Chinese Cinderella Page 7

  I told Wu Chun‐mei, ‘When I pick PLT up from her pen on the roof terrace, she cocks her head to one side and chirps as if she recognises me. As soon as she sees me, she hurries over. I speak to her all the time and I think she’s beginning to understand. Can ducklings learn to quack in the Shanghai dialect? Would that sound different from Mandarin quacks or English quacks?’

  Wu Chun‐mei laughed. ‘I believe animals do understand us,’ she replied. ‘Perhaps not exactly your words but a special language not made of words. Maybe it’s the way you stand or how you hold her. She knows she belongs to you and you’ll look after her.’

  As time went on, the friendship between PLT and me deepened. When Aunt Baba came home from the bank one Friday, she overheard me talking. ‘Here are two worms I dug up from the garden! Risked my life and limb for you, my friend! Jackie barked at me but I didn’t stop. You’d better eat it all!’

  Aunt Baba was both startled and amused. ‘I just heard you speaking to PLT as if she were your baby sister, in a tone both proud and loving. Do you think PLT understands what you’re saying?’ she asked.

  I nodded solemnly. ‘She likes me to talk to her and feed her worms. She knows I dug them up specially for her. When she hears Jackie barking, she scampers away from the window as if she is afraid. When I get involved with homework and ignore her, she comes over to see what I’m doing. She knows a lot! See, she is gazing at me now, wanting to find out what we’re talking about. She is a very curious bird indeed!’

  I crouched down and faced my pet. PLT’s body twittered and she chirped as if she were chatting to a playmate. She looked up and two round dark eyes gazed out at me from her small, yellow head. ‘Look! Look! Aunt Baba! She has eaten the worms! She lets me come so close! Do you think she likes me too? She senses she is safe and I’ll never frighten her. She’s all mine. Tomorrow is Saturday and I can dig for worms all afternoon. Hooray!’

  It was a glorious Saturday afternoon when I set foot in the garden. A faint cool breeze was blowing in from the river, sweeping away the mist and clouds. Magnolia blossoms were in full bloom, dotting the tree like giant white ribbon‐bows fringed by dark‐green leaves, scenting the air with a fresh, delightful fragrance. Never had the sky looked so blue.

  I squatted in the corner farthest from Jackie’s doghouse and dug away with an old iron spoon which Cook had discarded, wishing I had a spade. I kept one wary eye on Jackie, who was lying half in and half out of his dog‐house, watching me. His mouth was open and he was panting with his large tongue hanging out between two rows of giant, sharp teeth. Just as I knew PLT was my friend, I was equally certain Jackie was not. He would probably attack me if I rubbed him the wrong way. I glanced at the large, wolf‐like dog and shivered involuntarily.

  Soon I came upon a worm. I freed it from the clumps of weeds, wet leaves and mud and placed it in a paper bag. PLT would be pleased. Everything smelt sweet, fresh and damp. Jackie had not stirred. His eyes were half closed, and he was breathing regularly, about to fall asleep. I tiptoed away so as not to wake him and ran upstairs directly to the duck pen on the roof terrace.

  All seven ducklings scampered around to greet me joyously. Though the maids were supposed to feed them and sweep out the pen, they didn’t relish the task and often neglected it. I noticed the food bowl and water pan were both empty. Since I was eager to give PLT her treat, I decided to alert the maids later.

  I knelt and placed my worm in the food bowl. The entire flock crowded around, jockeying for position. Though they looked identical to the grown‐ups, each was distinct and unique to us children. I was pleased to note that PLT had grown quite big and strong and was holding her own against the rest. The ducklings of Little Sister and Second Brother were aggressively jostling PLT. I tried gently to shoo them away so PLT could eat her worm in peace. I felt quite guilty about my favouritism and couldn’t help blaming myself for not having procured more worms so each duckling could have its own.

  Suddenly, I felt a painful blow against the back of my head. It was so hard I was knocked sideways to the ground. The ducklings scurried off in fright. I looked up to see Second Brother scowling down, arms akimbo. Apparently, he had been watching me stealthily from the landing for some time. ‘This will teach you to favour your duck over mine!’ he shouted. He hit me again, picked up the food bowl and ordered me to ‘get lost!’ as he fed my worm to his own duckling.

