Auntie Du looked at the guard, whose eyes were rolling toward sleep. “Little person,” she whispered. “I’m a stupid woman. I should have signed that paper long time ago. I’m sorry.” We both sighed, we understood one another.
“Where is Jimmy Louie?” I finally asked. “When is he coming?” And Auntie Du looked down. “Ai, little person,” she said. “Why am I always the one to bring you bad news?”
Here is a picture of the boat your father took to go back to America. See what it says at the bottom? SS Marine Lynx. See the bottom window circled here? That’s where he stayed, dormitory class.
See how many people signed the picture for him? “Best wishes, Lee Wing Chin.” “Best wishes, Mary Imagawa.” “Best wishes, Raisa Hamsson.” “Kindest regards, Johnnie Ow.” “In Christ’s love, Maxima Aspira.”
This one is the best: “Dear Jimmy, When I first met you I thought of you as a big flirt. But after getting to know you I was sorry for thinking so, because you’re one of the nicest swellest guys on the boat, I like you very much and your little ‘Winnie’ is a very fortunate girl to have a husband like you. Loads of luck from a friend indeed, Mary Moy.”
Your father told everyone, even strangers on a boat, that he was my husband, I was his wife. He put that down on his passport papers going back home: Married. Auntie Du told me that. She was also the one who told me your father could not stay any longer in Shanghai.
After I was locked in jail, Wen Fu ran to the American consulate to cause Jimmy some trouble: “See what you Americans did? Ruined my family!” He ran to the newspapers and said the same thing. This was when lots of stories were coming out about American GIs raping Chinese girls, seducing Chinese women before going home to their wives.
So the consulate people told Jimmy not to see me anymore until everything quieted down. But instead, everything became worse. The newspaper stories went on for many weeks. Every few days a new part of the story came out, what Wen Fu said, what I said, what he said after that, what I said after that. And there were pictures—pictures of me in jail, sitting at a long table with twenty women; pictures of Wen Fu and his woman, the two of them looking so proud, walking a little Pekingese dog; pictures of Jimmy from the war, standing next to American pilots; a picture of Danru from when he was a baby.
Sometimes the newspaper made me sound glamorous and bad at the same time. Sometimes I sounded innocent, put in jail for no reason. Auntie Du told me I was like a celebrity to young girls in Shanghai. One time she heard two girls talking about me on a bus. How pretty, how tragic, they said.
But the consulate people did not care if I was pretty, if I had a tragic life. After a while, your father lost his job and people there told him, Go home, don’t make any more trouble. He couldn’t see me, he couldn’t stay. So what could he do? He went home to San Francisco.
Of course, he wrote letters to me and sent them to Auntie Du, along with U.S. dollars so she would stay in Shanghai and take care of me. Auntie Du would have stayed anyway, money or not. But still, we were glad he did that, because Chinese money was so unstable.
So every month, Auntie Du came to see me, bringing me three or four letters from Jimmy each time. He always said the same thing: How he would come to get me in two years, no matter what. How he would always love me, nothing could stop his kind of love. How he was praying every day, every minute, that I would come home to him soon. I think he prayed so much he became like a religious person. I think that’s why he joined the ministry. But I don’t think he told anyone that his wife was in jail, that her other husband put her there. That didn’t sound too good.
People in jail treated me nice. I think the guards and the other women prisoners believed me when I explained why I was there, why I shouldn’t be there. I think they looked up to me, because I didn’t look down on them. I was an educated person and now I was just like them. One girl said, “If I had your character, I would not be here.” Another girl always washed my laundry for me. I didn’t ask, she offered.
And I did things for them too. I asked Auntie Du to bring me a piece of wood so we could cover up our toilet smells. I found ways to keep our room clean, no bugs in the bed. When two girls asked me to teach them how to read and write, I asked Auntie Du to bring me old newspapers and a piece of charcoal so we could copy characters. And when we were done with our lessons, we tore the sheets into strips to use for toilet paper.
