go had gone to a birthday banquet, and Emma and Joan came directly home from the Peninsula. Emma’s head was still spinning from having seen Joan on the big screen. Foon had prepared them a dinner of Chinese mushrooms with bok choy, and sliced beef in oyster sauce, which they ate leisurely before moving to the living room to drink Ba ba’s expensive sherry.
“I feel like I’ve been away for years.” Emma sipped her sherry, and the sweet, warm liquid slid down her throat. “I can’t believe how much Hong Kong has changed in just a year! There are new buildings everywhere, not to mention all the people.”
Joan nodded. “We’ve been more of a magnet since the war, and then with the Communist takeover…I guess nothing ever stays the same for long.”
“Just look at you!” Emma laughed. “You’re a real movie star!”
“You mean a movie extra.”
Emma raised her glass. “I mean an up-and-coming movie star!”
“What a year! I never thought my life could change so drastically.”
“I knew you could be whatever you wanted.”
Then Joan raised her glass. “And to my lovely sister, who will be the first one in the Lew family to graduate from college. If Professor Ying could see you now!”
Emma leaned back against the sofa and laughed. It sounded good, if she could ever make it. She sipped her sherry and relaxed. “Did you ever think we would actually get this far?”
Joan smiled and poured herself more sherry. “Do you remember the time you went to collect money with me?”
“Of course.”
“I was afraid you’d think I was a failure if I wasn’t able to collect anything.”
Emma looked at her sister, flushed. “How could you think that? There’s never been anyone braver than you in the world. Then or now!”
Joan blushed. “I hope you’re right. I just don’t want to fail now. I wish Mah-mee had as much faith in me as you.”
Emma placed her e
mpty glass on the table. “Just give her a little time. She’ll come around when she sees what a big star you’re going to be.”
“I hope we’ll both be shining soon,” Joan said, squeezing Emma’s hand tightly.
The Chinese Recreation Center was an old redbrick building between Powell and Mason Streets, according to what the man on the phone had told her. Emma was early for her two o’clock appointment, so she lingered at a few Chinese antique shops up the street until time for her interview.
Emma found the administrative office down a small, dark entry hall past a bulletin board. The dirty-looking green door banged open and a young Chinese boy of about twelve or thirteen stepped out carrying a basketball, which he bounced once or twice between them. He smiled shyly.
“Wilson will be back in a minute. He told me to wait here for you.”
“Thank you.” Emma smiled back. The boy was thin, but almost her height. His flattop glistened with sweat, the sides of his head shaved so closely, she could see the pale white of his scalp. A thin line of sweat ran from his hairline down his jaw. He stepped back and awkwardly held out the ball with both hands in the direction of two wooden chairs.
The office was small and crowded, the desk cluttered with papers. Three tall, gray file cabinets lined one wall. The opposite wall was lined with black-framed photos of past Chinatown championship basketball teams. All the boys in the photos resembled the one before her—skinny, long-limbed, more comfortable with a basketball than with a girl. A 1954 calendar still hung to one side.
“You can sit and wait here. Wilson will be right back,” the boy repeated.
“Thank you.” Emma smiled again and sat down.
The boy seemed relieved as he turned to leave. “He won’t be long,” he said reassuringly, and closed the door behind him.
Night of Many Dreams Page 18
