Falling Leaves: The True Story of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter (19 page)

Franklin stands next to Jackie, my father’s precious pet. Father employed a German dog trainer who taught Jackie to be obedient only to Father Niang, and Franklin. I was very much afraid of Jackie, who used to bark at me.

(photograph)

Niang and my father enjoying their comfortable lifestyle. They were a glamorous and handsome couple in the 1940s and 1950s and socially prominent in Shanghai and Hong Kong.

Fish Swimming in a Cauldron

A few weeks before I left London, I wrote to Professor McFadden, Lo Mac, at Hong Kong University medical school. He welcomed my application as assistant lecturer in his department, commended me for my advanced degrees, quoted the salary and added that housing would be available. It was, therefore, with confidence and regret that I flew to Hong Kong in November 1963.

Gregory and James met me at Kai Tak airport in Father’s chauffeured Mercedes. They had both been working for Father for a year. James returned first, after finishing his studies at Cambridge. His salary was so low that he could only afford to live at the YMCA. Life became easier when Gregory returned from Montreal, where he had obtained a master’s degree from McGill University. Father paid them each a monthly salary of

2.000 Hong Kong dollars, equivalent to Z5O US dollars. Together, they were able to rent a tiny studio apartment above a nightclub on Nathan Road in Kowloon.

Hong Kong was no longer the sleepy city I had left behind eleven years ago. The narrow, cramped, neon-lit streets were teeming with pedestrians and traffic even though it was after nine p.m. There were a great number of new buildings, some of them half completed and covered with bamboo scaffolding. Colourful electrical signs blinked out their advertisements. The vitality was almost tangible.

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’This is not the Hong Kong I left behind,’ I gasped to my brothers. ’This is Shanghai reincarnated!’

’Except bigger, better and more modern,’ James replied. ’Kowloon and Hong Kong are like one long Nanking Road.’

’I’m glad you’ve come back,’ Gregory said warmly. ’This is the right place and the right time. The city is going to explode. Our clever Old Man is making an absolute killing.’

’Is Father still in the import-export business?’

’Import-export!’ Gregory snorted, incredulous at my ignorance. ’Haven’t you heard of the Korean War? Didn’t you know that the Allies put an economic blockade on China when Mao Zedong supported North Korea? Father’s markets were closed to him overnight. The setback prompted him to diversify into manufacturing and light industry. He started three factories making plastic flowers, leather gloves and enamelware and now calls himself an industrialist.’

They told me that Father’s enamelware factory was especially profitable, turning out brightly coloured cooking utensils, camping implements and an assortment of unbreakable tableware. Father had recently been approached by the Nigerian government to build a branch factory in Port Harcourt. The terms were extremely favourable, with the Nigerian side providing subsidies, tax incentives and cheap land. My two brothers were involved in the project.

We had reached the Yaumati vehicular ferry, at that time the only means of transport between Kowloon and Hong Kong. After boarding, the three of us got out of the car and stood by the railing for the crossing. In front of us lay Hong Kong Island, glistening like a jewel, with thousands of lights twinkling in the night. Both my brothers were dressed in dark suits with white shirts and conservative ties. The two of them looked as if they were going to attend a business meeting.

Glancing disdainfully at my old-fashioned Marks and Spencer dress which was a shade too large for me, Gregory commented, ’If you decide to settle down and practise medicine in Hong Kong, you really ought to pay more attention to your

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clothes. Hong Kong people are very fashion-conscious. What you’re wearing just isn’t good enough.’

’I’ve never been a beauty,’ I stammered, feeling defensive. ’Besides, I just got off the plane.’

’She looks all right to me,’ James said gallantly with a warm smile, while putting his arm around my shoulder. ’I don’t know anyone who can look like a fashion plate after being cooped up in a plane for hours and hours.’

’What’s their present apartment like?’ I asked, steering the conversation away from myself. After Franklin died in 1953, Father became convinced that the feng shui (wind and water, or geomancy) of the villa on Stubbs Road was nefarious. He then recalled that Ye Ye had passed away in 1952 while living in the same house. They terminated their lease and rented an apartment on the Peak.

’It’s a nice, luxury two-bedroom unit,’ Gregory replied. ’They’ve lived there for ten years now.’

