Authors: Jen Sookfong Lee
End of East, The (18 page)
“Jackie,” he says finally. “Sounds rich, doesn’t it?”
This is the only thing that Shew Lin can hold on to anymore. How good can a daughter-in-law be when she delivers only girls? Never mind that Shew Lin loves the babies and tells her friends in Chinatown about their cuteness and intelligence, and never mind that Shew Lin herself gave birth to only one son after two daughters. She can call her daughter-in-law useless if she still has not done what they brought her out to do, if her husband and son still stare through each other whenever they meet. If the grandson who she knows will fix everything still eludes them.
Wendy is now attending kindergarten and is away all morning. Siu Sang has not taken any time to recover from this delivery and has been cleaning again, ignoring her still-big
belly and stiff back. While she’s busy, Daisy and Jackie are in the playpen, sometimes for two or three hours at a time, always until they make a fuss, which isn’t often. Daisy has been trained to feed the little one by tipping the bottle with both hands into her sister’s mouth.
belly and stiff back. While she’s busy, Daisy and Jackie are in the playpen, sometimes for two or three hours at a time, always until they make a fuss, which isn’t often. Daisy has been trained to feed the little one by tipping the bottle with both hands into her sister’s mouth.
Shew Lin occasionally walks by and picks up the girls and tries to soothe them, especially the baby, who is crankier than the others but still never receives any attention until Pon Man comes home. She has done this only a few times, though, because as soon as she does, Siu Sang stops what she’s doing and watches her closely.
Treating me like I’m a stranger, like I would hurt the babies. The nerve.
Yet these thoughts never become words. Once, Siu Sang was afraid of her. Now, Shew Lin is afraid of Siu Sang, and she leaves the children alone.
Treating me like I’m a stranger, like I would hurt the babies. The nerve.
Yet these thoughts never become words. Once, Siu Sang was afraid of her. Now, Shew Lin is afraid of Siu Sang, and she leaves the children alone.
When she looks Siu Sang in the eyes, she can see the chaos behind them. Others may confuse this for blankness, for the stare of a woman who is dim and unthinking, but Shew Lin knows better. She can see the swirl of children and house and expectations (the opaque mess that seems flat but is really just a murky combination, a fetid soup), and knows that the tasks Siu Sang sets for herself are the only things standing between her and utter madness.
It is lucky she found housework when she did, Shew
Lin thinks
, for she could not go on any longer as she was.
But even now, Shew Lin has braced herself for the next outburst, the moment when Siu Sang will no longer be able to sustain it all, when she finally, cathartically, implodes.
It is lucky she found housework when she did, Shew
Lin thinks
, for she could not go on any longer as she was.
But even now, Shew Lin has braced herself for the next outburst, the moment when Siu Sang will no longer be able to sustain it all, when she finally, cathartically, implodes.
She is lulled by the sounds of the night—the sighs of her husband, the creak of the mattress when he moves. Shew Lin is a light sleeper, and when she wakes, it is these sounds that
comfort her and pull her into the warmth of her sheets and the darkness of a good sleep.
comfort her and pull her into the warmth of her sheets and the darkness of a good sleep.
Tonight, she lies awake, stiffly moving her head to better hear the strange sound that is cutting through the usual grumblings of nighttime. It is not until her hands and feet grow cold with apprehension that she realizes the sound is coming from the back garden. She slowly stands up and steps into her slippers, careful to be as quiet as possible. Seid Quan, sleeping on his stomach, does not stir.
As she pads through the long, narrow hallway, she wonders (with the paranoia that only disrupted sleep can bring) if Siu Sang has murdered one of the children and is digging a shallow grave by moonlight under the zucchini bed. Shew Lin shivers and pulls the thin sleeves of her nightgown over her clenched fists. “That girl will ruin us,” she mutters to herself.
She steps out onto the back deck and squints into the darkness. Someone is crouched in the corner of the garden, pulling at the dirt with bare hands. She takes another step forward and knocks a small pot over the railing. It lands on the stairs below and smashes. Pon Man turns around, stands up straight and looks directly at his mother from his spot in the corner.
Shew Lin hurries forward, ignoring the dampness from the grass that seeps through her cloth slippers.
It is Pon Man who is digging the grave
, she thinks.
He’s killed her at last.
She looks up at the sky and wonders how much time they have to hide the body before sunrise.
It is Pon Man who is digging the grave
, she thinks.
He’s killed her at last.
She looks up at the sky and wonders how much time they have to hide the body before sunrise.
When she reaches him, she sees that he is standing beside a small pile of weeds. His hands and the knees of his pyjamas are covered in dirt. Shew Lin stops suddenly and stares.
