Dolly held Jean Ying’s hands as she listened to the tearful tale. When she finished, Dolly said, “We will write to your family and let them know of your safety.”
Jean Ying’s shoulders shook with sobs, and several moments passed before Dolly could get her to calm down. When the girl looked again at Dolly, she said, “What if they don’t want me back? I am a soiled dove now.”
Dolly blinked back her own tears. “You have done nothing wrong, dear Jean Ying. Your family will be overjoyed to know that you are still alive. That is all that matters.”
“Quite a number of Chinese prostitutes have been brought to this country by unprincipled Chinamen, but these, at first, were brought from China at the instigation and for the gratification of white men. And even at the present time, it is commonly reported that part of the proceeds of this villainous traffic goes to enrich a certain class of men belonging to this Honorable nation.”
Letter to President Ulysses S. Grant, from the Six Companies, 1876
1903
The weeks slipped by, day blending with night. The only indication that the sun had risen was the thin frame of light surrounding the dark drapes in Mei Lien’s bedroom. She had always been slender, but now her ribs could be counted by merely a glance. Water had to be earned. And food was a privilege.
But it didn’t matter to Mei Lien. She would rather die than attend any of Ah-Peen Oie’s banquets where the men flirted with courtesans. It was only a precursor to what happened next, when the highest bidders were invited into the courtesans’ bedrooms for the night.
Mei Lien had long held a vague idea of what would happen on her wedding night should she marry. And she knew that wealthy Chinese men had more than one wife, at least in China. With arranged marriages, love and devotion were rarely a part of a Chinese marriage, yet Mei Lien had seen love between her mother and father. A rare occurrence, to be sure, but Mei Lien had thought that if she married, she could find happiness with her own husband through devotion and mutual values.
This would never happen now. Even if, by some miracle, Ah-Peen Oie decided Mei Lien could be a kitchen worker or other type of servant, Mei Lien knew that she had no value in the eyes of a man looking for a wife.
Mei Lien turned over on her soft bed and watched as the frame of light around the single window brightened with the rising sun. On her second day here, she’d pulled aside the heavy drapes only to find the window barred. And when Ah-Peen Oie came next into her room and discovered that the drapes had been moved, the woman had beat her with a fire poker.
Those bruises had now faded, but other bruises soon appeared from other beatings. Most of the time, Mei Lien didn’t even know why she was being beaten. At least she was no longer tied to her bed. And it had now been eight days since the last beating, or maybe nine or ten, since the days and nights seemed to blend into a vast nothingness. The passage of time with no incidents made her nervous. Had Ah-Peen Oie decided that Mei Lien was no use after all? Would she be dumped in the street to live like a rat?
Mei Lien laughed a dry, raspy laugh that tasted bitter in her throat. She was a rat now. A rat addicted to opium. Despite the three thousand dollars Ah-Peen Oie had paid, she kept spending money on keeping Mei Lien drugged. As the window brightened with the day, her body began to shiver, a sure indication that her next opium dose was due. Despite her aversion to opium and her self-loathing that her body and mind could betray her, her thoughts focused on the sounds of the house, seeking out any signs of imminent relief.
She listened for footfalls that might indicate Ah-Peen Oie, or one of the servant girls, would soon arrive with the bitter powder. And not make her beg, as she had yesterday. But no footsteps approached her bedroom door. Mei Lien climbed out of her bed and reached for the satin robe draped over the single chair in the room. All her old clothing had been taken and burned, replaced by luxurious clothing befitting a woman of high status . . . or a courtesan. Once she had clothed herself more securely, she padded to the door and listened. She knew better than to open the door and look into the corridor. She’d done that on day three, and Ah-Peen Oie had seen fit to enact her special discipline.
No sounds save for the usual creaking of the household in the lazy early mornings. Mei Lien closed her eyes and inhaled, then exhaled. Her head was starting to hurt, and she knew it would only intensify if she didn’t get her next dose, and soon. Mei Lien turned to look at the window. The soft yellow light was now a hot orange. It was at least two hours past when Ah-Peen Oie should have arrived.
