Women of the Silk

by Gail Tsukiyama

  “What is it?” Pei asked.

  At first Lin remained quiet, simply laying the brush down on the table. Then finally she looked at Pei and said, “I hated the way my mother treated you!”

  “It doesn’t matter; I was fine.”

  “All her life, she has always wanted to possess things. My father gave her the best of everything, but she always wanted more. When I told her I wasn’t returning home to marry, I fooled myself into believing she could understand, but she has become selfish and spiteful in her hopes of regaining her past.”

  “It was really all right,” said Pei again. She had never seen Lin so upset.

  “She lives in this museum of a house, and she wants to keep it that way.”

  “You’re just tired.”

  Lin paused, then asked, “Would you mind if we left tomorrow? I can’t stay here any longer.”

  “Whenever you’d like,” Pei said, only too happy to cut their stay a day short and return earlier to the simplicity of Yung Kee.

  “After morning meal,” Lin said firmly.

  They both sat in awkward silence. Then, slowly, Lin brought her hand up to stroke Pei’s hair. “What is it?” Pei wanted to ask again, but there was something so lovely about the way Lin’s touch made her feel that she kept silent. In her entire life, Lin had been the only one ever to love her unconditionally, without the demands of her parents or the fear of her sister Li. When Pei turned around, she saw that Lin’s eyes had filled with tears. She reached over and put her arms around Lin, feeling something she had never known before, the smallest hint of fear, gradually giving way to desire.

  Pei woke up with Lin sleeping quietly beside her. It took her a moment to realize where she was as she gazed sleepily through the hazy mosquito net. The house was perfectly still. Then slowly, joyfully, the memory of being with Lin overtook her. Last night, for the first time, Pei had felt as if her body had come alive. For months she had been thinking something was wrong with her, with some inexplicable feelings inside her that she didn’t dare talk about, especially not with Lin. It would have been too embarrassing. From the very beginning it had been so simple for her to love Lin, never dreaming she might be loved in return. Pei felt safe and comfortable in the soft, white bed. She turned around carefully and watched Lin sleeping, her breathing so faint Pei had to listen hard for it.

  Pei closed her eyes again and tried to sleep, but all her senses were too awake to allow her the pleasure. She slowly slid her body to the edge of the bed, trying not to awaken Lin. When her bare feet touched the soft carpet, she let the rest of her body follow, then turned quickly to make sure that Lin had not been disturbed. Already the air felt hot and silent, the early-morning light revealing the crowded room as Pei moved toward the window and looked out. She glanced down at the courtyard and the stale remnants of yesterday’s festivities. Covering the ground was a thin blanket of faded red paper, left over from the hundreds of firecrackers set off after the ceremony. The red lanterns and banners hung limp in the windless courtyard, now empty of the excitement and anxiety that had filled it.

  Pei sighed, and let her forehead gently touch the cool glass. Her thoughts turned to Ho Chee and his new bride. After the banquet they had retired to their room, once the room of his childhood. There they would spend the first night of their marriage, separated by a locked door from the rest of the household. She thought of the young bride, frightened and demure. What must she have been thinking, alone in that room with the stranger who was now her husband? Pei couldn’t imagine the young bride finding ways of trickery and wile to keep Ho Chee away from her, as she had heard some of the sisters had done. Still, it could be different. Sui Ying had loved Lau Chen and wanted nothing more than to be with him. Perhaps this young bride might feel the same, once she came to know Ho Chee. He was nice enough, though he seemed to lack the innate strength that Lin and even Ho Yung radiated.