“I woke up a while ago,” he says, “and remembered that I hadn’t weeded the garden like I was supposed to. And I thought
I might as well do it now, because there’s never any time. Siu Sang will want me to do something tomorrow, I’m sure, and Father wants to go over the bills and accounts again with me. And you,” he looks her in the eyes, “will follow me around the house all day, asking me questions I don’t want to answer.”
I might as well do it now, because there’s never any time. Siu Sang will want me to do something tomorrow, I’m sure, and Father wants to go over the bills and accounts again with me. And you,” he looks her in the eyes, “will follow me around the house all day, asking me questions I don’t want to answer.”
She takes his cold, mud-caked hands and rubs them in hers. He speaks so quietly that she is unsure if she is meant to hear him or not, so she remains silent. He pulls his hands away and wipes them on his chest. When she reaches for them again, he pushes her away.
“I have to finish, Mother. What will happen if I don’t do everything I’m supposed to? Well, even you can’t answer that, can you? Go back to bed.”
Pon Man turns back to the flower bed and crouches down, using his hands to feel around the plants. Shew Lin opens her mouth to say something, to assure him that everything will be just fine, even if the garden is a mess of weeds and bugs, but he holds his back so stiffly that she simply stands, mute. She wants to run back to the house and forget this ever happened, perhaps remember it as a baffling dream, but she is afraid to leave him alone, squatting in the dirt and scrabbling at weeds.
If he talks some more
, she thinks,
I must be here to listen.
She sniffs—her nose has begun to run from the cold.
If he talks some more
, she thinks,
I must be here to listen.
She sniffs—her nose has begun to run from the cold.
Slowly, she walks backward toward the house, rubbing her nose with the back of her sleeve. Her toes, encased in damp and clammy slippers, are numb. She keeps her eyes on her son and backs up the stairs and into the kitchen. There, she sits on a chair by the window, tucking her feet underneath her. Pon Man moves slowly from one bed to the next. She closes her eyes, thinking that one second will make no difference, and rests her head against the cool glass.
It is only when Siu Sang taps her on the shoulder that she realizes she has slept through the rest of the night. Shew Lin blinks at the grey dawn and sees that the garden is meticulously weeded, but her son is nowhere in sight.
Shew Lin knows something is going on. Her son and husband, two men who have barely said a dozen words to each other in the last year, have been conferring in English every night for a week. She is comforted by the fact that Siu Sang cannot understand them either.
One Saturday afternoon, Siu Sang and Pon Man walk out to the car, both dressed for business—he in a suit, she in a sombre skirt and cardigan. They leave the girls at home. Shew Lin watches them drive away through the living-room window. She turns around to ask her husband if he knows where they’re going, but just as she is about to speak, Seid Quan pushes himself out of his chair and walks down the hall. The door to their bedroom closes.
The next week, at dinner, Pon Man looks at his mother and says, “Siu Sang and I have put an offer on a house.”
Shew Lin looks blank. “A house? What do you mean? There’s plenty of room here.”
Pon Man shifts in his chair. He looks at his father.
When was the last time they looked at each other?
Shew Lin wonders.
When was the last time they looked at each other?
Shew Lin wonders.
“Actually, I have agreed to sell this house so that Pon Man will have a respectable down payment for the new one. I thought that, since it will only be the two of us, we could rent an apartment in that new complex they’re building in Chinatown.” Seid Quan laughs nervously. “After all, it would be silly for us to live in this big house all by ourselves.”
There is no way that Shew Lin will show her anger and
disappointment; that would be giving her daughter-in-law exactly what she wants. She glances at Siu Sang and sees that she is smiling, lips together as if she is thinking of something naughty to say but does not dare say it. Shew Lin feels everyone is disappearing, travelling somewhere without her, and she is only holding on to them by a rapidly thinning thread that unravels and grows taut in her worn hands. Holding on as tight as she can will only hurt her, pull her stiff arms out of their old sockets. But she cannot prepare herself for the letting go.
disappointment; that would be giving her daughter-in-law exactly what she wants. She glances at Siu Sang and sees that she is smiling, lips together as if she is thinking of something naughty to say but does not dare say it. Shew Lin feels everyone is disappearing, travelling somewhere without her, and she is only holding on to them by a rapidly thinning thread that unravels and grows taut in her worn hands. Holding on as tight as she can will only hurt her, pull her stiff arms out of their old sockets. But she cannot prepare herself for the letting go.
She remembers this lost and dizzy feeling from once before; the day she brought Pon Man to the boat that would take him to his father. She held on to a rail, needing, for the first time, physical support. Shew Lin watched Pon Man’s small body as it was swallowed up instantly by the crowd of men and boys marching deliberately to a boat that seemed even more than black as it sat on the thick brown water of the Pearl River.
