The Concubine's Daughter (22 page)

The next morning, as the night sky melted into dawn and the kitchen gas lamps still hissed white, Ah-Ho sent for Li, who had no choice but to hobble behind the scullery maid sent to fetch her.

The head amah was seated at a round table set with tea things and a single high-backed chair. Erect as a wooden goddess, she sipped from a large glass of black tea, held in the grip of a silver serpent—its arched coils serving as a handle, its venomous head guarding the lid with open jaws. Li noticed that the marble top of the table was fractured by a web of cracks.
The table is old
…
as unsound and imperfect as she of the arched eyebrows
, she thought to herself,
no longer pleasing to look upon, but deceptively strong.
Ah-Ho savored the tea unhurriedly, watching closely for signs of pain as Li shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I regret I cannot ask you to sit, but as you see, this kitchen has but one chair.”

Li recognized the sullen-faced youth wearing the uniformed trousers and polished boots of a driver. His shirt was off, a singlet hung loosely from a lean muscular frame, his thin face fixed in a complacent smirk. He leaned against the wall behind Ah-Ho, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, a cigarette drooping from his lower lip.

“A night has passed and you are still under this roof. It is time you are told the truth.” The amah spoke with slow deliberation. “Master Devereaux has chosen to dump you among honest, hardworking folk like
the last skinny shrimp grabbed from the bottom of a slimy barrel. He sees you as helpless and deserving, but I see you as the makings of a slut, or he would not have bothered. He is a
gwai-lo
, sometimes a wise one, but with the heart of a fool; he cannot see what we can see.”

Setting the glass down, Ah-Ho thumped her closed fists on either side of it, causing it to spill. “I will know all there is to know of you before you have spent one week beneath this roof. You will not deceive me as you deceived him. Dr. Yap has seen to you at great cost; you can walk now, well enough to stand before me. My advice to you is to leave while the master is away and go where he cannot find you.” Ah-Ho fetched a purse from her pocket, counting out crumpled notes, tossing them onto the table. “Here are ten dollars, the wages of a
mooi-jai
for many months. Take it and go where you will … there is nothing but bad joss for you here … for Di-Fo-Lo too. He has given you your life. Do not make him pay too high a price.”

Li found her inner voice.
I have faced your kind before. I learned from her the meaning of injustice but she taught me how to live with pain… . One such as you will never make me cry, nor will you throw shadows on my path.
She met the cunning eyes of the chauffeur, squinting narrowly through the plume of cigarette smoke, holding them until he looked away with a sneer of disdain.
And you who wear such a fine uniform, you are no
larn-jai;
there are no yellow dogs to fight for you.

When she spoke aloud, it was with great humility and downcast eyes. “I am not worthy of such generosity, or of a place in this noble house. I think you must ask your master to send me away. Until then, I will not insult his hospitality, but await his decision.” Bowing with great humility, she turned and walked away, showing no sign of her pain and nothing more of her secret thoughts. Ah-Ho came to her feet so violently the glass of tea was overturned, to roll across the table and crash to the floor. Every word she spoke was a threat.

“So be it, little river rat. But do not speak of this conversation; it never happened.”

With the guiding hand and ready wit of the Fish at her side, Li grew accustomed to her new surroundings in a few enthralling weeks. Such a world unfolded about her that each new awakening was greeted as a dream that must surely be snatched away.

Thanks to the Chinese doctor, Yap-Lau, and his evil-smelling poultices, she was soon able to walk to the window and tend herself without help. The little balcony of her room looked down upon the curving concourse of the Pria Grande, across the bay with its fleet of anchored junks and busy sampans, out to the wide blue of the sea.

No one had told her to leave the room she found so splendid, with its comfortable bed, a dressing table with a chair, and the wonder of a mirror. It took her many hours alone, with the door bolted on the inside, to explore the miracles of the mirror. It tilted up and down, and with practice Li was able to see herself as never before. At first she had quickly looked away from her still-swollen face, cuts still healing, bruises discoloring her skin. Her hastily cropped hair sprouted in uneven tufts that left her small, neat ears uncovered.

But now each night, in total privacy, she inspected herself more thoroughly, tilting the oval mirror to examine every inch of her body and watch its healing. She would sit before it in the soft light of the orange-shaded flare of gaslight and study herself for hours at a time. As the blemishes faded, so did the horrors of the pig basket, until she was able to see herself anew. She saw the details of her large, almond-shaped eyes and fine brows, the thick curling lashes of her beautiful mother. These were unusual in the south, the Fish informed her, where Cantonese eyes were narrowed with caution, the lashes were sparse and straight, and most brows wore the frown of poverty.

