Secret of a Thousand Beauties (24 page)

Ryan and I secretly met and made love in different places—mostly in a small inn in the Front Gate area, sometimes even the park near Beihai Lake at night. He preferred not to do this again in his own room unless he absolutely couldn’t suppress his desire. I didn’t ask why, but guessed he respected his church and deemed it sacrilegious to act out any carnal pleasure there.

We continued to be lovers, even as my belly expanded. Ryan decided he could not put off telling Father Edwin that he would not become a priest. He feared that Father would not want to bless our marriage. Though I had no doubt that I should marry Ryan, at times I felt that I was being unfaithful to Shen Feng—even though he was dead. The Chinese say a woman is her husband’s wife when he’s alive, and his ghost’s wife after he dies.

So when Ryan told me that he was about to tell Father Edwin, I asked, “Are you really sure . . . ?”

Both his expression and voice were firm. “Spring Swallow, I love you. Better I tell Father Edwin myself than wait until he figures it out.”

“But what if Father tells us we both have to leave Our Lady of Sorrows—then where are we going to live? How will we make a living?”

“You know, Father Edwin is a very kind and considerate man. I believe he’ll even agree to marry us in the church.”

A long silence passed. Then, suddenly, Ryan looked extremely worried. “Spring Swallow, are you sure you’re not still legally married to Old Li’s son?”

“Li Wenyi gave me an official letting-go-the-wife letter. That’s what Chinese do when they are in a hurry to be rid of a wife without losing face. All he had to do was state that I’m not fit to be his wife or a mother.”

“Good.” He finally looked relieved. “Then I can ask Father to marry us soon.”

“But, Ryan, now that you’re expected to become a priest in less than a few months, you think Father . . .”

“Don’t worry, even if he is bitter, there’s really nothing he can do to stop us.”

Fortunately, Father Edwin was not bitter, only disappointed. Ryan told me that when he informed him about our decision to marry, he didn’t look shocked; perhaps he sensed it was coming. We were relieved not only that Father was gracious about our “betrayal,” but that he didn’t say anything about my pregnancy, nor how our love affair had started under his very eyes in his church.

“God would not stop true love from flourishing.” Father paused to scrutinize Ryan, then me. “Be sure to be faithful and cherish each other all the rest of your days.”

We both nodded. We loved each other, but I didn’t think we really could promise that it would be undying. I thought of my love with Shen Feng. We had pledged “undying” to Heaven and Earth, but he had died anyway. However, I hoped this would be different, for Ryan was not a revolutionary, but a man of peace, so I could at least hope for a quiet life.

Father Edwin and Ryan agreed that it must be a Christian wedding. Then they started to talk to each other in rapid English so I had no idea what they were deciding. Maybe they were talking about my shameful past, so I thought it was just as well I couldn’t understand. Later Ryan explained to me that to be married in the Church I had to be baptized and confirmed. Father Edwin actually had baptized me back in the old village; though I had long ago lost the certificate. Fortunately, he remembered. So all I had to do was go with Ryan to the cathedral to be confirmed by the bishop.

Ryan had told Father that he would give me religious instruction, but in our private time together we somehow always ended up doing other things. Given my condition, it was obvious that we should have a discreet, private ceremony.

Of course, I felt happy knowing that I was about to be married, but I also felt some apprehension. My three former marriages had not ended well. A Chinese man would be terrified of catching my bad luck if he even looked at me. I would be the all-destroying star and avoided like a leper. So I considered myself very lucky that I had met a foreigner who wanted me.

Two weeks later, Ryan and I became husband and wife in a very simple ceremony presided over by Father Edwin. Besides Father, only a few guests were present—the cook, the cleaning lady, and three of Ryan’s seminary friends. Because Ryan was a foreigner, during the ceremony we did not have to bow to Heaven and Earth, or inform our ancestors of our union. Nor was there any kowtowing and offering tea to the elders, even Father Edwin.

Ryan wore a gray suit with a red silk tie while I wore a white-lace western dress with pink floral embroidery, which I rushed to finish for my big day.

When Father Edwin read the “till death do you part,” my tears fell. That was exactly what had happened to Shen Feng and me. So although the phrase expresses hope that the couple’s marriage would last till they die, in my experience, death, like a cunning fox, is always lurking around the corner ready to catch you off guard.

