The day I was engaged to be married, I was fourteen. I had no say in the decision. The town’s matchmaker told Papa, “The only medicine that will help your mother regain her health will be news of Willow’s marriage.”
I wanted to reach Pearl desperately, but our lives had taken separate paths. Pearl had enrolled in a missionary middle school in Shanghai. Her life was a world away from mine.
“ Shanghai is like a foreign country,” Pearl wrote.“The international military forces maintain peace here. My father is waiting for things to calm down in the countryside so that he can return to Chin-kiang. At this moment, he is translating the New Testament. At night, he reads out loud from the original Greek text and Pauline theology. He also chants intonations of Chinese idioms. Mother has fallen ill. She misses her garden in Chin-kiang.”
Although I wrote back, I was too ashamed to tell my friend that I would soon be married to a man who was twice my age. I felt helpless and close to despair. Pearl’s letters showed me that there were other possibilities in life, if only I could escape. Now I understood why I loved The Butterfly Lovers. The opera allowed my imagination to take flight. In my daydreams, I escaped the life I was living to live the life of a heroine.
The more dowry that arrived from my future husband, the worse I felt. It didn’t seem to occur to Papa and NaiNai that I deserved better. Papa was angry when I begged to go to school in Shanghai. NaiNai told me that for a small-town girl, “the more she fancies the outside world, the worse her fate will be.”
I had written to tell Pearl that her bungalow home had been set on fire when the Boxers raided the town. To save the church, Papa had replaced the statue of Jesus Christ with the sitting Buddha. Papa told the Boxers that he was a Buddhist and that the church was his temple. To strengthen his lie, Papa dressed like a monk. The converts chanted the Buddhist sutras as the Boxers inspected the property. It was not hard because all the converts were former Buddhists.
Papa begged Bumpkin Emperor to help protect the church. “The foreign god will return the favor,” he promised. “God will save a seat for you in heaven. You will be reunited with all your dead family members and have an extravagant banquet.”
Papa’s tricks didn’t last. Once the Boxers discovered that the “monks” were Christian converts, they were slaughtered. A member of the Wan-Wan Tunes opera was dragged out in the middle of their performance and killed in front of Papa’s eyes.
Carpenter Chan and Lilac were on the Boxers’ list to be beheaded.
They barely escaped.
Papa was the last convert to flee the town. On the morning of the Chinese New Year, the Boxers caught him. A public execution was to be held in the town square.
Papa begged the Boxers to let him live. He admitted that he was a fool.
The Boxers laughed and said they needed to show the public that the Christian God was a hoax. “If your God is real, call him, because we are going to hang you!”
Papa fell upon his knees and hailed, “Absalom!”
Although Papa didn’t believe in God, he believed in Absalom. When a voice answered Papa’s call, everyone was stunned. The voice came from the riverbank. A tall figure jumped off a boat. It was Absalom! His hands were above his head waving a piece of paper. Behind him were Bumpkin Emperor, General Lobster, and General Crab.
“Old Teacher!” the converts screamed.
The Boxers carried on. They slipped the noose around Papa’s neck.
“Stop the execution!” Absalom halted in front of the Boxers. “Here is the copy of Her Majesty Dowager Empress’s decree! Her Majesty has signed a peace treaty with the foreign troops! The eighth item in the treaty says, Foreign missionaries and their converts are to be protected.”
Five more years would pass before Pearl and I would see each other again. By then I was nineteen and Pearl was seventeen. Our reunion happened soon after our ruler, Dowager Empress Tsu Hsi, died. It was said that she had exhausted herself putting out the wildfire that was the Boxer Rebellion. The new emperor she appointed was only three years old. The nation went into a long period of mourning for the Dowager Empress. Nothing had changed locally, although the country was said to have become a headless dragon.
I went to the pier to greet Pearl and Carie the day they returned to Chin-kiang. I was nervous because my appearance had changed. My dress and hairstyle indicated that I was a married woman. Instead of a braid, I wore a bun in the back of my head. In letters, I had avoided mentioning my married life to Pearl. What was there to say? The moment I entered my husband’s home, I found out that he was an opium addict. The matchmaker had lied. His fortune had been squandered long ago. The family was a fabulously embroidered evening gown chewed by moths. He was in so much debt that the servants had fled. My husband had borrowed money to pay for my dowry. The marriage was my mother-in-law’s idea. It was “one stone for two birds.” Her son would get a concubine and she would get an unpaid servant.
My existence was about serving my husband, his mother, and his elder wives and their children. I cleaned beds, emptied chamber pots, washed sheets, and swept the gardens. I had to sneak out to see Pearl and Carie. My husband would never have given me permission had I asked.
Pearl had grown into a stunning beauty. She was tall and slender and dressed in Western clothes. She carried the air of a free spirit. Her smile was full of sunshine.
“ Willow, my friend, look at you!” she called from a hundred yards away with arms wide open. “What a pretty lady you have become!”
“Welcome home” was all I could utter.
Laughing radiantly, Pearl hugged me. “Oh, Willow, I missed you so much!”
Papa, Carpenter Chan, and others came. We helped carry the luggage to Absalom’s newly rented house. It was a former merchant’s home located on the top of the hill.
“What a beautiful house!” Pearl marveled. “Father, how have you allowed us such luxury?”
“It is a haunted house,” Absalom explained. “No locals will take it. The rent is very cheap. I took advantage of the opportunity since I don’t believe in Chinese ghosts.”
As soon as Pearl settled in, we took off to climb the hills. Pearl ’s younger sister, Grace, wanted to join us, but Pearl and I flew away together. Pearl told me that Shanghai was very flat and that she had missed the mountains and hills. She had been itching to go on a hike. She spoke about ideas I had never heard of. She described a world I could only imagine. Her Mandarin vocabulary was more sophisticated. She told me that she was getting ready for college in America. “After that, I will travel the world!”
I didn’t have much to share, so I told her how we had survived the Boxers. In the middle of my story, I stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Pearl asked.
“Nothing.”
“ Willow,” she called gently.
I told myself to smile and to turn away from dark thoughts. But my tears betrayed me.
“Is it your marriage?” she asked, her hand reaching for mine.
My marriage was not uncommon for a Chinese girl, but it was too much for Pearl.
I told Pearl that on my husband’s good days he smoked and gambled; on his bad days, he would take out his anger on me. He would beat me and sometimes rape me. I had to be obedient toward my mother-in-law. As far as she was concerned, it was my fault that the family was going down the drain.
“This is slavery!” Pearl concluded, her features twisting into an expression of anger.
Pearl told me that she had worked with girls in Shanghai who had been forced into abusive marriages or prostitution. “You don’t have to hide your broken arm inside your sleeve anymore, Willow,” she said.
My husband got himself a new concubine. It surprised me because I knew he didn’t have any money. He ignored me when I questioned him. Tradition gave a man the right to dispose of his wife at will. To protest, every morning I went and stood by the village well that everyone shared. I shouted out the terrible things his family had done to me. But I received no sympathy. The village elder criticized me and said that I should commit suicide.
Standing up for myself only gave me a bad reputation. Papa considered me selfish, while NaiNai called me foolish. I didn’t feel completely deserted because I had Pearl ’s support. I went to Carie and offered to help with the school and with setting up the new clinic. Besides teaching me English, Carie trained me and other girls to become nurses.
Pearl and I continued to spend time together, but our friendship was no longer the same. The more she looked forward to college in America, the less we could say to each other. She was sensitive and knew how I felt about my own future.
I didn’t believe she would return to China after college. She seemed less sure now too. After all, it had been Carie’s long-held wish to return to America.
Absalom was not interested in Pearl ’s departure, nor was he sad that she might never return. Absalom was more excited about his upcoming preaching tour farther inland.
Papa was a different person when he was with Absalom. He respected and worshipped him.
“You can tell just from Absalom’s face that he is no ordinary human being,” Papa told the Sunday crowd. “Absalom experiences a radiant joy when he lifts his hand to bless you. You can feel that God is with him.”
Pearl again admitted that she was jealous of the Chinese converts who received Absalom’s affection. It was one of the reasons she wanted to go away. She told me that she was even unhappy about the donkey Papa had bought for Absalom. “The animal has enabled Father to take farther and longer trips.”
“But your father is happy,” Papa told Pearl.
Although Pearl agreed, she said, “Sometimes I don’t think he is my father. He will tolerate others interrupting his sermon with a question, but never me.”
“Will you consider marriage?” I asked Pearl. “And if so, when?”
She laughed. “I’ll see what happens when I get to America.”
Pearl said that she had already started missing China. “I may have been saying that America is my real home, but I doubt that it is true.”
Pearl knew that revealing her thoughts would disturb Carie, so she kept them to herself. “I never intended to defy my ancestors or Western culture,” she told me. “It is just that China is what I know.”
Carie had been in a good mood although she had been ill. She was happy to be able to grow roses and have a garden again. She said that with Pearl gone she would have more time to sit in the garden and read her favorite Western novels. Carie didn’t want Pearl to know that she dreaded her departure.
Pearl was not fooled by her mother’s cheerfulness. She knew that her mother wept behind her back. Pearl worried that Carie might need her when she was in America.
I assured Pearl that I would take care of her mother and would keep her informed about Carie’s health.
October 23, 1913
Dear Pearl,
How happy I am to learn that you have been well and are in good health. Your mother is weak although, as always, she shows good spirits. She finally listened to me and has quit teaching. I took over her classes. Can you believe it? I also wanted to tell you that I have begun your Charles Dickens books.
I am not sure if your mother told you what happened to Absalom. He went too far inland and got stoned by mobs again. Thank the Lord he is fine. Two of your father’s Chinese disciples died, I’m sorry to report. Papa has been running the church for Absalom. He is much improved at preaching. Absalom is so pleased with him that he has started to take even longer preaching tours, although his absence makes your mother unhappy.
I also have this sad news to share: NaiNai passed away last month. Through Absalom’s efforts she finally accepted the conversion. Papa insisted on waiting for Absalom to conduct the burial ceremony. Papa believed that God would favor Absalom’s wishes regarding NaiNai’s next life. Papa didn’t want to take any chances. We all thought it was impossible because Absalom was so far away. Only a few months ago, Absalom had refused to return even when Carie called him about her own worsening condition, so we had little hope.
Well, Absalom showed up. He rode the donkey all day and night. The animal collapsed! NaiNai is so fortunate, because her journey to Heaven was blessed by Absalom. To a Chinese person, a good death is more important than a good birth.
Carie lives alone now after she sent your sister to Shanghai for schooling. Absalom resumed his tour the day after NaiNai’s burial. He wouldn’t stay for Carie. Of course, this is nothing new to you.
Papa has achieved several new conversions. These came from some of the people he invited to NaiNai’s burial. They liked Absalom better than their head monk at the Buddhist temple. There is trouble though. One of the men has more than one wife, and the other is an alcoholic. Absalom has disqualified them before, but Papa faked the papers. Will Papa never learn? He gets carried away in his desire to please Absalom.
March 7, 1914
Dear Pearl,
Your mother shared your letter with me. Congratulations on your new popularity. In just one year you’ve gone from being unable to make friends to being Captain of the class. I’d also like to congratulate you on winning the highest honor in the writing competition. It seems that you have made good use of your Chinese background. By the way, do people in the West know Confucius?
Your mother may have already told you what happened to me. I was a few months pregnant when I walked out on my husband. I felt terrible carrying his seed. I thought about taking the Chinese herb medicine to abort the fetus. My mother died taking that herb and you can imagine how scared I was.
But about three weeks ago I began to bleed. I went to your mother for help.
Before I developed enough courage to tell her the truth, she figured it out. The blood wouldn’t stop. She knew that I must be miscarrying. She said that I could have died if I hadn’t come to her. All I could do was cry. She took me to the British Embassy doctor. I was unconscious when the doctor finished. I am fine today and that is the good news. The bad news is that I might not be able to have children in the future. This has made me sad beyond words.
I have been taking piano lessons from Carie. She was right that music could help me heal. It brings me closer to understanding God. I have wanted to learn piano ever since we were children. It’s truly a dream come true for me.
Carie has put me in charge of the elementary students. Did she tell you that our church school has expanded? We will soon have a middle school. Instead of three classes, we now have five. The school has become so popular that some locals have even signed up their daughters. You must remember how difficult it used to be to get peasant families to support their children’s education. This year, we had to deny a number of applicants due to lack of space. Papa addressed the problem to the governor of Jiangsu, who in turn promised a parcel of land to expand the school. Carpenter Chan will be the chief builder.
December 2, 1915
Dear Pearl,
You won’t believe this: I am writing you from Shanghai. This is what happened: My husband abducted me. As far as he was concerned, I was still his property. He didn’t tell me that he had sold me. Remember, I had wondered where he got his money to buy a new concubine?
Anyway, I ran away and hid in the church. My husband and his hired men chased me. They beat up Papa when he refused to tell them where I was hiding. Eventually, they found out. They broke into the church at night and took me. It was Carie who sent a message to Absalom. Without delay, Absalom appealed to the governor. He said that my abduction was a violation of the treaty law. The next day the governor ordered my husband to either free me or be arrested and beheaded!
I didn’t feel safe, because I suspected that my husband would look for another way to kidnap me. Papa saw suspicious men hanging around our house. Carie thought that it would be a good idea for me to leave Chin-kiang for a while. She made introductions for me at the Christian School for Women in Shanghai. I was offered a scholarship. All I can say is that I am truly blessed by God.
March 24, 1916
Dear Pearl,
Who would believe that the “ Paris of the East” is built on sand? The city’s old name even says it. “Shang-hai-tan,” meaning a sandbank at the mouth of our great Yangtze River. Emperor Guangxu considered it next to worthless, I’ve been told. His imperial opinion must have lessened the sting when he was forced to give it up to foreigners after losing the Second Opium War. What a lot the English, French, and Germans have done with that sandbank, my new home!
I shouldn’t be singing about Shanghai as if you knew nothing about it. I well know that you once lived here. In fact, I often picture you here, imagine where you may have gone, what places you liked best. But forgive me, I can’t help but share my feelings with you because I have no one else.
The Christian school is perfect for me. I have been taking as many classes as I can. The teachers have all been very helpful, sometimes even staying after class to answer my many questions. I never knew that there were so many books, so much to learn.
