Three Souls (7 page)

My souls wander through the classroom. Reluctantly, I turn my eyes away from Hanchin to look at my brother, leaning against the wall to my right. Tongyin’s face is slightly flushed and his lips are parted, moist. His eyes, fixed on Hanchin, glitter. I notice that almost all the women in the audience share this same rapt look. And so do I. Had I been so obvious?

There is something else also, and my
yin
soul catches the question in my mind, turns to me with a query in her deep brown eyes.

There is something not right about this crowd,
I say. In the grip of my infatuatation, what had I seen and heard that evening except Hanchin? But now I scan through the crowd and see faces that don’t match the humble clothing they wear. New cloth caps pulled over well-cut hair, hands too smooth for factory work, clean-shaven chins.

Hanchin speaks in an even, gracefully cadenced voice, so perfect for reciting poetry, not at all a rabble-rouser, but calm and reasonable, with an occasional flash of wit to keep his audience alert. His words couldn’t possibly be used against him. He praises education—surely the safest ploy of all, for what Chinese can argue against education? He speaks of a minimum wage as one option to improve working conditions, unions as a way of opening civil discussions between workers and employers.

You were so sheltered,
my
yin
soul points out. She is seated on a low bench against the wall of the classroom, arranging her pleated skirt.
It was a complicated and dangerous time.

Hanchin was being watched. And he knew it,
says my
yang
soul. His round eyeglasses reflect an image of the single naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling.

It means your brother was being watched as well,
says my
hun
soul.

***

At the end of the talk, the audience clapped wildly. Tongyin, along with a few others, circulated through the crowd to take subscriptions for
China Millennium.
I remained seated, pretending I wasn’t staring at Hanchin while he shook hands and answered questions, smiling and assured.

Beside me, Cha Zhiming stretched out his hands to rest them on a chair. He looked thoughtful, no trace of mockery on his face. I was pleased but not surprised. How could anyone not be moved by Hanchin’s words?

“Well, Miss Song, which part of the talk made the biggest impression on you?”

Eagerness to talk about the lecture overcame my dislike for him. After all, what did I really have against Cha Zhiming except for the fact that he was my brother’s friend?

“I was thinking that China has such a long tradition of valuing education. Surely it would be easier to achieve universal literacy here than in Russia.”

He nodded, as though in agreement. I warmed to him slightly.

Then he asked, “What about Tongyin? Why do you suppose he’s interested?”

It was obvious to me that Tongyin had developed a schoolgirl crush on Yen Hanchin, but I wasn’t going to disparage my brother in front of an outsider, so I just shrugged. Tongyin, who had finished canvassing the crowd, stood by the door, where Hanchin was shaking hands with departing admirers. After a few words with him, my brother hurried over to us.

“Some of us are going around the corner to have a quick supper with Hanchin. Leiyin, you need to go home now. I’ll call you a rickshaw.”

“You’re supposed to chaperone me at all times. I’ll go with you to supper.” I held back my eagerness.

“Absolutely not. No, that’s impossible. Tea houses are no place for a young girl.”

“Then you have to take me home.”

Tongyin appeared on the brink of a tantrum.

“I have a suggestion,” said Cha Zhiming. “Let me take your sister home. I can’t stay for supper anyway.”

“But if Father finds out I wasn’t chaperoned . . .”

“Your father will never know I was the one who brought you home. The rickshaw can drop you at the gate and continue on. You can tell your family that Tongyin brought you home and went off again.”

Tongyin’s face brightened. “Cha Zhiming, you’re a true friend.”

I couldn’t bicker with my brother in public, especially with Hanchin there. But if I had to leave, I would make a graceful exit.

“All right. But before we go, I’ll congratulate Mr. Yen on his speech.”

I marched up to Hanchin with a mask of confidence I didn’t feel.

“Miss Song, what a nice surprise it was to see you here.” Again, that warm and knowing smile.

“You were wonderful.” My cheeks felt hot, my stomach unsettled. “Now I want more than ever to bring literacy to all our citizens.”

