Paper Wife, Page 3

  Mei Ling followed her father and brother along the narrow muddy walkway between the houses. Fuchan and Dai Dai carried her trunk between them. Great Auntie stood in the doorway, baby Low Fun in her arms. The old woman used the girl’s arm to wave goodbye. Smiling, she shouted, “Congratulations.”

  The woman’s excitement for her was a sharp contrast to the dread inside Mei Ling. She looked around for other friendly faces but saw none. Apparently no one else cared to see her off.

  Her home was in the fourth row from the street in their small ancestral village—seventeen dwellings in a neat square except for the single house in the fifth row. In just a few minutes they were at the compact dirt road. She looked to the left toward the temple. Down the road, a crowd of people surrounded the wagon. Her village had come out to wish her farewell.

  They turned away from the gathering of people, to the right, toward the eastern exit of the settlement. Fuchan stopped before their village god to pay tribute by burning paper and incense. May they be safe from all harm. May they be free from all suffering. May they know joy, Mei Ling asked for her family, though she knew it was an impossible request even for a god.

  They walked a hundred paces to the entrance to their village, to the wagon parked in the middle of the crowd in front of the temple. Sorrow pressed down on her heart with every step. She pinched the inside of her left arm hard, using the sudden pain to chase away her despair, a trick she’d used many times before to hide her feelings from the world.

  The crowd parted. The familiar faces of her neighbors watched Mei Ling. Little girls bowed. Renshu, the boy too shy to speak with Jah Jeh, gaped at her. Blessings from aunties filled the air, but she couldn’t discern who spoke them. She heard a shocked whisper echo through the crowd: It is Mei Ling, not Yu Ling. Someone patted her back. Many times she’d been on the other side of this particular ritual. She’d envied the young women who were being celebrated and cheered on, entirely unaware of their terror.

  Her father and younger brother placed her trunk on the back of the wagon. A curtained palanquin, large enough for two, sat in the center of the wagon bed. A small stool waited for her weight.

  Fuchan turned to Mei Ling. With a slight nod he indicated she should go with him into the temple. No one followed.

  She stopped half a length behind her father in front of the altar. They knelt in unison and bowed all the way to the ground. Mei Ling exhaled deeply as her cheek hit the floor. Surrender. Her mother’s familiar instruction echoed in her mind. At this moment it was comforting. They stood up and repeated their full kowtows two more times. Fuchan placed a food offering on the table before they returned outside.

  She stopped at the palanquin, her legs frozen and resistant. Suddenly someone grabbed at her waist. She spun around, ready to strike the attacker. She halted her arm midmotion. It was Dai Dai, his face buried into her belly. She knelt. Wrapping her arms tight around him, she felt his small, precious body. She would miss so much of his life. Soon he would be the last child left in the household. Her heart couldn’t lie about this loss; it swelled up in pain. She squeezed hard. Still unable to look directly at him, she stood, tousled his hair, and kissed the top of his head. Mei Ling turned away, parted the curtain, and ducked inside.

  The matchmaker joined her inside the palanquin. The woman signaled and the wagon jerked forward. Mei Ling turned her head away to face the curtain, hiding her face from the woman who was bringing her so much pain. She could not bear to look outside, to watch her world grow small behind her. Mei Ling pinched her arm again, but her sorrow wouldn’t be chased out. She switched to her calf, squeezing as hard as she could. Her body jolted at the sudden infliction. She’d achieved her goal; anger and alarm overtook her despair.

  CHAPTER 3

  Guangzhou

  March 1923

  The journey to Guangzhou would take six hours if all went well. Mei Ling gazed out the window at the familiar road. Travel in this direction had been a journey toward their real home, their modern house in a new neighborhood of Guangzhou. The village had been their ancestral home, worthy of visits for festivals and holidays, a return to simpler, backward living. As a young child she loved visits to the village, running through the fields, giving honor at the little temple, and playing with the animals. Over time she’d grown disdainful of the simple rural life and was mortified when they were forced to move there permanently.

