Three Souls (12 page)

“Who was that woman, Stepmother?” I had the feeling something important had just happened.

“That was Old Madame Cha’s fortune teller. She came about Fei-Fei’s horoscope.”

“Oh, Stepmother!” I wailed. “Why are you going ahead with all these rituals? I thought you were going to prevent this marriage.”

“Third Stepdaughter, please don’t interrupt me. Old Madame Cha has asked her fortune teller to cast the horoscopes, but of course she must also allow us to consult with the woman.”

Sueyin began to laugh. “Oh, Stepmother, that’s brilliant. How is the fortune teller going to explain the nature of the conflict?”

“What’s brilliant?” I was beginning to feel as though my stepmother and older sisters shared far more than I had suspected.

“Fei-Fei was born in the year of the Rat and the boy is a Goat, potentially a good match,” Stepmother said. “But the fortune teller looked more deeply into Fei-Fei’s birth hour and found a strong risk of the five elements disrupting the three harmonies, all pointing to an unproductive union.”

“So lots of quarrelling and no babies,” said Sueyin. “Was it an expensive bribe?”

“Not when you consider Fei-Fei’s happiness. By the way, your father will never know.”

Now I could give way to feelings of relief and admiration.

“How did you think of this ruse, Stepmother?” I asked.

“When you’re a merchant’s daughter, you know that everything and everyone has a price. Now then”—her tone became brisk—“why did you come to see me?”

Sueyin pulled a heavy leather pouch out of her handbag and put it on the table.

“Every week the Judge’s concubines and I go to see him in his study,” Sueyin said. “He hands us our weekly allowance and his secretary writes it all down in a ledger.”

Stepmother didn’t bother counting the coins, just held the pouch in her hand, testing its weight.

“How much does he give you?”

“I get twenty silver
yuan.
Nearly twice what the other women receive. I’ve spent nothing so far.”

“So you’ve already saved nearly two hundred
yuan
in silver?”

“Yes.”

A pause. Stepmother’s look of sympathy, Sueyin’s shrug.

“You should exchange these for gold, Second Stepdaughter.”

“Stepmother, can you do the exchange and keep them for me?”

“Of course. We can review your accounts once a month. I’ll keep a ledger and show you how much gold you own.”

“But, Sueyin,” I said, “why don’t you deposit the money in the bank account Father gave you? Your wedding gift.”

“Someone in that house might snoop and find my bank book. Anyway, I don’t have a bank account. Father wasn’t as generous with a second daughter as he was with Eldest Sister.”

“That’s not the only reason you don’t have your own bank account, Second Stepdaughter. Your father’s been buying property in other countries to get our assets out of China. The family’s cash reserves aren’t what they used to be.”

***

You know,
I say to my souls,
the older servants, the ones whose families had been with ours for several generations, they looked down on Stepmother. Head Servant Lu, for example.

My
yang
soul nods his head.
He served her reluctantly because her father was only a cloth merchant.

But she was so well-informed. So clever and ingenious.

And you seem so surprised at this.
My
yin
soul’s laughter tinkles.

Even more astounding, you managed to live nearly eighteen years in that home without realizing how much your older sisters relied on Stepmother’s advice.
My
hun
soul’s words make me feel as foolish as I’d felt on that day in the small sitting room, with my new appreciation of Stepmother’s intelligence and quiet competence.

Perhaps I should have asked Stepmother’s advice about university and how best to persuade Father.

From my souls, I detect a similar regret.

***

My escape plan began with a letter. I wrote to Hangchow Women’s University declining their scholarship. I showed this to Father. Then I returned to my room, tore up the sheet of paper, and placed a different letter in the envelope. This one thanked the principal of the college for the scholarship and provided my arrival date. I sealed the envelope and placed it on the silver letter tray by the front door.

Next, Gaoyin invited me to stay with her in Shanghai. Her letter, written on beautiful cream stationery, proposed a visit of two weeks at the end of the summer. As we had expected, Father agreed, pleased I had gotten over my whim about attending university.

