Spilled Water Read online

  Uncle stood briefly, awkwardly, and patted my head, before pulling away and addressing Mrs Jin.

  ‘Are you able to stay longer?’ he asked. ‘Si-yan will make breakfast and I will call by again this evening.’

  For the next five days, I looked after Li-hu and helped Mrs Jin to keep my mother comfortable. Gradually, the fever left her. She lay in bed sunken-eyed and exhausted, but peaceful. After ten days, she was able at last to walk around, though not for long, and I was shocked by how thin she had become. She was very quiet, and seemed not to be interested in what was happening on our farm. Uncle had arranged for two men from the village to keep things going, but I knew that we couldn’t rely on them for ever, and that we would have to take charge ourselves again soon.

  There was to be no relief, however, from the misfortune that dogged us. A drought set in, and the village men returned to their own farms. The temperatures soared to unbearable heights. The earth began to crack in protest, our vegetables wilted. When the well dried up, I brought buckets of water from the river, but I might as well have dropped a teaspoon of water on to a desert.

  Only Uncle could provide a lifeline. He sent us boxes of food and called by once a week. He didn’t stay to eat with us, and I was glad, for all he did as he wandered over our scorched terraces was to criticise my father for his refusal to take a job at his factory. I wished, how I wished, that we didn’t have to be grateful to him, but I began to despair that we would ever be free of the support he provided so unwillingly. Mother seemed unable to rediscover the determination that had kept her going before, and the memory of my father no longer seemed to inspire her. She would stand in the doorway of our house and gaze with utter despair at the wreckage of our crops.

  Uncle was sympathetic at first, but he gradually lost patience at Mother’s inability to make any effort to save at least a fraction of our harvest. One evening, he arrived and sent Li-hu and me to fetch fruit from the village. When we came back, we found Mother slumped in a chair, her face harrowed. Uncle had gone. I asked Mother what was the matter. She stared at me, her eyes shot with pain, but she didn’t reply, and I was scared, so scared, for all of us.

  Chapter Twelve

  A Fragile Reed

  It was four o’clock, I saw from the clock on the wall as we entered the apartment. Four o’clock in the morning. All was quiet. Mr Chen opened a door into a bedroom.

  ‘This is your room,’ he said. ‘Get some sleep. You will be woken at eight.’

  I nodded and watched the light from the hall squeeze out of the room as he closed the door behind him. Fully clothed, I lay down on the bed, which was more comfortable than any bed I had ever slept on, but, whether from hunger or fear or both, I could not sleep.

  Mr Chen’s words buffeted my ears relentlessly. ‘One day, you will marry my son.’ In my mind I rejected this command over and over again. I was going home. I was going to see my mother again. I wasn’t going to stay in this place with people I didn’t know. I wasn’t going to marry someone I had never even met. How could my uncle do this to me, how could he?

  I must have dozed eventually, because I was woken by a sense that there was somebody in my room. In a spill of light from the hall, I saw a silhouetted figure hovering in the doorway. Then I heard Mr Chen’s sharp voice saying, ‘Come away, Yimou,’ followed by the shutting of the door. Was it the boy I was supposed to marry who had stood there? I leapt out of bed, desperate to lock myself in, but there was no key. I got back into bed, pulled the blanket right up to my chin, and lay there listening to every sound, eyes fixed on the door, heart thumping wildly.

  At home I had shared a bed with my mother and Li-hu, so it was strange all of a sudden to have a bed to myself, a bed with a proper mattress and pillow. As the room grew brighter I looked around. The walls were painted white, the curtains were decorated with white cranes flying across a pale blue background, the same colour as the blanket, there was a small wooden table with a lamp on it, a sink in the corner with a mirror above, a low chest of drawers, a wooden chair, and on the floor was a beautiful silk rug.

  ‘This is your room,’ Mr Chen had said. It was a pretty room, a clean room, a finer room than any I had seen before. ‘This is my room,’ I tried out, rejecting the idea even as I said it.

  I was beginning to swelter under the weight of the blanket, and curiosity was getting the better of my fear of intruders. With one swift movement, I thrust the blanket aside, leapt across the room and peered out through the curtains.

