Songs Of Willow Frost: A Novel Part 19

(1926).

A week later Liu Song stood on a cracked slab of mossy sidewalk outside the Bush Hotel, urging William to avoid the landscape of mud puddles and overflowing gutters. The heavy rain had stopped an hour ago. The afternoon sun was shining, but the water was still flowing downhill from Washington Boulevard all the way to Pioneer Square, washing away a week's worth of litter, cigarette b.u.t.ts, and vermin.

William laughed as he tossed a pinecone into the muck and followed it downstream until an emerald-colored automobile ran it over.

Liu Song felt as though she were watching a ghost as the old tree-green landaulet glided up to the curb. "It's time to go," she said to William as she checked her reflection in a compact mirror. She looked like her mother, the young woman she'd once seen in an old sepia photograph. But the sadness in Liu Song's eyes echoed the pain her mother had been burdened with in the years before she'd died.

This is just another role. I'm just playing a part, Liu Song thought as she put on a brave smile while William hopped up and down with excitement.

"Horses?" he asked. "We go ride them?"

Liu Song shook her head. "No, we just watch. It'll be so much fun, I promise." She looked at the new suit William was wearing. New shoes as well-a pair that fit, instead of having to squish his little toes into old, worn leathers with holes in the soles.

William frowned as he pulled at his tie and stiff, starched collar.

The driver honked, and Liu Song quickly opened the door and nodded as if in agreement to Uncle Leo. Then she helped William into the back before she sat down next to her former stepfather. He spat out the window and then grumbled, "We're late." He patted her thigh and revved the engine, pulling away before she'd even closed the door.

Liu Song felt trapped, speeding along from Chinatown to Georgetown, past the Rainier Brewery, which was on its last legs, relegated to bottling soda and near beer. And she felt a crushing wave of loneliness as they pa.s.sed King County Almshouse and Hospital, which sat on a one-hundred-acre stretch of farmland. Liu Song remembered her family being turned away on the stone steps of that brick building. But back then the property had been packed with tents. She touched her nose as she recalled the entire greenbelt redolent of wet canvas and night soil as people lay dying of the flu. She missed her family. A part of her wished she had died at home along with her father and her brothers, and in a way, part of her had. With every mile, she sank further into her regrets, but she'd thought about her desperate straits, and like her mother, she had no choice. She was doing this for William, who sat in the back and laughed and smiled as if this were the best day he'd had in forever, and sadly, it probably was. He smiled all the way to Meadows Race Track.

"I will introduce you as Liu Song-no last name," Uncle Leo informed her.

That's fine with me. I'm finally free of your name, but now I belong to you again.

"We'll be meeting with men-colleagues from the Chong Wa a.s.sociation, a hotel owner, a labor foreman for the Alaskeros, all very important men."

Liu Song nodded.

"You'll come and go with my permission," Uncle Leo said. "You might sing for them sometime, but you'll perform for me and no one but me."

That was their arrangement, which even Auntie Eng had accepted. Liu Song had agreed to be Uncle Leo's xi sang. She'd escort him to social occasions, grace the room for his business meetings, and entertain his a.s.sociates at his pleasure. But she knew that wasn't all that was expected of her. She was his, a sing-song girl in every way.

She watched William's head bob in the backseat as he nodded off. She drew a tired breath, struggling to keep her composure. She'd given herself to Uncle Leo in order to keep William fed, clothed, cared for-this was what she had to do to keep him by her side. She was like Margarita Fischer in The Sacrifice, taking someone else's burden to protect a member of her family.

LIU SONG HAD been to the Meadows only once, as a little girl. She recalled trainloads of people, dressed in their weekend finery, packed into open cattle cars. She remembered the smell of gra.s.s and hay and the sight of the muddy, mile-long track, surrounding a placid pond, cattails swaying in the breeze. There must have been ten thousand people in the grandstand that day, screaming, cheering. Everyone had been so excited on the way down but seemed drunk and dejected on the ride back.