Now I felt I could meet Hanchin’s eyes the next time I saw him, buoyed by the knowledge that I had kept up my end of our unspoken agreement. As for Nanmei, we agreed that I would write to her as soon as I was safely at university in Hangchow.

“But I don’t think you should defy your father like this,” she said, a crease in her forehead. “My father is ten times more lenient than yours but I’d never dare disobey him outright.”

“What would you do, then?”

“Find some other way. I don’t know what, but not this.”

“My happiness depends on this. My career and my future with Hanchin. You know that, Nanmei.”

***

Father’s salons were finished for the summer, but something new replaced them. Liu Tienzhen announced his first soiree, then threw himself enthusiastically into this new endeavour. A dozen at a time, he invited film directors, screenwriters, actors, and actresses. Since the film industry was based in Shanghai, his invitations included train fare to Changchow and accommodations at the city’s finest hotel.

Sueyin organized the soirees. My dear Sueyin, who always tried to see the best in every situation, seemed genuinely relieved at this turn of events. It was an activity that kept her husband busy and gave them something to talk about. When my brothers and I attended the first soiree, we found Tienzhen effusive in his praise for my sister.

“My wife organized everything. The menu, the décor, even the special cocktails. She arranged it all so well.” He lowered his voice. “And you should just hear how the directors plead with her to star in their films. Of course she is the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Your husband is very proud of you, Second Sister,” said Changyin as Tienzhen turned away to greet another guest.

“He enjoyed the planning too. I don’t think he’s ever organized anything before. Come to the drawing room now. One of the directors has a new script and some of the actors have volunteered to do a dramatic reading.”

Sueyin moved through the crowd like a swan. She wore a simple dress of pale green, a rope of pearls doubled around her neck. She was so elegant, cool as celadon porcelain. Around her, the starlets in their bright lipstick and showy dresses were like imitation cloisonné.

Looking over the collection of actors, I thought how louche and superficial they seemed when compared to Hanchin. I hadn’t seen him since the wedding and wondered whether there was a way for me to give Nanny Qiu the slip one day while I was visiting Nanmei. After all, hadn’t Anna Karenina employed ruses to tryst with Vronsky? I just had to see Hanchin again. Every time I thought of him, I could feel his arms around me, his lips brushing against my neck. His hand moving slowly down my back.

Then Tongyin remarked, “You know, Hanchin says that since so many people are illiterate, the film industry should take some responsibility for educating the masses. I’ll ask Second Brother-in-Law to invite Hanchin to the next soiree.”

***

Sueyin hosted the second soiree in the small dining hall that had been the children’s dining room at her wedding. She had transformed it into a small theatre with a low stage at one end where actors could perform short scenes. Café tables filled the rest of the room, giving it the look of an intimate restaurant. Servants threaded their way among the guests, offering food and refilling drinks. Overhead fans spun at full speed but did little to dispel the heat.

My only reason for being there was to see Hanchin. After exchanging with him the briefest of greetings at the start of the evening, I hadn’t approached him, not once. I didn’t trust myself to stand too close to him. I couldn’t have my family suspect our attachment when I was so close to my goal of escaping from home. Yet it was pure bliss to glance in his direction and, occasionally, to see him glance back.

Tonight, most unusually, Tongyin wasn’t attached to Hanchin like a limpet on a river rock. Half a dozen young actors surrounded my brother. From the admiring glances they cast at the table where Hanchin sat politely listening to the man next to him, I could tell that although Tongyin wasn’t beside his idol, he was busy promoting Hanchin’s accomplishments.

I made my way across the room toward Sueyin, passing through the eddies of conversation at each table, the voices louder than at Father’s salons.

“If you ask me, there’s only one reason that girl has any lines of dialogue in the new film Deng’s directing.” A young woman, her mascara already smudged, said this to her companion without any attempt to lower her voice. They were both staring in Hanchin’s direction. The young man with him must have been Deng.

“I think you should worry about something else,” said her companion. “Ever since Yin Mingzhou starred in
The Sea Oath,
directors have been trying to turn society ladies into actresses. Look at Chou over there, flattering Liu Tienzhen’s wife. She’s beautiful, of course, but can she act?”