  They’d been fortunate to have a home in a village when the soldiers came. Mei Ling and Jah Jeh had assured one another it would only be a temporary move, that they would return to the city . . . their real lives. She might have fought harder to stay in Guangzhou had she known that life would lead her to this: marrying a Gam Saan Haak and sailing away to a foreign land.

  The matchmaker interrupted her thoughts. “If we arrive when I expect, we will go directly to the church. You will walk between the chairs to the front, where you will stand for the entire ceremony. It will be very fast, so you won’t tire. The minister will ask you each questions. You will agree. Then you will sign papers and it will be over. I will stay until then.”

  Mei Ling gave a single nod. Then she sat back and closed her eyes, hoping the woman would just leave her in silence. Hours later Mei Ling opened them when she heard noises from outside the palanquin. She peered out of the curtain.

  Her heart leaped at the sight of this city, her city. Guangzhou—Canton to the Westerners—was buzzing around her. She was home, if only for a day.

  Motorcars, rickshaws, and carts filled the packed-dirt street. Containers of water, oil, and nuts dangled from poles slung over the dark-brown shoulders of thin men. Some vendors weaved in and out of the traffic, hoping to make sales from drivers and passengers. Mothers with filthy babies sat on the ground with begging bowls. May they be safe from all harm. May they be free from all suffering. May they know joy, Mei Ling chanted to herself. That was a sight that Mei Ling didn’t miss. No one in the ancestral village begged to eat.

  They turned off the main street, and too soon they stopped in front of a simple building with the Christian symbol, the plain white cross, on the front. He was in there. Chinn Kai Li, the stranger destiny was tying her to. Mei Ling took in a shaky breath in a futile attempt to calm her heart that was beating so hard and fast that it hurt.

  The matchmaker got out and whispered something Mei Ling couldn’t hear to the driver. The man disappeared. The woman returned to Mei Ling with some fabric in her hands.

  “You must wear this on your head, covering your face until the ceremony is over,” she explained.

  The old woman’s swollen hands shook as she fastened the translucent white material on Mei Ling’s dark hair and then pulled the bulk of the cloth forward over Mei Ling’s eyes. Her body tensed reflexively against the assault of the fabric. Mei Ling closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reminded herself that it was only temporary. She slid her hands up against the netting to pull it a few inches away from her face. The lightweight fabric was scratchy and rough. Looking straight downward, she could see clearly. She focused on the colors in her skirt and ignored the misty white shroud obstructing her vision.

  The old woman climbed out again. Momentarily she reached through the curtain next to Mei Ling, offering a palm to assist her from the palanquin. Mei Ling ignored the hand and instead used the wooden side to steady herself. She followed the woman into the church. Using her small slice of clear vision, she trailed the woman’s black shoes along the tiled aisle.

  When the woman stopped, Mei Ling did too. Suddenly the matchmaker grabbed her right wrist and lifted her forearm up, placing Mei Ling’s hand into a man’s. Mei Ling nearly pulled away but stopped herself. Warm, moist fingers barely held her palm.

  Mei Ling looked through the gauze to study his face. In this dim place it was hard to make him out clearly, but he was young, close to her age. That was a measure of solace. He was dressed in Western clothing, a merchant’s suit. She couldn’t read the expression on his face—perhaps he felt leery, or tired, or nervo
us.

  The minister’s words floated by Mei Ling. She struggled to understand the Westerner’s Cantonese through his thick accent. He was asking her a question and wanted her to agree to something, along with Chinn Kai Li. Before long the robed man congratulated them loudly, declaring them man and wife. Without warning the veil was lifted.

  Mei Ling looked at her new husband for an instant before averting her eyes. His smooth and round face confirmed that he was well-fed and didn’t labor outside. Her first impression was that he might be handsome.

  She felt Chinn Kai Li studying her face. Her heart pounded fiercely. He released her hand and turned away. She looked up slightly. He was standing to the side with a modern fountain pen in his hand. After he marked his name on the paper, he offered her the instrument.