  Pei’s attention was brought back toward the window by a muted sound from the garden below. She looked down again. This time she saw someone seated at the far corner of the wall. At first Pei thought it was Mui beginning the task of cleaning up, but upon closer scrutiny she saw that it was Wong Tai. Lin’s mother sat huddled against the wall, wrapped in a dark, dreary robe, her face colorless as she tried to quiet her muffled crying. Pei stood motionless, watching, caught by surprise at Wong Tai’s display of tears. She hadn’t thought a woman like her ever cried. Pei knew this was a moment so private that she had no right to be there, yet she felt paralyzed by the sight. She glanced toward the sleeping Lin, who could offer no assistance, then turned back to the window and the sobbing Wong Tai. Immediately she knew something had changed, but it was too late. Wong Tai was looking up toward her, doing nothing to hide her red, tear-stained face. And in her eyes was a look so full of hate that Pei jerked back quickly, as if knocked by a hard blow. She stepped out of sight, her heart beating fast, not daring to return to the window.

  Pei said nothing to Lin about seeing Wong Tai that morning. She felt it would just upset Lin more. When they gathered at the table for their morning meal, Wong Tai showed no signs of her early-morning tears. Her carefully made-up face smiled with a masked neutrality that led Pei to wonder whether the incident in the courtyard had ever taken place. Afterward, Wong Tai retired to her room and didn’t emerge even when Lin went to tell her of their departure.

  Pei didn’t see Ho Chee and his bride again until they were packed and ready to leave. Now that the festivities were over, a certain flatness lay heavy in the air and over the entire house. Mui moved about nervously, her eyes watery and her voice full of concern.

  “You must hurry, Missy, so you won’t miss your ferry back. I have packed some food for you and Pei to have on your journey back to Yung Kee,” she said to Lin.

  Lin smiled, hugging her old servant tightly.

  A sedan chair waited for them at the gate. Ho Chee and his new wife appeared shy in their happiness. Pei saw something in the bride’s eyes that hadn’t been there the day before and understood her happiness. It was as if some hidden knowledge gathered in the night had, in both of them, taken the place of their fear.

  “You have honored us by coming,” Ho Chee said to them. “We wish you a safe journey back to Yung Kee.”

  Ho Chee had fully taken on the duties of head of the household, while his younger brother stood aside. But as they were leaving, it was Ho Yung who quickly stepped forward to help each of them into the sedan chair. He hugged Lin easily, and took hold of Pei’s hand for just a moment before letting go.

  As the sedan chair moved swiftly toward the harbor, Pei leaned back and closed her eyes. It was hard to believe that in a matter of hours they would be back in Yung Kee. The city moved past her like a dream. She felt as if all of Canton had been presented to her in a swell of pageantry, from her first sedan ride to the extravagant marriage ceremony with its unveiling of the bride. Nothing had been lost, not the cold, deliberate hatred of Wong Tai, nor the warmth and comfort of being with Lin. All of it unfolded before Pei like a sudden storm. It had come and gone so quickly she barely had time to catch her breath. Had it all really happened?

  Pei opened her eyes and watched Lin looking silently out the window. Even in the heat and noise, Lin appeared serene and lovely. There were no signs of the anger she had felt toward her mother last night. A fine line Pei had never noticed before led downward from the corner of Lin’s mouth in a perfect curve to her chin. It was almost as if Pei were seeing her for the first time. In the small cramped box, they didn’t touch or say a word.

  Chapter Eleven

  1932

  Pei

  Even if no one dared to breathe a word, Pei began to see life change drastically at the silk factory. The past year had made conditions worse, due to the poor quality of cocoons coming in. They had to be soaked longer, yet they brought lower prices at the market. Chung, the owner of the factory, insisted the workers make up the lost revenue by working longer hours with no increase in salary. The new girls seemed young
er and wearier as they worked at their metal basins. Like those of many older sisters Pei had seen, their hands would slowly become old and arthritic. Each day before the sun rose the girls were already immersed in the steamy, damp atmosphere of the silk work. Their fourteen-hour days didn’t allow them to leave the building until it was well past the time for their evening meal. And the only sunlight they saw was what filtered in through the dirty, sealed skylights. What was once their means to freedom had turned them into virtual slaves for Chung. He knew that the girls would continue to work in silence, afraid to challenge the unfair hours for fear of losing their jobs.

  “Where can you find other work?” Chung told them, his thick, short fingers waving in front of his balding head. “Who will have you? There are many more where you came from!”

