Chinese Cinderella Read online

  ‘When Nai Nai was your age, she already couldn’t run or jump any more!’ Aunt Baba said to me. ‘And here you even get to go to school every day just like your brothers. You’d better run along now and go to bed! It’s way past your bedtime.’

  After I left, Aunt Baba talked to Nai Nai for a little while longer. She then went to take her bath.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ye Ye was pounding on her bathroom door. Nai Nai had fainted and was frothing at the mouth. Aunt Baba telephoned the doctor but it was already too late. Nai Nai had died of a massive stroke.

  I woke up from a sound sleep and saw Aunt Baba sitting by herself at the dressing‐table and crying. I crawled into her lap and put my arms around her to comfort her. Aunt Baba told me that Nai Nai’s life had evaporated like an episode of a spring dream. Outside, I could hear the crickets humming in the summer heat and hawkers shouting their wares on the pavement below. How could everything remain so much the same when Nai Nai was no longer with us?

  Nai Nai’s body was placed in a tightly sealed coffin in the parlour. Buddhist monks dressed in long robes chanted their mantras. Ye Ye ordered us children to spend the night and sleep on the floor in the same room to keep Nai Nai company. Third Brother whispered in my ear that Nai Nai was going to push open the coffin lid and wander out at midnight. I was scared and couldn’t sleep. All night, while listening to the monks praying and watching their shining bald heads in the flickering candle‐light, I half yearned and half feared that Nai Nai would crawl out and resume her place among us.

  Next day, there was a grand funeral. Nai Nai’s coffin was draped with white sheets and placed on a hearse pulled by four men. We all dressed in white robes with white headbands for the boys and white ribbons for the girls. Big Brother acted as chief mourner in Father’s absence. Hired professional musicians extolled Nai Nai’s virtues. They tossed white paper coins into the air while making music and singing prayers. The hearse stopped six times for Big Brother to fall to his knees, kowtow and bewail Nai Nai’s loss in a loud voice.

  At the Buddhist Temple, the monks held a solemn ceremony. Amidst hymns and the scent of incense, we burned sundry articles made of paper for Nai Nai’s needs in the next world. There were cardboard beds, tables, chairs, pots and pans and even a mah‐jong set. My brothers fought over a large paper car covered with bright tin foil. I watched the smoke curl up from the sacrificial urn and believed with all my heart that it would regroup somewhere in heaven into useful household utensils for the exclusive use of our Nai Nai.

  Chapter Five

  Arrival in Shanghai

  Six weeks after Nai Nai’s funeral, Ye Ye took Big Sister, Big Brother, Second Brother and me for an outing. To our surprise, our car stopped first at the railroad station. After instructing our chauffeur to wait outside in the car, Ye Ye marched the four of us onto a crowded platform marked with a sign ‘To Shanghai’. There, in a first‐class compartment, we came face to face with Father, sitting by himself. He was dressed in a black suit and black tie. His eyes were red and he had been crying.

  We were delighted and astonished. Big Sister asked, ‘How long have you been back, Father?’ He told her he had just arrived a few hours ago but was planning to leave again almost immediately. He said he missed us and was in Tianjin specially to escort us south to Shanghai. He told us Shanghai was a large port city one thousand miles away and our Grand Aunt owned a big bank there. Father, Niang and Fourth Brother had been living there for one and a half years. Since Third Brother was still recuperating from measles, he would join us later with Little Sister, Ye Ye and Aunt Baba. Being devout Buddhists, Ye Ye and Aunt Baba wished to observe the traditional hundred‐day religious mourning‐period for Nai Nai before leaving Tianjin.

  ‘What about our clothes?’ Big Brother asked.

  ‘Aunt Baba is arranging to have them delivered separately,’ Father replied. ‘If you had taken too much luggage with you, the servants would have become suspicious. It’s important that the servants know nothing about my whereabouts. Otherwise, the Japanese might arrest me. During the train journey, talk to each other as little as possible so you’ll give nothing away. Now, say goodbye to your Ye Ye! The train is leaving in five minutes!’