’At 115 Plunkett Road, the Peak,’ I said. ’Nowadays, is there any discrimination against Chinese living on the Peak?’

’During the nineteenth century, Chinese weren’t allowed to live there. I think that ended in 1904.’ Gregory went on to explain that these days cash was king and we Chinese could live anywhere provided we had money. However, there was still a disproportionately larger number of whites living in the Peak area. He added that Father had recently bought a new flat at Mid-levels called Magnolia Mansions, overlooking the harbour. It had four bedrooms and Father had mentioned there would be plenty of room for me to stay.

’How nice of them!’ I exclaimed, glowing with happiness.

’Don’t celebrate too soon!’ James said darkly. ’The Old Lady objected. She kept saying the flat is just not big enough. I think the Old Man’s idea has been shelved for the time being.’

Meanwhile, our car was climbing up steeply winding roads to the top of Hong Kong Island, where the view was spectacular and the air fresh and smog-free. My ears ached from the altitude and my stomach felt queasy from fatigue and the

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serpentine bends. As we waited for the lift inside the lobby paved with marble and granite, I was filled with the same sense of trepidation which overwhelmed me whenever I was about to face my parents. Though I had been in England for eleven years and was now a physician, at that moment I felt no different from the schoolgirl who left in 1952..

I was greeted formally with smiles and handshakes. Father looked much the same but Niang’s lissome figure had thickened and her features had coarsened. Their flat was elegantly but impersonally furnished with stiff, wooden, antique Chinese chairs, western-style sofas sprouting antimacassars and a Tianjin carpet. Below was a panoramic view of Hong Kong city and Victoria Harbour.

We sat rather tensely around a rosewood dining-table eating noodles brought in by a maid I did not recognize. For some reason, conversation was in English. They never spoke to me in Chinese again after my return from London. It enhanced my feeling of exclusion, as if I was an employee justifying my salary. I told them that Professor McFadden had offered me a position as assistant lecturer in his Department of Internal Medicine.

’I’ve been thinking about this,’ Father started, slowly and deliberately as if he had rehearsed the speech. ’That’s not a good move. You should consider obstetrics and gynaecology instead. Remember Dr Mary Ting who delivered all of you? She is one of the greatest doctors I know. Internal medicine is not a good field for a woman. Male doctors won’t refer patients to you.’

I had completely forgotten that Father had already sketched out my career eleven years ago before my departure for England. I could not speak. This was a serious decision involving my future but, as far as Father was concerned, that decision was his, not mine. He added that Professor Daphne Chun, a friend of his in the Department of Obstetrics and Gynaecology at Hong Kong University, was willing to give me a position as a special intern. The salary he quoted was insultingly low.

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The job was offered only because I was his daughter. Professor Chun had given him ’a lot of face’.

I knew it was a fait accompli. Father would lose face if I failed to accept this ’favour’. Even so, I tried to protest, reminding him that I had already completed an internship in London two years ago. Professor McFadden’s offer of an assistant lectureship meant that I would have an unusually senior position for a young doctor of twenty-six. Father totally ignored my explanations.

’Why don’t you try the job offered by Professor Chun? If you don’t like it you can always switch later. You’ll not regret it. Besides, you haven’t made a commitment to Professor McFadden, have you? So you’re under no obligation there.

’I have your welfare at heart,’ he continued. ’Would your father lead you wrong? Remember, you’re still very young, fresh out of university. Take the wrong turn now and you will regret it ten years later. By then it will be too late.’ He reminded me of Lydia and Samuel thirteen years ago, insisting on going back to Tianjin against his well-meaning advice. ’Look what a mess they’re in now. It is entirely their own doing. They will rot there for the rest of their lives!’ He said this with relish, sounding almost glad that his prophecies of doom had been fulfilled with a vengeance.

As I listened, my former resolutions disintegrated. All I knew was that I wished above all else to please my father. Oh, so very much! To gain his acceptance. To be loved. To have him say to me, just once in my life, ’Well done, Adeline! We’re proud of you!’

It obviously meant a lot to him to have me working under his friend. To turn down Professor McFadden’s offer of an assistant lectureship (with housing) for Dr Chun’s promise of an internship, I was giving Father an enormous dose of face. Surely, that would give me some brownie points in his eyes ?

