All the Tea in China (28 page)

“So soon?” I did not want to impose on Glory and Precious Spring’s hospitality, but I felt great contentment within their bamboo walls.

Phineas nodded. “We must be on our way to Canton.”

“You are forgetting something.” Precious Spring went back to the bedroom and retrieved a long switch of black hair. She motioned Phineas to sit, and she skillfully wove the hair into his much shorter queue. At first I thought the switch was from the tail of a horse, but when Precious Spring had finished her weaving, I realized it was Phineas’s own hair.

“I had to cut the length when I left China, and I must wear it again when I return,” he said.

“It is law that a man must wear a queue in China and is punishable by death if he does not,” Glory said. “It is the same with a shaved head.”

I glanced at Phineas, alarmed. “Will you have to do that as well?”

He smiled, obviously reading that I could not bear the thought of his losing any hair to a razor. “If I wear a cap, I think it will cover enough.”

I sighed with relief.

We said good-bye, tearfully on my part, for I was not certain that I would ever see these wonderful people again. I wondered if their desire was to spread Christianity in Macao, for I sensed that the Chinese community in which they lived was much in need of the gospel message. Yet they had no tracts and politely refused the ones I offered them, declaring that they might be more needed farther inland.

For my part, I would never forget the kindness they showed Phineas and me, a stranger. It was with much reluctance that I left the red brocade dress, but it would remain a happy memory of my wedding to Phineas.

I also left behind the gray cotton dress, for I saw no need to keep any reminders of the life I had left behind.

Prearranged, a cart arrived for us, taking us back to the harbor at Macao. The
Dignity
had left, I saw, and I asked Phineas if he thought we might see the ship in Canton.

“I doubt it. And even if we do, no one aboard will recognize us. We look Chinese to them and would easily pass under their eyes with no notice.”

“How will we get to Canton? Is it a long journey?”

“Not particularly. We will travel up the Pearl estuary by way of sampan.”

“What is that?”

Phineas pointed to a small flat-bottomed boat propelled by two short oars. I judged its size against the larger ships I saw in the docks. The East Indiamen and the equally large four-masted Chinese junks overwhelmed the little skiff. “Can we make it so far on that?” I said.

“Many people—entire families—live on sampans,” Phineas said. “It will hold us.”

The journey seemed to symbolize my current life, in which everything was new and exciting. I had foreign clothes and a new hairstyle, had been admonished to act Chinese, and found myself in possession of a husband. I was thrilled to be traveling where no British women were supposed to go. The future seemed endless!

“Where are we going first when we reach Canton?” I asked Phineas.

He glanced at me sideways. “To my mother’s.”

The future suddenly seemed rather unsteady.

The air was hot and sticky, and my cotton clothes clung to my skin. Phineas said that this month, August, was one of the warmest and that in Canton summers were long and the winters short. He warned me that sometimes monsoons occurred—devastating winds and rains.

The sampan belonged to a husband, wife, and two small children, and it reminded me of Phineas’s words when we had visited the poor in Oxford:
“Yet even they would be richer
than many in China.”
I knew now what he meant. The family of four, with another child obviously on its way, lived on the tiny wooden boat with its partial cover, catching to eat and sell what fish they could on the Pearl. The husband’s eyes widened when Phineas dropped extra coins in his hands. “You are going to much trouble to row us up river,” Phineas said. I did not know how much the money was worth, but it must have been a goodly amount.

Besides other small sampans like ours, Chinese junks with sails that looked like folding fans sailed past. Dwarfing them were the foreign ships of commerce, much like the
Dignity
, belonging not only to England, but according to their flags, the Netherlands, Spain, and Sweden as well. We also saw stern-oared tanka boats. Both sides of the shores were hilly, and here and there I spotted small Chinese buildings. The river smelled of fish, water warmed by the sun, and the promise of commerce miles upriver in Canton.

When we were finally on shore, I was amazed again to hear so many languages. I was even more amazed that so much of it was English. Facing the harbor and the many ships crowding the water was a row of different buildings that various countries rented to conduct their trade. Each country flew its flag outside its building, all of which were enclosed by a wall. Phineas said that the European merchants were not allowed to leave this riverbank area, known as the Thirteen Factories.