  I got up and turned to go. It was then that I noticed PLT. Unlike the rest, my pet had not run away but was standing faithfully by my side. Despite the pain and commotion caused by my brother’s blows I found immense consolation in the knowledge that PLT was staying right by me. I picked up my bird lovingly and for a moment seemed to see my grief reflected in her round dark eyes.

  Back in my room I busied myself getting some grains of rice and water for PLT. It was still early and Aunt Baba hadn’t come home from the bank. PLT waddled about, busily pecking the floor, now and then coming over to look at me. ‘Apart from Aunt Baba, you’re the only one who’s always here for me; the only one who understands. Are you reminding me that I promised you a tasty worm yesterday?’ I asked in the coaxing tone I reserved for my pet. PLT looked back wistfully with her round eyes, which resembled two black gum‐drops. I felt sure she understood every word. ‘I bet you wish you could talk and tell me all sorts of things,’ I said to my pet. ‘Though Second Brother robbed you of your worm, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll just have to go downstairs and get you another. Wait here!’

  I returned to the garden. Jackie was now wide awake and pacing the ground aggressively. Back and forth. Back and forth. He had awakened from his nap in a bad mood and was growling at me. With his long, pointed ears, triangular eyes, prominent jaws and sharp teeth, he resembled a ferocious wolf more than ever. I was quite fearful as I started to dig up a patch of earth at the foot of the magnolia tree.

  Jackie fidgeted, pawed the ground, and started to bark at me. I could see the tail end of a worm burrowing rapidly beneath a clump of roots. Though I knew I had incurred Jackie’s displeasure in some way, I was reluctant to leave empty‐handed. Keeping one eye on the worm, I half turned towards Jackie, who was baring his teeth in a most menacing manner. Tentatively, I stretched out my left hand to calm him while clutching the spoon in my right. Suddenly, Jackie lunged at me and sank his teeth into my outstretched left wrist.

  Abandoning my spoon, I hurried away. PLT greeted me expectantly at the door but I rushed past into the bathroom to wash away the blood trickling down my left arm. Footsteps sounded from the landing. Aunt Baba had finally come home from the bank.

  ‘What happened to you?’ she asked in alarm, and something in her voice made the tears well up in my eyes. Baba hurried over and held out her arms, rocked me back and forth, dried my tears and asked, ‘Are you hurt? Is it bad?’ She wiped away the blood, washed my wrist, dressed the wound with mercurochrome, cotton‐wool and a small bandage. She then walked over and locked our bedroom door, followed and watched by PLT every step of the way. She seated me on my bed and smoothed my hair. ‘It’s better not to mention any of this at dinner tonight unless you are asked directly,’ she advised. ‘Jackie is their pet. Don’t make any waves. I tell you what. Let’s open my safe‐deposit box and take a look. That’ll make us both feel much better.’

  Aunt Baba rummaged through a pile of folded towels in her cupboard, underneath which she had hidden her safe‐deposit box. She unlocked it with the key on the gold chain she wore around her neck. This was where she kept her scanty collection of precious jewels, some American dollar bills, a sheaf of yellowed letters, and all my report cards, from kindergarten to the most recent.

  We gazed first at those reports written in French from St Joseph’s kindergarten in Tianjin; then the ones for the first and second grades written in Chinese from Sheng Xin Primary School in Shanghai. Even PLT stopped her wandering to sit contentedly at our feet, looking up occasionally as if wishing to participate.

  ‘See this one?’ Aunt Baba exclaime
d with pride. ‘Six years old, all of first grade and already tops in Chinese, English and arithmetic. At this rate nobody going to university can have a better foundation. When you get to be twelve you should sit for the examination to enter McTyeire where your Grand Aunt went. Then go on to university. You can be anything you set your mind to be. Why, you might even become the president of your own bank one day!’

  ‘Will you come and live with me if I’m president?’ I asked wistfully. ‘I wouldn’t want to own a bank without you.’

  ‘Of course I will! We’ll set up house on our own and take PLT with us. We’ll work together in our own bank, side by side. Mark my words, if you study hard, anything is possible!’

  ‘I will study hard! I promise!’

