The Valley of Amazement (74 page)

I must say, however, I have never observed Flora showing any affection for Minerva. She never seeks her out. That was unlike you. You were a skirt puller for attention, at that same age.

I was glad at first to hear Flora was not close to Minerva. But later I worried. If Flora felt no happiness or pride, this would be terrible. If she did not feel love for anyone, this would be tragic. I hoped her lack of feeling had more to do with the loathsome people she lived with. A few days later, another letter came from Mother:

She is cordial with her teachers and cooperative with the other students, but none are special to her. She does not seek them out. They do not seek her out. She prefers her solitude on the school grounds. She has a favorite tree and a squirrel that eats from her hand. From that spot, she observes the others. She appears to be quite fond of her tan-colored horse at the stables where she takes her riding lessons. And her favorite companion is a little perky-eared dog, the color of a dirty mop. I learned this after I accidentally tore out a small hole in an ivy hedge that surrounds the Ivory family’s estate. The dog runs around her in circles, does tricks, and barks in a piercing shrill voice. I went to the library, and after a search in the encyclopedia with all things that start with the letter
C
and
D,
I determined the dog is a cairn terrier, whose talents are limited to digging and stealing food. I will obtain one soon.

“Uncle Loyalty” received a well-written letter of thanks from Flora for her father’s cuff links. “She has very good handwriting for a seven-year-old child!” he exclaimed. He slowly read aloud the English words: “Dear Mr. Fang … Mr. Fang? Why not Uncle Loyalty?” He looked puzzled, as if his own child had disavowed him. He had developed avuncular feelings toward Flora simply by helping me scheme how to reach her. I told him this should not discourage him from sending another gift next year from Uncle Loyalty.

M
Y VALUE TO
Loyalty’s business grew. He had me attend meetings with his foreign-trade customers. I was his so-called secretary who took notes of what was said. As his translator did his usual work, I took on the role of being
momo.
With his English-speaking customers, I transformed myself into the secretary who spoke only Chinese. With the Chinese ones, I became the foreigner. By plan, Loyalty and his translator were called away at least twice during those meetings, which gave his customers a chance to speak confidentially among themselves, assuming I understood nothing. If they glanced toward me, I gave them a friendly smile. Later, I would give Loyalty my report, the customer concerns about quality, or speed of manufacturing, or cheaper competitors, or honesty.

I gave him yet another observation. Many of his new customers talked about going to the latest nightclubs. They discussed ways to get out of going to the party Loyalty wanted to host at a courtesan house. I told Loyalty that courtesan houses were less in fashion and some were known for fleecing customers. For a while, Loyalty resisted my suggestion that he set up an account at one of the more popular clubs. He had once been looked upon as the epitome of a successful and sophisticated businessman, but he had not changed with the times. He wore the same fashions, which I said suggested he was not that successful anymore. Eventually he let go of his stubbornness and bought new suits, which he wore to the Blue Moon Club, where, with my help, he became a member and, soon, a favorite customer who was always seated at his preferred table.

“Violet, you are always surprisingly clever,” he said one day after I suggested he give his American customers souvenirs of Shanghai.

Since our early days together in the courtesan house, he had often said I was “surprisingly” this and “surprisingly” that. I should have seen it as a compliment, but, given our history, I felt he was implying that he had expected little of me. I used to worry that one day he would cease to say he was surprised, and I would feel I had met only his low expectations. I finally told him that the word annoyed me.

“Why is it bad that I say this? My other translators do nothing surprising. You will always be surprising to me, because you are better than most, and that is true not just in your work, but also in who you are to me. This is your nature, which I appreciate and is the reason I’ve always loved you.”

“You haven’t always loved me.”

“Of course I have. Even when you married—both times—I kept my loving feelings. All these years, I have never loved anyone more than I have you.”

“You mean not anyone else besides your wife.”

”Why do you persist with that? You know that was a marriage in name only. We’re divorced now. We stayed together only for our son. Why don’t you believe me? Shall I have you talk to her on the phone? Let me call her right now.”

