Portrait in Sepia

by Isabel Allende

  “I am bringing you the girl, as you always wanted, Paulina,” said Eliza sadly.

  “Dear God, what happened?” Paulina del Valle asked, caught entirely off guard.

  “My husband is dead.”

  “I see we are both widows,” murmured Paulina.

  Eliza Sommers explained that she couldn’t care for her granddaughter because she had to take Tao Chi’en’s body to China, as she had always promised she would do. Paulina del Valle rang for Williams and asked him to take the little girl out to the garden and show her the peacocks, while the two women talked.

  “When do you plan to return, Eliza?” Paulina asked.

  “It may be a very long journey.”

  “I don’t want to grow fond of the child and then in a few months have to give her back to you. It would break my heart.”

  “I promise you that won’t happen, Paulina. You can give my granddaughter a much better life than I can. I don’t belong anywhere. Without Tao, it makes no sense to live in Chinatown, but neither do I fit among Americans, and I have nothing to do in Chile. I am a foreigner everywhere, but I want Lai Ming to have roots: a family and good education. Severo del Valle, her legal father, should be the one to look after her, but he is far away, and he has other children. Since you always wanted to have the girl, I thought—”

  “You did right, Eliza!” Paulina interrupted.

  Paulina del Valle heard to the end the tragedy that had befallen Eliza Sommers, and learned all the details about Aurora, including the role Severo del Valle played in her fate. Without realizing, along the way her animosity and pride evaporated and she found herself embracing the woman whom moments before she had considered her worst enemy, thanking her for the incredible generosity of bringing her their granddaughter, and swearing to her that she would be a true grandparent—not as good undoubtedly as she and Tao Chi’en had been—but prepared to devote the rest of her life to looking after Aurora and making her happy. That would be her main mission in this world.

  “Lai Ming is a clever girl. Soon she will want to know who her father is. Until recently, she believed that her father, her grandfather, her best friend, and God were all the same person: Tao Chi’en,” said Eliza.

  “What do you want me to tell her if she asks?” Paulina wanted to know.

  “Tell her the truth, that is always the easiest to understand,” was Eliza’s counsel.

  “That my son Matías is her biological father and my nephew Severo her legal father?”

  “Why not? And tell her that her mother was named Lynn Sommers, and that she was a good and beautiful young woman,” murmured Eliza, her voice breaking.

  The two grandmothers agreed right there that to avoid confusing their granddaughter even more, it would be best to make a definitive break with her mother’s family, and that she would not speak Chinese again or have any contact with her past. At five, they concluded, children don’t reason; with time little Lai Ming would forget her origins and the trauma of recent events. Eliza Sommers promised never to attempt any form of communication with the child and Paulina del Valle promised to adore her as she would have the daughter she always wanted and never had. They said good-bye with a quick hug, and Eliza left by the service door, so her granddaughter would not see her leaving.

  I have always regretted that those two good women, my grandmothers, Eliza Sommers and Paulina del Valle, decided my future without giving me any say. With the same tenacious determination that allowed her at eighteen to escape from a convent and despite a shaved head run away with her sweetheart, and at twenty-eight to build a fortune transporting prehistoric ice by ship, my grandmother Paulina set out to erase my past. And had it not been for a slip of fate that changed her plans at the last hour, she would have succeeded. I remember very well the first impression I had of her. I see myself entering a palace high on a hill, walking through gardens with mirrors of water and trimmed hedges; I see marble steps with life-size bronze lions on either side, a double door of dark wood, and an enormous hall lighted by the stained-glass windows of a majestic cupola high in the ceiling. I had never been in a place like that; I was half fascinated, half afraid. Soon I was standing before a chair with gold medallions where Paulina del Valle was sitting, a queen on her throne. Since I saw her so many times in that same chair, it isn’t hard to picture how she looked that first day: gowned in a profusion of jewels and enough cloth to curtain a house. Imposing. Beside her, the rest of the world disappeared. She had a beautiful voice, a great natural elegance, and white, even teeth, the effect of a perfect set of porcelain dentures. I’m sure that by then her hair was gray, but she dyed it the same chestnut of her youth and added several skillfully arranged hairpieces so that her topknot always looked like a tower. I had never seen a creature of such dimensions, perfectly matched to the size and sumptuousness of her mansion. Now that finally I know everything that happened in the days preceding that moment, I understand that it isn’t fair to attribute my fear to that formidable grandmother alone. When I was taken to her house, terror was already part of my baggage, as much as the little suitcase and Chinese doll I was clinging to. After walking me through the garden and seating me in an immense empty dining room before a goblet of ice cream, Williams took me to the watercolor salon, where I thought my grandmother Eliza would be waiting; instead there was Paulina del Valle, who approached me with caution, as if she were trying to trap an elusive cat, and told me how much she loved me and that from then on I would live in that big house and have lots of dolls, and also a pony and little carriage.

  “I am your grandmother,” she added.

  “Where is my real grandmother?” they say I asked.

  “I am your real grandmother, Aurora. Your other grandmother has gone on a long trip,” Paulina explained.

