Women of the Silk

  Pei woke with a scream.

  “Pei, it’s all right, it was just a dream,” she heard Ji Shen telling her, holding her shoulders and shaking her awake.

  Pei sat completely still for a moment; then, with a deep cry of pain, she said, “I could have done something, I could have saved Lin!”

  “No, you couldn’t have saved her; no one could have.”

  “You can’t know. How could you know?”

  “You couldn’t have saved Lin, just like I couldn’t have saved my sister! I was right there, don’t you remember, right next to my sister, and there was nothing I could do!” Ji Shen stopped, her face flushed. When she spoke again, her voice was tight, yet calm. “When I first came here, you told me I had to go on living, because that’s what my parents and sister would have wanted. Well, I know it’s what Lin would want.”

  Pei stared at Ji Shen for a long time. She no longer seemed like a young girl as she spoke the words of an adult. Pei loosened her grip on Ji Shen and fell slowly back down onto her bed. She couldn’t move or say a word. Over and over she asked herself how Lin could have left her. Why had the gods turned against her? It couldn’t really be true. Pei bit her lip until it bled, and then she wept.

  Ho Yung came immediately from Canton after receiving the news of his sister’s death. He arrived at the girls’ house just after evening meal the next day. When Pei was told that he was waiting in the reading room, she dressed quickly, not caring about her appearance, and hurried downstairs to see Lin’s favorite brother. When Pei entered the room, Ho Yung had his back to her, and when he heard her and turned around, Pei felt a pain so sharp in her stomach, she thought she might faint. The physical likeness between them, caught at that moment, was so striking. Even though Ho Yung was dressed in his Western clothing, it was as if some part of Lin had returned to her. The same intense, dark eyes watched Pei as she crossed the room toward him.

  Ho Yung looked tired and anxious. “I came as soon as I received the cable,” he said, without formalities. He carried a hat, which he turned over and over in his hands. “Do you know how the fire began?”

  Pei swallowed hard. “A thousand different ways,” she answered, her voice soft and halting at first, then gathering strength. “Some say it was Chung, others say it had to do with bad wiring. There’s no one answer.”

  Ho Yung bowed his head. He seemed much older than the carefree young man she’d met in Canton. “I told Lin to come home to Canton immediately. There was no reason for her to stay here.”

  “She felt we needed the extra money.”

  “I could have provided her with some,” said Ho Yung in anger. “There was no need for her senseless death! Where is this Chung? I want to talk with him!”

  Pei said nothing, feeling the sting of his words. She could feel the heat rising behind her eyes as she turned away. When he saw Pei’s reaction to his anger, Ho Yung instantly softened. “I’m sorry, I know how close you and Lin were. She often wrote to me of you. Lin was very happy here with you.”

  Pei bowed her head. The tears came slowly at first, and before she knew it, Ho Yung was beside Pei, wrapping his arms around her and helping her to sit down. There was a long silence between them until Pei slowly pulled away, realizing with embarrassment that she’d never been held by a man before. His hands felt strong and sure of themselves.

  Ho Yung pulled back and cleared his throat. “I’ve received word from my mother in Hong Kong. She wants me to bring Lin back to Canton, so she can be buried next to my father.”

  Pei nodded her head. She couldn’t begin to think of Wong Tai.

  “I would be honored if you would accompany us back to Canton. Afterward, it’ll be easier for you to leave from there for Hong Kong.”

  Pei looked up at Ho Yung, surprised. “Hong Kong?”

  “It has all been arranged. There’s no reason for you not to go. You can’t stay here—the Japanese are moving closer each day. It would be wise if we leave here as soon as possible.”

  “Ji Shen?” Pei suddenly remembered.

  “Don’t worry, Lin wrote to me about Ji Shen. There’s room enough for both of you.”

  Pei choked back her tears. Lin had taken care of everything. She hesitated, her hand smoothing back her disheveled hair, then said, “I don’t know about Hong Kong now.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist that you leave for Hong Kong. The Japanese are one step behind us. They’ve killed for nothing more than a malicious look,” said Ho Yung. Then he said softly, “It’s what Lin wanted for you.”

