Journey Across the Four Seas (24 page)

"Ha, ha, ha," Baba laughed, his head tossed back, showing the roof of his cavernous mouth. "You exaggerate, Secretary Cho. How can my short legs run faster than yours?" To one of the servants, Baba said, "Tell the chauffeur I won’t be needing the car tonight. He should drive Mr. Cho to the office and wait there until Mr. Cho finishes his work."

Cho wagged his invisible tail as if his master had given him a juicy bone. After he left, Baba extolled the virtues of diligence and loyalty. Everyone at the table knew whom he meant.

Later that night while I was up feeding Agnes, I heard footsteps down the hallway where Cho’s room was. The clock read
half past four
in the morning. The secretary’s dedication impressed me. Even if he did have a greasy smile and a slick tongue for flattery, I had to admit that he was indeed diligent.

Cho repeated his performance frequently, and each time Baba lavished him with compliments. I didn’t read anything more into this little drama until I overheard the servants talking in their quarters.

"Your Excellency is like a giant—" it was Ah Hing speaking in Cho’s melodious lilt. "You walk one step and I have to run ten—"

A man’s guffaw followed. "He told me not to tell anyone. But if he can do it, why can’t I talk about it?" The voice belonged to the chauffeur. He was single, and so was the pleasant-looking Ah Hing. I’d noticed that they liked to banter with each other.

"He looks dressed for the office, but it’s not the office he wants me to drive him to. It’s the mahjong parlor!" the chauffeur added.

"I don’t understand this. Why doesn’t Minister Wang suspect anything? If I were to leave the baby to play mahjong, my mistress would find out soon enough. That Old Cho claims that he goes to the office at night. Can’t Minister Wang see that he hasn’t done any work?"

I was pleased to see that Ah Hing was as smart as I’d thought. At the same time, I felt bad that my father-in-law’s weakness had become the brunt of servants’ gossip.

"Ahem!" I cleared my throat to alert them of my presence. "There you are, Ah Hing. I couldn’t find any clean bibs in the drawer. Can you see if there are any back there?"

The two, who had been sitting side by side on Ah Hing’s bed, jumped to attention. I wanted to tell them not to worry; their secret was safe with me. I wasn’t going to Baba to report on his secretary. If I did, I would be the one to get into trouble. In Baba’s eyes, Cho was faultless. All that Baba could see were Cho’s beautifully embroidered praises such as: "Minister Wang, if you had joined the Kuomintang, you would be sitting in the seat of Prime Minister." Or: "Minister Wang, you will go down in history as the economic genius of the century."

I began to wonder about my revered father-in-law. What did it mean for the country when its leader had such poor judgment of character? Sneaking off to play mahjong might be a small matter, but dishonesty was not. If Cho were to commit a serious offense, would Baba be just as blind?

*

Chiang Kai-Shek didn’t share my concern. Within several months of my move to
Nanking
, Baba was promoted to Deputy Prime Minister. Before I had time to settle down, I was packing again, this time to a spanking new house far from the mass grave. Instead of dead soldiers, live ones surrounded the place. Every time I went in and out of the house, if only to take Agnes to play in the garden, soldiers saluted me. Whenever Ah Yi took me out to play mahjong, soldiers stood guard outside till we finished the game. Soldiers even went shopping with us. At department stores, all I had to do was to point to what I wanted. A soldier would carry it to the counter and have it registered in Baba’s account.

What a far cry from my life just a few years ago! I used to be a working girl running around on my own, constantly breathless from trying to catch up with inflation. Now I could have all the material goods in the world without asking how much they cost. I’d never cared much about money, other than having enough to live on. But every time I looked out the window of my limo and saw the men and women trudging in their drab clothing, my heart filled with gratitude for my good fortune and with sadness for the little people of
China
.

Two years after the war, much of the country’s population was still struggling to stay alive. Military campaigns against the communists were consuming much of the government’s resources. Unemployment and inflation went unchecked. Sometimes at dinner, Baba would let out some of the current thinking on economic reform. Bits of my textbook knowledge of economics would surface, and I would be tempted to add my voice to the debate. I always kept my mouth shut, though, for opening it could only expose my ignorance. Ever since I got married, my brains had gone mostly unused. The only printed matter that passed before my eyes was the Kuomintang mouthpiece, the Central Daily, which carried more propaganda than news. For me to tell my father-in-law how to run the country was as laughable as for him to tell me how to lull my baby to sleep.