The students are nice, too. At first I was shy and awkward around them. I felt like such a country bumpkin. I didn’t even know that the Manchu dynasty had been overthrown! So many other things! But isn’t it wonderful that we no longer have an emperor, that China will soon become a republic!
My first weeks at the school now seem like a lifetime away. I feel more at home now and have begun to make some friends. Not like you, of course. But there are some brilliant people here and there is an electricity in the air. The most interesting people are the artists, writers, journalists, and musicians. They form a loose group that gathers at certain bars and restaurants in the city, talking and drinking and arguing for hours on end. I seem to be falling in with these people more and more. I find it exhilarating, so different from the life we knew together in Chin-kiang.
Dr. Sun Yat-sen is among us. He has been single-handedly leading the New Republicans to change China. He is a Christian and a Cantonese by origin. Before he became a revolutionary, he was a physician. He was educated in the West and studied political science. He went to Japan to study how the Mingji Reform has changed the country. In 1911, Dr. Sun returned to China and succeeded in stirring up a military uprising.
Pearl, as you can tell, my universe is expanding at the speed of light. If it wasn’t something I had promised Carie, I would have skipped Sunday church. My stomach is full, but my mind is hungry.
I miss your mother, and I’ll forever be in her debt. Two days ago I went to visit Grace to deliver your mother’s package. Your sister is turning into a fine young lady. She is sweet, but a little shy compared to you. Oh, how I wish you were here with me.
September 2, 1916
Dear Pearl,
It’s been six months since I last wrote you. Things have kept speeding up. I have been involved with the National Party of China. Most of our members are followers of Dr. Sun Yat-sen. Although I’ll always have faith in God, I find myself open to other ideas. I must now leave for a meeting and will continue to write when I return.
October 27, 1916
This letter is taking too long. My life is in fabulous chaos. I don’t know day from night anymore. China is undergoing a political transformation.
December 13, 1916
Pearl, I must share with you my sorrow, China ’s sorrow: Dr. Sun Yat-sen has been diagnosed with cancer. He is not expected to live. The man who will succeed him is Chiang Kai-shek. We are not sure if he is trustworthy. His record shows that he has been an opportunist. Unfortunately, there is no other candidate equal to him in military experience and connections. He has been the Commander-in-Chief of China and claims himself a disciple of Dr. Sun. The fact is that he is the only man who can control the warlords and who is committed to Dr. Sun’s cause.
January 28, 1917
Dear Pearl,
I must inform you about Carie’s condition. I am sure she has been hiding the truth from you. I visited her last month. It was lovely to be back in Chin-kiang, to see all the familiar faces. But I was taken aback when I called on your mother. She could no longer get out of bed. Apparently, her health took a turn for the worse when she went back to work at the school soon after I left for Shanghai. She told me she didn’t want you to return to China to help care for her. She worries about you constantly. Are you really planning to return?
Before I came back to Shanghai I accompanied Carie to the Deng Family Village, where she purchased a burial plot for herself. I have no idea why she picked that place. We didn’t speak of her reasons. I only sensed that she is so deeply disappointed in Absalom that she doesn’t care to be with him in death. But the place is beautiful and serene although remote. It broke my heart that she is quietly doing this. Am I betraying Carie by sharing this information with you? Carie can’t stand the thought that she might not be there to receive you when you return.
April 15, 1917
Dearest Pearl,
How wonderful it is to learn that YOU ARE ENGAGED, and that you are on your way back! My good God! I was deeply surprised to learn this momentous news, the more so because I haven’t heard a word from you for so long. Of course you have my blessing. In your letter to Carie you said that “the decision to register for the marriage” was for the “convenience of traveling.” But do I misunderstand something? Should “convenience” be the reason for marriage? Forgive me for being overly cautious-my own marriage almost ruined my life. But I suspect that your mother’s condition only gave you an additional reason to hurry the happy plans for your marriage.
I am grateful to Carie for sharing your letters and photos. I understood immediately what brought you and Mr. Lossing Buck together. A mutual love of China, for one. How lucky to find someone with a lifelong interest in China in America. And of course you were impressed with Lossing. A Cornell degree, his professorship at Nanking University, and his commitment to helping the Chinese peasants. His agricultural expertise will be greatly appreciated here. He certainly is handsome. You two make a beautiful couple! What a wonderful idea to have the wedding ceremony in Chin-kiang.
I feel that you ought to learn your mother’s feelings. Although she wishes that you were with her, she doesn’t want you to follow in her footsteps. She prefers that you make your life in America. I certainly don’t share those feelings, but I thought that you should know.
Another letter of yours arrived today. I understand that you and Lossing have applied as a couple to the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions, and that Lossing was granted the appointment to China as an agricultural missionary. Forgive me for being selfishly joyful, but this is more wonderful news. I can’t wait to see you again.
I have been thinking about returning to Chin-kiang. Life in Shanghai has been exciting, but I feel like a lotus pad floating on the surface-rootless. Every day I speak about helping my country, but in truth I have achieved little of significance. I have been working menial jobs just to cover living expenses. My days are spent discussing politics and shouting for reform. The Republican Party provides a forum for exhibiting one’s debating talent. It is best suited for those who love the sound of their own voices.
I fear I am turning into a teahouse revolutionary. Increasingly, I am aware of how different I am from my comrades. They have been scholars and students all their lives. I have learned much in the last two years, but at heart I am still a girl from the small town of Chin-kiang. I have lived outside the world of books. I have worked, sometimes only to put food in my stomach. It has made me impatient with idealists and dreamers, however well intentioned. Many of my comrades can’t be prevented from rushing to their own destruction. How can they save their country when they themselves are lost?
You have written to suggest that I “meet people where they are.” I am trying. I have always envied your ability to find healing in people’s very presence. You see humanity and kindness in all people. I see the same thing only rarely. Your mother is an example.
You are a different creature than your parents. I understood when you said that you “live in many mansions.” I am trying to bring down the walls of my own culture. Being a Chinese woman, I am prone to certain sentiments. I try not to be as sour as our famous Chin-kiang brown vinegar. I love my country, so much so that I hate her for not being all I want her to be.
I am thinking about establishing a local newspaper when I return to Chin-kiang. I am counting on your contributions.
Love,
Willow
The Nanking railroad station had stood as a witness to wars and sorrow. Built in 1894, it had gone through destruction and restoration several times. The station had a small waiting room and a ticket booth.
Carie wasn’t really healthy enough to travel, but she wanted to be there when Pearl got off the train. The prospect of hosting her daughter’s wedding had given her new energy.
The manager of the train station was a Christian. He invited Carie to rest inside his little ticket booth. “Although it is March, madame, the cold air outside might make you sick.”
Carie didn’t want to go inside until the man told her that the train was going to be late.
We waited. After two and a half hours, we heard the sound of the approaching train. Excited, I ran outside.
The old steam engine puffed smoke and made terrifying sounds. My heart raced in anticipation. It had been four years since Pearl and I had last seen each other. I knew that I was not the same person she had left behind. I wore a fashionable navy blue jacket with a low collar and a matching skirt. I had on a pair of black leather boots.
The train came to a stop. Passengers started to come out. I spotted my friend instantly, although something felt amiss. It had never occurred to me before that Pearl was a foreigner. She stood out among the Chinese crowd. She was accompanied by Lossing Buck, who was tall and brown-haired. I watched Pearl search the crowd, and her eyes stopped on me.
“ Willow, is that you?” Pearl cried. “I can barely recognize you, a fashionable Shanghai lady!”
“Pearl!” I embraced her. “This is you-I’m not dreaming!”
Pearl turned around and introduced Lossing Buck.
We shook hands, but my eyes wouldn’t leave Pearl. Her blue jacket and tight skirt made her look like a model in a Western magazine. The design of her clothes showed that she was proud of her full figure. I remembered that she used to feel awkward about her developing breasts.
Lossing was about Pearl ’s age, twenty-six years old. He had a long face with a big square jaw. He had a thin-lipped mouth and a high nose. His large eyes were deep set and brown. He was friendly and apologized that he didn’t speak Chinese.
“Where is Mother?” Pearl asked.
“She is in the ticket booth waiting for-” Before I finished the sentence, I saw Pearl ’s smile freeze as her eyes looked past me. Shock flooded her face. I turned and saw that Carie had come outside of the booth.
Later on Pearl told me how crushed she felt the moment she saw her mother. I should have warned her that Carie had shrunk to the size of a child.
Carie had powdered her face and rouged her cheeks and lips. But it didn’t help. She looked gravely ill and ghostly. Her missing side teeth made her cheeks look hollow, as if she were permanently inhaling. Her skin was dry and waxy. She insisted on painting her eyebrows herself. They were visibly uneven. The right eyebrow was higher than the left.
“Mother!” Pearl cried, throwing herself at Carie.
Smiling, Carie addressed her daughter as her tears ran. “God is good, my daughter.”
Carie stood straight, as if her illness was gone. “Let’s go,” she said. “Your father is waiting in Chin-kiang.” She told Pearl and Lossing that she had already made all the arrangements for their wedding.
On the train back to Chin-kiang, Carie fell asleep on Lossing’s shoulder. I sat with Pearl across the aisle and insisted that she share the story of her romance. She had met Lossing on a ship. She told me Lossing had been on a Chinese-language tour, and Pearl was returning to China from America via Europe. During the voyage, they had several weeks to become acquainted.
“How did he court you?” I asked.
“With his China studies,” she said, laughing. “Lossing’s academic work outlines what he plans to do in China. The title of his degree thesis is Chinese Farm Economy and Land Utilization in China. Lossing’s plan is to live in China and conduct experiments that will help the peasants.”
It was easy for me to imagine how my friend had been swept off her feet.
“When Lossing told me that Chinese peasants would be freed from their backbreaking labor if his methods succeed, I fell in love with him. Lossing was fascinated by my life growing up in China. When he realized I spoke so many Chinese dialects, he proposed right away.”
“When did you say yes?” I asked.
“Just after I found out that Lossing’s Chinese would never get him anywhere. He is tone-deaf. How can you be tone-deaf and learn Chinese?”
“So he needs you.”
“I need him, too. I haven’t been able to fall in love with any man in America, to tell you the truth.” Pearl said that she had made efforts to date, but she had felt like a foreigner in America. “I spoke English, but I didn’t understand the culture. I felt out of place and confused. What we would consider rude in China, Americans consider attractive. My relatives thought that I was strange and I thought that they were strange. On the surface, I got along with everybody, but inside I was lonely. For the entire four years I felt that way. I was afraid that I might never like a man enough to marry him. In the meantime, my Chinese mind told me that I’d better hurry or I’d end up an old maid.”
“Lossing’s timing is perfect,” I commented.
“Yes, China brought us together. God has answered my prayers. Lossing and I couldn’t be more blessed!”
For Pearl ’s sake, I hoped that she was right.
I sensed that Pearl had given up America to come back and care for her mother. I asked if it was the truth.
She admitted that Carie was an important reason why she returned. “I love America, but not enough to stay,” she said.
“You can go back to America anytime you want, can’t you?”
“That’s true. But Lossing is like Absalom. He is determined to die in China.” She laughed. Her eyes were radiant with cloudless pleasure.
The first time I witnessed Pearl and Lossing’s differences was at their wedding. Pearl was wearing a Western wedding gown, while Lossing wore a dark suit. Pearl held a bouquet of flowers picked that morning from Carie’s garden. As Pearl was led to the church, the town’s children sang American songs Carie had taught them. Afterward they sang the Chinese wedding song, which delighted Pearl because she used to sing the song as a child.
Buddha sits on a lotus pad,
Beautiful fingers orchidlike.
Sun goes down and moon comes up,
May your life be peaceful and tranquil.
Mud walls and straw pillows,
Fruits, seeds, and many sons.
Happiness and longevity,
May you have the spring and all its fair weather.
Lossing didn’t care for the song. When our friends from the Wan-Wan Tunes troupe came to congratulate the couple and performed the popular musical The Pig’s Wedding, Lossing became upset.
While Pearl felt honored, Lossing felt humiliated. He didn’t like the pig bridegroom, although the character was a hero in the classic Chinese novel Journey to the West. I could tell that Lossing’s offense and lack of humor bothered Pearl, but she didn’t make a show of it.
Carie had planned the wedding to the last detail. Besides Papa, Carpenter Chan, Lilac, and many of her other Chinese friends, Carie invited the English consul, the embassy doctor, their wives, and her other missionary friends. Carie didn’t expect the entire town of Chin-kiang to invite itself. However, the Chinese believe that a good wedding must be packed, and the townspeople felt that Carie’s daughter deserved everyone’s blessing.
Pearl wanted me to be the hostess. She didn’t care that I had been married before. But all the women in town, myself included, thought it was a bad idea. I was considered abandoned by my husband, and therefore I was bad luck for a new bride. Instead Pearl asked me to hire the local chefs and pick the size and color of the melons and fruits that would be piled throughout the entrance and hallway. It was important in Chinese custom to invite all the gods by displaying the symbols of festivity and fertility.
Seeds, nuts, and fruits were thrown at the couple as soon as Pearl and Lossing were pronounced husband and wife. The church courtyard was overflowing with cheerful people. I helped Carie as she gave candies to people and thanked them for coming.
Led by Papa, the crowd paraded through the town. We arrived at Absalom and Carie’s house. The new couple’s room was on the second floor. The pink curtains and the beautiful Persian rug were from Carie’s own room. The banquet was to be held downstairs, where nine courses of Chinese dishes would be served.
Pink-cheeked and in a red Chinese dress, Pearl came downstairs and served tea. She lit cigarettes for the elderly and placed jasmine buds in the palms of young children. Outside, there was the sound of firecrackers. This was to invite good omens. The local band started to play.
Lossing said in English that he didn’t want to play clown and be pushed around by a Chinese crowd. He wanted no part of what he called their “silly games.” It was no use that the locals kept cheering. Pearl ended up apologizing for Lossing.
Told by their parents to help inspire fertility, children hid themselves under the wedding-night bed. They were chased away by Lossing.
Lossing was disgusted when he saw all the chopsticks reaching toward the same plate. He said he would rather starve.
When Pearl encouraged Lossing to taste her favorite Chin-kiang sesame candy, Lossing pointed out the seller’s dirt-filled fingernails and gave Pearl a lesson on how disease spreads.
