Three Souls (31 page)
T
he moment I was certain of my pregnancy, I told Baizhen. Not because it would make him happy, but because the news would allow me to sleep undisturbed, free to dream and worry about Hanchin alone. The news raised cries of joy in the main house. Again my mother-in-law took me around the corner to the clinic. After the doctor had placed his fingers on my various pulse points and consulted some charts, he proclaimed my second pregnancy easier to read than the first.
“There are very strong indications that you’re carrying a boy,” he said, nodding.
When we returned home, Jia Po closed the door to Gong Gong’s study and remained in there for a while. Dali reported to Little Ming, who reported to me, that after a long argument, Jia Po had come out of the room looking victorious.
The next day, Bookseller Wang paid a visit to Gong Gong. They disappeared into the library and, after an hour, Wang left with several volumes tucked in his shoulder bag. A week later, Wang visited us again. He had gone to Hangchow, a city known for its love of literature. There, Gong Gong’s rare books had sold for more than Jia Po’s gold-and-jade bracelets. Gong Gong grumbled that they hadn’t fetched anywhere near as much as what he had paid originally, but in the face of Jia Po’s new determination, he appeared resigned to the eventual loss of his library.
The prospect of a grandson cheered him up considerably, however, and he teased Baizhen with good humour.
“Had we known that a period of absence was all it took to make you potent, we would have sent you away to Shanghai years ago!”
Baizhen looked at me, pleased and embarrassed. I looked away, an exasperated expression on my face that I didn’t bother to conceal. Once more I had become the most pampered member of the household, and if I was irritable or morose, even Jia Po excused my behaviour.
“By this time of the year it should be cooler. No wonder you’re out of sorts. I’d bring you more chrysanthemum tea, but you mustn’t have more than three cups a day. Too much of its cooling properties might affect the balance of
qi
for the baby.”
I didn’t want chrysanthemum tea. I wanted news of Hanchin.
I wanted him to know I was carrying his child.
***
Hanchin’s child?
But where’s my baby? Did I die in childbirth? Is that how it happened?
We can’t tell you. In any case, we don’t know everything, not yet,
my
yin
soul murmurs.
But dying in childbirth doesn’t seem right,
I muse.
Surely I would remember giving birth again. And I haven’t heard any sounds to suggest there’s a baby in this house. Weilan was the only child at my funeral.
Hush, just wait,
says my
yang
soul.
Let your memories unfold and we can all find out what happened.
There aren’t many more memories left,
my
hun
soul says. There is a hint of melancholy in its shimmering light.
Then my souls guide me back to the stream of memories, which now flow thick and dense, more quickly than before.
***
Once I left to join Hanchin, I’d be cut off from my family. Even Gaoyin would disown me. But I was more impatient than ever to get away, to be with Hanchin when our child was born. Would I bring Weilan with me?
I wrote to Gaoyin to say I was expecting again. This was the first letter I’d written her in weeks. In careful, proud brushstrokes, Baizhen wrote a short letter to Changyin:
Soon, you will have a new nephew.
Stepmother, as considerate as ever, sent a package of flannel fabric for baby clothes.
We received a telegram from Tongyin. My second brother was coming to Pinghu on behalf of the family to offer gifts and congratulations. This was very odd. If Changyin didn’t trust the postal system, all he had to do was send one of the servants by train. Tongyin must have volunteered. But Pinghu was bereft of nightlife and fashionable society, so I couldn’t fathom why he would do this.
On the day Tongyin arrived I was feeling particularly irritable and refused to get out of bed. “I’ll get up for supper. I can see him then,” I said, rolling over and turning my back to Baizhen.
“Of course, Wife,” he said, stroking my hair. “Your brother understands your condition. I’ll return to the main house and chat with him.”
“Mama, should I bring a cold towel for your forehead?” Weilan had appointed herself my nurse, though her performance was erratic.
“No, Small Bird. Just let Mama get some sleep this afternoon. Ask Little Ming to take you with her when she goes out to the market.”
“Little Ming has a bad tummy again. Dali’s going to market instead.”
“Then go out with Dali. Go get some fresh air.”