I decided to leave politics to politicians and concentrate on my own field—motherhood. During my first pregnancy, I had been careless to the point of almost causing a miscarriage. Thus when my second pregnancy came along, I was determined to take better care of my baby. Knowing how forgetful I was, I asked one of the orderlies to remind me to take my calcium tablets. Sure enough, the strapping
Shandong
lad presented me a white pill on a saucer after every meal. The calcium went directly to the baby’s bones, which grew so large that they jabbed into my stomach. I could only eat half a bowl of rice at a time. Anything more would come right back up the moment the fetus twitched.

The rapid growth sent me into labor a month before the due date. With sirens blaring, a military escort cleared the road to the hospital. Nurses met me at the entrance and helped me into a wheelchair, although I was perfectly capable of walking. In the lobby, a small crowd had gathered around a woman in the same condition as I. On closer look, I recognized her as the Prime Minister’s daughter-in-law. We exchanged a few words—what a coincidence, dilating at the same time—and were wheeled into separate rooms.

The next day a Central Daily headline read: Third Generation of Prime Minister and Deputy Arriving Hand in Hand. Baba was tickled, and so was I. This was the first time my name appeared in the papers. I wanted to clip out the article and send it to Mother, except that the information it carried was incorrect. After one night at the hospital, the third generation of the Deputy Prime Minister decided its time hadn’t come yet. All movement stopped, and I went home.

Three weeks later, on
January 21, 1948
, a military convoy rushed me to the hospital again. This time, the baby was in such a hurry that I had to constrict the passageway so that the doctor could get ready. As a result, the baby nearly suffocated in the birth canal, and emerged blue and lifeless. The doctor held the newborn by the feet and slapped its bottom. "Wah!" my son cried. His blue face turned crimson, and he kicked and boxed at the cruel world. Laughing, the nurse pretended to dodge his jabs. I joined in the laughter, happy that my son was all right. I was also glad to have completed the Chinese character for "good," which consists of two parts: girl on the left and boy on the right.

My eldest son was christened Patrick in English. This was the name of a former
Hong Kong
University
classmate who was now studying law in
England
. My son would do well to accomplish as much as his namesake. His Chinese name, Kin-Yip, came from his grandfather. Kin-Yip is
Nanking
’s ancient name, and it means "to establish a profession." This is a good aspiration for a boy, and especially the eldest boy. In a Chinese family, the hopes and dreams of the older generation rest on the first son. His achievements will determine the quality of his parents’ golden years. His home will be his parents’ home, and his wife will honor his parents as if they were her own. Although I was far from that stage in life, I believed that the education of a child began at birth. That was why, in spite of the number of nannies and orderlies running around the house, I always spent time with my children during the day and slept with them at night. Most women in my shoes would be living at the mahjong table, but I had no such inclinations.

*

Hok-Ching was having trouble at work again. At first, I let his complaints go in one ear and out the other, as this wasn’t the first supervisor he’d detested. But when he came home one day and told me that he had quit his job, I was forced to listen.

My reaction was: "Again?"

"What do you mean by that? You talk as though I do this all the time."

"You quit your last job at
Chungshan
University
, and the one before in
Szechwan
," I reminded him.

"Those were different circumstances. How can you compare them?" His face was a thunderhead, his dark complexion darker than usual.

"What are you going to do now? Ask Baba to find you another job?"

"What do you mean? He didn’t get me this job. The manager hired me on my own merit. Had I known that he was a communist, I would have told him to go to hell."

"How do you know he’s a communist?"

"I wrote an anticommunist editorial for a student magazine, and he had the gall to censor it! I’ve suspected for a long time that this man is a traitor. I didn’t have proof then, but I do now. Somebody is giving him secret directives. I bet you anything he’s a card-carrying member of the Communist Party."

There can be other reasons for rejecting your editorial, I wanted to say. But I also knew the futility of arguing with my husband.

"I can always find another job," Hok-Ching carried on. "With my talents, people will be fighting over me. Have you heard of the time Baba took me to a famous fortune-teller in
Shanghai
? The man studied my face and said I was as sharp as an awl. You know what that is? It’s a pointed tool carpenters use for making holes. What he meant was that whatever I took on, I would pin it down and poke at it until I got through."

The fortune-teller had a point. I’d seen how my husband operated. Whenever he tried to tackle something, he always did it with obsession. However, the moment an obstacle blocked his path, he would fly into a rage. The fortune-teller’s insight therefore had one fatal flaw—Hok-Ching never kept the pressure on long enough for the point to penetrate.