Pearl was confident that Lossing would soon get used to the Chinese culture. She never doubted that she could create harmony in her marriage. She had faith in Lossing’s ability to understand. “After all, he graduated from Cornell,” she told me.
At Lossing’s request, Pearl accompanied him into the countryside. Lossing began his agricultural project by surveying the land. Pearl became his personal assistant, interpreter, guide, interviewer, field secretary, and footman. She got up at dawn and worked with Lossing in the fields until nightfall.
As I had feared, it didn’t take long for Pearl to lose her enthusiasm. She found herself fighting the widening gap between herself and her husband.
“Conflict is a sign of a healthy relationship,” she said when I asked about her marriage. It pleased her that Lossing was getting what he needed. Pearl wanted to fulfill the role of a good wife. She made it her duty to be pleasant and cheerful.
“Lossing carries far too heavy a burden,” she told me. “His well-being depends on me.” She wouldn’t admit that he didn’t even notice what she cooked for him. Unlike the Chinese, who lived to eat, Lossing ate to live.
While Carie accepted Lossing, Absalom began to have trouble. He disapproved of Lossing’s interference with the way Chinese peasants did their business. The two fought often and finally quit speaking to each other.
Pearl was right that there were similarities between Absalom and Lossing. Absalom’s mission was to save Chinese souls, and Lossing’s mission was to fix Chinese farming methods. Absalom believed that the Christian God ought to be the only God. Lossing believed that his farming method was the best.
But Pearl had her doubts. She said to Lossing, “The Chinese have survived, farming for thousands of years, on the same land and by the most skillful use of fertilizers and irrigation. They produce extraordinary yields without modern machinery!”
The couple moved away soon after Lossing’s proposal was approved by the governor of Anhui province. Lossing didn’t take the governor’s advice to move after the winter. He couldn’t stand Absalom another minute.
Reluctantly, Pearl followed Lossing. They moved to a town north of Chin-kiang called Nanhsuchou, in Anhui province. Pearl didn’t want to leave her mother behind. I asked Pearl why Lossing had to go to the poorest province in China. “Why can’t he find a better place to conduct his project?”
“The farmers of fertile southern land are satisfied with their ways,” Pearl explained. “They are not interested in Lossing’s experiments.”
The governor of the poor province supported Lossing’s ideas because he had little to lose. The governor would gain all the benefit if Lossing succeeded. What Lossing needed was the commitment of the farmers to follow his methods. To make it all work, the governor promised to compensate the farmers if Lossing’s experiment failed.
After a few weeks, I went north and visited Pearl to see how she was faring. Her new home was a two-room cottage. It had previously been occupied by a Christian missionary family. Pearl ’s door and windows didn’t keep out the dust. No matter how hard she cleaned, within hours the inside of her house would be covered by a new layer of dust. Pearl ’s neighbors were Chinese peasant families. They lived in horrible poverty. Pearl told me that she was grateful for the roof over her head.
“Moisture seeped through my walls last month,” she said. She showed me the mold that grew underneath her bed and between her mats and sheets. “I have to always be careful when opening the chamber pot.” She tried to sound lighthearted. “I never know what could be hunting for food in there. It could be a giant spider or a grandmother stinkbug.”
The second time I visited Pearl, she shared with me the exciting news that she was pregnant. “I am finally released from my official duties for the agriculturalist.”
“The agriculturalist” was what Pearl had started to call Lossing. “I thought when I got married I would no longer have to take orders like I did from my father when I was a child.”
As a way to escape her troubles, Pearl began to write. She found comfort in writing. She told me that her imagination was the only place where she could be herself and be free. I knew she had a zest for stories. Charles Dickens was her inspiration. I remembered the first time we met that she held in her hand a black leather-bound book, which she later told me was A Tale of Two Cities. She loved Oliver Twist, Bleak House, and The Pickwick Papers. She read the stories so many times that she could practically recite them. She had always enjoyed writing and had won awards for her work when she was at Randolph-Macon Woman’s College in America. She knew that she had to keep her writing a secret. Absalom had made it clear to her that serving God was the only purpose of living. Lossing made Pearl feel guilty for pursuing anything of her own interest. He wanted her to continue to be his interpreter and was upset when she refused. Pearl joked, “Am I conditioned to a man’s dominance?”
Using pregnancy as an excuse, Pearl wrote whenever Lossing wasn’t around. She no longer complained about Lossing’s long trips that took him away for months at a time. She learned to be alone and to keep discontent locked inside herself.
Pearl confessed to me that she feared she was becoming Carie-in exile in her own home. As she made friends with the neighboring peasants, her writings began to fill with their stories.
“It’s a shame that China ’s intellectuals prefer fantasy over realism,”
Pearl wrote to me. “It’s easier to close one’s eyes on disease and death.”
I wrote back and told her that my newspaper, the Chin-kiang Independent, had finally launched. Pearl promised to contribute a monthly column. Using a Chinese man’s name, Wei Liang, she discussed politics, economics, history, literature, and women’s issues. Her articles were well received. Although the distribution was pitiful, we felt proud that we had a voice of our own.
Early in 1920, the light began to go out of Carie’s eyes. She was in and out of consciousness. Pearl rushed back from Nanhsuchou. She sensed that her mother might not live to see her grandchild.
The Chin-kiang Independent would have to close after a year. No matter how hard I pushed, the newspaper was not selling enough copies to make ends meet.
Papa offered to be the sponsor under two conditions. The name must be changed to the Christian Chin-kiang, and the contents would need to promote Christianity.
“If I spend Absalom’s money, I must sing God’s songs,” Papa insisted. “No reporting that would make Jesus lose face.”
I told Papa that I couldn’t accept his offer. In fact, my newspaper was in the middle of investigating a scandal regarding Chinese converts who continued to practice the worst of traditional Chinese customs. I had been interviewing wives whose Christian husbands kept purchasing new concubines.
Papa was upset because he, too, was having affairs with different local ladies, which he kept a secret from Absalom. Papa asked, “Why do you have to pick the teapot that isn’t boiling?”
“My readers are entitled to the truth,” I replied.
“No money from the church then.”
“So be it.”
I took the matter to Pearl, whose care of her mother was doing wonders. She was confident that the newspaper could survive. We discussed strategy and made adjustments to target the young intellectuals.
Pearl took another male-sounding pen name, Er-ping, meaning “An Alternative View.” She began to write about China ’s place in the world. She introduced Western history, the industrial revolution, different models of government, the concept of political democracy, and the world’s important schools of philosophy and art.
Pearl ’s analysis and essays generated great interest. Her eloquent Chinese impressed the readers so much that no one suspected that Er-ping was a Caucasian and a woman. The number of subscribers increased. My advertising space was sold without a struggle.
My own writings improved because Pearl edited my drafts. I practically lived in the printing factory, which was located near the town’s border. From my window, I watched the construction of the future Chin-kiang Christian Hospital, a two-story brick building funded by Absalom’s church.
Although Pearl was eight months pregnant, she didn’t get much rest. Besides helping me with the newspaper, she had to play the role of a peacemaker between her parents. The conflict between Carie and Absalom intensified. Carie could no longer stand Absalom. She forbade Absalom from ever visiting her.
“You go and save your heathens” were her last words to him.
Pearl spent nights at her mother’s bedside, sitting in a rattan chair. I would come and relieve her at dawn for a few hours. On some nights, after the day’s newspaper was out, Pearl and I would take walks, as we had when we were younger. Carie would be sound asleep as we ventured into the moonlight.
We discussed everything from China to America, from my former husband and mother-in-law to her troubled marriage.
“How is your agriculturalist?” I asked.
“Well, he is turning into a disillusionist,” Pearl replied. “Lossing resents the attitudes of Chinese farmers. He feels less sympathy toward their misery because they are closed to his ideas. His efforts didn’t succeed and the farmers quit his experiments.”
“Were you surprised?” I asked.
“No, and I don’t blame the peasants,” she replied frankly. “They have good reason to see Lossing as a foolish man. Chinese peasants know what their land is capable of producing and how to do it. Lossing believes that if his method works in Iowa, it must work in Anhui.”
“What about the government’s offer of compensation?” I asked.
“The peasants no longer want to practice Lossing’s methods even with compensation.”
“So what is Lossing going to do?”
“He has been looking for a way out. Two weeks ago he received an invitation from his former professor, who is now the dean at the College of Agriculture and Forestry at Nanking University. The dean offered a teaching position and Lossing accepted it. To hell with the farmers in Nanhsuchou.”
“So you are moving to Nanking?”
“What choice do I have?”
“What about your mother?” I asked.
“I’ll see her,” she replied. “Thank God for the railway.”
One day I ventured to ask Pearl if she and Lossing still loved each other.
Tears welled up in her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, I am carrying his child. Even if I don’t need him, the child does.”
Carol Buck was born on March 4, 1920. Although it was a smooth birth, a tumor was discovered in Pearl ’s uterus. The doctor insisted that Pearl go to America to have the tumor removed, which she did. It was a long journey that took four months. As a result of the surgery, Pearl could no longer have children. The news crushed her. She wrote, “I am grateful to have the opportunity to lavish my affection abundantly on Carol.”
Pearl and Carol followed Lossing to Nanking. “We simply abandoned Nanhsuchou,” Pearl reported.
To Pearl’s dismay, Nanking was in the middle of a war. Different Chinese warlords and political factions were fighting for dominance of the city and outlying regions.
“I was shaken when bullets whistled across my garden,” she wrote. “I tried to help the civilian casualties. One woman was shot in the stomach and died in my arms. I felt powerless.”
Carie longed to spend time with her granddaughter. Painstakingly, Pearl made arrangements. She took the train and visited as much as possible. To hold the baby in her arms, Carie struggled to push herself out of the bed. Carol was a milk-skinned, chubby, and beautiful child.
Motherhood brought Pearl profound happiness. The birth of Carol also saved her marriage. She no longer complained about Lossing. Instead she talked about her handsome new home in Nanking with all its lovely trees and a bamboo grove at the far end of the garden.
Pearl applied for a part-time job teaching English at the university’s night school. She was pleased that with only their two small salaries she and Lossing were able to afford servants. “Believe it or not, we have three,” she said. “One takes care of the laundry and the garden, one does the cooking, and one helps me with Carol. It’s hard to believe that I now have extra time on my hands. I have been writing every chance I get and I have just completed a new novel!”
None of us had any sense of the tragedy that was looming. Carol showed no sign that she was a victim of phenylketonuria, but Pearl would soon find out. It was an inherited metabolic disease that would lead Carol to suffer severe mental retardation.
Pearl started to come to Chin-kiang less frequently. By this time, Carol had had her first birthday. When Pearl did come, she didn’t stay long. She had to leave before Carie had had enough time with Carol. Pearl grew tense when watching Carol play. I noticed that although baby Carol looked healthy and was sweet, she didn’t talk when she was supposed to.
Without any warning or word, Pearl stopped coming. After a two-month silence, she came without Carol. She made excuses when her mother questioned. She sat with Carie and tried to look cheerful, but I could tell it was an act.
Carie had her bed moved next to the window, where she could better see the trees and mountains. She was silent most of the time while Pearl held her hand. She said nothing when it was time for Pearl to leave.
Carie stared out into the darkness after Pearl was gone. To cheer her up, I told her about the Chin-kiang Christian Girls’ Choir. “I have been teaching the girls all the songs you taught me,” I reported, “and we have been rehearsing for the Christmas Eve performance.”
Carie enjoyed my news, but deep down she missed her daughter and granddaughter.
Months went by and Pearl didn’t visit. Then I received a letter from her. It broke my heart. Doctors had confirmed her worst nightmare-Carol would never grow up mentally. In her letter, Pearl begged me to keep the news from Carie. “Tell Mother that I will come as soon as I get a chance and I promise that I will stay longer next time.”
Carie sensed that her end was approaching. She called me to her bed. She wanted to visit Kuilin in Guangxi province before she died. “Would you accompany me, Willow?” she asked.
I made arrangements immediately. I wrote to Pearl, who was in America with Lossing getting treatment for Carol, that her mother was determined to make the trip. We arrived in Kuilin by train after five days. Sitting on a chair on a bamboo raft, Carie floated down the Li-jiang River. With tears in her eyes, she gazed over the ink-painting-like landscape. The clear, smooth water mirrored the green mountains against a cloudless sky.
“I am ready to die now,” Carie said quietly.
“No, you cannot,” I responded. “You haven’t heard Carol call you Grandma yet.”
She shook her head slightly. “Carol might never be able to.”
That was when I realized that Carie had known all along what was happening. She had tried to take away Pearl ’s burden by pretending to know nothing. She had seen too much death and illness over the years to be fooled.
“But why aren’t you fighting?” I wept with my cheek against the back of her hand. “You have always been a fighter. You fought for your children, your own fate, and everybody else’s. I remember the way you scrubbed my hair with soap trying to get rid of the lice.”
Carie gave a weak smile. “I am too tired.”
I understood the reason Carie had come to Kuilin. It was her way to help Pearl. If she wasn’t home, Pearl wouldn’t have to rush back to Chin-kiang.
“You have been hard on yourself, Carie,” I said.
“Nothing is hard when I have you by my side.” She smiled.
I asked if there was anything else that I could do for her.
She was silent for a while and then uttered, “Be there for Pearl after I’m gone.”
Carie died the day before Christmas. Pearl and I were with her till the end. Carie’s last wish touched me deeply. All her belongings were to be sold and the funds given to her lifelong maid and friend Wang Ah-ma, so that she could retire and return to her provincial town. The funeral was held on Christmas Day. Absalom performed a simple ceremony, the same ceremony he offered the locals. We were stunned that Absalom didn’t do more for his wife.
The casket was lowered slowly into the ground. Behind Pearl and Absalom, the entire town of Chin-kiang stood. Grief-stricken, Wang Ah-ma fainted. The Chin-kiang Christian Girls’ Choir sang “Amazing Grace.” Playing Carie’s piano, I made a promise to myself to maintain Carie’s grave like a Chinese daughter would.
