Three Souls (40 page)

You didn’t want any reminders of the life and the dreams you had left behind,
my
hun
soul says.
Its glow casts shadows the living can’t see.
Now that seems so petty, doesn’t it?

I look at Nanmei’s shabby coat and tired features, evidence of a life more difficult than mine had been.

I could have been a better friend.

***

Nanmei watches Weilan run down the staircase, then returns to gazing once more at my photograph. Will she reveal to my family that she was my classmate and friend?

“I’ve missed you so much, Leiyin,” she says. “I can’t believe you’re gone. Please forgive me.”

Forgive her for what? I’m the one who should ask her forgiveness. I had made no effort to learn where life had taken her.

She rubs her eyes and I realize she’s crying. She glances at the door and whispers,“When Tongyin said your daughter needed a tutor, I couldn’t believe it. It was as though you were helping me from beyond the grave. Leiyin, I’m leaving as soon as I’ve succeeded in this mission, but I promise you, no matter how much or how little time I spend here, I’ll teach your daughter with all the dedication you would have.”

She’s here on a mission? Her tutoring position is a ruse? What sort of confidences has she shared with Tongyin? I will her to say more, but Weilan’s footsteps clatter up the staircase.

“Teacher Wang, I’ve finished washing my hands and face. We must go to dinner.”

***

Nanmei waits until all of the family members have helped themselves before putting any food into her own bowl. She eats her rice with neat, scooping movements, spilling nothing on the table. She eats everything and doesn’t mention likes or dislikes for any kind of food.

“Your Soochow accent isn’t very strong, Teacher Wang,” Jia Po says casually, but I can tell she is curious.

“No, Madame Lee. I went to college in Soochow and also worked there for a few years, but I’m not from Soochow.”

“Where does your family come from?”

There is the slightest pause, and then Nanmei says, “My family is from Hangchow.”

She’s not going to reveal any connection with Changchow. Perhaps it’s embarrassing for her to have come down so much in the world.

“What’s your father’s business?” Jia Po continues her interrogation.

“My father . . . he owned a cloth store. But my parents are both gone.”

My poor friend. Orphaned, and somehow penniless.

Meichiu speaks for the first time, a friendly and pleased look on her face. “We’re both merchants’ daughters then.”

I feel a small twinge of jealousy.

After dinner, in the privacy of the small parlour, Jia Po admits to Baizhen she can find no fault with the new tutor’s demeanour.

Whatever she’s up to, she doesn’t want them to know she comes from Changchow or that she knew me. If she’s lying about that, how do I even know her parents are really dead?

The household is getting ready to retire for the night. Little Ming and her baby are in the nursery. Weilan likes to chat with Little Ming until Ah Jiao falls asleep. Then Little Ming gives Weilan a bath and puts her to bed. Weilan is much happier now that Little Ming is back.

***

Maybe she thinks it would be awkward for them to know you were once friends,
my
yin
soul says. She runs her finger along the spines of the books Nanmei has arranged on a shelf.
It could be as simple as that.

She could tell the truth about being from Changchow without revealing that she knew you,
my
yang
soul says, leaning on his cane.
We know there’s more to this.
A tutoring job isn’t why she’s here.

Perhaps you could learn the truth from her dreams.
My
hun
soul stands by the window, looking down into the orchard.

Dreams aren’t the same as memories. What I see happening in dreams could be anything, real memories and imagined events all mixed up, the dreamer has no control.

The only way you can find out is to ask her yourself,
my
hun
soul says,
and hope her dream-self speaks the truth.

***

There’s so much to find out. Nanmei has a secret motive, but I also want to know what’s become of her family. Then there’s Tongyin. Knowing my brother, there must be a self-serving reason for his sending Nanmei to us. He’s on the Nationalist side but bragged to me about being a double agent. Has he sent her to spy on the Lee family? Yet even Tongyin must realize that Baizhen and Gong Gong have less than no interest in getting involved in politics, so that can’t be the reason.

Did he recognize Nanmei as the school friend who used to come to our house to study with me? It’s true he ignored us back then. To him we were just two schoolgirls, as absorbed in our world as he was in his.