  We were miles up in the air! I’d had no idea. A dull mist clung to the dozens of bright white apartment blocks on either side, and hovered eerily below. It was thin enough though for me to be able to make out the decrepit tops of older apartment blocks on slopes further down. Around and beyond them lay a vast, desolate, rubble wasteland. Where was this place? I wondered. Not a hint of colour punctured the loud whiteness of the new apartment buildings, the mottled white of the mist and the blotchy greyness of the older landscape. I felt as though I were looking out on a ghost city where some unimaginable catastrophe had occurred.

  A loud knock brought me to attention.

  ‘It is eight o’clock, Lu Si-yan,’ called a woman’s voice. ‘Come and have your breakfast.’

  However much I was anxious about what I would find outside my room and beyond, I was hungry enough to allow my stomach to lead. I opened the door slowly and peered into the hall, which disappeared round a corner in one direction. It was deserted, but a delicious assortment of smells wafted by, and noises were coming from the other direction, not too far away from my room. I walked cautiously towards them, skirting round two other doorways in case they opened. When I reached the end of the hall, I hesitated outside a half-open door, waited for a loud banging to stop, then knocked gently.

  ‘Come in, child,’ said the woman’s voice.

  I stepped nervously into a brightly lit kitchen. It was full of the sort of equipment I had only ever seen before in shop windows. On a table in the middle of the room, a porcelain bowl and soup spoon and a pair of chopsticks were waiting expectantly. Mrs Chen, for I assumed that was who she was, appeared from behind a cupboard door.

  My jaw dropped with astonishment when I saw her. She was extraordinarily beautiful, immaculately dressed in the finest silk and pearls. She seemed to have stepped straight out of the pages of a magazine.

  She looked me up and down, her steady gaze making me feel thoroughly shabby. But she suddenly smiled and said, ‘You are like a fragile reed. One puff of wind and you will break in two. We need to feed you up, Lu Si-yan. Sit down and eat.’

  She gave me a hot, moist towel with which to wipe my hands and face, then brought a bowl of soup followed by dishes of chicken, vegetables and rice. So much food, and all for me, since it seemed that I was to eat alone.

  While I filled my bowl with soup, Mrs Chen sat down in silence at the other side of the table. I began to eat, but became aware that she was watching my every move, which made me feel awkward and clumsy. Though I tried to remember everything I had been told about good table manners, I failed to stop a dribble of soup stealing down my chin. I wiped it as furtively as I could on the back of my hand, only to glance up and see that Mrs Chen’s lips had pursed briefly with disapproval before settling again into their charitable smile. When I helped myself to rice, a cluster of grains fell on to the table. The lips pursed again. I wished she would say something, anything, rather than just sit there watching.

  All pleasure in the meal evaporated under Mrs Chen’s critical eye. I had never eaten better, but I had never enjoyed a meal less. I ate as much as I was able, not daring to leave too much in case it was taken as an insult, then smiled timidly and said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Chen. That was delicious.’

  ‘We’ll soon tidy up your manners,’ Mrs Chen replied, smiling back. ‘Now, when you’ve finished washing up, I’ll take you to have your hair cut and buy you some new clothes.’

  With that, she sailed out of the kitchen, leaving me to discover for myself the s
ink piled high with dirty pans and dishes.

  I wasn’t used to a tap that delivered hot water, so immediately scalded myself, nor had I come across something called ‘washing-up liquid’, which I found by the sink. I read the label and, as directed, squirted some into the running water, then I gave a few extra squirts in case I hadn’t put in enough. I watched with amusement as the bubbles appeared, then horror as they frothed over the side of the sink on to the floor. I grabbed a cloth and tried to wipe up the mess, but water began to overflow as well because I had forgotten to turn off the tap. Some of the pans were very sticky. I scrubbed them hard, then left them to drain while I attacked the dishes which, when clean, I balanced on top of the pans. One of them slid to the floor with a resounding crash, which summoned Mrs Chen.

  She found me rooted panic-stricken to the spot, surrounded by hundreds of pieces of broken porcelain and rivulets of water. She looked at me, at the porcelain scattered all over the floor, and beyond me to the pile of dishes and pans. She picked up a pan, inspected it, put it down, picked up the cloth which I had used to wipe the floor, inspected it, put it down.