“Liu Tienzhen would fund the production.” The woman gave a resigned shrug of her padded shoulders. “So does it matter if she can’t?”

At the next table, an intense exchange between two middle-aged men:

“If you’re going to pitch a screenplay that features extramarital affairs or career women, don’t bother going to Mingxing Studios. They only do family epics, the more Confucian, the better.”

“But those are falling out of fashion. Mingxing is behind the times. I’ll tell them this film could revive their popularity.”

Sueyin and Tienzhen shared a small table with an older man who gestured dramatically as he spoke, undoubtedly yet another director or writer pleading with Sueyin to star in his next venture. I gave up any chance of quiet conversation with my sister. Soon the dramatic readings would begin.

Turning around for another look at Hanchin, I saw that the young director he’d been speaking with was gone. Hanchin now stood outside the open doors of the hall, under the wide overhang that shaded the veranda. He strolled to the end of the veranda and down the steps, vanishing along the path that led to the zigzag bridge and the pavilion on the little island.

The pavilion’s carved shutters were partially open and the air was oppressively hot. But I had no desire to throw the panels farther open even though my linen dress was wilted, a damp panel against my back. Hanchin was sitting in the dim light, but stood up when I entered.

“Didn’t you want to chat with those actors, Leiyin?”

“They’re far more interested in meeting Sueyin.”

“Not all. Some were talking to Tongyin.”

“There was a director who asked him to point you out.”

“Ah, yes. Deng Fuyang. He thought I was the author of
Anna Karenina.
He was most perturbed to discover I’m only the translator. But now he wants me to write the screenplay.”

“Well, you could do that.” My hands felt damp, too hot. “I’m sure you would do a wonderful job.”

He smiled and moved closer. “So you think I should give up poetry and educational reform for a film career instead?”

“Oh, no, Hanchin. I didn’t mean that at all, I’m sorry.”

“I’m teasing, you know.”

When would I ever learn to banter, to flirt with him?

“So do serious young women your age give educational reform much thought?”

“Oh, yes, Hanchin. Lots of my classmates share your convictions. Wang Nanmei, for example, plans to open a free school after she graduates from university. And I want to teach in a farming village . . .” I was babbling now.

“I was teasing you again, about being serious.”

He moved even closer. The clean fragrance of sandalwood, the faintest odour of sweat. I could have stood there forever inhaling that scent. This time, he kissed my lips, but only lightly, brushing them with his own before kissing my cheeks, my forehead, the side of my neck. I stood tense and silent while his hands moved across my back and hips, caressed my buttocks. I locked my knees, fearing they might give way and cause me to collapse against him, for if I were to press my body to his, I would never let go.

I heard a low gasp as his tongue delicately touched my earlobe and realized it was my own breath. How could this be anything but true love, to render me so physically helpless and ecstatic at the same time? Inside the pavilion, only faint light from the house disturbed the darkness. He stepped away from me, holding on to my shoulders.

“We must be careful of your reputation. I’ll leave first. Then you can go back to the party.”

“No, Hanchin. Please, stay a little longer.” My words were barely audible, my throat thick.

But he was gone. I stayed in the dark pavilion until my heartbeat finally calmed and the scent of sandalwood faded away.

***

I felt like such a fool the next day, for I had forgotten to tell Hanchin I would be leaving for Hangchow the following week. I wrote him a brief letter, a very proper and formal one with no mention of our heated moments in the pavilion. It was just another letter from a student to the editor of the column:

I leave for Hangchow next week, to begin my training as a teacher. After graduation, I hope to put into action the principles you have written about so often and so eloquently. I will continue to read your column and send in questions.

Nanmei, as usual, agreed to be my courier.

“It’s no trouble at all, Leiyin. There’s no excitement in my life. I’m living vicariously through your romance and daring escapades!” she teased.

“One day you’ll meet someone who you just know is your soulmate,” I assured her. “Perhaps when you get to Soochow.”