A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China (25 page)

“Dumb egg! Go fetch me some tea!” She slammed down her book, her voice shrill and sharp. Comely Brook ran out sniffling, her head lowered and her back hunched. Purple Jade had never called anyone a dumb egg to her face, and she had never used that tone of voice on Orchid before. For a long while, Purple Jade sat fidgeting and fuming, unable to understand her loss of temper and Comely Brook’s difficulties. She could not bring herself to prepare an apology.

After what seemed like an hour, she wrestled with a restless, bitter stomach, and barged into the kitchen, where she had never ventured. The kitchen was empty, and the warm, damp air felt greasy. She stumbled into Winter Plum’s narrow bedroom abutting the kitchen and found Comely Brook and Winter Plum sorting the laundry and whispering together.

“Oh
Tai-tai
!” Winter Plum gasped. “What brought you down here!”

“Orchid.” Purple Jade reverted to her old way of addressing her former maid. “Where is my tea? We haven’t finished our lesson.” She noticed her slip of tongue, but enunciated her words clearly and precisely, maintaining her customary reserve and dignity.

“Oh
Tai-tai
.” Comely Brook looked up, her round eyes moistening. “I thought our lesson was over!” Her eyes conveyed regret, but not surprise. She hurried into the kitchen to prepare tea. “
Tai-tai
, go rest yourself. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Although Purple Jade now addressed Orchid as “Brook
mei-mei
,” Orchid had never ceased to address her mistress as “
Tai-tai
.” Orchid lived upstairs now, but she remained Purple Jade’s personal maid and helped Winter Plum with the housework. In this small foreign house, the “upstairs” world of dressing up, being alert, and learning to read the classics gave her a constant nervous tremor. Unconsciously, she sought the company of Winter Plum and the solace of the familiar work area. Despite the privileges of her elevated status, she preferred her old routines.

Purple Jade glanced at the laundry in Winter Plum’s small room and felt absurd. She had nothing to say to the working-women before her. She hobbled upstairs murmuring, “We’ll finish our lesson another time.”

Her slow climb up the still unaccustomed stairs made her wish she could scream or rant instead of presenting a facade of respectability. She realized, at last, that she was the useless, helpless woman she had always feared she might become. Living in a small, strange house in a nasty city, and so very close to the activities of the maids, especially Orchid, made her realize the illusion of her status: It was artificial and did not really matter. The sight of Orchid’s burgeoning stomach was also a constant reminder of her pointless dignity. With the sounds of war ringing in her ears, the necessity for an heir seemed trivial, and the responsibility for another human life became a menacing shadow in her mind.

Unable to articulate her deepest wound, she realized that although Comely Brook served her as before, the change in their relationship was permanent. Without a separate suite of rooms for herself and sharing a room with Orchid, Purple Jade could not help but be aware of the nights when Comely Brook left to service her husband. She imagined the activities going on down the hall, and wept silent tears of rage, training herself to pretend not to hear the muffled conversations and noises coming from beyond the walls. She tossed and turned all night in her solitude, unable to quell her remorse, her self-reproach. All her anguish had erupted in her uncharacteristic outburst at Comely Brook. She recognized the corrosive effects of jealousy and how it was devouring her inner peace. She tried to accept her feelings. She resolved to take responsibility for the harmony in her home and to maintain the dignity of “their” coming son. Still, she always had time on her hands — idle time that did not encourage serene contemplation.

“I must go home. I must get out of here somehow!” she said aloud.

Weeks later, her persistent longing for the river, the bamboo, and the graceful lull of her old home finally broke Purple Jade’s stoic reserve. The Japanese blockade of Shanghai Harbor had continued into its third month. The everyday chores and the numbing anxiety over impending disaster made the stalemate of war appear less threatening. One evening, the girls read and Comely Brook sewed. Purple Jade set up a game of chess with Righteous Virtue.

An hour into the game, Righteous Virtue moved his cannon sideways four steps and removed his wife’s soldier. He thought he held her general in check.