  The first words Mei Ling’s husband spoke to her were a question: “You can write, correct?”

  Mei Ling nodded.

  “Only make an X,” he told her. “Wong Lew She cannot write . . . couldn’t write.”

  Mei Ling took the pen and finalized her marriage, hiding herself for the first time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her husband hand a pouch to the matchmaker. They bowed to one another.

  And then the woman who had permanently altered her life left it forever.

  Kai Li took a few steps toward the outer world. Mei Ling supposed she should follow him, but she hesitated, uncertain how far behind him she should walk. He paused, turned to face her, and motioned with his head without speaking. She stepped closer. One step, two, three. When she was less than a full pace away from him, he started walking again. They had much to work out, but it seemed he expected her close to his side—further confirmation that he was from a different world.

  They walked along an unfamiliar street for several blocks. Thin men pulled rickshaws with well-dressed Chinese and White people. Lovely palanquins, carried by four men and balanced between two long poles, hid travelers. In her previous life Mei Ling had been carried in a palanquin on a few special occasions. And she often rode in rickshaws back then. Though they were walking now, perhaps her status as a merchant’s wife would allow her to be carried around once again in San Francisco. Mei Ling got a chill when the familiar and haunting sound of a ship’s horn floated up from the river.

  Mah-ma loved that sound. She had rarely walked to the Pearl River, but commented on the beauty of the water whenever she heard the echo of a ship’s horn. It’s all still here, Mah-ma, Mei Ling telegraphed. She thought of Jah Jeh and wondered whether she was recovered and aware of her changed circumstance, but then realized it hadn’t even been eight hours since she’d left her sister. Her fever wouldn’t have broken yet.

  Kai Li turned into a narrow alleyway. Mei Ling nearly missed the change in direction, but she rushed to keep up with her husband. This was an unfamiliar neighborhood, but the delicious smells in the alleyway were tantalizing. Mei Ling inhaled the fragrant scent of ginger and garlic sizzling in woks and smiled. Chinn Kai Li noticed and acknowledged her appreciation with a small nod and a smile of his own. Mei Ling flushed.

  She was taken aback when Chinn Kai Li entered a dilapidated Western-style building. Mei Ling had imagined that a merchant would stay in finer accommodations. But she reminded herself that he was still young. At the beginning of his career a man was wise not to expend money frivolously. Ahma would approve.

  They climbed five stories on worn stairs to the top floor. Chinn Kai Li opened the door to a dingy, windowless space. The room was in no better repair than the building.

  A very young child sat alone on the bed. Mei Ling was startled but shouldn’t have been. This must be his son, Bo, who wouldn’t be three years old until August, according to the matchmaker. She looked for a caregiver, but there was none. He’d been left alone to fend for himself. Her impulse was to go to him, but instead she focused on her husband. He pointed out the stove and water basin that were so close as to be impossible to miss against the forward wall. Then he walked to the other side of the only bed to show her that her trunk was already here.

  Kai Li bowed low enough to show honor but not subservience and left Mei Ling alone with the boy who was now her son.

  Mei Ling took in a steadying breath and pushed down the insult that her husband had left without the courtesy of introductions. She did not know who was not worthy of that honor—the boy or herself. Perhaps both of them.

  She wanted to dig through her trunk to confirm that her coins were safe but decided to greet the child instead. The little boy looked even more scared than she felt. His pudgy hand was clutched around something. She looked closer and saw two long brown ears poking out: a carved rabbit. She approached the bed and sat close, letting their bodies touch. His shoulder flinched, but he didn’t turn away.

  “I’m your new mother,” Mei Ling said carefully, studying his narrow face for a reaction. He stared at the floor, his expression flat, unchanged.

  Mei Ling probed, “What do you like to be called?” The boy’s dark-brown eyes slid sideways to look at her without turning his head, but he didn’t reply to her question.