Hundreds of candles were placed in cut-off gourds filled with sand. Members of the girls’ choir lit the candles and prayed for Carie’s spirit. The candles were then placed on lotus pads and set free to drift with the current. Slowly the candles floated into the canal and then the Yangtze River. We prayed that Carie’s spirit would travel across the Pacific Ocean and reach her birthplace in America.
Absalom was upset when Lilac proposed hosting a “tofu banquet” to honor Carie. It was the Chinese Buddhist tradition. The wish came from people who felt deeply indebted to Carie. Papa reminded Absalom that the majority of the provincial people, whose lives Carie had touched and helped, were not Christians.
Lilac told Absalom, “We would like to send off old spirits and greet new ones so Carie may gain favors in her next life, not only with the Christian God but also the Chinese gods.”
Papa explained to Absalom, “It is an honor only people of high standing and wealth can afford.”
“No!” Absalom frowned with his eyebrows and said firmly. “That is against the Christian principle. An elaborate funeral is wasteful. Carie did nothing more than her Christian duty.”
Pearl tried to convince her father that by honoring Carie, the people were honoring the Christian God. But it was no use.
An idea proposed by Carpenter Chan and his friends to build a memorial gate for Carie was also dropped. In order to allow the tofu banquet to take place, Papa fabricated an emergency in a neighboring village church. It sent Absalom on his way out of Chin-kiang.
The tofu banquet lasted a week. It was held in Carie’s name. It symbolized her thanks to all who came to help her complete the transition from one life to another.
People traveled long distances to attend the ceremony. Staying up all night, I helped Lilac soak and cook the soybeans. We ground the beans and made a variety of tofu dishes, including tofu chicken, tofu duck, tofu fish, tofu ham, tofu bread, and a big tofu cake.
Pearl received families dressed in traditional mourning costume, white from head to toe. The white cotton robes were matched with white hats pinned with white flowers and white shoe covers. Pearl had no idea that her mother had so many friends.
I was called the Other Pearl because Carie, in many ways, had adopted me. I sang the crying tune with the crowd. It was Chin-kiang’s tradition to mourn this way. The tune asked the gods to hear our complaints for taking Carie away too soon.
Carpenter Chan and his crew built makeshift gates that guided the crowd to Carie’s grave. Wood carvings of protective gods stood on top of each gate. Every gate had its own title, which stood as a symbol of blessing for Carie’s next life.
The first gate was titled Sleeping Seeds, which stood for winter; the second was Flower Buds, which meant spring; the third was In Full Blossom, representing summer; and the last gate, Harvest and Fruits, was for the fall. Carie was assured all four seasons in her next life.
As people passed through the gates they kowtowed. Children were told to beg the gods to guard Carie’s spirit. The Wan-Wan Tunes troupe played The Celebration and the mourners entertained gods of the universe. First was the god of death, who was believed to have ordered Carie’s departure from earth. He was entertained to make sure no mistakes had been made. Next were the demons that were believed to have escorted Carie. They were asked to “be gentle with the sorrowful spirit.” Third was the Heavenly Judge, who was in charge of counting Carie’s virtues and deciding her future. The message from the mourners to him was “Please be fair and kind.” Food and wine were offered to this god to assure a receptive mood.
Pearl was grateful that the local people thought to honor her mother with their ancient traditions. She participated in the piety ceremony, where she lit incense at Carie’s altar and prayed for the comfort of her mother’s spirit.
I asked Pearl where her husband was.
“Lossing is an American…” Pearl said. “And he has been very busy.”
I sensed she was upset.
“Lossing should have been here for you, if for no other reason.”
Pearl appeared hurt, although she explained, “I told him that he didn’t have to come if he was busy.”
“Pearl.” I made her look at me. “What is going on?”
Reluctantly, she replied, “Lossing complains that I am too demanding. He didn’t even think that I should come. He wanted me to stay in Nanking and take care of Carol.”
I shook my head.
“Carol is not getting better…” Pearl broke down. “I don’t want to believe what I see. But I am forced to. My daughter doesn’t talk and doesn’t respond to me. I have tried to teach her, but I am not reaching her… Lossing thinks it is my fault. And I think it’s my fault, too… I didn’t make Carol right in the first place. I don’t know what happened… Lossing is devastated. He can’t believe that she is his child. He left us last week, again, for a field trip in the north. Maybe it’s for the better-we don’t have to fight endlessly… Lossing will be gone for three months, maybe longer. I am afraid that he won’t return…”
“Lossing will return,” I comforted her. “He is Carol’s father. Give him time.”
“You don’t know the truth of our marriage, Willow. It hasn’t been working. Carol’s trouble is like salt on top of a wound. I thought I could take it. I don’t mind Lossing taking his anger out on me. But when he is mean to Carol, I…”
I let her sob on my shoulder.
“I can’t see myself living with him anymore,” she continued. “Carol doesn’t know what is wrong. She doesn’t deserve her father’s cruelty.”
“You need Lossing at this moment,” I said.
She agreed. “We need money to pay Carol’s doctors in America.”
Pearl ’s searching for Carol’s cure would eventually end. After years of disappointment, she would accept her fate. Pickled in sorrow, she began to imagine her own accidental death and contemplated suicide. I wrote her as much as I could.
Pearl told me that writing had become her salvation. It was the only way that she could take her mind off her daughter. If she couldn’t fix Carol, she could fix the characters in her novels.
After Carie’s death, Absalom traveled deep inland, sometimes a year at a time. As a result, more Christian churches were established. Carpenter Chan followed Absalom. He brought his wife and children with him.
Papa continued to be responsible for the Chin-kiang Christian community. His recent achievements included the conversion of the richest man in Chin-kiang, the head of the famous Chin-kiang Vinegar Company. Receiving handsome contributions, Papa transferred the money to Absalom, who in turn funded Christian schools inland.
Besides being publisher and editor of the newspaper, I was also in charge of the Chin-kiang Christian Girls’ Middle School. I followed Carie’s original curriculum and added Chinese history, science, and mathematics.
I wasn’t aware of the Chin-kiang Independent’s popularity until I received a letter from the Nanking Daily offering me a position as its editor.
I accepted the offer without hesitation because I had always admired the Nanking Daily. The paper was as prestigious as the Shanghai Daily, and its readership reached all of southern China. The offer would expand my horizons and also enable me to reunite with Pearl.
As if our childhood had returned, Pearl welcomed me to Nanking. We climbed the famous Purple Mountain together. Beneath our feet spread the city of Nanking. Temples, shrines, and the tomb of the fourteenth-century Ming emperor were scattered over the mountainside. The city had a twenty-four-mile-long wall and nine elaborately decorated, forty-foot-high gates. Running beside the city was the Yangtze River, which flowed on to Chin-kiang.
“I love the winding cobbled streets and the little shops glimmering with candlelight at night,” Pearl said. “I adore the flickering oil lamps that light the streets. I can’t help but imagine the family life of the people within these ancient walls.”
After I settled into my small apartment near the newspaper office, we began to visit each other regularly. Pearl lived in a three-room brick house. It was modest compared to the residences of other foreigners. The house belonged to the university compound occupied mostly by faculty. Lossing had been living here for four years now. Like Carie, Pearl tended to her garden. Besides roses and camellias, there were tomatoes and cabbages.
I was pleased to see Carol again, although I was sad to witness her condition. She was five years old. I tried to communicate with her, but she did not respond. I also saw Lossing. His skin was whiter than I had remembered. He taught in the classroom, where he felt that he was wasting his time. He longed to return to the field.
“Please, Willow, stay for dinner,” Pearl insisted one evening. “It will be no trouble for me at all. The servants do everything for three bags of rice at the end of the month. It makes me feel guilty even though almost every white family in the city enjoys such help. My chef is from Yangchow, but he can also cook Peking and Cantonese style.”
It was at the dinner table that I witnessed the couple fight. Lossing needed Pearl to be his translator for his new field experiment, but Pearl refused.
“I no longer know who this woman is.” Lossing turned to me, speaking half jokingly. “She certainly doesn’t need a husband. She is having an affair with her imagined characters.”
“Perhaps writing eases her anxiety.” I tried to make peace.
Lossing interrupted me with laughter. “No, you don’t know her, Willow. My world is too small for this woman. Vanity and greed are the true demons here. And yet if Pearl has ambition, she has little skill or training. She wants to be a novelist, but she has no academic training and no material. She is lost as a mother, and she is bound to lose if she tries to make it as a writer.”
Pearl stared at Lossing, disgusted.
Lossing ignored her and continued, “It is destructive when a hobby turns into an obsession.”
“Stop it, Lossing,” Pearl said, trying to control her anger.
“You have a responsibility,” Lossing went on. “You owe this family!”
“Please, stop.”
“I have the right to express myself. And Willow has the right to know the truth.”
“What truth?” Pearl ’s eyes were burning.
“That this marriage is a mistake!” Lossing said loudly.
“As if we even have a marriage!” Pearl responded.
“No, we don’t,” Lossing agreed.
“You have no right to ask me to give up writing,” Pearl said.
“So you have made up your mind.” Lossing looked at her. “You have decided to ignore my needs and abandon this family.”
“How have I abandoned this family?”
“You disappear mentally when you write. We don’t exist. I know I don’t. You refuse to work with me to support this family. You well know that without your help I can’t do my job. You treat your writing as if it is a job, but all I see is an amateur at play. Let me remind you, I am the one who earns the money, who pays for the rent, all the living expenses, and Carol’s doctor fees!”
“Writing helps me stay sane.” Pearl was on the verge of tears.
“It doesn’t seem to be helping on that score.”
Pearl struggled to compose herself.
Lossing carried on.
Pearl looked defeated. She got up and went to the kitchen.
From the living room, I heard Carol’s screaming and the maid’s voice, “Put it down!”
“I am only talking common sense,” Lossing said to me. “I can understand that Pearl wants to write novels to escape her life. But who wants to read her stories? The Chinese don’t need a blonde woman to tell their stories, and the Westerners are not interested in China. What makes Pearl think that she stands a chance of succeeding?”
Taking the Nanking Daily job proved to be the best decision I ever made in my career. I was surrounded by people who were intelligent and open-minded. Our staff competed with the Peking Daily and the Shanghai Daily. I often brought work home that I couldn’t finish in the office. After a year, I had moved to a new place, a little bungalow located outside the ancient city gate. It was close to the woods and mountains. The fresh air, the views, the privacy-all of these did me good. Clearing the weeds, I discovered that I actually had a garden. I planted roses, lilacs, and peonies. It pleased me that I would be able to bring fresh flowers to Carie’s grave site by the time of the Spring Memorial Festival.
Pearl continued her teaching at Nanking University. We celebrated our birthdays together. We had reached our midthirties and we joked and teased each other about our lives. I was still legally married to my former husband, since China didn’t have such a thing as divorce. I had no idea how many new concubines my husband had married and how many children he had. I asked my father if he, as the head of the church, would make an announcement to disassociate me from the man.
Papa didn’t think that it was necessary. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he said. “Your husband has been telling everyone that you are dead. I am getting tired of explaining to people that you are not dead.”
I asked Papa if he would like to come to Nanking so that I could take care of him. He declined. He said that he was God’s foot soldier. The church was his home, its members his family.
Pearl, on the other hand, talked the head dean of Nanking University into offering Absalom a nonpaying position teaching a course on Western religion. Pearl convinced the seventy-three-year-old Absalom to slow down, to move to Nanking and live with her. He finally agreed.
Following Absalom, Carpenter Chan and Lilac also moved to Nanking. They found a modest place a mile from Pearl ’s house. Carpenter Chan believed that Absalom would need him, for he “will never stop expanding God’s kingdom.”
Lilac was convinced that it was her husband’s commitment to Absalom’s causes that brought her happiness. Lilac was one among hundreds of Absalom’s followers.
I said to Pearl, “Absalom feels content enough to quit risking his life going inland.”
“Remember the beginning, when Absalom preached on the streets of Chin-kiang?” Pearl smiled.
“Oh, yes. Everyone thought he was mad.”
Pearl tried to get Carol to say the one word she had been teaching her all week. But Carol would not deliver. It drove both of them crazy. The Chinese servants had been feeding Carol relentlessly, for they believed that the fatter the child, the better the health. Although mentally handicapped, Carol developed a strong body. One day Carol hit Pearl on the forehead with a stone paperweight.
Blood crawled down Pearl ’s face like an earthworm. Carol, unaware of what she had done, went on playing. Pearl sat on the floor, quietly wiping the blood from her forehead.
Lossing, meanwhile, made peace with reality. He avoided Pearl and Carol. He spent long hours working in his office, even on Sundays.
Pearl ’s refusal to give up on Carol aggravated the strain in their already suffering marriage. Pearl called Lossing a coward when he tried to convince her that there was no point in fighting God’s will.
Pearl often expressed her anger in Chinese. Lossing understood but couldn’t respond fast enough. Pearl would say, “Maggots don’t just breed in manure pits, they breed in expensive meat jars too.”
When Pearl yelled, “Only the toes know when the shoe doesn’t fit,” it was unclear whether Lossing understood her meaning.
Fighting with her husband and caring for her daughter consumed Pearl. She no longer paid attention to her appearance. She wore the same wrinkled brown jacket and black cotton skirt every day. More and more, she looked like a local Chinese woman. With her hair tied up in a bun, she walked in a hurry with a stack of books under her arm.
Eventually Pearl quit making demands on Carol. I often found Pearl sitting quietly, watching her daughter. Her expression was infinitely sad.
At the university, Pearl was a beloved teacher. The fact that she was a native Chinese speaker made her the most popular foreign instructor on campus. She was promoted and became an official university staff member. Besides English, Pearl taught American and English literature. Pearl was sincerely interested in her students. She loved it when they compared their lives to those of the characters in Charles Dickens’s novels. Pearl taught older students, too. As they practiced their conversation skills, Pearl learned about their families and their lives outside of school.
Pearl shared with me one of her students’ stories. “This happened only three months ago,” she began. “A massacre took place in the town of Shao-xing. A group of young Communists were beheaded by the nationalist government. Their bodies were chopped up, ground, and made into bread stuffing. The bread was advertised for sale at the local bakery! Can you believe that, Willow? What a way to scare people into submission!”
Pearl discovered that her servants had been hiding something from her. “Last night,” she came to tell me, “I followed a noise to the back of my house and found a woman living there with her newborn baby. The woman was my age, perhaps younger. Her name was Soo-ching. She told me that she had been living there for six months and had given birth to her son only days before.”
