China Dog (2 page)

It seemed a long time before anyone spoke. Then I heard my mother’s voice.

“Irene-
ah
, hang up Elder Sister’s coat and take her upstairs. Show her where she’ll sleep.”

After I hung up both our coats, I led my sister past the faded wallpaper of large yellow pansies, up the wooden stairs, and past the window whose frame was stuffed with rolls of rags, keeping out the winter air. We stood on a floor covered with a piece of worn and finely cracked linoleum, patterned with brown and blue paisleys. My sister set her suitcase down beside her. I pointed to a bed behind us. “That’s where Baba sleeps.” Then I pointed to a narrow room off the main one. “You and Mah and I sleep in there.” A single bed was jammed against the end wall; at a right angle stood a bunk bed. Across from the bunk was a four-pane window. A flower-print curtain, threaded with a string, was tied to a nail in each top corner of the wooden frame. She walked over and poked her head in the doorway. “You can sleep on the bottom bunk; I sleep on the top.” My sister stood in the doorway, listening. I touched the large wooden dresser that stood opposite from my father’s bed. “This is where we keep our clothes. I use the
bottom drawer. You can have the middle one. Baba and Mah use the small drawers at the top.”

“Well, if that isn’t enough room, I can keep the rest in my suitcase.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You can shove your suitcase under your bed.”

The next day when I returned home from school, I saw the photographer from the local newspaper in front of the laundry. My sister was standing beside a drift of snow and the man was taking her picture. By the time she started school two days later, her picture had appeared on the front page of the town paper.

For the few months that were left in that school year, my sister was in the grade eight class. But the following September, after her sixteenth birthday, the school placed her in grade seven. We never walked to school together. I remember often seeing her at recess, alone in a corner of the schoolyard. Our schoolyard was separated from the train tracks by a high wire-mesh fence. My sister always watched the trains whistle by as I played and laughed and talked with my friends.

While my sister was in Hong Kong, we lived on a diet of soup made from chicken bones, salted fish and pork, and dried vegetables. When she arrived, there was suddenly meat on the chicken bones, and fresh fruit on the table. My mother cooked my sister’s favourite dishes. Lily picked at the food and rejected her efforts. My mother watched in despair as her daughter’s unhappiness grew and seeped into our lives like a persistent mist. Lily longed for her friends in Hong Kong. She told me
stories about her life there. With each telling our town became more dull, our home more meagre, our food more plain, our clothes more shabby. Even her new Canadian name, Lily, so evocative of her delicate beauty, and given to her by our neighbour across the road, did little to make her feel more at home.

Several months after Lily arrived, Mother decided to take us to Toronto to visit Uncle Eddy and Aunt Lena. Uncle Eddy took us for
dim sum
at a restaurant in Chinatown. Afterwards we shopped for groceries in the China Trading Store. The atmosphere at the store was always dusty and mysterious. The mingled, conflicting odours from the many packages of dried fish, shrimps, oysters, scallops, and mushrooms had a pungency that prickled the nostrils. The China Trading Store had glass cases along one wall. Inside were dried roots, seeds, and herbs that were carefully weighed on a hand-held scale before they were wrapped in white paper and sold. There were barrels containing “thousand-year-old” eggs, and shelves of fresh fruit. On that particular day, there was displayed a small shipment of fresh lychees. No one in our family had had lychees since coming to Canada. My sister looked at them and touched them with her long white fingers. It was then that I noticed a man staring at us from a corner of the store. He was a tall, powerfully built man. His thick black hair was greased and combed straight back. He had a strong jaw and a nose that was slightly aquiline, unusual for a Chinese. His clothes were new and fashionable, his shoes black and polished. The
other men in Chinatown were shabby, and their spirits were worn by living in the Gold Mountain. This man possessed a confidence that was enigmatic, predatory. His gaze fastened on my sister, and he watched as her hands picked up the lychees, and then put them back. My sister looked up and turned to meet his eyes. Then he suddenly walked toward us and shook hands with Uncle Eddy.

“Ah, Eddy, good to see you. How are you? How’s business?”

“Not bad, not bad. And how about you, Tom?”

“The usual. And who are these two beautiful girls?” the man asked as his gaze once again fixed upon my sister.

