Fortune is a Woman (20 page)

She sat stunned on the orange crate, the fifty dollars clutched in her hand. The boy looked up from his abacus and smiled at her. "Little Son," Lai Tsin had called him. And she was "Little Sister." A warm feeling crept around Francie's heart. Lai Tsin and the boy were more of a family to her than her flesh and blood had ever been.

He returned very late that night and by the light of the guttering candle she could see that his face was long. He sighed as he sank onto the crate and put his head in his hands. "Joss forsook me tonight, Little Sister," he said in a mournful singsong.
"Aiee, aiee,
how it deserted me."

Her heart sank as she thought of his savings. "Oh, Lai Tsin, you lost all your money," she gasped.

He shook his head. "I am a very good gambler. I won, but the man I gambled with had no money to pay me. Instead he gave me this paper. He told me it was worth eighty dollars, maybe more...."

Francie took the paper from him. It was written on thin parchment with Chinese lettering at the top and a red seal. Underneath was written in English:

"Leasehold for a term of nine hundred and ninety-nine years to a Parcel of Land in the Central District of Hong Kong, running between Des Voeux Road and Queens Road, the exact area and dimensions of which are defined in the map hereunder."

She stared at him, surprised. "But Lai Tsin, this is the deed to a piece of land in Hong Kong. It says the lease was sold by the Mon Wu Land Company to a Mr. Huang Wu.

He nodded. "Huang Wu was Chung Wu's grandfather. The land became Chung Wu's and now it is mine. Here is his letter saying it belongs to me."

He handed her a scrap of paper written in Chinese and she gave it back to him. "You must translate it for me," she said.

He held the paper at arm's length, clearing his throat and shifting his feet. Finally he shook his head. He stared at the floor, embarrassed, and said, "Little Sister, it is my eternal sorrow that I have never learned to read or write."

Francie blushed; she had caused him to lose face and by now she knew how important the facade of politeness and respect was to a Chinese. "I'm sorry," she said.

He shrugged, his thin face expressionless. "My family was poor, there were no scholars amongst us. There was no time and no money for learning. All I know are my numbers. From the age of four I worked in the mulberry fields, harvesting the leaves and packing them into hampers. I worked in the rice fields, helping plant the new shoots, or tended the ducks on the duck farm owned by the village big lord. It has always been my wish to cultivate my mind instead of the fields, but it was not my fate. We were seven sons and one daughter and all had to work, for without our labor no one would eat." He sighed. "And now I am more than thirty years old and I am still as poor as when I was a child of four. Fate is my master, Little Sister. She has not destined Lai Tsin for scholarship and greatness."

"That is not true," Francie said earnestly. "You
can
be a great man, Lai Tsin, greater than your village lord. You
can
be a scholar. I will teach you myself to read and write."

He smiled sadly at her across the guttering candle. "I was like you when I was young," he said gently, "full of foolish hopes. Now I am older and wiser and I tell myself I am Lai Tsin, the unscholared gambler. It is my destiny."

He sat opposite her on the floor and said, "I am not like the other San Francisco Chinese, who come from Toishan. My village is in the province of Anhwei on the banks of the Yangtze, called by us 'Ta Chiang, The Great River,' because it is the highway of China. It rises in Tibet and circles around high mountains and through deep gorges, flowing eastward over the great plains to Shanghai and the China Sea. Each year after the monsoon rains, Ta Chiang rises and overflows its banks. Sometimes it would penetrate our village and ruin our crops and those years would be bad for everyone, for there would be no food and no money.

"My village was very poor. The village lord owned the land and the peasants farmed it. Our houses were made of yellow mud baked into bricks. There was a courtyard with wooden galleries linking the rooms and a cookroom on the ground floor where the women would gather to prepare food, and a deep well where they drew water. At each end of the roof were placed two carved wooden bats, lacquered red. They said they warded off misfortune, though why anyone still believed it after so many bad years I did not understand."

Lai Tsin paused. He took his waterpipe from the corner and lit it with a spill from the candle, inhaling luxuriously, while Francie waited for him to go on.