Purple Jade moved her horse diagonally to block his cannon. Her husband charged his chariot across the board taking her chariot. “Jade-
mei
, your concentration is slipping.”

“I know, my lord.” She sighed. “It would have been so different playing in our courtyard under a moonlit night. This house is stifling.” She moved her other chariot in front of his cannon to safeguard her general.

Moving his chariot sideways, Righteous Virtue took her premier. Purple Jade moved her soldier one step near the boundary. “Now that you’re here, perhaps I could go back home and check on things. I’d like to bring Peony here to help Brook-
mei
. I’m uneasy about leaving her at home. This blockade could last a long time.”

“I’d rather have the whole family stay together. We must hide out during this time of confusion.” Moving his chariot five steps, he removed her horse.

Purple Jade’s cannon jumped over her soldier and took his cannon. “I could go by sampan from the English section and be back within a week. I cannot sleep nights, dreaming of the cypress in our court.” She was sweating uncharacteristically. The volcanic unrest in her soul threatened the unity of her family. She must go home to heal.

Righteous Virtue saw his general under the gun and moved his official to protect his game. “You’ve had this all planned, haven’t you?” He scratched his head marveling. “This is a winning stroke.”

Purple Jade moved her horse diagonally into the corner intersection of his inner wall. “Yes, I had it all planned. Everything will be in order after my return home.” She spoke with a quiet assertion, but her hands trembled, and she clasped them tightly in her lap under the table.

“Yes, you’ve won again.” Righteous Virtue sat back sighing, while his eyes surveyed the board. Purple Jade’s horse now threatened his general at an angle. If he moved an official to block the way, her cannon could jump over it and take his general. “Yes, Jade-
mei
, you knew what you were doing.”

“Thank you, my lord. I know the Hangzhou bamboo shoots and other produce have often plied the waterways to Shanghai. Iris knows a fisherman familiar with the route. She will accompany me tomorrow. Brook-
mei
will serve you while I’m away.”

Early the next morning, Purple Jade packed a small suitcase and with a light heart, and set out for the river. The Hwangpo’s stench made her retch, but darkness concealed the details of deadly flotsam crowding Shanghai Harbors. Iris was not keen on the trip, because she was fast becoming an independent woman in this city. But she acquiesced out of loyalty to and sympathy for the woman who had been more nurturing than her mother.

As the boat drew near the dock of her house, Purple Jade grew lightheaded from the fresh air, glimmering water, and layers of interconnected rooflines drawing ever closer like the flight of winged birds in formation. The gently rising courts of her house melded harmoniously with their surroundings: the walls, gardens, and roofs seemed to have grown like essential appendages in a landscape of towering bamboo groves, beetling rock boulders, hovering willows, and the flowing river. Yes, she was coming home. She banished all thoughts of the impending war and her promised return to Shanghai within the same week.

I
N THE WEEK that followed, Japanese infantry columns in Hangchow Bay broke through stands of stubborn Chinese fighters. Chinese forces pulled back, allowing the Japanese to push inland, threatening Nanking, the nation’s capital. Using Shanghai’s excellent harbor facilities, the Japanese navy began landing war equipment and supplies. Stories circulated around town: Chinese civilians would be conscripted as slaves and used as coolies to push and pull the formidable Japanese arsenal — miles and miles of artillery pieces, tanks, carts, and cases of grenades, and firearms.

On Petain Road in the French concession, the Huangs had grown accustomed to hearing the guns of invasion like so many firecrackers popping. Fighting for control around Shanghai intensified. Rivers and roads were no longer safe for passage.

The Japanese captured Nanking on December 13, 1937. News of the holocaust reached Shanghai. People could hardly believe the savagery. It was rumored that the large Chinese infantry was promised leniency, but once they surrendered and were disarmed, the massacre began. Wave upon wave of men were pushed off cliffs, beheaded, gunned down, and buried alive. Thousands of old men, women and children shared their fate. Other young women and boys were rounded up to service the Japanese soldiers. They were tortured, humiliated, disfigured and slaughtered. The massacre lasted for six weeks.