She walked holding Leo's arm, about to direct William to the grandstand when Leo barked, "This way!" He pointed to the opulent clubhouse and then cleared his nose, wiped his hand on his pants, and straightened his tie. He looked out of place as they sat on the lower porch at a wicker table where tuxedoed waiters brought them pitchers of ice water, peeled oranges, and lemon slices with honey. Two white men and a Filipino man joined them and talked about his laundry, unions, contracts, promises, and the startling beauty at Leo's side. Liu Song smiled politely and kept an eye on William as he stood behind a painted rail near the track, watching horses parade by before heading to the starting gate.

Liu Song listened and regarded the wealthier patrons as they pa.s.sed Leo's table and headed upstairs to the veranda. These men and women were all furs, jewels, laughter, and smiles-not haughty, just oblivious to those with less. Though a few men paused and smiled at Liu Song, kissing her hand and chatting with Uncle Leo as he smiled back and nodded. That was when she understood the value of a xi sang. Leo was too controlling to give her to other men (she hoped), but he wasn't above using her to attract their favor. Leo grinned and was about to speak when all eyes turned to the entrance, where everyone was fawning over a handsome couple as they made a dramatic entrance. Even Liu Song recognized them as they swept into the clubhouse and ventured upstairs, pausing for photos and autographs.

Uncle Leo furrowed his brow.

"That's Molly O'Day and Richard Barthelmess," Liu Song gushed to Leo and his a.s.sociates. "I read that they're filming The Patent Leather Kid at Camp Lewis, south of Tacoma." The other men smiled and pointed, in awe of the stars and somewhat impressed with her knowledge, which only seemed to irritate Uncle Leo.

As the commotion faded, a bugler played the Call to the Post. Everyone double-checked their betting slips and waited for the bell to ring and the horses to come thundering out of the gate. All but Liu Song, who glanced at William and then back toward Richard Barthelmess, who was watching the race unfold from the staircase. She remembered his piercing eyes and his cleft chin from The Yellow Man and the Girl. He'd played Cheng Huan, a Buddhist who cared for Lillian Gish, his broken blossom-the unwanted and abused daughter of a prizefighter. Liu Song had read about a reporter so upset by the scenes of abuse that he'd left the set to vomit. Liu Song shook her head solemnly as she remembered the tragic ending, where Lillian was beaten to death. Cheng Huan had built a shrine in her honor before taking his own life.

As a wave of cheering swept across the clubhouse, Liu Song turned her attention to the track. Spectators rose to their feet for the finish. Some bettors screamed with joy; others swore and tore their tickets, pitching them into the air, where the pieces rained down like confetti at a parade. She watched as William stood with his hands outstretched, trying to catch the bits of paper as they flitted about. He caught a handful and smiled at her. She clapped for him, blowing him kisses.

Then behind William she saw the triumphant jockey riding his Thoroughbred to the winner's circle. The small man was clad in leather and silk, with whip in hand. Liu Song grimaced when she saw the welts on the horse's back and foreleg. She ached for the exhausted horse as she watched its muscles twitch and could smell the sweat and fear. She felt Leo's hand on her backside and was jealous of the blinders the horse wore. She wished she had something similar to shut out the world.

Mother's Daughter.

(1934).

William walked alongside his mother, who had had enough of the Bush Hotel and the memories that came with it. He followed her across the street, past a man on the corner of Jackson who was pa.s.sing out pamphlets and yelling, "The Russians did it!" while a muralist painted a scene with George Washington in it on the opposite street. They stepped around families who huddled for warmth near gushing steam vents and avoided policemen who looked weary of another night of having to relocate vagrants.

"But what happened to Colin?" William asked as they walked. He wasn't sure how much more he wanted to know about his father-Uncle Leo. There had been such unspoken sadness throughout his childhood. He'd a.s.sumed-no, he'd hoped-that the man he'd seen off and on had been Colin. Now it dawned on him that the man in his life must have been someone else. "Did he ever come back for us?" Did he come back for you?

Willow nodded. "The morning after his fiancee had showed up he packed his things and then came to see me. He was a wreck of apologies and excuses and prior commitments. My heart hurt to see him. He came to say goodbye. He finally professed his adoration, but his actions didn't match his words. He left the same day. He had to go-even I understood that. He had a mother to take care of and a family business to save, a beautiful fiancee to share his life with-all of his ambitions here, all of his plans were an escape-the spotlight faded and the curtain fell upon all of his hopes and my dreams of a life with him, a better life for us. But I didn't give up acting."

