All the Flowers in Shanghai (7 page)

I lay on my bed and thought that the only thing I could do was run away with Bi. He would be leaving in the morning. I could escape early and meet him at the station. In his home town I could still go to school, and we could fish together and enjoy the country grass and flowers. I closed my eyes and imagined what his town must be like; perhaps it was one of those beautiful ancient towns on stilts by a river’s edge; the tall wooden houses almost falling into the muddy banks and rope bridges crisscrossing to different buildings from each side. In my mind I drifted through these places, walking the unsteady planks of the bridges and watching white cranes pick food from the shallows below.

But I had never even left the safety of my bed before, the bolsters that I had hugged and straddled since I was small. It was not an elaborate bed, though each of the four posts was carved into the likenesses of animals: pigs, rabbits, cows, mice. My bedcover, though a little faded over the years, was still the deep blue shade that always made me think of sleep and childish dreams. When I was upset I would lie on my bed and trace the shape of the carved animals with my finger. This time I let my fingers follow the shape of a mouse’s body and whiskers. The touch of the smooth polished wood felt familiar and comforting. Eventually I slept.

Later Grandfather came to my room with a maid and brought me some food as I had missed supper. He sat with me and watched me eat a bowl of congee and a steamed roll. I was still trembling as I put the soup spoon into my mouth. He looked at me so closely, it was as if he was trying to preserve this image of me. I continued eating with him staring at me in silence. Once I had finished, we sat and looked at each other. I huddled on the bed with my arms around my knees while he sat near the door. After a few minutes, he started to smile. It was a weak and uncertain smile, one that made me feel worried rather than reassured.

“You should not blame your sister. She is suffering greatly and is feeling very sick.”

I did not care, I just wanted her to leave me alone. I looked at Grandfather expectantly but it seemed he did not have anything else to say to me. I felt what I had always known: that I was second and less important to the family. I must always give way. It was not that Ma and Ba did not love me, more that they preferred to follow tradition and custom rather than to break them. Their devotion to the first child was simply greater than it was to the second, and they could not help that. I could neither win more love from them nor alter their devotion to the eldest. I realize now that this was not something they chose but a thousand-year-old instinct.

As the maid had already gone back to the kitchen, Grandfather took my bowl away himself. As he took it in his hand, he lingered to press his other hand to my cheek. His rough skin—hardened by a lifetime spent planting and pruning—briefly traced the salty lines of my earlier tears. He looked down at me a moment longer then turned and left me to sleep again.

In the morning Sister’s fiancé arrived with his father, who summoned Ba very rudely, telling the maid to get him immediately and without delay. When he arrived they all sat down and one of the maids was told to bring some tea. The father did not wait for the maid to return but spoke to Ba abruptly. Whatever was said brought Ba back to his feet immediately so he was standing over his unwelcome guest. He looked at the fat old man, seated in our house like a conquering emperor settling into another’s throne, and it unsettled Ba, intimidated him in his own home. As they talked, something was said that shook Ba. He sat back down and then looked at the floor; then he leaned forward as if about to confront them, but at the last moment remained silent. The father continued talking at him and in the end Ba simply nodded and offered his hand. They shook and then, after a few more words, the father led his son away, leaving Ba standing there staring after them. Eventually he turned and saw me, looking back with his eyes full of an emotion I was too young to understand then.

I had noticed that during the last week or so the doctors had all ceased coming to the house. I assumed that meant my sister was better and we’d just have to wait while the baby was born. Hopefully that meant she’d be in a better mood.

I went to knock on her door, but as it was slightly open I went straight in. She was at her mirror applying her makeup, still looking very ill. I asked if she was feeling better. She did not reply. Then I said she must be happy that her wedding was coming soon, and pleased to be becoming a mother. She began screaming at me then and crying so hard it was difficult to make out what she was saying.

“I hate you! You have done nothing and will get everything . . . you will get it
all
. I warn you, though, you will not like it. and every time you feel hurt, remember what I told you last time: think of me and of how much I hate you.
Because you don’t deserve it!
Now get out of my room.”

