Falling Leaves: The Memoir of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter Page 23

  Our tour guide was furious when I invited my aunt to lunch with us at the eleventh-floor dining room of the Jinjiang Hotel. He scolded her for not knowing her place and abusing my hospitality. Bob and I did not hide our anger. With the support of members of our tour group, Aunt Baba was eventually served lunch but refused to set foot in the dining-room again.

  On each of the five days we spent in Shanghai I collected my aunt and she would take her hot bath in our hotel room. There wasn’t time enough for all we wanted to say to each other.

  I offered to buy my aunt an apartment in Shanghai which was being erected at a site close to our hotel. She declined, saying that she had no wish to leave her neighbourhood. ‘I have lived in the same lane since 1943,’ she told me. ‘This is my home. The only place I wish to move to is our old house at No. 15. If you can get it back for me, I shall die happy.’ Two years later, Bob and I were able to procure the house on her behalf and she lived there till she died.

  I asked her if she regretted staying behind in Shanghai.

  Her answer was an unequivocal no. ‘It has been bad here. All those campaigns and struggle meetings. The savagery of the Cultural Revolution. Poverty, hardship and fear. Quite honestly though, all the miseries put together were more tolerable than living under the same roof as your Niang. I am content with cu cha dan fan (coarse tea and plain rice).

  ‘I often think of life as a deposit of time. We are each allocated so many years, just like a fixed sum in a bank. When twenty-four hours have passed I have spent one more day. I read in the People’s Daily that the average life expectancy for a Chinese woman is seventy-two. I am already seventy-four years old. I spent all my deposits two years ago and am on bonus time. Every day is already a gift. What is there to complain of?’

  Our eyes met. The defiant courage I saw in hers stunned me. Then in a voice whose forcefulness contrasted strangely with the frailty of her body, she declared, ‘The way I see it, the nineteenth century was a British century. The twentieth century is an American century. I predict that the twenty-first century will be a Chinese century. The pendulum of history will swing from the ying ashes brought by the Cultural Revolution to the yang phoenix arising from its wreckage.’

  CHAPTER 24

  Yin Shui Si Yuan

  While Drinking Water, Remember the Source

  Our tour group flew into Beijing on New Year’s Eve, arriving on a sunny but cold afternoon. On the roof of the new airport terminal, a giant photograph of Chairman Mao beamed down, flanked by two huge scarlet Chinese characters, Beijing (Northern Capital). Through loudspeakers came the lilting Mandarin of a female announcer, ‘Beijing welcomes you!’

  As we emerged from an immigration booth, a small, stocky middle-aged Chinese woman rushed towards us. Her black hair was badly dyed and she wore a brown coat with a fake fur collar. ‘Wu mei!’ she called, Wu mei (Fifth Younger Sister) ! Is that you?’

  No one had called me wu mei since those forlorn days of my Shanghai childhood. She was now standing in front of me, smiling from ear to ear. Something about her posture, the shoulders a little lopsided and uneven, the roundish flat face tilted, the semi-paralysed left hand held tightly by her right with all ten fingers interlaced, struck a chord from long ago. Involuntarily my tongue twisted into the familiar Chinese language of early childhood. Jie jie (Elder Sister),’ I answered respectfully. ‘It is I.’

  Though I was not expecting anyone, my sister Lydia and her entire family had travelled from Tianjin to greet us at the airport. Aunt Baba had telephoned from Shanghai and given her our itinerary. It had been thirty-one years since I had last seen her and her husband. I had never set eyes on their children.

  As we stood side by side, I realized that I was now an inch or two taller than Lydia. Excitedly, she gestured towards the rest of her family. Samuel was then already in his sixties, dressed in a Mao suit covered by a shiny, dark blue vinyl overcoat and worker’s cap. Behind him stood a tall young man, their 27-year-old son, Tai-way, and their diminutive thirty-year-old daughter, Tai-ling.

