Fortune is a Woman (28 page)

"We slid unnoticed out of the square, slipping on the evil-smelling mud and tripping over the cobblestones, weaving in and out of alleys, running and running until our hearts thudded in our chests and our throats burned like fire and we gasped for air. We stopped, leaning against a wall, listening intently, but the only sound was our own gasping breaths.

" 'Come,' I said, taking her hand and beginning to run again, though I did not know where, only away. Away from my evil father and the terrible man who wanted to barter my sister into slavery and prostitution.

"At last we emerged onto a broader street, one I recognized, and soon we were back at the river. We leapt like gazelles into our little sampan and pushed off, paddling fast down the river, like the little ducks pursued by the fateful junk. We did not know where we were going. We knew nothing except our home in our small village. We had no money and no idea of real life.

"We paddled all night and at dawn, exhausted as the ducks, we climbed onto the riverbank and slept. When we awoke a few hours later we were hungry and still exhausted. We hid our little sampan in the reeds and walked down a dusty track until we came to a village, but the peasants there turned their faces from us when we begged for rice. We walked on, not knowing what else to do, and then suddenly we came upon the banks of a clear flowing stream, and a small white-walled Taoist monastery.

"A young monk in saffron robes inclined his shaven head toward us in greeting and we quickly bowed in return as I explained our circumstances. His eyes filled with pity as he bade us come inside and share what food they had. It was not much because they had no money and lived only on what the peasants placed freely in their bowls, but the thin rice gruel tasted like heaven as it warmed our empty stomachs. And that night we slept on bedmats in a bare little cell and we felt safe with our friends. It was to be our last night of safety for many years.

"The next morning, with a little breakfast gruel in our bellies and their prayers for our safety and good fortune ringing in our ears, we went on our way.

"We had talked things over and decided we would return to the river and paddle our sampan to the next city, maybe even all the way to Shanghai, where we would find work. Night was already falling as we walked the last weary mile and we sighed in relief when we saw our sampan still there in the reeds where we had left it. What we did not see was the black-sailed junk waiting under cover of darkness around the bend in the river, nor the men who crept silently up on us, knives clenched between their teeth—not until they leapt on us, clasping their hands over our mouths so we had not time even to scream. They had known we could not get far and had found our sampan and lain in wait for us.

"Within minutes we were on board the junk and face-to-face with our father, Ke Chungfen, and the swarthy, narrow-eyed flesh-peddler. He laughed when he saw us. 'She has spirit,' he said admiringly to our father, pinching Mayling's little rump, testing her flesh before deciding how much she was worth. 'On the other hand,' he said consideringly, 'she has no breasts yet, only buds. This, of course, will bring down her price.'

"Mayling and I were standing side by side and I glanced at her. Her head was bowed onto her chest and she was blushing with shame as he discussed the intimate details of her body.

" 'How much?' Ke Chunfen demanded eagerly.

" 'The boy will make a good servant. I will give you three hundred
yuan
for both of them,' the man announced, folding his arms and walking around and around, inspecting us like cattle in a pen.

"I looked into my father's eyes and saw the greed for even more money.

" 'Take it or leave it,' the peddler said, turning away indifferently.

"Ke Chunfen sighed deeply and I knew he was thinking of the forty
yuan
he had paid for our mother, and regretting how little return he was getting on his money after all these years of feeding us, but he finally accepted and a deal was struck. And now Ke Mayling and Ke Lai Tsin belonged to the flesh-peddler.

"They put chains around our ankles so we could not escape and the junk took us back to Nanking, where we were to join the peddler's own ship. I looked back once as we stumbled down the gangplank onto the jetty, but there was no sign of our father.

"We were thrown into the evil-smelling hold of the peddler's junk and we huddled together in the darkness, listening to the scurrying of the rats, waiting for what was to come.

"A long time passed and then suddenly the hatch was lifted and we saw it was daylight. A coolie lowered a rope with a little basket containing a bowl of rice and a hunk of steamed bread and a flask of water. And despite our fears we ate the food like hungry little rabbits, scooping the rice into our mouths with our hands as fast as we could, afraid they might take it away. We took great gasps of the fresh morning air until the coolie came back and closed the hatch and left us in darkness again.

