Women of the Silk

by Gail Tsukiyama

  “My father proceeded to prove himself successful as an official in the government and quickly climbed the ranks. Along the way, he made enemies who thought him too brash and idealistic. My father always believed that China, in all her glory, was still a country whose vastness left her far behind the other foreign powers; it was from foreigners that she would learn, and one day stand alone in greatness. And it was this belief that was to cause his death.”

  Lin paused and inhaled. Pei wanted to say something, but remained silent as they continued on. Even the endless bargaining voices of the crowded marketplace couldn’t touch them as they walked by the makeshift stalls of fruits and vegetables. As a child, Pei had loved the market, filled with people and surprises. Now, as they moved through the thick crowd, she felt completely alone.

  “I loved my father,” Lin continued. “While my mother concerned herself with entertaining my father’s important guests, my father would often take me on long walks and buy me small gifts and candy. My mother was always someone to admire from a distance, but our old servants gave us love and care. You must remember, before my father died we were used to the best of everything. It would be nothing for us to have six dishes, including duck, pork, and fish, grace our table every evening, just for us children.

  “By my tenth birthday, I had everything a young girl could ever dream of having. Not only did I learn all that I might need to become a dutiful wife, as my mother wanted, but my father allowed me to be educated with my brothers by a private tutor who came daily to our house. I couldn’t have wished for a better life.

  “But my childhood ended less than a year later, when my father was murdered. He had long been a thorn in the sides of the traditionalists, who believed he was simply kowtowing to the Western powers. One quiet afternoon on his way home from his office, someone stabbed my father again and again, not more than twenty feet from our house. No one admitted to seeing anything.”

  Lin stopped as if there were no more words, and looked up at Pei with tears in her eyes. Pei felt caught, trapped in Lin’s unleashed words, but even as she tried to think of something to say, Pei knew no words could ease Lin’s pain. So she kept silent as Lin’s thin voice strained to continue.

  “Everyone along his path knew my father, or had grown used to the sight of him, since he’d chosen to dress always in a Western suit, rather than a long silk gown. Many people disapproved of this, but my father felt he would have to be flexible with the foreign powers in order to benefit the Chinese people. It was our gardener, on his way home, who found my father, but by the time he was brought back to our house, my father had bled to death.

  “My brothers and I were forbidden to see his body until the day of his burial. But I did see him when they first brought him in. His eyes were half-open, so I could see there was still some life left. Then the gardener put his head down close to my father’s heart, and rose slowly, shaking his head from side to side. With his thick, callused fingers, stained with my father’s blood, the gardener closed his eyes and let him go. Just like that, they said my father was dead, and they wouldn’t even let me feel the last bit of warmth in him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Pei said softly, remembering her own silent father, whom she could never please. Lin grew paler and didn’t seem to hear her words.

  Lin swallowed hard. “My mother, who was by then mad with grief, stayed in the room with my father. She washed and scented his body, dressed him in his finest silk gown, and wouldn’t speak to anyone. It was as if she had lost her voice, simply retreating into herself. Our old servants cared for us children, and at night I lay in bed crying, trying to imagine that nothing had changed, that my father would be sitting in his chair at the table the next morning.

  “But nothing was the same after my father was buried. My mother trusted no one, closing both her mind and heart to the outside world. We were forbidden to leave the house unless it was of absolute necessity. My mother grew more and more detached from us, preferring to live with her memories. Most of the time, she stayed behind the closed door of her room, dressed in her silk finery, staring out the window, waiting for my father to return. This continued for almost a year. Along with our two servants, I ran the household from day to day. My father had left some small savings, but not a great deal. There should have been plenty of time to put away money for the later years. We began by cutting every unnecessary expense from the budget. And toward the second half of the year, we were eating rice and vegetables for our main meal.

