Falling Leaves: The True Story of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter (7 page)

The first tram stop was Do Yuen Gardens. Two years later, when the Japanese lost the war and Father and Niang flew to Tianjin to reclaim his businesses, Ye Ye would take James and

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me for picnics there. This was a rare treat because under Niang’s regime, we children were forbidden to leave the house outside school hours. Cook packed us wonderful sandwiches: thick layers of eggs flavoured with garlic, onions and Yunan ham, within two slabs of crisp, fresh, French bread. Amidst towering trees, green lawns and tidy flower beds, Ye Ye practised t’ai chi early in the morning while James and I played hide-and-seek or pretended to be historical characters from our favourite Chinese folk-tales. Sometimes there would be a professional storyteller sitting in the pavilion spinning wonderful yarns.

The second stop was the Cathay Cinema. How I yearned to see those wonderful movies! Their titles, stills and photographs of the film stars were posted on the walls outside the cinema which at night was lit up like a palace. As soon as the war ended, Hollywood movies swept across Shanghai like a prairie fire. Clark Gable, Vivien Leigh, Laurence Olivier and Lana Turner became household names. Gone with the Wind, cleverly translated into just one Chinese character, Piao, a rather romantic word meaning to float or drift, was a big hit in

1946. At school, we shared film magazines and cut out photographs of American film stars. One day a girl two years ahead received a photograph of Clark Gable, reputedly sent all the way from a film studio in Los Angeles. Mr Gable had even signed his name at the bottom of the picture! During recess, all the girls flocked around her, wanting to catch a glimpse of the famous actor, as if she had become a celebrity herself.

The third stop was at the street corner leading to the Sheng Xin and Aurora schools. Along the way was a variety of small food shops selling fresh fruit, dim sum, noodles, French bread, cream cakes and sundry pastries. It was often agonizing for me to walk past these establishments because hunger was my constant companion and my pockets were always empty. Gone were the days in Tianjin when we could order anything we fancied for breakfast provided we gave Aunt Baba advance notice: bacon and eggs with toasted French bread; fried

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noodles with ham and cabbage; steamed dumplings; sweet glutinous rice balls with sesame paste; hot chocolate. Now we were allowed to have only one kind of breakfast: the right kind of food for growing children according to Niang. We were given congee, a soupy gruel made of rice and water, and pickled vegetables. Occasionally on Sundays we were each served one hard-boiled, salted duck egg.

Austerity did not stop with us, the stepchildren. It included Ye Ye and Aunt Baba. In Tianjin, Father and Ye Ye had a joint account, and Ye Ye signed all the cheques as chief financial officer. On his return to Shanghai in 1943, Ye Ye trustingly transferred all of the Tianjin funds into Father’s Shanghai bank accounts opened two years earlier under Father’s new, assumed name, Yen Hong. With one stroke of the pen, Ye Ye, like King Lear, signed away his entire fortune. The only other signatory on this new account was Niang. Ye Ye and Aunt Baba now found themselves penniless and completely dependent on the largesse of Father and Niang, even for the most meagre purchase.

Initially Ye Ye had a small amount of cash in his wallet which he had brought with him from Tianjin. We were in the habit of asking Ye Ye for pocket money and he would often slip us an extra coin or two just to see the joy in our eyes. Ye Ye supplied us with our daily tram fares to and from school until his money ran out.

About two months after schoqj started, the subject of tram fares was raised at dinner one evening. Dinner was almost over and we were peeling our fruit when Aunt Baba started the ball rolling by saying that she had decided to return to work as a teller at Grand Aunt’s Women’s Bank. We could see from the pursed lips of Niang that she was annoyed. ’You have everything you need here,’ Father said. ’Why do you wish to go to work?’

Aunt Baba politely answered that there was too much free time during the day with all of us away at school and so many maids to do the housework. She did not mention what was on

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everyone’s mind: that the salary would give her some measure of independence.

Father turned to Ye Ye. ’Do you think this is a good idea?’ he asked. ’She will be out of the house most of the day. If she stayed at home, she would be more of a companion to you.’

’Let her do what she wants,’ Ye Ye said. ’Besides, she likes to earn a little extra money to spend on this and that.’

