Last Boat Out of Shanghai

by Helen Zia

  On her way back to the rooming house, Bing took a route along Stockton Street into the Italian area of North Beach. She noticed that there were few Chinese beyond Columbus Avenue. People glared at her with long hard looks that made her uncomfortable. It was different from the admiring stares she got in Chinatown, where men rushed to the doors and windows of every restaurant and shop to gawk as she walked by. She ignored them all, tossing her permed hair back and keeping her head high, as any Shanghai miss would.

  Bing was equally curious about these inhabitants of Chinatown. If it weren’t for their faces, the calligraphy on shop signs, and a few fake-looking pagodas, Bing wouldn’t have recognized anything Chinese about the place. Moreover, the majority of residents were from the Taishan region of Guangdong Province, far to the south of Shanghai. Bing couldn’t make sense of their Toisan dialect. To communicate, Bing was forced to use the bits of English she had picked up from Kristian and Elder Sister. At first, Bing felt self-conscious about it, but soon she realized that she knew enough to get by.

  Elder Sister hadn’t been idle either. With only a few days’ rent left at the rooming house, “Betty Woo” had gone to work in search of eligible bachelors for Bing—at the better restaurants and business establishments, family association halls and social clubs, even some fancy nightclubs. It wasn’t hard to find them. The draconian Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which had barred most Chinese from entering the United States, had been repealed in 1943 to keep China in the Allied fold. But a quota was immediately imposed that limited immigration to 105 Chinese each year—from any country in the world. But the decades of restrictive laws had forced Chinatown to be a bachelor society by excluding almost all Chinese women, and barring Chinese men already in the United States from becoming citizens or marrying American women. Still, Elder Sister didn’t want just any bachelor for Bing. He had to have a future, U.S. citizenship, or a green card—and enough money to repay Elder Sister for Bing’s passage to America. On her very first foray, Elder Sister found a prospect and invited the young man to the rooming house to meet Bing.

  * * *

  —

  AT THE APPOINTED TIME, Bing waited nervously in the front hall of their building. Because she had entered the United States on a visitor visa, she knew that she would have to find a man to marry within six months if she wanted to stay in the country. She wasn’t as picky as Elder Sister, but she had standards too. She made a hasty appraisal of the young Chinese fellow who approached the door: He was tall and slender with his hair slicked back, neatly dressed in a buttoned cardigan sweater over his shirt and slacks. He looks pleasant enough, Bing thought. And very American.

  “You must be Bing,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m Raymond. Your sister said to come by and meet you.”

  Bing nodded. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” She spoke slowly and carefully in her best English.

  He looked relieved. “Good, you speak English. Can you speak Toisan?” he asked.

  “No. I speak Shanghai dialect. And some Mandarin. Do you?”

  When he shook his head, she added, “That’s okay. I understand your English. You sound just like an American.”

  “Well, I’d better talk like an American,” he laughed. “I was younger than that little guy when I got here.” He nodded toward Peter. “Say, would you like to go for a walk and some lunch?”

  With Peter as her chaperone, Bing walked with Raymond to Portsmouth Square, a pleasant little park at the edge of Chinatown. They strolled to the Ferry Building, where Raymond pointed out the graceful Bay Bridge. “I stood right there along the Embarcadero when the bridge opened in 1936,” he said proudly.

  Back in Chinatown, Raymond took Bing and Peter to a luncheonette on Waverly Place that was busy with local Chinese. Raymond ordered a “combo” lunch—a new word for Bing—with thick pieces of tenderized beef in heavy brown gravy, fried rice, an egg roll, and wonton soup. Bing noted that she’d never seen such food in China. Amused, Raymond explained that in America, Chinese had to make do with the local ingredients to prepare food that non-Chinese would eat. “Bok wai are afraid to try food that is too different,” he said, using the Toisanese word for “white devil.” Bing liked his forthright manner, how he told her about America without showing off, the way some Shanghai boys might. “If the bok wai didn’t eat Chinese food, we would starve to death. Even educated Chinese can’t find work in America except in laundries and restaurants.” Raymond himself worked as a waiter in Chinatown, on the evening shift that didn’t end until late at night, after other Chinatown workers finished their workdays and grabbed some supper at the local restaurants.

