Women of the Silk

by Gail Tsukiyama

  The next evening Kung Ma closed the black book that contained the neat row of figures she painstakingly kept in separate columns. Across the room, a group of her sisters sat patiently waiting for her to look up. This occurred every month when she balanced the month’s funds.

  “It looks very good this month,” Kung Ma said, looking up at the attentive faces, including the new faces of Lin and Pei.

  “Will we have enough for the New Year’s celebration?” Sui Ying, a younger sister, asked.

  Kung Ma smiled at the young woman’s enthusiasm, and her thick, dark brows seemed to form a line of charcoal across her forehead. Her dark hair, which was now evenly streaked with gray, gave her an air of authority.

  “Yes, it looks that way,” she said, placing the black book safely back in the desk drawer.

  Sui Ying jumped happily up from her seat and went to tell the good news to the other women of the house.

  For almost six years Kung Ma had kept the books at the sisters’ house. She had been approaching her thirty-seventh year when the position was handed down to her at the retirement of an elder sister. Kung Ma was honored to be chosen and had readily accepted, fully realizing the importance of her duty and how much it meant to the survival of her sisters.

  A few of the sisters in their house were no longer young; though they were not ready for retirement, a fund had been set up for monthly contributions toward a home to which they could retire. With careful planning, this could be done for each of the sisters. Each sister also made other monthly contributions in case of family deaths, emergencies, or if unexpected expenses should arise. If there was any money left over, it would be used for festival and New Year’s celebrations. These elaborate arrangements were now solely in the hands of Kung Ma.

  She was just one of a large group of women at the house who didn’t return to their new families after marriage. They lived together at the sisters’ house and worked at the silk factory. Every month they sent part of their earnings to their families left behind. Those who went through the hairdressing ceremony had fewer financial burdens, while others, like Sui Ying, were young grass widows. They stayed at the sisters’ house, waiting anxiously for the day when they could be reunited with their overseas husbands. Kung Ma felt satisfied. With the arrival of Lin and Pei, their sisters’ house was full.

  Kung Ma had little memory of her real family. For as long as she could remember, the word “family” had meant her sisters, first at the girls’ house and now at the sisters’ house. They provided all the love and nourishment she had never received from a father and mother, and consequently, they received back all that was in her power to give. Occasionally, in some odd moment of the day, Kung Ma thought of her family, though she no longer saw their faces clearly. She had been given to the silk work at the age of seven, and had flourished. Still, with each passing year, Kung Ma felt her memories seem to sharpen. They seemed to move through her with every throbbing beat of her heart.

  It had been on one still, unexpected night that Kung Ma’s life changed for the second time. At fourteen, she was suddenly taken from the silk work and made to marry. Out of nowhere returned the father she barely knew; he sold her again into another life. She’d been taken by such surprise that by the time the realization of the situation hit her, Kung Ma was already in a rough, poorly constructed wagon with the stranger who was her father, heading away from the girls’ house.

  But the bigger surprise came later, when they entered a small, rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere: Her new husband was a boy of six. Kung Ma stood waiting, frightened and anxious as a pent-up animal, when the child was brought in from outside. His face and scanty clothing were covered with dirt; he peered up at her with curious, cautious eyes, as if to say “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “This is your new husband, Wa Ming,” her father announced.

  Kung Ma looked down at the little boy and began to laugh, at first quietly, and then without restraint. Her father grew red with rage, while the little boy soon grew impatient with all the adult games and wandered off to play in the corner of the filthy room.

  For the next three days Kung Ma stayed with her new husband and his family. Afterward, she returned to the silk factory to work for her husband’s family until Wa Ming had grown into a young man who could carry out his husbandly duties. This was the agreement worked out with her father, in which Kung Ma had had no voice. During her time at the farmhouse, Kung Ma said little to her new family, doing what she was told and ignoring everything else. She would remember that time like a bad dream, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

  The one sweet moment Kung Ma remembered fondly was playing with her little husband. They looked like brother and sister squatting on the ground. Wa Ming innocently watched his new wife throw a handful of twigs on the ground, and then try to pick them up one by one without moving another. He tried again and again with uncontained laughter. She never forgot the laughter that filled the air, pure and free, or the little boy, who must be a father himself by now. Kung Ma never went back to her young husband, and never failed to send money monthly to support him, his concubine, and his family. It was all they asked from her.

  Kung Ma closed the door to her room. Unlike those of some of her other sisters, her life had been relatively undamaged. From the top drawer of her old bureau Kung Ma extracted a large red-and-black book in which she wrote every day. In it she recorded her life and the lives of her sisters as the words were passed to her in daily conversations.

  “Don’t you ever want to see your husband again?” Sui Ying once asked.

  “Others have returned to their husbands after the silk work, and some have even borne them children,” Kung Ma said, more to herself than to Sui Ying.

  “Is that what you’ll do?”

  Kung Ma looked up and laughed. “I doubt we would know what to do with each other!”