As she screamed at me I retreated until I collided with Ba, who had heard Sister shouting and come to her room. The screaming stopped as she started coughing. Little red spots sprayed across the floor at my feet. I looked at Ba, who quickly pushed me out of the door and closed it. I stood outside waiting for him but he did not come out. Grandfather pulled me away and went into the house, calling for a maid to fetch the doctors. I saw Ba come out after several hours, and then the doctors arrived and they went into the room with Ma and Ba. It was already dark and I was tired. I sat waiting in the kitchen with Grandfather. The maid made us strong tea, the kind we had at banquets. Normally I was only allowed to drink two cups but today the maid let me drink as many as I liked.

Eventually I fell asleep. It was Ba who woke me. I was still sitting at the table in the kitchen with Grandfather watching over me. Ba told me to go to Sister’s room.

I entered quietly. Sister was lying in bed with Ma sitting holding her hand. The room smelled airless and bad, and was dark except for the light from two candles. I could not make out Sister’s face from where I stood by the door. I went closer and could see she was very ill. Her skin was white, and without the usual makeup she looked old and drained. Ma was crying.

Sister grabbed my arm hard and pulled me close to her. She tried to say something that I could not understand. Her nails dug hard into my skin, and I wanted to pull away but Ma told me to stand still. Sister could not make herself understood. Her eyes flickered in all directions, barely looking at me. She continued mumbling. I wanted to leave and run to Grandfather, but Ma insisted I must stay. Sister’s words were slurred and drowned by saliva. Finally, without saying anything audible, she fell back, looking exhausted. I realized I already knew what she’d been trying to say. I pulled my arm away and stepped back next to Ma.

Ma whispered to me, “You should have behaved properly. This is your elder sister and you must give her the respect she is due. Please go and pray to our ancestors for her. You should leave now, you are only upsetting her.”

She opened the door for me and I left. I went straight to Grandfather, who hugged me tight. He was still in the kitchen, where he had been all evening. I told him that Sister looked terribly ill and asked him what was wrong with her.

Grandfather nodded and simply said, “Yes,” but ignored my question.

The maids were already sleeping, so he made some noodles himself, with spring onions, ginger, and two dumplings. We ate in silence, framed by the half-light from outside and the flame of a single candle set on the chopping board, and while Grandfather ate, tears slid gently from his cheeks into his bowl.

The next day I woke to a loud thud. I came out of my bedroom to find some men taking a stretcher into Sister’s room. Seeing me, Ma came over and quickly took my hand, leading me to the kitchen.

“Xiao Feng, please sit down and listen to me. You must listen properly. Your Sister has been very ill.”

She took a breath and I had time to look at her. Her hair was not neatly arranged as normal and she looked pale and tired. She hunched her back when she would usually stand so straight.

“Your sister died early this morning. Your father and I will organize the mourning arrangements, for people to pay their respects to her and us.”

“But I thought she was to have a baby?” I asked.

“Baby? What baby? Feng, this is not the right time to be so foolish. You must grow up! Your Sister was very ill and the doctors could not heal her. There’ll be a lot to do so we expect you to help.” Ma drew in a sharp breath through her nose. “Nothing has gone right . . . the fortune-teller was wrong. It’s a curse on us.” It seemed as though she would cry then but she restrained herself.

I did not understand at the time, but I know now that I saw in Ma’s distress and bitterness someone who had spent the last months battling against fate, someone who had exhausted all her hope and prayers attempting to prevent destiny from fulfilling its dread work. It was all true: the men were carrying Sister’s dead body, Ma was grief-stricken, the doctors were presenting their bills, and now, in keeping with tradition, the maids were no longer allowed to clean the house. Yet none of it felt true. Ma called for the cook.

