All the Flowers in Shanghai (14 page)

He would arrive without greeting anyone, take his seat, and that would be the signal for us to sit. Food was put before him first, then before the two wives, and after that it was served to the rest of us.

The seating for dinner, like that for breakfast, was organized very traditionally. The great banqueting hall, being rarely used, remained locked after our wedding until over the years it was almost forgotten. The children were seated on tables of their own, as far away from the head table as possible, and the different branches of the family’s adults, who all lived in the house, occupied separate tables of their own. The head table, which was slightly larger than the rest, was reserved for Father-in-law, First Wife and Second Wife, Xiong Fa and me, and the oldest members of the family.

Father-in-law only liked a few dishes for dinner and these were repeated again and again. As the food was served you could hear people around the room moaning because it was chicken soaked in rice wine for the third time that week, or tofu with Jin Hua ham two nights in a row. The Sang family never ate rice. It was peasant food, and since they had built and lived in this huge house, they were determined to leave behind any trace of their own peasant ancestry. The only people who were served different food were pregnant women, who enjoyed a special menu to build up their strength and ensure healthy plump babies.

Yan told me I must always sit next to Xiong Fa and if he moved I should follow him. I ate quietly and neither too quickly nor too slowly, trying not to do anything that would attract attention to my presence. If Father-in-law singled a person out for comment or conversation, other people would stare and gossip. They would question whether that person was trying to get closer to him, perhaps seeking a favor. Often, though, the person in question was simply being criticized for some breach of Father-in-law’s etiquette and being lectured on how the family would have lost face if such a thing had occurred in public.

I wanted to be like a little flower among all these trees, perhaps
Ranunculus acris,
the tiny meadow buttercup. For many years this was my favorite flower, bright but soft, happily hiding amid the grass. It was one of the first names Grandfather had taught me in that ancient language.

I would look down at my food and concentrate on eating. The dishes were always well prepared, as the cooks had had enough practice over the years. I heard that other families joked that at a Sang dinner one would only ever get five dishes—but they would be the best in the country. Father-in-law was very proud of this fact. Each of the dishes served was a marvel to see as he would accept nothing less. The colors of the ingredients caught the eye like a perfectly balanced flower arrangement, the rich deep brown of the duck meat, like warm earth, and the bright pink of the ham, like petals. As I ate I would gaze at each dish, reminding myself of the flowers I’d seen in the gardens during my walks with Grandfather.

I had to be careful, however, never to become too distracted by my daydreams and forget the rules of family etiquette. I would make sure I picked up the right piece of food only with my serving chopsticks and never my eating chopsticks; in my old home, we only used one set each. Being careful not to drop anything, I would place the food in my bowl. Then, using my smaller, eating chopsticks, I would carefully and gently put the food into my mouth. I tried not to eat anything too big or with too many bones in it so that I would not look ill-mannered, tearing the flesh with my teeth or spitting out bones. After each bite I would lay my chopsticks on their rest.

Mostly I looked down at my bowl or at the dishes on the table, avoiding the gazes of the people opposite. Glancing down, I would often see Xiong Fa’s hands holding his chopsticks, taking his tea cup, or resting on the table. I would see his fingers, knuckles, nails, and muscular palms . . . but it was only later in the evening, when I could not see them, that I came to know them.

I learned to finish eating just when Father-in-law did, so I could return to my room after he’d departed, provided Xiong Fa approved of my leaving, which he generally did. If I stayed behind I felt vulnerable and overwhelmed by the strong personalities around me, all of whom possessed such self-confidence and expected so much attention. I just wanted to go back to my room and look out of the window at the fading light; perhaps watch the guards changing duty or the old man feeding the fish. Those few hours of quiet between the end of dinner and Yan’s arrival were peaceful and my own.

Once it was dark the whole character of the house would change. In the daylight, it was a busy house, family members coming and going, their children leaving for and returning from school. Then, in the afternoon, it was quiet and empty until dinner. Once the sun had set and dinner was finished, the elder members of the family would retire to their own apartments, the young might go out and the servants to bed. Without sunlight, many places in the house had no lighting at all so each section would have several servants waiting with lanterns in the corridors, ready to guide you wherever you needed to go. Unlike the servants in the dining room, these were the sort of muscled Manchurians who’d carried me here in the palanquin. The lanterns hung from poles slotted into the floor, which the servants would remove and carry in front of them when called. Otherwise they would wait on the floor under their poles and lanterns, dark figures sitting cross-legged in their loose baggy black trousers and soft slippers. Late in the evening the servants would be hot and sweaty and would often go bare-chested, which would never be allowed during the day.

Use of these servants was prioritized by a family member’s place in the hierarchy. I was supposed to be highly ranked but when I was confronted by another member of the family wanting a lantern-bearer, I would always give way. I did not even know the names of many of the others living nearby but the sheer force of their pride and self-confidence frightened me. They stood their ground and did not appear afraid of any possible confrontation, seeming to know exactly what was due to them. I would always stand back and smile weakly, like Ba would have done, letting whomever it was precede me.

Alone in my room after dinner, I would often stand at the window to watch the servants light the lanterns by the entrance to the courtyard. I would watch the guards change as the last of the daylight faded. They all wore complicated uniforms made from thick dark red cotton jackets with leather straps pulled across the chest and many large metal studs set into the sleeves. Each carried a sword and spear and had overelaborate
gong fu
boxer shoes. They looked impressive but I don’t think their uniforms would have given them much protection in a fight. Yan would joke about them being dainty little gate dancers; all nicely posed and balanced, trained in nothing but outward appearance and clockwork movements, without any real fighting maneuvers or bravery. She would say her husband would have shown them what a real soldier must be able to do.