The headache that had been a warning screamed through her temples now, and Mei Lien sank to her knees and rubbed at the sides of her head. The pain wouldn’t abate, and there was no food or water inside the bedroom to help anything.
Goose bumps raced across her skin, and she started to tremble violently. She curled up in the robe and shivered, gripping the silk close. Maybe if she didn’t move, didn’t think, her body would relax, and the withdrawal wouldn’t be so bad.
But the pain in her head only intensified, and Mei Lien gripped her hair, feeling as if pulling her hair out might relieve the pressure. She moaned, but even that was soundless. She tried to rise to her feet and make it to the door. Perhaps begging would bring mercy. But she didn’t have the strength to lift her head, let alone cry for help if she wanted to.
A faint click of the door opening sent a rush of gratitude through her, and she dragged her eyes open.
Beautiful and exquisite Ah-Peen Oie stood above her, the blessed packet of opium in her hand. “It is time,” she said, her voice soft.
The words took a moment to filter into Mei Lien’s comprehension. And then she scrambled to her knees and reached for the packet. But Ah-Peen Oie drew away, out of reach. Mei Lien dropped to her hands. Beg, she would beg. But her headache pressed harder, and her breathing turned shaky.
“Tonight,” Ah-Peen Oie continued, “you will attend the banquet. You will accept your destiny. And you will pay back every cent you owe me.”
The woman’s words might have been daggers a few weeks ago, but now they were simply a statement of truth—a truth that Mei Lien had to not only accept but take ownership in. She wanted to live now. Live for the next dose of opium. “Yes.” Her voice came out a rasp.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I will work to pay you back the money.” Producing the entire sentence had been taxing, and Mei Lien fought for a full breath.
The scent of jasmine surrounded her as Ah-Peen Oie bent and administered the powder. Mei Lien sank to the floor and leaned against the bed, the bitter taste like nectar on her tongue. The powder took only moments to calm her trembling and quiet her headache. Mei Lien had entered another existence—one in which she could clearly see that this was her life now, that it was prudent to accept her destiny, just as Ah-Peen Oie said.
The next hours were spent in preparation as Ah-Peen Oie directed one of her servants to help Mei Lien. After she’d bathed and scented her body, Mei Lien dressed in a pale peach cheongsam. The servant drew Mei Lien’s hair into an elegant twist, then applied careful makeup.
When Mei Lien was led to a mirror in another bedroom, she stared at her own transformation. Gone was the girl from the Hong Kong countryside. Mei Lien looked like the women she had been warned about, the women who had no other choices in life. In her reflection, she might see the shape of her mother’s eyes, but Mei Lien also saw a young woman who had no future. No hope for a different situation. But she would pay back her contract, if only to protect her mother.
“I’m sorry, Ah Ma,” Mei Lien whispered to her mother’s eyes.
Then she turned away from the mirror and took the dose of opium offered by the servant.
Mei Lien was ready. The girl from the country was gone, replaced by a woman who would forget herself and focus only on what it would take to protect her mother.
When the hour of the banquet arrived, Mei Lien walked with the other
courtesans into the dining room. Silk hangings adorned the walls. Elegant sofas sat next to teakwood furniture holding painted vases. The women were to take their places before the guests arrived. None of the other courtesans spoke to her, but their gazes told Mei Lien that she was not a welcome addition. She supposed it was because she might give them competition.
But whichever man chose her tonight would not be getting Mei Lien, the young woman from Hong Kong. He would be getting an alternate version. She was a ghost now. Just like her ancestors.
The first two men entered and greeted the courtesans with surprising grace and courtesy. Mei Lien gave a shy smile as she’d been instructed to, and although she’d told herself to show no reaction, her pulse raced despite her resolve. She didn’t want to be in this room. She didn’t want the eyes of these men to peruse her.
Mother, she thought. You are the only thing important to me. Nothing else matters.
Mei Lien didn’t know what she said, or how she managed to laugh and titter at the men’s stories and compliments, but the hours somehow passed as each course was served. The compliments directed toward her were many, and each time a man paid her special attention, Ah-Peen Oie’s eyes flashed with approval.