  Our tour group was booked to stay in the massive Friendship Hotel. Built by the Soviets in the 1950s, it retained a distinctly Russian feel in both its architecture and formal, landscaped gardens, reminding me of photographs I had seen of the tsars’ winter palaces. Lydia and her family had made reservations at the same hotel. Their taxi followed our tour bus and we checked in together. I cringed when I saw some bellboys rudely shoving Samuel aside while respectfully ushering a few straggling members of our tour group to the front of the queue.

  After dinner, Bob and I went to their suite as arranged. Their daughter Tai-ling was unwell and had already retired for the night. The five of us sat down to begin what was to become a very long evening.

  In a tone full of remorse, Lydia confessed, ‘It’s painful to remember how neglected you were as a child. I was especially at fault because, as the eldest, I should have set an example. This I failed to do. Being the youngest and therefore the most insignificant stepchild, you were not only slighted but often bullied by all of us. My only excuse is that I was only a child myself. Besides, we were not encouraged to be loyal to each other because Niang was afraid that we might unite against her.

  ‘When you were little, our parents made it clear that you were unwanted and expendable. Sometimes, Niang even said out loud that you were abominable.

  ‘When Father and Niang came to Tianjin in 1948, Niang gave orders that I was not to visit you at St Joseph’s school or take you out during the holidays. She stressed that she would not tolerate any disobedience and that the nuns had been instructed to send her regular reports. At that time, I was too miserable myself to think about you. I was wrong and I beg your forgiveness.’

  Lydia blamed Samuel for his ‘stupidity’ in bringing the family back to China in 1950 and spoke of their misfortune as if he had been personally responsible. It was his fault that the Red Guards had shaved half of her head, locked her in a closet and sent her children away to rural communes. All the while Samuel sat beside Lydia with a frozen half smile on his face. The room was hot and I could see beads of sweat on his bald forehead. There was no change in his expression. Not one muscle twitched.

  ‘Over the years I have repeatedly written to our parents begging for help. They have not even acknowledged my letters. Niang is a sick woman seething with hate. I know her well. What she enjoys most are intrigues. The more we suffer, the happier she is.

  ‘You are the only one in our family who has the courage to do what is right and to defy Niang. Gregory and Edgar are self-centred and stingy. Susan and I are too far apart in age. James is an honest man but he has always been a ‘yes’ man and he lacks guts.’

  Lydia then came to the point. She wanted nothing for herself or Samuel. Tai-ling was as good as settled because she had a very nice boyfriend in Tianjin and had no wish to leave China. Besides, both Samuel and she were getting on in years and needed their daughter around them. But for Tai-way, she made out an impressive case. ‘My two children are as diverse as day and night. My daughter is selfish and difficult but my son has a kind and loyal heart. He is also a very talented musician, and has won many piano competitions. He is studying under Liu Shi-kuen, the renowned winner of the Tchaikovsky piano competition in Moscow. I beg of you to give him a chance and sponsor him to go to university in America.’

  Lydia now turned to her son. ‘Tai-way has a few words to say to you himself.’

  Tai-way spoke in Mandarin, ‘Fifth Aunt, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. It’s very kind of you to take time out to meet us. From what my mother told me, I understand that you had to struggle hard to arrive at where you are today. Perhaps you could find it in your heart to give me a helping hand.’

  He told us how his education had been suspended for ten years because of the upheavals of the Cultural Revolution. He was sent to a commune in Shanxi Province where conditions were primitive and food was scarce. Instead of attending school, he worked on the farm as a common labourer. All this wo
uld have been bearable if there had been a glimmer of hope for the future. But that was an impossible dream in China.

  ‘Sometimes, when I think of what my life will be in ten or twenty years, I am filled with despair. I can see myself playing the piano somewhere in a remote village, teaching music to indifferent schoolchildren, or accompanying amateur performances put on by peasants. I would be eking out a living trying to keep body and soul together, probably still writing begging letters to your Aunt Baba for food packages.

  ‘My father has rich relatives in Taiwan and my mother’s parents live in Hong Kong. But nobody is willing to help me. It is useless and demeaning to write to them any more.

  ‘I have no one else to turn to. You are my only hope. Please help me go to America and I will be grateful to you for as long as I live.’