  With her arrival in San Francisco, on May 28, 1949, Bing hoped that her life would be better in America—or Denmark—than it had been in China.

  Raymond walked Bing back to the rooming house. After Bing thanked him and took Peter to their room for his nap, Elder Sister asked Raymond to chat.

  “My sister is a wonderful girl, don’t you think?” Betty purred in honey-laced tones.

  When Raymond agreed, Betty pressed on. “A lot of young men will be interested in marrying her, but I want to make sure she finds a good man with a future in America. Do you have a job? A green card?” After he nodded yes to both, Elder Sister smiled and told him how pleased she was. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “We have a problem. Because of the Communists, we left China in such a hurry that we have very little money to live on. Any man who is serious about my sister must first pay me back one thousand dollars for her boat ticket and the bond.”

  Raymond gave a long low whistle. “You might as well ask for the moon! Not many guys in Chinatown have that kind of money.”

  To keep from losing Bing’s potential suitor, Elder Sister changed her tone to cushion the blow. “Don’t worry about it now; maybe you have some friends who can help you out if you really like her. But don’t wait too long. We could be deported if I don’t get some financial help soon.” Looking up at Raymond through her eyelashes, she had an idea. “Maybe young guys like you don’t have much money, but do you know of any older men? I’m going to divorce my old man. Maybe there’s someone you can introduce me to?”

  At first Raymond said nothing and sucked on his teeth. Then he offered, “I know a fellow who’s Cantonese, but I’ve heard him say he’d like to meet a Shanghai lady. His name’s Lee Chou. He’s kind of flashy, but you might like that.” He took a good, long look at Betty, assessing her carefully. “I’ll find out if he’d like to meet you. Maybe he can help you out.”

  Raymond decided not to pursue Bing, but he kept to his word about Lee. Within days, a mustachioed Chinese man in a zoot suit, looking to be in his forties, came to visit Elder Sister. She was ready for him, dressed in her most alluring red qipao, complete with padded bra, girdle, handbag, and matching red high heels.

  “Elder Sister, you look like a movie star,” Bing said admiringly before going to answer the door. She knew that she’d never come close to achieving her sister’s special appeal.

  Betty touched up her lipstick. “Thanks, Bing. Wish me luck,” she said with a wink.

  If Lee was looking for a Shanghai bombshell, Betty was TNT. He took her to the Forbidden City, Chinatown’s swanky nightclub, for dinner and a show. Before the evening was over, he asked Betty to marry him. Betty was ready with her pitch: She liked him plenty but couldn’t marry him until she divorced her husband in Denmark, which she intended to do after he sent for her. In the meantime, she could be deported because in a week they’d run out of cash and had nowhere to go.

  Without hesitation, Lee offered to find a place for her, Bing, and Peter if Betty would marry him after her divorce. She agreed.

  The next day, Lee rented a three-room cottage on Broadway, a few blocks beyond the north edge of Chinatown. He outfitted the place with furniture, dishes, and cookware, whatever they needed. Bing, Elder Sister, and Peter took two rooms, while Lee sle
pt in a small room off the kitchen. He even gave Elder Sister cash for groceries.

  With their rental at the rooming house coming to an end, Lee’s timing was perfect. Bing was astonished that he was so generous with them—and that he had accepted Elder Sister’s terms. He demanded nothing and was never at the cottage except to sleep—in his own room. He didn’t seem to have a job, yet he always had money. Bing wondered if he was a gangster. She kept her speculations to herself, though, not wanting to be disrespectful to Elder Sister.

  With their living arrangements secure, Betty forged ahead to snare Bing a husband. “If your visa runs out before we find you a man with a green card to marry, you’ll have to come with me to Denmark. There, you’ll have to get married too—and in Denmark, there are only white men to choose from.” Bing agreed that she’d be better off with a Chinese husband in America. She would accept whatever fate had in store, as she had always done. “Don’t worry,” Elder Sister said. “You’re young and pretty. Men are like dogs; they’ll come sniffing. I’ll find you a nice one.”