Ryan wiped my eyes with his handkerchief. “Be happy, Spring Swallow. I love you.”

So I murmured softly, “Me too.”

After that, the maid’s little boy brought rings on a red velvet cushion and we placed them on each other’s fingers.

That evening, the chef served a special dinner with a few guests at the church’s dining hall. We drank wine and ate roasted chicken, stewed beef, scampi with cream, pudding, and a small wedding cake.

Our wedding night was spent in Ryan’s room, which had been decorated for the occasion in red for good luck. We made love under a red bed cover and cuddled against each other as we fell asleep on the red pillows—decorated by me with a pair of Mandarin ducks for marital happiness.

Father Edwin told us we could have a week’s holiday for our honeymoon. When Ryan asked where I’d like to spend our week together, I suggested Soochow. Though it was a place of bitter memories, it was also famous for its beauty. When I was there I had never had the chance to visit its scenic gardens, or even its famous little pagoda on a hilltop. I hoped now to replace my old unhappy memories with new happy ones.

But most of all, since I did not know where life would take me next, I wanted to find Little Doll.

PART FOUR

25

B
efore we left for our trip, Ryan studied the map of Soochow and read up on its culture and history. Excited about the “Venice of the East,” he wanted to visit all the famous sites: the lavish gardens, the Cold Mountain Temple, and Tiger Hill with the Auspicious Light Pagoda. But I had more than fun in mind in going back to Soochow. Most important to me was picking up Little Doll. Though I had not said anything about her to Ryan yet, I planned to have her come live with us. I also would figure out a way to go by myself to Aunty’s house because I was curious to see what had happened to it. Then I would go to the mountain to make offerings for Leilei and Shen Feng.

Though I felt excited to be returning to Soochow, I was not at all eager to run into Old Li, or my mean aunt, or my mother-in-law back in my old village. Despite the trouble that they had caused me, I realized that I no longer needed to worry about being caught by the villagers or turned over to the police. Since I now had a living husband, and a tall foreign one at that, they would be more afraid of me than I was of them.

Although I trusted Ryan as my husband and a man of God, I was not ready to tell him everything about my past. He knew I’d been married before, once to a ghost and the second time to Li Wenyi, but I’d said nothing about my revolutionist husband. I was determined to put all this behind me and have our honeymoon be the start of a happy life with the decent man who would soon be the father of my—though not his—baby.

On the train to Soochow, I kept thinking of the saying
jinxiang qinggeng qie
—we fear going back home because we don’t know what we will find. In ancient times, most people could only afford to go home once or twice in their lifetimes. On their way home, they’d wonder what would have changed. Their little children had now grown to be unrecognizable young men and women. Parents might have died and the neighbors moved away. In our memories, people and things remain the same. But after twenty or thirty years, though they seemed to pass as quickly as a horse jumps over a ravine, we might not recognize anything from our old life.

I thought of the famous poem by He Zhizhang:

When our train finally arrived at Soochow station, Ryan and I alighted, then squeezed through the crowd on the platform. I was not surprised that we attracted stares, some curious, a few hostile. Unlike cosmopolitan Peking, where mixed couples were not unusual, in provincial Soochow we stood out. Outside the big cities, when people see a Chinese woman with a Westerner, they assume she’s a prostitute or a slut. Only loose women with insatiable sexual desires would be attracted to a Westerner, because they need the big, hairy barbarians to satisfy their demands in bed.

Because so many people had alighted from the train, we had to wait a while for an empty rickshaw. In the distance, I saw a middle-aged man holding a package as he dashed inside a pawn shop, looking embarrassed. I wondered what he would be pawning, some valuable family heirloom, or his wife’s jewelry? As I watched, several men walked out from a gambling house; a few looked happy, but others were gloomy.

I suddenly realized why the pawn shop was right next to the gambling house. After people gambled away all their money, they could make a quick stop at the pawn shop, then back to the casino to lose more. This made me think of Li Wenyi. I wondered what had become of him, his father, and Ping. I reflected on how fortunate I was now to have a caring husband and be rid of the Li family. But my happiness was not complete, because I still worried about Little Doll.

