The Paper Daughters of Chinatown Page 5

  Dolly nodded. After the director left, she switched off the lamp. She was afraid to see her reflection in the mirror and remember what her eyes had seen. As she shed her outer clothing in the dark, tears slipped down her cheeks as she wondered how many other abused women and girls were out there beyond the walls of the mission home. Needing to be rescued.

  “Three Obediences: Obey your father before marriage. Obey your husband when married. Obey your sons in widowhood.

  “Four Virtues: Female virtues. Female words. Female appearances. Female work.”

  —Ban Zhao, Lessons for Women, 80 CE

  1903

  “You will be a beautiful bride.” Mei Lien’s mother held up her silk wedding dress, once red in color, now faded with age and wrinkled beyond description.

  The fierce pride in her mother’s eyes kept Mei Lien’s opinions silent. The wrinkles could be pressed out and the discoloring concealed with a scarf.

  On the other side of the wall, the Chinese emigration representative, Nuwa, waited. Mother and daughter had only a few more moments together, and each knew it was likely the last time they would ever see each other in this life.

  Mei Lien had long dreamed of her wedding day. Her marriage had been arranged to another man from when they were both children. But he had become mad in his mind and abandoned the village, disgracing his family. Mei Lien knew it had been the opium. He had not been the same for the past year. Until that time, Mei Lien had thought her wedding day would be one surrounded by family, good wishes, and many gifts.

  But now, she would marry a man she had yet to meet, and neither of her parents would be present. Her father had been dead these past three years, and her mother was unable to travel to the Gold Mountain due to anti-immigration laws. Only wives or daughters of men already working in America were allowed to immigrate.

  Nuwa, the waiting agent, had promised that by the time they arrived in San Francisco, Mei Lien would be well trained on her adopted parentage. The white lies would be a small price to pay for Mei Lien’s future. And her mother would receive four hundred Hong Kong dollars the moment Mei Lien signed the contract.

  “Take this, daughter,” her mother said in a trembling voice as she passed over the wedding dress. “May you never live another day hungry, and may your stomach always be too full to swallow down any sorrow. Always remember, you are my beautiful lotus. Any man would be proud to have you as his wife. Please your husband and have healthy babies.”

  The words were like a weight on Mei Lien’s heart. Her mother had lost two sons in infancy, brothers she never knew because Mei Lien was born last. Her mother had always complained that the god of creation had closed up her womb after Mei Lien was born. She took the dress from her mother, the smooth fabric like water in her hands. Then she folded the dress and placed it carefully in her small wooden trunk.

  “It is time.” Her mother’s dark-as-night eyes filled with tears. She quickly brushed at them with her field-callused fingers, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Not typically an emotional woman, she prided herself, Mei Lien knew, in being stoic at all times.

  Mei Lien knew also that she was blessed, despite not having a father or a brother. Her mother had been loving and kind. And now, she was willing to sacrifice her only living child in order to provide a better life for Mei Lien.

  “Thank you, Ah Ma,” Mei Lien said, reverence in her voice.

  Her mother’s face crumpled with emotion, and the two embraced, one woman at the sunset of her life, the other not yet sixteen, with a horizon of opportunity stretching before her.

  Mei Lien drew away, leaving part of her heart with her mother.

  Tears dripped down both of their faces, and her mother said, “Now, go, my lotus. Don’t look back. The goddesses will take care of me, and I will burn incense every week for your soul.”

  It wasn’t an idle promise—that Mei Lien knew.

  Her mother moved past her, and, in her last act of service, she latched the trunk, then handed it to Mei Lien.

  “It is time,” her mother repeated, her tears starting again. “Good-bye, my beautiful lotus.”

  Mei Lien dabbed at her own tears and moved toward the curtain that separated the tiny bedroom from the rest of the house, which amounted to only one other room. She gazed a final time at her mother, seeing the petite woman’s work-worn hands, callused from long days harvesting. The deep circles beneath her eyes, which contrasted with the love and warmth emanating from her. The threadbare dress, which had once been a deep green, now faded white. The bare feet that had walked many miles and would carry her body for many more.