What were we to do? The thought of crawling to Baba once again filled me with shame. His goodwill might not have been used up, but the skin of my face wasn’t thick enough to weather the humiliation. Besides, what could he do for his obstinate son? Find him another job, only to have him quit again in a few months? No, I’d had enough of this cycle. The only way to stop it was to get out altogether. As long as Hok-Ching had this big tree of a father to lean on, he would never learn to stand on his own two feet.

My thoughts turned to my own family. One of Brother Kin’s letters mentioned that Uncle Ben had opened a branch office in
Hong Kong
. My brother had notified me because I was a company shareholder. The pieces of paper in my dowry suddenly became more valuable than the gold and diamonds. I dashed off a letter to Uncle Ben, asking if he needed help in his new office in
Hong Kong
. Hok-Ching had little experience in business, but the head on his square shoulders was sound, and he was eager to learn. I jokingly added that given the fact that his wife was co-owner of the company, he would do his best to make the enterprise a success.

While waiting for Uncle’s reply, I could do nothing but dream of
Hong Kong
. In
Nanking
I was a fish in a gilded bathtub. In
Hong Kong
I would be a fish returned to the ocean. I would be swimming with my schoolmates, many of whom had become established professionals in the two years since the war ended. The colony’s best and brightest—doctors, lawyers, teachers, civil servants—were people I could call on any time.

My reason for staying away had also vanished. Yolanda, the thorn in my side, had lost her spike. She’d married her fiancé and given birth to a daughter. When we got together again, we would be interacting as two couples. A table with four legs was more stable than one with three.

Uncle Ben’s reply arrived shortly. He was looking for a cashier for his
Hong Kong
office. The position couldn’t be more ideal. For Hok-Ching, it would be a good entry point into the business world; for Uncle, one potential drain on the company’s income would be plugged. A family member could be trusted to keep his hands out of the till.

For the fourth time in two years, I was starting over in a new home
.
Although my expertise in packing had attained its highest degree, this move was more challenging than any other. Agnes was a year-and-a-half old, and Patrick was four months. On the train ride down, Hok-Ching and I would be running in circles around the two. As theft was common, I decided to leave the crown piece of my dowry, the diamond necklace, in Baba’s vault. The rest of my jewelry was squirreled away among the diapers, which, hopefully, no thief would want to touch.

Sometimes I wished I had a donkey. I could load everything on the animal and set off at a moment’s notice.

TAPE EIGHT

LIVING IN A PRISON

1

In postwar
Hong Kong
, finding a vacant apartment was as rare as striking gold. Reconstruction had been going on at full steam, but no amount of effort could have kept pace with the population growth. Thousands of refugees crossed the border every day—former
Hong Kong
residents who had fled the Japanese were coming home, and others who had always lived on the mainland were fleeing the communists. Every landlord in
Hong Kong
, no matter how small his property, was sitting on a gold mine.

Through Sam-Koo’s connections I located a sunny two-bedroom in
Happy
Valley
. The rent was on the high side for Hok-Ching’s salary, and the $8,000 deposit the landlord demanded was plain banditry. But desperate for a home, we signed the lease anyway. I had to sell some of my dowry to raise the cash. Sam-Koo came to live with us, and she brought along an amah called Number Five. This woman was a twenty-two-year-old fresh from her village in
Kwangtung
. Like thousands of her rural sisters, she’d come to
Hong Kong
to fill the vacuum left by the abolition of
mui tsai
slavery. This army of domestics all wore the same uniform of white pajama top and black bottom, and they all braided back their hair into single strands. But the most important thing that bound them was their vow of celibacy. Serving their employers was their only goal in life, and the families they worked for were their families.

With such good help, I soon turned the flat into a cozy home. Compared with the mansion in
Nanking
, it was as shriveled as a cube of dried tofu. But this tofu was mine, and I could do anything I pleased with it. Having been dependent on my in-laws these last years, I’d forgotten the simple joys of being the mistress of my own home. I could set my own menus, select my own furniture, and best of all, determine who the inhabitants were.

Aside from Sam-Koo, I also took in my childhood friend, Yung-Jen. The wealth of her baker father had vanished during the war. She and her mother had fled to
Vietnam
to stay with relatives. In
Saigon
, Yung-Jen ran into a different kind of war—the war for independence. A shell fell on her house, and shrapnel tore into her arm. The limb had to be amputated, leaving a stump that was still pink and raw like the meat in a butcher shop. Since her return to
Hong Kong
, her half brothers had been passing her from one home to another. Nobody wanted to take care of a cripple. When Yung-Jen wept on my shoulder, I held her only hand and said, "My home is your home. As long as I have a roof over my head, you don’t have to fear the beating of the wind and rain."