  “I tried to talk to my mother about our situation, but she simply sat gazing out the window. When she did speak, it was of bad omens and of past events that I knew nothing about. So, at the age of eleven, I was forced to adopt all the responsibilities of our household. I had no choice but to let our two servants go. There was no one to turn to. My father’s family had not been wealthy, and my mother’s family carried no responsibility for her from the day of her marriage. Luckily, our two servants, who had long been part of our family, preferred to stay on without compensation. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. It was one of our servants, Mui, who first spoke of the silk factories.

  “‘Yes, Missy,’ Mui said. ‘Many girls are given to the silk work for the money they can make for their families. I worked in a silk factory for a short time as a young girl, before being bought from my family and brought to Canton to work as a servant.”

  “‘Could I work at one of these factories?’ I asked.

  “‘Oh, no, Missy, a girl of your family and breeding cannot work among village girls!’

  “‘Why not? It seems to me that we are in the same position as many village families. Even though we have this big house to hide in, our empty stomachs are no different from theirs!’ I argued.

  “Mui reluctantly agreed. At my request, she sought out more information about these silk factories. Mui had known Auntie Yee when they were girls. She’d heard through other servants that Auntie Yee was now running her own girls’ house. And it was Auntie Yee whom Mui turned to when I made my final decision to work at a silk factory. It was only to be until my mother felt better. Auntie Yee sympathized and accepted me immediately even though, at twelve, I was already several years older than most who entered a girls’ house. I left, knowing that Mui and our other servant would look after my mother and brothers, while the money I made at the silk factory would be sent home monthly.

  “The last time I saw my mother … I remember the faint scent of lavender as I entered her room. My once-beautiful mother was only a shadow, frail and thin in her silk gown. The curtains had not been drawn back yet, so the room was bathed in semidarkness as my mother lay on her large bed, her eyes open and staring up at the ornate ceiling.

  “‘I have to go away for a little while,’ I told her. I was to make the journey to Yung Kee that morning with Mui. I remember bending over and quickly hugging my mother, which felt very strange, since she rarely touched us.

  “‘You know your Ba Ba doesn’t want you roaming the streets by yourself,’ my mother said.

  “I remember smiling. ‘Don’t worry about me. I want you to take care of yourself and get out more. I’ll write every month.’

  “‘Don’t be silly,’ my mother said, sitting up. ‘Go and tell Mui I’m ready for my tea now.’

  “‘Yes, Ma Ma.’ I rose from the bed and pulled the heavy drapes open. I remember how the sunlight filled the room as my mother lifted her hand to shade her eyes.”

  Lin stopped and looked up wearily at Pei.

  “Did they ever find your father’s murderer?” Pei asked.

  Lin shook her head slowly.

  “Would you like to stop and sit for a while?” Pei realized they had walked all the way to the river. Its stale smell surrounded them.

  “Can we keep walking?” Lin asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  They moved on side by side in silence. Pei was filled with so many questions, but thought better of them and simply said, “It must have been awful for you.”

 
; “I missed my family terribly,” Lin suddenly continued. “But I learned to keep the loneliness to myself. I thought nightly of my past life with my parents and brothers. The girls’ house was clean and comfortable. Auntie Yee was pleasant and the money and freedom that came with the silk work were like nothing I had ever imagined. The most difficult part was having no one to talk to. Most of the girls were nice enough, but many came from poor farming families with little or no education. In the beginning, many shunned me, or made rude comments behind my back because I didn’t mix with them. ‘Doesn’t she have a tongue?’ they said, or ‘Who does she think she is? Her work is no better than ours!’ Only Chen Ling approached me with kindness, but her stubborn beliefs and abrupt ways have always kept me at a distance. Through those early years I learned to blend in, but there was always something missing, until the evening Auntie Yee asked me to go upstairs and bring you down. How unlike the others you were, so full of pride and curiosity.”

