Falling Leaves: The Memoir of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter Page 25

  However, a few days after her major operation, Niang phoned to invite my whole family to Hong Kong for a Christmas visit. She sounded friendly and apologized for not writing or calling while in hospital, saying that she wished to forget her illness and get on with her life.

  Bob and I took our two children and spent a happy Christmas with Niang in Hong Kong. She showed no sign of illness and joined in all the celebrations, exchanging presents and signing her cards ‘Affectionately, Mother’. We parted amicably.

  During the next eight months she called me quite often to discuss her plans of emigrating to America before 1997. Edgar had helped her get a green card and she had recently purchased a condominium in San Francisco’s Nob Hill. I yearned to have a heart-to-heart conversation with her and fantasized about a soul-baring rapprochement at her sickbed where everything would be explained and she would die peacefully, surrounded by my loving family. I pleaded with her to come and spend some time with us in Huntington Beach but she always declined.

  One day in late August when I phoned, Ah Fong informed me that she was back in hospital. Dressed and ready to go for a check-up, Niang suddenly felt weak and was unable to walk. She was admitted to the Baptist Hospital in Kowloon. When I rang her, she confessed to feeling dreadful and then, to my utter amazement, added, ‘I wish you would come here and take me to America.’

  I could not believe my ears! I had offered so many times to fly over to Hong Kong to help her. And here she was, from hospital, entreating me to take her to America. Gathering my wits, I asked if Dr Lim considered her fit enough to travel. She said that she did not care what the doctors advised: all she wanted was for me to scoop her up and take her to be made well in the United States. Did James know of her hospitalization? No, he didn’t. She became insistent. Was I coming to her rescue or not? I promised I would and hoped that she could rest in the meantime. Her reply was bitter. What was the point of lying there and getting rest and more rest when she could not sleep? And sleep would not come ever since Father died. I asked if her doctor could prescribe some sleeping pills. She answered in an exasperated voice, ‘Oh Adeline! I’m very tired. Just do as I say. Make the arrangements. Come over here and take me with you to your home in America.’

  I phoned her doctor at the Baptist Hospital who revealed that Niang had fluid in her abdomen. He doubted if she would last another month, let alone walk again. As for going to America, she might survive the journey, but only on a stretcher. Regarding her insomnia he had this to say: ‘She has taken so many potent sleeping pills for so many years that nothing works on her any more. Quite honestly, the doses are alarming. But maybe I can give her some morphine to make her more comfortable.’

  I telephoned James, who was in Boston enrolling his daughter at Tufts College. I repeated Niang’s unexpected request. Should I comply or obey Dr Lim who said she was dying? James advised me to wait until he flew back to Hong Kong and consulted Niang himself. He planned to leave the very next day.

  Two days later, James arrived back in Hong Kong. In a subdued voice thick with fatigue, he phoned to say that Niang no longer recognized him. I asked if there was any point in my flying over and taking her to California. ‘Look! She is on her deathbed and in no condition to go anywhere. Dr Lim says she will die in a few days. You might as well prepare yourself to fly over here for the funeral and the reading of the will. I’m making the arrangements now.’

  Niang, although unconscious and dying, was about to deal her last and most triumphant card. Of her own two children, one was dead and one was disowned; but she was left with five stepchildren with whom to play her final game. She had had us believe that she held in her vaults one of the great fortunes of the world. At one time, perhaps in the early 1970s when Father was still competent, the Yen family was considered one of the richest in Hong Kong. By the end of the 1980s, Father’s fortune had dwindled. Only James had access to documents and had revealed to us that its real worth was about thirty million dollars.

  For me, the yearning was not for the money as such. After all, both Bob and I had secure, well-paying jobs with good pensions. It arose instead from a basic need: a longing for acceptance, a craving for my rightful place in the family, a primal cry to be included – all of which had been denied in my youth. It was a deep-seated desire for all of us to be treated with justice and equality. I could not bear the idea of me, or anyone of us, being singled out for neglect and discrimination. Although I knew that Niang was neither kind nor good, I hungered for her approval just as I had hankered after Father’s blessing. In this respect, Father and Niang represented a single unit.