"The windows were made of thick rice paper," he said at last, "and I remember how they trembled in the ice winds of winter, blowing over us as we huddled on our bedmats around the little charcoal stove. And in summer we could barely breathe in the stillness and the moist heat. My family was large: there was my father and his Number Two wife, and also his concubine and ten children, though three of them died young. Two were infants who had barely breathed, but Little Chen, my younger brother, was three years old and my favorite. He had a face as round and flat as a pancake, with twinkling dark eyes, and he was always making me laugh. It was I who looked after him; I took him to the rice fields with me, I shared my food with him because he always had a hungry mouth and I was the one who snuggled up to him at night to keep warm. Then suddenly he fell ill with the fever that comes from the swamp lands near the river and within a day he lay dead.

My father informed the village elders, and the next night when it was still dark they came with a basket and took him away. It was forbidden, but I followed them. The tears for my beloved little brother were streaming down my face, though I dare not cry my sorrow out loud. Because Little Chen was so young they said his spirit was too unformed for a funeral and we were not allowed to mourn him. They left him in his little basket at the foot of a tree in the sacred
fung-shui
grove for the birds and the dogs to take.

"I knew the elders must be home before dawn and I waited until they had hurried away. Then I went to his basket, opened it, and kissed his sweet little face and said good-bye to him. I could hear the whirring of the wings of the big birds overhead and then the stirring in the reeds as the hungry dogs came in search of him, and I ran terrified back to the village. As was the custom, my family never spoke of him again."

Lai Tsin fell silent. He blew a long spur of ash from his pipe and looked across at Francie. "I have never spoken of this to anyone before," he said wonderingly. "My whole life is locked inside me, the words are inscribed on stone tablets around my heart and the memories are as cruel as a sharp sword." He shook his head. "It is better not to talk of such things, not to remember them."

In the candle glow he caught the glimmer of tears in her blue eyes and he reached across and took her hand. "You have a tender heart, Little Sister," he said quietly. "And a trusting one. Once I was like you, my wounds were as deep, my sorrows maybe even greater. I promise you that life goes on and one day all our ghosts will be laid."

"I tried to lay my father's ghost this morning," she whispered, clutching her blanket tighter, chilled by the thought of him. "But it was no good, Lai Tsin, his spirit was still there, still searching for me...."

He put down his pipe and beckoned her closer. She leaned toward him and he took her face in his thin, narrow hands, turning it first to one side then the other, running his fingers across her temples and the lobes of her ears. Then he took her hands and placed them palm-up in his, inspecting the thumbs and peering at the minute whorls and lines.

"Your fortune is written here," he said at last. "Here is the line that says you were strong in your childhood, and here the jagged cross-lines that show illnesses and sorrows. And I see cleverness and ability in your face, you have the power to command other people and they will do as you wish. That power is there, in your head and in your hands. You will gain much money. It will encompass many lands and much travel and earn you great respect. There are hardships, yes, but these will be overcome because your will is strong and you are stronger than those who seek to curtail you. And I see children, maybe two—" He stopped and looked at her strangely.

"Oh, but I'll never marry," Francie cried passionately, "never."

His brown, almond eyes were mesmeric in the candle glow; she could not take hers away from them. "There will be men in your life," he said. "You are a beautiful girl and soon you will become a woman. Men will not ignore you, and men will love you. It is also your fate."

She dropped her eyes, staring down at her hands still lying in his, and he said gently, "There is violence in your fortune. Much violence. There will be times you will not avoid it and it will bring you great sorrow."

"Then my fortune is already decided," she whispered, looking at him, frightened.

He nodded again. "Fortune has made her plans. All we can do is try to fool her. There are many things I could tell you about myself and how to cheat fate."

She watched as he relit his bubble pipe. "Please, won't you tell me now?"

He shook his head and said, "Maybe one day, Little Sister."

Francie lay down on her bedmat in the corner next to the boy. She peered at his innocent sleeping face, marveling at the resiliency of children. The boy had lost his family and his home, he had gone through earthquake and fire and yet he slept the sleep of the angels. She covered herself with her blanket and lay down beside him, soothed by his gentle, even breathing and the soft bubbling of Lai Tsin's water pipe, and within minutes, like the boy, she slept.

