“I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” Redding said. “When did you and Yang start dating?”
“No. It wasn’t like that. The marriage was arranged when I was little. We never dated. We only married. I was twenty-two and he was twenty-six,” she said. “Does that surprise you?”
“Well, yeah! You didn’t even know him,” Redding said.
“No. We never met, not until the day we married, but try to understand that marriage is not about one’s appearance and such. Those things are not important, only that two people are willing to make a life with each other.”
“And you weren’t nervous or anything?”
“Well, a certain amount of nervousness is always expected, and it wasn’t that Yang and I were drawn to each other. Actually, the opposite would have been closer to the truth. I’m sure it all seems a little strange, but in China arranged marriages used to be quite common. Not so much anymore, but traditional beliefs still made the practice acceptable. The marriage between my brother Ching and his wife Mei was arranged.”
They stepped into the shade of tree but it offered little relief from the warming temperatures. Redding slipped off his coat and held it over his shoulder using his index finger as a hook. As he listened to her every word, he studied the soft contours of her face, but no one single feature defined her. Her beauty was housed in the culmination of all her features. As she glanced from side to side to make sure they weren’t being overheard, his eyes were drawn to the motion of her satiny black hair as it lightly brushed across her shoulders.
“His parents demanded that he return home, but he refused. So they used marriage as a ploy, but it didn’t turn out they way they planned. He couldn’t refuse the marriage – well, actually he could, but that would have been hurtful. I’m not sure that’s the right word.”
“Is the word you’re looking for something like embarrassed, or dishonorable?” Redding asked.
“Yes, those words! It would have been dishonorable. It’s kind of hard to explain. It would be like casting shame onto his whole family, and also onto mine. It can have an effect on business and the respect you receive from neighbors and friends. It can be a very serious matter.”
“So, he was an honorable guy and he agreed to the marriage?”
“Yes. A fortuneteller was consulted, and a date was set for the wedding. On the day of the wedding, I was escorted to Shanghai by my father and brother. Ching carried the suitcase that held my clothes, some personal items, and a photograph of my mother. That was everything I owned. The wedding was performed by an administrator in a government building. Actually, it’s not so much a wedding, just the filing of some paperwork. Then, there was a celebration dinner, but not many people attended. That was because our families and friends lived either in Suzhou or Dalian. After the dinner, Yang moved me into his apartment.”
Suddenly, Lin Ming could feel the tensing of muscles throughout her body. Memories that had been locked away suddenly came rushing back. It had been years since the marriage ended, but the pain of the emptiness was still there. She purposely hadn’t allowed herself to think about the past. She had tried to seal the memories away, hoping that they would vanish with time. All at once, emotions began to well inside her and still the memories kept coming, flooding her consciousness, wave after wave.
She barely knew Redding and already had said too much. She looked around, but there was no place to hide. She stared off into the distance but saw only the sadness of her past.
* * *
The first night she spent with Yang was still clear in her memory. Even then she already knew it would be a difficult marriage. Her stomach was full of butterflies. He had directed her to sleep on the couch while he slept in the bed. Four days had passed before he indicated he was ready to consummate the marriage. There was no kissing, no holding, and little if any touching. He didn’t even respond when she pleaded with him to stop. The physical act was forceful, abrupt, and unkind. The coupling was over in just minutes and then he withdrew to the shower. The whole experience was void of any passion or shared emotions. She began to clean herself with a damp cloth, but her breathing became erratic. So she recoiled to the couch and, with no strength left, she cried.
Week after week, it was always the same. The totality of the coupling was always degrading and humiliating, and one day she flatly refused. Initially, Yang seemed somewhat relieved by rejection, but frustration soon followed.
Two weeks later, he tried again to coerce her into bed, but without any success. Another month had passed before she finally relented, but still nothing had changed. Their intercourse was emotionless and the act was finished almost as soon as it started, leaving her with only emptiness inside. Of the times he had wanted her, more often than not, he was unable to perform. Several times she tried to question him about his need for coupling, but no response was returned. He never seemed excited by the intercourse; in fact, he seemed quite relieved when it was over. Their coupling became less and less frequent. By the end of their first year, the sexual ritual was less than once a month. Any happiness that she had envisioned in married life had been supplanted by humiliation.
She remembered how ugly and inadequate he made her feel. He would always turn away whenever she undressed, as if her naked body was somehow repulsive. She tried different ways to make herself more attractive, but it had no effect. Yang never noticed. It wasn’t until the end of their second year that she learned the truth. His family had been pressuring him from the very beginning for a grandchild. That was the only reason that he slept with her.
She remembered everything, every horrible moment, but those weren’t memories that she could share.
* * *
“We were wrong for each other, but we stayed married. Yang’s parents were sure that he would move back to Dalian after he married, but their ploy didn’t work. He was determined as ever to stay in Shanghai, even though we barely made enough money to pay the rent. We were both so unhappy.”
“Why didn’t you leave him?”
“The Chinese way is different than it is in Western countries,” Lin Ming said. “Everything is not always so simple. We can’t run from our problems just because we are unhappy.”