How could a boy so small possibly be big enough to leave his mother?
she thought, waving at his shrinking body. She felt she might throw up, and almost wished she could, because then she would have an excuse for feeling this unbalanced, this forlorn. If he turned back to wave, she didn’t see.
How could a boy so small possibly be big enough to leave his mother?
she thought, waving at his shrinking body. She felt she might throw up, and almost wished she could, because then she would have an excuse for feeling this unbalanced, this forlorn. If he turned back to wave, she didn’t see.
But this, the loss of her home, of her family dream, is much worse, for no one will understand. She will be the cranky grandmother, the one who cannot loosen her steel grip on her son and his wife. She had better shut up.
Seid Quan says, “Don’t you agree that this is the best plan?”
Grasping her hand, Pon Man whispers, “I’m sorry, Mother. We just need our own space.”
She nods and says, “Yes, very sensible.” She stares at her
bowl of rice, counting each grain so that no one will be able to see her eyes.
bowl of rice, counting each grain so that no one will be able to see her eyes.
One month after Shew Lin and Seid Quan move into their new apartment (right in the heart of Chinatown, facing Gore Street, where children, always poor, usually wearing shoes with loose soles, play in the street, dodging the slippery remains of rotting bananas and napa cabbage; where Shew Lin can smell the cooking of the woman on the second floor, even when there is no cooking going on), Siu Sang gives birth to another daughter. Unlucky number four.
On the phone, Pon Man sounds more tired than he has ever sounded before, and Shew Lin resists the urge to ask him if his wife is wearing him down to his bones. Instead, she asks when she can visit and bring them black vinegar and hot ginger soup to restore their energy.
“Whenever, Mother. It doesn’t matter to me.” She hears him sigh. “I shouldn’t be so short with you. I’m just a little worn out. Why don’t you come on Saturday? I’ll pick up some ice cream.”
Just before he hangs up, he says, “Right. I almost forgot. We named her Penny, like the one-cent coin, you know? Lucky Penny. Tell Father, will you?”
Shew Lin practises saying all the girls’ names in a row: “Wendy-Daisy-Jackie-Penny.” She does not like that they all sound so much the same, for she is afraid she will never be able to say them well enough for people to know whom she is talking about. “Wendy. Daisy. Jackie. Penny.” If she breathes in between, it sounds much better.
Seid Quan walks into the living room. “Any news?”
“A girl. They’ve named her Penny.”
“Penny,” he repeats, and nods. “Sounds good.”
“Aren’t you going to say anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
Shew Lin and Seid Quan are at opposite ends of their small living room. The balcony door is open, and a slow breeze thickly moves the stiff curtains. Seid Quan reaches up and wipes the sweat off his high, lined forehead. Shew Lin scowls, thinks,
The face of a man who never speaks
. She knows that Seid Quan would say that he only speaks when necessary.
The face of a man who never speaks
. She knows that Seid Quan would say that he only speaks when necessary.
“There’s no boy, Seid Quan. What is the point of all this?”
He stares at her blankly.
“Why do we sacrifice for them when she can’t even birth a boy? This whole nonsense is your fault. We wouldn’t be sitting here right now if you hadn’t said yes to everything they asked.”
Seid Quan looks out the balcony door at the mountains almost hidden by a low yellow haze. Around their heads, the smells of Chinatown are coming through the windows, and the slow wind does nothing to help; it only stirs the odour of rotting produce around, like a thick soup. From here, the shouts of the vendors hawking their goods sound a lot like Shew Lin’s voice: tinny, high, straining through distance.
“We know she’s crazy. We’ve done everything for them, and I just bet they will never come to see us. This dirty little apartment will be too much for the fine Hong Kong lady. They won’t want to be reminded of the hole they put us in.”
Seid Quan looks up at the ceiling and studies the stain from the water damage. She can hear him thinking that he meant to talk to the landlord yesterday, but his memory is not what it used to be. She wants to tell him that perhaps he should start writing these things down.
“I’m tired, do you understand? Tired of always living in places chosen by other people, tired of waiting for someone else to do things for me—you, Pon Man, anyone. I used to do things for myself, but now we have no home, so what good have all your decisions done for us? You and I, we’ve had only one home together, and now we don’t even have that. Didn’t I work hard enough? Didn’t we deserve it?”
He hears the break in her voice and looks over. She is bent forward and is rubbing her forehead with both hands, rubbing as if she has a stain on her face that she cannot get rid of.
“You never say anything. It’s because you blame me too. No one believes I am a good woman. Everything I’ve done and said is for the family. Everything. I’m old now—how can I apologize? No one would believe I was trying to be nice, anyway.”
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