Songs of Willow Frost (18 page)

In the living room she opened the door of the cast-iron stove and stoked the fire. Then she burned a stick of incense and lit all the candles in the room. Finally, she went to the kitchen and found the longest, sharpest carving knife—the one her mother had used for deboning shanks of pork. Liu Song noticed the colors of her gown reflected in the blade. They looked like blood and fire.

Carefully, Liu Song draped a long sleeve over the knife. Then she walked along the wall to the front door. From there she stepped carefully with her bare feet in the talcum, leaving a trail of ghostly footprints from the entrance directly to her stepparents’ bedroom. She took a deep breath, heard the popping and hissing of the newly lit candles, and opened the bedroom door. She didn’t knock.

Liu Song surrendered to her performance as they walked into the room, mother and daughter together as one, the incarnation of the Widow of Zhuangzi. She let the firelight flood the darkness, casting a spidery shadow over the bed as her long sleeves swept across the
floor. Auntie Eng woke first and made an inhuman sound, a squeal like that of a frightened, trapped pig. Then Liu Song, her mother, the Widow, floated to the brass railing at the foot of the bed. She smelled the alcohol on Uncle Leo’s breath as he bolted upright, as though waking from an unpleasant dream to a nightmare. His face became a riot of fear, his mouth contorted as his drunken, superstitious mind struggled to reconcile what he was seeing. The Widow slowly pulled back her long sleeve, revealing the blade. She pointed the knife at Auntie Eng’s soft belly, then glided around to Uncle Leo. Bulging eyes stared into his. The Widow twirled her sleeve until her hand emerged and grabbed a fistful of hair, lifting his head as the cold edge of the carving knife kissed the soft tissue just below his chin. His face grew pale as he held his breath.

“You will not touch my daughter ever again,” the Widow whispered in Cantonese through clenched teeth and the demon’s mask. “You will not
speak
to her. You will not
look
upon her,” she hissed. “You will give her everything that is
owed
to her
—and more
. And you will
leave … my … home
before the next moon, or I will tie
you
to this bed and pour oil down your throat every night until you join me in the spirit world. And I promise, on your blood and the blood of your family, that I will never leave this place until you are gone.”

The Widow looked at the whimpering mass that was Auntie Eng and sang in a high, shrill voice,
“I’m only second wife.”
She reached out, touching the frightened woman’s lips with the point of the knife. “But you will call
me
Big Mother.”

L
IU
S
ONG’S HEART
raced as she undressed and sat on the edge of her bed, struggling to collect herself. She lingered on the image of Uncle Leo and Auntie Eng huddled together as she’d left the room. Her bravery had been an act, a put-on that she found exhilarating but emotionally exhausting. She’d removed the mask, which now felt suffocating. She stared at its hollows, which echoed the emptiness
she felt, and she gazed forlornly into the darkened corners of her bedroom, half-expecting to see her mother and father, or her brothers, standing there, silently clapping or nodding their approval. Through the walls she could hear Uncle Leo arguing and Auntie Eng crying.

“Well done, Liu Song,” her father would have whispered.

Her mother might have gushed, “Encore,” while wiping away tears.

As Liu Song lay down and pressed her face into the fabric of the dress she’d worn, she could smell her mother’s skin, her lotion, her perfume—her essence. She missed her so much. She clawed at her pillow, wanting to cry, but the tears never came, just a swirling riptide of feeling—anger, abandonment, the fear of being alone, and the weight of the emotional millstone still tied around her neck, submerging her further into the murky depths of stinging, biting solitude. She wished she could wail all night. Instead she curled up in the darkness of her bedroom, listening to her racing heartbeat, which eventually slowed, like the ticking of a clock unwound.

Pitch and Toss

(1921)

When Liu Song woke, Uncle Leo and Auntie Eng were nowhere to be found. Their belongings remained, untouched as far as she could tell. She walked around her apartment barefoot, delighted by her stepparents’ absence, finding strange comfort in her solitude. She didn’t know if her ruse had actually worked. Her stepparents might attribute the whole thing to bad alcohol. Or in the sobering light of day, they might know what she’d done. It didn’t matter. They were gone for now, and the respite was welcome and hard earned. She wistfully hoped that her mother’s ghost had actually returned and taken them to the spirit world, kicking and screaming all the way.

Liu Song smiled as she ate a leftover
hum bau
for breakfast. A cold pork bun never tasted better. She drank a cup of hot black tea and then went to work, where she sang such happy tunes for the bedazzled crowds that Mr. Butterfield finally sold a pianola to a wealthy couple—the first sale of many, he hoped. She didn’t even have to shorten her skirt. The store owner was so excited and grateful that he paid Liu Song directly, in cash, and sent her home an hour early. As she walked back to her parents’ tiny apartment, she imagined a confrontation with Uncle Leo; perhaps he’d kick her out altogether. She half-hoped to find her belongings waiting by the garbage dump, which would be fine by her. Instead, Canton Alley
looked the same. The apartment was dark, and the clothesline hung curiously empty of all but a starling that hopped along the wire, flapping its wings and whistling. Liu Song found the front door slightly ajar. As she stepped inside, it was clear that Auntie Eng and Uncle Leo were still gone. Unfortunately, so was everything else—the new radio; the dishes, pots, and pans; most of the bedding; the carpets; and all of the furniture. Everything except for Liu Song’s bed had been carted away. Her stepparents had cleaned out the pantry and the cupboards as well. The only food that remained (which wasn’t scattered on the floor like garbage) was a half-empty tin of stale saltines. Liu Song stood in the apartment and shook her head, stepping over and around the few empty boxes and crates that remained. She was surprised they didn’t take the light fixtures and the wallpaper, or tear out the copper piping beneath the sink.

