by Helen Zia
At the end of the second date, Elder Sister pulled him aside: If he wanted to marry Bing, he would have to pay two thousand dollars for the travel costs plus the immigration bond. Listening in the next room, Bing stifled a gasp. That was double what Elder Sister had told the other men!
John was taken aback. Two thousand dollars was a huge sum. He was a frugal man who had worked hard to save his money as a bank teller, not a Bank of China magnate like T. V. Soong or H. H. Kung. He told Betty that he wasn’t sure and would consider her terms on his way back to New York. When he said goodbye to Bing, he spoke gently but didn’t mince words. “I like you a lot, but I have to think about it. Is your sister marrying you off or selling you?”
* * *
—
ELDER SISTER HAD A sixth sense about people—and she could smell money. She had instantly sized up John Yee: He was older than the others who were interested in Bing; he had worked for years at a bank, which had to pay more than a Chinese restaurant; and he was a Cantonese, as notorious for their thrift as Shanghainese were for their extravagance: He had surely saved plenty.
There was another reason why Betty had doubled her price. She hadn’t received a single letter from her husband or son to confirm that they had arrived safely in Denmark. Kristian was supposed to wire her money to pay for her travel to Denmark—and they might need a ticket for Bing as well if they hadn’t found a suitable husband by then. Betty couldn’t string Lee along forever. It was only a matter of time before he tired of waiting—and supporting them. She needed a fall-back strategy, just in case.
A month went by, and there was no word from John Yee. Bing figured that Elder Sister had asked for too much. She hadn’t told Elder Sister what he had said about her, but she hadn’t forgotten either. To dispel any doubts, Elder Sister insisted, “He’ll come around. You’ll see.”
In the meantime, other suitors continued to call on Bing. Word was out that she was still available. But Bing wasn’t interested. She didn’t want to start seeing someone new without knowing if she should wait for John. She liked his easy and pleasant manner. That he was older no longer concerned her. Rather, his age brought more security and stability, something she’d never known.
Bing didn’t know what she’d do if John Yee declined. She had learned of another young Chinese woman in her neighborhood who was struggling with her visa situation. Margaret Soong, a flight attendant with CNAC, the Chinese airline, had landed in the United States just after the Communist victory in Shanghai. Several CNAC pilots had defected to mainland China with the airline’s planes, but Margaret faced deportation as a stranded crew member. Luckily for her, another guest at her hotel was a well-known Catholic priest, Reverend John T. S. Mao, who tirelessly worked to find scholarships for Chinese Christian students to attend American colleges. He was helping Margaret to stay, but college wasn’t an option for Bing, whose formal education had ended in third grade.
* * *
—
ONE DAY IN MID-SEPTEMBER, a telegram arrived at long last. It was from Denmark—but sent by Kristian’s brother. Elder Sister’s husband had fallen ill on the transatlantic ship to Denmark. He’d been hospitalized as soon as the ship reached Copenhagen. Poor Ole, not knowing a word of Danish, had been living with his uncle’s family for more than two months.
The telegram ended with: COME TO DENMARK. DO NOT DELAY.
Elder Sister had to act quickly. She didn’t have enough money to get to Denmark. But her best prospect was John Yee in New York. She went to a pay phone and called his sister in Oakland. “Hello, Florence? This is Betty—you remember me, Betty Woo from Shanghai? Your brother John was interested in marrying my sister? We have to leave for Denmark soon. Can you let your brother know? If he wants to marry Bing, he better not waste any time, or she’ll be gone.”
John Yee got the message. Bing seemed like a sweet girl. She was more beautiful and had a nicer disposition than he’d hoped for. She didn’t mind if he took her to cafeterias and other cheap places and didn’t seem like the pampered wives of rich Chinatown merchants who played mah-jongg all day and flaunted their wealth. But two thousand dollars was an incredible sum. It couldn’t possibly have cost that much to bring her to the United States. That was almost his entire life savings in America, squeezed from decades of work in the menial jobs relegated to Chinese. He’d gone to night school to learn basic bookkeeping and to improve his English. Only after that had he been able to work his way into a teller’s job.