Lai Tsin sat till dawn over his pipe and his memories. In the early morning light his face looked gray and careworn and his eyes were black with unnamed tragedies. He put away his pipe and lay down on his mat by the door, turning his face from the others, as though his memories might trouble their dreams. He thought of Francie and what was to come and he sighed. It was a long time before his eyes closed and he slept, the light sleep of a cat keeping watch for its enemies.

CHAPTER 16

Annie recognized the place from the postcard Josh had sent her. She stood on the sidewalk gazing at the pile of bricks and rubble that had once been the Barbary Coast Saloon and Rooming House, wishing she had never come to San Francisco. She had seen the list of missing and presumed dead and Josh's name had been among them. This had been his home and this was where he had died. Tears streamed unchecked down her face and people turned curiously to stare at her but she didn't notice.

Sorrow dragged like a lead weight on her heart as she remembered the sunny, beautiful baby, the mischievous boy, and the tall, graceful young man. She remembered his gentleness and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had never killed those women, no matter what Sammy had said. And if it were not for Sammy Morris, Josh would never have run away, he would never have come here to San Francisco, he would not have died alone and afraid in a shabby rooming house. She tried to imagine how he had felt when the earth shook and the walls fell in on him, burying him under the rubble. She thought of him trapped, choking for air, waiting and hoping for someone to save him and then the fire had come. She shuddered, putting her hands over her face. It was too terrible even to think about.

Francie hadn't wanted to go to the saloon that day, but somehow her feet just took her there. She walked slowly, holding the boy by the hand, staring silently down at the toes of her stiff old leather boots, thinking of Josh. Lai Tsin had told her that if she was to get on with her life she must lay his ghost to rest too.

She noticed the young woman from half a block away. She was wearing a blue woolen traveling suit and a large hat with a russet plume and Francie thought she looked different, sort of foreign. She saw her put her head in her hands and then her shoulders shook with sobs and Francie's heart went out to her. She hurried toward her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Believe me, I know how you feel," she said sympathetically. Annie sniffed back her tears and looked at her. "I lost my fiance. He was badly injured, then the earth shook again, a great slab of mortar came flying down and struck him on the head." She closed her eyes as she said, "I had heard someone die before and I knew that sound. I knew he was dying."

Annie gazed into her sad face and said, "I'm sorry, lass. I know there must be thousands of others grieving as myself. But my brother was such a special lad and I've come such a long way, hoping to find him still alive."

Francie stared at her, puzzled. There was something familiar about the way she spoke... she had called her "lass," just the way Josh did, and she said she had come from a long way to find him. Her eyes widened as she looked at her. She was small and rounded, she had big brown eyes with a fringe of dark lashes and there was something eerily familiar about her smile. Suddenly she knew. She said, "You are Josh's sister."

Annie's jaw dropped, she clutched her arm, dazed.
"You knew Josh?"

"It was Josh I was talking about, it was Josh I was with in the earthquake—"

Annie burst into tears again as she realized that Josh really was dead. She put her arms around Francie, and hugged her tightly. "I'm glad he met you," she said between sobs, "at least he was with somebody who loved him when he died. I had nightmares thinking of him all alone, just lying there waiting for the flames. Now I know what happened, and terrible though it is, it's not as bad as the unknown."

She took a step back, holding Francie at arm's length, seeing what Josh had seen in her. A thin, waiflike young girl with crazily cut pale blond hair, a sweet heart-shaped face with a jagged scar across her forehead, and huge sapphire-blue eyes. She mopped her tears and said, "So you were Josh's fiancee. That makes you almost an Aysgarth, doesn't it? I mean, if Josh had lived you would have been my sister-in-law. And I don't even know your name."

"It's Francie. Francie Harrison." The little boy lurking behind her tugged at her skirts, and Annie stared surprised at the little Chinese lad in his coarse blue smock and the funny little cap with bunches of colored ribbons on the earflaps. He had a round face and almond eyes and he looked about four years old. She scooped him into her arms. "And who are
you,
little fellow?" she asked, pulling his cap straight and smiling at him.