  “Good-bye, Ah Ma,” Mei Lien said softly.

  Then, with her throat feeling like she’d swallowed a burning rock, she shifted aside the drape and stepped into the dim interior of the main room. On the bamboo table, the remnants of a steamed sponge cake remained, to be cleared later by her mother. Nuwa stood expectantly, her long, elegant fingers clasped in front of her. The eagerness in Nuwa’s eyes only made Mei Lien want to return to her mother, poverty or not. They would survive together. They had so far.

  Nuwa then pulled out the contract from a square satchel, along with the money promised to Mei Lien’s mother. Seeing them on the bamboo table next to the chipped porcelain plate, Mei Lien knew she couldn’t back out of her commitment. Her life was no longer here, and in leaving Hong Kong, Mei Lien would be providing for her mother for many years to come.

  Mei Lien forbade any more tears from forming. She didn’t want Nuwa to think she wasn’t grateful, and she didn’t want her mother to hear her crying. It was time to shed her childhood and become the new Mei Lien. No longer the poor girl living in an even poorer village. She was to be married to a wealthy man. She would have sons and daughters, and she would manage a beautiful home. Perhaps one day her husband would send for her mother.

  Mei Lien stepped forward, bent, and signed the contract with an X to represent her name.

  There was no turning back now.

  Following Nuwa out of the house of her youth, Mei Lien noticed details that she had always taken for granted. The flower bed her mother took immense pride in. The neat pen she’d repaired only a few days ago. Their three chickens. Mei Lien expected the chickens to dash toward the far end of the pen, but they watched in muted silence as she crossed the dirt yard for the final time.

  She followed Nuwa along the winding dirt road to where a rickshaw waited at the edge of the village. Although the morning had yet to bloom with the sunrise, plenty of people witnessed her leaving. A few even waved. Mei Lien’s heart felt full of gratitude and ready to break at the same time.

  Uncle Bo Wei climbed out of the rickshaw and motioned for Mei Lien and Nuwa to climb in. No, Bo Wei wasn’t her uncle, and Nuwa wasn’t her auntie. But that was what she would be calling them until they arrived in San Francisco.

  The journey to the Hong Kong harbor took several hours, and Mei Lien indulged in a nap, only to awake to Nuwa speaking in rapid tones to Bo Wei. Both of their faces were painted with worry.

  Mei Lien immediately straightened and looked about her. The rice fields and rows of shacks had turned into close-quartered buildings and narrow alleys, with dozens of rickshaws and crowds of people everywhere she looked. “Is something wrong?” Mei Lien asked.

  Nuwa’s brown eyes settled on Mei Lien. Strain lines appeared about her mouth. “We are blessed that Uncle bought our passage a week ago. There is a crowd trying to get on the ship.”

  Mei Lien followed Nuwa’s gaze and saw a couple of dozen men in a tightly knit group, not looking too happy as one of them argued with a pale-faced ship captain.

  Uncle commanded the rickshaw driver to stop; then he swung down from the seat and started unloading their trunks. “We must hurry,” he said in a clipped tone, his glance darting to the crowd of men. “Women are usually the last ones allowed onto a ship.”

  “We have ti
ckets,” Mei Lien protested, but Nuwa’s long fingers clamped down on her upper arm.

  Mei Lien almost yelped at the sudden pain from the woman’s surprisingly strong grip.

  “Do not speak to anyone,” Nuwa commanded in a fierce whisper. “Do not look at anyone.”

  Mei Lien immediately lowered her eyes and nodded. She walked with Nuwa and Uncle toward the waiting ship, her ears burning with the complaints, jeers, and foul language that caused her steps to falter more than once. Mui tsai! The men continued in their insults. A livid heat coiled in Mei Lien’s stomach. She did not work in a brothel. She had never known a man. Hadn’t even been kissed. She would never live in the way these vile names suggested.

  Nuwa had been right. Mei Lien should not look at anyone. It was the only way to disconnect the words from the images of those who spoke them. She would forget quicker that way. Only a few more steps, and finally they were on the ship. Mei Lien breathed out, relieved to have made it this far.

