Little Reunions Page 3

  Julie was reluctant to return to the convent with Sister Henri. She knew Sister Henri would not say anything to her if they walked back together, but she felt she really ought to see her mother along a little farther. Julie continued walking. She then realized that she would soon be able to see the road. If the car were parked on the nearer side she wouldn’t be able to see it from her current position. Sure enough, a vehicle was parked on the other side of the road. But of course it could belong to the household opposite the convent. Julie stopped.

  Perhaps it would be best, Julie thought, to stay on this spot smiling until her mother disappeared from view, though it still might appear that she was waiting to see who would open the car door for her mother if she had in fact arrived in that car. But if she immediately headed back, she might catch up with Sister Henri. After hesitating a moment, she turned and headed back. As she walked, Julie worried that Sister Henri would be watching her dawdle and think she was avoiding her.

  Fortunately, Sister Henri was nowhere to be seen.

  After that Julie went to Repulse Bay almost every day. One morning she came down to the refectory for breakfast. A parcel had been placed beside the solitary setting of a mug, a plate, and cutlery. She did not appear particularly excited. Who could have sent the parcel? Perhaps it is a dictionary. It resembles the shape of one of those long narrow dictionaries, though it is a little too long. Julie picked up the parcel and noticed some tattered, used banknotes visible where the yellow wrapping paper was torn. She was shocked.

  “Hai-m-hai nei ge? Is it yours?” asked Sister Thérèse in Cantonese. “Someone’s waiting for you to sign for it.”

  That much Cantonese Julie could understand.

  A little old man sauntered through the open refectory doors. Julie had never seen such a shabbily attired postman before. In Hong Kong, postmen did not wear green and she did not recognize his uniform at all, except for the gray mailbag slung over his shoulder.

  Cantonese men have unique features, and this old man resembled one in a classical Chinese painting, with a bony face and two thin wisps of black whiskers. The skinny man with long hair and particularly long eyebrows was the very image of longevity. He passed over the receipt and then the stub of a pencil with a look of immense self-satisfaction, as if he were saying, “If it weren’t for me… .”

  Julie waited until he left and there was no one around before she carefully untied the hemp string. The parcel contained a large bundle of cash and a letter. The signature belonged to Mr. Andrews. He addressed her as Miss Sheng, and went on to say that he knew her application for the scholarship was unsuccessful, and asked that she permit him to give her a small scholarship. He said that if her results were maintained she would certainly be awarded a full-fee-paying scholarship the next year.

  The parcel contained eight hundred Hong Kong dollars in total, and there were many tattered one-and five-dollar notes. Perhaps Mr. Andrews did not write a check in case word got out and people gossiped. To Julie the letter was a lifeline and she couldn’t wait to show her mother.

  Fortunately, Julie had been summoned to visit her mother that day, otherwise she’d have had to hold on to the news for another day or two. How would she survive that? It’s not something you can explain over the telephone.

  Heart aflutter, Julie felt as if she were flying in front of the bus like a colorful flag. When she arrived at Repulse Bay, Julie first told her mother about the money and then showed her the letter. The parcel, placed on the table in its original packaging, looked like a washer-woman’s bar of soap. For Julie, these were the most precious banknotes in the world—she could not bear the idea of depositing the money in a bank and receiving different banknotes upon withdrawal.

  Rachel read the letter carefully. “How can we possibly accept someone else’s money?” she said with an embarrassed smile. “It must be returned to him.”

  “No, Mr. Andrews is not that sort of person,” Julie muttered anxiously. “He’d be offended if the money were returned. He’d think … I’d misunderstood his intentions.” She paused, then added, “We have no contact out of class. He doesn’t even like me.”

  Rachel did not respond. After a while she mumbled, “Leave it here for the moment, then.”

  Julie folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. As she returned the envelope to her purse, she felt uneasy, fearing it appeared she had fallen in love with Mr. Andrews. The bar of soap, that large yellow bundle all alone on the table, was very conspicuous, but Julie took pains not to look at it as she walked around the room.

