Every now and then a car came lumbering down the road, and Mr. Ma would swing abruptly to the side, but cars were still scarce. The streets, though, bustled with Chinese entrepreneurs who raced to rebuild the businesses stalled during the occupation.
The entire ride flitted by like a dream, filled with the soft touch of the approaching ocean and the sweet smells of the cooler, fresher air. Pei sat back and tried to remember the last time she’d felt so light and happy.
A truckload of British soldiers stood by the front gates of Stanley Camp. Most prisoners had already been transferred back to Hong Kong. The camp felt deserted. Pei tried to imagine how it must have felt to be held captive for so long. How many others, along with Mrs. Finch, had died during their long imprisonment?
Pei climbed the dirt path to the cemetery. Only four months had passed since Mrs. Finch died, and already her grave looked as if it’d been there for years. “If only you could have stayed with us a little while longer,” Pei whispered as she touched the wooden marker, fingering the fading black letters of her name. She wished Mrs. Finch were alive to help her with Ji Shen’s pregnancy. How would they ever be able to take care of a baby and still go out and make a living? A sudden warm breeze stirred. Pei looked up at the bright glint of the sun, which awakened the sudden memory of Mrs. Finch’s jewelry, taped behind the dresser. She had expected to give it back to Mrs. Finch when the occupation was over. Now that she was gone, Pei knew exactly how Mrs. Finch would want her to use it. It might even be enough for her to open a small seamstress shop while they waited for the baby’s birth. Another gust of wind blew, and Pei could almost swear she heard Mrs. Finch’s voice say, “That’s my girl.”
Pei glanced down at Ho Yung’s card to make sure it matched the address on the rusty gate. Now that she had the means, she needed someone with the resourcefulness to help her rent a shop. The house was old and large, not unlike Lin’s old house in Canton that Pei had visited so many years ago. Its square brown walls were in need of paint, and the bushes were unkempt and overgrown.
Pei stood at the front door. She had no idea what she would say to Ho Yung if he was home. She had spoken to him only once in all these years, and had barely known him before Lin died, but he was the only one she could turn to. She lifted the knocker and let it fall hard several times against the door. There wasn’t a moment in the past eight years that Pei hadn’t wished Lin were still with her, guiding them with her strength. It felt just like yesterday that they returned to Lin’s home in Canton. Once again Pei felt the cold fear of leaving Yung Kee and being in Lin’s childhood home for the first time.
“Yes, yes,” a voice boomed from behind the door.
Pei took a step back as the door swung open and an older, thinner Mui stood before her. For a moment Pei didn’t know what to say to Lin’s childhood servant.
“We aren’t hiring anyone today!” Mui snapped, taking Pei for one of the many men and women who went from house to house looking for a day’s work.
“I’m not looking for work,” Pei quickly said. “I was wondering if Wong seen-san was in.”
Mui stopped at the sound of her voice. She stepped closer to scrutinize Pei, squinting. Then, as if drawing from deep down in her memory, Mui said, “You came with Lin.”
Pei nodded.
“Yes, the tall one who made her so happy. Come in, come in.” Mui took Pei’s hand and pulled her into the cool, dark entrance.
“Is Wong seen-san at home?” Pei asked again.
“Come this way.” Mui led Pei into a large sitting room, devoid of any furniture but a few wooden chairs. “The Japanese devils came. Took everything. You wait here.” Before Pei could say anything else, Mui quickly disappeared.
Pei wandered over to the fireplace and the small picture frames perched on the mantel. They were the only objects left in the room. Everything else had been stripped to the hardwood floors. Only from so close up did Pei see that the grainy photos showed Lin and her brothers as small children—their spirits frozen in black and white. Pei stared hard at one photo of Lin standing by herself, already beautiful in a light-colored Western-style dress. She must have been no older than ten or eleven when the photo was taken, a few years before she joined the silk work. Pei felt the tears well at the sight of the young Lin, who appeared so alive.
“Pei?” Ho Yung’s voice filled the empty room.