The house and small courtyard emptied of people and noise. I knew the rest of the family and servants were doing their best to stay away from our house, keeping as quiet as possible while I slept, the way we did whenever Gong Gong and Jia Po took their naps. The shuttered windows sent bright bars of sunlight onto the wide-planked floors and my pillowcase held the soothing fragrance of English lavender, but I remained wide awake, my mind busy, my heart in turmoil.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Hanchin. I turned my face in to my pillow and fingered its crocheted edges, then reached deep inside the pillowcase and pulled out a green plaid handkerchief, all I had of my beloved.
But now I also had his child. I wanted it to be his child.
What choice did I have but to be patient?
***
I hadn’t seen Tongyin since Father’s funeral two years ago. His face had filled out, as had his slim frame. Instead of his usual three-piece suit, he wore a traditional
changshan
gown over grey flannel trousers, no doubt in deference to Gong Gong and Baizhen, both of whom still dressed traditionally. At dinner I said almost nothing to him.
Tongyin was at his most charming. He admired our table, for Jia Po had brought out the fine porcelain from her dowry, delicately patterned with a lotus motif. He praised Old Kwan’s cooking and ate heartily: tiny river shrimp sautéed with peas, a thick fish soup, cabbage braised with shreds of dried scallops, an entire chicken stuffed with sticky rice and baked in lotus leaves. We would eat nothing but rice and vegetables for a month after this. Our wine cups were filled with French cognac my brother had brought as a gift to Gong Gong and Baizhen.
“You’re blooming, Third Sister,” he said, lifting his cup in my direction. “The impertinent schoolgirl is now a beautiful mother.”
“She still keeps up with world events,” Baizhen said. “Your eldest sister sends us newspapers every month and Leiyin reads them all.”
Gong Gong interjected. “We all read and benefit from your family’s knowledge of current events. Tell us what you think of the Encirclement Campaigns, honoured kin.”
“You’re speaking to the least informed member of the family.” Tongyin inclined his head modestly. “If you’re reading all the news, you already know more than I.”
“You’re too modest.” I could see Gong Gong was pleased with Tongyin’s self-deprecating reply. “You would hear more news just standing on the street corners of Shanghai than we’d get from a month of reading the papers. Is there any consensus on the outcome of the battles in Jiangxi province?”
“The news is good, very good. By all accounts our Nationalist forces are winning the Fifth Encirclement Campaign. Soon Mao’s army will be in a noose they can’t escape. We hear that large numbers of Communist agents and agitators are going into hiding, unsure of what to do next or where to take their orders from. It will be a rout, an absolute rout.”
Tongyin was being a perfect guest, but I could tell that beneath the pleasantries he was impatient, on edge.
After dinner, Jia Po proposed a game of
mah-jong.
It pleased her to have someone new at the table. Gong Gong excused himself; he never enjoyed playing. The rest of us sat down at the felt-topped table and opened the case of ivory tiles. We played for toothpicks because Jia Po refused to gamble with real cash. Tongyin kept the conversation lively with gossip about Shanghai society matrons who ran high-stakes
mah-jong
games.
“Mrs. Goh always won. But then her
mah-jong
partners began to notice things,” he said, of one prominent hostess. “In particular, how the maid offering snacks would circle the table and place a few sunflower seeds or dried plums beside Mrs. Goh’s teacup every now and then. Unlike the other ladies, Mrs. Goh never helped herself to any snacks. Her maid always put something down for her.”
“So did her friends accuse her of cheating?” asked Jia Po, fascinated.
“No, not at all. They couldn’t, not without causing her to lose face. Eventually they said it was unfair for her to host all the
mah-jong
parties and that they should rotate among their homes. She knew she’d been caught but since no one had accused her openly, everyone managed to save face. When it was Mrs. Goh’s turn to host again, the maid no longer hovered over the game.”
By the end of four hands, Jia Po was giggling. A little more wine and Tongyin had talked her into another round. Baizhen, who had been cheerful since the announcement of my pregnancy, needed no encouragement to down more cognac. It didn’t worry me to see Baizhen drink. It meant he would fall into his own bed tipsy and happy, to sleep soundly until late morning. He wouldn’t come to my room to fuss or make sure I was comfortable before going to his own room for the night.