Some people might think that I shouldn’t have taken extra people into my small apartment. I would tell them this: where there’s harmony, there’s always room.

Sam-Koo and Yung-Jen were my loyal friends. We could bump into each other without feeling hurt, breathe the same air without feeling stifled. Furthermore, we had no cause to hide from each other, leaving the room when the other entered or going opposite ways in the corridor. After living with my in-laws, I’d learned that it wasn’t the size of the home that mattered, but the people who lived in it.

In this congenial atmosphere, even Hok-Ching seemed happy. He had no complaints against the people in the office, and the people in the office had no complaints against him. Word got back to me that the manager was most satisfied with his new cashier. At last, Hok-Ching had found a job that was perfect for his cautious character. He never let the cash box out of his sight, and every cent that went in and out was recorded, checked, and rechecked. At the end of the day, the debit and credit columns always tallied.

I could only hope that this situation would last, but three months into his new job, Hok-Ching’s career was interrupted again. This time, it was for good reason. Brother Kin was getting married. Enclosed with the invitation was a fat check for our plane fare.

I was overjoyed. Almost three years had flown by since my reunion with my mother and brothers. Without Brother Kin’s generosity, many more would have passed before I could have saved up enough for the next trip. I was also overjoyed for my brother. He’d put off marriage till his late thirties so that he could put all his energy into making money. More than anything in the world, he wanted Mother to live in style. Now that she had everything she ever wanted—a large house with a huge backyard for her dogs, rabbits, ducks, and whatever creature she fancied—his time to take on additional responsibilities had come. His bride was a Thai-born Chinese, also of
Swatow
ancestry and many years his junior.

*

On the day of the wedding, the center of attention wasn’t the bride and groom. It was my son, Patrick. At nine months old, he was a devil with two little front teeth sticking out of his gums. Active and packed with calcium, he was all boy. Up till then, there had been only girls in the latest generation: I had Agnes, and cousin Nancy had three girls in succession. Patrick was the first boy in the clan, and everyone was ecstatic over his masculine antics. My relatives gathered around just to watch him crawl, which was quite a sight. He could scuttle on all fours faster than I could run, and when one of my cousins placed a chair in his path, he bulldozed it away.

After the crawling circus was over, Sam-Koo carried Patrick into the bridal chamber to look at the decorations. The wedding bed was draped in brocade and covered in a red satin sheet. Placed on it were bowls of fruits and seeds, symbols of fertility. Tired of holding the fidgety baby, Sam-Koo put him on the bed. Right then and there, Patrick peed. A stream of urine leaked onto the mattress. "A good omen!" Sam-Koo cried. "With boy urine on the bed, the newlyweds are going to have a son!" Seeing the delight on the grown-ups’ faces,
Nancy
’s little girls thought the bed was their playground too. They scrambled on it, jumping and squealing in their shrill female voices. "We don’t want girls," Sam-Koo shouted, and shooed them away.

Toward the end of the day, we all lined up on the lawn for family photos. The women stood in the front row, the men in the back, and the children sat on the lawn. I held Patrick in my arms. While everyone’s eyes were on the camera, Patrick wriggled and reached backward, pulling the nose of our patriarch. Uncle Ben burst out in laughter, clearly pleased to have such indignity performed by the precious boy.

Already my mother was crying. "What am I going to do when my grandson leaves? He’s my only grandson. He should be staying by my side during the day and lying in my bed at night. Have mercy on me, Buddha! Grant me my wish. Let me sleep with my grandson until he grows up." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and glanced at me.

As the month wore on, Mother was pestering me more and more about staying. I only smiled and said, "We’ll see." But inside, I’d already made up my mind. Even Mother’s dreams and her sighting of omens couldn’t persuade me. A month’s vacation was all Hok-Ching could get, and he was getting it because the company belonged to Uncle Ben. At the end of the month, I would fly home with my husband. The mistake I’d made years ago—leaving him to the lures of Yolanda and her kind—would never be repeated.

Several days before our scheduled departure, a telegram from
China
arrived. It was addressed to Hok-Ching. Everyone staying at Brother Kin’s house got excited, for urgent news usually meant bad news. We all stood around Hok-Ching as he read it. His face paled. I was sure one of my in-laws had died.

"Baba has resigned as finance minister. He has moved to
Canton
with Ah Ma, Ah Yi, and Hok-Jit’s baby. They’re now staying at a relative’s home."