  Pei nodded, unable to speak. She couldn’t look at Ho Yung, who reminded her too much of Lin.

  Ho Yung rose slowly. “Would it be all right if I see Lin again?”

  Lin’s body lay in the small, dark room next to the reading room. Pei led Ho Yung to it and closed the door quietly behind him. She still hadn’t had the courage to see Lin’s body since it had been returned to the girls’ house.

  Pei went back into the reading room and waited. She quietly began to cry again. Could she really leave Yung Kee without Lin? The thought left Pei so empty, she felt as if she’d disappear. Pei looked around the reading room, trying to memorize every small detail of it. The last light of the day set everything aglow, as if it might vanish when the sun fell to shadows. At that moment, Pei knew that no matter how far away she might be from Yung Kee, she could never forget its years of kindness. Lin and the sisterhood had been her life for so long. They were burned into her heart.

  The Journey

  Ho Yung immediately left to make arrangements for Lin’s body to be brought back to Canton. He would then return for Pei and Ji Shen early in the morning. When Pei closed the door behind him, she felt a cold fear move through her.

  Pei went to tell Chen Ling first. Chen Ling didn’t flinch at the news. As always, she was serious and businesslike even in accepting the news of their leaving so quickly. She cocked her head sideways, listening, then asked Pei to follow her upstairs to her room. Pei had been in Chen Ling’s room only a few times before. It always seemed to be a part of the house as restricted as Moi’s kitchen, yet as she stood in the midst of it Pei felt comfortable, its clean spareness a strong reminder of Auntie Yee. From the top drawer of her desk, Chen Ling took out a yellow envelope and handed it to Pei.

  “This is yours,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “Lin’s money from the last few months of work. I wanted to wait for the right time to give it to you.”

  Pei held the envelope. The smooth outer paper felt cool and deceptive as to what it held. Lin might be alive if it weren’t for this money. Her death made so little sense Pei wanted to scream out loud. And in the end, the money was useless, she thought: It couldn’t buy back Lin’s life. Pei turned the envelope over in her hands and folded it in half She looked up to see Chen Ling’s eyes following her every move.

  “Thank you,” Pei said.

  Chen Ling shifted and looked away. “It belongs to you.”

  Pei cleared her throat. “Will you and Ming be leaving soon for the countryside?”

  “Very soon.”

  “And Moi?”

  “She refuses to leave the house. She told me she would rather die at the girls’ house than leave it.”

  “What should we do?”

  Chen Ling turned slightly, her body solid and heavy against the desk. “Nothing,” she answered. “We’ll let Moi fight her own battles, just as she always has.”

  “But what if she loses?”

  Chen Ling smiled. “She hasn’t lost one yet.”

  Pei and Ji Shen nervously gathered their few belongings together. Only two possessions really mattered to Pei. They had come to her early in life and retained their value. With great care, she first placed the painting her mother had given her, and then Lin’s set of brush and combs, in her bag. There was little need for much else. In time, it would be as simple as Ji Shen said: Pei knew she would have to go on living, even if Lin wouldn’t be there to accompany her on the rest of her jour
ney.

  Downstairs, Pei could hear voices. First Moi’s, and then Chen Ling’s caught her ear, then the low rumblings of strangers. She left her room and was at the top of the stairs when she heard Chen Ling calling her name. Her first thought was that Ho Yung had returned, but as she descended the stairs, she saw two coolies and another man waiting at the door.

  “What is it?” Pei asked.

  “These men have come to take Lin’s body,” said Chen Ling. “They were sent by her brother.”

  Pei swallowed hard. She had hoped to spend one more night with Lin at the girls’ house.

  The small, bespectacled man with the coolies stepped forward and said, “Please excuse us, but Mr. Wong has arranged for his sister’s body to be taken to the ferry tonight.”

  It was all happening with such swiftness that Pei was taken by surprise. In her head she made a list of things she had to do before she could leave the girls’ house in the morning. Since Lin’s death, sleep did little to comfort her. She wanted to use the dark quiet of night to say her last good-byes.