’If you need money,’ Father said grandly, addressing Aunt Baba, ’why don’t you come to me? I have told you both before, any time you want money just come to me and ask. And if I’m at the office, Jeanne is always available to write you a cheque.’

A shiver went down my spine at the thought of anyone, let alone my gentle Ye Ye, going to Niang, his young French daughter-in-law, to ask for money.

Ye Ye cleared his throat. ’I’ve been meaning to mention this before. The children need a little pocket money now and then.’

’Pocket money?’ Father said, turning to Gregory and Lydia. ’Why do you need pocket money?’

’Well,’ Lydia answered, ’first there is the matter of the tram fare to and from school.’

’Tram fare?’ Niang asked. ’Who gave you permission to ride the tram?’

’It’s so far to St John’s,’ Gregory piped up. ’If we had to walk, it would probably take us all morning. No sooner would we get there than we’d have to start back home again. We might as well not go to school at all, and just go for a long walk everyday for exercise.’

Bu shuo ba daol (Don’t talk nonsense eight ways!)’ Father exclaimed. ’You’re always exaggerating. Walking is good for your health.’

Gregory muttered under his breath. ’I hate walking! Especially in the early morning. It’s a waste of time.’

’Are you contradicting your father?’ Niang thundered. ’Your father works day and night to support all of you in this house. If he decides you should walk to school, then you walk to school. Do you hear?’

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Dead silence greeted this outburst. We turned to Ye Ye for support. Finally Lydia said, ’Ye Ye has been giving us tram fares now for two months. We’re used to going to school that way.’

’How dare you go behind your father’s back and trouble Ye Ye for money?’ Niang demanded. ’From now on you’re forbidden to go to anyone else for money! All of you! Your father works hard and sends you to expensive schools so that you can have a decent education. He certainly does not want you to grow up to be spoilt kids and good-for-nothings.’

Even though her critical remarks were addressed to us, we all knew they were meant for Ye Ye and Aunt Baba.

’No one else in my class walks to school,’ Lydia protested. ’Most of my friends come in chauffeured cars.’

’It’s your father’s wish that you should walk to school! Your father and I want you to know that you will no longer bother Ye Ye or Aunt Baba for money. If you think you need money, come directly to me. Money doesn’t grow on trees. Right now you think all you have to do is to stretch out your palm and money will be placed in your hand. We’re going to teach you some facts of life …’ She paused. ’We’re not saying we’ll not give you your tram fares. But we want each of you to come to us individually. Apologize for your past behaviour. Admit that you’ve been spoilt. Turn over a new leaf. Come to us and beg for your tram fare and we might give it to you, but you have to learn that a tram fare is not a birthright. We’ll only give it if you show enough repentance.’

All of us held our breath. The maids busied themselves handing each of us a small hot moist towel to wipe our mouths and hands. Finally it was approaching the end of dinner. We waited expectantly for Ye Ye or Aunt Baba to say something, anything. There was only silence. Was there nothing they could do? Was Ye Ye’s half-foreign daughter-in-law now the matriarch of our family?

Then Niang added, looking directly at Ye Ye in her sweetest and most cajoling tone. ’Have you tried these tangerines? They are so juicy! Here, do let me peel one for you.’

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So Aunt Baba began working at the Women’s Bank. And we all started walking to school and back. We were enraged by Niang’s insinuation that Ye Ye was wrong to spoil us by giving us tram money. All of us understood that the whole issue of tram money was a power struggle within the family. By walking, we were pledging our loyalty to Ye Ye whom we still regarded as head and protesting against Niang’s usurpation. (In reality, of course, Niang had wrested command as soon as Grandmother had died. Years later, when I asked my aunt to tell me about my mother, she revealed that shortly after Grandmother’s funeral, Father had had all photographs of my mother destroyed.)

Lydia was the first to give in. Her classes started and ended one hour later than mine, so we did not leave or return together. Within two weeks, I noticed that she was home only fifteen minutes after me. I knew that she had defected.

My brothers held out for two months. St John’s was really far away. As winter deepened, they were getting up in the dark to get to school on time. Every afternoon, following soccer practice or basketball, they still had to face the long, exhausting walk home, sometimes in the dusk. One by one, they succumbed.

Somehow, throughout the years I lived in Shanghai, from

1943 to 1948, I could never make myself go to Niang to beg for my tram fare. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months became years.