Finally, a tricycle rickshaw pulled up in front of us and we climbed in. Even though it was our honeymoon, Ryan and I were so tired after the long trip that as soon as we arrived in our hotel room, we went to sleep.

 

The next day, I took Ryan for a stroll along the rivers of Soochow. Fortunately, it was now autumn and the weather, like my new husband, was calm and refreshing. We stared at our still reflections, envying the fishes that didn’t seem to have a care in the world, as they wriggled their tails and gurgled trails of bubbles. After a leisurely lunch, we toured the Master of Nets Garden, appreciating the lush, fragrant vegetation, imagining we were back in the Tang dynasty drinking wine and reciting poetry together. As the soothing autumn breeze gently massaged our faces, everything seemed right with the world.

Our last stop was Lion’s Grove Garden, one of the four most famous in Soochow. Ryan and I were pleased that this one was not so crowded so we attracted few stares. We strolled at a leisurely pace, side by side along winding paths, beside ponds, over bridges, under pavilions, until we reached the lion-shaped rocks for which the garden is named.

On the way back to the gate, we stopped in a small gallery. From a scroll I read Du Fu’s poem “Tribute to the Hermit Wei Ba”:

Although I had not read much poetry, somehow this one brought tears to my eyes. I was relieved that Ryan didn’t notice my emotional state, for he was a few steps ahead of me looking at other masterpieces. These lines seemed to echo my own life, even though I was nowhere close to the poet in fame or achievement. With all that I had been through, I felt my own youth was disappearing quickly. The mountain I had climbed so often while living in Aunty’s house was now a place of loss, reminding me of Shen Feng and Leilei. And even Aunty had tried to end her and Little Doll’s lives there. The tall mountain was impassive as it looked down on the fleeting and fickle lives below.

I considered Du Fu luckier than I, for he had the chance to reunite with his old friends, sharing delicious wine under the same candlelight. But my Shen Feng was gone. Since I had no idea where he was buried, I couldn’t even make offerings, or tell him not to worry about me, for my new husband was a good man. And the other people who were close to me—Leilei, Purple, Aunty Peony, Little Doll—they were all gone from my life. Just like Du Fu in his poem, we were stars rising and setting in the sky, separated by tall mountains.

But now, under Heaven and above Earth, I had my foreigner husband, Ryan, and my to-be-born baby. So I would be sure to watch over them both. I strode up to Ryan and took his arm in mine. My new husband looked very happy and I was too.

“Spring Swallow, have you seen something nice?”

I stared into his eyes and gently nodded.

 

The next day, Ryan took me for a boat ride on the famous Taihu Lake. When we arrived at the pier, several boatmen crowded around us, eager for our business. In his fluent Mandarin, Ryan negotiated a good price with a sturdy young man smelling of the lake. When my barbarian husband helped me onto the swaying boat, the other boatmen cast us disapproving glances, as if saying, “Ha, a white ghost stealing a Chinese girl!” Or so I imagined.

So I turned away from them and looked at my husband’s eyes, which seemed to reflect the blue water of the lake.

He said, “The city will look very different from the lake. I think of the poem about King Wu’s wife, like the West Lake, equally beautiful from any angle.”

“I never had a chance for a boat ride like this. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Spring Swallow,” he said and smiled, “it’s good that this is your first boat ride. It will be something unique to remember from our honeymoon.”

The small boat had a low table and plain wooden benches. From the picnic basket Ryan had been carrying, he took out food, drinks, and napkins, then laid them on the table. To my delight, he’d brought some of my favorite foods—dumplings, pork buns, pickled cabbages, scallion pancakes, and fragrant tea.

I asked, “Ryan, you didn’t bring any Western food for yourself?”

“I’m happy to eat whatever you do.” He smiled.

Ryan made a signal to the boatman to cast off. I felt the boat swaying gently in the water. At first the constant motion reminded me of my unstable life, but then as I relaxed I found it soothing. Neither of us spoke as we savored the delicious dishes and appreciated the scenery. Like a pair of embroidery scissors, our boat cut through the turquoise lake scattered with leaves and pink petals. Here and there white pagodas stood like lumbering warrior women standing guard over the ancient city.

I turned back to look at the lake. In the distance boats drifted slowly along, their turquoise roofs matching the sky and water. Beside us whiskered carp swam, perhaps hoping for crumbs thrown over by passengers.