  As if reading her mind, Nuwa’s fierce whisper came again. “Don’t turn around.”

  Mei Lien obeyed and pressed forward with Uncle and Nuwa as they moved through the people on the upper deck of the ship. Mei Lien didn’t even have time to appreciate the fact that she was on a ship for the first time in her life before Nuwa steered her down a narrow flight of stairs into the darkness below.

  By the time Mei Lien’s eyes adjusted to the below-deck dimness, she was positive that Nuwa’s fingerprints would be left on her arm in the form of five rounded bruises. Did she have to continue gripping Mei Lien so hard? Had she not been obedient?

  Around the next bend of the narrow corridor, they stepped into a large space filled with bunk beds bolted to the wooden floor. The rest of the floor space was taken up by lumpy mattresses. Mei Lien was taken aback. Though she had not come from a life of luxury, even in her poor state, she and her mother had always had pride in their living standards.

  “This is yours.” Nuwa released Mei Lien’s arm at last.

  Mei Lien wanted to sit on the bunk bed that Nuwa had indicated, but something told her now wasn’t the time to relax.

  “Here is your trunk, and inside you’ll find papers.” Nuwa pointed her long finger. “These false papers will be the only thing to prove who you are to immigration. Do not forget the details that Uncle told you. The immigration officers cannot know your true identity. They might ask you many details, down to the number of chickens in the courtyard of the home you are now from.”

  Mei Lien opened her mouth to ask a question, but Nuwa’s eyes had narrowed. How had Mei Lien thought Nuwa was a sweet, pleasant woman? The woman staring at her now looked like she could strangle an entire nest of snakes. Mei Lien lowered her gaze and nodded.

  “Stay near the bunk, and don’t talk to anyone,” Nuwa hissed.

  After the woman left, the bunks slowly filled with other passengers, including a few women and girls. Mei Lien opened the trunk and pulled out the papers that Nuwa had slipped inside. They were sewn together along one edge, like a bound pamphlet.

  Slowly, Mei Lien turned the pages. She couldn’t read, but she thought over what Uncle had told her. Her new identity placed her at age eighteen and called her the youngest daughter of a man named Wang Foo, who lived in a valley near San Francisco. Mei Lien had memorized the siblings’ names and ages. She was traveling with her auntie and uncle and would be working in her father’s clothing shop. Nothing was mentioned about marriage.

  Judging by the sounds and movements of the ship, Mei Lien was sure they’d left port.

  Mei Lien tried to think of her future instead of what she’d left behind. Tears tracked along her cheeks despite her resolve. She could pretend she was someone else for a short while; then surely her life would become wonderful with her new husband.

  She still hadn’t seen Nuwa or Uncle, so Mei Lien placed the papers back in her trunk, slid it under the bunk, then headed up the stairs. Sure enough, the ship was in open water.

  Mei Lien joined the people standing at the rail and watched the city of Hong Kong grow smaller and smaller. The air was brisk, almost cold, and the salty breeze stung her eyes.

  “You must get below,” Nuwa’s voice sounded sharply in her ear. “You are not safe up here.”

  Mei Lien flinched, and Uncle appeared on her other side. She wanted to ask why it was unsafe, but she didn’t. She went with Nuwa below deck again. This time, Uncle followed. They sat next to her on the bunk and, in low tones, questioned her about what they had already drilled her on.

  She answered what she had learned so far, then mentioned, “Do I not tell them about my marriage?”

  “The immigration officers do not like Chinese, and they don’t like our customs,” Uncle said. “If they think you are coming into the country to marry and have Chinese babies, they might turn you away. They will only let you come if your father already lives there and you are going to work.”

  Mei Lien supposed that made sense. “But I will marry, right?”

  Nuwa glanced at Uncle, then said, “Perhaps. If you can pay off your contract.”

  Mei Lien tried not to look surprised. After all, Nuwa had given Mei Lien’s mother the contract, and she had approved. Mei Lien had signed it, trusting that it was about marriage. “What do I have to pay off?” she asked, her heart fluttering like a bird with a broken wing.