  Father’s Shanghai house was situated on Avenue Joffre, deep in the heart of the French Concession. It was a big, square, dark‐grey concrete building, just like all the other sixty‐nine houses within the same ‘long tang’, a cluster of houses surrounded by a communal wall. Father’s chauffeur drove us from the station through the main lane of our ‘long tang’, turned left into a narrower alley‐way, and stopped in front of a wrought‐iron gate. Father led us into a charming garden, with a small lawn lined by clipped camellia bushes, a magnolia tree with wonderfully fragrant blooms, and a wishing‐well next to a wooden dog‐house. A large, ferocious‐looking German Shepherd rushed out, jumped excitedly at the sight of Father, but barked at us. I glanced briefly at the large, brutish animal with its sharp teeth and pointed ears. Father noticed and said to me, ‘His name is Jackie. Don’t be afraid of him. Just behave naturally. He is getting obedience training lessons every week from a German dog‐trainer. He won’t dare bite you.’

  All the same, I was nervous. I got away and followed Big Brother up three stone steps through tall French doors into the formal living‐room.

  ‘Here we are!’ Father said, looking around proudly as we gawked in open‐mouthed wonder at the burgundy‐red velvet couches, matching velvet curtains and thick woollen carpet partially covering a teak parquet floor. The wallpaper had long strips of raised velvet napping which matched the curtains. Beautiful white orchids in an antique Ming Dynasty vase rested on an elegant imitation Louis XVI coffee‐table. Everything was ornate, formal, polished and hard.

  Niang entered, holding Fourth Brother’s hand. We greeted her timidly. Like the room, our stepmother was stylish and flawless with her large, piercing eyes, long shapely nails painted bright red, and enormous flashing diamonds at her throat, wrist and ears. Standing opposite her made me feel quite shabby and ill at ease.

  ‘Sit down, all of you! And welcome to our Shanghai home!’ Niang announced in a loud, clear voice. ‘The maids will show you to your rooms. This house consists of three floors. On the ground floor, the living‐room and dining‐room are in the front. The kitchen, garage and servants’ quarters are at the back. You are to enter and leave the house by the back door only. The front gate leading out of the garden is reserved for your father’s guests. So is the living‐room. You are not to invite any of your friends home, or to visit them in their houses.

  ‘The first floor is where your father and I, and your younger brother and sister, have our rooms. You are not allowed to enter any of the rooms on our floor without our permission.

  ‘All of you will live on the second floor. You three boys will sleep in the same room. Wu Mei (Fifth Daughter) will share a room with Aunt Baba. Ye Ye and Big Sister will each have a private room. Keep your rooms tidy because your father and I might come up and make an inspection at any time.

  ‘We have enrolled all of you at very expensive private missionary schools. School starts next Monday. Now go with the maids to your rooms and wash yourselves. In half an hour, Cook will ring the dinner‐bell. As soon as you hear it, all of you will come down at once. Do you understand?’

  We nodded solemnly. As we climbed the stairs, Big Brother muttered, ‘To her, we are not separate people. Over here, we have become one single unit known as all of you. Seems like this is how it’s going to be from now on.’

  Chapter Six

  First Day at School

  On Monday morning, with Aunt Baba still in Tianjin, a maid helped me put on my brand‐new school uniform. It was a little too long, stiff with starch, white in colour and had the name of my new school, Sacred Heart (Sheng Xin ), in bright‐red Chinese characters embroidered on the left breast‐pocket.

  After breakfast, I stood in the hallway for what seemed like a very long time waiting for someone to take me to sch
ool, wondering who it was going to be. I was excited to be starting first grade in my new primary school, which was located next door to Big Sister’s Aurora Middle School. Big Sister, however, was still in bed. Her classes were scheduled to begin one hour later than mine. The chauffeur had already left to drive my brothers to St John’s Academy, which was in the opposite direction.

  I saw Cook wheeling his bicycle through the hallway to go to market. Now he spotted me watching him.

  ‘Who is taking you to school?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I was nervous and couldn’t help shooting a wistful glance at the big clock ticking away on the wall. It was getting late and everyone had forgotten about me. What should I do? I was becoming panic‐stricken and felt tears rolling down my cheeks.