Pei swung quickly around, looking first at Ho Yung, then down at the floor so he wouldn’t see that she was crying.
“Are you all right?” he asked, walking over to her.
Pei nodded embarrassed. “Yes,” she said. “It’s just . . .”
“The photos,” he finished.
Pei looked up at Ho Yung and tried to smile. “I’ve never seen a photo of her before.” She cleared her throat. “She was so beautiful, even as a child.”
“Lin resembled our mother from the day she was born”—Ho Yung touched the photo—“but she had my father’s heart and strength. She had the best of each of our parents, only to die so young. It still seems so unfair.”
Pei turned away and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her tunic.
“I’m so sorry,” Ho Yung quickly added. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Please sit.”
Pei sat down just as Mui returned with a tray of tea. The old woman mumbled something and smiled as she handed Pei a cup; then she left the room.
“Is everything all right?” Ho Yung asked, watching Pei closely.
“I’ve come to ask you a favor.” She didn’t dare look him in the eyes.
“Anything.”
Pei sipped her tea, then said in one breath, “I need your help in starting a business.”
Ho Yung’s face turned serious. “What kind of business were you thinking about?”
“A small seamstress shop. I have some jewelry to sell, and I’d like to find a location in Wan Chai.”
“What do you know about running a business?” Ho Yung questioned.
Pei realized she knew nothing, apart from what she’d been doing in a small way for the past two years. She wavered, thinking that this project might be more complicated than she had hoped.
“I already have a steady flow of customers,” she said finally. “Many of the Tai tais feel I do good work. I just need a place to open a shop and expand the business I already have.”
Ho Yung began to pace the sitting room. “I don’t know very much about the sewing business,” he began.
Pei quickly stood and put down her cup. Ho Yung had no reason to take the time to help her just because she asked. He must be busy with his own family’s investments and obligations.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said. “I know the occupation has been difficult for all of us. Please forgive me for disturbing you. It was a foolish idea.”
Ho Yung stopped short. “No, not foolish at all. Please, let me finish. What I meant to say was that it may take a short while for us to get the right location, but I’d be happy to help you find a place, and I’ll talk with my brother about investing in your shop.”
Pei didn’t know what to say. In just a breath’s time his simple words had changed her life. She smiled shyly at Ho Yung, her gaze moving beyond him to the photo of Lin on the mantel.
Chapter Eleven
1946–47
Song Lee
Song Lee walked briskly back to the boardinghouse, laden with bags of herbs, bean sprouts, bok choy, and fresh Chinese mustard greens. In another bag were oranges, apple-pears, and starfruit. After so many years of so little, food was once again fresh and abundant. The streets were vibrant and alive. Song Lee was glad to think that Ji Shen would soon give birth to a new life in a much better world. The sudden thought struck her of all the fancy black-market food Ji Shen had brought home for them just before the occupation ended. She’d surprised them with a multitude of exotic canned foods with strange-sounding foreign names—cans of garlicky “es-car-got” or musty-smelling “truf-fles.”
“The snails were imported from F
rance,” Ji Shen had said, quickly swallowing another one.
Too fast to taste anything, Song Lee thought.
“It’s interesting.” Pei chewed slowly.
Song Lee spat the chewy snail out into her bowl. “Tastes like rubber,” she’d said. “Tomorrow I’ll bring home dinner!”
Song Lee had taken care of filling their stomachs since the occupation ended. She made it her personal mission to find the best deals she could each day. “Bean sprouts and radishes for half the price of yesterday!” she yelled triumphantly when she returned with something good from the market. “Tomorrow, old man Fu says he’ll have long beans if I arrive early!”
Pei laughed. “You’re getting to be as good as Ji Shen.”
“Better,” Song Lee retorted. “At least I bring home food we can eat!”
