Skeleton Women (29 page)

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Authors: Mingmei Yip

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BOOK: Skeleton Women
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“Camilla, you’re very privileged to witness this ceremony tonight. Just watch and be silent.” Both his expression and tone were cold and serious, with no trace of his usual jocular manner. “Now step back. I have something important to discuss with Mr. Zhu.”
He didn’t mention “our” dead baby, but in this bloodcurdling situation I dared not disobey his injunction to silence.
After I backed away, Lung and his right-hand man conferred in solemn tones. I took the chance to study the different items on the huge altar: a painting of General Guan flanked by two famous historical figures, Zhang Fei and Liu Bei, sworn blood brothers with whom he had fought and won numerous battles. Above the painting a slogan was brushed in ancient calligraphy:
Righteousness under heaven.
On either side of this painting were numerous red papers with Chinese sayings in ink. These were
fu,
magic talismans that are only understood by Daoist priests who possess the power to communicate with the spirits of the dead and the gods. Gangsters, like most Chinese, believe these talismans will protect them from evil forces. Ironically, they never seem to realize that they themselves are the evil forces.
Resting on the altar were sumptuous offerings: flowers, fruits, plates of dyed-red longevity buns, even a whole roasted baby pig. Then my eyes landed on the back of the altar, where, almost hidden by the piles of offerings, was a small statue of a baby boy. Pasted on it was a small piece of paper with the characters:
Lung’s son Jinxiong.
I wanted to blurt out, “It’s not your son, but your son’s, Jinying’s!”
I bit my tongue and pressed my lips tightly together. When the shock subdued, I felt tears stinging my eyes, but I blinked them back. Then it hit me that this child I’d lost was actually the grandson of Lung, the man I was supposed to kill. Why would heaven allot me such an impossible, horrible life? My body began to tremble involuntarily. But I bit my tongue and pinched my thigh hard until the shaking stopped.
Gao sauntered toward me, leaned close, and asked softly, “Miss Camilla, are you not feeling well?”
“I’m fine. It’s just chilly and scary here in the cemetery.” I managed to offer a half smile as I pulled my shawl tightly around my chest. “Please tend to more important things.”
“You want my jacket?”
“No, I’m really fine, thank you,” I said, thinking silently,
Are you out of your mind, offering me your jacket in front of everyone?
To distract him, I asked, “The young master is not here for the ceremony?”
Gao said, “He was not invited.”
“Why not?’
“Because Master Lung won’t let him see what’s going to happen tonight.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
He ignored my question but gestured toward the baby statue. “Master Lung’s baby is here to receive his due respect and offerings. Thus his ghost will be empowered to fight his father’s enemies and protect his fortune.”
So Lung was using the dead baby for his own benefit, to turn a tragedy into something beneficial!
My thoughts were interrupted by a booming voice calling out something I couldn’t grasp. Suddenly, all the young initiates took off their shoes, socks, and tops, revealing bared chests tattooed with soaring dragons. Then all went onto their knees and moved as if crawling through imaginary doors. They stood back up and swore loudly in unison:
“We, members of the Flying Dragons gang, here, under the moon, swear our loyalty to the order and its sun and head, Master Lung. If we ever betray the master or this order, we step onto a path of no return. If caught, we will be beheaded and our souls forever condemned to burning hell. Even if we are able to quit the Flying Dragons with our heads on our shoulders, we will be murdered by bandits, or struck down by lightning... .”
After this poisonous declaration, all the initiates went up to the altar and continued to swear, voices and expressions even more vehement.
Gao explained, “They are swearing the thirty-six oaths.”
 
“After becoming a Flying Dragons member, I will treat my sworn brothers’ parents and relatives as my own. If I fail to do this, I will be struck dead by thunderbolts.
 
“I will never disclose secrets of the Flying Dragons, not even to my wife, children, or parents. If I fail in this, I will be impaled by ten thousand swords.
 
“I will never steal cash or property from my sworn brothers. If I do this, I will be crushed by ten thousand boulders.
 