  Pei stopped walking and allowed Lin’s words to sink in. After so many years of keeping everything inside, Pei knew, Lin’s words now flowed freely for the first time. The urgency of Lin’s past had returned like an open wound, the ghost of her father filling her. And for the first time, Pei felt really needed. It was like a gift in her life to realize she could be of some importance to Lin, if only to listen.

  “Go on,” Pei said.

  Women Who Dress Their Own Hair

  The day chosen for Chen Ling’s and Ming’s hairdressing ceremony dawned wet and humid. All day the girls’ house was abuzz with excitement as Auntie Yee and Moi ran around making last-minute preparations for the banquet. They gave the same care and concentration to the hairdressing ceremony as they would have to a marriage ceremony. Betrothal to the sisterhood was just as important as that to a man, and both were binding on the young woman for the rest of her life.

  Chen Ling knew this particular hairdressing ceremony would be extra-special for Auntie Yee, since this time it was she who had chosen her second mother’s path. Chen Ling smiled to herself, knowing Auntie Yee was across the hall putting on the new white silk tunic made for the occasion. When she was dressed, Auntie Yee would come to assist them.

  The heavy aroma of flowers and incense that filled Ming’s and Chen Ling’s room was almost overwhelming. The windows and curtains were open to let in the weak daylight. Chen Ling and Ming sat patiently in front of a large mirror, waiting for Auntie Yee’s assistance. Their dark hair hung unbraided in small waves down their backs. Since early morning they had changed into the long black silk skirts worn during the ceremony. For weeks they’d talked and bargained with shopkeepers and the restaurant in preparation for the ceremony and banquet. Now, neither of them said a word.

  Chen Ling turned and looked anxiously toward the door. She had been waiting months for this day to arrive. Since the first day she had come to Auntie Yee at the girls’ house and had the dark strands of her hair cut evenly across her forehead, Chen Ling had felt as if she had never belonged anywhere else. At the girls’ house, Chen Ling found strength and courage from the stories of Kuan Yin in the precious volume. From them, she developed her own voice and found her rightful place. She adapted to the silk work immediately, as if it were second nature, and was now just moments away from the final step toward dedicating her life to the sisterhood. Some girls went through the hairdressing ceremony by themselves, while others went in small groups. Chen Ling thought about Ming beside her, and was filled with joy.

  Auntie Yee knocked once and entered, bringing with her a clean, cool smell, which would soon disappear in the thick air of the room. She looked younger in her white silk tunic. Auntie Yee circled the room once, then smiled at them nervously. “It is a good day,” she said.

  Ming nodded.

  “Were you this nervous at your hairdressing ceremony?” Chen Ling asked. It was the first question she had ever asked about Auntie Yee’s life before the girls’ house. Until now, Chen Ling had never found the time to ask. She was too busy learning the life of the sisterhood.

  Auntie Yee moved closer to Chen Ling. “Even more so, but mine was not half as grand as yours will be.” Without a pause, she said reassuringly, “I’ve never regretted my choice.”

  “Neither will I.”

  Auntie Yee stood behind Chen Ling and looked at her daughter in the mirror. Chen Ling caught her eyes for just a moment before Auntie Yee looked away. Auntie Yee leaned over and lit another stick of incense before straightening and rubbing her hands together. “Are you ready?” she asked Chen Ling.

  “Yes, Second Mother.”

  Auntie Yee laughed nervously. Chen Ling watched as she picked up the strong wooden brush lying on the table in front of them and ran the stiff bristles quickly across the palm of her hand. Auntie Yee took a step back, and Chen Ling felt the brush slide smoothly through her hair. With each stroke Auntie Yee combed the straight bangs of Chen Ling’s hair, smoothing it back with a lacquer made from wood shavings, and chanting the ritual words stressing felicity, prosperity, longevity, and purity of body and soul. Then, with careful, experienced hands, Auntie Yee divided Chen Ling’s hair into three parts and braided it tightly. Chen Ling heard Auntie Yee inhale deeply as she lifted the thick, glossy braid and coiled it into a chignon atop Chen Ling’s head, signifying her marriage to the sisterhood. Chen Ling looked at herself in the mirror and felt a warmth move through her body. She looked different with her hair coiled up: older, yet more serene. Auntie Yee laid her hand gently on Chen Ling’s shoulder and smiled proudly. Then, without saying a word, she stepped behind Ming to repeat the ceremony.

