Falling Leaves: The True Story of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter (16 page)

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their daughter Tailing lived with Samuel’s mother. The two women did not get along.

When Samuel was released after six months, his mother informed them that they had to get lodgings elsewhere. Husband and wife now remembered Father’s two houses on Shandong Road. Of the two houses, one was occupied by Father’s employees, the other by Niang’s Aunt Lao Lao. Lydia and her family decided to move in with her.

When Niang found out they were living there, she was furious and told Father to write and threaten them with eviction if they did not move out immediately. Samuel and Lydia counterattacked. They warned Father that they had found evidence showing that Father’s staff had illegally dealt in foreign exchange and precious metals all through the late 19405 and even after liberation. If Father tried to evict them, they would denounce him and his employees to the authorities. They then demanded and received a sum of money. They remained in Father’s house but he never forgave them.

For Lydia the hardship of the years under Communism was exacerbated by this family estrangement. She became more and more embittered, blaming all her misfortune on her husband. She began to loathe him, and though they continued to occupy the same bed, they certainly did not share the same dreams: tong chuang yi meng (same bed, different dreams).

Later, after our departure for England, Franklin dominated the household. Niang indulged his every whim and gave him large sums of pocket money while Susan was not given a penny.

One day, when he was thirteen, returning home from a birthday party, the chauffeur drove past a field of fresh strawberries. Franklin spotted a stall piled high with boxes of the freshly picked fruit. He stopped the car and bought two large boxes. On the long drive home, he ate every single strawberry.

A few days later, he developed a sore throat and a slight fever. Father was at work and Niang was attending a social

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function. He put on his roller skates and went outside under the hot afternoon sun. Half an hour later he slumped into the house complaining of a severe headache. He asked Susan to get him a glass of water and then flopped into bed. When Susan brought the water, he took one swallow, complained that it was not cold enough and threw the glass at her. Susan picked up the glass and left the room.

Three hours later, when Niang came back, Franklin was delirious and made strange sounds at the back of his throat. They admitted him to Queen Mary’s Hospital by ambulance. Professor McFadden (Lo Mac or Old Mac to his students) was consulted. By then Franklin could not swallow. He kept asking for water but when he attempted to drink, the water came out through his nostrils. Lo Mac took my parents aside and gave them the diagnosis. Franklin had contracted bulbar polio: a most dangerous variety affecting the brain stem. He had probably caught the virus from eating those unwashed strawberries. Chinese farmers fertilized their fields with human manure, a known method of transmission of the polio virus. Lo Mac said there was no specific treatment for the disease, only supportive measures. They made a hole in his trachea and placed him on a ventilator. His condition waxed and waned. Father visited him every day. Niang practically lived in his hospital room. Susan was kept at home to prevent her from catching the disease. Gradually, Franklin appeared to improve.

John Keswick, the taipan of Jardine Matheson, was giving a ball which was the social event of the season. Niang very much wanted to go and consulted Lo Mac. He told her that her social life should not cease because of Franklin’s illness. Besides, her son’s condition appeared to be stable.

It was a glittering occasion. Niang was dancing the night away in a green silk dress and matching jade earrings when she was urgently called to the telephone. It was Professor McFadden himself. He sounded tired and distressed. He said he felt duty-bound to give her the bad news himself. Franklin had suddenly taken a turn for the worse and had died.

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Niang never got over his demise. Whatever love she was capable of perished with her son. Afterwards, she did not turn to Father, nor to her only remaining daughter.

Father was also devastated by the loss of his favourite son. He engrossed himself with work and did not complain, though it became increasingly obvious that he was happier at the office than at home.

Susan was growing into a ravishing beauty, tall and willowy, with thick black hair, long-lashed dark eyes and snow-white teeth. She was headstrong, outspoken and intelligent. Father adored her. Niang did not relish the pleasure they took in each other’s company. She felt supplanted by her own daughter.