“If I ever deny my membership and try to leave the Flying Dragons, I will be burned by ten thousand flames... .”
These threatening words, delivered in portentous tones, frightened me and left me drained. So my eyes wandered back to the baby’s statue. But rather than feeling comforted by the ritual, I felt sorry that my son’s little spirit might be witnessing this disturbing event. I closed my eyes, only to be startled by a shout, “AAAH-HHH. . . !”
I opened my eyes and saw a bloody chicken head plunge onto the ground. Zhu held up a bloodstained knife in one hand and the body of the chicken in his other. He upended the headless chicken, still seizuring, and squeezed its blood into a row of small cups. While he was busy with the unlucky chicken, another gang member began to burn a small stack of yellow talisman papers, then poured the ashes into the same cups. After that, Zhu made a signal, and all the initiates came to the front of the altar, took up a cup, and drank the ash-spiced chicken blood in a single gulp.
What happened next was even worse. One young man had picked up and drunk from a cup that was chipped. Suddenly his face turned as pale as the ashes. Zhu and another bodyguard went up to the man, took him by his arms, then dragged him out of our sight. Seconds later, a loud gunshot sliced through the deathly silence of the cemetery.
Lung’s voice suddenly rang loud and clear in the suffocating air. “Brothers, now you know the fate that awaits anyone who betrays us by leaking our secrets! The chip on his cup was the mark of the traitor.”
No one spoke.
The boss spoke again. “Brothers, you just witnessed how a spy meets his disgraceful end!”
At the word
spy,
my face turned pale, and my body trembled so hard, I could barely stand. Fortunately no one was paying any attention to me. How did Lung detect that this man was a spy? Did he, like me, work for Big Brother Wang? Would I end up like him? The only comforting thought was that he was granted a quick death instead of having to suffer horrible tortures. If they found out about me, would I be granted the same mercy? Or would Gao secretly let me escape? I knew he loved me, but he was a sworn member of the gang, after all.
When I saw Gao, I thought he looked a bit shaken. Or maybe that was only my wishful thinking. Then I realized why these ceremonies were held in cemeteries—so that any corpses could be conveniently dumped into waiting pits!
If any of the initiates or members were disturbed by this cruel spectacle, they did not show it.
A plump, middle-aged gangster announced, “Now please prepare for the bath of purification!”
Out of nowhere, a yellow-robed Daoist priest appeared and walked up to the altar. He meditated for a few seconds, then began to mutter some kind of esoteric mantra as he moved around in rhythmic steps. As he was dancing, his right hand wielded a sword, while his left hand performed peculiar gestures. Next he went up to the altar, picked up a willow branch, dipped it into a bowl of water, and flicked the water onto the baby’s statue. After that, he continued to chant and dance, flicking more of the sacred water onto the ground in front of the altar.
Gao’s voice rose, startling me. “The priest is singing the mantra not only for the baby but also for the traitor.”
I was surprised to hear this. “But why the traitor?”
“The Flying Dragons respect all dead people, traitors or not.”
I felt another chill. Maybe Lung would perform the same ceremony for me after he found out I was a spy and snapped my neck with his callous hands? Of course I knew full well that the real reason for the “respect” for the traitor was to appease the ghost of the murdered man so he would not come back for revenge.
Finally, everyone was given a basin to wash his face, upper body, and feet, after which they put on white robes and straw sandals.
Gao spoke again, “This is the end of the ceremony. These young men’s old lives have been washed away by the sacred water; now they are reborn as triad members. “
Lung stepped close to the initiates and announced, “The initiation ceremony of the Flying Dragons is now over. Let me congratulate our new brothers!”
Thunderous applause exploded in the ghostly air. Though the members smiled, I could tell their facial muscles didn’t relax; their smiles were, as the saying goes, “smiles only with the skin, not the flesh.”
When the cheering and applause finally died down, Lung spoke again. “Now as brothers we will celebrate with a great banquet at the Grand Palace Restaurant!”
More cheering and applause burst out, turning the sinister cemetery into a ghastly festival.
27
A Wandering Baby
A
s soon as I arrived home from the frightening ceremony, I undressed and climbed into bed. Sleep came quickly but was troubled. I dreamed again of my baby boy, but this time he had a name—Jinjin, Little Handsome. This was different from the name that Lung had given him at the ritual, which was Jinxiong, meaning handsome and mighty. His living son’s name, Jinying, meant handsome hero. But apparently just a handsome hero was not mighty enough for Lung, who was still hoping to spawn a handsome gangster.