Why is she here? Only Nanmei can tell me.

But Nanmei does not dream.

Each night I wait for the hazy outlines of a dream shape to form around her, but nothing that materializes is substantial enough to touch. So troubled is her slumber, there’s never more than a pale grey aura. She dozes, halfway between sleep and consciousness, tossing constantly, restless as a sick child. Sometimes she lies with eyes wide open, staring into the darkness, her breathing heavy and strained. No wonder she’s so bony, her eyes so cavernous. Until she manages to settle down into restful sleep, I won’t learn anything.

Nanmei is pleased with the library, with where I had hung the old chalkboard, with the plentiful supply of paper and pencils, with the room’s large windows. The only change she makes is to move the table right beneath the window that faces the orchard so that sunlight falls bright and unobstructed across its surface.

“It’s important to read in good natural light,” she says. “You have such pretty eyes, Weilan. We don’t want you to become nearsighted.”

My daughter nods, already charmed. The two of them unfold a world map and Weilan points to all the countries whose names she knows. Then Nanmei hands her a textbook.

“Please read this page for me.”

“Oh, I know this story.” And she reads out loud from
The Children’s History of Twenty-Four Exemplars of Filial Piety,
the story of the little boy who slept naked on hot summer nights so mosquitoes would bite his tender flesh and leave his parents alone.

Nanmei claps her hands and holds out another book. “Excellent! Try this one.”

My daughter reads two more stories, the texts increasing in difficulty. She’s showing off, but how can anyone blame her for enjoying the attention? I’m envious of Nanmei, sorry I can’t join them, my daughter and my best friend.

“Now let me hear you recite your times tables.”

“I can go up to the nines, Teacher Wang.”

When Weilan is partway through chanting the fives, Meichiu enters the library. Weilan pauses, but Meichiu waves at her to continue. She is nearly six months pregnant, her belly prominent and her face rounder than ever. She leans against the door, her head bobbing in time to Weilan’s lilting recitation. At the end of the nines, both Meichiu and Nanmei clap. I join in even though they can’t hear me. Weilan blushes.

“Would you like me to recite a Tang poem for you, Teacher Wang?” she asks.

“No, but get some writing paper and copy out this page for me. Let me see how well you can write.”

With Weilan busy at her task, Nanmei turns her attention to Meichiu.

“Young Mistress, did you want me for anything?”

“Actually I came to see whether
you
needed anything, Teacher Wang.”

“No, no. We have all the books and supplies we need.”

“I hope you teach a lot of arithmetic? That would be a more useful skill than reciting Tang poetry.” Meichiu rolls her eyes but smiles to show she means it kindly.

Nanmei smiles back. “Don’t worry. As you said, I’m a merchant’s daughter.”

Meichiu returns to the veranda to knit. She pulls yarn from a basket on the wicker table beside her. Baizhen joins her to read a newspaper. A gentle gust of wind blows through the bamboo trees, filling the courtyard with a light flicking sound. It’s October but the afternoon is warm, and the sun stretches across the rock garden, staining its surfaces with a rosy gold light. The murmur of Weilan’s and Nanmei’s voices drifts out from the open door of the library.

I lean against the door, pretending that I’m part of this world, that my daughter is simply too absorbed in her studies to notice me.

***

Meichiu is making friends with my best friend.

My
yang
soul raises his eyebrows and I realize how petty this sounds. I try to explain myself.
Nanmei is only a hired tutor.
Meichiu
is a mistress of the house.

I don’t think Meichiu is very strict with protocols,
says my
yin
soul.
After all, a teacher is a respected figure.

Yes, and they have so much in common,
I snap.
Nanmei is no mere merchant’s daughter. Her father owns the biggest cotton mills in the province.

First Nanmei is only a hired tutor, now she’s too good for Meichiu,
my
yin
soul remarks, yawning, showing her tongue, as pink as a cat’s.

They’re both lonely and they’re of a similar age,
says my
hun
soul.
You should be happy they’re getting along. And didn’t you hope Meichiu would be kind to Weilan? I think she’s being very nice, and Nanmei’s presence helps bring them closer.

