Little Reunions Read online

  As she ate, Audrey read a book that was balanced on her lap. She was Shanghainese but here the lingua franca was either English or Cantonese. Mainlanders shunned speaking Mandarin and Shanghainese in public, as it seemed impolite and suggested they had something to hide. Julie knew Audrey’s surname was Sun but didn’t know her Chinese given name.

  Audrey looked up from her book and saw Julie. “Where’s Bebe?”

  “When I came down she was about to get up.”

  “We’re not going to wait for anybody today,” declared Audrey sternly. Her pretty doe eyes and heart-shaped face were framed by an upwardly fluffed coiffure.

  “Has the driver arrived?” a voice asked in Cantonese.

  Ruby entered in a rush, hesitated a moment, then sat near Julie. Everyone was aware that she would not sit with Jenny. The two girls who had transferred from the mainland were not on speaking terms. Julie only knew their English names. Ruby’s hair was cut very short. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles adorned her rosy, round face. She was a large girl and usually wore a blue cotton gown, the trademark of the national schools in China known for austerity and patriotism.

  Jenny was from the remote northwest of China and wore her hair braided in two pigtails. She had a pretty oval face, but her yellow skin reminded people of desert sands. She always wore a blue cotton gown as well, though a few months after arriving she bought a bright blue wool overcoat with red and white specks. She wore it indoors and even at mealtimes.

  “When I wear this coat, I look like a Victoria University student,” she said, mocking herself. “And when I don’t wear it, I don’t look like a Victoria University student.”

  Before long, Jenny’s coat began to exude a strong odor of garlic, discernible even when it was hanging on a coat hook. This was rather mysterious, because although the sisters cooked rustic French dishes, they respected the wishes of the majority and did not use any garlic, nor did Jenny ever buy food for herself.

  Jenny was quite frugal, but she subscribed to a newspaper because the dormitory only provided the English paper—the South China Morning Post. Ruby also subscribed to a newspaper, which she eagerly devoured every day after classes. Occasionally Jenny would pound the table and, standing with one foot on a chair, slap her knee and whoop when news of territory lost or recaptured was reported. The place-names she shouted out suggested the war had probably reached Hunan Province. Her tone of voice and gestures resembled an old man’s. Perhaps she was influenced by her father in her enthusiasm for news about China, even though she often said he wanted her to be in this peaceful environment so she could concentrate on her studies.

  One day after class, Julie and Bebe were dawdling downstairs, waiting for food to be served in the refectory. Sister Thérèse, a Cantonese nun, was ironing clothes. Bebe set a cotton print tea cozy on her head like a Napoleonic military hat, and pointing at Sister Thérèse, sang a line from Gilbert and Sullivan’s opera HMS Pinafore:

  Refrain, audacious tart, your suit from pressing.

  Bebe’s double entendre was intended to put an end to Sister Thérèse’s ironing and badger her to go upstairs and light the gas heater for the bath.

  “Ah-Bebe, Ah-Bebe,” Sister Thérèse called out, in the Cantonese manner of adding “Ah” before a first name.

  Also in the room was Marie, whom Sister Thérèse called Ah-Malee. Marie was a Cantonese girl sent from an orphanage overseen by the convent to work as a maid in the school. Marie was tall and skinny with yellowish skin and wore a pair of black-framed glasses.

  Marie twittered in a low voice, pleading with Bebe to ask Ruby and Audrey on her behalf if they wanted her to do some washing for them. She wanted to make a little pocket money to buy pictures of saints and purchase fabric to make a cape for the statue of the Virgin Mary.

  Bebe told Julie that Marie had already accumulated quite a few likenesses of saints.

  “She’s happy,” said Bebe in Marie’s defense. “She knows that everything will be taken care of, so she doesn’t need to worry. It’s not easy to get into a convent. You have to pay some money, like a dowry, as if you are married to Jesus.”

  Marie pestered Bebe to ask Ruby then and there, but eventually gave up and went upstairs to ask Sister Henri for the key so she could heat the bathwater. Bebe went with her.

  Julie was reading a novel. Her eyes strayed from her book and skimmed over the newspaper Jenny was reading. Jenny caught her glance. She smiled and slid a sheet of the newspaper toward Julie.

