Spilled Water Page 6

  A clock struck suddenly. Mrs Hong opened her eyes.

  ‘You read very well, Lu Si-yan. Mrs Wu was a trifle monotonous, bless her. We will do this again, but now I am going to help you with your dusting.’

  I was amazed that Mrs Hong would even consider helping me. She had reached her door before I could attempt to stop her, and began hurtling down the hall as though in a race. Just as she reached the door to the apartment, it opened and she crashed into it, causing it to rebound into the shopping-laden Mrs Chen. I was so shocked, and at the same time the scene struck me as so comical, that I hooted with laughter. A brief, hysterical hoot, but it was noted even in the confusion. For a moment Mrs Chen stood thunderstruck. Then she dropped her shopping, pushed past Mrs Hong and made a grab for me.

  ‘How dare you mock me!’ she shrieked. ‘Who gave you permission to enter this area of our apartment the minute my back was turned?’

  ‘You know very well it was me,’ said Mrs Hong calmly. ‘I am to blame, so please don’t take it out on the poor child.’

  ‘‘‘The poor child” has been nothing but trouble since she arrived. She needs to understand her place here, while you, dear mother-in-law, need to understand that old women do not go racing around in wheelchairs with the servants.’

  ‘You, dear daughter-in-law, need to understand your place here. I am the head of this household and if I wish Lu Si-yan to read to me then so she shall.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ fumed Mrs Chen. ‘Go to the kitchen now, Lu Si-yan. I shall expect to find that you have done everything I asked.’

  She took hold of the arms of the wheelchair, turned it round and pushed Mrs Hong back to her room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Prisoner

  A month went by, a month in which I began to feel like a prisoner. Apart from the shopping trip on my first morning, I hadn’t left the apartment. Mrs Chen filled every minute of my day with chores, appearing from nowhere time and again to check that I was doing as she had asked and doing it properly. Her criticisms were endless and soul-destroying.

  My only lifeline was Xiong Fei. His arrival three times a day lifted my despair. Mrs Chen clearly suspected as much, and kept a careful eye on us, flirting more and more outrageously with him, while doing her best to make me look like a foolish little girl. We laughed in turn at her arrogance and stupidity, laughter which kept me going from one mealtime to the next.

  During that long first month, I saw neither Mr Chen nor Yimou. They left the apartment immediately after breakfast, and disappeared when they returned in the evenings into the rooms that were out of bounds to me. I felt that perhaps Yimou was being kept away from me deliberately. And then, on the fifth Saturday after Uncle had taken me to market, Mrs Chen informed me that from the next day, and every Sunday onwards, I was to cook for the whole family, all three meals, and serve them as well.

  ‘Your uncle assured Mr Chen that you can cook, so now you can prove it,’ she said, smiling, as though setting a test in which she was sure I would fail.

  She gave me strict instructions on every aspect of what I was to cook that first Sunday, when it was to be served, how it was to be served and what was expected of me. I was aghast. How could I possibly do it all on my own? My mind froze as she spoke, unable to take in the bombardment of minute details. And then, worse – as she left the room, I realised that I was bound to meet Yimou for the first time.

  Xiong Fei’s arrival that Saturday evening did little to cheer me up. He talked me step by step through the preparation of the dishes I was to cook, muttering angrily about Mrs Chen’s spitefulness in setting me such a task. He was also furious about the fact that, without any warning or discussion, he was to lose a whole day’s work.

  ‘She just uses people, then spits them out when she no longer has any need for them. Now she asks you, an eleven-year-old, to do the work of an experienced chef. She’s using you like a slave, Lu Si-yan. Have you written to your mother yet?’

  I shook my head miserably. ‘I can’t tell her, I just can’t. She can’t take me back, Uncle made that clear. How can I worry her when there’s nothing she can do to help?’

  ‘Then give me your uncle’s address and let me write to him. He’s your family. He should be looking after you.’

  ‘Uncle hates me. It was his idea to send me away in the first place.’

  ‘But how can you stay here, Lu Si-yan?’

  ‘I have no choice,’ I replied.

  I have no choice, I said to myself over and over again in my room later that evening, as I gazed out of the window only to discover that the river had disappeared once more beneath a thick blanket of mist. I had thought about escaping, just simply running away, but I had no money, Mrs Chen was careful to keep the apartment door locked, and where would I go, anyway? My future looked as bleak as the shadowland below, my determination to go home to my mother faltering when little more than a month had passed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Have to Kiss it Better

  Sunday arrived with the wake-up bell at five-thirty. Though the sun had yet to rise, I could see that the mist and smog were lying in wait for me, blotting out the river and its hint of hope. I dragged myself into my uniform, exhausted before a day that promised me no rest had even begun. I looked in the mirror and wondered anew at who the girl standing there was. The air of resignation had now overwhelmed her. You’re here to stay, the girl in the mirror seemed to say. There’s no point in fighting it.

  I was grateful to discover that Xiong Fei had chopped up some of the vegetables in advance and left them in the refrigerator, as well as preparing the plates of preserved meats and pickles. I struggled to remember what he had said about oven temperatures, how much oil to use, which spices belonged with which dish. I set the table in the dining room while trying to sort things out in my mind, then returned to the kitchen to measure out noodles and rice and carve up the chicken and beef. How well these people eat, I reflected, compared to my family and friends back home. But how well are they going to eat today? I couldn’t help smiling wryly. I flattened a chicken breast, picked up a cleaver, and sliced through the top of my finger.