  Julie had thought she would be unable to endure staying silent about the good news for a day or two, but she had not anticipated the agony of keeping the news to herself for two days after she returned to school. She was afraid of going back to the Repulse Bay Hotel, thinking the money would still be there as long as she was not, since Rachel would not return the money to Mr. Andrews of her own accord. But then she thought it would be rude if she didn’t write a thank-you note. Mr. Andrews might think the money had been lost in the mail—probably embezzled by the postman—since it had been so carelessly wrapped.

  Julie knew the matter of the money wouldn’t arise immediately upon her arrival. While she and her mother took afternoon tea as usual, Nancy dropped in. Nancy’s olive complexion was perfect for sunbathing. Recently she had spent a lot of time at the beach and her skin had taken on a bronzed tan, the gleaming tan only rickshaw pullers have on their shoulders and backs, the tan only a few people can achieve by sunbathing. Complemented by her flaming-red lips and revealing outfit, she had a rather voluptuous appearance, despite her flat face and thin figure. Nancy greeted Julie with her customary enthusiasm: “Hi, Julie.”

  Nancy had bought Dr. Yang a wool cardigan and had come to show it to Rachel. If it was inexpensive, it would not hurt to buy a few more to sell back in Shanghai.

  “Rachel, you lost a lot last night, right?”

  “Oh that Mr. Pi had all the lucky hands,” said Rachel, again in a tone suggesting she wanted to drop the matter. “Nancy, when did you return?”

  “We came back early, before two o’clock. I suggested we come and look you up but Charlie was tired. What’s this about you losing eight hundred dollars?” Nancy asked, smiling curiously.

  At first Julie didn’t pay much attention, though it did strike her as a little strange that Rachel seemed to stop Nancy in her tracks and change the topic of conversation. Julie didn’t react when she heard the figure mentioned again—she was completely indifferent. And after Nancy left Rachel did not raise the matter of Mr. Andrews’s money again. Best that it was not raised, Julie thought at the time, believing she had made a lucky escape. Only on the bus back to the dormitory did she begin to see the light.

  What a coincidence! Exactly eight hundred dollars. If there is a god, like destiny, he plays tricks on people. It seemed absurd, but Julie realized something had come to an end. It was not something she herself had decided, but she knew it was over, that she had come to the end of a very long road.

  Many years later, back in Shanghai, Julie wrote a piece that infuriated her maternal uncle’s family because it obviously referred to them. Third Aunt was slightly amused. “Your second aunt will be upset when she comes back,” she said to Julie.

  “I am now completely uninterested in whatever Second Aunt may have to say about anything,” Julie replied.

  She then told Judy about the eight hundred dollars. “After that, I don’t know why, but I simply didn’t care anymore.” This part she relayed in English.

  Judy was quiet for a while. “You know,” she said, putting on a conciliatory smile, “she did spend a lot of money on you.”

  Julie knew Judy thought her resolve was all because of the eight hundred dollars.

  “I will definitely repay Second Aunt,” Julie replied coldly, “no matter what.”

  Judy again fell silent, then chirped, “Miss Hsiang says it’s not good to be resentful every day.”

  Julie felt embarrassed an
d smiled with a hint of surprise. Was Miss Hsiang referring to what she had observed in Shanghai? Or was it because she learned more about what she hadn’t known after staying in the same hotel in Hong Kong and spending more time with Rachel? Julie wasn’t sure.

  Actually, the time Rachel and Julie spent together in Hong Kong was quite good, all things considered, almost as good as a second honeymoon. The first honeymoon took place when Julie was a little girl and Rachel returned to China for the first time after spending several years abroad. In Hong Kong Julie resumed her role as the young guest, always visiting around four or five for afternoon tea.

  On Julie’s first visit, Rachel wore a transparent egg-yellow nightgown. When a bellboy knocked on the door she suddenly clutched at her neck with open hands to cover her breasts with her arms as she shrank away. Julie was astonished. She had never seen her mother behave in such a discomposed manner. Nor had she seen her mother dressed so inappropriately. It was as if her haggard appearance had conquered her composure. By the time the bellboy entered the room to serve tea, Rachel had already retreated to the bathroom.

  Rachel poured two cups of tea from the tall, slender silver teapot. “That friend of yours, Bebe,” said Rachel. “I invited her over for tea. She had telephoned so I invited her to visit.”