When the dessert was served, one by one the courtesans began to leave the room. They were soon followed by the men who had arranged with Ah-Peen Oie for the night’s payment.
“You are from Hong Kong?” a male voice asked, and Mei Lien looked over to see who had spoken.
The Chinese man was younger than most of the other men in the room; Mei Lien guessed him to be only ten years her senior. His face was handsome in a boyish way, and he was nicely dressed, although not in a flashy fashion.
Mei Lien knew better than to give out too much information. She simply said, “Yes.” Then she quickly lowered her gaze, as if she were bashful. This was not a hard part to play. Until tonight, Mei Lien had never flirted with a man.
“I am from Hong Kong too.” His voice was warm, genuine, unlike the other men’s leering tones. “Although it has been many years since I’ve been there.”
At this, Mei Lien raised her eyes. “How many years?” Was the question too personal? She cast a glance in Ah-Peen Oie’s direction, who was watching them while she flirted with an older man named Zhang Wei. Mei Lien had heard whispers about him being a very wealthy leader of the tong.
“Fifteen years,” the man next to her said.
Mei Lien met his gaze again. His eyes had faint lines about the edges as if he smiled a lot, although he wasn’t smiling now. He was looking at her with an interest that some of the other men had, but this man’s interest seemed more genuine.
“Do you . . . do you miss it?” Mei Lien asked in a quiet voice, not wanting to be overheard by anyone else.
His nod was brief.
“I miss it too,” Mei Lien said, and to her horror her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears.
She looked down, blinking rapidly. Had he noticed her tears? Would he laugh? Would he say something to Ah-Peen Oie? But he said nothing.
Mei Lien worked hard to compose herself, to think of something else to say. But before she could come up with anything, he had moved away and begun speaking to one of the other men. They laughed about something, and Mei Lien’s cheeks burned. She didn’t even dare look in Ah-Peen Oie’s direction.
Mei Lien still had another couple of hours before an opium dose, but she suddenly craved one. Even breathing hurt. She lifted her gaze and found Ah-Peen Oie had moved on to another patron.
The older man Ah-Peen Oie had been speaking to was now sitting by himself, smoking. His eyes connected with Mei Lien’s, and embarrassment jolted through her. She had been explicitly commanded not to make any advances. But the curved edges of his mouth told her it was too late; he’d seen the longing in her eyes for a hit of the opium pipe.
He crooked his finger, and, like a spider spinning a web, drew Mei Lien toward him, her feet moving of their own accord.
He patted the chair next to him, and she sat obediently. Without a word, he handed over the pipe. She had never tried smoking before, but she was willing to experiment. The first inhale burned her nose and throat, and she barely managed to hold back a cough. The second inhale sent a pleasant buzz through her.
“Are you friends with Huan Sun?” Zhang Wei asked.
“Who?” Mei Lien asked before she could stop herself. Surely her cheeks were red now.
But Zhang Wei didn’t seem bothered. He only chuckled, which of course drew Ah-Peen Oie’s notice. “The man you spoke to.”
“Oh.” Mei Lien exhaled and handed the pipe over. She had gone too far. She shouldn’t have shared the pipe, and she should know the names of the men in attendance. “I have only just met him.”
Zhang Wei chuckled again, and Mei Lien was surprised by the man’s good humor, considering that he was one of the most feared of the tong in all of Chinatown. “I am glad I came tonight, Mei Lien.”
He knew her name?
“Ah-Peen Oie was right,” he continued.
“I’m always right,” Ah-Peen Oie said in a lilting tone as she appeared and rested her hand on Zhang Wei’s shoulder. “Can I get you any refreshment?”
Zhang Wei lifted his pipe. “I have everything I need right here.” His gaze shifted to Mei Lien, causing her temperature to rise.
She quickly lowered her eyes, if only to avoid Ah-Peen Oie’s sharp observations. It would not do to be caught blushing in front of the man the mistress considered her private client. Mei Lien had also heard from the chattering courtesans that Ah-Peen Oie didn’t share her personal clients with anyone.