“When the emperor allowed foreigner traders, he believed that if he could contain them to this area and within Canton, in the extreme south of China, that no harm would come. The Chinese merchants who deal with the Europeans must be licensed by the government in Peking and pay large fees. The government also profits from the European silver acquired in trade, the Europeans acquire their tea, silk, and porcelain, and all are happy.”

His face darkened. “Until the Europeans started trading opium instead of silver.”

“But the
Dignity
carried no opium,” I said. “What will they trade?”

“No doubt they met with another East Indiaman in Macao, one that weighed anchor in India first for opium. Wong Si-yan!” he said to me sharply, under his breath. “Put your head down and walk behind me. Do not gawk at anything, for you must appear to be a submissive Chinese wife.”

I raised my head even higher to argue, but his expression indicated that to brook an argument might be at my own peril. I lowered my head and dropped behind him a few paces. We were scarcely noticed in the crowd of people, who had important trade matters to tend to.

One man in British clothes bumped into me then tipped his cap. “So solly, missy,” he said, grinning before he hustled away in the crowd.

Phineas smiled briefly, apparently pleased that our ruse had worked, then continued pushing through the crowd. Outside the walled compound, he approached several men standing beside a sort of bamboo chair attached to two long poles. I could not hear his words, but I believe they haggled over a price. At last he gestured to me and, like a displeased husband, ordered me brusquely into the chair.

I had questions, naturally, but I wisely held my tongue, keeping my head down and my face away from the strange men. I did not want them to look too closely at me, lest they realize I was not Chinese. Fortunately, they seemed more intent on their business, one hoisting Phineas’s trunk onto his shoulders with apparent ease, and the other two lifting the poles of my chair to their shoulders. My stomach lurched, and I found myself up in the air.

I glanced at Phineas, who grinned up at me. “Will you not ride?” I asked quietly, so that no one could hear.

“It would not be seemly,” he said, equally as soft, then walked ahead as though happy to be shed of my company.

Once I accustomed myself to the jostling of the chair, I found it quite exciting and enjoyable. I was a good head taller than my chair bearers, so I could see over everyone we passed. The narrow streets were lined with many small shops, their steep roofs consisting of long tiles with the corners turned curiously up at their ends. Vertical banners hung near the street, proclaiming each shop’s purpose. Vendors also sold wares and food—some with tantalizing smells and others a trifle peculiar to my senses. The streets teemed with people and the varying pitches of their voices as they proceeded with their commerce.

I would have continued to gaze in awe at everything the entire city had to reveal, but Phineas glanced back at me and frowned. I remembered to put my head down, focusing, sadly, on the dirt road instead.

We traveled a short distance, just long enough for me to wonder why I had not been allowed to walk. I was certainly capable! Perhaps it had something to do with class. I knew that there were different levels of society in China, just as in Britain, and I wondered about his mother. I had not thought to ask about her.

We stopped in a merchant area, and the chair bearers let me down rather roughly, to my estimation. I was unharmed, however, and certainly above giving them the satisfaction of knowing they had displeased me. I managed a quick glance at our surroundings before returning my gaze to the road. The buildings were set so close together that it was difficult to see where one shop ended and another began. Vendors and buyers haggled at makeshift tables set up to display wares such as squawking chickens, ducks, earthenware, and shoes.

To my disgust, it seemed that nearly every vendor and buyer managed to spit at least once. I can assure you that I kept a close eye on not only where I stepped but the lovely but serviceable black slippers Precious Spring had given me. The spitters took little notice of their saliva’s destination, often to the peril of many shoes.

Phineas paid the sedan chair men and indicated that the man shouldering the trunk should follow. We headed off the main road, and I wanted to ask Phineas a multitude of questions, but with the stranger present, I could not. I remained the dutiful, unnoticed wife.

At last Phineas stopped outside a thick-walled compound. I could see several buildings past the iron gate, all with heavily tiled roofs and curling corners. Silently he paid the man, who hurried off—in search of another job, no doubt. Phineas glanced around to make sure we were alone. Assured that we were, he took my hand. “This is my mother’s house.”

I trembled. “What will she think of me?”