  Raymond continued to stop by on occasion, just as a friend. Sometimes he’d take Bing and Peter out for a matinee at the Great Star Theater in Chinatown or for lunch at Clinton’s Cafeteria, a popular place for lofan—meaning non-Chinese or “foreigners” in Cantonese. Bing enjoyed his insights on America. It was well known in Chinatown, he told her, that many Chinese were “paper sons” or “paper daughters” with questionable immigration documents. In the big San Francisco earthquake and fire in 1906, all the city birth records had been destroyed—creating an opportunity for a few generations of Chinese, mostly from Guangdong Province, to claim an American-born Chinese father whose wife had been forced to stay in China because of the exclusion laws. This allowed the reputed offspring to be admitted into the United States as citizens—if they could convince immigration inspectors. It was a difficult route into the United States, involving lengthy imprisonment with many months of grueling interrogations at Angel Island Immigration Station in San Francisco Bay. But it was worth it for those who passed the questioning and were allowed to enter the country. According to Raymond, many of the people in Chinatown had this kind of paper trail.

  No one Bing met would ever admit to being a paper son, not when the INS was eager to deport almost every Chinese. But several suitors cautioned her to be wary as she went about her quest for a citizen or permanent resident to marry before her visa expired. Some of the stories they told her sent chills down her spine—about Chinese who had been targeted and lynched by mobs of angry white devils in California and elsewhere; about harsh, selective enforcement by immigration agents against Chinese and other Asians, often leading to imprisonment and deportation. She had to be alert, some warned, because INS snitches were everywhere, ready to pounce on any Chinese with false papers. Bing began to wonder if she’d be better off in Denmark.

  Raymond admonished her to stay away from Chinatown slicks who ran illegal gambling parlors. These gangsters kidnapped girls to work as prostitutes, he said, and they had guns. “You’re a sweet kid, and people may take your kindness for weakness. Your sister knows how the game is played. Stick close to her. If you get in trouble, don’t bother with the lofan police. They won’t help a Chinese,” he added. Raymond offered to help Bing get a job harvesting flowers at farms in San Jose. “They’re always looking for field workers. The pay is seventy-five cents an hour. Off the books,” he told Bing, lowering his voice.

  Bing listened politely to Raymond’s ideas, but she couldn’t risk getting caught by the INS. Besides, a proper Shanghai girl wouldn’t work as a field hand, to become as stoop-backed and brown-skinned as farmers in China. Hearing the difficulties of other Chinese in America made her both anxious and grateful that her own dubious papers hadn’t been detected on the ship. Bing had her paper secrets too. Elder Sister warned her never to utter a word about her forged passport to anyone.

  Elder Sister also reminded Bing to keep her adoption a secret. But Bing already knew too well the stigma of being abandoned and adopted. She had been the empty bottle, not worth keeping. Who would want to marry a girl who didn’t know her parents’ names or her birth date? Bing was immeasurably grateful to Elder Sister for treating her like a real sister and presenting her to the world as her own flesh and blood. Of course Bing would never reveal this secret.

  Some of the suitors caught her attention. Bing especially liked one handsome fellow who took her and Peter to lunch at Woolworth’s, in fancy Union Square, just beyond Chinatown. Almost all of the people in that busy square were lofan. Bing was charmed by the young man’s kind disposition. He worked at a restaurant and seemed to like her. After “the talk” with Elder Sister, Bing was surprised that he still wanted to see her. Could it mean something more?

  On their next date, he took her and her ever-present young chaperone to an ice-skating show in downtown San Francisco. Bing had a fun afternoon with him, and on the way back to the cottage on Broadway, they stopped and sat in a park while Peter chased pigeons.

  “I like you a lot, Bing,” he said, “but what your sister is asking for is impossible. This is our last time out. I thought I’d show you a good time because I won’t be coming back.”