  Julie felt a little embarrassed. “I don’t read newspapers,” she said. Then, in an attempt to defend herself, added, “Except for the movie advertisements.”

  Jenny continued to smile but did not respond.

  “Soeur Thérèse … ,” A voice in French pierced the silence from upstairs.

  Jenny was folding the newspapers scattered about on a dining table in the large, dimly lit refectory. She picked up one newspaper and glanced at the headlines. “This is traitorous!” she suddenly bellowed, and began to tear the pages apart.

  Ruby jumped up and extended her heavy arms across the table to rescue her newspaper. The cuffs of her blue coat went up to her elbows and the shape of her bulging bosom was obvious even though covered by her sack-like coat. But she was not fast enough. The tug-of-war ended with the newspaper being torn apart.

  It happened too fast for Julie to react, even though she was sitting next to Jenny. It took a while for the words to sink in, just like a lightning bolt arriving faster than a thunderclap.

  “Don’t you dare defame the Peace Movement!” barked Ruby, in a husky masculine voice. Julie was surprised to hear Ruby speak in Mandarin like that. Ruby’s Mandarin was not bad, though she had a discernible accent. But she sounded different because she was ordinarily a quiet girl, and like most people, when she spoke English she spoke softly.

  “Traitor newspaper! It’s all claptrap!”

  “That’s my paper! Don’t you dare tear it!”

  Jenny raised her eyebrows in a fury. She folded the newspaper, attempting to tear it further but failed because the bundle was now too thick. In an instant, Ruby snatched away half of the paper. Jenny continued to tear her half. Ruby was about to hit Jenny but then hesitated. Instead, she grabbed what she could of her newspaper and stormed out.

  Julie related the drama to Bebe, and through Bebe, it became a talking point among the girls. The reason for the incident was revealed later when Audrey learned that Ruby was the niece of Wang Ching-wei, who had played an important role in the Peace Movement since the 1930s and was considered a traitor by many for his collaboration with the Japanese.

  In British Hong Kong, the niece of Wang Ching-wei was not as worthy of attention as the niece of Sir Robert Ho Tung, an influential Hong Kong businessman. And there were two of his nieces in the school. But Audrey, being Shanghainese, had a different perspective. Ruby was a regular visitor to Audrey’s room. Once Julie passed Audrey’s door and saw Ruby wrestling with Sally on the bed. Ruby was something of a tomboy and delighted in competitions of strength.

  The dormitory rooms were divided by thin wooden boards into three cubicles, one bright and two dark. Audrey occupied a dark cubicle so she usually kept the swinging doors open to let air and light in. When Julie walked by her door late at night, she often saw Audrey studying while holding a skull in one hand like a soccer player holding a ball. Wrapped in a royal-blue quilted satin bathrobe, her hair draped over her shoulders, and a skeleton standing behind her in the dim light, Audrey looked like a witch as she mumbled her lessons to herself.

  Jenny had a regular visitor from her hometown. His complexion was dark and he was quite short and skinny. He wore a Western suit and had black-framed spectacles. On first seeing him, most people would instinctively avert their eyes, as though to avoid embarrassing a disabled person. Jenny said he was her father’s friend.

  Once, after he had left, Sister Henri asked in jest, “Jenny’s Mr. Wei has gone?”

  Jenny stopped on the staircase, turned her head a
nd giggled. “Mr. Wei is a married man, sister.”

  But henceforth Sister Henri continued to refer to the man as Jenny’s Mr. Wei. The only other person who was part of this general category was Audrey’s Mr. Lee, a classmate to whom she was practically engaged.

  Jenny had stayed with Mr. Wei’s family for several weeks, temporarily changing her status to a day student. She explained that Mr. Wei’s parents, both of whom lived in Hong Kong, were especially fond of her. They prepared hometown cuisine for her and spoiled her terribly. It was unclear whether their daughter-in-law had not accompanied them to Hong Kong in the first place or had already returned to their hometown.

  After that, Jenny was invited to stay with the family every once in a while. She maintained cordial relations with the residents of the dormitory, and no one said anything about the matter. A month went by and she coyly commented, “This hometown cuisine has made me quite plump.”