  Cook shrugged. ‘It’s certainly not my job. No one mentioned anything to me about you.’ He was about to mount his bike and ride away when he noticed my tears. ‘Now, now! Don’t cry! Being late for school isn’t the end of the world . . . oh, all right! Come along then!’ he mumbled gruffly as he lifted me onto the handlebar of his bicycle. ‘Your Sheng Xin Primary School happens to be right next to the market. Sit here quietly and don’t squirm. We’ll be there in no time at all.’

  After school was let out in the early afternoon, I waited with all the other first‐graders by the school gate. One by one they were greeted and led away by their anxiously hovering mothers. Eventually, I was the only one left. Nobody had come for me. The metal gate slowly clanged shut behind me as I watched my classmates disperse, each clutching her mother’s hand and eagerly recounting the adventures of her first day at school. After a long time, I peered through a crack into the deserted playground. Not a person was in sight. Cautiously, I pushed against the massive iron gate. It was firmly locked. Trembling with fear, I realised that nobody was coming to pick me up. Too embarrassed to knock or draw attention to myself, I walked out tentatively into the Shanghai streets. Surely, if I tried hard enough, I would remember the way home.

  It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. At first I wandered along a wide, straight road lined with tall, leafy trees. Motor cars, trams, rickshaws, pedicabs and bicycles whizzed by. I kept walking but dared not cross the road, glancing briefly at the open‐fronted stores overhung with colourful, upright, bilingual signboards. I turned a corner and now the pavements seethed with people and noise and commotion: coolies shouldering heavy loads on bamboo poles; hawkers selling toys, crickets in cages, fans, cold tea, candies, meat‐filled buns, spring rolls, tea‐eggs and fermented bean curd; stalls and booths offering services such as hair‐cuts, shaves, dental care, letter‐writing, extraction of ear wax; beggars banging tin cups and chanting for a handout. Except for me, everyone was striding along purposefully, going somewhere. Everyone had a destination. I must have walked for miles and miles. But where was I?

  Should I enter a shop and ask for directions? But I didn’t know my home address. What should I say? Should I approach that kindly old storekeeper smiling at me from the doorway of his antique shop and tell him, ‘Please, sir, I want to go home.’ But, where was my home?

  It was getting dark. Bright neon signs in blue, yellow, red and orange came on and were blinking at me. Had anyone at home missed me? Did they think I was still at school? Were they looking for me? What should I do?

  I walked past a bustling, brightly lit dim sum shop. Such a wonderful aroma was wafting through the door! Through the plate‐glass window, I saw roast ducks, soya‐sauce chickens, and hunks of glistening roast pork hanging from hooks. There was a young chef wielding his cleaver and deftly chopping a duck into bite‐sized pieces on a wooden block. Wouldn’t it be heavenly to be given a slice of meat? But that might be too much to hope for. I would be quite content with a piece of bone to chew on. As I salivated, I imagined the taste of the food sliding down my throat. Breakfast seemed such a long time ago!

  Someone was touching my shoulder. I started and looked up. A large, red‐faced woman whom I had just seen bustling around the tables in the restaurant was speaking to me. ‘You have been standing here for almost half an hour. What’s your mother doing that she would leave you waiting out here all by yourself? Doesn’t she know it’s dangerous for a little girl your age to be hanging around on the street like this? Are you supposed to have dinner with her here?’

  Terrified, I lowered my head and shuffled my feet. ‘Come and wait for her inside,’ she commanded as she glanced at my brand‐new school uniform. ‘My daughter started school today too.’

  Inside, it was hot and noisy. I stood hesitantly by the door. Suddenly, I noticed a black telephone next to the cash register! Why, just yesterday, Big Brother and I were playing and he taught me a new ‘numbers’ game he had just invented. ‘Take any number and add, subtract, multiply, or divide it. The one who first comes up with number 13 wins!’

  ‘What number should we use, Big Brother?’ I had asked.

  ‘Run downstairs and get our telephone number,’ he’d said. ‘It’s marked on the front of the telephone in the stairway.’

  I’d rushed down for the number and we’d played with it all afternoon: backwards and forwards, breaking it down and building it up again. 79281! That was it! 79281!