She turned away from him and gazed down the boulevard. She raised one hand to cover her face and with the other she waved him back. She didn’t want him to see the hurt in her eyes nor the sadness on her face.
“Lin Ming, I’m sorry,” Redding said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t think badly of Yang. He wasn’t a bad person, not really. He just didn’t understand what it meant to be married.” She desperately wanted to put the past away, but still the memories wouldn’t be contained.
* * *
She could see Yang clearly in her mind, brooding and withdrawn. He wasn’t much for talking. He would make short, abrupt statements to avoid having a conversation. Mostly, he just wanted to be left alone. There were times when he was sociable, but they were few and far between. It was as if they were leading separate lives, but it wasn’t for lack of effort on her part. She had tried time and again to converse with him on an intimate level. Something more than just household conversation, but all that prevailed was frustration. He had adopted the practice of simply ignoring her before the conversation had a chance to get started. He never confided in her, nor did he ever realize how much he had hurt her.
Yang had suffered long periods of depression, each time becoming increasingly more despondent. Their marriage may have been an empty shell, but he was her husband. She pleaded with him to see a doctor, but he refused. She even suggested that he call his parents for help, but that only incited him to smash a lamp on the floor. He brushed all of her pleas aside and refused to discuss the matter.
Even from the earliest days of the marriage, he would stay out all night with friends, leaving her at home. He usually returned by morning, reeking of alcohol. In the waning months of their marriage, he would leave on a Saturday and not return home until early Monday mornin
g. Then, he quickly showered, put on some clean clothes, and left for work without ever saying a word. Every week it was the same routine. He went out and she stayed home.
When she wasn’t working, she was cleaning and laundering clothes. Even with their two incomes, there was never enough money to pay their debts. What little money they had, Yang squandered and she was left to face the landlord alone. It was a miserable existence, absent of any happiness, but she had no choice other than to stay married.
She remembered the morning when the police came to the apartment. They began by asking questions about Yang, but she had few answers. She tried to explain that he sometimes stayed out all night, but one of the policemen interrupted her. He said that a man had been found dead in a hotel room and they believed it was Yang. They told her that he had taken a bottle of sleeping tablets while drinking heavily. They needed her to identify his body.
In hindsight, Yang’s death seemed kind of ironic. He had been trained in traditional medicine, but rather than heal himself, he chose to end his life.
* * *
Yang’s family took charge of the funeral arrangements. The cremation services were preformed in Shanghai and then his ashes were returned to Dalian. Following the funeral, his family quickly dismantled all remnants of the marriage. Yang’s uncle notified the building manager that the apartment was available. Then, he told Lin Ming that she would have to find another place to live. Over the next two days, he sold off the few possessions that she and Yang had accumulated during their marriage, leaving her with nothing.
Yang’s mother had been especially cruel. She had blamed Lin Ming for Yang’s unhappy life and his eventual death. She said that if Lin Ming had been a better wife, then Yang wouldn’t have liked men so much. They had been married for six miserable years, and in the frame of a few days it was over. At first she felt nothing inside, and then came a moment of relief that was displaced by sadness. The sadness was not for Yang, but for the marriage they shared and the years that had been wasted.
She returned to her brother’s apartment in Suzhou, carrying the same dilapidated suitcase, filled with her clothes, personal effects, and a photograph of her mother.
* * *
Lin Ming adjusted her stride, purposely creating a buffer from other nearby individuals. She had looked over her shoulder no less than a dozen times to make sure no one approached unnoticed. If anyone came within a certain distance, she would immediately lower her voice to a whisper so as not to be overheard.
“Ease up. It’s not like anyone cares, even if they could speak English.” Redding said.
“The restaurant is there.” She motioned toward an adjacent building, hoping the subject would end.
“How long did you live in Shanghai?”
“Six years. After Yang died, I left.”
It occurred to her that the only other person she had ever confided in was her sister-in-law. Mei had been kind, offering an understanding embrace, but it never actually felt as though the burden had been lifted.
* * *
Returning to life in Suzhou was far more difficult than she had anticipated. Nothing had changed, yet everything seemed so different. Of course, Ching and Mei extended their support, but not her father. He had always been cold and distant and was even more so with her return. She knew better than to expect any sympathy from him, but nothing could have prepared her for his insensitive remarks, especially the one about Yang’s suicide. He said to find the real cause of a husband’s death one had to look no further than the wife.
As the years passed, father had become increasingly belligerent, frail in health, and still without a grandchild. With Lin Ming’s return, he harped on everyone whether it was justified or not. An uneasy coexistence gripped the household and care had to be taken not to incite Father, but where Lin Ming was concerned, he was easily provoked. There was one particular incident when the teapot ran empty before she had filled his cup. He slammed his rice bowl onto the table and announced that he had made a decision. He would arrange another marriage for Lin Ming. It didn’t matter to him whether she agreed or not, nor did he care that Yang had only been dead two months. Looks were traded across the table, but no one said a word.
The idea of marriage no longer existed in her heart. She would have chosen for herself a life without a husband rather than accept someone in marriage she didn’t know and didn’t love. She wasn’t even sure that she could ever willingly give herself to another man. Maybe Ching and Mei’s marriage was the way it was supposed to be, but she wasn’t willing to take that chance.