  The truth was that as soon as I heard Aunt Baba’s footsteps, I started feeling better immediately. Knowing there was someone who cared for and believed in me had revived my spirit. So we chattered happily about this and that until dinner‐time.

  GRAND AUNT She was also known as Grand Uncle: Gong Gong because of the respect granted her as president of the Shanghai Women’s Bank, which she founded in 1924.

  THE SEVEN OF US WITH JACKIE This picture was taken in 1946, about the time that we were given a little duckling as a pet. I was eight years old.

  NIANG, YE YE AND FATHER Ye Ye was a devout Buddhist. He always shaved his head, wore a skullcap in winter, and dressed in Chinese robes.

  AUNT BABA This photograph was taken in the 1930s. Aunt Baba never married and was financially dependent on my father and stepmother all her life. I loved her very much.

  The breeze died down and it became very warm as the evening meal progressed. As usual, all the dishes were served at once: cold cucumber chunks marinated in vinegar and sugar; tofu with minced pork and chopped peanuts; sautéed shrimp with fresh green peas; steamed stuffed winter melon; sweet‐and‐sour pork with pineapple slices; stewed duck with leeks. After the grown‐ups were served, we children were each handed a bowl of steamed rice and an assortment of the day’s dishes. We were expected to consume every morsel of food on our plates. It was frowned upon to leave any scraps behind, even one grain of rice.

  Ever since the arrival of PLT, I had started to hate eating duck in any form or shape. It seemed wrong to eat an animal of the same species as my darling pet. Aside from duck, Third Brother and I shared an aversion to fatty meat, taking great pains to hide or discard any fat on our plates. I now looked with revulsion at my portion of duck meat with its underlying layer of soft yellow fat. Apparently Third Brother felt the same because I saw him extract his piece of duck when no one was looking and slip it into his trouser pocket.

  I had eaten everything except my duck. Slowly, I lifted the duck with my chopsticks and let it drop to the table as if by accident. Father was complaining of the heat. I watched the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and wondered why he didn’t remove his jacket and tie. Every night he and Niang came down to dinner dressed to the nines: he in a stiff white shirt, knotted black tie, long pants and matching jacket; she in a stylish dress with all her make‐up and not a hair out of place. Wouldn’t he be more comfortable in a tennis shirt and shorts and she in a loose house dress?

  I was thinking of sticking the piece of duck to the bottom of the dining‐table when I saw Niang glancing at me suspiciously. Quickly, I popped the revolting morsel into my mouth and held it there without chewing or swallowing. Niang was instructing the maid to bring in a fan.

  Muttering about having to go to the bathroom, I rushed out, spat my mouthful into the toilet and flushed it down.

  When I returned, Niang was describing the dog‐obedience lesson she had received with Jackie from Hans Herzog that morning. Mr Herzog was a renowned German dog‐trainer. His lessons were highly selective because Jackie was being taught to obey only Father, Niang and Fourth Brother, who took turns attending Mr Herzog’s sessions with Jackie.

  ‘Is Jackie making any progress?’ Father asked.

  ‘It’s hard to judge because I see Jackie every day,’ Niang answered. ‘I certainly hope Jackie is learning something because Mr Herzog has raised his fees again! My driving lessons are now cheaper than Jackie’s obedience lessons.’

  ‘Since it’s so hot tonight,’ Father suggested, ‘why don’t we all cool off in the garden after dinner? It will also give us a chance to test Jackie’s obedience.’ He turned to Big Brother. ‘Go fetch one of those ducklings that the Huangs brought. We’ll have some fun tonight!’

  There was a momentary silence. To us children, Father’s announcement was like a death sentence. Immediately, I had a picture in my mind of my pet being torn to pieces between Jackie’s frothing, ravenous jaws. I felt as if my heart had stopped beating. I held myself rigid, in a world full of dread, knowing with absolute certainty that the doomed duckling would be mine.

  Big Brother scraped back his chair, ran upstairs and came down with PLT. Everyone avoided looking at me. Even Aunt Baba could not bear to meet my eyes. Father strode into the garden with PLT on his palm and sat down on a lounge chair, flanked by all the grown‐ups. We children sprawled in a semi‐circle on the grass. Jackie greeted his master joyfully, wagging his tail and jumping up and down with happiness.