  But in the quiet of her room Kung Ma recorded it all. The smallest detail was saved, like some precious gift. The boy husband she barely knew was a total stranger now. He was not like the husband for whom Sui Ying waited, the husband who traveled overseas trying to make a better life for his family. It was each one of their fates that brought them husbandless to the sisters’ house. Hers was a life she accepted without regrets, collecting small tokens of its existence along the way.

  Sometimes, after long, busy intervals at the silk factory, when Kung Ma reached for her book her hand would unconsciously move past it, stopping at a white box buried deep within her clothing. The box contained the only remnants of her marriage: a handful of brown twigs.

  Chapter Nine

  1928

  Pei

  The rhythm of their days had changed after they moved to the sisters’ house. The days were fuller and faster, and sometimes filled with more surprises than Pei could have dreamed of. The women who lived at the sisters’ house came from all over China. Those who hadn’t gone through the hairdressing ceremony stayed at the sisters’ house as residents. Like Auntie Yee, some had chosen the silk work over husbands, while others worked until their husbands returned from overseas jobs. Every evening Pei sat curious and attentive, listening to stories of the outside world. Chen Ling spoke about the atrocities committed by the Japanese soldiers in the north, while the Chinese Communists continued to fight and run for their lives. Other sisters, who had lived and worked in Canton or Hong Kong, spoke of the white devils and their strange ways. Pei learned of their infrequent bathing habits and of their love of drinking expensive liquors and eating large slabs of bloody beef.

  At the sisters’ house, every night was different. Sometimes laughter filled the room, and at other times voices rose above the others in disagreement, but always Pei felt something special when she heard these conversations; she was transported to faraway places.

  During their first few weeks, Pei and Lin reveled in all the new books they could read. They were free to do as they wished after their assigned duties of washing and cleaning were finished. Many of their sister
s painted, or wrote skits to keep them entertained. Pei had never known such laughter as when Sui Ying and another sister, Lee Moi, performed. It was usually an opera, and almost always about a broken romance. Sui Ying portrayed the man, and the slighter Lee Moi the woman.

  There were fewer rules to follow here than at the girls’ house, but more responsibilities. Lin began telling Pei they must start looking out for each of their futures. It made Pei’s head spin just to think about financial arrangements, so she left all those decisions to Lin to take care of their extra money. Lin sometimes teased Pei about growing older, but Pei was delighted by the fact that each day she was learning more.

  After their hairdressing ceremony, Pei also noticed they were treated differently by their old friends at the girls’ house. The younger girls cast their eyes shyly downward as they walked by Pei at the factory, giving her the respect due an elder.

  Sui Ying and Lee Moi were closest to Pei in age, yet most of the time Lee Moi was sullen and disagreeable, and spoke little to anyone except when she was acting. It was different with Sui Ying, who soon became a fast friend. Pei seemed to feed on the fact that their lives were so different. Sui Ying worked at the silk factory while she waited for her husband to send for her. She was just a few years older than Pei, but at twenty she looked much older, with her heavier, sturdier frame.

  Through Sui Ying, Pei began learning about another life she knew very little about: love and marriage. Sui Ying and her husband had been promised to one another when they were small children, and as fate would have it, theirs was a perfect match. Though they both came from poor families, they found wealth in their love and marriage. But when the floods came, Sui Ying’s husband, Lau Chen, was forced to join the hundreds of other men who went overseas seeking employment. Sui Ying was lucky enough to find work immediately at the silk factory and a room at the sisters’ house. “I don’t know what I would have done—we were penniless, and I couldn’t stay with his family and do nothing!” said Sui Ying, throwing her hands up in the air as she told the story.

  Often, when Lin had gone with Chen Ling to attend factory meetings, Pei and Sui Ying would sit in the small garden in back of the sisters’ house, where Sui Ying spoke happily of her husband. The garden had become Pei’s favorite place, with its calm light and sweet perfumes. In those quiet moments, Pei was grateful to have the friendship of Sui Ying.

  “Lau Chen has found another position!” Sui Ying said jubilantly one evening in the garden. The heavy fragrance of jasmine seemed to intensify with the waning light.

  Pei grew happy in her friend’s joy. “What is it?” she asked.

  “He’s loading the large ships that leave Hong Kong harbor and travel all over the world,” said Sui Ying excitedly. “It pays more than the other job on the fishing boat!”

  The letter with its crisp blue pages crackled in her hand.

  “Does this mean you’ll be leaving the sisters’ house to join him in Hong Kong?” Pei asked anxiously.

  Sui Ying smiled. “It means that I’ll be able to join him sooner, but it won’t be immediately.”

  Pei smiled with relief. There were many reasons she enjoyed her talks with Sui Ying. One of the reasons she could scarcely admit, even to herself Lately, Pei had been feeling things that were strange and foreign to her, as if her body as well as her mind had awakened. She was curious about what it was like to be married. When her sisters laughed and spoke of intimate details between men and women, Pei could only blush and leave the room. Only with Sui Ying could she dare to ask what a man and woman did with each other once they were alone.

  “Does that mean when you’re back with your husband you’ll have children?” Pei asked. There was a small quiver of uncertainty in her voice.

  “I suppose so,” Sui Ying answered. “If it’s to be our fate.”