Ryan’s gentle voice rose next to my ear. “Spring Swallow, see how the fishes are happy?”

I replied, feeling very clever, “You’re not the fishes, so how do you know that they’re happy?”

“I’m not you,” he smiled mischievously, “so I don’t know if you know the fishes are happy. But you’re not me, so how do you know that I don’t know that the fishes are happy?”

Of course I knew Zhuangzi’s famous dialogue because Father Edwin had taught it to me—so I assumed Ryan learned it from him too.

Ryan gently put an arm around my shoulder. “All right, let’s be as happy together as the fishes.”

So we stared at the happy fishes wagging their tails and blowing bubbles, which now looked to me like question marks. Perhaps they were asking, “Young miss, what are you doing here with this white ghost?”

Just then, we felt a few drops from an overhead cloud. Then a much larger boat passed next to us. It was painted lavishly with pleasing floral patterns. In the back was a wide deck, while in front was a cabin, its large windows decorated with embroidered curtains and silk tassels. Outside under a canopy sat three girls, elaborately made up and wearing colorful silk gowns. Silver hairpins held their hair up in buns. Next to them were several men, one in an expensively tailored business suit, the others in traditional Chinese gowns. The drizzle veiled the girls’ faces, rendering them beautiful and mysterious, like immortals from a high mountain far, far away.

Ryan looked intrigued. “It seems we are about to be treated to a concert!”

“Good that we’re going to hear some free music,” I answered nonchalantly.

On the nearby boat a slick-looking middle-aged man cast an obsequious look at his important-looking guests. His voice carried to us across the water.

“Honorable gentlemen,” he said with an ingratiating tone, “Miss Dingdong is going to sing for you an excerpt from the Peking opera
A Tale from the West Pavilion.
”

The rich men’s eyes, like little beggars’ hands, kept searching the girls’ faces and bodies. Suddenly I realized what this was—a “pleasure boat.” A floating whorehouse.

I’d never seen one before, but I had heard about them. The girls on these boats were called
liuying,
“drifting orioles,” or drifting prostitutes. Because they entertained on boats and didn’t have a fixed residence, they were looked down upon. The lucky ones might save enough money so that one day they could afford a home and a stable life.

Ryan’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “It must be nice for the girls to perform on such a beautiful boat with such a respectable audience.”

I didn’t have the heart to deflate a naïve foreigner’s illusion.

The “host” spoke again, his voice betraying years of heavy drinking and smoking. “Gentlemen, as you know, the
Tale from the West Pavilion
is about undying love. The heroine Yingying and the young scholar fell in love at first sight at a temple. This happened a thousand years ago in the Tang dynasty. No marriage would be possible without a matchmaker and the approval of one’s parents. However, because of Yingying and Zhang Sheng’s true love, their maid helped them to escape the feudal system and finally marry.”

“All right”—he made a sweeping gesture—“now let’s enjoy some beautiful music from our equally beautiful girls. Miss Dingdong’s voice is heavenly, I can guarantee it will make your ear oil flow.”

To enthusiastic applause, a girl wearing an embroidered turquoise
cheongsam
began to play a sentimental tune on the flute, her slender fingers fluttering back and forth like butterflies. A girl in red earnestly plucked the four strings of her
pipa.
The prettiest—Miss Dingdong, I assumed—breathed out a melody as she gestured with one hand and clicked wooden clappers with another. The soft music and the slight drizzle over the misty lake gave everything a dreamy quality. Cool breeze swayed the girls’ hair and dresses. One could imagine that they were fairies descending onto this dusty world to soothe us mortals with heavenly music.

The song was about the bittersweet nature of life, but Ryan, oblivious to the lyrics’ meaning, listened happily with his body swaying to the music.

I guessed things with Ryan and me would be fine. Anyway, what more bad luck could there be? I believed I was finally having some good luck by marrying Ryan. Before I could stop him, he waved to the other boat and, to our surprise, the girls waved back. But the men cast us annoyed looks, probably uncomfortable being observed.

I turned my head away from these women with their misery wrapped in luxury. Likely they were village girls whose looks had drawn the attention of gangsters who had kidnapped them to be entertainers and sex slaves. It occurred to me that they would be surprised if they knew that the foreigner next to me was not a paying customer but my husband.