Three Souls (25 page)

“Third Sister-in-Law. You’re a guest. You don’t need to do this.” Her whispery voice was barely audible and she bit her lip. But there was a new air of authority, even insistence, about her. I saw a jade brooch pinned to her silk jacket, a rare piece, deep green on one side and pale as a cabbage leaf on the other. It had been my mother’s.

“I’m happy to get Father’s library organized again,” I countered.

“Really, you don’t have to. We’re moving in here next week, you know.” Suddenly, despite her breathy voice, she looked like an aggressive little hen. I glanced over at Stepmother.

“Fei-Fei and I will move into our own little house,” Stepmother said, smoothly and naturally, before any awkward pause could develop. “The one in the fifth courtyard. Please excuse me, I must go to the kitchens and see how they plan to feed our guests tonight.”

Geeling blinked and whispered, “No, no. That’s my responsibility now. I’ll go.”

We watched her shuffle away.

“Do you mind moving out of the villa, Stepmother?” I was a bit worried about Geeling’s new-found assertiveness.

“It was my idea. Your First Sister-in-Law is now Mistress. She takes her matriarch role very seriously, it’s how she was raised. She should take her rightful position.”

Another discreet cough from the library door. This time, it was Head Servant Lu. He bowed deeply. It took a moment for me to realize he was bowing to Stepmother.

“Madame should rest now. It’s been a difficult time and she has done more than enough. ”

“I will, Lu. But first I need to speak to you about all the broken furniture.”

“I have some ideas, Madame.” Then he turned to me and bowed almost as deeply.

“Third Young Mistress, the Master wishes to see you.” The Master. Changyin now, not Father. My chest tightened up again.

On my way out I glanced back. They were deep in conversation, Lu nodding his head deferentially while Stepmother spoke. Geeling wouldn’t be a problem for her.

***

Father’s study door was open and Changyin sat at the long table. His face was still bruised, and he winced when he leaned across to pick up some papers. He looked much older than thirty-one.

“Third Sister. It’s good to have you home again.” He gave me a sad smile and pulled out a handkerchief to polish his glasses. “It’s about Father’s will. How would you like to receive your inheritance?”

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” I said in surprise. Father had no reason to leave me an inheritance. He’d been disappointed with me and I had all but ignored him these past few years.

“Father left you twenty thousand
yin yuan.
” A small fortune in silver coins. I gasped.

Changyin tapped the paper lying in front of him. “That’s what’s written in the will, Little Sister. But very recently he expressed the hope that you would let me invest it for you, so that you could receive an income every year instead of one lump sum.”

He looked up at me. “He worried about you and your daughter.”

He sat in silence while I struggled to control tears. There was no hope of tempering the guilt that was wrenching me apart.

“What would you like me to do, Third Sister?” he asked again, gently. “Would you like a few days to think things over?”

I shook my head. “Please. Invest it as Father would have wished. But don’t give me an income. Let it accumulate. I’ll need it for sending my children to boarding school and university.”

“All right, then. I’ll send you a statement every three months.”

“Eldest Brother, please don’t. I trust you.” I paused, then added, “I’m going to tell my husband it’s an education fund. If we really need the money, I’ll write to you.”

Another silence.

“I see. So Father was right to be worried.”

I nodded and hurried out of the study, waiting until I was on the curved staircase and out of sight before wiping my eyes.

***

The sadness in his voice I could bear. His pity I could not. But this was not the real reason for my tears.

I can tell the night is cold. There isn’t a single rustle from animals on the prowl to disturb the quiet, and a film of frost whitens the paving stones of the terrace. Even my
hun
soul shines with a chilly, unforgiving light.

My
yang
soul tucks his hands into the wide sleeves of his padded jacket, out of habit more than any real need to keep warm. My
yin
soul stands balanced on the rail that surrounds the terrace, arms outstretched, pretending to be an acrobat, a tightrope walker. Despite her game, her gaze is as sorrowful as my own.

I was a terrible daughter, yet my father still left me money. I’d give anything to see him again, to beg his forgiveness.