“See to refilling Huan Sun’s glass,” Ah-Peen Oie said.
Mei Lien obediently rose and nodded at Zhang Wei without meeting his gaze directly. Then she moved away from the pair, feeling both of their gazes upon her back. She found a wine bottle and made her way to Huan Sun, where he was still speaking to two men.
“More drink?” she asked when there was a break in the conversation.
The men all turned and smiled at her. Mei Lien ended up refilling all their glasses. She warmed under Huan Sun’s kind gaze. He was different from the other men, and she wondered who he would be if she had met him in another place, another time. When she returned the wine bottle, Zhang Wei was no longer in his chair smoking. She didn’t dare look about the room for him because she was sure Ah-Peen Oie was watching her every movement.
The next hour passed slowly, and another courtesan left. Now only four remained. Soon, the evening came to an end, and Mei Lien knew that one of the lingering men would speak for her. There had been too many glances her way, too many pretty compliments handed over.
What she didn’t expect was Ah-Peen Oie’s clawed grip on her upper arm, and the fiercely whispered words, “Zhang Wei has requested you for the night. But Huan Sun has bought a three-month exclusive. Return to your bedroom now and wait for his arrival.”
Mei Lien couldn’t help but stare at her mistress. Zhang Wei was her client. He was off-limits. A whoosh of panic expanded in Mei Lien’s chest, rising in her throat. What would her punishment be tomorrow? For Ah-Peen Oie’s expression was one of controlled fury.
“All right,” Mei Lien whispered.
Ah-Peen Oie dropped her grip and turned back to the banquet with her benign smile, and Mei Lien slipped from the room.
She passed the corridor that led to the front of the hotel. What if she continued down that corridor and simply walked out into the street? Took her chances?
Would they track down her mother? Make her pay?
Mei Lien’s breathing was shaky, and her hands trembled. It would do no good to greet Huan Sun in her current state. She had to gain control of her hysterics, and fast. Mei Lien detoured to Ah-Peen Oie’s bedroom. The place had always been forbidden, but surely the woman had opium stashed somewhere.
Mei Lien cra
cked open the door. Even in the dimness, she could see the opulence of the fine furnishings, the plush rugs, the glowing Chinese lanterns, and embroidered silk wall hangings. She moved quickly, and, as quietly as possible, she opened drawers until she located pouches of opium. Mei Lien took three small ones, hoping they wouldn’t be missed.
By the time she slipped out of her mistress’s bedroom and made it undetected to her own, Mei Lien had wasted valuable time. She lit several candles, as instructed in her training; then she waited for her first client.
Tonight, she would begin to earn back the money paid upon her contract. Tonight, she would take another step in securing her mother’s safety and future. Tonight, the former Mei Lien would cease to exist.
“We do remember her as we first saw her, sitting by the fireside awaiting our return from church. As we drew near and spoke to her, she shrank away frightened, while tears and sobs were her only response. An hour later we saw her quietly sleeping on her pillow, her hand tightly clasping a bit of candy, that sweet comforter of childhood’s sorrows. As she grew up to womanhood, she learned English and became our interpreter.”
—Margaret Culbertson, writing about six-year-old Chun Fah, 1878
March 1900
Evening’s shadows stretched across the office space as Dolly flipped through the record book in which Miss Culbertson had carefully recorded the comings and goings of the Chinese girls, how they were rescued, and when they left the mission home.
Mrs. Field had pleaded a headache and was spending the rest of the day in her bedroom, which she seemed to do earlier and earlier of late, and that gave Dolly precious hours in the office by herself. Her hand paused on the more recent pages—pages that detailed the rescues she’d been a part of—details she had recorded herself. Each entry brought memories into sharp focus.
The names were growing in number, and the success stories were frequent, although every so often a rescue was botched for one reason or another. The tong relocated the girl, or the girl refused to come, or the tong’s lawyers served a warrant for her arrest from the mission home.
The Paper Daughters of Chinatown Page 12