Father and Niang began to drift apart. Whenever the two of them had an argument, Niang would sulk and refuse to leave her bed. Father had to sleep in the guest room. He would return from his office and try to cajole and placate Niang, who once remained in her bed continuously for two months.

Father started taking Susan everywhere with him, obviously proud of his pretty daughter. Their close relationship further aggravated Niang.

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Is Anything Impossible?

In August I95Z, James and I sailed together to England on the giant P & O liner SS Canton. I could hardly believe my good fortune, recalling those countless nights on the balcony of my boarding school dreaming of just such a voyage. Throughout the month-long ocean voyage, I was suffused with elation.

We were at last on a wonderful journey of discovery and independence. Life shimmered with hope. James quoted me the well-known couplet shan gao shui chang, you he bu ke? (mountains are high and rivers are long, is anything impossible?). We made friends with the small group of Chinese students on board. They nicknamed us Hansel and Gretel because we were inseparable.

After we docked at Southampton, an agent employed by Father’s travel service met and transferred us on to a train bound for London. I had studied photographs of London in my school library but was unprepared for the grim bleakness of England’s capital city, still scarred from the ravages of the Second World War. Bomb craters dotted renowned city sites.

In London, we met Gregory and Edgar and caught up with their news. At first Gregory was miserable. He was the only Chinese in his school and he hated the wretched weather and tasteless food. It seemed to be mutton every day, gristly and rank. When he noticed that his Jewish schoolmates were given

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baked beans or eggs whenever ham or bacon was served at breakfast, he hatched a plan and went to see the headmaster.

’Sir, I wondered about this concept of religious tolerance in England. Does it apply to all religions?’

’Naturally! In our country we do not discriminate.’

’I think that is admirable, sir. I wish we had religious tolerance in China. Unfortunately, we only have barbaric intolerance. I hate to inconvenience the kitchen staff but it is against my religion to eat certain foods.’

’Oh! My dear boy! We certainly have to rectify this situation. And what might these foods be?’

’Well, the chief one is mutton: in any form or shape!’

’I am so sorry to hear this. Let me notify the kitchen at once. And what does your religion permit you to eat when the boys are served mutton?’

’To make it easy on the kitchen staff, bacon and eggs will be fine, sir.’

’Certainly, certainly. By the way, what is the name of your religion?’

Gregory had the answer all thought out. ’It’s a very rare and remote sect which comes from a region between Tibet and Mongolia.’ He mumbled some Chinese words which meant ’Anti-mutton-eaters’ ”Affiliation’. Like Somerset Maugham, Gregory believed that, in order to eat well in England, he had to consume three breakfasts a day.

Gregory and Edgar found few science courses offered at their respective schools and enrolled after a year at a London tutorial college for a dose of cramming. When we arrived, they were living in bedsitters in Earl’s Court. Eventually, Gregory entered Imperial College to study mechanical engineering and Edgar was to become my contemporary at medical school.

At college, Gregory’s main interest was bridge. He became captain of the bridge team. The day came when he decided he would much rather devote the rest of his life to bridge than to engineering. He wrote a six-page letter to our parents asking permission to give up his studies for bridge. He was convinced

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he would be happier as a professional bridge player than as an engineer. After all, was not the pursuit of happiness the final goal?

Back came Father’s reply in a short but succinct telegram. ’WHY DON’T YOU BECOME A PIMP INSTEAD?’

Gregory stayed on to graduate.

Father had enrolled me at a lay Catholic boarding school in Oxford called Rye St Anthony. During the month-long voyage on the SS Canton, I was befriended by the American widow of a Methodist missionary. She insisted I call on her English sister-in-law who had retired to Oxford after living in Shanghai for many years. In due course I telephoned Lady Ternan and, after chatting about her sister-in-law, was invited to tea.

Lady Ternan was also a widow and lived alone in an imposing Edwardian manor. I was admitted by a uniformed maid and appeared to be the only guest. Tea was served.

’Likee more tea and cakee?’ she asked in pidgin English.