William listened to his mother, who seemed like a shadow of the woman she portrayed on-screen. She rubbed her thin arms to ward off the chill in the air.

"I was so hurt, so angry with him, but also so desperate and frightened of the possibility of losing you." Willow shook her head. "Colin left me heartbroken. But he promised to come back for me. He left me with money, some money anyway. He promised to set things right. He said that he'd find a partner to run his father's business, or force his brother to fill his shoes. He said that the woman who had shown up was a problem he would resolve. That he wanted me to carry on as best I could. That we would fix this whole mess and start over-he begged for me to have patience. He wrote to me and said that he was a dragon and I was his phoenix. And that one day we would be together again and my life would change, I'd transform."

"When did he come back?"

William watched his mother for a long time. She didn't answer, then finally shook her head. "It took him a year to write that, and by that time I'd given up all hope. Then the letters came, quite often. And in those letters he said that he'd return as soon as he could-six months more, perhaps-a year at the most." William watched as she drew a ragged breath and exhaled slowly. "But those months became five long years."

The same amount of time I've been at Sacred Heart. William recognized the irony. Right after you said you'd be right back.

"I'd lost my job when the music store closed. I was an unwed mother, a dancer, and no man in his right mind would have anything to do with me. Besides, if I married a Chinese man, I'd lose my citizenship and might have to go to China-a place I'd never been. I had no idea what that would mean for you. But I couldn't marry a white man either, not that anyone wanted me for more than ..." She trailed off. "My reputation was in the gutter. I lived in fear of losing you permanently to the state at best and Uncle Leo at worst. For months I went to bed every night weary, hungry, sick, and fearing a knock on the door. I woke every morning rushing to your bed to make sure you were still there. Your third birthday came and went. I didn't even celebrate it."

William stopped his mother, who was so lost in the story that she almost walked into traffic. When the light changed, he walked her across the street. They pa.s.sed a familiar alley, and William heard music and boisterous sounds from the Wah Mee Club-gamblers cheering on a winning streak, and a collective groan when someone rolled an unlucky seven.

"I worked two, sometimes three jobs-everything temporary, singing, dancing, and acting a little, when I could, which wasn't very often," his ah-ma continued. "But as my mother found out years earlier, women's jobs don't pay very much, hardly enough to live on. I even went back to the Stacy Mansion, hoping to find work as a singer, but I had been a novelty, yesterday's news. They barely remembered me, and n.o.body cared. As a last resort I approached Mrs. Peterson for a mother's pension. I even let some local priest splash water on your head so you'd qualify. I tried desperately to better my English so you could speak like an American. But she turned me down. She said I wasn't old enough to be a pensioner and that if I loved you I should just give you up. I left her office and never went back. In the end, I had a tiny bit of money tucked away. That got us by for a while. I made it last as long as I could."

As they walked, William wondered where they were going. In the darkness his ah-ma seemed more ghost than human, more shade than substance, more of a memory than a mother. He watched as she touched an old movie poster that had been pasted to a brick wall; the paper was cracked and chipped, peeling. As they walked the air seemed fresher, the sounds of motorcars and club music more familiar. He'd walked King Street before with his ah-ma, years ago. They'd walked this avenue often.

"I was only a girl," she said as tears streamed down her cheeks. "But as Colin always pointed out, I was my mother's daughter and I could always act-always put on a performance. So I took on a new role as a xi sang. Leo had always wanted a sing-song girl-a pretty girl to accompany him, someone he could show off. And I wanted you. So I p.a.w.ned my dignity, for whatever it was worth." She paused as though she were waiting for a reaction, one of anger or rejection. William didn't know how to feel or what to say, so he said nothing and kept walking.