I also taught them manners, how to speak properly, just as I had taught that dancer-singer, that girl Min back in Kunming. Did I tell you I found out what happened to her? Oh, this is very sad. I was tearing newspapers one day, and I saw her picture. “Miss Golden Throat,” it said, “dead at age thirty-three.” I was surprised to see her picture. I was surprised she took the name Miss Golden Throat, the same one I suggested. I was surprised to see how old she was. And now that I had found her again, I was sorry she was dead.
She had become a famous nightclub singer in Shanghai—not a big kind of fame, maybe a little kind. I think they put her picture in the paper because she died in a terrible way. This happened during the wintertime, on a very cold night.
She was walking along the river harbor, wearing a fancy ball gown, no sleeves, no jacket. People were staring at her, dock-workers and fishermen probably. And then she started to sing. They thought she was very strange, but at the end, they clapped to be polite. She bowed and waved, backing away as if she were headed for a nightclub curtain. She smiled, said, Thank you, thank you. And then she jumped over the rail and into the cold river.
The newspaper said she was heartbroken, according to someone who knew her, but it didn’t say why. Reading this, I saw myself. I once thought she was just like me, only stronger. If that were true, what could happen to me? I considered this for many days.
Actually, I thought about many things. I had plenty of time to think. Every day I sat on a workbench with the other women. We worked eight hours a day, no excuses. We made little matchboxes, cutting, folding, gluing, the same thing over and over again. Before I went to jail, I never thought someone had to make those little boxes matches go in. I never considered this little piece of nothing was someone’s misery. It was boring!
So I would try to think of a different way to do it, folding all the tops first before gluing them, or maybe stacking them in a pattern, anything to keep my mind busy. When your mind stands still, all kinds of bad thoughts can come in.
I remember one time I got a letter from Jimmy. I stopped working for a few minutes so I could read it out loud to the women working at my same bench. They always became very excited when I got an air mail special, because they never received even regular letters. Of course, that was because they could not read.
“ ‘Dear Little Wife,’ ” I read. And all the girls sighed. Little Wife! And then I read them the usual things.
How much he loved me. And everyone giggled.
How he prayed for me all the time. And they sighed.
How he thought his head might burst from studying so hard. They laughed.
How much fun it was taking folk-dancing lessons at the YMCA. I stopped. Dancing lessons!
Those girls said nothing, they went back to their work. I was looking at my rough fingertips. I was imagining Jimmy holding the soft hands of a pretty girl. How could he love me and dance with another girl at the same time? How could he close his eyes and pray for me when he was too busy clapping his hands and stamping his feet? And then I imagined that if he said he was married on his passport papers, maybe he meant he was married to someone else, not to me. Pretty soon, Jimmy was dancing faster and faster in my mind—one-two-three—down a church aisle, into the arms of a new wife!
Those were the kinds of thoughts that crawled into my head. And I was stuck inside with them, nowhere else to chase them away. I could do nothing but wait and see, wait and see. And I would think, Maybe I am waiting for nothing. But then I would fight that thought and cling to a happy memory, Jimmy holding me at night, never wanting to let me go.
I did
not have too many visitors besides Auntie Du. Old Aunt and New Aunt could not afford to come too often. Peanut came only once, and then she and Little Yu’s Mother ran away from the house one night and disappeared. My father, of course, did not come. Maybe he did not even know where I was. I heard he could not stop dreaming now. His mind was somewhere else. He lay in his bed, eyes open, eyes closed, it did not seem to matter.
But one day, San Ma and Wu Ma both came. I was surprised to see them. But then I saw they were wearing white and I knew why my father’s wives had come.
“Dead?” I said.
San Ma nodded her head, and Wu Ma looked away. And they both began to cry. I did too. I was remembering the day my father gave me the gold ingots.
“He died with a clear mind,” said Wu Ma. “He was very strong at the end.”
I nodded. Those were the usual noble words. I thanked them for coming and telling me.
But then San Ma said, “It’s true. It was very strange what happened just before he died. His mind so clear.”
“It was like a miracle,” said Wu Ma.
“Or maybe he was fooling us all these years,” said San Ma, “pretending not to talk. Your father could be very stubborn that way.”
“A miracle,” said Wu Ma. “That’s what I think.”