“She begged you to let her stay?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I didn’t know what to say. I can’t kick her out. The strangest thing was that this beggar lady named her son Confucius.”
I was not surprised. It could have been my name too. When Papa was a beggar, he decided that if I had been born a boy, he would have named me after Confucius, or Mencius, or the ancient Chinese philosophers Lao Tse or Chuang Tzu.
“Will you publish such stories if I write them?” Pearl asked. “I mean the stories of real people?”
“Personally, I’d love to. But I’m not sure if the newspaper would agree,” I responded.
“Why not?” Pearl asked. “They are moving, human stories. Readers would be interested and the stories might do some good.”
“Yes, perhaps. But the paper has a tradition of publishing only what will inspire, not what will depress. Remember, this is the Nanking Daily, not the Chin-kiang Independent. Our funding is from the government.”
“What is the purpose of a newspaper if not to tell the truth?” Pearl said. “People will get a false picture of what is truly happening in China.”
“Read the alternative papers published by the Communists if you want the truth. I have books by Lu Hsun, Lao She, and Cao Yu.”
Pearl couldn’t wait. She came to my home and borrowed the books I recommended.
Though I continued to attend church regularly, great changes were happening in the outside world, and my job brought me into their midst. For Pearl, her reading soon expanded beyond my recommendations and helped push her marital troubles to the back of her mind. Her enthusiasm returned. She was once again the Pearl I used to know.
We discussed works by Lu Hsun. Pearl ’s favorites were The True Story of Ah Q and The Story of Mrs. Xiang-Lin. Although the author’s criticism of society was sharp and original, we didn’t love the stories. Pearl ’s trouble with Lu Hsun was that he depicted his characters as if he were standing on a roof looking down.
“The peasants he portrays are all narrow-minded, stubborn, and stupid,” Pearl pointed out.
“Well, it was considered revolutionary that he even made peasants his subjects,” I commented.
Pearl and I both loved Lao She and Cao Yu. Among their best were The Big House, Full Moon, and The Marriage of a Puppet Master. We favored Full Moon in particular for the author’s sensitivity. The story was about a single mother who was driven into prostitution. Although her daughter tries to avoid following in her mother’s footsteps, she ends up succumbing to the same fate.
Pearl liked the story but resented the novel’s bitter hopelessness. She preferred stories that offered hope in the end, however tragic. “The character must believe in himself, and he must have the stamina to endure.”
“Beautiful, heart-wrenching tragedy has been central to the Chinese tradition for thousands of years,” I reminded her. “Both novelists and readers relish what you call hopelessness.”
“That is not always true,” Pearl challenged. “The novel All Men Are Brothers is the best example. The poor peasants were forced to become bandits. But the novel is filled with energy. There is no bitterness to it. To me, this is the Chinese essence!”
“Chinese critics don’t share your opinion,” I argued. “They say All Men Are Brothers lacks sophistication. They consider it folk art, not literature.”
“That is exactly why things must change,” Pearl shot back. “Everyday life has a power of its own. And it’s important to pay attention to it. Look at Soo-ching, the lady who delivered her son in my backyard! I bet she bit off the umbilical cord like the character Er-niang in All Men Are Brothers! I didn’t see her pity herself. She was ready to go on. That poor lice-infested beggar lady! I think her a worthy subject, even heroic!”
I remembered the first time Pearl and I discussed the Chinese classic Dream of Red Mansion. I was sixteen and had just learned to read. Pearl didn’t like the novel, especially the hero, Pao Yu.
“Have your views changed regarding Dream of Red Mansion?” I asked.
“No. Pao Yu is nothing but a playboy,” Pearl replied.
“By Chinese estimations, Pao Yu is a rebel and an intellectual prince,” I said, smiling. “The popular view is that Pao Yu deserves more respect than an emperor.”
“What do you mean by popular? The people who hold such views are only a tiny minority.”
“Well, that minority rules the literary world.”
“Are you telling me that the majority, who happen to be peasants, don’t count in China?” Pearl was annoyed.
I had to agree with her that it was not right.
Dream of Red Mansion was a classic, Pearl admitted. “But it is an ill beauty, so to speak. It is about escapism and self-indulgence. I am not saying that the novel doesn’t deserve credit for criticizing the feudalism of the time.”
“I am glad that you acknowledge that. It is important.”
“However,” Pearl continued, “the novel, in its essence, reminds me of Goethe’s Sorrows of Young Werther. The difference is that Werther fell in love with one girl, Lotte, while his Chinese counterpart Pao Yu fell in love with twelve maidens.”
“In China, educated men still spend their lives imitating Pao Yu.”
“Drinking clubs and brothels have become the only source of inspiration. What a pity!” Pearl went on. “I think it is a crime that there is no representation in literature for the greater part of the Chinese people.”
Days of drizzle announced the coming of spring. Camellias blossomed. Leaves shone glossy green. Heavy with moisture, massive flowers began to plop to the ground. I was working late at night when I heard a knocking on the door.
It was Pearl without an umbrella. Her hair was drenched and she looked devastated.
“What happened?” I let her in and closed the door.
“Lossing…” Unable to go on, she passed me a piece of wadded paper.
It was a letter, a hand-copied ancient erotic Chinese poem.
“It’s not his handwriting,” Pearl pointed out.
“From a female student, you think? Where did you find it?”
“In his drawer. I went to his office looking for an address. I was writing to his aunt, who had some questions concerning Carol.”
I was stunned. “Do you think that Lossing is having an affair?”
“How could I think otherwise?” Tears welled from her eyes.
“Where is Lossing now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he know that you know? How long could this have been going on?”
“I haven’t paid attention to anything else but Carol.”
“Who is this girl?”
“I think I know who she is. Her name is Lotus, a first-year student in the agricultural department. I ran into her several times at Lossing’s office.”
“Is she pretty?”
“I don’t remember… that she was particularly pretty. She was the translator he hired for his fieldwork. He has taken trips with her. I was foolish to trust him.” She took the towel I offered and wiped her face. “I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming.”
I sat down with her and made tea. “What are you going to do?” I asked quietly.
“If I didn’t have Carol, I’d leave now,” she answered. Her eyes became tearful again.
“The trouble is that you don’t earn enough money.”
“No, I don’t.”
I thought about Pearl ’s mother and the way she had felt trapped all her life.
“Would you put up with him for Carol’s sake?” I asked.
Pearl ’s hands went through her wet hair. She bit her lower lip and shook her head, slowly but firmly.
“The reality is…”
“Listen, Willow. Last month I succeeded in placing two essays, in South East Asia Chronicle and the American Adventure Magazine. Although the payments weren’t much, it gave me hope.”
“Pearl, look, it’s difficult for anyone to make a living these days. It’s doubly hard for a woman. You know that.”
“I am not going to let anything stop me.” She was determined. “My gut feeling tells me that writing is my best chance. I must try.”
“With your Chinese stories?”
“Absolutely. I believe in my Chinese stories. No other Western author can come close to what I offer-what life is really like in the Orient. For God’s sake, I’m living it. The Chinese world cries out for exploration. It’s like America once was-fertile and full of promise.”
Pearl and I made a new discovery: the poet Hsu Chih-mo. In the summer of 1925, Hsu Chih-mo was called “the Renaissance Man” or “the Chinese Shelley.” Promoting the working class’s right to literacy, he became the leader of China ’s new cultural movement. Pearl and I were strong supporters of Hsu Chih-mo.
“A bush at the foot of the mountain can never enjoy what a pine would…” I shared with Pearl from Hsu Chih-mo’s essay titled “On Universe.” “To touch the fantastic rolling clouds the pine must hang dangerously from the cliff.”
In return, Pearl sent me a section of his essay “Morality of Suicide,” enclosed with her own note: “Let me know if you don’t fall in love with the writer’s mind.”
What is wrong is that these suicides embody the values of our society and set our moral standard: a village girl who drowns herself instead of yielding to her abusive mother-in-law; a businessman who hangs himself to escape debt; an Indian who sacrifices himself to feed crocodiles and a minister who drinks poison to demonstrate his loyalty toward the emperor.
We dishonor the integrity of the individual by honoring these deaths. We make death sound glorious. In my opinion, the people who commit suicide are not heroes but victims. I offer them pity and sympathy but not respect and admiration. They are not martyrs, but fools. There are other types of suicide, which I think are truly glorious and worthy-such as that of the characters in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Their deaths touch us because we identify with their humanity.
The wind was harsh. Gigantic pines stood solemnly against the gray sky. Pearl and I sat with the city view below our feet, discussing Hsu Chih-mo. We knew a lot about him already. He earned a degree in law at Peking University. Then he went to England to study economics but instead earned a degree in literature. Next he attended Columbia University in America and majored in political science. What interested us most was his graduate thesis, The Social Position of Women in China.
Pearl recited Hsu Chih-mo’s poem titled “Cancer in Literature.”
The language smells of a dying room
Rotten, filthy and stinky
Anxiety and struggle
No means of escape
Youthful enthusiasm
Hope and ideal
Grass grows through concrete
To reach sunlight and air
“You are falling in love with Hsu Chih-mo,” Pearl teased.
I wished that I could deny it. I took an assignment in Shanghai so that I could attend Hsu Chih-mo’s poetry reading. I was excited to find that he was everything I had imagined. He was a six-foot-tall, handsome northern Chinese. He had silky, curly black hair. His leaf-shaped eyes were gentle, although his gaze was intense. Under his Mongolian high-bridged nose was a sensuous mouth. He read passionately. The world around me disappeared.
I entrust
The poplar catkins have all fallen
I entrust
The cuckoos confuse nights with days
And cry “It’s better to return!”
To the bright moon
I entrust an anxious heart
Who says you are a thousand miles away
I entrust
Moonlight will shine on you
I entrust
The frost kisses the marshland’s tender reeds
I followed Hsu Chih-mo and bought tickets to his lectures. I dressed for him and hoped that our paths would cross. He didn’t appear to notice me, but I felt rewarded just to be able to see him.
In Shanghai I learned that I was among thousands of women who dreamed of Hsu Chih-mo. We threw ourselves at him like night bugs at a light.
Pearl told me that Hsu Chih-mo was a constant subject of gossip columns. His affairs with three different women had made headlines in the Shanghai Evening News and the Celebrity Magazine. The first was his wife by an arranged marriage. She was the daughter of a wealthy family in Shanghai and followed Hsu to England. The couple committed the unthinkable: They issued a public letter claiming that their relationship was loveless and wrong. Chinese society was stunned by the word divorce. Cynics believed that Hsu had abandoned his wife to pursue other women. The wife returned home to give birth to their son and continued to live with and serve Hsu Chih-mo’s parents.
It was said that the beautiful Miss Lin was Hsu Chih-mo’s second lady. She was an American-educated architect and the daughter of Hsu’s mentor, a professor of Chinese literature in England. Miss Lin was said to be torn between Hsu Chih-mo and her fiancé, a famous scholar of Chinese architecture. After much publicized drama, Miss Lin chose her fiancé over Hsu Chih-mo. Hsu Chih-mo’s third lady was a courtesan from Peking. He married her in an effort to save her from opium addiction and alcohol. Their marriage was troubled from the start. It had been a staple on the front pages of newspapers and magazines.
Pearl sent me a telegram while I was still in Shanghai. My heart took flight withevery word: “Hsu Chih-mo is scheduled to visit Nanking University. He is accompanying Tagore, a poet from India. You’d better hurry because I have sent Hsu Chih-mo an invitation to give a talk in my class and HE HAS ACCEPTED!”
The roles of host and guest were reversed from the beginning. Hsu Chih-mo was getting more attention than his distinguished guest, Tagore. The two stood shoulder to shoulder onstage in front of a podium. Tagore read his poem Gitanjali as Hsu Chih-mo translated. Listeners packed the hall. Students applauded at each of Hsu Chih-mo’s sentences.
Looking like a brass temple bell, Tagore was wrapped in a brown blanket. Although he was only in his fifties, the Chinese thought him older because of his chest-length gray beard. In contrast, Hsu Chih-mo was slender, youthful, and stylish. One could easily tell that he was what the crowd had been waiting for. He was the reigning prince of Chinese literature.
Tagore grew increasingly uneasy as the students cheered Hsu Chih-mo. Turning to Hsu Chih-mo, Tagore said, “I thought the crowd was here to see me.”
“Yes, sir,” Hsu Chih-mo assured him. “The people have come to celebrate your work.”
Pearl and I sat in the front row. I wore my silver Shanghai-style coat with a crimson silk scarf. Pearl had arrived late. She wore her wrinkled brown jacket and black cotton skirt and was in a pair of Chinese peasant shoes. Her socks were so worn they hung loose at her ankles. From the disarray of her hair, I knew she’d just had a problem with Carol.
“I can’t believe it. You didn’t bother to dress up,” I whispered in her ear.
She cut me off. “Just be glad that I am here.”
I wouldn’t let her off easily. “It’s Hsu Chih-mo, for God’s sake. How often do we get to meet with a celebrity?”
She gave me a tired look.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t.”
“Say it.” I held her elbow.
“Fine.” She turned and whispered in my ear, “I wouldn’t have minded missing Hsu Chih-mo. Tagore is the one I came for.”
“How about I take the young one and you take the old?” I teased.
“Shush!”
The duet on the stage continued. Hsu Chih-mo translated Tagore’s last poem:
I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands
That is why it is so late and why I have been guilty of such omissions
They come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast
But I evade them ever
For I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands
People blame me and call me heedless
I doubt not they are right in their blame
“Tagore is lucky,” I whispered to Pearl.
Nodding, she agreed. “Hsu Chih-mo is particularly good at reconstructing Tagore’s sentences into Chinese.”
“Tagore doesn’t seem to fully appreciate it.”
Hsu Chih-mo continued,
The market day is over and work is all done for the busy
Those who came to call me in vain have gone back in anger
I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands
Pearl and Hsu Chih-mo stood together in front of her class. She had invited the poet to speak to her students the day after his appearance with Tagore. This was before they knew what was going to happen-long before historians wrote about this moment.
I could tell that Hsu Chih-mo was surprised by the excellence of Pearl ’s Chinese. Except for her Western features and the color of her hair, Pearl was Chinese in every way.