With Ji Shen’s difficult pregnancy and the work of starting up her own seamstress business, Pei had her hands full, Song Lee knew. The small daily details swelled and seemed to grow. Tears filled Pei’s eyes the evening Song Lee took her aside and simply told her, “I’m staying until the baby comes.” There would be plenty of time to return to work for her old employer after the baby was born. Meanwhile, cooking had become just one of Song Lee’s many household tasks.
Song Lee pushed open the front door of the boardinghouse and slowly climbed the stairs, breathing heavily by the time she reached the landing. A soft buzz of voices came from Pei and Ji Shen’s room. Song Lee smiled. Over the months, as Ji Shen’s stomach grew round and hard and she stayed away from the black market, Song Lee heard their words grow easier and softer, melting the thick silence that once lay between them. She could see the relief on Pei’s face, the ready smile and new light behind her eyes.
At forty-eight years old, Song Lee had a family in Pei and Ji Shen for the first time since Ching Lui and the sisterhood. Her life within the sisterhood had provided for her for almost twenty-five years, until one morning she woke up knowing, the way she knew a body needed food and water to survive, that she had to leave.
“Why did you leave the sisterhood?” Pei had once asked her.
“Because I simply couldn’t stay any longer.” Song Lee struggled for an answer. “I always felt I belonged elsewhere.” She knew this wasn’t really an answer.
“And have you found that ‘elsewhere’?”
Song Lee smiled. “I think so,” she said, though she knew “elsewhere” wasn’t so much Hong Kong, as it was now Pei and Ji Shen.
She’d picked up so many skills along the road of life—silk reeling, domestic work, organizing her sisters, reading faces, and now taking care of Pei and Ji Shen. But Song Lee had never expected that she would finally be part of a family so late in her life; that a tall, hardworking woman, a sometimes difficult young one, and a coming baby could fill her days with such happiness.
Song Lee brought the food to the kitchen, and quickly took out the white packets of herbs for twelve ti bo tea. The old herbalist had meticulously wrapped them separately. She put water on to boil, then sat down to wait. What Song Lee didn’t dare tell Pei was how worried she was about Ji Shen. From the beginning it had been a hard pregnancy, and lately Song Lee saw a pale color in the area between Ji Shen’s eyes: a diminishing of her energy. The tea would renew her strength and help her blood circulate. Song Lee would work her magic as quietly as possible; there was no point in worrying Pei. When the water boiled, she sprinkled the herbs into a pot, let it steep to just the right shade of dark brown, as the old herbalist had instructed, then carefully carried the bowl on a tray to join the two women.
Pei
After months of morning sickness, Ji Shen woke up feeling better. Pei saw the flush of pink in her cheeks and reminded herself to thank Song Lee and the old herbalist for their miracle tea. Just last week, Song Lee had said triumphantly that Ji Shen was graduating from twelve ti bo tea to thirteen ti bo tea now that she was past her sixth month.
“I’m hungry,” Ji Shen said, her belly rising as she arched her back in a stretch. “I never thought I would be hungry again.”
“Go get something to eat,” Pei urged her. “I’ll be there shortly.” She watched Ji Shen step lightly out the door.
Pei pulled out the cloth bag that contained Mrs. Finch’s jewelry and poured the contents onto her bed, where they glistened in the sunlight. It was hard to believe that such simple objects, shaped of metal, stone, and pearls, would be able to finance her new business. She held up each piece—the diamond brooch, the gold bracelet, and the gold wedding band, along with the emerald ring she hoped to keep. Last, Pei picked up the pearl necklace and let the lustrous pearls slip between her fingers like water. Pei felt the love and strength of Mrs. Finch in each one of them.
Ho Yung was supposed to arrive at any moment. They’d finally found the perfect location for her seamstress shop, within walking distance of the boardinghouse. Before the occupation it had been a fish shop, and the salty, tart smell reminded Pei of her father’s fishponds. The strong fishy odors were long ingrained in the dull-colored walls and plank floor. Pei felt dizzy at first, only to realize it wasn’t out of fear or unhappiness, but out of a strange comfort in returning to a place she once knew well—her own childhood. The downstairs was no larger than the sitting room, but there was also an upstairs where she could work undisturbed, with tall windows and plenty of light. After all the dark, dank stores they’d seen, Pei was certain that this was the right one. They could paint the walls and replace the wood floor. She’d tossed and turned all night, knowing Ho Yung would be talking to the owner that morning.