  ‘The cloth is for drying dishes,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered.

  ‘There is a broom in the cupboard. Be sure you sweep up every last splinter. We wouldn’t want to cut ourselves, would we?’

  ‘No, Mrs Chen,’ I mumbled.

  ‘The pans will need washing again,’ she continued. ‘It’s early days. I’m sure you will do better next time.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Chen.’

  I swept and swept the floor, every last millimetre of it, until I was sure Mrs Chen could not possibly detect even the smallest fragment of porcelain. Then I scoured and scraped and scrubbed the pans, before drying them carefully on a clean cloth. When Mrs Chen reappeared, she didn’t look at the floor or the pans, simply glanced at the table, pointed out a grain of rice, and asked me to wipe it up before we went out.

  As I stood beside her in the lift, smothered by the strength of her perfume, I felt thoroughly confused. I was in the most beautiful apartment, with a room of my own, eating the most delicious food I had ever tasted, going out to buy the first new clothes I had had in years. Things could have been a million times worse, yet I was full of foreboding. It seemed I was there to do exactly as Mrs Chen wished, to be shaped and moulded in whatever way she saw fit. I didn’t want to have my hair cut. Why should I have my hair cut just because Mrs Chen said I had to? But I didn’t dare defy her. Her smile was barbed. It failed to touch her eyes, where I sensed pitilessness lurking not far below the surface.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Things Must Improve

  We drove into town. Mrs Chen had her own car! Even Uncle didn’t have a car. The lift took us right down underneath the apartment block into a huge parking area, where Mrs Chen opened the doors to a big silver saloon and told me to get in the back. As we drove out into the street, I was astonished to see how many cars there were driving up and down – not just taxis, but cars with ordinary people in them. We travelled along a wide road where apartment blocks towered above us, all of them new, and brilliantly lit, glossy-fronted shops were filled with slender mannequins sporting the most extravagant fashions. Did people really wear such clothes? I wondered.

  I became aware that Mrs Chen was observing me again, glancing in her mirror. The smile appeared when she saw that I had noticed her.

  ‘Try not to gawp, Lu Si-yan, it’s not very becoming. We don’t want you to look like an ignorant peasant girl, do we?’

  She drew up outside a row of smaller shops, the second of which advertised itself as a hairdressers and beauty salon. The owner came to the shop door the minute she saw Mrs Chen, held it open for her and greeted her respectfully.

  ‘The child needs her hair tamed, cut in a short bob, I think, with a straight fringe out of her eyes. You will also need to work on her hands. They’re ingrained with dirt. Heaven knows what she’s been using them for.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Chen. Certainly, Mrs Chen.’

  Mrs Chen gave her orders and sat down with a magazine, while an assistant brought her tea. I watched tearfully in the mirror, my thick black hair falling to the ground in large clumps, a neat, well-behaved bob appearing in its place. My hands were scoured and oiled, my nails carefully clipped into immaculate crescent moons. The manager sought Mrs Chen’s approval, who declared the result a great improvement, and I was whisked off for the next stage in my transformation.

  I was quite excited by the prospect of new clothes – clothes that fitted, beautiful clothes like those I could see on some of the girls who passed us, girls I couldn’t help turning to admire, even though I could see Mrs Chen’s lips tightening. Perhaps I might look as pretty as they did.

  We stopped at a small clothes shop. Once again the manager rushed to open the door for us and to serve Mrs Chen.

  ‘I want something in the way of a uniform for this child,’ she said. ‘You know the sort of thing. A servant’s uniform, calf-length, perhaps in black or navy with a white collar.’

  ‘Certainly, Madam. What about this?’

  The manager pulled from a rail a plain navy dress, very straight, a small pleat at the back of the skirt, long-sleeved, buttoned at the wrists, with a white collar.

  ‘Try it on, Lu Si-yan.’

  When I emerged from the changing room, Mrs Chen clapped her hands.

  ‘Perfect,’ she smiled. ‘We’ll have two, plus two plain white blouses, one of those navy coats over there, plus two pairs of socks, underwear and pyjamas – nothing too fancy.’