"After a few days of this a ladder was lowered and we were ordered on deck. Our chains cut cruelly into our ankles as we clambered up the narrow ladder and as we were accustomed only to darkness, the sunlight blinded us. To our surprise our chains were unlocked and we were told to go inside to the cabin and wash ourselves. We looked at each other doubtfully as we obeyed, wondering what was to come. But no one came to see us and we crouched on the floor of the cabin, waiting.

"A long time passed. At dusk the junk hove-to by the riverbank. Night fell and the moon came up and still we waited. Suddenly the flesh-peddler appeared. He laughed when he saw us, cross-legged on the floor in the moonlight. Then he grabbed Mayling's pigtail and pulled her to her feet. I leapt up to defend her, but he cuffed me away and a crewman sprang at me, holding me back as the peddler dragged her screaming to his cabin.

"The crewman stood over me, a knife in his hand, and I crouched helplessly back on the floor, the echo of Mayling's screams ringing in my ears. But they were not just an echo, or a memory. My little sister was still screaming, locked away in the cabin with the flesh-peddler."

Lai Tsin covered his face with his hands, hardly able to go on, but at last he continued. "I waited and waited, but Mayling did not return. Eventually, the crewman put me back in the hold. He replaced the hatch cover and I was alone in the darkness with my terrible thoughts. Days passed; occasionally rice and water were lowered to me but mostly I was just alone, hungry and frightened in the darkness.

"After an eternity passed I heard sounds outside and realized the junk was mooring in some big port and knew it must be Shanghai. Now at last maybe I would see Mayling again. The hatch was flung open and a coolie appeared, silhouetted against the gray sky. He let down the ladder and I climbed up, filling my lungs with the sharp, salty sea air, narrowing my eyes against the light, and looking quickly through my slitted lids for any signs of my sister. But the deck was full of crewmen busily taking down sails and tying thick ropes to the bollards on the jetty. The coolie slid the chains around my ankles again, but his eyes met mine and I must have stared so piteously that he hesitated—after all I was only a boy of nine years, and as poor as he was. What harm could I have done? He shrugged and took the chains off and hid them under a coil of rope, indicating that I should remain where I was. And then he left me.

"Minutes later I saw the flesh-peddler hurry down the gangplank and climb into a waiting rickshaw. I waited until he had gone, and keeping out of sight of the busy crew, I slipped into the masters' cabin to look for Mayling. But she was not there, nor was she in the tiny galley or the saloon. I ran around that little junk searching every corner, my heart gradually sinking into my shoes. I knew that after paying so much money for Mayling he would not have killed her and thrown her overboard, because then he would have lost his profit. I realized she must have been sent off the boat as soon as it docked, maybe to join the other girls he would have for sale. I ran back on deck, waiting until the crew hurried down the gangplank, heading for the city. Then I followed them, hoping they would lead me to the flesh-peddler and Mayling. But they made quickly for a malodorous alley filled with evil-smelling opium cribs, cheap singsong girls and noisy gambling dens, and there was no sign of the man or my sister.

"I wandered away, walking all day along the slippery granite-paved streets until my feet hurt. Every now and again I stopped someone and asked if they knew where the girls were being sold, but they just looked strangely at me and hurried by. Night fell and I was alone in the big terrifying city, hungry, penniless, desperate. Exhausted, I crouched in a dark corner of an alley and tears slid from my closed eyes. I knew I would never see Mayling again.

"Several days passed. I wandered the city begging for my food, grateful for every small morsel grudgingly given to me. I lurked like a hungry ghost on the edges of real life, haunting the teahouses longingly, listening to the talk of how hard life was in China and how rich the men were who had gone to work at the Gold Mountain in America. They said the men in America dug for gold and silver, they said they built railroads and opened their own businesses, that they lived like kings out there and still had enough left over to send home precious money to support their aged parents, their wives and children. 'The men of Toishan are becoming rich,' they muttered enviously as they savored fragrant pork dumplings and bean curd and all the delicious dim sum I could only long for. Riches to me meant food in my belly and a bedmat, but I thought about what they had said. I had lost Mayling, I had no family. Why should I not join the rich men of Toishan in America?

