Lisa See: Shanghai Girls

“Who are these grooms?” I ask. “Can we meet them first?”

May’s eyes widen.

“It’s against tradition,” Baba says.

“I won’t marry someone unless I meet him first,” I insist.

“You can’t think I’ll do it.” May says the words, but her voice tells us that she’s given in. We may look and act modern in many ways, but we can’t escape what we are: obedient Chinese daughters.

“They’re Gold Mountain men,” Baba says. “Americans. They’ve traveled to China to find brides. It’s good news, really. Their father’s family comes from the same district as ours. We’re practically related. You don’t have to go back to Los Angeles with your husbands. American Chinese are happy to leave their wives here in China to care for their parents and ancestors, so they can return to their blond lo fan mistresses in America. Consider this merely a business deal that will save our family. But if you decide to go with your husbands, you’ll have a beautiful house, servants to do the cleaning and washing, amahs to care for your children. You’ll live in Haolaiwu- Hollywood. I know how you girls love movies. You’d like it, May. You really would. Haolaiwu! Just think of it!”

“But we don’t know them!” May shouts at him.

“But you’ve met their father,” Baba responds evenly. “You know Old Man Louie.”

May’s lips twist in revulsion. We have indeed met the father. I’ve never liked Mama’s old-fashioned use of titles, but to May and me the wiry, stern-faced foreign Chinese has always been Old Man Louie. As Baba said, he lives in Los Angeles, but he comes to Shanghai every year or so to look in on the businesses he maintains here. He owns a factory that makes rattan furniture and another for cheap porcelain ware for export. But I don’t care how rich he is. I’ve never liked the way Old Man Louie looks at May and me, like he’s a cat licking us up. I don’t mind for myself-I can take it-but May was only sixteen the last time he came to town. He shouldn’t have drunk her in like that at his age, which had to be mid-sixties at least, but Baba never said a word, just asked May to pour more tea.

And then it hits me. “Did you lose everything to Old Man Louie?”

“Not exactly-”

“Then to whom?”

“These things are always hard to say.” Baba taps his fingers on the table and glances away. “I lost a little here, a little there.”

“I’m sure you did to have lost May’s and my money too. That must have taken you months… maybe even years-”

“ Pearl -” My mother tries to stop me from saying anything more, but deep rage roars out of me.

“This loss had to be something very big. Something that would threaten all this .” I motion to the room, the furniture, the house, everything that my father built for us. “What exactly is your debt and how are you paying it back?”

May stops crying. My mother remains silent.

“I lost to Old Man Louie,” Baba grudgingly admits at last. “He’ll let your mother and me stay in the house if May marries the younger son and you marry the older son. We’ll have a roof to sleep under and something to eat until I get work. You, our daughters, are our only capital.”

May covers her mouth with the back of her hand, stands, and runs from the room.

“Tell your sister I will set up a meeting for this afternoon,” Baba acquiesces. “And be grateful I arranged marriages to a pair of brothers. You’ll always be together. Now go upstairs. Your mother and I have much to discuss.”

Outside the window, the breakfast sellers have moved on and been replaced by a stream of peddlers. Their voices sing to us, enticing us, tempting us.

“Pu, pu, pu , reed root to brighten the eyes! Give to baby and he will be free from all summer rashes!”

“Hou, hou, hou , let me shave your face, trim your hair, cut your nails!”

“A-hu-a, a-hu-a , come out and sell your junk! Foreign bottles and broken glass exchanged for matches!”

A COUPLE OF hours later, I walk into the Little Tokyo area of Hongkew for my noon appointment with my student. Why haven’t I canceled? The world falls apart and you cancel things, right? But May and I need the money.

In a daze, I ride the elevator to Captain Yamasaki’s apartment. He was on the Japanese Olympics team in 1932, so he likes to relive his glories in Los Angeles. He isn’t a bad man, but he’s obsessed with May. She made the mistake of going out with him a few times, so nearly every lesson begins with questions about her.

“Where is your sister today?” he asks in English, after we review his homework.

“She is sick,” I lie. “She is sleeping.”

“Sorry to hear such sad news. Every day I ask you when she will go out with me again. Every day you say you don’t know.”

“Correction. We see each other only three times a week.”

“Please help me marry May. I give you wedding…”

He hands me a piece of paper, which lists his marriage terms. I can see he used his Japanese-English dictionary, but this is too much. And today of all days. I glance at the clock. We still have fifty minutes to go. I fold the paper and put it in my purse.

“I will make the corrections and return this to you at our next lesson.”

“Give to May!”

“I’ll give it to her, but please know she is too young to marry. My father will not allow it.” How easily the lies pour from my mouth.

“He should. He must. This is a time of Friendship, Cooperation, and Co-prosperity The Asian races should unify against the West. Chinese and Japanese are brothers.”

Hardly. We call Japanese dwarf bandits and monkey people. But the captain often returns to this theme, and he’s done a good job of mastering the slogans in English and Chinese.

He stares at me sullenly. “You’re not going to give it to her, are you?” When I don’t respond quickly enough, he frowns. “I don’t trust Chinese girls. They always lie.”

He’s said this to me before, and I don’t like it any more today than I have in the past.

“I don’t lie to you,” I say, even though I have several times just since we started this tutorial.

“Chinese girls never keep promise. They lie in heart.”

“Promises. Their hearts,” I correct. I need to turn the conversation to a new subject. Today it comes easily. “Did you like Los Angeles?”

“It was very good. Soon I will go back to America.”

“For another swimming competition?”

“No.”

“As a student?”

“As a…” He switches back to Chinese and a word he knows very well in our language. “A conqueror.”

“Really? How?”

“We will march to Washington,” he responds, returning to English. “Yankee girls will do our laundry.”

He laughs. I laugh. And on it goes.

As soon as the hour’s up, I take my meager payment and go home. May’s asleep. I lie down beside her, put a hand on her hip, and close my eyes. I long for sleep, but my mind batters me with images and emotions. I thought I was modern. I thought I had choice. I thought I was nothing like my mother. But my father’s gambling has swept all that away. I’m to be sold-traded like so many girls before me-to help my family. I feel so trapped and so helpless that I can hardly breathe.

I try to tell myself things aren’t as bad as they seem. My father even said May and I won’t have to go with these strangers to a city across the world. We can sign the papers, our “husbands” will leave, and life will go on as before, with one big difference. We have to get out of my father’s house and make our own living. I’ll wait until my husband leaves the country, claim desertion, and get a divorce. Then Z.G. and I will get married. (It will have to be a smaller wedding than I imagined-maybe just a party in a café with our artist friends and some of the other beautiful-girl models.) I’ll get a real job during the day. May will live with us until she marries. We’ll take care of each other. We’ll make our way.