  When the first part of the hairdressing ceremony was complete, Chen Ling and Ming rose and kowtowed in respect and gratitude toward Auntie Yee. Then it was Auntie Yee’s turn to sit as they poured tea for her. She sipped the hot tea slowly as they stood and watched. In return, Auntie Yee gave each of them a red envelope of lucky money to begin their new lives. Chen Ling and Ming again bowed their heads in reverence and thanked Auntie Yee profusely. Afterward, they all went downstairs to the reading room to pour tea and burn incense before Kuan Yin and worship their ancestors. Later that evening, Chen Ling and Ming would celebrate their good fortune at a banquet with family and friends.

  The banquet was to be held at a restaurant close by the girls’ house. As the time approached to leave, Pei began to worry about Lin’s absence. Lin had been gone since early morning without telling Pei where she was going, only leaving a short note saying she would return in time for the banquet. But as evening fell, Pei began to think something was terribly wrong. Lin was rarely gone for so long without telling her. Pei tried hard to think of where Lin might have gone, but these fearful thoughts were interrupted when another girl approached her.

  “Pei, you must talk some sense into Mei-li. She refuses to go to the banquet.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Who knows? She has been acting strangely ever since that night with her parents.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs.”

  Pei found Mei-li staring out the window of their room. She had slowly withdrawn from everyone since the evening her parents came to the house.

  “Auntie Yee expects us to leave now for the banquet,” Pei said gently.

  “I have something else I have to do,” Mei-li said.

  Pei touched her arm lightly. “I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “No, it can’t wait until tomorrow,” mimicked Mei-li.

  Pei had never seen Mei-li like this before, and something inside told her to approach the situation cautiously. She knew Mei-li had been terribly upset by her parents’ visit and their desire for her to marry.

  “But this evening is very important to Auntie Yee,” Pei finally said. “She has planned this banquet with a great deal of care.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mei-li said, her voice hard and flat.

  “It does matter!”

  Mei-li suddenly turned around and with an expression full of hate said,
“I’ll go where I want to go! Nobody can make me do what I don’t want to!” Then Mei-li lifted her hand upward as if to strike Pei, but instead swung at the air.

  Pei stepped back, almost falling. She thought of what Lin might do in this situation, and after a moment said calmly, “Chen Ling and Ming will be very hurt if you don’t go to their banquet.”

  Mei-li stared wide-eyed at Pei, taking quick breaths, her round face flushed.

  “It will be all right,” Pei said. She reached out and gently took hold of Mei-li, her arms encircling Mei-li’s stiff body until she felt her friend’s weight give in to her.

  In Pei’s embrace, Mei-li calmed, her face softening when she finally pulled away from Pei. Then, in a strangely quiet manner, Mei-li said, “Yes, you’re right. We better go now before they wonder where we are.”

  Pei stood puzzled and apprehensive a moment longer. When Mei-li turned back toward Pei, she smiled, showing no hint of anger or unhappiness.

  The restaurant was alive with voices and the clatter of dishes, which echoed through the steamy room. For the banquet, Auntie Yee had taken the entire restaurant, which was festively decorated with the red and gold symbols of double happiness. Extra tables were squeezed into the crowded room to accommodate all the guests. Chen Ling’s father, now a vague memory in Auntie Yee’s life, declined to come from his small village, though he sent along a red package of lucky money and his blessings. Ming’s parents, who were poor farmers, traveled for two days by oxcart to see their daughter go through the hairdressing ceremony. They sat proudly at a front table with her seven brothers and sisters.