  I was filled with compassion for this young man who happened to be my nephew. I did not have the heart to refuse him. Wiping away a tear with a large, old-fashioned handkerchief, Lydia added, ‘What we are asking you to do is a lot: to risk Niang’s wrath by sponsoring Tai-way. You could even be disowned yourself if they find out you’re helping us. Whatever you decide I’m glad we had this evening together for a heart-to-heart talk. No matter what happens, I’ll always love you. Yin shui si yuan (While drinking water, remember the source).’

  Many thoughts came to my mind. It seemed quite unfair that I should have been given so much while life was dealing her such a disastrous hand. Was this meeting one of those ‘crossroads’ to test my mettle? If the roles were reversed, and I had been the one left behind in Communist China, I would certainly be grateful for a helping hand from my sister.

  I felt that I had no alternative and promised them I would be happy to do what I could for Tai-way. I added that I would ask for contributions from all our siblings, hoping that Tai-way’s education in the West might be the catalyst uniting us at last.

  On my return to America I was able to enrol Tai-way at the University of Southern California. I signed the affidavit of support and he arrived a few months later. For the next fourteen months we treated him like a second son.

  During his second year, he transferred to the University of Indiana where Leonard Bernstein advised him to pursue his musical career in Germany. A year later, he left for Stuttgart and became financially independent after gaining employment as an accompanist at a ballet theatre. We continued to keep in constant touch with him.

  In 1983 Professor John Leland, a close friend and colleague of Bob’s, was scheduled to spend a sabbatical year at the University of Tianjin. We introduced him to Samuel and Lydia. He and his wife befriended the whole Sung family. We were delighted to hear that he was able to procure a full scholarship at the University of North Carolina for Tai-ling when her romance fizzled. Lydia and Samuel were so grateful that they sent us a rug as a special present.

  In 1986, Lydia went to Germany to be with her son Tai-way. I bought her an airline ticket so that she could see her daughter in New York and pay us a visit in California. During the ten days she stayed with us at our home, we spent many hours in intimate conversation about the years we had been apart. I confided that I had been advising James to emigrate from Hong Kong before 1997, which wouldn’t go down very well with Niang. I gave her news of Niang’s desolate life and showed her photos of our senile Father lying shrunken and mindless in the Hong Kong Sanatorium.

  With tears in her eyes, she begged me to intervene on her behalf. Lydia wanted to see Father one last time and be a companion to Niang. I phoned Niang and pleaded with her. Our stepmother finally relented and agreed to receive her. I immediately bought Lydia a ticket to Hong Kong. Lydia and Niang were reunited there and Niang eventually forgave me for helping Lydia’s family.

  Father had been admitted to Room 525 of the Hong Kong Sanatorium in 1982. He never left the hospital and remained in the same room until he died six years later.

  Niang engaged three nurses for him during the day and two at night. A physiotherapist came in for an hour daily. Her two Cantonese maids were instructed to prepare his favourite meals which were delivered by the chauffeur.

  Susan was distraught when she heard of Father’s hospitalization. She went to see him in his private room. It was too late. Father no longer recognized her. His nurses reported Susan’s visit to Niang, who became infuriated. She instructed James to threaten Susan with legal action should our half-sister attempt to visit Father again.

  Niang developed her own routine. She spent two hours every morning at Father’s Swire House office. James and Mr Lu, Father’s loyal chief financial officer, reported to her the winding down and sale of Father’s various businesses. Seven afternoons a week, from four to six, she visited Father at the hospital. She spent her evenings at home and no longer socialized. Every Sunday, James, Louise and their three children came reluctantly but promptly to dine with her.

  She became a chain-smoker and spent hours sitting on her imitation Louis XVI couch facing Victoria Harbour, puffing away and filling the whole room with smoke. At night she had difficulty sleeping in spite of large quantities of sleeping pills. She engaged a night nurse to keep her company and chat to her during the early morning hours.

  I confessed to James that I found it unbearably painful to see Father reduced to his present state and added that it must be even harder on Niang.