Then you must hurry,
my
yang
soul says.
If you can get through the portal to the afterlife before your father goes to his next reincarnation, you might see him.

But years have passed since he died,
objects my
yin
soul.
Would he still be there? Surely he’s been reincarnated already.

Years have passed only in the real world,
my
hun
soul reminds her.
In the afterlife, time means nothing. Perhaps Leiyin’s father waits for her even now. One never knows.

I sink to my knees and bury my face in my hands. If my father has been waiting for me, delaying his own reincarnation, it’s a grace I don’t deserve. In the natural order of things, my souls and I must leave this world. No matter how much I love Weilan, how can I do anything to help her? I’m only a ghost; I can’t even bend a twig. The restless pull of the afterlife reminds me of this, relentlessly. And now, if I stubbornly stay here and keep my father waiting in the afterlife, I’ll only add another act of ingratitude to my slate.

***

At the landing, I paused to look out the window. Tongyin and Baizhen sat on the marble balustrades at the edge of the terrace, facing out to the garden. The wicker chairs were gone, broken beyond repair. From the way Tongyin was gesturing, I could tell he was explaining how the rose garden used to look. I went down and joined them, hiking up my skirt to swing my legs over the stone railing. On this visit Tongyin had been considerate. Perhaps it was our shared grief. Perhaps we had both grown up. He was making an effort to be friendly to Baizhen, and I felt a rush of gratitude. Life was precarious indeed and I needed to make more of an effort to get along with Tongyin.

A light wind rustled the branches of cassia above and for a moment I closed my eyes and imagined being a girl again, ready to jump off the marble barrier and race for the rose arbour.

“What will you do with your inheritance, Little Sister?” Tongyin’s voice was casual.

I chose my words carefully. “Father has left an education fund for our children, which Eldest Brother will manage.”

“That’s wonderful!” Baizhen beamed.

“And you, Second Brother?” I wanted to change the subject.

“I’m going to invest some of mine in a nightclub,” Tongyin said. He seemed very cheerful. “Do you remember my friend Cha Zhiming? He knows a club that would do very nicely after some refurbishing. He’s looking for friends willing to join in.”

“You’re sure it’s a sound investment?” I knew that Father wouldn’t have liked anything to do with nightclubs. And I didn’t like anything that had to do with Cha Zhiming.

Tongyin waved his hand carelessly. “Shanghai is full of wealthy foreigners. Yes, full of them. They’re making money by cheating China, why shouldn’t I make money by cheating them?”

“Does Cha know anything about the nightclub business?” I tried again.

“Little Sister, there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. The whole reason this enterprise will be profitable is
because
of Cha.” He looked very pleased with himself. “With his position in the Shanghai Police and his father’s connections, we’re guaranteed to do well. We’ll have good customers and we won’t need to pay out bribes for police protection.”

I couldn’t imagine what Father would have said about Tongyin going into such a business. But now that Father was gone, there was no one to hold him back.

16

W
e returned to Pinghu the next day on the early train. It was a long and tiring trip in third class, the only seats available. The train overflowed with refugees, some continuing eastward, most getting off in Shanghai to try their luck in the foreign concessions. We sat on hard benches, legs hanging over our luggage protectively, as did our neighbours in the compartment, who eyed us as suspiciously as we did them. Baizhen and I said very little to each other. I was still overwhelmed by Father’s death and dozed fitfully against my husband’s shoulder, thinking that all I wanted was to see my daughter.

At the station, Old Ming’s grandson, the rickshaw puller, met us on the platform. It was just before suppertime and the streets were noisy with vendors hawking their food and wares before the last shoppers returned home. I leaned back in my seat and moved closer to Baizhen. He gave my hand a comforting squeeze and then cleared his throat.

“I never realized, I mean, now that I’ve seen your home—it’s grander than anything I ever imagined. And you’re so close to your sisters. You must miss them terribly. If you ever want to visit . . .”

“It’s all right. I’m quite content living in Pinghu.” I found I meant those words.