  “Discuss the contract later,” Nuwa snapped. “Time to practice now.”

  Uncle’s voice was far calmer. “I will quiz you again now on your new family. You must know every detail and date better than your natural family.”

  Mei Lien nodded, but she had one more question. “Can I go above deck tomorrow?”

  “No,” Nuwa said immediately. “Others will see you, and we can’t protect you up there.”

  “Protect me from what?” Mei Lien asked, even as the shouts and jeers of the men at the dock returned to her mind.

  Nuwa’s gaze shifted to Uncle. “From those who have not paid for you,” he said. “You must assume your new identity without error. If you make a mistake, you will be deported, and there will be nothing we can do. Your mother will have to pay back the money we gave her. Do you want that to happen?”

  “No,” Mei Lien whispered. The amount her mother had received could never be paid back on laborer’s wages in their village even if they both worked their entire lives.

  Nuwa leaned close, clamped a strong hand on the girl’s wrist, and twisted. “No mistakes, Mei Lien. This is your last warning. Your very life depends on your obedience.”

  “Aug. 15/92. With the assistance of two police officers and Ah Cheng we went to Bartlett Alley and rescued the girl of above name. She is very small stature—looks like a midget—has an old and peculiar face—give her age as 22 years. Sing Ho says her mother died in San Francisco and her father returned to China—that her parents owed money and that she entered upon a life of sin to pay their indebtedness. Sing Ho was a victim of the opium habit and after spending a night in the Home decided to return to the brothel—she could neither eat nor sleep.”

  —Margaret Culbertson, mission home record, 1892

  1895

  The day Miss Culbertson left for New Orleans to deliver a bride to her new husband, Dolly felt the director’s absence keenly. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could manage the household for a few short weeks, but what if a call for a rescue came?

  Since the night Tien had scratched Dolly, the girl hadn’t spoken a word to her. In sewing class, she kept her head down, her eyes on the shirts they were making. Dolly’s scratch had healed quickly, but the memory of the frightened, crying girl huddled at the end of the hallway hadn’t faded at all. So it was with more compassion that Dolly viewed Tien, and not as a troublemaker.

  Now Dolly walked by Tien as she routinely checked on each girl’s progress. With around thirty girls and women in the house, sewing and repairing clothing was
an unending task. Tien had returned to her neat, even stitching, her nimble fingers working quickly and efficiently.

  “Very nice, Tien,” Dolly said in a soft tone.

  The girl flinched and hunched her shoulders, but she didn’t slow her pace or make deliberately sloppy stitches. Was this progress between them? Dolly could only hope.

  Next she checked on the other girls, and most of them beamed under her praise. The younger girls were missing their “mama”—Miss Culbertson, who had become the mother that many of these girls had either lost or never had.

  When Dolly helped Lonnie with her sewing, Lonnie promptly threw her arms about Dolly’s legs and said, “You’re a nice mama.”

  Dolly smiled and hugged her back. “Well, thank you.” She never took affection for granted. She only wished Tien would be more receptive. The girl’s pain seemed to be a living thing that kept her in a shell of loneliness.

  Just then, Anna rushed into the classroom and motioned for Dolly to come out. The woman was out of breath, and the urgency on her face told Dolly that something serious had happened. She excused herself from her students as calmly as she could and met Anna outside the room.

  “Officer Cook is downstairs,” Anna said. “He’s brought word about a Chinese woman who used to live at the mission home. She married and moved to China, but now she has returned to San Francisco with her two children. Hong Leen is very ill and is asking for us, but the authorities won’t let her out of the immigration station unless we vouch for her. We need to go speak to the immigration officers.”

  Dolly wasn’t sure who Hong Leen was, but the name was familiar. Regardless, she grabbed her cloak to protect her from the potential rain and hurried out of the house with Anna.

  Officer Cook waited on the porch and greeted Dolly with a tip of his hat. The scent of his cigarette reminded Dolly of the last time she’d seen him—on the rescue with Miss Culbertson.