“I’m so very glad to hear you say that. Teaching is the most fulfilling career anyone could have. Ah, Tongyin. You’ll both be joining us for supper?”

“No, she can’t stay. Cha here is taking her home,” my brother said quickly.

“Well then, Miss Song. Perhaps we’ll meet some other time.”

Tongyin glared at me. If it were up to him, there wouldn’t be another time.

***

In the rickshaw, Cha Zhiming and I made small talk. Gaoyin would have been proud of me. I asked a few questions, then hardly needed to speak at all. Cha Zhiming told me about his father, a general in the Nationalist army, his mother, who had died when he was in his teens, and his half-brothers.

“I have three younger brothers,” he said. “Were those your sisters I saw at your home? Such pretty little girls.”

“I have a half-sister, Fei-Fei. The others are my nieces. But tell me about your plans for university next year.”

The dim street lights hid his expression, but his voice was resigned. “I prefer the arts, but this fall I’m transferring to Whampoa Military Academy. My father let me attend university in Shanghai for a while before starting a military career, so I should be grateful.”

On the street outside our home, I slipped off the rickshaw, knocked on the wicket gate, and Lao Li let me in. I didn’t give Cha Zhiming a second thought.

***

The next afternoon, Sueyin and I were walking in the Old Garden, making our way around the lake to feed the ducks, when Nanny Qiu came charging up the path, calling out in the voice she reserved for pronouncements of doom.

“
Wah, wah,
Third Young Mistress. Your father wants you in his study. Immediately.”

I hurried back to the house, leaving Sueyin surrounded by anxious ducks. When I arrived, Tongyin was in Father’s study, seated on the leather sofa and looking gloomy. Father paced up and down the Turkish carpet. He motioned for me to sit beside Tongyin.

“One of your eldest brother’s friends was at Yen Hanchin’s lecture last night.”

No wonder Tongyin looked so unhappy. The friend probably saw me get into the rickshaw with Cha Zhiming.

“Second Son, the lecture was about politics. With leftist messages. Now a daughter of our house has been seen at a political meeting.”

“Sir. Not so, sir. Let me explain.” Tongyin’s hands plucked at his monogrammed handkerchief.

“Second Son, no explanations. I’m tolerant of your interest in politics. It is part of being a student. But your sister’s reputation is another matter. When the time comes to arrange her marriage, there must be no hint of any interest in Communism. It would be extremely detrimental to her prospects.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

“Second Son, you’re an adult but also a son of this house. You must avoid public events of a questionable nature. If Yen Hanchin speaks on literature, or reads his poetry, you may attend. But not if the speech is about unions or socialist ideologies.”

How could Father think that Hanchin’s poetry was independent of his political beliefs? In
China Millennium,
it was clear that Hanchin’s ideals inspired his work. Even his poetry alluded to politics and social change.

“Third Daughter, no more of this going out to working-class neighbourhoods. The location of that school should have warned you, but it was not your fault. No more lectures from now on unless they’re through your school.”

I nodded, both disappointed and relieved. At least Father didn’t know about Cha Zhiming taking me home. Tongyin tried not to look too pleased that I couldn’t follow him around anymore. Behind Father’s back, he made a face at me.

***

My
yang
soul shakes his grey head.
You were dreaming to think he would approve of your marrying such a man.

I see that now.
I sigh at the memory.

But you did so enjoy being in love. It’s like being pleasantly ill,
my
yin
soul says.
Drugged and excited, all at once.
She throws her arms in the air and dances along the terrace of the family shrine.

Anyway, don’t you remember Father saying he believed that once Hanchin’s poetry gained more recognition, he would move away from politics? I believed that everything would work out.

My
hun
soul laughs, a brittle tinkling sound.
Oh, Leiyin. Your father might have admired starving poets, but that didnn’t mean he wanted his daughter to marry one.

***

Finally, I mustered the courage to write my first letter to Hanchin:

Dear Mr. Yen,

I have attached some questions about the April issue of your magazine regarding the proposal to simplify written Chinese. Please don’t write back, because Father reads our letters. He would object to our correspondence—not to you specifically, but to any man who isn’t a relative. I hope we’ll be able to discuss these questions at the next salon. Thank you for understanding.