On the other hand, he had been widowed for so long, and there were few potential Chinese brides in the United States. He liked the way she treated her nephew—she’d be a good mother if he was lucky enough to have children. But she was so young. Would she really want to be with a man more than twice her age? He had lied when he’d told the elder sister that he was only forty.
John turned to his boss and closest friend—Berne Lee, the manager of his bank branch—for advice. Berne had given him the chance to work there when it had first opened in New York many years earlier. Back then, Chinese hadn’t trusted banks and had been especially hesitant about one headquartered in China. Chinese-language newspapers, even in faraway America, ran stories about China’s bank failures, currency collapses, and rampant corruption. To win over customers, John and Berne had gone door to door, tenement by tenement, educating restaurant workers, laundrymen, sailors, and merchants in Chinatown about banks and how their money would be safer in one—and earn interest. The two men succeeded in getting enough deposits to sustain the Chinatown branch of the Bank of China on the Bowery. Moreover, Berne was one of the few married men in Chinatown. He would know what to do.
John presented his worries to his good friend: the money, Bing’s youth, the domineering sister. The fact that he had already used up all his vacation time on his recent trip. Berne addressed each point. If John needed more money, Berne would help him out. In the special case of an employee’s marriage, the bank would give him another month off. As to the sister and Bing’s age, Berne asked John: “Do you love her? Could you love her? If you love her, you’ll be able to work things out.”
His friend’s questions gave John pause. Yes, he could love her. In fact, he must have had feelings for her if he was still considering the outrageous demand from her sister, plus the additional cost of going back to California. He was a cautious and thrifty man—for any other girl, he would have walked away without a moment’s thought.
The next day, John called his sister with the following message: Tell Bing he would like to marry her. He could get back there in two weeks.
* * *
—
BING WAS THRILLED. It was already October, and her visa would be expiring on November 26. Now she didn’t have to go to Denmark. At least in America, she could get by in English. She didn’t know John Yee well enough to love him, not the way people did in the movies, but she liked him. She hadn’t expected much in this search for a husband, and she could have done worse. Here was somebody who really wanted her. Her own father and mother hadn’t wanted her. Her first adoptive mother, Mama Hsu, hadn’t wanted her. John Yee wanted her enough to pay two thousand dollars. Yes, she could marry him.
Elder Sister seemed more excited than Bing—she grabbed the bride-to-be and danced around singing, “Happy days are here again!” while Peter doubled over in laughter at the sight of them.
Suddenly the cottage on Broadway was abuzz with activity. With the cash she had on hand, Elder Sister began to assemble Bing’s modest trousseau: new shoes, nightgowns, lingerie. A coat for the cold New York weather. They found a tailor to sew some new dresses for Bing. A wedding gown to be worn only once would be too extravagant. Instead, they selected a special fabric for a dress that she could wear again.
Travel plans, too, had to be made. Elder Sister reserved a passage to Denmark for herself and Peter. They’d take a train to New York and from there board the ship to Copenhagen. She didn’t know w
hat she would discover there, whether Kristian would be too ill to leave Denmark. But war and chaos had taught Elder Sister to prepare for the worst, just in case. She needed an alternate plan.
If things didn’t work out in Denmark, Elder Sister decided she would return to America. But she learned that a bank account in the United States with at least two thousand dollars was required for an immigrant visa. John Yee’s “dowry” would buy her tickets to Denmark, but it was not enough to gain her reentry into the United States. She would have to sell some of her jewelry. She picked out her most expensive piece: the diamond solitaire that Kristian had given her before they were married. She hated to part with it, but this wasn’t a time to be sentimental. Refugees everywhere had to barter and sell whatever they had in order to survive. And she was a survivor.
Elder Sister knew exactly whom to approach about her ring: “Sugar Daddy” Lee. Since he was supporting her on the promise of marriage once she divorced Kristian, he’d be glad that she was getting rid of the wedding ring.
When Lee returned to the cottage that night, Betty was dressed to kill.