“Why are we talking about these old matters? From now on, you can say I’m surprising, but don’t tell me you love me, because I know where on my body you want to put that love.”

“After all these years, you still don’t know how to accept kindness and love when it’s offered.”

Loyalty and I succumbed to our old intimacy within four months of my starting my position at his company. I had to admit to myself that he made me laugh more than he wounded me. He appreciated me. And I enjoyed his attentions in bed. He knew me well in so many ways. But our relationship had become different as well. I did not tie his affections to the number of gifts he gave me, nor did I have the same fears and uncertainty in waiting for him to decide whether he would see me. He did not decide any of it. He was not my customer and I was not his courtesan. I lived in my own apartment and saw him daily at the office, and at other times two or three times a week. I called him “my friend” and not “lover,” as he suggested.

“A friend is someone who is not as special as a lover,” he complained.

“Magic Gourd is a friend, and we are very close. A lover could be a man who is close to your body.” I told him that I wanted a lover who was dependable and faithful, and not someone who made me wonder what he was up to when he was away from my side for even thirty minutes, which was all it took for him to flirt with a woman and suggest further flirtation elsewhere. He had done that. And he continued to go to courtesan houses.

“What man does not look at a pretty woman without imagining more? That’s not being unfaithful, just curious. If you found a man like the one you describe, I would say there is something unnatural about him. Would you really go off with someone like that?”

“Don’t you want honesty and trust in business? If you suspected a partner or employee had cheated you, wouldn’t you be reluctant to do further business? Maybe you think I should expect less from you because I was a courtesan, and customers could never be expected to be faithful, not even with a contract. Even when I worked in that world, I still wanted love so strong that the man would have no interest in another woman. Maybe you will always be incapable of giving that kind of love. You tell me I want too much. And maybe I do, but like you and your imagination, I can’t help but be that way.”

I ended our relationship many times, shouting he was an unfaithful bastard who gave me fake love—and sometimes with accusations that particularly tender moments had been false, which wounded him.

“You’re the one who wants to quit,” he would say to my reason for ending our affair. “So who is trustworthy and steadfast?” His logic was maddening. He said my feelings were illogical.

He continued to philander behind my back, visiting courtesan houses at least once or twice a week. One day I spotted a gift in a red silk bag sticking out of his pocket. He admitted he was going to a courtesan house, but the gift was not for anyone in particular. He was carrying it in case someone sang or told a good story. My feelings for him vanished all at once. It was strange how quickly it happened. Instead of being infuriated by his lies, I felt free. That’s when I knew I could end our relationship for good. I was calm when I told him. I explained that we were two different people who were not compatible in what we wanted. He started to argue about the gift—that it didn’t even cost that much. He pulled out a hairpin. I told him it wouldn’t have mattered if he didn’t go to courtesan houses at all. I simply didn’t love him anymore.

He was shocked and gradually his face fell into sadness. “I see it in your eyes. It’s finally happened. I’ve lost you. How stupid that I didn’t treat you better. I’m sorry.” He fell quiet. His eyes looked lost. “All my weaknesses didn’t mean my love for you was weak. I treated you badly and felt I could count on you to forgive me. After all, you didn’t forgive your mother, yet you forgave me many times. It’s too late to take back the suffering I caused you. But I can’t bear the thought that I may have caused you to distrust love even more. You have to believe I’ve always loved you. From the beginning, I felt you knew me. When we were apart, I felt something was missing. No matter how many friends were with me, I felt alone. I felt dissatisfied no matter how much success I had. I never wanted to admit this, Violet, but with you, I could be a child again, innocent and good. Imagine that! Loyalty, who is so successful—-just a naughty little boy, who would wake in the middle of the night, so scared by how much he loves you, he needed to touch your face to make sure you were there. It was as if you protected a hidden part of me. And when you were not there, I felt I was going to die alone. I wish I told you many years ago.” He had tears in his eyes.