  “You can call me . . .” Mei Ling stopped, uncertain, her throat tightening. She didn’t know what she was to this child. Her lungs pulled in tight. Suddenly this dingy room felt suffocating and small. She left the boy to open the door for fresh air. The stuffy hallway was barely an improvement. She leaned her head on the door jamb, overwhelmed and alone.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement. She looked over. The boy was lying on the bed now, curled up in a ball, his back to her. Shame welled up in her. This little one was her responsibility. She owed it to him to be a good mother.

  She exhaled, walked back to the bed, and squatted by the side, her head close to his.

  “You may call me Mah-ma,” she told him. “I’m your Mah-ma now.”

  He looked directly at her, his eyes intense and uncertain, and gave a tiny nod. She nodded back with a small smile despite the pit of doubt in her stomach. Mei Ling touched his back gently. He flinched but didn’t pull away.

  She smiled again, and said, “Hello, little rabbit. Do you have a name?”

  Bo looked at his hand, then back at Mei Ling.

  “May I pet Rabbit’s ears?” Mei Ling asked.

  The boy nodded, nearly imperceptibly. Mei Ling gently rubbed the figure in his hand. She smiled at Bo, but he was looking down. She sighed at her failure and stood up.

  She explored the tiny kitchenette. A dented wok sat on a hot plate. Two bowls and two sets of chopsticks were stacked up neatly. The only food she could find was a small bag of rice. She craved tea, but had no means to make any.

  A throat cleared behind her. She spun around to see Chinn Kai Li framed by the doorway, a bag in each hand. He crossed to the table where she stood and opened one bag. He unloaded tofu, bok choy, and black bean paste.

  “I . . .” Instead of finishing his sentence, he raised a finger slightly. He opened the other bag and pulled out a bowl and a third set of chopsticks. Then he reached in and brought out a small sachet of tea. Peony. A tea of celebration. Wordlessly he set it on the table and turned away.

  She was touched by the offering. He seemed to feel as uncertain as she did. Mei Ling looked at the simple foods on the table. She’d use them to do her best to make a meal for her new family.

  She served her husband first and then the boy. When the child dropped a chopstick, she offered him one of her own. He stared at her outstretched hand, then reached for it tentatively. When his bowl was empty the little boy managed a surprisingly long sentence in his small voice: “Bo is pleased. Thank you.”

  Mei Ling smiled at him. “You are most welcome, son.” And in that moment she felt pleased too.

  But anxiety quickly returned. She was trepidatious about being a physical wife, and dread rose in anticipation of what was to come that night. While washing up after dinner and preparing for bed, Mei Ling felt her heart racing hard in her chest and her breathing growing shallow. She did her best to hide he
r anxious feelings and was grateful that Chinn Kai Li didn’t expect conversation.

  Mei Ling took Bo to queue up in the hall so he could relieve himself before going to bed. After a twenty-minute wait, they squeezed into the small space. It was disconcerting to be so intimate with a boy she had just met and yet comfortably familiar to care for a young child. When she was eight years old, Dai Dai was entrusted to her care soon after his red egg party a month after his birth. She doted on him, and then her precious younger sister, as much as her mother and her Jah Jeh did.

  After finishing in the bathroom Mei Ling encouraged the boy to lie on the bed. She lay down next to him to tell him a story, just as her Mah-ma would when she was sick or especially frightened.

  “Do you know the Rabbit Moon story?” Mei Ling asked. The boy looked at the wooden rabbit clutched in his hand.

  “When the moon is big and round, we can see the rabbit. I will show you next time he is there,” Mei Ling said. “Would you like to hear the story?”

  Bo nodded without speaking.

  Mei Ling told the story just as her mother recounted to her:

  Every night Chang’e, the goddess who lives on the moon, looks down on Earth to see how her animals and people are doing. She smiles to see them resting after a hard day’s work. She winks at children as they fall asleep. She hovers over rivers and lakes, lighting the waves and the shore, helping animals to find their way home safely. Then she sails on to other lands to do the same for the children and animals that live there.

  One night long ago, Chang’e watched the Jade Emperor disguise himself as a starving old man to test the kindness of the animals in the forest.