“It was like this,” said San Ma. “I went into his room five mornings ago, same as always. I tried to feed him a little rice porridge, same as always. He was not eating very much at the end. Every day I had to fight to open his mouth and pour something down his throat. Really, he was more trouble than a baby, wouldn’t eat, always soiling his bed. That morning I was so exasperated I shouted, ‘Goddess of Mercy, open his mouth!’ Suddenly, he was staring at me with clear eyes. I thought, Hnh? Can he hear me? I said to him, ‘Eat a little, eat, eat.’ And he looked at me and said, ‘Then give me something proper to eat.’ Just like that—those words popped out! For almost seven years he says not one word—now, ‘Give me something proper to eat.’ I ran down the stairs as fast as these old legs could carry me.”
Wu Ma nodded. “She told me what happened. I wouldn’t believe it. ‘You’re dreaming,’ I said, ‘just like him.’ That’s what I said, those words exactly.”
“I told the cook,” said San Ma. “And Wen Tai-tai heard and she wanted to see, too. So everyone went upstairs, carrying a dumpling, a bun, a bowl of noodles, just in case he really would eat. When I went into his room—nnh!—he was asleep.”
“I told her again,” Wu Ma said, “ ‘You were only dreaming.’ And then I saw the window was wide open, a big wind blowing from outside to inside. ‘Why is this open?’ I said. I went to close it—and he woke up and said, ‘Leave it open!’ ”
“Our mouths flew wide open just like that window,” said San Ma. “And then I gave him a dumpling. He ate it. The cook gave him a piece of da bing. He ate it. Then Wen Tai-tai ran down the stairs to call her husband and son to come see. They came to see.”
“We all saw,” said Wu Ma. “Your father looked around the room and frowned at everybody standing there. He said, ‘What’s become of this room? Why is it so shabby-looking? Where are my paintings, my rugs?’ ”
“He was just like his old self,” said San Ma. “Very arrogant, lots of opinions.”
Wu Ma nodded. “I told him, ‘All those things are gone now. There’s not much money left to fix such things.’ He said, ‘How can there be no money?’ I said, ‘The money situation is very bad now. It’s the same everywhere, not just with us. Paper money has become worthless. The rags a bed is stuffed with are worth more.’
“He said, ‘I’m not talking about paper money. The gold, the gold, you fool!’ ”
San Ma clapped her hands together. “And then guess what happened? Right away, Wen Fu said, ‘What gold? Where is it?’ And your father looked at Wen Fu, as if his son-in-law had a wooden head. ‘Here!’ he said, ‘in this house, of course. Gold ingots as thick as your fingers, as much as you weigh.’
“ ‘Pah! There’s no gold in this house,’ said Wen Fu.
“And your father said with a big smile, ‘That’s because you do not know where I put it. Many years ago, I hid it.’ And then your father scratched his cheek. ‘Let me think—behind which wall? under which floor?’ ”
“Oyo!” said Wu Ma. “Right then we knew what your father was doing. We saw this behavior many times before, very mean. He was pulling a little string—pulling, pulling, pulling—and Wen Fu was the cat chasing it, pouncing onto empty air! When Wen Fu said, ‘Where? Where?’ your father waved him away. ‘I’m tired now,’ he said. ‘Come back in a few hours, and I will tell you.’ And then your father closed his eyes and went back to dreaming.”
“What could Wen Fu do?” said Wu Ma. “He said, ‘Pah! That old man is crazy!’ But we saw Wen Fu and his father go downstairs. We heard them tapping the walls, tapping the floors, already looking.”
“Three hours later,” San Ma said in a trembly voice, “we went upstairs again, but your father was already dead. What a pity! I shook him a little and said, ‘What? You come for only a short visit, then leave so quickly, no consideration for this old wife of yours?’ ”
“We were crying, crying so hard,” said Wu Ma. “And that Wen Fu, he was so evil, evil beyond belief! Your father was still lying there, not even cold, and Wen Fu started to tear open a hole in the wall right next to the bed. That bad!”
“And now,” said San Ma, “five days later, the walls and floors in your father’s bedroom are completely torn apart, and Wen Fu is ready to pry open another room.”