An hour or so after dinner finished, Yan would come to my room to brush my hair and rub fragrant creams into my skin. I had never taken much care of my skin before, letting it become bruised and scarred as I had grown older. I liked the contrast between the rich perfumed creams and the feel of Yan’s rough hands massaging me. The coarseness of her fingertips reminded me of how hard life could be, and of the many luxuries I received in this house. Her rough hands were also a reminder of Grandfather, whose fingers had been similarly worn, and the creams were scented with the aromas of lotus and jasmine, flowers we had grown together.

During the first nights of our marriage, I repeated the same routine with Xiong Fa. As the weeks passed, I learned my role and let him satisfy himself. Though my fears seemed to fade as I became used to his ways and desires, when he started to touch me I would always retreat to another place. Not the gardens at home with their vivid flowers and wild grasses like Yan had advised me. They were sacred and special, I could not go there while Xiong Fa was with me. Instead I would go to a courtyard of exacting brickwork, deep red painted walls and giant closed doors, with guards barring both entry and exit. At the center stood a giant porcelain basin containing hundreds of fish, and in my mind I would watch them endlessly circle in the water.

My husband never asked me if his actions hurt me, he did not seem to think of it. He kissed me and touched me in the same way every night. I did not understand how he satisfied himself but he seemed happy when he left my room.

I
t was after the first week spent like this that Yan started to come into my room immediately after Xiong Fa had left. Once she appeared I would feel less anxious and lost and would be able to fall asleep. I did not feel anything after Xiong Fa’s attentions; our time together was for him, not for me.

Living in the Sang house, I felt small and vulnerable. Simply walking around made me nervous, in case I met First Wife or Father-in-law. I was constantly reminded of Sister’s bitter words to me, but noticed that with each day that passed I found ways to cope with and become accustomed to this new life. Sister, of course, would have had all her new relatives adoring her; would have swept into the dining room with all eyes looking on in envy while she would simply have failed to notice them.

I was happy to go unnoticed every evening, leaving the crowded dining room to sit alone in my own room. I realized that very little was expected of me other than that eventually I should give Xiong Fa a son and the family an heir. I still did not know how I would do this, though. I understood about the child growing in its mother’s stomach, but no more than that.

As I write this I feel so stupid, remembering that time and how ignorant I was then. If I had known or understood, I would never have let you leave . . . never have hurt you. I should have had the courage to ask Yan what I needed to know. She would have told me how things should be. I try to imagine your face on that day, the day I did not want to see it but should have, and I imagine the most perfect little face. My own failings and weaknesses have scarred and hurt you; when I should have done everything and anything to make your life warm and secure, I made it as hard and painful as mine seemed to me. Then I made it worse. At that moment, I should have listened to Yan’s silence.

Within a week, she had become the only person in whom I wanted to confide, yet we had few real conversations. In time she would talk and I would be happy to listen, to appear the mistress but be the child. She could always read my thoughts so well. From that first week, on the few nights that Xiong Fa did not come, Yan would appear with a bowl of congee and I knew we would sit together quietly. She would bring in a small lacquered tray inlaid with pretty peonies. The congee would steam in its bowl and I would see the rice grains bobbing below the surface like a hundred little fish. Each spoonful was warm and comforting, and made even more so by Yan’s sitting quietly on her stool watching over me. Once I’d finished she would take my tray and ask me if I needed anything else. She already knew that I did not like to leave my room at night. I had become afraid of the darkness in the endless corridors and preferred to be in the familiar surroundings of my room, even when most nights I must endure Xiong Fa’s visit.

On the nights when my husband was expected, Yan and I developed a routine, she would come and coax me over to my dressing table with a warm little half-smile that spread across her face through her wrinkles. When I saw this smile I knew she was secretly concerned for me, but we had no choice but to do what was expected. Each night Xiong Fa would tell Yan whether or not he would come to see me. This, I learned, was Sang tradition when visiting their wives or mistresses.

Again and again I sat in front of that mirror. I tried not to look at myself but to focus on the objects around me. I remembered those few days before the wedding when I had seen myself naked for the first time and been intrigued and pleased by the shape of my own body. Now I’d grown used to looking down and seeing nothing. It had become part of the routine. I was happy not to see myself for I had been a fool not to realize how ignorant I was; to know nothing of what people want to do to each other. I had not even been able to imagine such things. I had never imagined a man would want to force his fingers or tongue into me in this way. I would sit at that mirror avoiding my own reflection in it—yet I could not stop myself from wondering if Bi had ever wanted to do those things to me.

Chapter 9

M
y birthday was on the eighth day after our marriage and I became eighteen. Ma, Ba, and Grandfather did not come to see me. They might have been angry that we did not honor the traditional visit to the bride’s parents on the third day; it would have been a huge loss of face for them. However, Father-in-law had been so incensed when I had failed to serve him tea or breakfast and then broken the tea cup at breakfast the day after that, that Xiong Fa said we should not do anything to honor my parents when we had disrespected his. There were no presents or messages for me; maybe after the wedding ceremony this was not considered so important. I had now left one family to join another and if there were to be any celebrations it should be my new family that provided them. Grandfather had always given me a small
li shi
on my birthday, it was never much money but enough to buy sweets and things, and Ma and Ba would buy me some clothes.

My new family provided me with all these things and more anyway, just as Sister had foreseen. I would never want for anything material again. I need not save anything if I wished. I need never become attached to anything, for everything except the family name was considered immediately replaceable. But all that day I wanted someone to give me something or at least to recognize the importance of the day to me. I wondered whether it would be best for me to relinquish my attachment to all reminders of my old life, such as my birthday, for these things were irrelevant, perhaps, and not worth the pain of remembering. My wedding was my birth into this new family—maybe this was the birthday I should remember in the future.