  “Yes,” Pei said hesitantly. “But could I have a moment first?”

  “Of course,” the man said, bowing slightly.

  Pei walked toward the little room and slipped in quietly. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought she might not make it. The room was dimly lit by candles, and the overpowering smell of incense thickly filled the air. Lin lay wrapped in a white sheet, just as Mei-li had been. When Pei moved closer and saw the smooth, sharp features of Lin’s ashen face, she began to cry softly, like a small child waking from sleep. She stroked Lin’s hair and felt the coldness of her skin, but it didn’t frighten her. Pei moved closer to her face and whispered, “Lin,” just once. It filled the room and seemed to comfort her. There was so little time left, and so much she still had to say. So Pei said nothing more. She simply leaned over and pressed her lips gently against Lin’s.

  The next morning, while they were waiting for Ho Yung to return, Ji Shen fidgeted with their belongings and asked over and over again, “Are we really going to Hong Kong?”

  Pei felt the dull and sickening ache of leaving, and tried to smile. “Yes, we’re really going,” she said.

  Chen Ling and Ming waited awkwardly with them, pacing and checking the road for any sign of Ho Yung. Moi stayed hidden in her kitchen, despite the news that Pei and Ji Shen would soon be leaving. Every once in a while they could hear the soft murmuring of her voice from behind the kitchen door, but that was nothing unusual.

  When Ho Yung finally arrived, it was with two sedan chairs, which would take them down to the ferry. He had arranged everything for them, and appeared drawn and tired. Pei wondered if he had slept at all the night before. He smiled wearily and waited patiently at the gate for Pei and Ji Shen to say their good-byes. For Pei, there were no more tears. She hugged Chen Ling and Ming, feeling the immediate loss of the two closest friends she had left. “We will meet again,” Chen Ling whispered, “when all this is over.”

  Then, just beyond them, Pei caught the smallest glimmer of movement at the top of the steps. Without a word she returned to the house and found Moi lingering about the front door.

  “I knew you would return,” Moi said, stepping back from the door.

  “I wanted to say good-bye,” Pei said. “We’ll miss you. I’ll miss all your wonderful meals.”

  Moi looked away and smiled shyly. From the floor beside her, she lifted up a cloth bag and handed it to Pei. It was heavy and dense, like glass bricks hitting against each other. “For you and Ji Shen,” she said.

  “Thank you,” said Pei. She looked down at Moi, and was filled with emotion for the crippled, stubborn woman who had kept them so well fed for so many years. Then, something almost desperate and pleading filled Pei’s voice. “Won’t you go with Chen Ling and Ming to the countryside? It’ll be better for you there. You can return to the girls’ house when it’s safe again.”

  Moi shook her head from side to side in small, jerking movements. “No, no, I will stay here with Yee.”

  “But …”

  Moi pointed out the door. “You take care of the young one; she will keep you good company.”

  Pei wanted to say something more, but she knew it would be fruitless. She wanted to make any small gesture to let Moi know how she felt. For a moment, they stood swaying slightly in their uncertainty. When Pei held out her hand, Moi hesitated, then grasped it tightly in both of hers.

  The trip to Canton aboard the ferry was crowded and troublesome. The air was thick and salty. Soldiers were everywhere, asking to see their papers and detaining them longer than necessary. Pei felt sick to her stomach. Only Ji Shen felt any excitement. When they finally found some seats, Pei and Ho Yung seemed lost in their own thoughts. Only when they approached Canton harbor did Ho Yung come alive, leading them to the front of the crowded ferry and pointing out places of interest. Pei listened with little regard for what he was saying, his words falling like stones. Lin had said them all to her the first time she had seen Canton. Now there was only a heaviness that filled her, that made her think the ferry couldn’t possibly float under her weight.

