Three Souls (9 page)

In one issue, he wrote movingly about a trip he had made to a little country school outside Soochow:

The poverty of their surroundings only made the pupils more determined to rise up out of destitution. The teacher spent his meagre wages on chalk and pencils for his pupils. They shared lunches, for some of the students hadn’t eaten all day. After my talk, the teacher asked me to join their little school and I must confess I was tempted. Their dedication was truly moving.

He ended each article with what had become his signature line:
You may lose all that you acquire, but knowledge and wisdom remain yours forever.

Every word he wrote about education for the masses felt like a reproach. Unless I contributed to educating the poor and rural folk of China, how could I be worthy of Hanchin’s love? I couldn’t just accept Father’s decision. There had to be a way.

***

Tongyin was now spending even more time at the journal’s offices, but he didn’t give up carousing with his friends completely. Sometimes they met at our house to smoke and drink on the terrace before setting out for the night. Cha Zhiming was part of that clique and whenever he caught my eye, he bowed in my direction, a patronizing smile on his face as though to remind me we shared a secret. But his manners were flawless, deferential. Unlike some of the others, he never drank to excess or flipped his cigarette butts into the shrubbery.

“Second Son, your friend, that Cha, he seems a nice young man,” Father remarked. “What are his career plans?”

We were at breakfast, and Tongyin, slurping down his congee, shrugged.

“I’m not sure, Father. Not completely. His father’s a general, so he’ll have a police or military career most likely.”

“Military. Then why is he not attending Whampoa Military Academy?”

“He leaves for the academy this fall.”

Stepmother put a slice of jellied pork on Father’s side plate. “He seems thoughtful,” she said. “He was kind to Fei-Fei.”

“Really? When was that?” Father looked as surprised as I felt.

My stepmother paused to think. “When he was here last week. Fei-Fei was running through the garden and fell on the gravel path. He carried her to the terrace and she sat on his lap while Nanny Wong washed the blood from her knee.”

“Hmmm.” Father looked pensive. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I warmed up a bit to Cha Zhiming.

“By the way,” said Tongyin, pushing back his chair from the table, “Cha Zhiming and his family will be at Sueyin’s wedding. General Cha and Judge Liu are old friends.”

***

In matching pink
qipao
s, Gaoyin and I walked on either side of Sueyin, each holding her by an elbow. Sueyin couldn’t see out from behind the heavy red silk that veiled her face. Fortunately Gaoyin was in charge of the bride and knew exactly what the rituals required. As we walked, Gaoyin whispered and prodded us through the ceremonies so I really didn’t have to pay much attention. I just bowed and knelt along with the rest of the wedding party.

The Liu estate was decorated to reflect the importance of the occasion. The main gates, built of massive wooden planks bound with studded iron bands, were wide open and red lanterns hung from the lintels. Carriages, sedan chairs, and motorcars thronged inside the enormous forecourt and circled out again. When we helped Sueyin out of our motorcar, the Liu gatekeeper began a shout that all the other servants took up: “The bride is here! The bride’s family is here! The honourable Song family is here!”

Servants lit long red strings of firecrackers that exploded in percussive bangs, leaving behind the smell of flash powder. All through the gardens, red lanterns hung from tree branches. At the entrance to the grand banquet hall, guests signed their names on a long scroll of red paper flecked with gold. The hall would seat five hundred diners. Even with the doors and windows wide open, the air inside was muggy, warmed by mosquito incense, drifts of cigarette smoke, and the rich, fatty odours of roasted meats. The night was exceptionally hot and there was a faint stench of sweat.

The bride and groom sat at one end of the huge hall on a dais carpeted in red. Behind them hung a heavy banner of red silk embroidered with a huge gold double-happiness symbol. Tienzhen wore a long black silk gown patterned with gold dragons. A round black cap adorned with a single jade bead crowned his well-cut hair. The only Western items of his ensemble were his shoes, shiny black patent leather. His expression was placid, docile.