Song Leiyin

The letter was in my bag the next day when I went to see Nanmei. Nanny Qiu accompanied me as usual and I was debating whether I could go to the post office after seeing Nanmei. Could I trust Nanny to keep my secret? Once we entered the gates of the Wang estate, she headed for the servants’ quarters to see who was free to enjoy a good gossip.

“What do you mean, your nanny might tell?” Nanmei looked puzzled when I asked her to post the letter for me. I realized again that her family was far more casual than mine.

A light rain had started falling so instead of strolling in the Wangs’ gardens, we walked along the joined verandas of four houses that bordered a large courtyard. A small bamboo grove and pond amplified the sound of the raindrops.

“She might mention to my family that I’d mailed a letter at the post office.”

“But that’s what one does at a post office.”

“At home, we leave letters on a tray in the foyer and Father’s secretary posts them after Father reads them,” I explained, embarrassed.

Nanmei looked shocked. “He reads your personal letters?”

“Well, personal means for the family. When Gaoyin writes to Sueyin, it’s really meant for all of us.”

She shook her head, incredulous, then examined the address on the letter.

“That’s really close to our shoemaker’s. Mother’s taking us all to get measured for new shoes tomorrow. I could even deliver it personally to
China Millennium’s
office.”

“Oh, Nanmei, that would be so good of you. Mail service is terrible these days. Will your mother mind if you slip away for a few minutes?”

“
All
the women of the house are going for new shoes.” We both laughed. Between Nanmei’s mother, her sisters, sisters-in-law, and assorted female cousins, the shop would be in chaos. She could disappear for an hour unnoticed.

“Besides, I may finally catch a glimpse of your beloved.” She sounded wistful.

***

After every lecture, Tongyin would go out with Hanchin and a few friends for a late supper. There had even been a few nights when Tongyin hadn’t come home until morning. On this evening, he returned early, just as we were finishing supper. He waved away the servant who put a bowl and chopsticks in front of him.

Tongyin pulled a book out of his satchel. “Look, here is Hanchin’s latest translation.
Eugene Onegin
by Pushkin. It’s fresh off the printing press.”

“Isn’t there already a translation?” I asked. “I’ve been reading
Eugene Onegin.
”

“You’re correct. Absolutely right. But the original by Pushkin was a novel in verse, and that first translation was in prose. Hanchin translated it in verse. He said it’s the hardest work he’s ever done. It took him six years. He gave me a copy as a gift.”

He handed the volume to Father as though it were fine crystal. The book made its way around the table. I was the last to take a look. Hanchin had inscribed his name on the flyleaf, but just his name; there was no personal message to Tongyin.

I turned the pages slowly and carefully, scanning through the verses. This was the novel about the young girl in love with an older man. I wanted to read it all on the spot, inhale Hanchin’s words until they seeped into my blood, soaked into my brain. Tucked between the pages, I found a slip of very thin paper, almost onion skin, of palest blue. A bookmark or a price tag, something the printer had left behind. Reluctantly, I gave
Eugene Onegin
back to Tongyin.

Well, I had something to show the family too, now that we were finished eating.

“Third Daughter, what time does your convocation start?” Father interrupted my thoughts. “It’s the day after tomorrow, am I correct?”

My uniform was already hanging on my closet door, the plaid skirt ironed in perfect pleats. Nanny Qiu had ribbons for my hair the exact same shade of navy blue as my blazer. Alone in my room, I had practised giving the valedictorian speech several times.

“It starts at ten in the morning. But, Father, I’ll need to arrive an hour in advance, since I’m on the student organizing committee.”

“Third Daughter, you may take the motorcar and then send it back to fetch us. What awards can we expect my little bookworm to win?”

“I’m fairly sure I’ll win the prize for Literature, and also for History and Geography.” This was my opening.

“And the headmistress will be announcing something else, Father. I’ve got something to show you.” I held out the envelope I’d been hiding beneath my chair.