A Concubine for the Family: A Family Saga in China (26 page)

Crammed in her closet, she watched the night walk across the bamboo grove. When all was still, a bright star appeared among the bamboo leaves. It was the morning star. Quietly she stole from her hiding place. The fire had damaged the entire house. Only her sooty compound was untouched by the flame. In the smoldering rubble, she found the two servants who had come to put out the fire: the porter, disemboweled; the doorman, beheaded. Flies swarmed around their blackened bodies. Purple Jade wobbled away, her icy fear numbing her senses.

Near the kitchen and the cold house, half a dozen drunken soldiers lay snoring. Little Six lay twisted and torn, dark red oozing blood smeared all over her torso. Purple Jade would not have known the macabre bundle as the child she once rescued had she not recognized the suit of clothes given her when she first came into the house. The cook lay dead beside Little Six, his right arm stretched out toward the child.

Purple Jade edged to the kitchen door. Peony, bent over with pain, was reaching for rat poison. Purple Jade dashed forward and stayed her trembling hand.

“You’re young and I’ll help you heal. Our country needs you.”

With fiery eyes, Peony spat out her revenge. “The poison is for the wine. They can’t live without it!”

Without a word, her mistress obeyed. Purple Jade carefully broke the seal on their jugs of finest wine and stirred in the poison. With an expertise she did not know she possessed, she sealed the jugs again. A strange calm descended upon Purple Jade. She half-carried and half-dragged Peony out the back door. They trudged the mile toward the dock.

A small throng of townsfolk was already there. A local fisherman recognized the lady from the Huang household and helped them into the boat. Purple Jade pressed an antique jade pendent into the hands of the fisherwoman. The oars splashed; the shore sprang back.

Over the water, smoke continued to build. Furious black clouds billowed upward from the town, settling over the causeway. Waves of humid, soot-laden air enveloped the Huang and Chou family compounds in acrid gray.

Standing riveted on deck, Purple Jade could not recognize her home. The bamboo grove by her house across the water still looked green and glistened in the charcoal haze. To her right, she saw claws of fire brooding over the eastern end of town. Remembering the images of the blackened dead, she retched.

In an instant, the burning air inside the bamboo erupted. Pieces of flying cane burst into small tongues of fire, trailing dense sooty smoke. Popping explosions mocked the celebration of fireworks, which had so often heralded the festive events of her life. The lyricism of home and hearth turned to ashes right before her eyes. Purple Jade turned from the heinous sight and asked, with lead in her heart, to be taken to Shanghai.

“Huang tai-tai, You must change into a fisherman’s suit if you wish to pass into Shanghai Harbor.” The fisherman’s wife handed over her best suit.

Without protest, Purple Jade exchanged her brocade robe for the rough cloth suit of a fisherwoman. Charcoal soot was smeared over her face to hide her smooth pampered skin. When the Japanese patrol boats came by, the fisherman placed her in the lee of the boat, cleaning fish. With her small feet tucked underneath her and her delicate hands covered by the blood and entrails of fish, she became just another fisherwoman. Peony slept with the fishermen’s children. Her pale, sick face drove away all who came to inspect.

When the boat arrived at the English section of Shanghai, Purple Jade sent a message to Petain Road. The East Asian Uniform Company hired a small sampan and transferred the lady and her maid to the factory. There, they changed into ordinary street clothes and hired a pedicab to take them to the safety of the French section. Purple Jade noticed that the Japanese had cleared away the refugees.

Day and night, Purple Jade devoted herself to nursing Peony. She studied her collection of Chinese medical books, consulted Chinese doctors, and sent the chauffeur to all corners of Shanghai to purchase the necessary ingredients. These included loquat syrup, ginko nuts, ginseng, lotus root mixed with milk and steamed, jujube and goji berries, apricot seed, oxlip and raspberries fried in wine, scallions, Menthol, dried buds of the white lotus, dog rose, knot grass steamed and sun dried, peach pits and honey. Purple Jade brewed the medicine herself and fed it to Peony, while the rest of the family tiptoed around them in hushed concern. Comely Brook noticed Purple Jade’s lapse into moments of unnatural stillness. She offered tea, brought her embroidery, or asked for instructions on household matters. She watched her mistress closely, but did not mention anything to alarm the others.