At the end of the second round, Jia Po stood up.
“That’s as much excitement as I can take. It’s already ten o’clock. What a night, what a night! Ah, if only we entertained such amiable company more often!”
Tongyin bowed to her. “If only my commitments allowed me to visit more often.”
She tapped his arm playfully with her folded fan. “No need to be polite, there’s nothing in this town to bring you here except duty and affection for your sister.”
She turned to leave, a little unsteady on her feet. Baizhen sprang up.
“Ma, let me help you to your room.” Together, they made their way out in slow, deliberate steps.
Alone at last, Tongyin and I looked at each other. My guard remained up.
“Well, Little Sister. Motherhood suits you well, yes, very well.”
“Thank you for being so kind to my mother-in-law. I’m sorry to be unsociable, but I’m having rather a difficult pregnancy and I’m tired. Good night.”
“Wait, Sister. We must talk. In private.”
“Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of my husband tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t want your husband to hear this. Meet me at the pavilion at one o’clock. It’s about Yen Hanchin.”
He turned on his heel, not waiting for my answer.
***
Was it possible that Tongyin was the courier for the manifesto? After all, he’d been friends with Hanchin, had once given his support to Hanchin’s work. But he was also in business with Cha Zhiming. I couldn’t figure it out.
I lay awake, my eyes fixed on the wall clock. At a few minutes before one, I pulled a woollen coat over my nightgown. The sky was clear and the moon so bright I didn’t need a lamp to find my way to the main courtyard. A light wind rattled through the bamboo stalks, but the trembling in my hands had nothing to do with the chilly air. When I emerged from the bamboo grove the smell of cigarette smoke told me that Tongyin was already at the pavilion. He was leaning against a post, his face tilted toward the moon.He had changed into Western clothes, a pullover and corduroy trousers.
“I thought that could be our excuse, if we are discovered,” he said, pointing his cigarette at the bright circle overhead. “I’d say I came to admire the moon and found you here, a fellow insomniac.”
“What do you want to talk about, Second Brother?” I didn’t have to pretend much to sound annoyed. “I’m pregnant and sleepy.”
“Let’s come straight to it then. I need to know where Hanchin has gone.”
“How would I know?” I was startled by this question, and the surprise in my voice was genuine.
“You read the papers, Leiyin. You know he’s on the run. He was hiding in Pinghu.”
“In
this
backwater town?” I filled my words with doubt and scorn.
Tongyin nodded. “Yes, but by the time I realized it, he’d moved on. Where did he go?”
“Why are you asking me? The last time I had anything to do with Hanchin was when I lived at home.”
His hand gripped the railing. “Are you still in love with him? Is that why you won’t tell me?”
Feigned apathy was my best ally. “Second Brother, I’m married and a mother.”
“Hanchin asked about you not so long ago, Third Sister, about where you lived. That’s how I guessed he’d found his way here, to this town.”
“Well, if he came here, it wasn’t to see me.” Facing away from the moonlight, it was easier to hide my true reaction.
“Hanchin was here, Third Sister.” My brother’s voice was low and urgent. “He needed someone he could count on, but who wasn’t a known supporter of the Communist cause. A place to hide, someone to help him buy train tickets. I don’t care what you did for him, just tell me where he is now.”
“I don’t know anything except for what I’ve read in the papers. And why are you mixed up in any of this anyway?” I snapped.
“I want to protect you, Third Sister. When they told me to get on Hanchin’s trail, I realized he might be here because of you. But I never said anything to them about you. I let them assume he had other contacts here.”
“Who is ‘them’?” I asked, exasperated.
“The Nationalist secret police.”
My breath stopped. “And how are you mixed up with them?”
He gripped my shoulders. His handsome features were taut, anxious.
“Father used to invite Hanchin to our home, so now our family’s under suspicion. The Nationalists can make a case for us being Communist sympathizers. But I told Cha Zhiming I would find Hanchin. If I can help them find Hanchin, nothing happens to us. I’m protecting you. And our family.”