A quick knock on the door, and Song Lee told her Ho Yung was waiting in the sitting room. Pei gathered the jewelry back into the bag, hoping he had brought her good news. It was strange to think how two swift words like “yes” and “no” could change a life. She braced herself for whatever the answer would be. Pei felt the weight of the jewelry in her hand, then hurried to the sitting room.
Ji Shen’s voice could be heard from the kitchen, followed by light laughter. Ho Yung stood staring out the window. He turned around when he heard her come in, and she saw a hint of Lin again. Then, by the calm smile on his face, Pei knew the shop was hers.
Pei’s business doubled within the first few months after her mending shop opened in 1946. Word-of-mouth business flowed in and out, the only evidence of the shop’s presence being a faded sign that bore a threaded needle in green and Chinese characters in red: “Moth holes, rips, splits, cuts, slashes, tears, and burns—fabric made new.”
Most days Ji Shen was at the shop helping. After nearly six months of morning sickness, she felt fine again and had settled comfortably into her last three months of pregnancy. Sitting on a tall stool behind the counter, she greeted customers and collected and tagged cheongsams, Western dresses, trousers, even silk stockings, which soon piled up on Pei’s worktable upstairs waiting to be mended.
The tiny bell on the door jingled constantly. Opening and closing, letting in the incessant street noises—high, nasal voices and honking horns. From upstairs Pei could hear it all—a chorus that floated up to her sewing room.
One morning, though, when she stood up and stretched, then went downstairs to get more thread, she suddenly realized how quiet it had become. Her heart skipped a beat. Where was the soft hum of Ji Shen helping a customer? “Torn? Moth-eaten? Don’t worry, it will be just like new,” Ji Shen would reassure them, beaming as she listened intently to the history of how each garment was acquired. “This dress once belonged to my mother,” one woman recounted, near tears. Or “This tie is of the finest Italian silk,” a man might brag. Pei smiled to herself when she heard these things. Ji Shen was quickly gaining the patience needed to be a good mother.
Halfway down the stairs Pei saw why everything had come to a standstill: A man stood talking quietly to Ji Shen. For a moment, she was frightened to think that the long, solid figure belonged to the baby’s father, that he had finally come to his senses and returned to claim his rights. Pei trod heavily on the n
ext step, and the young man looked up. Only then did she realize he was Quan.
“Quan!” Pei hurried down the stairs and welcomed him with a hug. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ji Shen slide off her stool, stand there rooted and unmoving. Quan had grown tall and had filled out in the past year. No longer the skinny sha boy, he looked handsome and grown-up in a clean, white shirt and dark trousers.
“Where have you been?” Pei asked, stepping back and taking a good look.
Quan grinned. “I’ve been working on a fishing boat over by the island of Lantau,” he answered. “Uncle Wei helped me get the job before the occupation ended. Things were getting too difficult here.” He shifted from foot to foot and glanced over at Ji Shen.
“How is your family?” Pei asked.
“Everyone is fine. My brother is the sha boy now.”
“We worried about you,” Pei said softly. Even if Ji Shen hadn’t discussed Quan’s whereabouts, Pei always suspected his sudden disappearance had to do with Ji Shen’s involvement with the baby’s father.
“My mother heard that you’d opened a shop,” Quan said, changing the subject. “I’ve been wanting to visit.”
“It keeps a roof over our heads.”
“Looks as if business is good.” He gestured to a pile of clothes awaiting Pei’s mending.
“Yes,” Pei said, remembering the thread she’d come down for. “I have some work to finish up. Stay and talk to Ji Shen, then come back with us to the boardinghouse for dinner. You can tell me all about your fishing career then.”