“Lee, darling, I have good news,” she purred. “My dreadful husband has finally wired me that he’s ready for the divorce.” She’d be leaving for Denmark soon, she explained, and when she returned, she’d marry him. She also told him about the two-thousand-dollar requirement for the return visa. “Can you help me to get a good price for my wedding ring? I won’t need it anymore.” The big diamond flashed brightly as she showed off the ring. “We paid five thousand U.S. dollars for it ten years ago,” she said, inflating the price with her Shanghai bravado. “Can you get that for me, darling?”
Pleased to hear that her divorce was on the way, Lee examined the ring closely and grunted. “Five thousand dollars? Is it the Hope Diamond? Don’t worry; I have some pawnshop pals who know diamonds. Leave it to me.”
The next night, Lee returned. “My buddies say that you were snookered if you paid five grand for this ring. The best they can do is twenty-five hundred dollars.”
Betty appeared to mull this over. She objected briefly at the prospect of such a loss. After pausing a beat, she agreed to sell. Bing knew that under her poker face, Elder Sister was pleased. Lee left, promising to sell the ring the next day. Alone with Bing, Elder Sister shared an excited whisper. “He got a good price. Now we’re in business!” The next day, Lee came by and plunked down twenty-five hundred dollars in cash. Elder Sister promptly opened a savings account, crossing that big hurdle for a return to America if she wished.
* * *
—
THE GOLDEN MID-OCTOBER SUNLIGHT streamed into their cottage as Bing answered the knock on the door. It was John Yee, standing outside with a suitcase in one hand and a bouquet of daisies in the other. He had just arrived from New York, and his first stop was to see Bing.
Without even a hello, he looked at her intently. “Are you sure you want to marry me and live in New York?” he asked almost shyly.
Bing returned his gaze without flinching. She nodded and replied in a firm voice, “Yes, I’m sure.”
John smiled broadly and handed Bing the flowers.
By then, Betty had rushed to the door. John reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a fat envelope, handing it to her. “Here’s two thousand dollars. Please count it,” he requested. “I don’t want to hear that I shortchanged you.” When she’d finished counting and was satisfied, he asked, “Do I get a receipt?” His tone was jovial, but Bing sensed he was only half joking.
Elder Sister replied, “She’s all yours—after the wedding.”
“Then let’s not waste time,” he said, taking Bing by the hand and leading her to get blood tests, then to city hall for the marriage license. They would go to Reno, Nevada, where they could get married without delay by a justice of the peace. Bing packed a small bag and headed out the door.
Before going to Reno, they stopped in Oakland to see John’s sister Florence. In anticipation, Florence had spent days preparing a traditional Taishan herbal concoction to enhance the young bride’s health and fertility.
Florence handed Bing a cup filled with dark, thick fluid. “Just drink it fast,” Florence instructed. “It will help make things easier for you. Tonight.” She gave Bing a knowing smile.
Bing hesitated. She wanted to please her soon-to-be sister-in-law. She had no choice but to raise the foul-smelling liquid to her mouth. She downed it. Almost immediately, Bing became woozy and started gagging. She remembered that she had experienced this once before.
“Is there alcohol in the drink?” Bing gasped in between spasms. “I’m very allergic.”
“Only a half bottle of whiskey,” Florence replied. “Not much.”
Bing’s skin broke out in an itchy rash. She felt ill during the entire trip to Reno. She could barely remember how she got there or the marriage ceremony itself. That night at the hotel, Bing felt miserable, her wedding night a bust. The special Chinese concoction had made nothing easier for her, no matter what Florence believed. The next day, Bing and John went back to Oakland to visit his extended family for a few days. A relative who owned a Chinese restaurant held a big wedding banquet. Two hundred members of the large Yee family came, but Elder Sister couldn’t get there from San Francisco. The only people Bing knew were John and Florence. She couldn’t talk with her wedding guests because everyone spoke in the Toisan dialect.
Another bride might have pouted, but Bing didn’t mind. She was used to being on the margins, and it didn’t bother her, not even at her own wedding party. Her every smile and nod was a genuine reflection of her happiness: She’d have her own home, her own place with John Yee. Soon she and John would leave for New York. Bing had spent all her life following the wishes of others. Now she would make her own path.