“My apologies for the humble reception, but our hearts are sincere.” Pearl smiled and gestured to one of her students to come pour tea for Hsu Chih-mo.
“Long Jing from Hangchow,” Pearl said, taking the tea to Hsu Chih-mo. She bowed lightly after placing the cup in front of him.
In retrospect, it was I who didn’t see that Hsu Chih-mo was attracted to Pearl the moment he laid eyes on her. Her ease and confidence caught him.
“Where are you from?” Hsu Chih-mo asked Pearl, ignoring the class.
In a perfect Chin-kiang dialect, Pearl replied, “The pig is from River North.”
He understood her joke and laughed.
Many southern Chinese called coolies, drifters, beggars, and bandits River North Pigs, because they came from the northern, unfertile part of the Yangtze River and were poor and a lower class. With this joke, Pearl revealed two facts about herself. First, she was a native. Second, she identified with the people. If she had wanted, she could have spoken perfect Mandarin with an Imperial accent.
During the class Hsu Chih-mo discussed his effort in translating Tagore.
Pearl was charming, although her questions were daring. She challenged Hsu Chih-mo on the Indian rhythm compared to the Chinese. She also asked him to explain the art of his translation, especially the difference between being “faithful in appearance” and “faithful in essence.”
Infatuated with Hsu Chih-mo, I was blind and deaf to what was truly happening between him and Pearl.
“What influenced you to become a poet?” a female student raised her arm and asked.
“Craziness,” Hsu Chih-mo replied. “My mother said that I was a spooky child. My eyes were open and my lips uttered strange words at night. Poetry to me was like rocks and cards were to other boys.”
A male student with glasses asked, “You are called the Chinese Shelley. What do you make of that?”
“It doesn’t mean anything to me.” Hsu Chih-mo smiled. “But I am honored, of course.”
“What do you do to make your poems successful?” Pearl asked.
Hsu Chih-mo thought before he replied. “I feel very much like a tailor making a pair of pants. I first study the fabric so I know how to cut it. A good pair of pants takes a great deal of fabric. I make sure that my cuts go with the grain instead of against it.”
A loud voice came from the back of the room. “Mr. Hsu, what is your view of the literary movement in our society today?”
The question threw a boulder into a calm pond. Hsu Chih-mo was stirred. “It disturbs me that our country debates whether or not the Chinese language should be made accessible to the peasants!” His voice resonated. “As we all know, the emperor we overthrew thirteen years ago spoke a private language, which nobody but he and his tutor understood. Our proud civilization and heritage become ridiculous when our language is used to create not communication and understanding, but distance and isolation.”
As the editor in chief of the Nanking Daily, I created, sponsored, and produced the news program China Literary Front. The program was syndicated across all of China. I was able to travel, dine, and converse with some of the brightest minds of our time. But what I enjoyed most was my time with Hsu Chih-mo. He was guarded at first, but I earned his trust. By the end of our work together, we had become good friends. I asked him about the inner force that drove him.
“The inner force is far more important than talent,” Hsu Chih-mo revealed. “Writing is my rice and air. One shouldn’t bother picking up a pen if that is not the case.”
“That is exactly the case with my friend Pearl Buck,” I said.
“You mean the River North Pig?” He smiled remembering her.
“Yes.”
“What has she written?”
“She has written essays, poems, and novels. She is my special columnist. I’ll send you copies of her articles if you are interested.”
“Yes, please.”
As we continued talking, Hsu Chih-mo asked how Pearl and I had become friends.
The problem with people who end up digging their own grave is that they often have no idea they are digging it. Such was my case as I told Hsu Chih-mo stories about my friend.
After Tagore went back to India and Hsu Chih-mo returned to Shanghai, I felt inspired and enlightened. Against my better judgment, I gave in to my emotions. If I had never believed in fate and coincidence before, it wouldn’t be long before I did. When the Nanking University board asked me to help invite Hsu Chih-mo to come back and teach, I did everything within my power to make it happen.
Pearl didn’t think that Nanking University stood a chance of getting Hsu Chih-mo. “He has been teaching at Peking University and Shanghai University,” she reminded me. I decided to play a card that at the time I thought was brilliant. As friends, Pearl and I together wrote Hsu Chih-mo a personal invitation.
A few weeks later, Hsu Chih-mo responded and said he was on his way.
After Hsu Chih-mo’s arrival, the center of China ’s literary society shifted from Shanghai to Nanking. Nanking University became the main stage of the New Cultural Movement. I hosted weekly events featuring journalists, writers, and artists from all over the country. I was so busy that I ate my meals standing up. I hadn’t had time to visit Pearl for weeks, so one evening I decided to drop by.
She surprised me with the news that Lossing had moved out.
“He is living with Lotus,” Pearl said in a subdued voice.
“What about Carol?” I asked.
“Lossing said that Carol wouldn’t know the difference. He insists that she doesn’t even know that he is her father.”
I tried to comfort her. “The important thing is that you are doing the best you can.”
She shook her head.
“You have your own life to live, Pearl.”
“Carol doesn’t deserve this. Her own father abandoning her…”
“Carol may not be aware…”
“But I am!” she almost shouted.
I went quiet.
She began to sob.
I walked to the kitchen to get her a cup of water.
“ Pearl,” I said gently. “You have to comb your hair and dress yourself, and you have to eat.”
“I would like to simply slip away, to die,” she responded. “I need to be released from this trap.”
“Have you been writing?” I asked.
“I can’t do anything else but write. Here.” She tossed me a stack of pages. “From last week. Two short stories.”
I glanced at the titles. “The Seventh Dragon” and “The Matchmaker.”
“You have been productive, Pearl.”
“I was going crazy until I started typing.”
I asked if there was any interest from publishers.
“No. One editor from New York was kind enough to send me a note of explanation after rejecting my manuscript. What he said was no news to me. Lossing has been telling me the same thing all along.”
“That Western readers are not interested in China?”
She nodded.
“Well, perhaps they are only accustomed to stories of little merit. It may take time to convince them that what you write is different,” I said. “Have you tried Chinese publishing houses?”
Have you “Yes.”
“And?”
“I made a fool of myself,” she sighed. “The right-wing Chinese houses want pure escapism, while the left-wing want nothing but Communism and Russia.”
“And you don’t care about either of those?”
“No.”
“Unfortunately, you still need money.”
“Unfortunately.”
I invited Pearl to come with me to a New Year’s party hosted by the Nanking Daily. Pearl didn’t want to go, but I insisted.
“Hsu Chih-mo will be there.” I could hardly contain my excitement.
“Too bad he is your interest-not mine.”
“He’s the only one who hasn’t read you. He told me he wants to read your work.”
“I am not going.”
“Please. I don’t want to look desperate.”
“Desperate? Oh, I see.”
“Will you come?”
“Okay, I’ll go for tea only.”
Hsu Chih-mo stood on a chair waving his arms. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to present my best friend, the great hope of China ’s new literature, Dick Lin! He is the seventh translator of Karl Marx’s Communist Manifesto and the editor of the Shanghai Avant-Garde Magazine.” Hsu Chih-mo was dressed in a Western black silk suit with a Chinese collar and Chinese cotton shoes. His hair was neatly combed from the middle to the sides.
The crowd cheered. “Dick Lin! Dick Lin!”
Dick Lin, a short and broad-shouldered man with black-framed glasses, came to shake hands with Pearl and me. He was in his thirties. He had a pair of lizard eyes and a crooked nose. The corners of his mouth drew downward and gave him a serious, almost bitter expression.
“I admire your work at the Nanking Daily,” Dick blurted out to me. “How about working for us?”
Though I was flattered, I was taken aback by his directness.
“You will be guaranteed your own page plus the weekend edition,”
Dick continued. “You can run it any way you want. We’ll match your current salary and add a bonus.”
I turned to Pearl. My eyes said, “Can you believe this man?”
She smiled.
Dick turned to Pearl and began to speak English with a Chinese accent. “Welcome to China,” he said, bowing with exaggeration. “It is my honor to meet you! Hsu Chih-mo tells me that you came to China in diapers. Is that true? No wonder your Chinese is flawless. Do you know Chinese is a very dangerous language for foreigners? One slip in tone and ‘Good morning’ becomes ‘Let us go to bed together.’”
The debate was moderated by Hsu Chih-mo. The topic was “Should novelists write for people or write as people?” The discussion soon became heated.
“A novelist’s duty is to wake society’s conscience,” Dick insisted. “He must make the peasants learn shame-I am talking about those who bought and ate the bread made of the bodies of the revolutionaries!”
The crowd clapped.
“ China is where she is because our intellectuals are selfish, arrogant, decadent, and irresponsible,” Dick continued. “It’s time for our novelists to demonstrate leadership…”
Pearl raised her hand.
Hsu Chih-mo nodded for her to speak.
“Have you ever thought,” she said, “that it might be the author’s choice to write as the people? No matter how you justify the horror of an act like the one you just used as an example, the fact is that China’s majority is made of peasants. My question is, Don’t peasants deserve a voice of their own?”
“Well, you must pick a worthy peasant to portray,” Dick responded. “Like harvesting a fruit tree, you pick the good apples and throw away the rotten. Again, you have an obligation toward society, which needs a moral compass.”
“Does that mean you won’t publish authors who write with the voice of the real people?” I asked.
“Personally, I won’t.”
“Then you are denying representation to ninety-five percent of China ’s population.” Pearl ’s voice was pitched.
Holding firm in his view, Dick declared, “We deny these small-minded, ill-mannered characters a voice.”
“Who will you publish then?” I asked.
“The authors who are committed in their fight against Capitalism,” Dick replied. “In fact, we are aggressively seeking to publish works by authors that represent the proletarian class. We’ll assure these authors’ success.”
“Dick wants to change the world,” Hsu Chih-mo teased.
“Shouldn’t it be up to the readers?” Pearl challenged.
“No,” Dick said. “Readers need guidance.”
Smiling, Pearl disagreed. “Readers are smarter than we think.”
“Mrs. Buck.” Dick lowered his voice, although it was still loud enough for the room to hear. “I was the editor who rejected your manuscript. I am sure you have tried other publishers without success. My point is that we, not readers, decide.”
Pearl got up and quietly walked out of the room.
I rose and followed her.
Outside in the hall, Pearl rushed toward the door. Hurrying my steps, I suddenly heard footfalls behind me. I turned and there was Dick Lin, coming my way.
I paused, thinking that he might wish to apologize for his rudeness toward my friend.
“ Willow,” he called out as I stopped. “ Willow, when can I see you again? I would love to buy you a cup of tea sometime.”
I sneered and turned, making my way toward the door.
Hsu Chih-mo’s wet hair fell across his face. He stood in front of me by the garden door. His hand reached up to his face to wipe away the rain. “I come to apologize to Pearl for my friend if he has offended her.”
I said, “Pearl Buck has told me that she no longer wishes to be part of the Nanking literary circle.”
“Dick didn’t mean to attack.” Hsu Chih-mo insisted that he have a chance to speak with Pearl face-to-face.
I stood looking at him and wanted time to stop. My emotions churned and I started to feel sick inside. I kept telling myself: The man has no interest in me! But my heart refused to listen. My eyes luxuriated in the sight of him.
Hsu Chih-mo looked away uneasily.
“I will pass the message,” I said like a fool.
Pearl sat by the table and drank her tea as if she was lost in her own thoughts. I had torn her away from her writing and brought her to my house so that Hsu Chih-mo could talk to her. I was sure that Pearl would leave as soon as he delivered his friend’s apology. I waited impatiently for my own private time with Hsu Chih-mo.
“Dick is oblivious.” Hsu Chih-mo leaned forward, holding his cup in both hands. “He is combative by nature, but he is good-hearted. He is a genius. To have a conversation with him is like planting seeds together. Wisdom will sprout once you allow sunshine. Only those who appreciate honesty can enjoy Dick. He is passionate about what he believes.”
“So you are here to deliver Dick Lin’s message?” Pearl ’s eyes were on the tree outside the window.
“No,” Hsu Chih-mo said so gently that it was as if he had merely breathed. “I come to deliver my own message.”
She didn’t ask to know.
He waited.
I found myself tortured by the fact that he tried to get her attention, tried to get her to turn her head.
Many years later, after Hsu Chih-mo’s death and after Pearl had become an American novelist and had won both the Nobel Prize and the Pulitzer Prize, she wrote about him.
He claimed me with his love, and then he let me go home. When I arrived in America, I realized that the love was with me, and would stay with me forever.
He used to sit in my living room and talk by the hour and wave his beautiful hands in exquisite and descriptive gestures until when I think of him, I see first his hands. He was a northern Chinese, tall and classically beautiful in looks, and his hands were big and perfectly shaped and smooth as a woman’s hands.
I sat in the same room with Pearl and Hsu Chih-mo. It was my home, but I felt like a ghost.
Dick Lin was no longer their topic of discussion.
Hsu Chih-mo was talking about a famous musician, a blind man named Ah Bing who played the erhu, a two-stringed violin.
“Ah Bing is a perfect example of someone who created his art as the people.” Hsu Chih-mo’s tone was rushed, eager to get his point across. “Before Ah Bing became an artist, he was a beggar-something the critics choose to ignore. Ah Bing spent years wandering the streets of the towns of southern China. He dressed in rags and was bitten by hungry dogs. He became famous because his music moved people. Listening to his erhu was like hearing him tell the stories of his life. He made my heart weep and made me want to be a good human being. He didn’t set out to inspire or guide…”
“What do you imagine occupied Ah Bing’s mind when he played?” Pearl asked.
“I have asked myself the same question.” Hsu Chih-mo’s hands gestured like birds in the air. “Did Ah Bing think that he was creating a masterpiece? Was he impressed with himself? Did he think that he was claiming an important place in Chinese music history?” Hsu Chih-mo turned to look at Pearl as if asking for her opinion.
“More likely, he was thinking about his next meal,” Pearl responded.
“Precisely!” Hsu Chih-mo agreed.
“Ah Bing wanted only to please the passersby for a penny or two,”
Pearl continued. “Hunger drove him. I imagine him apologizing for being a bother. At night, he slept below the ancient walls or outside the train station…”
“Yes, and yes,” the poet Hsu Chih-mo echoed. “During his waking hours, he played his erhu to forget his misery.”