At first I thought it was a joke. On the phone, she had spoken in standard English. Across the table my Chinese features must have sparked off an old, buried, conditioned reflex. I had a wild desire to laugh. To humour her, I answered in my own version of pidgin English made up on the spot. As I spoke, I began to grasp that to Lady Ternan, this dialect placed me where I ’belonged’. By speaking pidgin, she reaffirmed her own superiority, establishing with every rounded vowel and clipped consonant that we were not equals. Needless to say, we never met again.

Although recommended to my parents as a proper girls’ school with high academic reputation, Rye St Anthony was actually a finishing school. No science courses were offered. Instead of physics, chemistry and biology, we learned music appreciation, dancing and riding. I transferred myself to the convent school of Our Lady of Sion in Netting Hill Gate, attended a tutorial school over the summer vacation and fulfilled my entrance requirements for medical school. At the

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age of seventeen, I was admitted to University College in Bloomsbury where my brother Edgar was also enrolled.

Of my three older brothers, Edgar was the least favoured physically. He had a squarish face and bulging forehead, accentuated by a receding hairline. His eyes were small and closely set. His lips were thin and pressed tightly together, giving him a look of dogged determination.

Edgar had neither Gregory’s charm nor James’s good looks and intelligence. He was sandwiched in the middle and was nobody’s favourite. When we were children he vented his frustration on me, the most insignificant member. It galled him to witness Father’s pride at my academic successes. Initially, he had been one year ahead of me in medical school. However, he failed his first attempt at the second MB examination and we ended up taking some classes together. He took this as a personal insult. Gradually, his resentment turned into pathological hatred.

At college, he refused to admit that we were brother and sister, or even related. To our schoolmates, he claimed he did not know me. Father and Niang were well aware of our mutual antagonism, though neither made any effort to mend our differences. On the contrary Niang seemed pleased by our reciprocal animosity and would fuel our rivalries. She would be pointedly nice to me when she wanted to hurt Edgar, driving the wedge ever deeper between us.

In the 19505 racial prejudice was much in evidence in England. Chinese students were few and far between and there was a layer of reticence between my English classmates and myself. Most of them had never been in such close proximity to a Chinese. Some felt uncomfortable around me. A few showed barely disguised contempt. Others were patronizing, making a show of their liberal acceptance. Condescending reference would be made to China, or Shanghai, or chopsticks usually about a subject highlighting the glaring differences. The underlying assumption was the superiority of the West.

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I found that not all English words conveyed what they depicted. In a social context, words like ’exotic’ or ’interesting’ hid subtler shades of discrimination. ’Exotic’ meant ’possibly considered decorative in China, but very strange indeed and certainly not my cup of tea’. ’Interesting’ meant ’let me give you my valuable attention for the time being, while my eyes stray around in hopes of meeting someone worthwhile’.

British liberalism and magnanimity were flaunted at school functions where my professors would single me out to show that they even accepted female Asian students into medical school. While they patted themselves on the back, I would be left standing like a prize sample, steadfastly maintaining a frozen smile of amiability suitably deserving of their attention.

Female medical students consisted of less than zo per cent of the class. By and large, we were a studious and earnest bunch. The boys resented our ’constant swotting’ and good grades. They called us DARs (damned average raisers). Some pronounced quite openly that all female medical students were ugly. Others proclaimed that we were capriciously ’robbing’ qualified males of entry into medical school and those on scholarships and grants were ’wasting’ government-subsidized educational funds.

It was sometimes hard to ignore the racial and sexual slights encountered along the way. Not infrequently, I sat and ate lunch by myself in the college cafeteria while my classmates grouped themselves cosily around neighbouring booths. Once when I picked up enough courage to join them and brought my lunch tray to their table, a boy came and grabbed the last seat. Somewhat self-consciously, I carried over an adjacent stool. Dead silence fell around me. Everyone wolfed his food down at record pace and made for the exit. I found myself alone, surrounded by dirty dishes and empty chairs.

My dissection partner, Joan Katz, and I were in the habit of going into the anatomy lab on some weekends to work on the