  I started running. I crossed the hall of the cupola, got lost in the library, and ran into the dining room, where I crawled under the table and curled into a ball, speechless with confusion. The table was huge, with a green marble top and legs carved with figures of caryatids, impossible to move. Soon Paulina del Valle and Williams came in, and a couple of servants intending to wheedle me out of hiding, but I scooted away like a weasel as soon as a hand came near. “Leave her alone, señora, she will come out on her own,” Williams suggested, but after several hours went by and I was still dug in under the table, he brought me another tall goblet of ice cream, a pillow, and a cover. “When she falls asleep, we’ll get her out,” Paulina del Valle had said, but I didn’t sleep; instead I squatted and peed, fully aware I was doing something bad but too frightened to look for a bathroom. I stayed under the table even while Paulina was dining; from my battle trench I could see her thick legs, her tiny satin shoes with rolls of fat spilling over them, and the black trousers of the men serving dinner. Once or twice she bent down with great difficulty and winked at me, which I answered by burying my face against my knees. I was hungry, tired, and dying to go to the bathroom, but I was as proud as Paulina del Valle herself, and did not easily give up. Shortly afterward, Williams slid a tray beneath the table holding the third ice cream, cookies, and a huge slice of chocolate cake. I waited for him to go away, and when I felt safe I tried to eat, but the more I reached for the food, the farther away the tray was, which the butler was pulling by a cord. When finally I was able to pick up a cookie, I was outside my refuge, but since there was no one else in the dining room I was able to wolf down the treats in peace and fly back beneath the table as soon as I heard a noise. The same routine was repeated several hours later, as it was growing light, until, following the moving tray, I reached the door where Paulina del Valle was waiting with a yellow pup, which she placed in my arms.

  “Here, it’s for you, Aurora. This puppy is alone and frightened, too,” she said.

  “My name is Lai Ming.”

  “Your name is Aurora del Valle,” she repeated categorically.

  “Where’s the privy?” I muttered, with my legs crossed.

  And so began my relationship with the colossa
l grandmother that destiny had sent my way. I was installed in a room next to hers and was given permission to sleep with the puppy, which I named Caramelo because it was that color. At midnight I was wakened by the nightmare of the children in black pajamas, and without thinking twice I flew to the legendary bed of Paulina del Valle, the way I’d climbed every morning into my grandfather’s bed to be pampered. I was used to being welcomed in the strong arms of Tao Chi’en; nothing comforted me as much as the way he smelled of the sea and the soothing words he would whisper in Chinese, half asleep. I didn’t know that normal children never crossed the threshold of their elders’ rooms, much less climbed into their beds. I had been raised with close physical contact, endlessly kissed and rocked by my maternal grandparents; I didn’t know any form of consolation or resting besides being in someone’s arms. When she saw me, Paulina del Valle pushed me away, horrified, and I began to keen in chorus with the poor dog; we must have been so pitiful that Paulina del Valle motioned for us to come ahead. I leaped onto her bed and covered my head with the sheets. I suppose I fell immediately asleep; in any case I woke up snuggled against her huge gardenia-perfumed breasts, with the pup at our feet. The first thing I did when I woke amid the Florentine dolphins and naiads was ask about my grandparents, Eliza and Tao. I looked all through the house and the gardens for them, and then stood by the door to wait for them to come get me. I kept doing that all week, in spite of the gifts and outings and cuddling from Paulina. On Saturday I ran away. I had never been outside by myself, and I didn’t know where I was, but my instinct told me I had to go down the hill and that was how I got to the center of San Francisco, where I wandered for several hours, terrified, until I saw a pair of Chinese men with a little cartload of washing, and followed them at a careful distance because they looked like my uncle Lucky. They headed toward Chinatown—that’s where all of the laundries of the city were located—and as soon as I entered that familiar neighborhood I felt safe, even though I didn’t know the names of any streets or my grandparents’ address. I was shy and too frightened to ask for help, so I kept walking aimlessly, guided by the smell of food, the sound of the language, and the look of the hundreds of little shops I had so often passed holding my grandfather Tao Chi’en’s hand. At some moment I became too tired to go on, and I huddled in the doorway of an old building and fell asleep. I was waked by the shaking and grunts of an old woman whose fine, charcoal-painted eyebrows met over her nose, making her look as if she wore a mask. I screamed, terrified, but it was too late to get away because she was holding on with both hands. She carried me, feet kicking in the air, to an evil little room where she locked me in. The room smelled bad, and I suppose my fear and my hunger made me sick, because I began to vomit. I didn’t have any idea where I was. As soon as I was over my nausea, I began yelling for my grandfather at the top of my lungs, and then the woman came back and slapped me so hard it took my breath. No one had ever struck me, and I think I was more surprised than hurt. In Cantonese she ordered me to shut my mouth or she would beat me with a bamboo cane, then she took off my clothes and inspected me, with special attention to my mouth, ears, and genitals, put a clean shift on me, and took away my stained clothes. I was alone again in the room, which was sinking into darkness as the light faded from the one little hole for ventilation.