Every day without fail, the Fish brought food she had cooked herself, as well as a pail of hot water to wash her feet and change the dressings. The lively old lady had a habit of looking left and right whenever she wished to speak intimately, which seemed to be much of the time. “The day will come when you will bathe like a princess in the master’s snow-white bath.” She stretched her arms wide, jangling the jade bracelets. “It is big enough to wash a buffalo and its calf.” She lowered her voice.
“I know of the words of Ah-Ho. Nothing occurs in Sky House that I do not know about. When the master is at sea, or visiting Hong Kong, I am his eyes and his ears.” She chuckled. “You were wise to speak as you did.”

The Fish, she explained with pride, was set apart from the other servants, the only one to be appointed by Ben himself. It was he, she said with pride, who had named her the Fish. “When he was young and building his first
lorcha
on the mudflats, no one would sell him food or fetch him water. All mad
gwai-los
are known to eat Chinese babies when they can, but I was not afraid. I know the eyes and heart of a good person when I look into them, and I know there are fools among our people who know nothing but say much. So I sold him fresh fish every day, got him vegetables straight from the market, and kept his water keg full. My clan name is Kwai-Tzing-Tze, and no matter how many times he tried to say it he could not. So he named me after the fish I caught and cooked for him in my sampan. His favorite was Macao sole, and I knew exactly where to find them on the sand at low tide.

“We shared many fine suppers on the mudflats by the light of a pitch flare. I taught him words of the Tanka and learned words of the barbarian in return. We laughed often and sometimes sang, so no one troubled us. He told me stories of the sea and of the great fortune he would find in the future. I told him stories of the great Tung Ting lake and the dreams I had lost in the past.” She gave way to her soundless laugh, tapping the side of her head.

“They thought we were both
mung-cha-cha
. When he could not pay, I kept a tally, and he paid back every copper coin with interest. Then, when he became rich, he came to find me and took me into this fine house.” The old woman’s face grew calm.

“Devereaux is an honorable man; he is not like other
gwai-los
. He has told me that he saved you from a cruel fate and believes his own gods took a hand in this. You will have nothing to fear from him—you have my word on this. He finds much in you that others cannot see, and says you have great courage.”

The Fish was proud of her Tanka stock, still strong enough to carry
out her work in spite of her advanced years. Born among the boat people, who lived and died upon the water, she had grown too old to scull a sampan, but she was still sharp of mind, kept faith in her chosen gods, and was cheerful, honest, and an excellent midwife.

It was almost two months before Li could walk any distance without help. Her feet had known nothing but rope-bottomed sandals and tree-bark leggings. The canvas slippers worn by a
mooi-ja
, little maid, were too tight even in the largest size. Leather sandals and all manner of shoes were impossible to fit, until the Fish took her to a cobbler, who made three pairs of soft leather shoes to fit her feet alone and one special pair decorated with silver flowers to wear when visiting the temple at festival time.

“It is the order of the master himself that you must have shoes to fit your feet, and clothes that are comfortable to wear,” the Fish confided with much relish. “Ah-Ho would have you in the rags of a scullery maid, with wooden keks upon your feet, scrubbing floors for her to spit upon, but I am here to care for you and this will never happen.”

One day the Fish appeared early with the tray of congee. Li had never seen her looking so resplendent, wearing the festive garb of her Tanka clan: a
sam-foo
ablaze with embroidery of tiny, brilliantly colored glass beads, the same brightly beaded hat coverering her white hair. She proudly announced she had stitched every bead herself “with the eyes of a sea ea gle that do not fail me.” She continued, “I have come to drink tea with you on this, the birthday of Tien-Hau, the goddess of the sea, the patron saint of my people.” She ladled the congee into their bowls. “The Tanka fishing fleet will stream the pennants of their clans, and decorate their junks with great displays off lowers, raise high the flags and banners of their ancestors, and sail to the the temple in Joss House Bay to lay offerings at her feet.” The Fish’s eyes were filled with pride. “Once, my clan owned seven river junks that sailed the Grand Canal from the
Yangtze Valley to Chungking… . But all were lost to the water dragons.”

She sighed, filling their cups with strong black tea. “You are young. Your past does not cover many mountains. I think you have no wish to speak of a journey just begun. So I will speak to you of mine, which will soon be ended.” She looked dreamily through the windows, at vessels of every size filling the harbor, each one competing with the next for the extravagance of their finery.