I was stunned. Chiang Kai-Shek had given Baba the all-important post of finance minister a year earlier. By doing so, Chiang had invested the nation’s hopes in Baba’s ability to stabilize the economy. If hyperinflation were to continue, the communists could win the war without firing another bullet. Baba’s resignation didn’t bode well for the country. He was a man who loved his prestige more than life. For him to resign, things must have gone very wrong.

Brother Kin was the first to find his tongue. "The news coming out of
China
is dreadful," he said. "First the Nationalists lost the northeast, and now they’re fighting communist troops just outside
Nanking
. When
Nanking
falls, the rest of the country will follow." Turning to me, he added, "You can’t go back to
Hong Kong
. It may belong to the British today, but the communists can take it back just by saying so. If you go back now, you’ll be running again in a few months."

My head was spinning with questions. Where are the Americans? How can they stand by while the communists gobble up
China
? If they can defeat
Germany
and
Japan
, why can’t they get rid of a bunch of hoodlums?

"We can’t just leave our apartment in
Hong Kong
," Hok-Ching said. "We’ve deposited a large sum for a one-year lease."

Brother Kin’s eyes flashed as they always did when he thought of a bright idea. "How about this? Tell your father to travel down to
Hong Kong
. He can stay in your apartment while waiting to see what happens next. In the meantime, you and the children will be safe here. You can stay as long as you want."

I put a hand on the wall to steady myself. The whir of a distant engine hummed in my mind. I could again see a pellet dropping from the tail of a Japanese plane and the island exploding in flames. It seemed that the invasion of
Hong Kong
was happening again. I stood by helplessly, watching my life swerve into an unplanned course.

"Let’s do this," Hok-Ching said. "Flora will stay here with the children. I’ll go to
Canton
to pick up my parents and settle them in our apartment."

A charge of energy surged through me. I was once again young and fearless, trekking on my own in interior
China
.

"I’ll go with you," I said to my husband. "I can clear out our belongings to make room for your parents. There are matters about the home that you don’t know."

"But you have to stay and take care of the children!" he said.

I looked at the two sitting on the floor. Patrick was scooting along with his little toy car, while Agnes was struggling to button up her doll. My heart felt a pang. How could I make them understand that I would be leaving them for only a few weeks and not forever? I knew they would be crying for me every day I was gone.

My disappointment was as great as when Ngai told me I couldn’t travel to
Chungking
with him. But while I could defy him and find my own way then, my hands and feet were tied now. My motherly duties were my shackles. The world was turning upside down again, and all I could do was stay home with my children.

"Whatever you say is fine with me," I muttered.

Mother clapped her hands. She plunked herself on the floor next to Patrick and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Buddha, for answering my prayer. Now I can sleep with my grandson every night."

*

Before Hok-Ching left, I made him promise to come back as soon as his duties were done. My chief concern about his traveling alone to
Hong Kong
, which I was sure he understood without my saying so, was Yolanda. In our recent get-togethers, I’d noticed that her behavior hadn’t changed with her marital status. Even in front of her husband and me, she could look deeply into Hok-Ching’s eyes and call him "my dear brother Hok-Ching." I couldn’t imagine what she was capable of doing when I wasn’t around.

My husband was gone for six weeks. During this time, the face of
China
changed completely. The Nationalists continued to suffer defeat in battle, but more distressing to them was that major Chinese cities were surrendering to the communists without a fight. When the hearts of the people had gone over to the other side, there was little hope left. On
January 21, 1949
, when Patrick was celebrating his first birthday, Chiang Kai-Shek resigned as president of the Nationalist government.
          

Several days later, Brother Kin’s chauffeur drove me to the airport to pick up Hok-Ching. As he walked out of the gate, his shirt and pants flapping loosely, I could see that he’d lost weight. His face was long and tight. When he saw me, his lips relaxed in a wistful smile. He walked over and put his hand on my shoulder. I could feel that it was slightly trembling.

"I’ve moved everyone safely into our apartment," he said as soon as we got into the car. "They’re in good health, but they’ve lost everything. Baba managed to take out some of his savings, but his books, paintings, and antiques, and most of all his writings, are gone."

"What a pity," I said with heartfelt sympathy. "What is he going to do now?"

"He’s talking about starting a publishing business in
Hong Kong
."

"So he thinks there’s no hope for the Nationalists?"
    

"The game is over," Hok-Ching said, shaking his head.

My heart felt a pinch. Although the outcome of this chess game had been clear for some days, I was still hoping that the Americans could reverse the situation.