“Ah Bing would take up his bow. Sorrow would pour from his strings…” Pearl followed.
“Yes, Ah Bing, the greatest erhu player that ever lived. His music is considered the symbol of the Yangtze River. It starts at the bottom of the Himalayas and flows like water across the vast plains of China to the East Sea and out into the Pacific Ocean.”
They spoke as if I were not in the room, as if I didn’t exist. I could feel the force pulling them closer. It was strong. They were my real-life Romeo and Juliet, the Butterfly Lovers. I sat behind Hsu Chih-mo in the corner of the room by the shadow near the curtains. I held my breath and dared not stir. Moment by moment I saw love take root in their hearts. They blossomed like flowers. It was fate.
I was amazed to be both witness to and victim of a great love. I was touched by their birth of feeling but sad beyond description because my heart withered.
“I share Ah Bing’s joy in the warmth of springtime.” Pearl ’s voice came gentle and soft. “I smell the sweet scent of jasmine and I see all beauty under the sky. Ah Bing’s love of life touches a commoner’s heart. My favorite is ‘The Fair Maiden.’ His longing for her is endless and deep. His musical depiction of the sunshine in a girl’s eyes brings tears to my eyes.”
Hsu Chih-mo turned toward Pearl and their eyes locked on each other.
“It was in music that Ah Bing escaped the life he was living.” Hsu Chih-mo’s voice was so quiet he was almost whispering.
“Yes,” Pearl uttered. “Through music Ah Bing became the hero he desired to be.”
They stopped.
The sound of a teakettle boiling came.
“Excuse me.” I got up and went to the kitchen. I tried to press back my tears.
I emptied the teapot and refilled it with cold water. My hands were shaking.
After a time, I heard Hsu Chih-mo say, “That is how I felt when I read your manuscript.”
I didn’t hear Pearl ’s response.
I looked out the window. The sky was dark gray. The sound of the mountain creek was clear.
“I have to go,” I heard Pearl say.
I tried not to think that Hsu Chih-mo stayed because he felt sorry for me. I invited him for dinner and drinks. Alcohol went to our heads and we became animated. I joked about my marriage and he his. Hsu Chih-mo spoke of his confusion with feminism. I asked about his infamous love life.
“Don’t tell me that you hate it,” I said.
“I do, believe it or not.”
“Come on, you are living every man’s fantasy!”
“ Willow, my friend, you have had too much to drink. A cold shower would do you some good.” Hsu Chih-mo shook his head.
I let him know that I was upset that his thoughts were still with the one who had left.
“You are attracted to Pearl Buck.” I turned to him and made him look at me. “Don’t even attempt to lie.”
He smiled. “What makes you think that?”
“Can you tell me that it is not true?”
He lowered his eyes. “I am a married man.”
“I am drunk.” I threw my cup at him. It missed. “Now get out!”
I would have felt better if Pearl and Hsu Chih-mo had admitted their attraction to each other. Their denial and resistance made it worse. Pearl avoided Hsu Chih-mo at the university. She went to Lossing and persuaded him to move back home, which he did.
Pearl buried herself in her room and wrote feverishly. She sent out her manuscript East Wind, West Wind and finally found a small American publisher willing to take on the book. She was happy, even when the book didn’t sell well. She didn’t care. She couldn’t stop writing.
She started another novel. She let me see a few pages a day from her rough draft. I ended up reading the entire manuscript. It was The Story of Wang Lung, a title later changed to The Good Earth. I could see the shadows of villagers whom we both knew. Pearl described a world I was familiar with but had never encountered in Chinese literature. She changed my perspective. She made me see things I intuitively knew to be true.
“I am doing this behind her back,” I told Hsu Chih-mo when I shared Pearl ’s manuscript with him. I asked him to help find the manuscript a home so that Pearl could earn an advance.
Hsu Chih-mo promised to try.
I must say that I brought this upon myself-if Hsu Chih-mo hadn’t already been in love with Pearl, this would have pushed him over the edge. Hsu Chih-mo believed that Pearl was a true artist, the Ah Bing of literature.
We went on being good friends. Finally, after much beating about the bush, Hsu Chih-mo asked if I could pass along a letter to Pearl Buck.
It was a thick letter.
I told Hsu Chih-mo that I would think about it. The truth was that my jealousy of Pearl was growing by the day. And I was hurt by the fact that she had never even made an effort to attract him.
Pearl was the only faculty member who voted against the renewal of Hsu Chih-mo’s teaching contract. She refused to explain her action to the others.
“He wasn’t telling the truth when he said that money was the reason he applied,” she said, frying cabbages in her wok. “He needed to pay off his wife’s debts, so he jokingly claimed. He fooled everyone on the committee but me.”
“Did you read Hsu Chih-mo’s comments about your new novel?” I asked.
“I did.”
“What do you think?”
“What do you expect me to say?”
“Did they please you?”
“Yes, very much so. It was generous of him.”
“Do you think he understands what you wrote?”
“He is the only other Chinese person besides you who understands my writing.”
“There is a big difference between us. Hsu Chih-mo’s credentials give him the power to influence others.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t use his help.”
“Then why do you keep rejecting him?”
She closed the lid on the wok and turned away from the stove. “I am confused about my feelings for him.” She paused before continuing. “He inspires my confidence and creativity, but… I am terrified at the same time.”
“Are you falling in love with Hsu Chih-mo?” I watched her eyes.
“I feel like I am about to tumble down a hill.”
“Yes or no?”
“Willow, please.”
“Don’t you think you owe me at least a clear answer?” I couldn’t help raising my voice. “I am not blind and deaf as you assume. I have been poisoned by the air you two breathe. I am a strong woman capable of handling my own crisis. I am honest with myself. I have the courage to chase after my own dreams. Unfortunately, I can’t force a man to fall in love with me. By God’s grace, I have been blessed with everything else but the love of a man. One thing is clear: As long as you are in the picture, I don’t stand a chance with Hsu Chih-mo. What can I say? Bad luck? Or do I tell myself, Okay, you can’t have him but your best friend can? To tell you the truth, my heart is not that big.”
“What would you like me to do?” Pearl said apologetically.
“I want you to stop lying to me!”
“ Willow, I didn’t lie to you. I have never lied and never will.”
“Oh, donkey shit! ‘I am confused about my feelings for him,’ for example. Are you, really? You know exactly what is going on! You know you are in love with Hsu Chih-mo. You know you can’t run away from him, though you tried and tried like a rabbit running from a forest fire.”
“All right, I sinned. How do I make it right?”
“Admit the truth. Can’t you see that I need a shoulder to cry on?”
I accepted Dick Lin’s invitation for tea. We met at a small teahouse at the foot of the Purple Mountain. It was a warm autumn afternoon. I was in my blue coat with a black silk scarf.
Dick wore a French-style collarless jacket and a matching French hat.
The moment we sat down he started to talk about himself.
“I worked in the fields with my parents before I was five,” he began. “My father was determined to get me an education although he was a poor peasant. I went to school naked like other boys in the village. The new teacher was from the city, and she didn’t expect to see a bunch of bare-assed monkeys. She screamed the moment she stepped into the classroom.”
Dick had an abundance of self-confidence. He demanded his audience’s attention.
I studied his features as he talked without pause. It was a strange picture of harmony. The lizard eyes went well with the crooked nose. The thin-lipped mouth fit the small chin. Although I didn’t like him at first, I began to warm up to him, to his openness, his childlike enthusiasm, and, most of all, his will to believe in dreams.
“I traveled after I escaped my village,” Dick continued. “My father chased me and beat me. He even pushed me into the river trying to drown me. I went abroad as a student worker. I lived in France for three years. I worked during the day and went to school in the evening. In Paris I experienced Communism firsthand.”
Dick laughed and then paused to observe me.
I tried to be present, but it had been a long day and my mind began to wander. I nodded and asked, “So, what brought you back to China?”
“I didn’t miss my family, but I did miss my country,” he went on. “I was twenty-two. Never before had I felt so strongly that I could do something to help change the world, to reverse the inequity between the rich and poor…”
Although he lacked the grace of Hsu Chih-mo, I found myself listening.
“I could have been silent and remained unaffected.” He looked at me, eager for a response. “I could have imitated an ancient sage and hid myself away in the mountains. Instead I chose to lead a purposeful life and fight for the people.”
His tone was charged with energy. I was strangely moved.
The clouds drifted low to the ground and the crowns of pine trees spread like beggars’ arms. Dick and I followed the trail leading to the top of the Purple Mountain. I thought about asking him to reconsider publishing Pearl ’s novel. But the moment he said he would do anything for me, I changed my mind. I didn’t want to be beholden to him.
Pearl deserves honor, not mercy, I thought.
Dick said that he was nervous whenever he was near me. He complimented and flattered me. I wished that his words were coming from Hsu Chih-mo. I wondered where Hsu Chih-mo was and what he was doing. Was Pearl ’s name written in the sky of his mind? For the past few months, Hsu Chih-mo had made visits to Shanghai to be with his wife. Each time he returned to Nanking, he would be even more depressed. When I asked about his wife, he would reply, “My wife lives in her opium den. She doesn’t talk unless it is to ask me for money.”
The gossip publications following Hsu Chih-mo revealed the massive debts his wife owed. The latest reports had the former courtesan spending time with a wealthy patron. Hsu Chih-mo was said to be fighting with his wife over money and her drug habit. One source said that Hsu Chih-mo had gone back to his former architect mistress. The public had become obsessed with the drama.
“It’s time for you to think about taking Hsu Chih-mo as a lover,” I said.
Stunned, Pearl turned to me. “You are crazy, Willow.”
“Why not?” I went on. “After all, Lossing is with Lotus.”
“No,” she said bluntly.
“Hsu Chih-mo…”
“Stop, would you? I don’t feel like discussing Hsu Chih-mo.”
“But I do.”
She was quiet.
I felt sick with myself, but couldn’t stop.
“I am not a fool, Willow,” I heard Pearl say. “I can see…”
“Then answer my question.”
“I don’t know how to answer your question. As you know, we both are married. Frankly, I don’t enjoy this kind of joke. Or… is it a joke?”
“What do you think?”
“It is pure Chinese that you indulge in this game of cruelty. This is how you drive away misery. But is it working? Are you less miserable than yesterday?”
“You speak like your father, wearing God’s clothes!” I responded. “You can’t face the truth!”
“I am trying to act decently. I am your friend.”
“Then damn your decency!”
“Fine!” She came to face me. “You want the truth? Here it is! Yes, Hsu Chih-mo and I are in love witheach other! And yes, we will go to bed together, tonight!”
I accepted Dick Lin’s offer to be the editor of his magazine. I made up my mind to move to Shanghai for good.
Pearl was devastated.
A month before I left, Hsu Chih-mo paid me a visit. He pleaded with me to save his relationship with Pearl. “She fell apart after learning about your departure. She told me that she would view me as an enemy if I continued to visit her. She’s engaged in a war with me.”
I refused to talk to Hsu Chih-mo. I had done enough for him.
Confused, he said, “I’ll come back when you are in a better mood.”
After he left, I couldn’t escape the sound of his voice praising Pearl. “ Pearl and I are soul mates!” “The Good Earth is like no other novel I have ever read. It’s a masterpiece!” “It takes a humanitarian to be a good novelist.” “She denied that love has passed between us!”
Before I could say hello to Shanghai and to Dick Lin, I knew that I must settle my past accounts and say good-bye to Nanking. Yet the shadows of Pearl Buck and Hsu Chih-mo followed close upon me.
Dick promised me independence. He said that he would always be there for me if I needed him.
“You are coming to Shanghai,” he said in his letters, “and that is all that counts.”
Dick was confident that I would grow to love him.
I warned him that I was taking advantage of him.
“You don’t owe me anything” was his response.
Dick told me that Shanghai had been the red cradle ever since the Communist Party had been created in 1921. Although the party was still considered a guerrilla group, it was becoming the major opposition force against the ruling nationalist government. Dick played an important role in the party. He had become Mao Tse-tung’s chief adviser and he ran the party’s bureau of propaganda.
I was not terribly interested in the new world Dick described. I didn’t care whether or not the Communists would win China. What I cared about was having a place in Shanghai where I could tend to my wounds and try to start my life again. Dick made it convenient.
“You used to be a tiny creek and now you are part of an ocean.” Dick was as happy as a goalie after catching a ball.
The day of my departure was approaching. I wasn’t living a lie, yet I wasn’t living truthfully either. Pearl and Hsu Chih-mo had called a cease-fire and had finally become lovers. I took credit because I had helped. My home was their love nest. There, they were able to escape the prying eyes of the public. But I was wrong about myself. I was consumed by envy and jealousy.
Pearl knew me too well to feel comfortable with the situation. She even refused to show up when Hsu Chih-mo gave me a farewell dinner. On the one hand, I was comforted by the fact that Hsu Chih-mo didn’t know that I was in love with him. On the other, I suffered when he shared with me his feelings for my friend. “I am in love” was written all over his face. It hurt me, but Hsu Chih-mo couldn’t stop talking and I couldn’t stop listening.
Hsu Chih-mo was convinced that Pearl was more Chinese than he was. He was infatuated with her perspective, her Chinese habits, her love of camellias. He was especially thrilled when she cursed in Chinese. He loved “the Chinese soul under the white skin.”
Hsu Chih-mo told me that he used to play with peasant children when he was young. “My family were small landowners, so I was surrounded by peasant children. But I had no understanding of them when I played with them. I only knew that I was the young master and they were my slaves. They were not my equals as human beings. My family owned them or hired them. All Chinese schoolboys have the same attitude. When they become adults they look down on peasants. But Pearl believes that all spirits are equal before God. This respect for her subjects makes her work wonderful. In her, one hears the voice of a peasant as a human being.”
I drank and toasted with him.
Hsu Chih-mo confessed, “ Pearl makes me happy. I never know what she is going to say next. She’s brilliant, cunning, and funny. The mix of the Chinese and American cultures in her fascinates me always. I find myself looking forward to her thoughts.”
“What about love?” I asked.
“What about it?” He blinked.
“Does she… love like a Chinese woman?”
Hsu Chih-mo’s lips stretched into a big smile. “That is my secret.”