From time to time, both Ye Ye and Aunt Baba would urge me to go downstairs to negotiate. I never did.

Often, on a Sunday afternoon, we would suddenly hear Father or Niang call out: ’Time for your weekly tram fare distribution! Come and get it!’ On hearing this, I would be gripped by a spasm of acute agony. Aunt Baba would nudge me. ’Go on! Go get your share! Go downstairs and talk to them. All you have to say is ”May I please have my tram fare too?” and you will get your portion just like the rest of them.’

Occasionally, when Aunt Baba had an early morning busi—

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ness meeting, she would wake me a little later. I would leave the house first, run out of our lane, and wait for my aunt a few yards up the road on Avenue Joffre. She would hail a pedicab from the row for hire parked by our lane, pick me up and drop me off at Sheng Xin.

In June or September, when rain cascaded down and wind howled through the streets, I would curse Niang as I struggled along the seemingly endless Avenue Joffre, carrying my heavy book bag and sloshing through water at times ankle deep, clinging desperately to a wind-blown umbrella. I also endured the mocking taunts of schoolmates as they gingerly picked their steps along puddle avoiding wooden planks into waiting cars and whispered among themselves that I boarded my own private ’number eleven tram’ daily to school, meaning that my legs carried me.

Day after day, twice a day, morning and afternoon, walking to and from school, I chased my shadow in the sun and steadfastly avoided cracks in the pavement. I also made up fairytales and indulged in an imaginary wonderland. It was one way of passing the time. In my serialized stories which continued from one day to the next, I was really a little princess in disguise, thrust into this cruel Shanghai household by accident. If I was truly good and studied very hard, one day my own mother would come out of the sky to rescue me and take me to live in her enchanted castle. Eventually I became so absorbed in these fantasies that I actually began to look forward to my obligatory walks. I confided to my Aunt Baba that I held a key in my head which enabled me to enter a magic land. Nothing in Shanghai was so mysterious and exciting as this secret kingdom which I could visit at any time. High up in the mountains amidst the clouds, this place was full of tall bamboos, twisted pines, odd-shaped rocks, wild flowers and colourful birds. Best of all, my mother also lived there and every little child was wanted and welcomed. On evenings when I had no homework I used to scribble it all down on paper in my room. Back at school it thrilled me to show my stories to my giggling

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classmates and watch them pass my attempts at creative writing illicitly from desk to desk.

Once, one of the girls objected to my using her surname to portray a villain. She crossed it out and replaced it with my surname, Yen. When I indignantly reinserted her name back, she started to cry. Telling her it was only make-believe while writing down an entirely different name, I began to recognize the awesome power and responsibility of the pen.

On my way home, I was always specially glad as I approached Do Yuen Gardens. In a large plaza outside the park, hawkers assembled on fine days to market their wares. Among the regulars was an elderly, scholarly-looking man who staked out his portable bookstall at the far end. His booth resembled a set of wooden shutters which could be unfolded, displaying rack upon rack of dogeared, tattered, paperback Kung Fu novels for sale or loan. For fifty fen, paid in advance by Aunt Baba, I was allowed to borrow up to five books per week. These were printed in black and white on cheap paper and much loved by Chinese schoolchildren. Each book related tales of heroes and heroines skilled in martial arts, fighting battles on behalf of the weak and oppressed. Many stories were based on fables as pivotal to Chinese culture as the legends of King Arthur and Robin Hood are to western culture. After desperate struggles, right would triumph over might, and victory invariably went to the champions of the underdog. These books gave me hope.

Father’s austerity programme extended to every aspect of our daily existence. Lydia and I were not allowed to have long hair or perms, only sensible, clean, old-fashioned haircuts. For the three boys it was much worse. They were forced to have Then heads shaved completely bald. This was Father’s idea, to impress upon us that life was not a frivolous affair. My brothers became the laughing stock of their entire school, nicknamed (after each fresh head shave) ’the three light bulbs’ because of their shiny scalps.

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Lunch was the cheapest canteen meal we could get at school. When America won the war against Japan in 1945, we at Sheng Xin were given US army surplus Crations for our noonday meal. We ate tinned ham, beef stew, hard biscuits, cheese and chocolate until the rations ran out. Before every meal we prayed and thanked our American allies for winning the war and giving us Crations.