If she delivers a son, who knows how she’ll treat my daughter
?
That’s when we’ll see her true colours.
I can’t help my grumbling, even though I know how unreasonable I sound.

23

O
ld Kwan is speechless at the sight of three huge air-dried hams from Jinhua, the finest he’s ever seen. Meichiu’s mother has sent two servants to Pinghu, laden with food and herbal tonics to nourish Meichiu during her final months of pregnancy. There are also gifts for Baizhen and my in-laws: European cookies filled with cream and nuts, chocolate candies, and, of course, several jars of strong rice wine. There’s even something for Weilan. It’s only a length of fabric, blue cotton woven with pink blossoms, but since Meichiu’s family isn’t obliged to give my daughter anything at all, I’m immensely pleased by this gesture.

Meichiu’s family had swarmed all over our houses and gardens at the wedding. It had really been too cold to sit outside in the pavilion, but they did so anyway, delighting in the rock garden, the bamboo grove, the orchard. I had been envious of Meichiu’s brisk and sensible mother, her amiable father, her high-spirited siblings. I hope the gift of fabric is a hint from Meichiu’s mother that she should be kind to her little stepdaughter.

To Weilan’s delight, the servants have also brought ten black silkie hens and one black rooster. Six of the hens are meant for the pot; broth simmered from these birds is extremely nutritious. The rest are to be raised for their eggs, and for chicks to increase the flock. Apart from a stray calico cat, who didn’t stay long, and some goldfish we kept in a stone urn by the rock garden, Weilan has never had any pets. She has always loved animals, though, and the silkies fascinate her for they are gentle birds with soft, fluffy plumage.

Old Kwan, however, isn’t pleased. The day after the silkies arrive, he stomps into the dining room, upset. The chicken coop in the kitchen garden isn’t large enough to hold the silkies as well as the hens we already have. Old Kwan refuses to unsettle his tried-and-true egg layers by bringing new birds into an established flock.

“Furthermore,” says Old Kwan to Jia Po, arms crossed, “we can’t raise them. Those silkies are too meek to be part of a mixed flock. By tomorrow, you know, our old rooster will have pecked that little black male to death. We should cook them all.”

“But Kwan, can’t we just separate the two flocks?” Meichiu asks.

She’s the Young Mistress, but Old Kwan rules the kitchen and its gardens.

“Where would you run the fence, Young Mistress? Through my spinach patch? And we’d need a second coop.”

Little Ming, who is feeding Ah Jiao at the next table, speaks up.

“There’s an old chicken coop in the orchard. My grandfather could mend it and we could raise them in there, away from the chickens in the kitchen garden.”

“I am not,” says Old Kwan, glaring at her, “going to walk every day all the way to the orchard to feed those chickens and shoo them in and out of the coop.”

“I’ll do it, I will!” Weilan leaves Little Ming’s side and runs up to Old Kwan. “I’ll look after them. The small orchard is just beside our house, I can do it easily.”

“Children are forgetful.” Old Kwan scowls down at her. “They’ll die. We should just cook them all.”

“We can take care of them together,” says Nanmei. “We won’t forget, will we, Weilan?”

Meichiu claps her hands. “So kind of you, Teacher Wang.”

Old Kwan stomps away, appeased but still muttering.

Old Ming mends the orchard coop as promised and that evening the silkies are safely enclosed within its walls.

Each morning Weilan and Nanmei open the coop door to a symphony of crooning and clucking as they scatter grain for the mild-mannered chickens. In the evening, Weilan hunts for eggs in the coop and around the orchard, carefully tucking them in a basket to give to Old Kwan.

“Who lived here?” Nanmei asks one afternoon. She pushes the cottage door open wide and steps inside.

“I don’t know,” Weilan says. She comes in with her basket. “Papa says if he’d had a younger brother, his brother would’ve lived in this little house. Or, if we had an elderly aunt or uncle, they would’ve lived here, where it’s quiet.”

I can’t bear to follow them inside. The rolled-up old bedding is still there, the stub of melted candle on the broken tile. The open door reveals a space even more decrepit than I remember, this room that was once my haven, but it’s humiliation that washes over me. And memories, now unwanted, of delirious lovemaking.