  Bing looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ve treated me very well. Thank you for everything.”

  Before he left, he offered a parting thought. “You know, a lot of guys say to watch out for Shanghai girls; they’re out to hustle you. You’re not like that at all. But your sister is something else.”

  Bing didn’t mind saying goodbye to him—or any of them. She had learned years before not to get too close to anyone. Still, she was beginning to worry that the price Elder Sister was asking of her suitors was too high. Or could her bad luck be following her from Shanghai?

  Elder Sister, however, wasn’t waiting for luck to find them. “You make your own luck,” she insisted. Instead of resting on the largesse of Lee, her unwitting benefactor, she’d been conducting her own reconnaissance to follow the money in Chinatown. Early in Chinatown’s history, having been largely ignored and disenfranchised by the city’s politicians, the Chinese had developed their own network of governance, with powerful associations organized by occupation, ancestral hometowns, and family clans. Betty sashayed her way through the various headquarters, which were almost entirely male.

  One of the most influential organizations in Chinatown was the Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association, which handled the community’s relations with San Francisco’s mainstream society. It was staunchly loyal to the Nationalists, whose defeat in China only intensified the organization’s anti-Communist fervor. Chiang Kai-shek’s portrait hung inside its main hall, along with a prominent display of the Nationalist flag. Signs of the civil war and ideological divisions were ever present in Chinatowns everywhere. The blood feuds, internecine accusations, political surveillance, and gang thuggery reminded Betty of occupied Shanghai. She was on familiar ground.

  Mustering all the appeal of a sophisticated Shanghai lady, Betty charmed and teased the prominent elders of Chinatown. One, a lawyer with the surname Yee, belonged to the large Yee Family Association. Betty wasted no time in telling him about her beautiful, innocent, and marriageable sister—and the quandary of her visa. “She has big eyes, full lips, and a nice shape—and she can cook! She’ll be a great catch for some lucky guy,” Betty assured him. The lawyer happened to know of a fellow clansman, John Yee of New York City, who was visiting relatives in neighboring Oakland, across the bay. According to the lawyer, John Yee was a fortyish widower who worked for a bank and was looking for a wife.

  Betty arranged for John to meet Bing at the cottage. When the portly, balding man approached, Bing felt a moment of panic. He looked old enough to be her father. If he was truly forty, he was twice her age. As Elder Sister went to the door, she reminded Bing that Kristian was thirty years older than she. Bing calmed herself and looked more closely. The m
an had a genial smile. He was wearing a suit, something none of the other men she had dated owned, and he brought her flowers. Since he spoke Chinese in the Toisan dialect, they conversed in English.

  “I’m very glad to meet you, Bing,” he said, bowing slightly. “Would you care to join me for lunch?”

  Bing suppressed a giggle. He was so formal. “I’m happy to join you for lunch. Would you mind if my nephew Peter joins us?”

  “Of course,” he replied with a cheerful smile.

  They went to Sam Wo, an inexpensive eatery where Bing had gone with other suitors. But John Yee seemed different. Unlike many of the other men, he didn’t just talk about himself—he wanted to know about her. Bing painted a bright but vague picture, careful not to hint at her difficulties. She learned that John Yee’s wife had died years before and they’d had no children. He had lived in New York’s Chinatown for many years, working as a teller with the Bank of China. He was taking a month’s vacation to visit his sister and brother who lived and worked in Oakland. He told her stories about New York and asked her about her life in Shanghai.

  When lunch was over, he asked Bing if she’d like to see him again. She paused. She liked his gentle personality. He seemed kind and cheerful, with a ready smile. His employer was one of the biggest banks under the Nationalist government. That seemed more promising than a restaurant or laundry. Bing answered that she’d be glad to see him again.

  They met the next day for lunch. Bing felt safe and secure in his presence. Since he was staying with his sister in Oakland, he had to take a ferry or a bus all the way to San Francisco to meet her. That impressed Bing as well. Timing was a problem, though, as his vacation would end soon, and he’d have to return to New York.