Once again I betrayed myself and went along with Father’s wishes. By the time we retired I was practically thanking them for all the trouble they had undertaken on my behalf.

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On the fourth day of my return to Hong Kong, Niang told me to pack my bags. Father was away that day playing golf with a business associate.

It was a brilliantly sunny Sunday afternoon when Ah Mo, the chauffeur, drove Niang and me to Dr Chun’s Tsan Yuk Hospital. The place seemed deserted. We stood awkwardly in the entrance hall talking to the busy hospital operator who was manning the switchboard and acting as receptionist. She eventually understood that I was the new extra intern from London University hired by Professor Chun to start work on Monday. She told us that since neither Professor Chun nor any of the attending physicians were there to show us around, we were to return on Monday morning.

But Niang was not to be thwarted. She ordered that the intern on call be paged. When a young woman doctor arrived, Niang demanded, in English, that I be shown my sleeping quarters. Though I was now a grown woman and a physician, Niang ignored me as if I was still a child. She was told there was no accommodation for interns.

’Where do you sleep then?’ Niang asked imperiously while I cringed with embarrassment.

’I sleep in the on-call room,’ the woman intern, Dr Chow, replied, glancing briefly at me and quickly looking away as she sensed my uneasiness.

’How many beds are there and how many are occupied?’ Niang persisted.

’There are four beds and two are occupied today. One by me and one by the pediatric intern on duty.’

’I see,’ Niang said, her mind turning. ’So there are two unoccupied beds in that room.’

’Yes, but they are only unoccupied until tomorrow when the new on-call weekly rotation schedule is posted.’

’That will be fine,’ Niang said, with her most charming smile. ’Will you please take us to the on-call room?’

Her tone was authoritative and her presence commanding. When Dr Chow hesitated at this unusual request, Niang twist—

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ed the six-carat diamond ring on her finger. The gaudy jewel caught the sunlight, sending a message of money and power. Then Niang added, ’Professor Chun is a very good friend of mine.’

By now thoroughly intimidated, Dr Chow dutifully led the way, followed by Niang, me and Ah Mo carrying my two suitcases containing all my possessions. We entered a large bare room with four cots, one in each corner. There were no wardrobes. The only furniture was a small night table by each berth, on which perched a telephone. The street clothes of the on-call doctors were hung on wall-hooks next to their stations.

Niang walked over to the curtainless window, the panes of which were grimy with dirt. She looked out and there, below us, was Victoria Harbour in all her splendour. The sun was shining, the air was clear, the sea was a sparkling blue and the boats were colourful. She ordered Ah Mo to place my suitcases by one of the unoccupied beds. She turned to me and smiled. ’Oh, Adeline!’ she exclaimed, ’What a wonderful view you have from your bedroom! How lucky you are!’ As I stared at her, dumb with dismay and embarrassment, she added, ’Unfortunately, Father and I will be busy all next week. But maybe we could have dinner together next Sunday. Phone me on Thursday to confirm, why don’t you?’ With that she turned to Ah Mo. ’Take me to Mrs Nin’s now!’ she commanded. ’I am late for her tea party.’

Ah Mo hurried after her, followed by Dr Chow mutteringsomething about having to see a patient. I was left alone.

I stood by the dirty window looking out at the ’wonderful view’ for a long time. My whole being was suffused with loneliness and that familiar feeling of total rejection. I wondered why I had bothered to return home.

Hong Kong in the early 19605 was an extraordinary place. Poised on the cusp of a glittering destiny, it had replaced Shanghai as the gateway to the West. Everything was in flux. Life revolved around passports and money. People were moving in or getting out. , , . v

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Ninety-nine per cent of the population were Chinese. Most of them were from the neighbouring province of Guangdong (Canton). After 1949, large numbers poured in from Shanghai and other parts of China. As time went on, it became increasingly hazardous to reach Hong Kong across the stretch of water separating it from the mainland. Later, the British army erected a twenty-four-mile steel wire fence along the Chinese border, patrolled by platoons of Gurkhas (mercenary Nepalese soldiers) and dogs, to keep out those who wished to enter illegally into the overcrowded colony. Those who made it were filled with a fierce determination to make a better life for themselves and their children.