“She will be delighted that you have gone to such extremes to dress and speak as we do.” He smiled and opened the gate.

“I was concerned more with her thoughts regarding our marriage. You said that she wanted you to marry a Chinese girl.” My feet seemed resistant as we walked on thick stones past a tranquil garden and fountain.

Phineas squeezed my hand. “She will adore you, Isabella. Just as I do.”

“What should I call her? I do not even know her name.”

“Her name is Wong Siu-yin—Little Swallow—but you will call her Nai Nai. It is a term for a mother-in-law.” With a final smile, he pushed through the door.

I believed I knew the answer to my question about her social standing right away. She was neither nobility nor peasant, but somewhere in between. A young girl approached us, and Phineas greeted her as a servant. “Please tell my mother that we are here,” he concluded.

The girl cast a suspicious glance in my direction, then headed into the interior of the home. I glanced around at the home with its gracious display of intricately carved chairs, tables, cabinets, and curiously colored vases. Two pots of peonies sat on three-legged stands. “Your mother does not want, does she?” I murmured.

Phineas seemed about to respond, but his gaze was drawn up the hall. A short lady with an elaborate hairstyle hobbled her way toward us, her green silk dress flowing. I could not divulge her age by her face, but her mouth set hard as though she had once been pretty and now resented advancing age. “Wong Yu-Chung,” she said softly, smiling at Phineas.

I smiled as well, for I had not known his Chinese name. Its literal meaning was “To Take on the World Vigorously,” and its implied meaning was “Success in Life.”

“Leong Tsan.” Phineas addressed his mother, placing his left hand over his right fist and bowed, as he had done when he presented the sword to me. His mother nodded in return.

No embrace? No welcoming kiss? Despite my curiosity at their peculiarly reserved exchange, I stood to the side grinning, I am certain, like an escaped inmate from Bedlam.

“I can’t believe you have returned from that wicked, wicked country,” she said. “I had nearly given up hope.” Her gaze turned to me, and her expression altered like a storm cloud passing across the sun. “Who is this?”

Phineas drew me to his side. “This is my wife, Mother. Her name is Isabella. Her Chinese name, which I have given her, is Wong Si-yan.”

I curtsied. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Nai Nai,” I said. “I—”

She peered at me closely. “She is not Chinese! Why have you given her our family name, Ah Chung?” She referred to Phineas by the diminutive of his full name.

“She has chosen to identify with us. In England it is the custom for a husband’s family name to pass to his bride.”

Nai Nai sneered. “Your bride should have been picked by the matchmaker to make sure you would have luck together.”

“Yes, Mother. She would have studied our birth years, days, and hours to see if we matched.”

“You probably did not even consult the book that would decide whether it was a lucky day,” she accused.

“We married only yesterday,” I said, hoping to help. Surely the day before Phineas’s return must be lucky indeed!

She narrowed her eyes, making no mention of the fact that I had spoken in Chinese. “Yesterday? It was particularly unlucky.”

“Isabella and I do not believe in superstition,” Phineas said. “You know that I am a Christian. Isabella is one too. In fact, she came all this way to—”

“That is your father’s doing. And his family. They do not care that they have ruined my family.”

“That was a long time ago,” Phineas said softly. “Can you not be pleased that I am home again?”

She glanced at me then nodded at him, acknowledging that she would end the discussion. She led him into the house, and I followed in resignation, an obedient wife in borrowed Chinese clothing.

For the rest of the day, Phineas’s mother spoke to me only when absolutely necessary. If I tried to insinuate myself physically closer to them or even into the conversation, she closed up tighter than an oyster. Phineas regaled her with stories of how diligently I had worked at learning Cantonese, how we had had—inasmuch as it was possible for our beliefs—a traditional Chinese wedding. Phineas introduced me to his younger sister, Wong Yu-fai, which means “Splendor of the World.” I, however, would address her as Phineas did—Ku Tzi, which means “Little Sister.” About the age of young Mr. Calow, she was all politeness itself, but underneath, I was certain, lurked a warmhearted girl. She nodded at me, dignified, but her eyes shone. Though she struggled as a young lady for proper behavior, the hint of a smile curved her lips.