  Niang played upon our traditional Confucian concept of filial piety to permeate her pervasive influence. Her continued domination transcended all logic. The extension of the family unit has been held to be the motivating force binding all Chinese to their roots. Except for Susan, who through sheer strength of will had made herself independent, all of us were emotionally shackled to Niang throughout our lives.

  I phoned Gregory in Vancouver and we discussed Niang’s imminent demise. He sounded concerned that he would not inherit much, if anything, because Niang had always disliked him.

  ‘Do you think she loved any of us?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course not! But I think she was most wary of me, because as eldest son, I threatened her position in the family hierarchy.’ Then Gregory really startled me. ‘Will you help me, Adeline, if James gets it all and no one else gets anything? I am counting on this inheritance.’

  I answered as truthfully as I could. ‘You know it will be difficult for me to fight James. But I don’t think she will be so unfair. Besides, I think James deserves a larger share. After all, he has given Niang thirty years of his life.’

  Gregory was unimpressed. ‘No one twisted his arm. Obviously, he felt his chances of making it were better by throwing in his lot with Niang than going out on his own. Don’t be so sure of anyone’s behaviour where money’s involved. Jing zhu zhi chi; jing mo zhi hei (Near vermilion, one gets stained pink; near ink, one gets stained black). James has changed a lot over the years.’

  Another week went by. On Sunday, 9 September, James left a message on our answering machine. ‘The Old Lady passed away an hour and a half ago, at four o’clock on Sunday morning.’

  CHAPTER 28

  Jiu Rou Peng You

  Wine and Meat Friends

  Niang’s funeral was set for 17 September 1990. Before Bob and I left for Hong Kong, James and I discussed arrangements for Niang’s interment. During the course of our phone conversation, I related Gregory’s misgivings.

  Niang had taken such excessive quantities of sleeping pills for so many years that Gregory and his pharmacist wife Matilda feared for her sanity. They were concerned that she might have altered Father’s original will under the influence of drugs. Could she have singled out Gregory or anyone else besides Susan for exclusion in her will?

  James said that he had never been consulted and consequently had not the faintest idea what was in Niang’s will. He suddenly asked if I remembered Franklin’s old tutor-nanny, Miss Chien. The Red Guards banished her from Father’s house in 1966, after which, for twelve years, she lived in abject poverty with her brother’s family in Hangzhou as the despised spinster-aunt. Fortune did not smile upon her and she developed skin cancer which spread to her bones and liver. One day in 1978, James received an unexpected letter from Miss Chien addressed to Father, who was already senile. Miss Chien was obviously dying. Her body was racked by pain and she had no money for food or medicines. She pleaded for a small sum to ease her last days. James was preparing to send her a bank draft when Niang walked into the office. ‘Do nothing!’ she commanded. ‘Miss Chien has outlived her usefulness.’

  ‘I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck when I heard her orders,’ James confided. ‘No one should expect fairness or justice from Niang. I tell you she was ruthless! Anyone of us could have been disinherited at any time without cause.’

  The wake was held at the s
ame mortuary in North Point where Father’s funeral had taken place two years before. Niang lay on a narrow bed in an inner sanctum. Her face appeared mottled, despite the mortician’s heavy make-up. She was dressed in an elaborate black dress with her arms lying stiffly by her side. Her dyed ebony hair was severely pulled back, revealing the prominently protruding forehead she took such pains to hide while she was alive.

  Niang’s Cantonese amahs Ah Fong and Ah Gum came, dressed in their white tunics and loose black trousers. They had served Father and Niang faithfully for over thirty years. Her chauffeur made a brief appearance. Two nurses arrived; both had been employed by Niang to keep her company at night.

  Susan and her husband, Tony, were the last to make their entrance. Our youngest sister looked stunning in a glamorous black suit, her mane of shining hair stylishly waved. She told us that she had arranged a mass to be said for Niang that evening in a Catholic chapel.