When Hangzhou learned of the approaching enemy, Miss Tyler opened her mission to all the women who sought sanctuary. Iris urged her mistress to go.

“You go, Iris,” Purple Jade commanded instead. “Miss Tyler will have her hands full. You can help. Ask the gardener to empty our grain storage and bring the mule cart with you. They’ll need the food supply.”

“Oh kind mistress, I can’t leave you,” Iris stammered with tears in her eyes. “The soldiers are brutes!”

“There’s a secret compartment behind my chest of drawers. If the soldiers come, I’ll hide in there. I must stay and guard the house,” Purple Jade answered with quiet determination. She had thought of just this possibility when she decided to stay. Her father used to have regular contact with the Japanese in his silk trade. She was told that they were a most refined and cultured people. Purple Jade thought the stories of atrocities must be grossly exaggerated.

Purple Jade directed all her furniture to be covered and supervised the loading of mule carts with grains, hams, and salt. She sent Iris and the gardener away. She felt no fear, only tiresome irritation. Peony remained to take care of her mistress. In an emergency, she would hide in the rafters of the cold house. Little Six refused to leave “her grandpa” — the cook, who remained to guard the house with the rest of the male servants.

On December 24, Japanese soldiers captured Hangzhou.

A sturdy log, nearly a foot thick, barred the front door. As the rumble of soldiers drew near, Purple Jade sent Peony away to hide after she slipped behind her chest of drawers backed against the hollow in the wall. A thick grove of bamboo outside concealed the bulge from the exterior. Small vents facing the bamboo grove aired the narrow space, which had stored the family diamonds, lapis lazuli, jade and topaz.

All evening she hid in the stifling silence and watched the evening star twinkle between the bamboo canes. Suddenly, a nightingale shrieked in nervous flight, and Purple Jade knew danger was at hand.

In one deafening blast, the front door crashed down. A score of soldiers dashed into the house. In their hands were torches. Smoke and fire colored the night sky.

Loud screams, angry shouts, and piteous wails filled the air. Tramping throngs milled outside.

“Help, help!”

“Little Six, Little Six, where are you?” the cook called.

“Water, someone, please, the front hall is on fire!”

“Water . . . water . . .”

Another blast rattled the wall of her hiding place. Purple Jade hugged herself to still her trembling. From her sanctuary, she heard the screaming of the tortured men: “They all went to the mission house . . . They all went to the mission house . . .”

Peeping out of her vents, she saw soot-smeared soldiers casting ominous shadows across the wall. A soldier chased down Ah Joy, the newborn puppy, and pierced it with a bayonet. He swung it over his shoulder. Blood dripped down his back as he rushed across the hall.

“
Oh-me-to-fo
,” Purple Jade wailed softly, beseeching her Buddha. Her decision to linger had been worse than foolish. She heard the soldiers enter her room, searching for women, valuables, food, and wine. Finding none, they vented their rage in other ways. They threw the porcelain bowl on her night table across the room and shattered it. Trunks and cupboards were ransacked, their contents scattered over the floor. A rifle flashed, discharging a round into the firm dark wood of her Ming desk. A stray bullet flew through her narrow closet. No one heard its hollow passage. Purple Jade cowered in the corner, rigid with fear.

“Eee-yah . . . kind Buddha, let me die! Eee-yah . . . save me!” It was Peony, screaming for help. Stamping feet and grunting noises all rushed toward the cold house.

“Swallow that!” It almost sounded like Chinese.

“Kill me! Kill me . . .” It was Peony, choking and screaming.

Purple Jade fidgeted, sobbing with pity, while distant groans, wild laughter, and swearing guttural snarls tormented her. The bamboo soughing outside was like an echo of her despair. She had been responsible for Peony’s plight.