“Yes, these are my two nieces, Lily and Irene. This is their mother, Chung
Tai Tai
. I’d like you to meet Tom Leung.” The man looked us over. Uncle Eddy went on proudly. “They’re visiting the big city. Later this afternoon they’re leaving on the bus for Cheatley.”

Tom turned to my mother. “Cheatley, I’m going that way myself. I can give you a lift.”

“Oh, no. We don’t want to take you out of your way. It would be too much trouble,” protested my mother.

Tom wouldn’t hear of it, and that afternoon he made the first of many visits to our home.

In 1955, Tom Leung was forty-seven years old and a very wealthy man. He owned several restaurants in Chinatown, three houses, and a fancy car. However, he was still unmarried. Unlike other Chinese men his age, he had never returned to China to look for
a wife. He had come to Canada as a young boy. A self-educated man, he moved with ease in the white man’s world. He spoke English perfectly and he read their newspapers. When he joked with the
lo fons
, he laughed like an equal, throwing his head back with his mouth wide open. Other Chinese always came to him when they needed someone to fill out forms, or to read and answer letters from the government. In Chinatown, this gave him special status – a sense of power. This air of confidence, along with his flashing eyes and quick laughter, were like a magnet. But along with this expansive, easy charm, there was a shark-like quality that seemed to devour people.

A week after our ride home in Tom’s car, he came to visit us. He drove up in a shiny sea green car with gleaming chrome bumpers and a wrap-around windshield. What impressed me most were his sunglasses. They were mirrors that rested on the bridge of his nose and reflected his world around him. What impressed my mother, though, were his gifts of food. He brought a barbecued duck, oranges, assorted
dim sum
from Chinatown, and lychees for Lily.

My mother was obviously flattered that a man with Tom’s exalted reputation of wealth and influence should decide to visit us so soon.

“Ah, Leung
Sen Sun
, how are you? Come in. Come in. How good of you to come and visit. Sit down. Sit down.”

“My pleasure. Now that we’re all in
Gam Sun
we must stick together. I’ve brought some small gifts for your family.”

“Oh, you needn’t be so full of ceremony. Just come and visit.”

“No trouble at all.” Tom gave the bag of food to my mother,
but first he took out the bag of lychees and handed them to my sister. Lily blushed, murmured thank you; she held Tom’s gaze.

My father exchanged brief pleasantries with Tom and returned to work. Tom sat down on a wooden chair. Lily and I sat across from him. My mother placed the
dim sum
that Tom had bought on a plate, sliced some oranges, and filled a pot with water to boil for tea. I could tell by the way she fussed that she was embarrassed by the meagreness of our home. Tom looked at the unfinished plank floors, the dangling cords with the bare light bulbs, and the worn-out equipment for washing clothes. His eyes, though, always returned to rest on Lily’s face.

Next Sunday, Tom visited our home again. Once more he offered gifts of steamed buns, barbecued meats, and fruit. But this time he had a stack of Chinese movie star magazines for Lily. “Here, these are for you, Lily.”

“Ah, Leung
Sen Sun
, thank you so much. You have gone too far, too much trouble.” Lily beamed and shyly accepted the gift. She told Tom that Hung Bo Bo was her favourite singer and her favourite actress, and that she always went to her movies in Hong Kong.

“Perhaps next week, I could come and take you and your sister to Chinatown to see the movies. Chung
Tai Tai
, would you like to come as well?”

“I won’t be able to come. Too much work in the laundry. It’s very kind of you to invite the girls. You really shouldn’t go to such expense.”

“Oh, Mah, it would be so much fun. I haven’t seen a movie since I left Hong Kong. It’s very kind of Leung
Sen Sun
to invite me and Irene.” Lily leaned eagerly forward in her chair, her hands clasped together in her lap. I hadn’t seen her so excited since she arrived. From the dark look she shot in my direction, I knew that my wishes were not a consideration.

“Well then, it’s settled. Next Sunday I’ll come and take the girls for lunch in Chinatown, and then to the movies.” Tom sat back in his wooden chair and inhaled deeply on his cigarette. I watched the smoke come out of his mouth and curl upwards, slowly disappearing.