"I went to meetings and socials, and sang and performed opera for Leo and his clients. I was his ... companion. And he paid my rent and let me keep you. He even let you come along on some of our outings," she said as she stared into the darkness. "I ... made the best of the worst of things. I kept going. For three long years, I kept playing my part, always thinking I would get away-that I'd take you and we'd disappear. But I could never save up enough money to be sure. And I was afraid that if we fled and failed to escape, I'd lose you forever. Then the world fell apart."

"The Crash?" William asked as he looked around the street and saw boarded-up buildings and a man sleeping on a park bench, cradling a half-empty wine bottle like a mother holding a child. The rounders were everywhere, men who worked all summer and drank all winter, drifting from one mission home to another.

His ah-ma paused for a moment, then kept walking. "That too."

Gilded.

(1929).

Liu Song opened the fine silk robe Uncle Leo had given her and turned sideways in front of the bathroom mirror. Her hands contoured her belly, which two months earlier had been smooth, flat, and soft to the touch. Now her belly felt as firm as a green winter melon. Her stomach protruded as though she'd gorged herself on an eight-course meal, taking extra helpings of dessert. After years of being careful and taking every precaution, of surviving close calls and drinking the bitter root tea prescribed by the old, white-bearded man at the Hen Sen herb shop, her worst nightmare had repeated itself. Liu Song didn't look as though she was carrying a child, yet, but she certainly felt pregnant. Her nausea hadn't been as bad as it had been with William. She drank ginger ale and smoked clove cigarettes, which helped to keep her food down. But she was sore, seemingly everywhere. Her sensitive parts felt more sensitive. She found that she could cry for hours for any reason and sometimes no reason at all, though she certainly had her pick of subjects to rue, the least of which was simply remembering who the father was. Liu Song shuddered and rubbed the goose b.u.mps on her arms.

Mercifully, she hadn't seen Uncle Leo in weeks. It took months for the Crash to reach Seattle, but when it did everyone, including her former stepfather, felt its arrival. When regular orders at the laundry had disappeared in a wave of cancellations, he'd fired all of his longtime workers and replaced them with cheaper labor, which in Chinatown was saying something. And as she had watched some of those workers move out of the Bush, American, and Northern hotels and into flophouses, she wondered how long it might be before she was out on the street as well. Would he force us to move in with him? she wondered. Or will I work folding sheets and duvet covers instead of accompanying him to the horse races and the Wah Mee on Sat.u.r.day nights? If only she could be that fortunate. The end of Prohibition was nowhere in sight, but even if it was, there wasn't enough gin and whiskey in the world to make her forget the price she'd paid for the sordid life she'd created for herself.

Liu Song tried to read the newspaper. She didn't know much about the stock market, or speculating, or buying on margin, or any of the complicated terms that headlined The Seattle Star these days. But she knew what dying slowly was all about, and everyone was struggling to hang on, each neighborhood was slipping away bit by bit as each new bank would fail to open its doors. The runs on the banks got so bad that People's North End Bank equipped their storefront with tear-gas nozzles. And when the sawmills began to lay off leathernecks by the thousand, the world of workingmen toppled to the ground like falling timber. Liu Song tried to be grateful for her gilded cage, but the bars were everywhere she looked.

"I'm going to school now," William said from somewhere in the kitchen. He was so much older now, a bit taller, more adventurous. Ready for school.

Liu Song closed her robe and tied it around her waist. She wandered to the front door, where William was ready for another week as a first grader at the Pacific School on Twelfth and Jefferson. "Don't forget you have Chinese school today." She handed him a wooden writing slate with Cantonese characters etched into the frame.

She raised an eyebrow as he frowned. "Yes, you have to go. I know it means you're going to two schools, working twice as hard-that just means you'll be twice as rich. Don't be late-for either school." William had been learning city Cantonese at the new Chong Wa building, but he preferred English to Chinese. As a boy of seven years, he spoke English almost as well as she did.

"Do you have another date this weekend?" William asked.

"I don't think so," Liu Song lied. She had hidden most of her dates with Uncle Leo from William, including the one this weekend. But she wasn't sure how much longer she could maintain that charade. She'd taken William out with them on occasion, to the Jun-bo Seafood Restaurant, the Sunken Garden in Lakewood, and the Coal Miners' Picnic, but he was older now and they were more discreet. Years had pa.s.sed since the last time Uncle Leo visited her apartment, and even then they'd had a terrible argument about him showing up unexpectedly. Her shame, her sacrifice, couldn't remain hidden forever. And perhaps she wouldn't have to hide anymore.