“Share with me a little, please.”
“I must go, Willow.”
“How dare you destroy the bridge after crossing the river!”
I imagined the hands she described, his hands, touching her. Pearl told me that she had woken up from her foolishness. I asked what she meant. She said that Lossing vanished from her mind the moment she was alone with Hsu Chih-mo. She was afraid she was becoming obsessed with Hsu Chih-mo. “I used to think that what I went through with Lossing happened in every marriage. I write about romance because it hasn’t existed in my life.”
“And romance is frightening?”
“I am afraid of what that knowledge will do to me.”
“So this may be more than just an affair?”
“I don’t know anymore. Hsu Chih-mo is a green refuge in the desert of my life. Because of him, I am more patient with Carol and tolerant of Absalom. I am no longer disgusted with myself. My despair has left me. I have even been thinking about adopting a little girl. In fact, I’ve already begun the process. And yet…” She stopped for a moment before continuing. “It is hard to see that Hsu Chih-mo and I would have a future together.”
“Because you are both married? Or because you are too different as individuals?”
“All I know is that I am in love with him, and that common sense has deserted me.”
“Hsu Chih-mo will continue to pursue you.”
“He doesn’t understand my responsibilities. He doesn’t understand that I will never be free because of Carol. He told me that he lost his own son at the age of five. He was able to dig himself out of his own sorrow. But I can’t. I am not like him. For Carol’s sake, I must stay with Lossing… for the money.”
“Will you give up Hsu Chih-mo?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Your mother used to say that life is about being forced to make choices.”
We both went quiet. “I am watching life escape before my eyes,” she said.
The air was filled with the sweet scent of summer blossoms. I had come to the riverbank to say good-bye to the city of Nanking. I knew that under the cover of darkness, in the shadow of the magnolia canopies, Hsu Chih-mo and Pearl walked the streets of Nanking. Pearl had told me that the place they most often frequented was a local restaurant called Seven Treasures. Her favorite was Chin-kiang mushroom noodle soup.
Lossing had moved away again with Lotus. He had accepted a new position as the head of the agricultural department at a university in southwest China. Hsu Chih-mo was free to visit Pearl, although in secrecy. The love she could not let go of revived Pearl, and she changed. She began to pay attention to the way she dressed and she joined a dance class at the university. She went with Hsu Chih-mo to collect fresh camellias during the early spring. Inspired, Hsu Chih-mo published a poem titled “The Camellia Petals on My Pillow.”
Rumors spread and the public assumed that Hsu Chih-mo had gone back to his former mistress. The newspapers competed to predict Hsu Chih-mo’s next move.
I didn’t answer Pearl ’s request for a chance to say good-bye.
I felt that we had said enough to each other. I didn’t want to hear the name Hsu Chih-mo again. I left quietly. The pier was crowded. I boarded the steamboat and stood by myself. As the boat began to pull away, I got a surprise.
Pearl ran down the stone terrace toward the water.
I didn’t think she would be able to find me.
She slowed and finally stopped. Behind her, people waved, cheered, and shouted.
Then she found me. Her eyes. I knew she saw me because she stood completely still, gazing in my direction. She wore an indigo-colored Chinese outfit. Her hair was in a bun. The sun shone down on her. She looked like Carie.
I wished that I could shut my eyes.
The porters let go of the ropes. The steamboat began to pick up speed.
“Farewell!” the crowd on the pier cried.
One wife shouted at her husband affectionately, “Hey, you idiot and soon-to-be-beheaded. Don’t forget to save firewood after lighting the stove!”
The husband laughed and yelled back, “Hey, dumb wrinkleface, you’d better remember to come home or you will find me spending all your savings on a concubine!”
I wept, wishing that my arms were around Pearl. By leaving I meant to escape my own misery, but I had ended up punishing her.
The departure would preserve what we had, I hoped.
Yet could I truly leave?
The water gap between us widened. People screamed back and forth in a contest of comic insults.
Then, in a Chin-kiang tone, I heard Pearl yell, “I am not a bird but a mosquito-too tiny for you to use a rifle on!”
Knowing I was forgiven, I shot back, “Be careful when you think that you have gotten a good deal. Check on your handsome rooster. Don’t be surprised if he grows a set of teeth one day!”
“Go ahead and cartwheel on the back of a bull! I am a loyal admirer!”
“Yeah, the fox comes and cries at the chicken’s funeral. Go away!”
I wasn’t sure whether it was my door or the neighbors’ when I heard the knocking. The attic room where I lived was near the Shanghai waterfront, the Bund. At night I could hear porters at work and the sighing sound of passing ships. I tried to go back to sleep but the knocking grew louder. I realized that it was my door. I glanced at the clock. It was four in the morning.
“ Willow!” came Dick’s voice.
I went to open the door.
The expression on Dick’s face scared me. His eyes were red and swollen, as if he’d been crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Dick handed me a stack of newspapers.
I glanced at the headlines and staggered back in shock.
POET DIES IN PLANE CRASH!
HSU CHIH-MO’S PASSING AT 34 STUNS THE NATION!
POSTAL PLANE CRASHES NEAR NANKING, PILOT AND PASSENGER. NONE SURVIVE.
I recognized the words, but my mind refused to acknowledge their meanings. I kept flipping the newspapers back and forth. The date was correct, November 20, 1931. Hsu Chih-mo’s face was on every front page. I looked at him, the handsome smiling face, the leaf-shaped gentle eyes and the silky black hair. The classic good looks of a northerner. I touched the image of his face with my fingers. My tears smeared the ink.
Dick held my shoulders and sobbed like a child. “Did you know about him taking free rides on postal airplanes?” he asked.
Of course I knew. Hsu Chih-mo had been in touch with me because Pearl had again been refusing to see him. Pearl wanted to end their affair. Hsu Chih-mo figured it was because he was still a married man. He returned to Shanghai and asked for a divorce from his wife. But his wife wouldn’t release him without an impossible monetary settlement. To make money, Hsu Chih-mo accepted lecture invitations all over the country. He traveled every few days from city to city. He was also teaching part-time at both Shanghai University and Peking University. He was offered free airplane rides by a friend, a postal pilot. Hsu Chih-mo was grateful to save the money. The friend also flew Hsu Chih-mo to Nanking to meet Pearl in secrecy.
“Once bitten by a snake, forever in fear of ropes,” Hsu Chih-mo once said about Pearl ’s anxiety about a new marriage.
“Isn’t it enough that you are lovers?” I asked.
“No.” His voice was soft but determined. “I’d like to spend the rest of my life with her.”
The expression on Hsu Chih-mo’s face was still vivid in my mind. He had sat on the chair in my attic. When he stood, his head touched the ceiling. He hunched to make himself fit. Behind him, beyond an open window, was a sea of Shanghai rooftops.
Pearl would learn the news in the next few hours. She would discover her lover’s death at the breakfast table, perhaps. Carol wouldn’t notice her mother’s shock, and the servant wouldn’t know where the mistress’s tears sprang from.
I hadn’t told Pearl about Hsu Chih-mo’s last visit. He had been upset and angry at me for supporting Pearl ’s decision.
In the past, their separations had never lasted. It was like cutting water with a sword. They simply couldn’t resist each other. Hsu Chih-mo took the free plane ride three times a week to be with her. I learned from Hsu Chih-mo that the pilot let him borrow his farmhouse near the airport. Pearl described to me her visits to the farmhouse.
“I was like an addict running toward opium,” she said of her meetings with Hsu Chih-mo.
I kept finding out new details about the plane crash. On the day of the accident the weather was foggy. The pilot misjudged. The plane hit the mountaintop and crashed. One source said that the pilot often got absorbed in conversation with Hsu Chih-mo. They thought the accident might have taken place because the pilot was distracted.
The papers said that Hsu Chih-mo’s wife was so heartbroken that she vowed to quit opium. She declared to the public that she would devote her life to publishing all Hsu Chih-mo’s remaining work and letters.
Hsu Chih-mo’s funeral was held in Nanking.
I asked Dick, “Why not Peking? Why not Shanghai?”
“It was Hsu Chih-mo’s wish,” Dick replied. “He wanted his ashes to be scattered over the Purple Mountain and the Yangtze River.”
Had Hsu Chih-mo anticipated the possibility of his crash? I was astonished at the thought. Certainly the poet had had an active imagination. It wouldn’t have been unthinkable for him to have entertained the idea of a dramatic exit.
I remembered Hsu Chih-mo’s description of his last falling-out with Pearl. He visited me after days of drinking and sleepless nights. In fact, it was two days before he took the fatal flight.
“Will you give this to her?” he asked, holding out a package.
“She told you that this had to stop,” I responded.
“It will be the last time that I impose on you.”
“What is it?”
“My new book, a collection of poems.”
I gave him a she-won’t-read-it look.
“I don’t care. She inspired it.”
Mourners filled the streets of Nanking. White magnolias and jasmine were sold out. Dick and I had taken a train from Shanghai to Nanking. We arrived in the afternoon. Dick had sent Pearl a message before we left but received no response.
The Nanking crematorium was covered with white flowers. A photo of Hsu Chih-mo on the wall greeted the visitors. A banner that ran the length of the hall read, people’s poet rests in peace. Beyond the flower wreath was the closed casket. Dick had seen his friend’s body and said that Hsu Chih-mo would have wanted the lid closed.
No one in Pearl ’s house knew where she was. The maid said that her mistress had gone to the university. Eventually I thought of the pilot’s farmhouse.
I only had Pearl ’s vague description of the place, but I told Dick that I would look for her. Once outside the city, I was lost. It was a peasant child who pointed me in the right direction. The child had seen an airplane landing and taking off at an abandoned World War I-era military airport near the house. The spot was cradled by the surrounding hills. Waist-tall weeds grew in patches across the cracked runway.
The farmhouse was covered with wild ivy. Frogs and crickets ceased their singing as I walked to the door. Grasshoppers jumped over my feet, and one almost got into my mouth. Giant mosquitoes buzzed around my head.
The door was ready to fall from its hinges. It leaned to one side and was open. I let myself in. Once inside, I smelled the incense.
She was in an ocean-blue Chinese dress, embroidered with white chrysanthemums, the symbol of grief. She was on her knees lighting incense. She had been performing the traditional Chinese soul-guarding ceremony for Hsu Chih-mo. She had set up an altar with flowers and water.
“ Pearl,” I called.
She rose and came to me and collapsed in my arms.
Softly, I told her that I had come to deliver Hsu Chih-mo’s package.
She nodded.
I passed her the package and said, “I’ll be outside.”
When she emerged from the farmhouse, she looked like an Oriental, her eyes were so swollen from crying.
She asked me to take a look at the first page of Hsu Chih-mo’s book. The title was Lonely Night.
I had known Pearl ’s loneliness since we were children. She had always searched for her “own kind.” That didn’t mean another Westerner. It meant another soul that experienced and understood both the Eastern and Western worlds.
It was in Hsu Chih-mo that Pearl had found what she was looking for. With him she had not been lonely. If she were the cresting wave’s cheerful foam, Hsu Chih-mo would be the wrinkled sea sand beneath.
Ashes gathered at the bottom of the incense burner.
The sun set behind the hill and the room fell instantly dark.
In the future I would understand the connection between Pearl ’s accomplishments as a novelist and her love of Hsu Chih-mo. Over the eighty books she would create in her lifetime, she would carry on her affair with Hsu Chih-mo.
“Writing a novel is like chasing and catching spirits,” Pearl Buck would say of her writing process. “The novelist gets invited into splendid dreams. The lucky one gets to live the dream once, and the luckiest over and over.”
She was the luckiest one. She must have met with his spirit throughout the rest of her life. I will never forget the moment Pearl lit her last stick of incense. She composed a poem in Chinese bidding good-bye to Hsu Chih-mo.
Wild summer was in your gaze
Earth laughs in flowers
Lust in the chill of the grave
Wind’s hand touches
Mind bent with the weight of sorrow.
Orchid boat I board alone
Spring rain blurs the lantern light
Deep green are my parting thoughts of you
I considered myself lucky too. Although Hsu Chih-mo didn’t love me, he trusted me. It made our ordinary friendship extraordinary. There was commitment and devotion between us. Hsu Chih-mo had asked me to keep the original manuscripts of his poetry. His wife had threatened to burn them because in the pages she “smelled the scent of another woman.”
I became the keeper of Hsu Chih-mo’s secrets. I was so faithful that I didn’t even share those manuscripts with Pearl. I’d like to think that Hsu Chih-mo loved me in a special way. The most important lesson he taught me was that there was no one singular perspective on things or emotions in the universe-no one way of comprehending truth.
Hsu Chih-mo, the man, the child, the poet who smiled at all that passed beyond his understanding, would remain in my life. I possessed, literally, his poetry, although I wished that I had won his heart. After Hsu Chih-mo’s wife died, I began to release his poems one at a time. My intent was to make his legacy last. I created ambiguity and the public embraced it. “Let’s allow mystery to pervade,” I said to journalists.
Columnists speculated about what might have happened if Hsu Chih-mo had lived. The result was that the poems I released were printed in the newspapers. The public was hungry for Hsu Chih-mo. There were always new discoveries about his romantic life. He was more famous after death.
Over time, I became the collector of everything Hsu Chih-mo. In addition to his poems and letters, I sought copies of written materials about him, including the most frivolous gossip.
After Hsu Chih-mo’s death I moved to Nanking to be closer to Pearl and to his memory.
In the name of the Nanking Daily, I organized the Hsu Chih-mo Conference. The event satisfied my desire to hear his name pronounced on the lips of the young. Female university students carried The Collected Poems of Hsu Chih-mo under their arms like fashionable handbags. They reminded me of myself, the way I once was in love, still was, and would forever be. I whispered Hsu Chih-mo’s name in darkness and daylight, alone or with Pearl or without her.
People from every corner of China attended my conference. There were suspicions, rumors, and questions regarding the reason Hsu Chih-mo had chosen me to keep his papers. “We were best friends,” I answered with ease.
I felt as if I were living in a fictional world when the list of Hsu Chih-mo’s mistresses and love interests continued. The details were imaginative and vivid. Some did get close to the truth. Yet in the end none hit the target.
I enjoyed the colorful interpretations of Hsu Chih-mo’s life while knowing that I alone held the truth.