Lin Ming knew she couldn’t escape Father’s edict on marriage, nor could he be persuaded to compromise– not unless Mei intervened. She was the one exception. Nothing happened within the household without her approval, and it had been that way since the day she married into the family. She possessed an uncanny ability to manipulate matters so effectively that she often left Father confused about his original intentions. She took Lin Ming aside and assured her that no marriage arrangement would ever materialize, not without her permission.
Chapter Seven
By Redding’s standards, the restaurant looked as if it were on its last legs, not that he was so easily dissuaded. Paint peeled away from the cracks that coursed up the walls and then dispersed across the ceiling. The only lighting consisted of a series of bare light bulbs wired into one extension cord, and the tables and chairs were functional but mismatched. He had seen far worse, but his only criterion was that the place was clean. He selected a table close to the window where the light from outside lessened the harshness of the bare-bulb lighting. Lin Ming neither noticed nor seemed to mind the state of the restaurant. Her attention was focused on a wall-mounted chalkboard that displayed an array of menu specials.
A waitress stood next to the table and twirled a pen between her thumb and fingers while she waited for them to order. Although Lin Ming had suggested several dishes, none of them sounded familiar to Redding. With some trepidation, he surrendered all decisions to her. As she spoke, the waitress scribbled away on a notepad, stopping only to clarify the order before heading to the kitchen.
* * *
In the past, Redding would usually surrender his chopsticks in favor of a fork, but when the waitress offered, he refused. Sitting across from Lin Ming, using a fork just didn’t seem appropriate. Dishes of chicken, scrambled eggs with shrimp, and braised green beans were delivered to the table along with steamed rice and tea. Lin Ming filled a bowl with rice and handed it to Redding, and then only partially filled another bowl for herself. With chopsticks, she reached for a single green bean and took a bite before setting the other half of the green bean in her bowl. Then, she set her chopsticks down.
“You’re not eating?” Redding asked, as he lifted a shrimp to his mouth.
“I’m not that hungry.”
“Well, you don’t expect me to eat all of this by myself, do you?”
“I thought Americans have big appetites?”
“Not everyone!” he said. “So how come you’re not eating? Are you still thinking about him?”
“What?”
“Yang, Shanghai?”
“No, it’s not that!” she said. “I don’t have any feelings for him. I never did.”
She hesitated for a moment, and then picked up her bowl and chopsticks, and began slowly eating the rice. Redding pointed to the chicken with his chopsticks, indicating that she should try some. She feigned a smile before reaching for one of the smaller pieces.
“I shouldn’t have told you about my past,” she said, intentionally closing the door to any further discussion about her previous life. “It was unprofessional.”
* * *
They had walked some distance from the restaurant but were still nowhere close to their destination. Several pedicycle taxis sat curbside while their drivers shaded themselves under a tree. The pedicycle was essentially a three-wheeled bike that was in a style reminiscent of the old wooden rickshaws. It consisted of side-by-side seating on
an aluminum bench that was positioned between the two rear wheels. Extending upward from the rear was a fiberglass overhead canopy that provided the occupants with minimal protection from sun or rain. The metal frame that extended forward from the cab was essentially the front half of a standard bicycle, which provided the driver the means to pedal and steer. The pedicycle may have been a slow means of transportation, but it wasn’t without its advantages. Its elevated open-air cab and unhurried pace provided an outstanding view of the commercial venues along the street.
Lin Ming climbed into one, and then Redding climbed in next to her. Sitting side by side, they were close enough that he caught a trace of her light, flowery scent. He immediately recognized the sweet, fragrant smell of gardenias.
His interest in the old city must have seemed unusual to Lin Ming, but an explanation was out of the question. The fewer people that knew about the cello painting the better it would be. Of the tourists that crossed her path, most were probably enamored by the gardens. That was easily understood. They would have had little interest in the local stores and street traffic, but for him, the streets were vital to his search.
“You’re looking for something?” Lin Ming asked.
“Not really. Maybe some collectables.” Although he purposely kept his answer vague, he thought it would be enough to satisfy her curiosity.
“The old city is the wrong place to look for collectables. I know a better place,” Lin Ming said. She waited for a response, but Redding ignored the suggestion.
The pedicycle retreated from the shade of one tree only to capture the shade of another a moment later. The driver held close to the curb, staying clear of traffic as he pedaled along a busy street. As they neared a parked vehicle, he blindly pulled out into traffic, causing a vehicle approaching from behind to blast its horn. Unfazed by the warning, the driver continued pedaling until he passed the parked vehicle and then returned to curbside. Without any other obstructions for the rest of the block, he was able to pedal forward unimpeded, but instead of focusing on the road ahead of him, he had taken to twisting around on his seat. At first Redding thought he might be concerned with traffic approaching from the rear, but that was not the case. The driver was clearly staring into the cab, directly at Redding and Lin Ming. It got to a point that he was spending more time staring backward at them than he was looking forward. After drifting into traffic and nearly colliding with a truck, Redding had had enough.