Liu Song looked at the clock and then slipped to the bedroom as excited as a child before the Lunar New Year celebration. She peeked beneath her bed and found her mother's valise-a familial treasure chest with all that remained of the person she used to be and might still be again.

As she opened the valise, she regarded the slip of yellow paper that sat atop her keepsakes. She touched the telegram that had come the week before-it was real. She sighed with relief. She wasn't dreaming. The message sent via Western Union hadn't vanished in the night along with her hopes. She read the telegram again; it was unbelievably long. At twenty-five cents a word, it must have cost a small fortune to send, so she savored each letter, each punctuation mark. The sender had never been one to spare any expense. Even during times of hardship. He poured out his heart, laced with apologies for being gone so long.

Liu Song lay on the floor, clutching the note to her chest. Today was the day. Today, Colin was coming back for her.

Seconds.

(1929).

Liu Song stood apart from the crowd that waited at Pier 36. She heard seabirds and wrinkled her nose as murky green seawater lapped at the pilings, which were crusted with barnacles, tube worms, and the occasional fat, purple starfish. The waterfront normally smelled its best when the tide was high, even if those smells were laced with diesel fumes or reeked of old nets filled with Dungeness crab. But as Liu Song looked southward, to where the Skinner & Eddy shipyard lay eerily quiet, she noticed squatters in tents and cardboard shacks dumping pails of yesterday's night soil into the Puget Sound. Her stomach turned as she watched seagulls swoop down into the muck, until the blast of a horn scared them away, if only for the moment.

She watched as the steamship Tantalus edged along the pier with the help of a tugboat. The ship's towering blue smokestacks blasted billowing clouds of white steam that swirled and eventually became one with the overcast sky. She remembered her parents mentioning the Blue Funnel Line, speaking of the China Mutual Steamship Company with affection. It was the same way she felt as she watched pa.s.sengers descend the gangplank after pursers punched their tickets.

Liu Song hardly recognized Colin, even as he waved and smiled. He'd gained weight, especially around the middle, and wore a dark suit that made him look more serious than she remembered. She expected him to hold her, to hug her neck, or kiss her on the mouth as the Caucasian travelers did, but he merely shook her hand, though he didn't seem to want to let go.

"You look exactly as I remember." He spoke in Chinese with a thicker accent than before. His English had faltered during his absence.

"You look ... better," Liu Song said sweetly.

They had lunch at the elegant King Fur Cafe even though Liu Song could hardly eat. Colin was quick to complain about the food and the service. "The waiters are so much better in Hong Kong-much more efficient. They dress nicer and can ladle your soup and light your cigarette at the same time."

Liu Song thanked him as he paid the bill. "You must be tired," she said. "I'm still at the old place. Come over and relax. You can take your shoes off-" Liu Song caught herself. She didn't want to appear too forward-too desperate.

As Colin walked her back to the Bush Hotel, both of them relaxed and Liu Song found herself swept away all over again, even as his belongings were taken to the Sorrento, a fine hotel she'd only seen from the outside. It didn't matter; Chinatown was their city-it was where they belonged. Though she wished so much time hadn't pa.s.sed.

He sat on her new sofa while she made oolong tea and put fresh almond cookies on a small ceramic dish. "You must be doing well despite these times of strife," Colin said, but the words came out as more of a question. "You have many nice things. New couch. New carpets, I see."

Liu Song explained how the music store had gone out of business and how she'd picked up a few jobs here and there that paid the bills. She nibbled on a semiburnt cookie as she fought a wave of nausea and tried to sit so her stomach didn't show. Colin's last few letters had mentioned that his father's bank had struggled like everywhere else, but that he thought the worst of it was over. He'd found new investors, who were buying lumber equipment and shipping it back to China. He'd come to close the deal, but most of all, he wanted to see her.