  Father released PLT and placed her in the centre of the lawn. My little pet appeared bewildered by all the commotion. She stood quite still for a few moments, trying to get her bearings: a small, yellow, defenceless creature beset with perils, surrounded by humans wanting to test their dog in a gamble with her life. I sat stiffly with downcast eyes. For a moment, I was unable to focus properly. ‘Don’t move, PLT! Please don’t move!’ I prayed silently. ‘As long as you keep still, you have a chance!’

  Jackie was ordered to ‘sit’ about two metres away. He sat on his hind legs with his large tongue hanging out, panting away. His fierce eyes were riveted on his prey. Father kept two fingers on his collar while the German Shepherd fidgeted and strained restlessly.

  The tension seemed palpable while I hoped against hope that fate could be side‐stepped in some way. Then PLT cocked her head in that achingly familiar way of hers and spotted me. Chirping happily, she waddled unsteadily towards me. Tempted beyond endurance, Jackie sprang forward. In one powerful leap, he broke away from Father’s restraint and pounced on PLT, who looked up at me pleadingly, as if I was supposed to have an answer to all her terror.

  Father dashed over, enraged by Jackie’s defiance. Immediately, Jackie released the bird from his jaws, but with a pang I saw PLT’s left leg dangling lifelessly and her tiny, webbed foot twisted at a grotesque angle. Blood spurted briskly from an open wound.

  I was overwhelmed with horror. My whole world turned desolate. I ran over without a word, cradled PLT tenderly in my arms and carried her upstairs. Placing her on my bed, I wrapped my mortally wounded pet in my best school scarf and lay down next to her. It was a night of grief I have never forgotten.

  I lay there with my eyes closed pretending to be asleep but was actually hopelessly awake. Surely everything would remain the same as long as I kept my eyes shut and did not look at PLT. Perhaps, when I finally opened them again after wishing very hard all night, PLT’s leg would miraculously be healed.

  Though it was the height of summer and Aunt Baba had lowered the mosquito net over my bed, I was deathly cold; thinking over and over, ‘When tomorrow comes, will PLT be all right?’

  In spite of everything, I must have dozed off because at the break of dawn, I woke up with a jerk. Beside me, PLT was now completely still. The horrors of the previous evening flooded back and everything was as bad as before. Worse, because PLT was now irrevocably dead. Gone forever.

  Almost immediately, I heard Father calling Jackie in the garden. He was preparing to take his dog for their customary Sunday morning walk. At the sound of Jackie’s bark, Aunt Baba suddenly sat up in her bed. ‘Quick! Take this opportunity while Jackie’s away! Run down and bury your pet in the garden. Get the big spade from the tool shed at the back and dig a proper hole.’ She
handed me an old sewing box, placed PLT’s little body inside and closed the lid.

  I dashed out of my room and almost collided with Big Brother, who had just come out of the bathroom in the hall.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, full of curiosity. ‘And what’s that you’re carrying?’

  ‘I’m going to the garden to bury PLT.’

  ‘Bury her! Why don’t you give her to Cook and ask him to stew her for breakfast instead? Stewed duck in the evening and stewed duck in the morning! I love the taste of duck, don’t you?’ He saw the look on my face and knew he had gone too far. ‘Look, that was a joke. I didn’t really mean it. I’m sorry about last night too. I didn’t know which duckling to pick when Father gave me that order. I only took yours because you’re the one least likely to give me trouble afterwards. It wasn’t anything against you personally, understand?’

  ‘She was my best friend in the whole world . . .’ I began, tears welling up in spite of myself. ‘And now I’ve lost her forever.’

  Halfway down the stairs, I heard Third Brother calling me from the landing. ‘I’ve been waiting to go to the bathroom but I’ll be down in the garden as soon as I can. Don’t start without me.’

  The two of us stood side by side, dug a hole and buried PLT under the magnolia tree with all its flowers in bloom. After that day, I was never able to smell the fragrance of magnolia blossoms again without the same aching sense of loss. We placed some grains of rice, a few worms and a little water in a shallow dish along with a bouquet of flowers in a milk bottle by PLT’s grave. We bowed three times to show our respect. I cried throughout the ceremony.