  We sat on metal chairs in that chilly, antiseptic room waiting for guests to arrive. I had seen photographs and heard numerous accounts of lavish lunches, dinners, dances and receptions. ‘The only bad thing about living in Hong Kong,’ Niang once told me, ‘is the constant round of parties and more parties.’ I kept expecting a group of her friends to come marching through the door. But no one came to pay her their respects or say a last farewell.

  I thought back upon my miserable childhood and the abuse Niang had dispensed to those around her. I recalled my elation when I finally escaped from her reign of terror and oppression. And yet it continued to matter to me whether or not she loved me.

  I came out of my reverie and saw Mr Lu, Father’s faithful chief financial officer, get up from his seat and move himself next to Bob. He was whispering, ‘I don’t think anyone else is coming. She had no true friends, only jiu rou peng you (wine and meat friends). As you both know, she was an unusual person. She wasn’t fond of many people. Look how she cut Susan out of her life and her will. Susan was her only daughter, her own gu rou (bones and flesh).’

  My right eyelid began to twitch involuntarily as I stared at Mr Lu, trying to read meaning into his words. ‘What are you trying to tell us, Mr Lu?’ I asked candidly. ‘Why don’t you come right out and say it instead of hinting around?’

  Mr Lu addressed Bob, though his words were meant for me. ‘Nobody seems to tell her anything,’ he lamented. ‘Her Niang didn’t want her to know this, but she may get nothing when the will is read tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ I cried. ‘Just three weeks ago, she was begging me to take her to my home in America! Surely, she must have had some feeling for me to wish to die in my home?’

  Mr Lu shook his head, while steadfastly avoiding my gaze. ‘Her request may have arisen from ulterior motives designed to turn all your siblings against you. She had a green card and was a permanent resident of the United States. The US government would have imposed death duties on her estate if she had died in America. You would have been blamed for taking her to your home to die.’

  I began to shiver and found it hard to breathe. I was six years old and it was Chinese New Year. Dressed in bright new clothes, we children gathered at lunch eating traditional, glutinous, sweet rice cakes while festive sounds of firecrackers banged and crackled from the lanes. One by one, my siblings were handed their ya sui chien, a traditional red paper package with gold characters announcing ‘Happy and Prosperous New Year’ and containing money. Everyone except me. I was the only child left out – punished for speaking out against Niang’s beating of baby Susan.

  ‘Just a minute,’ Bob intercepted firmly, ‘are you sure of your facts? Have you read Niang’s will? Has James read it?’

  ‘No, neither of us has actually sat down and read the will,’ Mr Lu explained, ‘but we are absolutely certain of the major items. Believe me, I wouldn’t have mentioned anything, except that I don’t see the point of Adeline going to the will reading tomorrow afternoon and being hurt unnecessarily.’

  The rest of that afternoon and evening passed in a daze. We all attended the Catholic mass which Susan had arranged. I couldn’t wait to go back to the hotel and get the whole truth from James. I telephoned him as soon as we returned. His maid informed me that Louise had gone to bed, but James was with his brothers at the New Asia Hotel. Bob and I took the lift down to Gregory’s room.

  The sounds of merriment hit us as we approached his door. Inside we found my three brothers, my sister Lydia and Mr Lu. They were still wearing their black mourning clothes. On the coffee-table stood a half-empty bottle of whisky and some glasses. A party was in progress. Niang’s stepchildren were in the highest spirits, celebrating their windfall. Obviously, Niang’s will had been known to them for some time.

  An unnatural silence fell upon the room when we entered. I looked across at James, who was flushed from whisky and still grinning from the memory of their last shared joke. ‘Excuse me for interrupting your party,’ I said directly to him, ‘but may I speak to you in private for a few minutes?’

  The smile faded from James’s lips. ‘Actually,’ he replied, ‘I was just about to take Mr Lu home in my car. It’s getting late.’

  ‘Bob and I will ride with you, if we may?’

  ‘Come along then,’ James muttered. ‘Let’s go now.’