Sueyin wore robes of red, fine silk brocade embroidered with phoenixes. Although at this point in the evening she could have removed the red silk pinned to her headdress, Sueyin had chosen to stay veiled. When she entered the hall, the older guests had applauded their approval, pleased at such becoming modesty from the bride. Now she sat gracefully with her back pressed firmly against the ebony chair.

When it was time for the newlyweds to circulate through the hall to meet and thank all the guests, Gaoyin carefully detached the bride’s veil from her headdress and Sueyin stood up. A low hum rose from the tables as the guests murmured their appreciation, my sister’s lovely features revealed for the first time. Her expression was as veiled as it had been behind the red silk. There was none of her usual gentleness in the set of her lips, no sweetness in the fixed gaze of her dark eyes. She was as perfect as a wax image and as devoid of life.

The heavy air in the banquet hall felt like a shroud. I wasn’t hungry at all, my pink
qipao
felt tight, and I was desperate for some fresh air and some time alone. I was still thinking about how to convince Father to change his mind. Or could I go to university without his consent? Perhaps I could speak to him again after the wedding. He would be in a good mood after the ceremony. I escaped from the banquet hall and wandered into the main garden, cooling myself with a gold paper fan.

The Lius’ garden was huge, even bigger than our Old Garden. Its artificial lake contained not one but two islands. The larger one at the lake’s far end held a pavilion and was connected to the shore by a zigzag bridge, a guarantee of safety from evil spirits, for they can’t cross such bridges. On the smaller island beside me, red lanterns hung from willow trees. I spied a bench partially concealed beneath their branches and crossed wide stepping stones to reach it, stones so flat and carefully spaced they might as well have been a bridge.

Finally away from the din of the banquet, I closed my eyes and fanned myself. There wasn’t even a whisper of a breeze. An orchestra played on the terrace outside the dining hall. Inside, the music had been barely noticeable above the clamour of conversation. I leaned back against the bench with relief and allowed myself the pleasure of listening to the plaintive tones of the
erhu
and
zhonghu
fiddles
,
the high notes of a
dizi
reed flute. The musicians, who were very fine, launched into “Spring Snow,” a lively ancient tune.

Then something made me open my eyes: Hanchin stood before me.

Fortunately I was sitting or my knees would have buckled. Fortunately the musicians swung into the climax of the song or my gasp would have reverberated in the night air. Unfortunately I dropped my fan.

He bent down and handed it to me. I mumbled my thanks and fanned myself furiously.

“Aren’t you hungry, Miss Song?”

“It’s too hot to eat.” And my too-tight dress was creasing across my stomach. I stood up and tugged the skirt down as discreetly as possible. “Are you a friend of the Liu family, Mr. Yen?”

“I’m just a poor distant cousin. However, on such a joyous occasion, even impoverished relations are invited to offer their good wishes to the newlyweds.”

“You can’t mean that. I’m sure the Liu family is honoured to have such a famous poet-scholar in the family.”

A white flash of teeth as he smiled. “If I hadn’t run into Judge Liu at your sister’s engagement party, I’m sure he would have left me off the guest list. This is a party for the city’s elite.”

He smelled so clean, a faint scent of sandalwood soap. The lanterns overhead cast shadows that made his cheekbones more pronounced, his face even leaner. His eyes were as intense as those of a bird of prey. He leaned against the trunk of the nearest willow tree, comfortable in the silence. I wasn’t. Furthermore, the high collar of my pink dress was scratching my neck. My first opportunity to be truly alone with Hanchin and I looked like a pink satin sausage.

“Thank you for replying to my letters through the magazine,” I said, desperate to fill the void. “You must think our family absolutely feudal what with my father feeling entitled to read our personal letters.”

“He probably continues his own father’s practice out of habit. Don’t resent it. He’s allowed you other, more important freedoms. Your education, for example.”

I wavered. I had to tell him I wouldn’t be attending college. Better he should learn this from me than from Tongyin. It was only a matter of time before my brother let the news slip. But I held back as he continued talking.

“I hear from your friend Wang Nanmei that you received a scholarship to Hangchow Women’s University. Well done.”