  Rachel was referring to when Bebe returned to Shanghai over the summer break.

  “She seems to be very capable. I’m sure she can help you, but you mustn’t let her control you. That wouldn’t do.” Rachel articulated those last three words in a low voice through her thin, slightly pursed lips.

  Julie knew that her mother was referring to lesbian love. She had often heard Rachel and Third Aunt gossip about women they knew who were extremely close, in relationships in which one was totally obedient to the other.

  Julie’s maternal uncle used to mock the two in-laws, Second Aunt and Third Aunt, for being lesbian lovers.

  For Rachel, everything about herself is dignified and noble, but she is always cynical about other people, no matter what they do.

  Once, Julie talked about her mother with Bebe, who concluded that Rachel was probably going through menopause, though she wasn’t old enough yet, really. Later Julie thought of Rachel while reading D. H. Lawrence’s short story “The Lovely Lady.” The female protagonist was sixty or seventy years old. Not that she had a magic formula for eternal youth, though she did take care of her health. Her natural endowments made her look younger than her years. Her son was a paunchy, unmarried, middle-aged man. He always felt uncomfortable when he visited his mother. “In the lovely lady’s womb he must have felt VERY confused.” That line got Julie thinking about herself. The ugly duckling is no longer young, and no duckling is as tall as I am. An ugly egret is more appropriate, and everything about it is ugly.

  A Eurasian day student named Angie happened to take the school bus down the mountain one day. She squeezed in next to Julie.

  “Angie says you are beautiful,” Sally told Julie later. “I don’t agree, but I thought I ought to tell you,”

  Julie knew that Sally felt the need to tell her that because she sensed Julie’s lack of confidence.

  Perhaps Angie’s taste was unusual because she herself had an unusual appearance. She had the typical features of a Chinese girl—a petite frame and a flat round face. But she had the whitest of white Caucasian skin, as white as paper, with thick ink-black eyebrows, large light-blue eyes, and plump lips, thickly plastered with glistening cinnabar lipstick. It was all rather striking. But thanks to popular female characters in Hollywood movies with a similar appearance, Angie numbered among the school belles.

  Julie didn’t know if Sally had said the same to Bebe, but since Bebe never mentioned it, of course Julie wouldn’t raise the subject.

  After that, it was always a little awkward for Julie when she encountered Angie.

  Bebe never ever commented on someone’s looks, but whenever Julie said, “I love the name Katinka,” Bebe would unfailingly reply: “I know a girl called Katinka.” Of course the girl Bebe knew was unattractive, which sullied the name in Bebe’s mind.

  “I love the name Nora,” Julie said on another occasion.

  “I know a girl called Nora,” Bebe retorted. The way she responded was more like an explanation of why she did not like the name.

  Julie discovered that characters similar to her own mother were common in English-language novels. She told Bebe that both Florence, the mother in Noël Coward’s play The Vortex, and Mary Amberley, the mother in Aldous Huxley’s novel Eyeless in Gaza, bore a strong resemblance to Rachel.

  “She really had affairs?” asked Bebe.

  “No,” said Julie, “she just wants to be loved.”

  Bebe immediately lost interest.

  One day after finishing afternoon tea, Rachel went to the bathroom to change and put on her makeup. Miss Hsiang arrived. Julie called her Eighth Sister because she was low in seniority within the family clan, even though she was actually a generation older than Julie. Rachel had met Miss Hsiang at the mah-jongg table two years earlier. Miss Hsiang professed a family connection with her. It turned out she was a member of the Sheng clan. Owing to their shared experience of divorce, however, Miss Hsiang instantly claimed Rachel as her best friend, despite Rachel having had no contact with the Sheng clan for a long time. Miss Hsiang visited a few days later and gave a detailed account of her divorce. She candidly admitted her desire to marry again. She was in straitened circumstances, and her seventeen-year-old son lived with her.

  After Miss Hsiang departed, Rachel called out from the bathroom in a long-drawn-out cry, “Oh, Judy.” Ever since Julie had moved in with them she was aware that something was amiss between Rachel and Third Aunt. But they were as intimate as ever that night when Rachel recounted Miss Hsiang’s visit to Judy. Julie had gone to bed. She was surprised when she overheard the conversation in the bathroom. “As if all divorced women are the same,” Judy groused on Rachel’s behalf.