  During the ride through the cross-harbour tunnel to Mr Lu’s flat in Kowloon, Bob held my hand in the back seat and we said nothing. It was almost eleven and traffic was light. Against the background of Mr Lu’s constant, nervous chatter, my mind returned to a long-forgotten incident.

  It was a blistering summer day during the height of a Shanghai heatwave. I had just completed my homework and was lying on my bed, blissfully re-reading my latest report card. Father and Niang had gone away for a few days. The entire household was feeling lazy, relaxed and carefree. We were luxuriating in their absence.

  The maid came in and said that my brothers wanted me to join them in the dining-room. They had a special treat for me. I sprang to my feet when she reassured me that James was there too. To be beckoned by all three of my big brothers was mysterious and exciting. I ran downstairs. On the dining-room table was a large jug of orange juice surrounded by four glasses. Three were empty. One was full.

  Edgar spoke first, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Seeing it’s such a hot day, and the fact that you have received so many honours in your report card, we thought you should be rewarded with a glass of orange juice because Father is not here to praise you himself.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked suspiciously. ‘You’ve never been kind to me before.’

  ‘Drink it!’ Edgar ordered, giving me a shove.

  ‘I don’t want it. Why must I drink it? Why don’t you drink it yourself?’

  ‘It even has ice in it, see?’ Edgar held up the glass and the ice cubes tinkled temptingly. ‘It will cool you down at once.’

  I eyed the juice longingly before turning to Gregory. ‘Is it all right to drink it, Da ge (Big Brother) ?’

  ‘Of course it is. We made it ourselves, from this bottle of orange concentrate here, see? We made this glass of juice especially for you to celebrate your star performance at school.’ They laughed hysterically.

  The room was hot and muggy. The ice floated enticingly in the orange coloured liquid.

  I lifted the glass and appealed to James, knowing that he would never deceive me. ‘Is this all right to drink, San ge (Third Elder Brother) ?’

  ‘Yes,’ James replied. ‘This is your prize for doing well in school.’

  Satisfied, I took a big gulp. Immediately I spat it out. My three older brothers had mixed their urine with the orange concentrate and duped me into drinking it. As I burst into tears, what troubled me was not Edgar’s malice or Gregory’s treachery, but James’s betrayal.

  Now when Mr Lu was dropped off, I moved into the front seat as James started on the return trip back to the hotel. I could tell that he was under great strain. Despite his repeated denials, how could he possibly not have known what Mr Lu had just told me? Worse,
he must have been in collusion with Niang to deliberately keep me in the dark.

  James paid the ten-dollar-toll charge, rushed through the tunnel and emerged on Hong Kong island. I was grateful for the darkness as he drove at breakneck speed.

  It started to rain. James turned on his windscreen wipers. ‘Mr Lu informed me,’ I began quietly, ‘that I had been cut out of Niang’s will. He said that I would get nothing.’

  James made no reply as he turned a corner and manoeuvred the car on to Wong Nai Chong Gap Road. For once, he voiced no denial. All pretences were dropped for the moment. With another turn we were parked in front of the hotel. We had arrived and still he would not speak.

  ‘Say something!’ I pleaded. ‘Is Mr Lu telling the truth?’

  Without turning the engine off, James looked straight in front of him, mesmerized by the whoosh-whoosh of the windscreen wipers swinging to and fro before his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘And Father, what about Father? Was I cut out of his will also?’ Tears ran down my cheeks. I thought of my white-haired Father, lying mute and motionless year after year in Room 525 of the Hong Kong Sanatorium. Had he also rejected me?

  ‘I’ve already told you that I haven’t read Father’s will,’ James snapped irritably. ‘How am I to know what Father wanted? Besides, Father’s will is irrelevant. It’s useless. All his assets were in Niang’s name.’

  ‘But why did Niang cut me out? How did I offend her?’

  ‘Look,’ James replied, quite harshly, ‘I don’t have all the answers either. Niang formed a very bad impression of you when you stayed with her in 1987. She claimed that you wished to put Father in an apartment in Kowloon. Also that you weren’t grateful for the medical education she gave you in England.’