  “People from her hometown are very important to her,” commented Bebe. The northwest of China was indeed far away, but Bebe was implying that Jenny was a small-town girl.

  “She’s just like a character in a Chang Hen-shui novel,” joked Julie, “with her pigtails and blue cotton Chinese gown… .”

  Having grown up in China, Bebe had watched many Chinese movies and local operas. She understood the reference and smiled.

  But it was hardly appropriate for a character from a Chang Hen-shui novel to move into the Wei household. Considering Mr. Wei’s appearance, there must be some sort of plot afoot. Who knows what the nuns were thinking, and Sister Henri continued her teasing about “Jenny’s Mr. Wei.”

  Hong Kong people had always regarded northerners as barbarians from beyond the pale of civilization. Jenny and the Wei family were not Catholics so there was no point in being overly concerned, and in any case, the two families were on friendly terms. Besides, the arrangement presented the school with a modest saving of meal expenses, which was just as welcome to the school as was the local students returning home every two or three days.

  Julie was the only student who didn’t return home, even for the summer holidays, thereby saving on travel expenses. The previous year Sister Luke had told her that the dormitory could not be kept running just for one student. She would take Julie to the convent where she was to teach two classes of English in the convent primary school. Julie would be provided with food and board there. Of course, this was because her marks had broken all records, but it was still a generous offer.

  One afternoon, before Julie had moved to the convent, Sister Henri called out from the ground floor, “Julie, someone is here to see you.”

  Sister Henri was talking to a guest who was leaning on the balustrade outside the refectory. It was Julie’s mother. Julie approached, smiling politely, and mumbled, “Second Aunt.” Luckily Sister Henri did not understand the appellation, otherwise she would have thought this family even more peculiar than she already did. Julie’s uncle—her father’s eldest brother—had no daughter of his own, so there was a verbal agreement that he adopt her. Consequently, Julie called her birth parents Second Aunt and Second Uncle, and since childhood found this arrangement liberating. Even her younger brother followed suit by calling their parents Second Aunt and Second Uncle. Julie followed her brother’s lead by calling her adoptive parents Eldest Aunt and Eldest Uncle, not mother and father.

  Sister Henri was aware that Julie’s parents had divorced, but as the Catholic Church did not recognize divorce, she did not address Julie’s mother as Mrs. Sheng or use her maiden name, Miss Pien—Sister Henri simply did not address her at all.

  In the midafternoon sunlight Julie’s mother appeared slightly haggard. Julie was momentarily stunned. Perhaps it was the new hairstyle—bouffant in the front and curled inward at the collar in the back—which made her appear thin.

  Julie’s mother dressed modestly in a teal green linen shirt and white canvas bell-bottom pants, probably because she was there to visit the school dormitory. After all, Julie was supposed to be an impecunious student.

  That day Sister Henri seemed somewhat distant. On previous occasions when Julie’s mother had visited, Sister Henri was most ebullient and even the usually stern-faced Miss Cheng, the administrator, was all smiles. Miss Cheng’s nickname, Automobile, referred to her stocky torso that seemed to lack a neck and her thick-lensed spectacles resembling headlights. On previous occasions Miss Cheng had been chatty, making light of Julie’s forgetfulness and imitating her pleading “I forget” in a squeaky voice.

  Julie’s father had only visited her at school once, when she attended the Liu Academy for Girls in Shanghai. Because Julie had not received a formal education, her mother first sent her to a school run by three women who were acquaintances of hers: a mother and her two daughters. They in turn had hired two teachers: an old man and Miss Lu.

  Her father visited during morning calisthenics. A dozen-odd girls of all ages were exercising on the school grounds. Miss Lu had not changed and was still wearing a yellow-striped padded cotton gown. A whistle on a black silk ribbon dangled on her chest. She had shoulder-length hair, and wispy bangs sat above her dainty face. With one hand holding her whistle the petite Miss Lu ran in place, shouting in a high-pitched voice, “Zuo jia, you jia, zuo jia, you jia …!” The Shanghainese speak rapidly so “Left, right, left, right” becomes “Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.”