  Purchases in hand, I was then taken to a shoe shop, where Mrs Chen chose a pair of heavy black lace-ups.

  ‘Good and sturdy,’ she said. ‘Nothing frivolous. We wouldn’t want to damage your young feet, would we?’

  On the way back to the car, she told me what a lucky girl I was to have so much money spent on me, and that as soon as we were home I was to change into my new clothes and throw my old ones away.

  It was nearly midday by the time we returned to the apartment. I had five minutes in which to change, then I was to go to the study to receive instructions about my duties. I stared in the mirror and didn’t recognise the person standing there. She looked older, thinner, more serious than the girl I remembered. There was a shadowy air of resignation about her as well, which I instantly fought by hiding my favourite old blouse behind the chest-of-drawers. Mrs Chen wasn’t going to have all of me.

  I left my room reluctantly and went in search of the study. Passing one of the doors in the hall, I was sure I heard voices. I stopped to listen. All was silent. Should I go in? There was the sound of a pan clattering in the kitchen. I continued in that direction, heard a door open behind me, and turned to see Mrs Chen emerging from the room I had just hesitated by.

  ‘Where are you going, child?’ she said irritably. ‘Can’t you obey a simple instruction? I said the study.’

  ‘I don’t know which is the study.’

  The smile appeared. ‘Of course, how silly of me. It’s this room here.’

  She showed me in and sat me down on a wooden chair facing a wall covered with shelf upon shelf of pristine-spined books, while she stood at the window, her back to me.

  ‘You will rise at six o’clock,’ she said. ‘Lateness will not be tolerated. Cook will leave you a list in the kitchen of foodstuffs to prepare for breakfast. You will do as he asks, then you will lay the table in the dining room. Four settings. You will eat alone in the kitchen when we have finished. You will find everything you need in the large cupboard. At six forty-five promptly you will return to your room to clean yourself up and make your bed. I will not expect to see you again until you come for your breakfast at seven-thirty. After you have eaten, you will clear up, having learned from your errors this morning.’

  She smiled, before continuing with a list that included washing, ironing, cleaning, as well as preparing and clearing up after meals. I struggled hard to take it all in. It seemed I wasn’t to be free ea
ch day until eight o’clock in the evening, when I was to retire to my room.

  ‘Can you sew?’ asked Mrs Chen.

  I nodded. I had often sewn patches in Li-hu’s trousers and darned my own clothes.

  ‘Good. After lunch you can make a start by replacing the buttons on these shirts, but first I shall introduce you to Cook and you can help to prepare our lunch.’

  I followed her out of the study and along to the kitchen. There, to my astonishment, she took hold of the arm of the young man standing by the stove and swung him round to face me. Her whole manner was suddenly smiling and flirtatious.

  ‘Xiong Fei, this is Lu Si-yan, who has come to help you in the kitchen, haven’t you, Lu Si-yan? Show her how we do things here, won’t you, Xiong Fei? I’d be so grateful to you.’

  She patted him possessively on the shoulder. Xiong Fei smiled.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Chen. Of course, Mrs Chen.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Call me if there are any problems.’

  She patted him again on the shoulder, then sailed gracefully past me out of the room, leaving a trail of her perfume to mingle familiarly with the aromas from Xiong Fei’s cooking.

  I stood there uncertainly, waiting for him to speak first, when I thought I heard him mutter ‘witch’ under his breath. He looked at me steadily, winked and said, ‘Don’t look so terrified, Lu Si-yan. I won’t bite.’ Then he whispered, ‘I leave that to other people. Now be careful what you say in here – the walls have ears.’

  Unwittingly I glanced round at the walls, causing Xiong Fei to smile, a big wide smile which lit up his eyes. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, but his face was strong and full of mischief. I blushed shyly.

  ‘You’re so young,’ he said. ‘Why aren’t you at home with your parents?’ And then, suddenly businesslike: ‘Prepare these vegetables for me, would you, Lu Si-yan.’

  A shadow passed by the door, then we heard another door closing.

  ‘Be careful not to chop your fingers off, Lu Si-yan,’ Xiong Fei smiled. ‘The knives are very sharp, and the sight of blood makes me faint clean away.’