In my dream, Jinjin strutted around my bed on his strong, chubby legs, like the baby Buddha who took seven steps right after he was born.
Then Jinjin stood in front of me and bowed deeply. “Mother, your son Jinjin pays you respect.”
I smiled at my dark-haired little cutie as I studied his features—big, double-lidded eyes, pencil-inked, crescent-moon-shaped eyebrows, high-bridged nose, rosy cheeks. Smiling, his pink lips resembled two petals dancing in the breeze.
“Little Jinjin, come and give your mother a hug.”
To my utter surprise, he stubbornly shook his round head. “No.”
Did I scare him with my overly high-pitched entreaty? I lowered my Heavenly Songbird’s voice. “Jinjin, be a good boy, and give your mother a hug please.”
“No,” he said again in his innocent yet stubborn voice, tugging at my heart.
“But why not? I’m your mother!”
“Because I am a ghost.”
“Please, Jinjin, I’m your mother, and I love you still!”
“Mama, no one, ghost or spirit, has ever crossed from the
yin
world into the
yang
one. We are forever separated by death.”
“But I love you,” I pleaded, tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Then how come you didn’t love my father? He saved your life, but you broke his heart.”
I asked, “Who is your father? Do you know for certain?”
He nodded. “You know who. But it is you who is most tortured by your own bitter heartlessness. Why can’t you love or show some concern for my father?”
“I love you dearly, Jinjin, but you left me alone in this dusty world! I also love your father dearly, but up here in the land of the living, fate won’t let me!”
“Nah, you don’t love me or my father!”
Now he began to bawl loudly. I could ignore his babyish reproaches but not his crying. “Jinjin, come let your mama hug and kiss you; then you will know how much she loves you. Please!”
“No,” he said, vigorously shaking his head as he started to walk away on his chubby feet.
He looked so cute and adorable that I could feel my heart split with a wrenching
crack.
“Jinjin, wait! Where are you going?” I reached out to his retreating back.
“To find my father who loves me and you more than anything else in the world!”
“Please don’t leave your mother! Stay, please... .” But as I watched, he floated away from me. I screamed. “But, Jinjin, you are in the
yin
realm, and your father is here with me in the
yang
world. So how are you going to see him?”
“He loves me so much that I believe he can resurrect me from death like the scholar resurrected his beloved Liniang! You wait and see.”
This referred to the opera
Peony Pavilion
that Jinying had taken me to, where the scholar used the power of love to resurrect his beloved woman from the grave.
Suddenly my baby’s heart seemed to be beating within my own. Then suddenly, the beating ceased.
I cried out, “My son, are you all right?”
“Mama, my heart is broken, for you and my father!”
“Let me help you, please!”
He shook his head, turned around, and began to toddle away from me. “Mama, I have to go now.” He scurried away, as if leaving a trail of broken pieces from his heart.
“Please come back, Jinjin! Please! Your heart is here!”
But Jinjin did not turn around. His body slowly faded from my eyes, but as it did, he seemed to grow into a handsome young man, looking just like his father... .
I awakened to find my pillow soaked with my tears, warm but hopeless.
The dream stayed in my mind for many days. I am not a superstitious person, but somehow the initiation ceremony and the dream unsettled me so much that I decided I must appease the departed soul of my baby, just in case it was Lung’s, with his vindictive genes.
Lung had already carried out a ritual for him, but on the other hand, if he was not the father, the offerings might not reach Jinjin in the
yin
world. So to be sure, I decided to have a ceremony just for my baby and myself, and I would be sure to mention Jinying. If my baby’s soul was appeased, I believed he’d stop entering my dreams to sadden me so. Of course I liked seeing him; I just didn’t want to see him suffering.
So the next day I had a Daoist priest came to my house to perform the ceremony. Inside my bedroom, he set up a small altar surrounded by red and yellow talismans filled with esoteric characters and symbols.
The priest was a fortyish, solemn-mannered man, looking small in an oversized yellow robe embroidered with golden soaring cranes and
Yijing
trigrams.
He said in a low, sonorous voice, “Miss Camilla, let me first explain to you about babies who die. Please don’t talk or ask questions until am I finished. You understand?”
I nodded respectfully. As he began, I understood the reason for his admonition, as he was quite long-winded.
“We all have two souls, the
hun
and
po
. When we die, the
hun
soul rises up to heaven and becomes a spirit, while the
po
remains with our corpse in the grave. But in the womb the child possesses only the
po,
so if he dies unborn, the soul cannot go up to heaven but is trapped here below. I must warn you that your baby’s
po
soul may become a hungry ghost, wandering in misery seeking revenge. To protect yourself, you must give him a proper burial.”
“But I passed out, so I never even saw him! The woman who helped me refused to even tell me where he is buried.”