“Nanmei told you this?” I had no idea that Nanmei had even met Hanchin. “How do you know her?”

“She came by the office a couple of times to drop off your letters.” He shrugged and his next words drove all thoughts of Nanmei out of my head. “Will you write to me, Leiyin, when you’re away in Hangchow?”

His eyes reflected back light from the lanterns, flecks of mica shining in the darkness.

“Yes, Hanchin. Oh, yes. Of course I will.” My heart winced, a sharp stab of delight.

“You can write to me about anything once you’re away from home.”

Once I was away from home.

I could scarcely breathe. His hands on my shoulders steered me to the other side of the tree, into the darkness, out of the view of anyone who might be standing on the shore.

“You’re every bit as beautiful as your sisters. You have the sort of beauty that springs from intelligence and courage.” His lips brushed against my ear.

My face was hot, but it was nothing compared to the longing that seared through my body, a craving that softened my bones. Unresisting, I let him kiss my face and I tried not to gasp with the pleasure of feeling his lips brush against my cheeks, my eyelids, behind my ears. He loved me. Why was I in his arms unless he loved me? But when I lifted my face to him, he didn’t kiss my mouth.

He shook his head and stepped back, teasing me with his smile.

“Your father would never allow this, you know.”

“Oh, Hanchin. He admires your poetry so much. Times are changing. I’ll be the first daughter to attend university. I’m going to teach.”

I couldn’t bear to break the spell by saying the words that acknowledged my dreams had been denied. Besides, I was going to change Father’s mind.

“You’re meant for grand alliances, like your sisters.”

“Once I’ve finished college, my life will be my own. I can teach school and support myself. I won’t need my father.”

“You musn’t alienate him, Leiyin.” There was the smallest hint of warning in his voice.

A din of applause from the banquet hall told us the first speech of the evening had just finished. I leaned against the tree, unable to move.

“Come, we must get back to the banquet hall.” He pulled me away from the tree. “Hold on, there are bits of bark on the back of your dress.” Holding me by the shoulder with one hand, he brushed me down with the other, slowly, lingeringly.

“I’ll leave first,” he said. He made his way across the stepping stones, his movements casual and unhurried.

I crumpled onto the stone bench and watched Hanchin’s retreating silhouette until it vanished through the doors of the banquet hall. I stretched out on the bench, its coolness a salve to my trembling body, its hard surface an anchor to reality, for I was almost floating from sheer happiness.

Once I was away from home.

But within minutes my problems brought me back to earth. After I had promised to write from college, after he had kissed me, how could I ever confess to Hanchin that I wouldn’t be attending college after all?

***

My
yang
soul’s goatee shakes with disapproval as he gazes at my memory-self, a pink-clad body slumped over the bench.
That was disgraceful. Such behaviour at such a young age.

The sharp taste of raw ginger crosses the back of my throat.

You still believed you would find a way to get to Hangchow.
A frown of distress creases my
yin
soul’s baby-smooth skin.

You didn’t have money for boarding fees, you depended entirely on your father,
my
hun
soul says.
Its
visage is pure light, featureless, yet I imagine patient sorrow glimmering there.
Without your father’s consent you had nothing.

This was the night I knew beyond a doubt that Hanchin cared for me,
I say.
All I could think of was finding a way to get to university. With or without Father’s permission.

Your sisters wouldn’t defy your father.
My
yin
soul, crouched at the edge of the island, reaches out to touch a water lily.

They had no career ambitions. I did.

Stupid girl!
My
yang
soul’s cane bashes the willow tree. The ginger is even stronger now.
Sueyin had more reason to defy your father. Yet here we are at her wedding to an opium user. Did you truly have no idea of how the world works?

They fall silent. We watch my pink-satin form sit up on the bench, then stand up resolutely.

There,
says my
yin
soul.
That was when you made up your mind to get to Hangchow with or without your father’s consent.

I had to. I had made promises to Hanchin.

Have you noticed,
says my
hun
soul,
that he hadn’t actually made any promises to you?