  Chen Ling and Lin were powerless to change the long working hours. They did what they could to ease the strain of the day-to-day operations, bringing the girls tea and secretly relieving them, but the rules were made by Chung and carried out by his male managers. These men moved up and down the aisles, slapping into the palms of their hands the long wooden sticks they carried. Pei hated their sarcastic laughter and smug looks as they grouped together watching the girls work. The managers complained loudly if something went wrong with production, but Lin and Chen Ling were never given any credit when Chung received his monthly reports.

  “What can we do?” Pei asked.

  Lin shrugged her shoulders and shook her head helplessly. “An answer will come soon, whether we like it or not.”

  Slowly many of the girls came down with illnesses due to fatigue and the bad ventilation. Each evening the girls, damp from the hot steam, left the factory to walk home in the chilly night air. It was a monstrous situation that would stop only when they gathered the courage to fight Chung.

  Lin’s prediction came true when a young girl working in another building died suddenly. The girl had been too scared not to work, even with a high fever and a bad cough. One morning, she collapsed in front of her basin and never regained consciousness. The news of her sudden death spread quickly through the factory, and with it came the courage to step forward before another life was senselessly taken.

  Late that night, Chen Ling secretly spread the word of a meeting of the head silk workers at the sisters’ house. Pei watched as they gathered in the reading room, most of them dead tired from their long day at the factory. The women appeared hesitant at first, fearful of being found out and fired by Chung, but this soon gave way to an urgency that spurred them forward. Pei knew they came hoping for some kind of change that would make their lives bearable again, even if they had to fight to get it.

  Lin stood by Chen Ling, equally intent on finding a way to extract decent working hours from Chung. In the crowd Pei saw some faces she knew, and many she didn’t recognize from the other buildings. One by one, the women spoke up and their grievances were openly stated.

  “Shorter hours!” they said.

  “Better ventilation!”

  “More rest periods!”

  The demands became so contagious that the voices began to blend together in a song, and it was all Chen Ling and Lin could do to quickly write the comments down. By the time the last voice had echoed through the air and fallen to a sudden silence, the list of demands had grown to two pages.

  When the meeting finally ended the women stood around awkwardly, then began to disperse, promising to secretly recruit every silk worker into their ranks.

  “Our only chance to fight Chung,” Chen Ling said, “is for every one of us to come together and shut down the factory!”

  The women remaining in the reading room stared hard and hopefully at Chen Ling; then, with low, cautious murmurs they emptied the room.

  When Chen Ling was alone again with Pei and Lin, she relaxed and began to pace the floor. Across the room Ming was quietly straightening chairs and gathering teacups.

  “Should we try to talk to Chung ourselves before going any further with this strike?” asked Chen Ling. It was the first time Pei could detect some hesitation in her voice.

  “What difference would it make?” said Lin. “He’ll just give us all his empty promises.”

  Pei watched as Chen Ling sipped her tea. There was something so familiar about the way her eyes closed tightly in thought. It suddenly reminded Pei of her childhood and the blind fortune-teller who had changed her life so long ago.

  Then Chen Ling looked up and with carefully chosen words said, “We have no choice but to act quickly, before Chung gets wind of what we’re doing. If he should, we’ll have problems way beyond our long hours and poor working conditions!”

  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Pei said eagerly. “One of us has already died because of Chung and our fear of him. It’s our duty to make sure it never happens again!”

  Chen Ling looked at Pei and studied her face for a few moments. “You’ve grown up,” the older girl said simply.

  “Pei’s right,” said Lin. “If change is to come, it must be now, regardless of the consequences.”

  “Yes,” echoed Ming enthusiastically. It was the first thing she had said all evening.

  “It’s agreed, then,” said Chen Ling. “We work to shut down the silk factory until they listen to our demands, no matter what the consequences.”

  “As quickly as possible,” said Pei.

  Chen Ling smiled at Pei and Lin with renewed spirit. “We fight, then!”