“Please can you make Feng some Ovaltine? She must keep up her strength for the mourning period and funeral. There is much work to do,” she continued without looking at me. “Feng, after you have finished your drink, go to your grandfather. He will look after you and tell you what you must do.”

The tightness and shininess of Ma’s skin that had allowed her to keep her youthful looks, that had made Sister, too, such a beauty, had suddenly gone. I realized my mother was now an old woman.

Chapter 5

A
ll the wedding preparations came to a halt. Ba and Grandfather stayed close to Ma until the funeral was finished. It took place in our house and lasted five days before she was cremated. Sister’s body was laid out in its coffin in the courtyard and every evening people came to pay respects. One evening her fiancé’s family arrived and, after a short time spent paying respects, the father took Ma and Ba aside to discuss something. They talked at length and as they did, Ma kept looking up at Sister’s photograph at the head of the coffin. My parents nodded many times. When the conversation ended, father and son paid their final respects and left. Ma and Ba resumed their places, seated on the left of the coffin, as other mourners came to see them.

The photograph of Sister, chosen by Ma, had been taken when she was at her most beautiful. It remained on the altar until after Sister’s body was cremated. On that day, we followed the coffin to the crematorium and watched it pushed into the flames. My parents burned small paper-houses, imitation money, and paper servants to help Sister in the next life. Ma cried and Ba held her. I stood in silence with any memory of Sister’s bitter words lost in the strange and awkward newness of this experience. I felt nothing.

Sister had died of cancer, a badness that had slowly grown inside her and ate at her. She had never been pregnant, Grandfather had been wrong there, and when he found out the truth he had agreed with Ma and Ba not to tell me. Sister had foreseen everything that was to happen. I had understood nothing.

At the end of the funeral, the three grown-ups went to their rooms. I sat on the floor in front of the altar in the courtyard, looking at Sister’s photograph. It should have been taken with the coffin but had been forgotten. When she had her strength back, Ma would insist on burning it along with the mourning clothes that we had worn for the last few days. It had been taken by a photographer who’d insisted Sister should wear bright red lipstick and a Western hairstyle, both of which she’d liked anyway. Ma had reservations about it, because she felt it looked too Western, but now that did not matter. The photographer had been satisfying his own desires but in that he had captured Sister as she had lived, an image created purely to please her suitors and Society. There was nothing more.

I stared at her thickly painted lips. I should have left the photograph for Ma but I took it with me. I needed still to see those lips and dark eyes that could be so selfish and callous. I wanted to remember the Sister who had never loved me, only scared me, who had lived for herself and the admiration and respect of those she wanted to join. This photograph represented the person she’d wished everyone to remember after they had been introduced to her, but eventually she had left our family not for a wedding ceremony but in a funeral procession. A life spent with Ma, Ba, and Grandfather was all that seemed to be left for me. If Bi returned perhaps I would run away with him, for I understood there would be nothing for me here. I was simply the daughter who had survived. I would be taking care of my parents as they grew older.

Grandfather found me sitting quietly in my room. He came over and kissed me on the forehead. He saw the photograph then, kissed me again.

“I never liked that photograph.”

I looked down at him on the edge of my bed.

“I thought you, Ma, and Ba liked it. She looks older, like a woman.” My sentence trailed away as I was unsure of myself.

“She looked too old but it was not for me to say anything.”

His words also faded away slowly.

He sat down heavily on the bed and took my right hand in his but his eyes did not look up at me, just stared at the wall opposite us, drifting across to the open door and out into the space above the courtyard. His grip tightened on my hand.

“I should have stopped them from using that photograph. It is not how we should remember her even if that is what she was becoming.” He paused and sucked in his breath slowly. “It is difficult, Xiao Feng, sometimes it is very hard to do what you know should be done. I should have raised my voice earlier but I could not. I just cannot do what I know I should.”

He became very agitated, letting go of my hand so aggressively that he almost threw it down into my lap.

“Grandfather, I don’t think it is that important to Ma and Ba. They liked this photo very much.”

He stood up and went over to it.