"I made my way back to the docks and by careful inquiry I found a ship that was leaving the next day for Seattle. It was a small, scabby-looking steam vessel and the villainous-looking crew leaning on the rails, spitting into the water and smoking, were dirty and unkempt. But it was the only ship leaving immediately for the Gold Mountain and I was determined to be on it. I marched boldly up the gangplank and asked to be taken on as a cabinboy. They laughed at me and showed me to the captain, a fat, bearded American in a grimy white naval uniform ornamented with much gold braid. He had on a peaked white cap with more gold and held a bottle of whiskey in his hand from which he took frequent gulps. He laughed as uproariously as the others when I nervously told him I wanted to join the ship.

" 'Sure, son,' he said, his fat belly shaking with laughter. 'One more won't make any difference. But you'll work hard for your keep.' Wages were never mentioned, but all I wanted was to keep from starving, and when I got to America I would work and earn money like the men from Toishan, in the Gold Mountain.

"The ship sailed on the dawn tide and as I scrambled about helping to coil ropes, I looked back at China disappearing on the horizon and I knelt on the splintery wooden deck and kowtowed, touching my head nine times to the floor in respectful memory of my mother, Lilin, and my sister, Mayling. And then I turned my face toward the open sea and America."

The fire had settled into a red glow, illuminating Francie and Annie's shocked faces, as Lai Tsin said with a sigh, "What happened next is another story."

He rose to his feet and bowed politely to them. "And now Lai Tsin begs your understanding, he is tired and must seek sleep. But before I go I wish to thank you for the gift of your friendship. I have never spent a night like this, in the warmth of a true home. Nor have I felt love and understanding from others. Tonight my life has been enriched by both emotions and I am grateful for your kindness."

Their eyes followed him as he bowed again and walked from the room, and they sat silently for a long time, each lost in her own thoughts. "I imagined my own life was hard and unfair," Annie said quietly at last. "Now I feel ashamed because compared with Lai Tsin's it was an earthly paradise. I always had a roof over my head, food, material things."

Francie nodded. "But like him, the one thing we never had was what money couldn't buy. Love and friendship."

Later that night as she tossed restlessly in bed, thinking of Lai Tsin and his story, Francie clasped her hands to the unborn child fluttering in her belly, and she vowed that the one thing in life her baby would never be short of was love.

CHAPTER 22

The very next morning Lai Tsin spoke to Francie about his idea. "Other merchants are already selling the same goods," he told her. "I must offer better prices, newer things, or lose my advantage. Therefore I must cut out the agents and the middlemen and buy direct from Shanghai and Hong Kong and ship the goods myself. And not just to San Francisco, but to New York, Chicago, Washington, all of America. And I will not buy just goods for the immigrant Chinese, but more important things that will appeal to the
gwailos:
silks from Hunan, carpets from Persia, ancient silver, bronze mirrors and antique ebony chests, fine paintings and screens and porcelain. My future as a merchant lies not only with my own countrymen but with the world. But
gwailos
will not do business with a Chinese. A company bearing the name of Lai Tsin is valueless. But with you as my Western partner, everything is possible."

Francie looked at him, puzzled. He was a man of mystery—she knew him and yet she didn't. Maybe she never would know the real Lai Tsin. Yet he had become her guide in life and she trusted him completely. She was so excited he'd asked her to be his business partner that she wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him, but Lai Tsin always kept a respectful distance between them and she knew she could never violate that code. "I am privileged to be your partner, Lai Tsin," she said simply.

And that night after supper, as the wind howled like a wolf outside the little wooden ranch house and the first flakes of snow flung themselves against their windows and the pups snored in front of the blazing fire, Lai Tsin continued his story.

He told them that they were only a couple of days out to sea when he realized that the ship's cargo was not tea, but men.