“As for us,” said Wu Ma, “we do not care what happens to the rest of the house. He can pull the whole house down, we don’t care. Tomorrow we are leaving, going to Yentai to live at my brother’s place. He has already asked us, we have accepted.” She had a satisfied look on her face.
And now San Ma and Wu Ma were looking at me to see what I would say. I had so many feelings running through me: grief that my father had died, anger at Wen Fu, sadness that San Ma and Wu Ma were leaving—all of us helpless, hopeless.
“Ai!” I said. “This is too bitter to swallow. To have nothing left in your old age. Terrible! To see all our gold go to such a bad man. Awful!”
San Ma frowned. “There’s no gold in that house. Haven’t you heard anything we said? We knew your father. Why would he leave gold to a man he hated? He woke up one last time to leave us a little joke, to leave Wen Fu a curse.”
“Then the house is being destroyed for nothing!” I cried.
“For nothing?” said San Ma. “Do you think we did not suffer as well living with Wen Fu? Do you think you were the only one pressed under Wen Fu’s thumb? Now your father is ordering Wen Fu around. Now Wen Fu is chasing your father’s dreams. Now that house is falling down on top of him. Not for nothing!”
And now here is the telegram I sent your father, asking him if I could come to America and be his wife. You can see he saved it, how happy he was to receive it. But his telegram answering me back is not in here.
And now I will tell you why. This is the part I have been afraid to tell you. This is the part I always wanted to forget.
24
FAVOR
One day Auntie Du brought me a surprise—Hulan, with a baby in her stomach! I cried, so happy to see her. She cried, so sad to see me in jail. This was February 1949, after I had been in prison more than one year.
We had written back and forth, five times on my part, maybe only three times on hers. She always excused herself, saying her writing was not very good now that Jiaguo had died. And remembering what Auntie Du had told me about Hulan’s grief, I did not complain that her letters were slow to come, confusing to read. In her last letter, she mentioned she had something important to tell me—she did not say what—only that she was happy, and she hoped I would be too.
So this was her news: She had remarried—to a nice man, Kuang An. That was Uncle Henry’s name before he changed it to Henry Kwong. Oh, he looked very different back then: skinny where he no
w has a big stomach, lots of black hair on his head. And his glasses were not so thick. I would not call him handsome, but he was pleasant and had good speaking manners. Helen can tell you how they met, only six months after Jiaguo died. She will probably tell you it was instant true love. Maybe for him. But I think she was being practical. She saw a chance, she took it, nothing wrong with that.
I am saying this only because I know how much Hulan loved Jiaguo. It was a sweetheart kind of love she had for him, the same kind I had with your father. I think she was only sorry Jiaguo did not feel that way about her. She had a fall-in-love feeling for him. He had a grow-in-love feeling for her.
But Kuang An—he was crazy for Hulan! Anything she wanted, he would do. And she told him to help me out of jail. He had been some kind of military official up north, but then the Communists took over the north and chased all the old military people out. So he and Hulan went to Tientsin, and when that city was captured as well, they came to Shanghai. He had a schoolmate friend in Shanghai who had a very important position, the head of education for the whole province. And this person had connections to other people, lawyers, judges, police. Hulan said that Kuang An had to say only one word to this education chief, and the word would pass along, one person to the next, until I was let out of jail.
I believed her. I didn’t ask, Is Kuang An really that important? Will his friend really listen? When you are in jail and someone throws you a little hope, you grab it. You don’t care where it comes from.
I was in jail maybe another two months, and then one day someone came to me and said, “Jiang Weili, you can leave.” That was all. I did not ask any questions, nobody gave me an explanation. I held hands with each of my roommates. I wished them a better life. And as I started to say more, they shooed me away, told me to hurry and go before my chance disappeared.
Before I walked out the front gate, a prison official gave me a document to sign, saying I was free. And on that document, in a section saying why I could go, somebody had already written: “Court error.” Can you imagine how I was feeling? More than one year of my life in jail because of a mistake! I was happy and crying to be free. I was angry at the same time.