  ‘Don’t be taken in by all of that,’ James said. ‘A lot of it is just for show. Hong Kong society is very small. Both Gregory and Edgar are very unhappy that she has transferred all Father’s cash into her own name. If she shows any sign of neglecting him, she’d be opening herself to a major lawsuit. In fact, our two elder brothers have already questioned the legitimacy of her financial dealings. Haven’t they mentioned their uneasiness to you?’

  ‘Yes. Gregory phoned to ask if I would join him and Edgar in legal proceedings against Niang. He is afraid that Niang might remarry. I told him to forget it. I think at this moment Niang needs our moral support.’

  Whenever the subject of 1997 was broached, Niang vacillated between remaining or leaving Hong Kong. ‘Nothing is going to happen. Hong Kong is much too valuable to the Chinese Communists,’ she argued. ‘It would be financial suicide for the whole country. It’s more likely that the economic miracle of Hong Kong will take over China after 1997.’

  At one point she said to me, ‘Your father and I are really citizens of the world. If the situation looks bad, we can fly to any country at a moment’s notice. I would like you to find a house for us in Huntington Beach within walking distance of your home, in case we have to leave Hong Kong.’

  In 1984, a joint declaration was signed after years of dialogue between Britain and China. The whole of Hong Kong was to be handed back to China on 1 July 1997, including Hong Kong Island, Kowloon Peninsula and the New Territories. However, Hong Kong citizens were assured that they would enjoy the same legal rights and freedoms for another fifty years afterwards. During the interval between 1997 and 2047, Hong Kong and China would belong to one country, but with two different systems of government administration.

  Property values in Hong Kong took a steep dive after this announcement. James was pessimistic about the colony’s future. His affluent friends were all planning to emigrate. Many had already established citizenship in America, England, Australia or Canada. In most cases, the emigrant stayed in his adopted country for the minimum required period to obtain a passport, then returned to Hong Kong. Sometimes, only the wife and children remained abroad while the husband turned into a tai hong ren (astronaut–commuter) between the two countries.

  CHAPTER 25

  Yi Dao Liang Duan

  Sever This Kinship with One Whack of the Knife

  In May 1988, James phoned to say that Father had taken a turn for the worse and was not expected to live for more than twenty-four hours. I called Lydia in Tianjin, assuming that no one else would have thought of notifying her. ‘Nobody ever remembers me,’ she whined over the phone. ‘I’m of no significance. I’ll probably get nothing
from Father’s will.’ On hearing this, I remembered that Father had disowned Lydia when she and her husband blackmailed him. So her fears were not groundless. ‘Don’t worry Lydia,’ I said, ‘I’ll share what I get with you.’ Father died a few hours later.

  In Hong Kong, James met my plane and drove me to a small hotel near his flat, the New Asia, where Niang had arranged for us all to stay. I came alone because Bob was unable to get away. We were all surprised to learn that Lydia had already arrived from Tianjin and had been invited by Niang to stay with her at Magnolia Mansions.

  James drove us to the funeral parlour at North Point where we met Niang, Lydia and Louise. In a large, bare, chilly, over-air-conditioned room covered with tiny white tiles and reeking of disinfectant, Father’s body lay on a black divan under a white silk sheet emblazoned by a large, yellow cross. He looked shrunken, small and withered. Alzheimer’s had taken its toll, brain cell by brain cell over twelve long years, until he was no longer a person.

  A Catholic priest came and said a few words: ‘Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.’ Besides the finality of Father’s absence, we ‘children’ were suddenly the older generation.

  We filed past numerous rooms where other families mourned their deceased. Buddhist monks with shaven heads and flowing robes stood shoulder to shoulder in the lift with Catholic priests in black habits. Banks of floral arrangements stood everywhere and the chill of death hung in the air.

  Besides the family there were only the nurses, the amahs and Mr Lu, Father’s trusted employee for the last thirty years. Though Gregory and I had both informed Susan of Father’s demise, Niang had not invited her and deliberately left out her name in the newspaper obituaries. No friends came. We followed the hearse to the Catholic cemetery. Father’s coffin was carried by professional pallbearers up the steep steps to the grave site carved out from the face of a hill.