I took back the little boy and I stopped breaking up with him. I moved into his house, and we still fought, not as much, and we always conceded that we loved each other. We did not declare we loved each other. We did not profess it with the giddiness of a secret finally revealed. We admitted it.

One afternoon, after we returned from a cousin’s funeral, he said, “Promise me, Violet, you won’t die before I do. I couldn’t stand it. I’d lose my mind without you.”

“How can I promise that? And how can you be so selfish in hoping you’ll die first when that would leave me to be the one who suffers?”

”You’re right. You should die first.”

We settled into the routine of a married couple, knowledgeable about our habits, likes, and dislikes. We noted how our bodies had softened with age, and how the atmosphere of Shanghai had gone crazy with decadence competing with decadence, which we did not find attractive. How odd that we had become the old-fashioned ones. We agreed on more things than we disagreed and could let go of most annoyances, and only a few of his faults reignited the same arguments that had once torn us apart.

We had been together around three years when Loyalty told me that he had been finding it harder and harder to empty his bladder. It had been going on for a while, but he did not want to tell me, lest I think he was worried, which he was. He downplayed his fear by saying it was probably something like constipation of the penis. A few days later, he saw blood in his urine, and he came to me white-faced. I made an appointment to see a doctor.

We sat holding hands when the doctor told us he had cancer of the prostate. He would need radiation. The doctor said this would give him the best chance, and if it did not have the desired result, they would try another treatment. Loyalty feared the radiation would shrink his penis and testicles, and that the second treatment would involve cutting off both, leaving him a eunuch. He had always acted like a strong man, and would never show any kind of weakness. It made me ache to see the unmasked despair and fear in his eyes.

“I refuse to let you go,” I said. “We’ve been fighting so much over unimportant matters. Now I’ll fight to keep you. You know how strong I am.”

“My dear Violet girl, if a strong temper can cure, I will soon be well.”

While he underwent the Western treatment, I went to the Chinese doctors for medicines. I bought large amounts of the immortality mushrooms, once taken by emperors.

Loyalty laughed weakly when I told him that. “Immortality? Where are those emperors now?”

“They were murdered by their wives.”

The Chinese doctor came with his acupuncture needles every day. I made Loyalty do
chi gong.
I fed him the freshest foods that were balanced for yin and yang. I hired a feng shui master to rid the house of disturbed spirits. It did not matter whether I believed that spirits existed. It was my declaration that I loved him and would do everything possible.

“Even though I’ve treated you so badly,” he murmured, “you still love me. You are still here. You are always surprising, Violet. Everything I thought was important is not. The business, the flower houses, none of it is lasting. Only you are important. My sweet girl. I want only you with me to the end of my days, whether they are few or many.”

“Ah, but if I cure you, my boy, will you claim the disease affected your brain and you do not remember the part about no longer visiting flower houses?”

All at once, pain and fear left his face. He seemed healthy again. He took my hand. “Please marry me, Violet. I’m not asking you now because I may be dying. I’ve wanted to ask you many times in the past. But you were always mad at me. There was never the right moment to declare we should be together for the rest of our lives when you were yelling at me that you would never sleep in the same bed with me again.”

We married in 1929. His family objected. He was marrying a woman who did not appear to be entirely Chinese, and who had no family history except a murky one. I shed a flood of tears that he had stood up to them. When I was fourteen, I had dreamed of marrying him. When I was twenty-five, I lost Flora because I was not married. I had married Perpetual out of desperation and fear for my future. And now I had married Loyalty for love. Eighteen months after we married, the doctors told us Loyalty no longer had the cancer. Both the Western doctors and Chinese doctors took the credit. Loyalty said he was alive because of me.

“All those foul-tasting soups you made and your constant nagging to drink them,” Loyalty said, “even the cancer could not stand it and left.” Over breakfast each day, Loyalty kissed my forehead and thanked me for letting him see the new morning. He served me tea. That one act was an astonishing show of appreciation and love. Loyalty was used to others taking care of all the comforts of his daily life. He had never had to think of mine or anyone else’s.