  Julie’s father sported a white English pith helmet and wore hexagonal gold wire-framed spectacles. A breezy, light gray silk gown hung on his tall slender frame. He lightheartedly observed from the sidelines, perhaps standing a little too close as he seemed mildly embarrassed. After the class, Miss Lu did not come over to greet him. Several times when Julie was back at home, her father, reclining on his opium bed, asked all manner of things about Miss Lu and coyly inquired into her marital status.

  Julie’s mother always visited the school in the company of Julie’s third aunt, her father’s younger sister. Although her third aunt was no beauty, she followed the fashions of the day and was quite eye-catching. Bebe did not think Julie’s mother was pretty, but Julie had never heard Bebe say anyone was pretty. “There are many women of your mother’s type in Hong Kong,” Bebe remarked.

  Indeed, in Hong Kong her mother’s appearance was quite ordinary because she resembled all the other mixed-blood Cantonese. Sister Henri was Macanese, shorthand for Sino-Portuguese Eurasian. She had large black eyes, long eyelashes, and plodded slowly as she walked, having filled out in her middle age. Racial prejudice meant Sister Henri could not rise beyond the third-highest position of the dormitory staff.

  Sister Henri led the way to the refectory, which was deserted because of the summer holiday. It felt smaller than usual. Julie thought it a pity that not a single person was there to see her mother.

  “Go upstairs and show her around,” said Sister Henri, but refrained from accompanying mother and daughter, most likely to give them time alone to talk.

  Julie did not ask her mother when she had arrived. It was certainly several days prior, but to ask would be tantamount to complaining of not being informed earlier.

  “I arrived with Miss Hsiang and the others,” said Rachel. “It came up at the mah-jongg table. We decided to travel together. Nancy and her husband wanted to go, too. Miss Hsiang wanted to go sightseeing. They all said, ‘Let’s go together.’ It was decided, so I agreed to travel with them.” She chuckled, feigning she had no choice in the matter.

  Julie didn’t ask where her mother was going. She was clearly just passing through Hong Kong. Miss Hsiang had probably only ventured as far as Hong Kong for a holiday. Perhaps Nancy and her husband were on their way to Chungking. Many people wanted to leave Shanghai. Yet even before Shanghai had become the “Orphan Island” surrounded by a sea of Japanese forces, Rachel had lamented, “I’m stuck here in Shanghai and can’t go anywhere.”

  Julie was one of the reasons Rachel was stuck in Shanghai, and now after she had finally left Shanghai, there was a war in Eu
rope. Where else could she go?

  Julie did not expect her mother to reveal her ultimate destination. Thinking back, it appeared that even her mother’s traveling companions didn’t know, either, and she had obviously feared Julie would inadvertently spill the beans if privy to her itinerary.

  While upstairs, Rachel briefly glanced into Julie’s room from the doorway. “All right, then,” she said. “I had to attend to a few things and thought I’d look in on your dormitory on the way.”

  Julie did not ask about her third aunt.

  After they emerged from the refectory, Sister Henri came to see them out. The asphalt path became steeper as it wended down to the main road that traversed around the mountain. There were cream-colored concrete railings on both sides of the path. The sunlight had baked the red flowers in the blue ceramic flower pots, transforming them into little black fists, and had bleached the sea to a faded hue, like old blue linen drenched in sweat.

  “All right, then,” Rachel said in English, “you may come tomorrow. Do you know how to take the bus?”

  “Where are you staying?” asked Sister Henri, it suddenly dawning on her to inquire.

  “The Repulse Bay Hotel,” Rachel answered hesitantly.

  “Oh,” Sister Henri responded nonchalantly, “that’s a nice place.”

  The voices and countenances of the two women did not reveal what was on their minds. But as she walked beside them, Julie was mortified, knowing full well the Repulse Bay Hotel was the most expensive hotel in Hong Kong, yet her mother feigned financial hardship to take advantage of the convent and enable Julie to board for free over the summer.

  The three of them continued down the hill.

  “How did you come here?” Sister Henri asked to break the awkward silence.

  “In a friend’s automobile,” Rachel answered. Looking away, she spoke rapidly in a soft voice, as though she did not want to discuss the topic further.

  As soon as Sister Henri heard that she stopped in her tracks and did not continue down the path to see the visitor off.