The next Sunday, Lily wore a blue-and-white striped full-skirted dress with a collar that tied in a bow at the front, and black slip-on flats on her feet. I wore a red shirt-waist dress with a gathered skirt and ruffles around the collar, and black patent leather shoes with buckles. Lily waited eagerly; I was resigned. That afternoon I rode alone in the back seat of Tom’s car. At the movies, my sister sat in the middle.

After that day’s outing, Tom came to visit us every Sunday. As Sunday came closer, I sensed Lily’s swelling excitement and anticipation. On Saturday night she washed her hair and slept in curlers. Sunday morning she woke up singing and smiling. By the time I returned from Sunday school, Tom was at our house, engaging Lily in conversation and laughter.

Over the next few months Tom bought our family many gifts. He bought Lily a record player and records of Chinese
music. One day he even came with a television. Mother and Lily greeted these gifts with delight and enthusiasm. My father muttered indecipherable comments under his breath and carried on with his work, his eyes always on the floor.

One day I returned home from Sunday school and found Tom and Lily speaking very seriously to my parents. Tom was earnestly explaining as he leaned forward in his chair, “I wish to become Lily’s godfather, her
kai yaah
. I could make life more comfortable for her and help towards her dowry when the time comes. As you know, I have no family of my own.”

“Leung
Sook
is already like an uncle, another father. He comes every Sunday and has been so good to us,” added Lily. Her face was radiant.

Mother was beaming, as if she couldn’t believe the good fortune. “Leung
Sook
, you honour us with your proposal. We would welcome you as a member of our family.”

My father mumbled agreement, as he sat perched uneasily at the edge of his stool. Tom rested comfortably back in his chair, one foot resting on the other knee. He smiled broadly and confidently as the smoke from his cigarette rose gently, vanishing into the air.

That evening over dinner, Tom, Lily, and Mother talked and laughed as they planned for a celebration banquet. My father and I quietly ate and exchanged glances.

After Lily and I went to bed that night, I woke up to the sound of loud voices. As Lily was softly, steadily breathing, I crept out of bed and crouched at the top of the stairs. I heard my father’s voice.

“Something is not right. Tom is hiding his true feelings. They’re not right. He’s too close to her. I don’t feel right about it.”

My mother hissed back in a loud whisper. “Don’t you see that he makes Lily happy? What can be wrong about his attention? He’s old enough to be her father! She’s just a teenager. He looks upon her as a daughter. Your suspicions are ridiculous.”

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Listen. He even said that he wants to be her godfather. You’re just jealous that he’s rich and successful! We should be honoured that he wants to help us. I’m not going to risk Lily’s happiness. I’m going to bed.” My mother turned sharply. As she started up the stairs, I dashed back into the bedroom and scurried under my covers.

And so Tom continued to embrace our lives with his lavish gifts. Arrangements were made for a celebration banquet, making Tom’s entry into our family official and respectable. Friends from Chinatown were invited. Everyone could see that Tom Leung had become Lily’s godfather, her
kai yaah
. Everyone could see that his feelings were honourable. Lily was luminous, like a bride, in the new red silk dress that Tom had chosen for her. He sat proudly beside her, the smoke from his cigarette languidly floating above their heads. Mother sat at the banquet table and looked triumphantly at my father. Any nagging anxieties had obviously been banished to the corners of her mind.

In the months that followed, my father’s gaze rarely left the floor. We were drowning in Tom’s beneficence. He installed a bathtub and sink in the washroom upstairs so that we no longer had to wash in the wooden laundry tubs. He bought us a refrigerator. He even constructed a small addition to our house. His visits began to last for several days, until he became a permanent guest in the addition that he had built. He even took Lily away on overnight weekend trips. One Sunday night, looking out the upstairs window, I saw Tom and Lily returning in Tom’s car. Lily was asleep. Tom’s arm was around her and he kissed her gently on the lips to wake her up. When I saw them get out of the car, I hurried into bed and pulled the covers over my head. I never mentioned to anyone what I saw.

The following Wednesday, I had a headache at school and the teacher let me come home early. I walked in the back door. My parents didn’t know I was there. As I peeked around the door to the work area, I saw my father shove a letter in my mother’s face.

“Read this. Read what Eddy’s written. People are talking about your daughter and her
kai yaah
. You’ve got to do something about this.” My father spat out the words
kai yaah
like bile stuck in his throat.