Liu Song didn't want to ask, but the question lingered between them like a ghost. "And how is your ... wife?" In the few letters she'd written she'd never once asked about his fiancee and he'd never surrendered that information. She a.s.sumed the subject was settled and wasn't worth talking about.

Colin loosened his tie ever so slightly. He looked at Liu Song and half-smiled, half-frowned. "Good Chinese wife, made me nice and round." He patted his stomach. "And she's given me two children, a boy and a girl-both healthy and strong. I named my daughter after you. I named her Willow."

Liu Song drifted between disappointment and denial, but still managed to smile and laugh, not quite believing him about the name. "Does she know about me?" Do I still mean anything to you, and should she worry-should I? "Does she know that you're here with me right now?" Considering her arrangement with Uncle Leo, Liu Song felt hypocritical questioning Colin about his intentions, but she had to know.

"I've told her everything." He hesitated, fidgeting, and then looked into her eyes. "I've even told her that I want to marry you."

Liu Song almost dropped her teacup.

"I came here on business," Colin said, "but I had something else to attend to-a proposal to make, to you, Liu Song. I wouldn't be so cra.s.s as to ask in a letter, or a telegram. I don't even know about your life now, I may have no right to ask such a thing. But I had to see you, had to see how you're doing, had to see if you're still pursuing the dream that I had to give up. And I had to ask if you'd take me as your husband."

Liu song's heart leapt while her stomach turned.

"I ... I don't know what to say," she stammered. "All these years I've hardly allowed myself to dream such a thing." The room was spinning. "But what about your wife-you'd leave her behind? You'd leave your children?" The thought was abhorrent to Liu Song. She'd done the worst of things to keep William. She could never envision giving him up, even if Colin offered her the world to return to China, she would not consider that option without her son.

Colin sat back and rubbed his forehead. "I don't think you fully understand ..."

"I don't." Liu Song felt flattered, but confused more than anything. "What else is there to understand? What aren't you telling me?" That you love me?

"I love us," Colin said as he touched her hand. "I've saved my father's business. I'm a wealthy man. I would split my time between Canton and Seattle. I can afford both families. I gave up my dreams, but that doesn't mean I have to give you up."

Liu Song closed her eyes and tried not to cry. Not this way. Not again. She tried to process what Colin was saying. She opened her eyes and looked at his pained, sincere face. She finally understood. "You would take me as a second wife?"

He seemed to shrink before her eyes. He looked hurt at the accusation, but the statement was true. "I ... already have a second wife-that's how I've always seen her, Liu Song. She's an obligation, a promise that I had to keep. I do my best by her. But I want you as my first wife. That's why I've come all this way, to ask you this in person."

Liu Song stared back in disappointment, in disbelief. She did love him, she wanted to be with him, not just for William's sake but to satisfy every unfulfilled wish she'd ever had. But he wasn't the same man as the one who'd left. He'd changed from an actor to a tap dancer. He was Daddy Rice with metal plates on his wingtips. He was Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer.

Colin kept dancing. "Plenty of businessmen do this, Liu Song. It makes sense. I could provide for you-you could pursue your acting and singing and anything your heart would desire. I can take care of William as well."

Compared to the sorry life she had now, his proposal was beyond reasonable. And their marriage wouldn't be recognized here, so she wouldn't have to leave with him. Mildred would have leapt at the chance with arms wide open. But Liu Song would be no different than the person she was yesterday, party to another compromised arrangement to another man. You are your mother's daughter. The words spun in her head.

Liu Song felt her stomach turn again, this time with cramping instead of nausea. She held her breath and counted until the pain went away, but her thoughts were reeling. She heard small footsteps and saw the door open. She'd forgotten what time it was. William walked in smiling.

"h.e.l.lo," William said as he set down his book bag and asked his mother if he could have a cookie. She gave him hers.

"This must be William," Colin gushed. "Look at you-you've grown so much!"

"William," Liu Song said, "say h.e.l.lo to Mr. Kwan."

"You remember me, don't you?" Colin asked.

William nodded and smiled politely, but his eyes betrayed his confusion. Colin didn't seem to notice. He kept complimenting William.