“Then it is imperative that you have the proper ritual for your baby. Since he lost his chance for a full life in the
yang
world, he needs to be fed and nurtured in the
yin
one. Remember, Miss Camilla, even if your baby did have a chance to experience this life for a few hours, he never experienced his mother’s love.”
Upon hearing this, I burst out crying.
He ignored my outburst and went on officiously, “I’m going to chant incantations and mantras to invoke and liberate your dead baby’s soul. But because of what you have told me, to prevent him from becoming a wandering ghost, I will need to do a ritual in my temple every day for a year.”
I cried more, even though I knew this was probably just a way for the priest to squeeze even more money out of me.
The priest adjusted the embroidered sleeves of his robe and instructed me, “Now kneel in front of the altar, put your hands together, and listen to my chanting. Even if you don’t understand, concentrate on my energy and the inflection of my voice. The best is if you can also silently recite a prayer to release your child from all suffering.”
He inspected the few things on the altar that he’d positioned: a small wooden baby figure, which represented my died-few-hours-after-birth baby, a small bowl of rice soup, a bottle of milk, sweets, toys, and flowers.
He spoke again, his voice turned somber. “Your baby is wandering and suffering without a mother or a father to love and care for him. When I recite the mantra, I’ll summon his soul here to enjoy the food, gifts, and especially to receive the love of his mother, you. Even though your baby’s body has perished, his living soul will still feel your love and warmth, and he’ll be happy and greatly comforted. You understand?”
I nodded, my tears continuing to flow.
“Right after I’ve started the ceremony, please focus your love and
qi
on the wooden figure. During the ritual, I will summon his soul to reside in it, then activate his soul with my mantra.”
Would my baby really descend onto the altar and reside in the wooden figurine? As if aware of my doubt, the Daoist master explained. “Miss Camilla, because you have never cultivated your spirituality, you may not see or feel anything now. But, unlike you, I have practiced and cultivated for thirty years to open my third eye, so I am able to see beings from the other realm.”
Now memories of all that had happened rose up in my mind: my loveless childhood, my life as Big Brother Wang’s spy, the cold, black water of the Seine, Jinying loving me enough to risk his life to save mine, blood spurting from Shadow’s finger, my labor pains, Madame Lewinsky telling me my baby was dead, the terrible ritual in the cemetery, Wang’s threats on my life, and, now that ghosts and spirits were about to be brought into my home, I felt as if my grip on reality was finally slipping. Had I really had a baby? Was he really dead? And why did I feel such love for a baby I had felt inside me but never seen? In my dream, Jinjin had blamed me for not loving his father. But since I’d never been loved, could I be blamed if I was not capable of it myself? Or was I capable of it, after all? The master had said that I’d never cultivated anything spiritual, but all I had been taught was scheming and dissembling. Was the fault with my fate or with me?
The ritual went on for almost an hour. Of course I didn’t understand a word of what was said or even if this pacifying-my-baby drama was anything more than a scam. When the priest finished, I bowed and thanked him, then gave him his fee in a red envelope. I also told him that this ceremony should be strictly private between him and me. Feeling the thickness and weight of the red envelope, he promptly agreed.
Before he left, the priest gathered up the items he had placed on the altar. “I’ll bring these back to my temple and place them together with all the other babies’ figurines, portraits, and offerings. In that case, your boy will have company, and I will continue to look after him. You understand?”
I nodded, and then a thought hit me, and I asked, “Did you really see my baby?
He looked at me curiously. “Of course. I told you, I opened my third eye.”
“Can you tell me what he looks like?”
“A very handsome boy with big, double-lidded eyes.”
“Then do you know his name?”
He hesitated for a few seconds before he said, “No, since he never speaks of himself.” He paused, then smiled. “Anyway, your baby will grow up to be a very handsome and intelligent boy.”
“But my baby is dead!”
“Hmm. All right, I’d better go now.” He began to put each item from the altar into his cloth bag. “Take very good care of yourself, Miss Camilla. Don’t worry, your baby will be looked after very well in the temple. Good-bye.”
“Thank you, Master, and good-bye.” I bowed again, walked him to door, and saw him out.
I wasn’t sure I even believed in the ritual, but now, afterward, I somehow felt my son’s presence. It was a strange feeling, because it felt warm and cold, happy and sad, empty yet full at the same time.
At least I knew there was love in this cold world, and I had had the luck to taste it, even if only in a dream.

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