  Pei remained silent for a moment, thinking of all the bad things she’d heard about childbirth. Besides the fact that it dirtied a woman, and could bring death to her, its polluting effects followed a woman into the afterlife and condemned her to punishment in purgatory. Chen Ling had said this more than once, and it seemed that Pei’s own mother had suffered no less in her life on earth.

  Pei looked at Sui Ying and couldn’t imagine a life like that being her fate. “But aren’t you afraid of being dirtied?” she asked.

  Sui Ying laughed. “We can’t run away from what’s planned for us. Besides, we wouldn’t be walking on this earth if our mothers didn’t follow their fates.”

  Pei digested Sui Ying’s words. This was something she hadn’t heard before. Despite all the talk of the powerlessness women faced in childbirth, Pei couldn’t deny the fact that new lives came into this life every day.

  “What is it like?” Pei finally gathered the courage to ask.

  “What is what like?”

  “What’s it like to be with a man?” A hot flush moved through Pei, and she didn’t dare look into Sui Ying’s eyes.

  Sui Ying looked up at the darkening sky, as if looking for an answer. Then, in very precise words, she said, “If you’re with someone you love, then it’s something very beautiful. You’re so close to that person that nothing else seems to matter.”

  “Is it painful?” Pei asked, having heard this over and over again from other women.

  Sui Ying smiled at her persistence. “Sometimes, at first, but not all the time. It depends on each person, I think. It’s different for each one of us, but I can tell you this, it doesn’t matter if you’re with the right person.”

  There was a stillness to the night that seemed to swallow their words. All of a sudden Pei thought of Mei-li, and something painful moved through her. Mei-li had thought she was with the right person. She had loved Hong, but still she died because of him. This kind of love would always be a mystery to Pei. She let out an unexpected sigh and asked, “But if you aren’t with the right person, and you’re forced to be with someone you don’t want to be with, does that make it dirty?”

  Sui Ying thought for a moment. She took a deep breath. The air felt like a cool, comforting caress. “Then it would be the most painful thing in the world.”

  Canton

  It had been almost two years since the engagement of Lin’s brother was first announced. The marriage had been postponed twice while the two families worked out matters of the dowry. When at last a final date was chosen, Lin arranged for some time away from the silk factory, then purchased the boat tickets for her and Pei’s trip to Canton.

  As the day of their departure neared, Pei grew increasingly nervous. Yung Kee was the largest village she had ever been to, and it seemed immense compared to her own small village. Canton was an entirely different story: It was a big city filled with people from all over the world. Pei could easily be swallowed up in its grip.

  “Are there many white devils?” asked Pei.

  “More white devils than you ever dreamed of,” Lin said.

  “What are they like?”

  “You’ll see for yourself,” answered Lin.

  On the morning they were to leave, Pei couldn’t eat a thing. She checked her bag over and over again to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Her mouth felt dry and sour as she waited, and even Sui Ying’s constant reassurances did little to help. Only when they finally said their good-byes and began their journey toward the river did Pei feel a small sense of relief

  The boat station was a small, crowded lean-to, roughly constructed out of mismatched pieces of wood, with a roof of woven straw. People jostled each other with their makeshift suitcases, baskets of food, and bamboo cages filled with live chickens and ducks. The constant drone of voices seemed to make everything vibrate, and the stench of food, fowl, and human sweat nauseated Pei. But as far as she was concerned, there couldn’t have been anything more exciting.

  When the boat finally arrived, creaking and puffing to a stop, Pei stood back and stared at the flat-bottomed monster in amazement. In the ten years she’d been in Yung Kee, Pei had never been on anything larger than t
he midsized houseboats docked by the side of the river. This boat had two decks and was enormous. The top deck held rows and rows of wooden benches, but the bottom level had no benches, and passengers there would have to either stand or sit on the wood-plank floor for the entire trip to Canton. Pei watched the hordes of people pour down the wooden ramps towards them, some looking anxiously for loved ones, others just trying to get out.

  “Are you all right?” Lin asked, when they were finally making their way up the wood ramp toward the top level.

  “It’s so big,” Pei said, stepping onto the large, open deck, which rocked gently below her feet.

  “This is nothing,” Lin said. “Wait until you see the ships in the Canton harbor!”

  They made their way slowly down the narrow aisle filled with people pushing their way toward any available seat. Those already seated stared hard at them and their clean, white clothing as they passed. Pei had long since learned to cope with the rude stares of those who found the sisterhood strange and filled with too much freedom. Over the years she learned to stare back at them until they lowered their eyes or looked away. In this test of wills, Pei always won.

  When Lin finally found them some seats toward the back of the boat, Pei sat down and waited for them to set sail. Below, they could hear the rumblings of those settling into the lower deck. Soon every empty space was filled, and they heard the scraping sounds of the chains lifting the ramps. At last, they felt the boat shift, groan, and begin to move.

  From Yung Kee the boat moved slowly up the Pearl River towards Canton. On each side of the open boat, Pei could see the teeming river life. Small, almost naked children played games along its edge, while their mothers talked and washed clothes in the murky water. Beside them, their dilapidated boats swayed and creaked.