  Finally, Big Brother had won! He’d broken 79281 into 9, 8, 21 and 7:

  9 – 8 = 1

  21 ÷ 7 = 3

  He’d then placed the number 3 to the right of the number 1 and got 13, thereby winning the game. I had clapped my hands in glee and admiration. I felt honoured that Big Brother had deigned to play with me all afternoon.

  No one was looking when I picked up the phone and dialled. Father answered on the third ring.

  ‘Speak up!’ Father was shouting. ‘There is so much background noise. Who is it?’

  ‘It’s your daughter, Fifth Daughter (Wu Mei ).’

  ‘Where are you?’ Father asked in an even voice, quite calmly; and, suddenly, with a pang, I realised that nobody had missed me. They didn’t even know I wasn’t home.

  ‘I’m in a restaurant. I got lost when I tried to walk home from school.’

  ‘Let me speak to the proprietor. You stay right there and I’ll come and pick you up.’

  Soon afterwards, Father arrived and drove me home in his big black Buick. Traffic was light and he drove in silence. When we arrived, he patted me on my head. ‘Next time you go anywhere for the first time,’ he admonished as he handed me a map of Shanghai from the glove compartment of his car, ‘read this map and find where you are and where you wish to go. This way you’ll never get lost again.’

  That’s exactly what I’ll do, I thought to myself. After dinner, I’m going to ask Big Brother to teach me how to read this map. With Aunt Baba still in Tianjin, there’s obviously nobody looking out for me. I’ll just have to find my own way.

  Chapter Seven

  Family Reunion

  Big Brother told me that Ye Ye, Aunt Baba, Third Brother and Little Sister were scheduled to arrive in Shanghai on the last Sunday in October. I started counting the days. Little Sister had been separated from her mother Niang since she was only six months old. Now she was almost two and Aunt Baba mentioned in her last letter that Little Sister was starting to jabber away in Mandarin with a strong Tianjin accent. How adorable!

  On the morning of their arrival, Father and the chauffeur met them at the station. I was overjoyed to see my beloved Aunt Baba and Ye Ye again. Third Brother looked taller and thinner but Little Sister had changed the most. Aunt Baba had dressed her in pretty pink silk trousers with a matching jacket and pink cloth shoes. Her hair was neatly combed into two little beribboned plaits which stood up on each side, bobbing as she walked. She looked like a big doll with her large round eyes and chubby pink cheeks, rushing around the sitting‐room, examining the dishes of candy, melon seeds, peanuts, ginger slices and salted plums laid out on the coffee table, and then running back to Aunt Baba. All of us beckoned to her and vied for her attention as she teased us by half advancing and then quickly retreating to Aunt B
aba’s side.

  Repeatedly, Niang signalled her baby to come to her. But, to Little Sister, her mother was a stranger and she ignored her. Niang was dressed in a dark‐brown Parisian silk dress, with dangling pearl earrings and a string of large pearls around her neck. Five metres away, I could still smell the cloying, fragrant aroma of her perfume.

  Trying to help, Aunt Baba unwrapped a piece of candy and waved it. Little Sister ran eagerly towards our aunt. Aunt Baba handed the candy to Niang, who waved it back and forth, attempting to entice her daughter to go to her. Rejecting the bribe and becoming annoyed, Little Sister ran to the candy dish instead and tipped its contents onto the carpet.

  Growing visibly impatient, Niang approached Little Sister while we scrambled to pick up the candies. ‘Bad girl!’ four‐year‐old Fourth Brother screamed at his baby sister.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that!’ Big Sister added in a stern voice, trying to curry favour with Niang. The rest of us remained silent.

  ‘Don’t want you!’ Little Sister said directly to Niang in a distinct voice. ‘Don’t like you. Go away!’

  Surprised and hurt, Niang bent down to pick up her baby, who was wriggling and resisting with all her might. An unnatural hush fell upon the room. All eyes were on them as mother and daughter struggled. Little Sister was now howling at the top of her voice while tears rolled down her little cheeks. ‘Don’t want you!’ she repeated loudly. ‘Aunt Baba! Aunt Baba! Tell her to go away! Go away!’