In her quiet moments, Purple Jade recited her Tu Fu poems to seek serenity:

When Peony recovered, she became restless. She had neither the heart nor the concentration to do the reading and writing assignments Purple Jade gave her. During her occasional trips to the factory, Peony learned of the peasant resistance movements in northern interior China. She made it known that she wished to join them. Purple Jade objected. In the end, Purple Jade and Comely Brook prepared a jacket for Peony, with gold coins and jade pieces sewn inside.

As the household stirred to life one morning, they found Peony was gone. She had left without a word, so their ignorance could shield them from blame. Suddenly, Purple Jade felt overwhelmed by the strain of her traumatic experience. While Peony was there, she had resumed her old role as the family doctor. She had a purpose and an important task. She was able to maintain her composure. Now inconsolable, she took to her bed.

Purple Jade slipped into delirium, reliving the horrors of her time in Hangzhou. In her deranged shouts and mumblings the family came to experience vividly the atrocities at home. The girls tiptoed around the house. They whispered to each other and tried to understand what they could not. Their father commanded them to study hard, and they buried their anxiety in schoolwork. Righteous Virtue sought help from the doctors. The American doctor prescribed sedatives, which enveloped Purple Jade in a drowsy stupor. The Chinese Dr. Tsui approved the same medicines that Peony had taken. Comely Brook resumed all personal care of her former mistress. She concentrated on preparing the choicest herbs — those she knew Purple Jade would use. In time, the violent outbursts subsided. It was a full month before the household returned to normal.

When Righteous Virtue realized his wife’s depression had been tempered by caring for Peony, he wisely persuaded Dr. Tsui to accept Purple Jade as an intern in his practice of Chinese medicine and acupuncture.

For centuries, the practice of healing in China had been passed along family lines, its secrets guarded like family fortunes. It was unheard of that a woman should be admitted into this elite society. But Dr. Tsui had recently lost his wife and a young son during the Japanese bombing. He had been impressed with Purple Jade’s thorough self-instruction in herbal medicine. In his bereavement and confusion, he consented.

Every morning Purple Jade left by rickshaw for his clinic, where the doctor soon found her in full command of his Chinese pharmaceuticals. The many drawers and bamboo cylinders of powdered oyster shell, cuttlefish-bone, ginseng, shark fins, turmeric, orange peel, camphor, cicadas, dried sea horses, magnolia flowers, licorice roots, deer antlers, ashes, sulfur, saltpeter, and varieties of ferns and mushrooms were all thoroughly catalogued, numbered, and arranged in impeccable order. Purple Jade worked quietly, observing with infinitesimal care the taking of pulse, the measurement and positioning of the acupuncture points for various ailments. No longer useless, and grateful to be admitted into such sacrosanct knowledge, her mind became focused and disciplined.

Iris returned one day under full Japanese escort. It appeared she had done a commendable job helping Miss Tyler run the mission. She had helped nurse the wounded and treat the enemy soldiers who had been poisoned. The Japanese were grateful, but Purple Jade eyed her presence with unease. Still, Iris’s work at the uniform factory ensured safety for them all.

Righteous Virtue did not wish to call attention to himself. He sold his car and rode a bicycle to work. He came home exhausted every evening.

Two East Ocean soldiers stood guard at the bridge where Righteous Virtue had to cross each day to reach his factory. Every Chinese was required to bow to the soldiers as he passed their posts. The humiliation was intolerable.

Righteous Virtue secretly placed part of the factory in full production to make uniforms for the Nationalists and shipped them down to Hong Kong. Whenever possible, he included guns and ammunition for transport to Chungking. New to the ways of the town, the Japanese still found waterfront activities confusing. Righteous Virtue’s subterfuge brought back the excitement of his youth. At times, he felt both strangely animated and depleted by his actions.