  I believe that adventure marked me, because twenty-five years have gone by and I still tremble when I think of those interminable hours. At that time you never saw little girls alone in Chinatown; their families kept an eagle eye on them because with the least carelessness they could disappear into the cracks of child prostitution. I was too young for that, but girls my age were often kidnapped or bought in order to be trained from childhood in all manner of depravities. The woman returned hours later, when it was black as pitch, accompanied by a younger man. They observed me by lamplight and began a heated discussion in their language, and although I knew it, I understood very little because I was so tired and scared to death. Several times I thought I heard the name of my grandfather, Tao Chi’en. They left, and again I was alone, shivering with cold and terror, I don’t know for how long. When the door opened again, the light of the lamp blinded me. I heard my name in Chinese, Lai Ming, and recognized the unmistakable voice of my uncle Lucky. His arms lifted me up and that was the last thing I knew; I was dazed with relief. I don’t remember the trip in the carriage or the moment I found myself back in the mansion on Nob Hill, facing my grandmother Paulina. Neither do I remember what happened in the weeks that followed, because I had chicken pox and was very sick. It was a confusing time, with many changes and contradictions.

  Now as I tie up the loose ends of my past, I can be absolutely sure that I was saved by the good fortune of my uncle Lucky. The woman who had kidnapped me from the street had gone to a representative of her tong, because nothing happened in Chinatown without the knowledge and approval of those associations. The entire community belonged to one tong or other, closed and zealously guarded brotherhoods that enlisted their members by demanding loyalty and commissions in exchange for protection, contacts for jobs, and the promise that they would return the bodies of their members to China should they die on American soil. That man had seen me many times holding my grandfather’s hand, and by a fortunate coincidence he belonged to the same tong as Tao Chi’en. He was the one who had called my uncle. Lucky’s first impulse was to take me home so that his new wife, ordered by catalog from China, could look after me, but then he realized that his parents’ instructions must be respected. After placing me in the hands of Paulina del Valle, my grandmother Eliza had left to take her husband’s body back to Hong Kong for burial. Both she and Tao Chi’en had always maintained that the Chinese quarter of San Francisco was too small a world for me; they wanted me to be part of the United States. Although he didn’t agree with that principle, Lucky Chi’en could not disobey the will of his parents, which was why he paid my kidnappers the agreed-upon sum and took me back to Paulina del Valle’s house. I would not see him again for more than twenty years, when I went to find him to track down the last details of my story.

  The proud family of my paternal grandparents lived in San Francisco for thirty-six years without leaving much of a trace. I have tried to follow their trail. The mansion on Nob Hill is a hotel today, and no one remembers its first owners. Paging through old newspapers in the library, I discovered many mentions of the family in the social pages, as well as the story of the statue of the Republic and my mother’s name. I also found a brief notice of the death of my grandfather, Tao Chi’en, a very laudatory obituary written by a Jacob Freemont, and an expression of condolence from the medical society stating its gratitude for the contributions the zhong-yi Tao Chi’en had made to Western medicine. That was rare, because the Chinese population was nearly invisible at that time; they were born, they lived and died, on the fringes of the American consciousness, but the prestige of Tao Chi’en surpassed the limits of Chinatown and of California. He was known even in England, where he gave a number of lectures on acupuncture. Without those printed testimonies, most of the protagonists of this story would have been borne away on the winds of oblivion.

  My escapade in Chinatown, when I went looking for my maternal grandparents, was yet another motive for Paulina del Valle’s decision to return to Chile. She understood that no sumptuous soirées or extravagances were going to restore her to the social position she had enjoyed while her husband was still alive. She was growing old alone, far from her children, her relatives, her language, and her country. What money she had left would never stretch far enough to maintain the style of life she was accustomed to in her forty-five-room mansion, but it was an enormous fortune in Chile, where everything was less expensive. In addition, a granddaughter who was a stranger to her had fallen into her lap, whom she felt obliged to uproot completely from her Chinese past if she was to make a Chilean señorita out of her. Paulina could not bear the idea that I might run away again, so she hired an English nanny to watch me day and night. She cancel
ed her plans to travel to Egypt and the banquets for the New Year, but she sped up the creation of her new wardrobe and then methodically divided her money between banks in the United States and England, sending to Chile only what was indispensable for setting up house because she considered the political situation unstable. She wrote a long letter to her nephew Severo del Valle, needing to reconcile with him and tell him what had happened to Tao Chi’en and about Eliza Sommers’s decision to leave Aurora with her, explaining in detail the advantages in having her, Paulina, raise the little girl. Severo del Valle understood her arguments and accepted her proposal, because he already had two children and his wife was expecting their third—although he refused to give Paulina legal custody, as she wanted.

  Paulina’s lawyers helped her put her finances in order and sell the mansion, while her butler, Williams, took charge of the practical aspects of organizing the family’s move to the south end of the world and of crating all his employer’s belongings—she did not want to sell anything so no one could say she needed the money. According to the plan, Paulina would take a steamship with me, the English nanny, and other trusted employees, while Williams would send the baggage to Chile and then be free, after accepting a healthy tip in pounds sterling. That was to be his last duty in Paulina del Valle’s service. One week before she left, however, the butler asked permission to speak with her in private.