  The same dread flowed through Pei as they made their way through the streets of Canton. While Ho Yung arranged for Lin’s body to be brought back to the family house, she and Ji Shen waited to the side. A few large, monstrous cars sounded their horns to clear the street. Soldiers in scattered groups of muted greens and grays eyed them suspiciously, their hands caressing their loaded weapons. What once seemed so big and magical to Pei now appeared dark and dirty. Anxiousness and unrest filled the air. Filthy beggars in tattered clothing lined the streets, from old men to mothers with young children. Many of them had come from up north, struggling to stay alive among those who had yet to see the terrors the Japanese had inflicted upon them. Pei took Ji Shen’s arm and held on tightly.

  Suddenly, a beggar stood before them, maimed and blinded by the horrors of the war. “Please, Missy, a little something for food!” he begged, thrusting his fingerless stump out in front of them, and following as they boarded a sedan chair. His stench was fishy and nauseating. Before entering the sedan chair in front of theirs, Ho Yung finally turned and threw out a handful of coins, which clinked and scattered across the ground. Pei watched as the beggar fell to his knees, his arms sweeping the ground. He was quickly joined by others, who pushed and fought for the coins.

  Only when Pei turned back did she realize Ji Shen was shaking, pressed against the back corner of the sedan chair. Very gently, Pei reached over and took hold of Ji Shen’s hand to calm her fears. “It’s all right, they’re gone now,” she said soothingly. In silence, they moved slowly forward, gradually picking up speed and leaving behind the voracious crowd.

  “Right here,” she heard Ho Yung tell the carriers as they rounded the corner.

  The same large, dark houses came into view. When their sedan chair came to a stop, Pei paused a moment before stepping out into the heavy aroma of eucalyptus. It filled her head and made her dizzy for Lin. She felt then that nothing would ever be the same, that fate had always taken away everyone she loved. First her parents and Li, then Mei-li and Auntie Yee, and now finally Lin, her beloved Lin. Pei struggled to stay calm, but when Lin’s old servant, Mui, opened the gate, Pei saw a sorrow equal to hers, and fell like a child into her arms.

  Early the next morning Pei went out with Mui to buy flowers, returning with as many blossoms as they could carry. These they draped on the plain coffin that housed Lin’s body until they could no longer see the wood. In the gray morning light, they buried Lin next to her father. It was a simple ceremony, with Ho Yung saying a few brief words. Pei stood between Ji Shen and Mui, clutching a yellow blossom. When Lin’s flower-draped coffin was lowered into the ground, Pei stood before the open grave and bowed three times. Then, with a small, painful release of breath, she let go of the blossom.

  That evening, Mui made a light meal, of which they all ate very little. Pei and Ji Shen were to leave for Hong Kong e
arly the next morning. Pei spent half the night lying awake, unable to sleep, even though she and Ji Shen shared not Lin’s room, but Ho Chee’s. Pei couldn’t bring herself to go into Lin’s room, yet something in the darkness called out to her. She made sure Ji Shen was asleep, then very quietly got up and made her way down the hall to Lin’s room.

  Pei stood in the moonlit darkness among Lin’s childhood possessions. The closed, stagnant air of confinement surrounded her, holding her. The room had remained the same, with nothing out of place. Pei walked to the center of the room and waited. In the darkness, she began to see vague outlines, which grew sharper and clearer as her eyes grew accustomed. Directly in front of her were Lin’s dolls. Their white faces seemed to be watching her. Pei spoke silently to them, asking for direction. She stood waiting for the longest time. Then beyond the room came the sudden creaking of the old house, which distracted her. When Pei turned back to the frozen faces, she saw that the dolls were only relics of a past Lin had left behind. Pei knew that she would also have to leave them, just as Lin once had. The memories fell upon her, like small whispered secrets. And what she found in the darkness was a new strength.

  “Is everything all right?” A voice startled Pei as she stepped out into the hall. In the approaching light she saw that it was Ho Yung.

  “Yes. I couldn’t sleep. I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to see Lin’s room one more time.”

  “It might have been easier in the daylight,” Ho Yung said kindly.

  “Answers seem to come to me in the dark.”

  “Did they?”