“Pinghu is such a small, backward place compared to Changchow.”

“Husband, this is my home now.” I clasped his hand tightly. “But please, don’t say anything to your parents about the education fund. Not yet.”

“Why not?” he asked, puzzled.

I leaned closer to him, suddenly exhausted from the past several weeks, Father’s death, the sight of my home. Sueyin.

“I don’t want your father to know. If we really need money, I’ll write to Changyin. But our children’s education matters more than anything. If they can’t earn their own living, they won’t have a future. Please. Promise me.”

I saw that I didn’t need to say anything more.

He gave me a sad smile. “You’re right as always, Wife.”

***

“Weilan wanted to stay up,” Little Ming said. “But she was so excited she ran around the gardens all day and fell asleep before dinner.”

As soon as we paid our respects to Gong Gong and Jia Po, we went to the nursery. I removed Weilan’s thumb from her mouth and put my head down on the pillow beside hers. The scent of her clean skin and hair, which usually filled me with contentment, made me shudder at what might have happened if we had been living in Changchow. What if she’d been forced to hide somewhere, terrified, or to watch her grandfather being beaten to death? At least she was safe in Pinghu, a place that mattered to neither side. I’d never long for the excitement of a big city again. My daughter’s well-being outweighed all else.

***

The final consequence of Father’s death came several weeks after our return. Changyin mailed us a terse note to say Sueyin was no longer a daughter of either the Liu or the Song family. He gave no reason, but in families such as ours, when it comes to shame, it’s possible to gauge with exquisite precision its depth and degree by the surrounding silence. In Sueyin’s case, the silence was absolute, her disgrace unredeemable.

Gong Gong didn’t press me for details.

***

Weeks later, a letter from Gaoyin arrived, tucked in her monthly package of newspapers and magazines. There was good news in her open letter—she was pregnant again—but it was her secret letter that gave me news of Sueyin:

You will see why I’ve sent you a gossipy film magazine, Little Sister. Changyin is furious and says Sueyin has shamed Father’s memory. Liu Tienzhen is divorcing her. It’s been three weeks since she left with Ma Fong. She’s signed on with the Hong Kong branch of Lianhua Studios and taken a stage name to protect our family. Look on page 42.

On page 42 of
China Film World Weekly,
a publicity shot of Sueyin filled a quarter of the page. She gazed out from a black-and-white photo, unsmiling, heartbreakingly beautiful, a tragic and knowing quality in her eyes. The article beside it was written in the typically breathless prose of fan magazines:

Lianhua’s latest discovery, the beautiful Chen Dai, keeps her origins a secret but it is rumoured she is a socialite who has broken with her family in order to pursue an acting career. Already in great demand by directors and leading men alike, her first role will be in Ma Fong’s upcoming film, A Song of Orchids. The young director has been escorting Miss Chen around the most fashionable night spots in Hong Kong, and there is talk of a relationship that transcends business. How can anyone blame Ma for seeing stars?

I showed the magazine to Baizhen.

“Please don’t mention to your parents that Chen Dai is my sister. If Gong Gong forbids me to read these magazines or watch her films, I’ll never see her face again.”

“Don’t worry. There’s no danger he’ll ever find out. Unless he suddenly starts reading those magazines or goes to see a film.” He laughed.

“There’s no danger at all, then.” I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Gong Gong reading about starlets.

“I’m just sorry you’re cut off from your Second Sister.” He was so sincere.

“I’m glad for her, you know. I’m glad she found a way to leave her useless husband,” I replied, then
bit my lip and added quickly, “Tienzhen takes opium, have I ever mentioned that?”

***

Amazing,
says my
yang
soul. He sits down heavily on the stone steps and straightens the skirts of his long scholar’s gown. His round glasses reflect the setting sun, masking his eyes.

What do you mean, amazing?

Amazing,
he says,
that Sueyin should be the one who discredits her upbringing. I didn’t think she would follow through. She outdid your escapade, Leiyin.

I’m not the least bit ashamed of my sister. Think of what she was trying to escape.