  Rachel responded shyly in agreement and giggled lightheartedly.

  “That Kong family really is something!”

  “That’s right. I heard the young men of the house do not dare to venture into other rooms. Go into any room that should be unoccupied and you’d bump into people—in broad daylight.”

  When Miss Hsiang was married to the Kong household’s fourth son she was a renowned beauty among the relatives, with a delicate round face and a high nose bridge, which was the standard of beauty at the time. Nowadays, Miss Hsiang was a little chubby and had a double chin. She wore her hair in the George Washington style, an unconventional, boyish look.

  Miss Hsiang had not seen Julie for a year. She greeted Julie without perfunctory pleasantries, then turned to Rachel. “I just came by to see what you will be doing later on,” she said, indicating she did not want to disrupt the conversation.

  “Have a seat,” said Rachel. “Julie was just about to leave.”

  “No thanks,” said Miss Hsiang. “What are your plans for today? Will you join us for dinner, or do you have a prior engagement?” The corners of her eyes dropped when she spoke. She looked grumpy and her voice sounded hoarse.

  Rachel paused. “We’ll see. Anyway, we can catch up in a while at the lounge bar. The usual time.”

  “Very well, then,” snapped Miss Hsiang. “See you later.”

  Occasionally Miss Hsiang spoke in this prickly tone, which she had acquired as a child from the concubines in the household. Prostitutes were accustomed to employing this sort of pouting to manipulate clients. Today, however, Miss Hsiang seemed to be overdoing things. Just because it was rare for her to come to Hong Kong for pleasure,was she entitled to act up and rebuke Rachel for not accompanying her at all times?

  Julie had not asked Rachel how long she planned to stay in Hong Kong, but after several weeks without any word of her departure, Julie thought it was odd.

  One day when Julie was leaving the hotel, Rachel accompanied her downstairs. The tailor and curio shops were located in a short
T-shaped corridor above which was a vaulted glass ceiling. As Rachel window-shopped, two people emerged from around the corner. The two parties exchanged a friendly “Hello!” It was Miss Hsiang with Mr. Pi.

  So Ambassador Pi was also in Hong Kong. They must have come together.

  “Mr. Pi.”

  “Hello, Julie.”

  “We’re just window-shopping,” said Miss Hsiang cheerfully. “The things here are of course as exorbitantly priced as tiger meat.”

  “That’s right. It’s not worth buying anything here,” said Rachel.

  Then the conversation lapsed.

  “Where are you off to?” asked Miss Hsiang to fill the awkward silence.

  “Nowhere in particular,” mumbled Rachel. “Just ambling about.”

  Miss Hsiang stood facing Mr. Pi, exchanging a few quiet words with him, and then, with a beaming smile, raised her hands to straighten his necktie. Ambassador Pi was well over sixty but still stood bolt upright. His receding hairline made his head look like a moon gate, his forehead appearing especially large. A pair of tortoiseshell-framed spectacles adorned his broad face that resembled a crab’s carapace. There was not a trace of a smile on it.

  That little possessive gesture startled Julie and she took pains to hide her reaction. She turned to snatch a glance at her mother and saw that Rachel pretended not to notice by looking into the shopwindow. The darkened glass pane reflected Rachel’s lustrous features, and for a moment her former glamour returned, as she tenderly gazed into the shopwindow.

  At that moment Julie came to a vague realization that Miss Hsiang’s earlier outburst probably stemmed from an attempt to absolve herself of any blame. Rachel had incessant engagements that did not include Ambassador Pi or Nancy and her husband. Miss Hsiang frequently ended up paired with Ambassador Pi, so Rachel could not really blame her for snatching him up.

  “Then we’ll see you a little later at the lounge bar,” said Miss Hsiang.

  Everyone nodded politely and dispersed.

  Just as Julie was about to say, “I’ll be going now,” Rachel said, “Let’s go for a walk—the garden here is wonderful.” Julie was quite surprised that her mother actually wanted to go for a walk with her.