I got what I wished for, Uncle
, she thought.
And you got everything else
.

Then Liu Song remembered her valise and rushed to her room, dropped to her knees, and peeked under the bed. She sat back, then lay on the cool, dusty wooden floor, her heart pounding as she exhaled a huge sigh of relief. Her mother’s suitcase was still there. Liu Song pulled it out and opened it, realizing that her superstitious stepfather was probably too afraid to touch it. If he or Auntie Eng had opened it and seen the mask …

Liu Song wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, then leaned back on her elbows, staring into the void that was her closet. She frowned at her clothes, which lay in a heap on the floor. They had thrown out all of her mother’s personal belongings and now taken everything of value—all of it gone.

You didn’t even leave me a wire hanger
, Liu Song thought as she heard a knock on the door and quickly stood up. She reached into the front of her dress to make sure her money was safely tucked away and dusted herself off as best she could. If it was the landlord, she had just enough money to cover a month’s rent. Though
she wasn’t sure how he’d feel about a single girl living alone, which was generally frowned upon. Liu Song was certain the building had a reputation to maintain. It was bad enough that the police regarded any single Chinese woman as a prostitute, but a landlord …

“Hello?” A familiar voice called out in Cantonese. “Liu Song?”

She stepped into the living room, ashamed of the terrible mess. “Colin?”

He opened the door and removed his hat, staring at the floor, the empty tinderbox next to the stove, and the vacant cupboards. “May I … enter?”

“Please.” Liu Song felt flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I wish I had someplace for you to sit down, or a cup of tea to offer. I can explain …”

“There’s no need …”

“It’s my uncle and his wife, they took … everything …”

“It’s quite all right. Honest,” Colin said as he looked around, smiling at the chaos. “I heard all about their sudden departure.”

“Heard what?”

Colin turned an old fruit crate up onto its side and offered the wooden box as a seat to Liu Song, who sat down and tried in vain to flatten the wrinkled fabric of her dress. She couldn’t take her eyes off the charming young man who knelt on one knee in front of her. His suit seemed perfectly pressed, his hair, miraculously in place, despite the wind outside. He was so close that their toes almost touched. So close she could smell his aftershave. He picked up an empty tobacco tin, brought it to his nose, and then gently set it aside as he regarded the garbage-strewn apartment as though it were a minor inconvenience—a misstep, unfortunate but easily overcome.

“I was at the Wah Mee this afternoon when your stepfather came in and grumbled to all who would listen that he no longer wanted to
be
your uncle.”

Liu Song touched her lips, trying not to smirk, remembering
what the man had done to her, how he had mistreated her mother. “Is that so?”

Colin nodded his affirmation. “He came in and talked of how young and beautiful you were—though he used a baser vocabulary. He argued that since there are indeed so few single girls in Chinatown, while there are hundreds, if not thousands of single working men, he ventured you’d be worth something, to someone.”

Liu Song’s smile vanished. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d known of parents who sold off their extra sons to families that needed the help, but rarely had a daughter changed families—at least not in America and not in her neighborhood. Except in arranged marriages. She swallowed, then asked reluctantly, hesitantly, the way one asked about a fever during the quarantines, “Did he betroth me …”

“It was worse than that, I’m afraid.”

How can it get any worse?
Liu Song thought.
I’ve been sold like a cow
.

“When no one seemed interested in offering a dowry, he wagered you,” Colin said. The words came out hesitantly, as though the truth were a grave insult. “He bet you on a hand of pitch and toss—and he lost.”

“Someone won me?” Liu Song asked in stunned disbelief. “In a dice game?”

She watched in horrified astonishment as Colin hesitated and then nodded again, loosening his scarf and fumbling with his hat.

“But that’s why I came to see you directly,” he said. “The man who won you was an older gentleman from Kwangtung, a widower who seemed eager to have a new, young bride. He spoke of taking you back to China for a traditional wedding.”

“I won’t do it!” Liu Song protested. “I’ll run. He’ll never find me …”

“You won’t have to,” Colin said with a modest shrug.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because.” Colin cleared his throat and switched to English as his voice cracked. “
Another
gentleman stepped up and made a better offer. This person offered twice what the winner had wagered, and when that wasn’t enough he offered three, four, and then five times the amount. Until that old lecher relented and took the money. Your uncle seemed quite displeased by having bet you for less than your true worth.”

My true worth?
she wondered. Liu Song wanted to cry, she wanted to scream. She did neither. She stood up, immediately thinking of ways to leave town, but she had so little to her name—even her name now meant nothing. “And who is this”—she spat the word—“
gentleman
?”

Colin rose to his feet and covered his heart with his hat. He whispered softly, “That’s why I’m here. I didn’t want you to hear about this on the street and labor under some false apprehension. You’re free to do as you please, I assure you. And you can be with whomever you choose, whenever you choose to be.”

Liu Song shook her head.

“Because that foolish gentleman … was me,” Colin said.

Liu Song stood speechless for a moment. She wasn’t sure what he meant, or to whom she owed what. “I’m … sorry …”

Colin said, “I couldn’t stand idle and let that happen. So I intervened. I hope you don’t feel this was an untoward gesture. You’re an unmarried girl, and by no means …”

“I’m …” Liu Song stammered, feeling a rush of gratitude, confusion, and joy hobbled by his hesitant words. “Thank you. I can repay you—I have some money and I’ll keep working. I’ll pay you back every penny …”

“You don’t owe me anything. I still have money from my father, despite his disapproval of my career choices. And since I had such respect for your
lou dou
—really, it was the least I could do. I owe him much. Your father gave me my start.”

Liu Song was still flushed. Still confused. “I’m not ready to get married …”