A
FTER THREE MONTHS of intense fighting, the Japanese had taken full control of Shanghai by early December. General Chin departed. Bright Crystal languished in uncertain malaise. The Chinese underworld still held power in all corners of the city, and Bright Crystal knew General Chin had close connections to these gangs. She had heard nothing from Glorious Dragon, nor did she know how to reach him.

Several times she picked up the telephone to call Purple Jade, but every time she disconnected before speaking. She was certain Purple Jade would overlook her errant reputation. She knew instinctively that they shared their love for “her Dragon.” She yearned for a mother’s shoulder to cry on, but Iris had told her Purple Jade’s horrendous experience in Hangzhou. How could she alleviate such a loss? It would be unthinkable to burden her further with concerns for Glorious Dragon. She paced her rooms with restless hunger. Yet, when she sat down to eat, she had no appetite. Listless and vapid, she shunned the mirror, became careless of her daily toilette. Alarmed at her appearance, her father created masterpieces in his kitchen to restore her spirits.

One summer day in 1938, a dust-covered vagabond knocked on the back door of Bright Crystal’s house. The stranger had long hair and a ragged black beard that gave him a ghoulish appearance. His flea-ridden rags hung in shreds around him; he stank of sweat, dirt, and rancid food. When Little Lotus, the serving girl, opened the back door, she slammed it shut and shrieked in alarm. The vagrant shrugged and squatted beside the door to wait.

By mid-morning, Bright Crystal’s father opened the back door to set on his day’s marketing. The beggar stood, towering over the rotund chef. Falling to his knees, the beggar called, “Ba-ba!” — the name Bright Crystal had always called her father.

With a loud gasp, the father recognized Glorious Dragon. Without another word, he pushed him into the kitchen. Once inside, he berated the serving girls and shouted for hot water, food, and scissors.

Informed of her Dragon’s return, Bright Crystal screamed with relief and delight. She wept and laughed, babbling with questions and exclamations about his condition as she held him close. She felt his protruding ribs; she kissed his cheekbones and hollowed eyes. His condition sent her trembling — their precarious existence made real to her. Glorious Dragon clasped her to him, murmuring, “There, there, I’m home.”

Bright Crystal clung to him and would not let go.

Finally calmed, she took over his “restoration.” She scrubbed and trimmed him in a hot tub. Between sips of soybean milk, Glorious Dragon allowed himself to be lathered, shaved, and fondled as Bright Crystal began to massage him gently with her fingers. Smelling of soap and disinfectant, he soaked in the bath, drinking wine. Bright Crystal offered him a bowl of plain, soupy, soft rice.

“First, you must have something easy to digest,” she said, wiping his mouth as she fed him. “Look at you,” she teased. “Your shoulder blades look like a coat hanger!”

“You can’t imagine what I’ve been eating!” Glorious Dragon obligingly opened his mouth and swallowed everything. “A meal of grubs and grass was a treat!”

“Oh my poor Dragon.” Bright Crystal put down the bowl to wipe her tears. Glorious Dragon pulled her into the water. Splashing and squealing with urgency, he helped her remove her clothes.

As they toweled each other dry, slowly examining each other’s bodies, they tumbled to the floor. Sitting back on his heels, Glorious Dragon held her at arm’s length. “Oh my Crystal, I can’t believe how beautiful you are!” Her soft, creamy body was all he could see. He lifted her thigh, and kissed her. Reaching the clouds and rain, her heart raced and she wanted to shout.

“You have penetrated my whole being,” Bright Crystal whispered. “Don’t ever leave me again!”

They spent long hours talking of their experiences during the past frightful months. Bright Crystal wept to hear the suffering Glorious Dragon shared with the dispossessed. They could not blame Japan alone for all China’s problems. The warring factions within China encouraged foreign depredation. Japan happened to be the closest and hungriest predator. Corruption was rampant within the Chinese government. Its scorched-earth response to the Japanese advance also caused widespread suffering.