  “We fight!” their voices repeated.

  From the corner of Pei’s eye, she could see the smiling Ming moving quietly around the room. Ming put a chair back into its place, then moved to close a window. She reached out into the night air and pulled the window shut with a flat thud, sheltering them for a time from the outside world.

  The Strike

  It was still dark outside, but in the past year they had learned to differentiate morning from evening just by the subtle scents in the air as they walked to and from work. Sui Ying flinched just a little as they sat around the table, carefully formulating their plans to strike. Though she agreed wholeheartedly with everything they said, Sui Ying couldn’t help but feel the smallest twinge of doubt about what they were about to do. She sat back and listened to Chen Ling’s words about the strike. They seemed to go on and on, to pause for only a moment when Kung Ma came in carrying a tray with tea and the sweet buns they ate each morning.

  Sui Ying and Kung Ma worked together in a different building at the silk factory. It would be up to them to unify all the girls in their building as quickly and quietly as they could. While Kung Ma readily accepted the task, Sui Ying was more hesitant.

  “What if we should lose our positions?” she asked shyly.

  “Chung won’t have a leg to stand on if we all quit working at the same time,” Chen Ling replied. “Just the time it would take for him to train new girls would lose him enough money to want us back on our terms!”

  Pei looked over at Sui Ying and smiled reassuringly. Still, Sui Ying felt an emptiness inside her heart, whereas all the others were filled with rage. She thought only of what would happen if she were to lose her job when she was so close to being with her husband, Lau Chen, again.

  “But what if something should go wrong?” Sui Ying continued.

  “It’s up to us to see that nothing does,” Chen Ling said. “That’s why it’s so important that we all remain together through this.”

  Chen Ling’s gaze softened.

  Sui Ying looked down and thought of the small farm Lau Chen always spoke about. “It will have three rooms,” her husband often said. “Enough room for all the sons we will have!”

  Sui Ying smiled at the thought.

  “Are you with us?” asked Chen Ling.

  Sui Ying looked up at the eager faces of her closest friends. “Yes, I’m with you,” she answered.

  When they left the sisters’ house that morning it was with a strong sense of commitment, which gave them the strength to face the long, laborious hours ahead
of them. It was agreed that each of them would cover as much territory as she could, discreetly spreading the word of that evening’s meeting at the sisters’ house. Pei moved through the factory with a sense of purpose, but by noon she was disheartened at receiving more noncommital nods than the hoped-for enthusiasm.

  The hours seemed to move with deliberate lethargy. Pei let her mind wander, her fingers continuing to reel the silk with quick, experienced know-how. If a thread was caught or tangled her fingers automatically solved the problem by swiftly taking another cocoon and reconnecting a new thread in place of the first. Others had not adapted so easily to the work. The young girl who stood across from Pei was no older than Pei had been when she first came to Yung Kee. Yet already there were burns on the girl’s hands that would leave discolored scars throughout her life. Pei’s heart went out to these young girls, who simply couldn’t adapt to the silk work and had to suffer through each day, adding to their injuries. For others, it could be even worse. Some girls trained and retrained to no avail and were finally let go, returning to their families in disgrace. There, they were either forced into poor marriages, in which they were considered more a servant than a wife, or simply discarded by their families and forced to fend for themselves in whatever way they could. Complete failures had only occurred twice since Pei had been there; both girls were returned to their families and never heard from again.

  When the evening bell finally rang, they were released at last from their steamy confinement. Pei and Lin quickly made their way back to the sisters’ house. Over a hundred women, young and old, gathered there that night, spilling out into the courtyard. More than half the workers had come, but this was still not as many as they had hoped.

  Chen Ling and Lin spoke to them, calling for total unity, stirring the crowd into cries for shorter working hours. As always, Chen Ling was the consummate speaker, full of fire and spirit, just as she had been back at the girls’ house when speaking of religion. Pei watched her, mesmerized. Chen Ling’s fists clenched as she moved her thick body gracefully from one side of the crowd to the other, capturing their total attention.