GUANGZHOU AND NANJING, 1950
A large smudge of dried tears blurred the train window next to Doreen where she had pressed her damp cheek to catch a final glimpse of Benny and her mother before they disappeared from view. Her mother had chased after the train, not stopping until she reached the very end of the platform, her arms outstretched as if to pull Doreen back.
Doreen had had to fight the desire to run through the train, toward the retreating figure. What kind of daughter was she to spurn her mother’s wrenching appeal, especially when her mother had never before asked anything of her? She had managed to calm herself by resting her gaze on Benny as he waved her on. His reassuring smile seemed to telegraph that she was doing the right thing. That she’d be okay.
As the steady chug of the train lulled other passengers to sleep, Doreen imagined the other life she might have had, unblemished by war and treason. Now nineteen, she’d have been heading off to college and, one day, would have had a beautiful wedding. Her smart and charming elder brother would have been a doctor, a statesman, or possibly one of Shanghai’s notorious playboys, the spoiled sons of the rich and mighty who had no purpose in life but to revel in the city’s decadence. Instead of living that fanciful dream, she was sitting on this train packed with other refugees from the Communists. Instead of lightness and joy, she felt weighed down by the guilt of leaving her mother and for taking Benny’s ticket—his chance to make a new life for himself.
How would she manage on her own? She’d been the pampered third daughter, cared for by servants. Even after her father was jailed and her mother left them, Doreen had never had to shoulder any responsibility. Benny had watched out for her. Now she was headed to a foreign place to stay with a sister she hadn’t seen in four years, a brother-in-law and children she’d never met.
Alone and penniless on this train full of strangers, without food or a change of clothing, Doreen was finally running out of tears. She sat staring out the blurry window during the three-day trip, oblivious to all but the lurch of the train, her regrets, and her doubts. But Benny had told her to go to the YWCA. She would do as he’d said.
By the next day, a family seated nearby took pity on the sad girl traveling alone. Their hunchbacked grandmother with kind eyes handed Doreen a cold yam. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she devoured it, skin and all.
Doreen wondered what would become of her family. Everyone she knew had always referred to the Communists as “Red Bandits” or worse. Her father’s White Russian bodyguards warned anyone who would listen about the evils of Communism. The Nationalists blamed Communists for everything bad in China. And now the Communists had actually taken over.
As the train pulled into Guangzhou, Doreen tried to shake off her melancholy. She had to figure out how to get to the YWCA. At least this train station was smaller and less overwhelming than Shanghai’s. Doreen still possessed the big-city savvy of a Shanghai girl. Speaking in the Guangzhou dialect she had learned from her grandparents and extended Pan family, she asked some railway clerks for help. With their directions, she climbed into a pedicab, hoping her face wouldn’t reveal that she didn’t have a single yuan.
When she arrived at the Y, Doreen asked the driver to wait while she ran inside for help. A Chinese woman in plain Western clothes was expecting her. “You must be Doreen,” the woman said in English. “I’m Miss Ling, the YWCA director. Your brother called me. I’ll take care of the pedicab. And don’t worry; you’ll be safe here.”
Miss Ling explained that Benny had gone to the Shanghai YMCA office and, from there, contacted the YWCA in Guangzhou about his sister’s dire circumstances. After paying for the pedicab, Miss Ling took Doreen to the large kitchen. The cook prepared a simple meal for her. Though Doreen was famished, she tried to eat politely in front of Miss Ling, to show that she wasn’t like a hungry beggar. As she summoned all her willpower to keep from gulping her soup, Miss Ling spoke. “You can stay here as long as you need. I’m sure we have spare clothes that will fit you. After you’ve rested, I’ll show you some work you can do in our office to earn your keep.” Soon Doreen collapsed on a cot in a large dormitory room inhabited by other women like herself who had nowhere else to stay. But thanks to Benny, she was now only a few hours by train from her sister in Hong Kong.