  Droplets of blood fell to the floor as I dashed for the cold tap. I held my finger under the running water, desperate to curb the spill of red but, though it wasn’t too serious a cut, the blood kept flowing. I grabbed the teacloth and wrapped it round my hand. A deep red stain spread relentlessly through the material as I ransacked the drawers for something to bind the cut. All I could think of was that time was passing and I hadn’t even started cooking. I found some plastic film, tore off a strip and wound it round and round the top of my finger, hoping to contain the bleeding for long enough to enable me to cook and serve the meal.

  I could hear voices. My time was nearly up. I plunged the rice into a pan of boiling water, heated the oil in two woks, tipped in some chopped onion, garlic and ginger, finished carving the chicken and beef, separated them into the two woks, tossed them about in the oil, added various sauces, herbs and spices, and prayed that I had got it right. I carried the cold dishes through to the dining room, placed them round the edges of the revolving tray in the middle of the table, and returned to the kitchen to find Mrs Chen standing there.

  ‘There is blood on the floor, Lu Si-yan.’ She pointed to the teacloth. ‘There is blood on this teacloth, Lu Si-yan. Do you have any idea how unhygienic that is? Do you have any idea what a health risk that is?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Chen. I cut my finger and –’

  ‘I don’t care if you cut your throat. I will not have my kitchen contaminated by you. How do I know that you haven’t infected our food with your blood?’

  ‘I was very careful to –’

  ‘Careful you are not, Lu Si-yan. Careful people do not drop plates, do not spill food, do not take slices out of their fingers. You will throw this teacloth away, you will clean up your blood with disinfectant, and I shall expect you to serve us in ten minutes.’

  Behind her, the saucep
an of rice bubbled angrily, came to the boil, and hissing water spilled all over the top of the oven. Mrs Chen turned to look, then stormed out of the room, leaving me to fume at the injustice of her attack. I hurled the soiled cloth into the bin. I mopped savagely at the blood-spotted floor. I felt like screaming obscenities for the whole world to hear. I was doing my best. Why was my best never good enough?

  I stamped over to the oven and was sickened to find that one of the sauces over the meat had reduced to almost nothing, while the other was thick and glutinous. The meat itself was sticking to the bottoms of the woks. I poured some boiling water from the rice into the woks and stirred frenziedly, trying at the same time to free the meat and thin the sauces, some of which spattered down the front of my uniform. The clock on the wall told me I had two minutes left before I had to present myself in the dining room. I drained the rice and tipped it into a bowl.

  I stood outside the dining room with the bowl of rice. This was the moment I had been dreading.

  I saw Mrs Hong first, who smiled kindly. Seated next to her, Mr Chen simply nodded. By his side, the finely dressed young man stared at me and his cheeks flushed pink. He was so handsome that I must have gawped, because Mrs Chen said sharply, ‘Don’t play the peasant, please, Lu Si-yan.’

  I placed the bowl in the centre of the table, stood back and waited for instructions. There was silence, then Mrs Chen said, ‘Where are the hot towels, Lu Si-yan?’

  My stomach plunged. Nobody had said anything about providing hot towels at breakfast time. It was first thing in the morning. Surely hot towels weren’t needed when everyone had so recently washed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Chen, I didn’t realise –’

  ‘We always have hot towels, before every meal. I’m sure I told you. Too late now. We’ll have to do without.’

  ‘No hot towels, Grandma.’ Yimou leant conspiratorially across the table to whisper loudly to Mrs Hong.

  ‘No, dear, not today. Never mind, though. It won’t harm us.’

  ‘What are you waiting for now, Lu Si-yan? Dish out some rice and hand round the cold meats.’

  Mrs Chen tried to make herself appear agreeable, a smile on her lips after she spoke, while her husband sat patiently waiting, showing no sign of involvement with anything that was going on around him. I carefully put a spoonful of rice into Mrs Hong’s bowl, for which she thanked me, served Mrs Chen and Mr Chen, then bent over Yimou to reach his bowl. He beamed up at me, a face of pure innocence, turned towards his father and said, ‘Pretty girl.’

  Mr Chen gave a brief nod. Mrs Chen told him sweetly not to embarrass me. When I passed round the preserved meats, he beamed at me again, then leant across the table to whisper to Mrs Hong, ‘Pretty girl, Grandma.’

  ‘Eat your food, Yimou,’ Mr Chen said sternly.

  I disappeared back to the kitchen to fetch the hot dishes. The pieces of beef were stuck together in their glue-like sauce, the chicken was blackened in places where it had burnt at the bottom of the wok. I tried to disguise the worst with carefully positioned vegetables, but I knew that such subterfuge would not escape Mrs Chen’s eagle eye. At least I had managed not to overcook the pakchoi. I carried the dishes through and waited for the inevitable smile-disguised tongue-lashing.

  ‘You may serve us with more rice, then return to the kitchen to begin washing-up,’ Mrs Chen ordered.

  I filled one bowl after the other as before. When I reached Yimou, he suddenly pointed at my hand and said very solemnly, ‘Nasty cut? Have to kiss it better.’

  With that, he took hold of my wrist and was about to kiss my finger, when Mr Chen pulled him away and said firmly, ‘No, Yimou, you don’t touch.’

  I was sent back to the kitchen then, while Yimou leaned across to Mrs Hong and whispered, ‘Nasty cut, Grandma.’

  I was in turmoil as I scrubbed away at the dirty pans. It wasn’t that Mrs Chen would come in soon to demolish me over the dreadful meal. It was Yimou. It seemed I was destined to marry a boy who was as handsome as any girl could wish, but who acted like a very young child, though he looked about eighteen.

  I didn’t have time to think about it for too long. Mrs Chen strode in and the expected castigation took place. The food wasn’t fit for a peasant. Mr Chen had been assured by my uncle that I was a good cook, so I had better not be there under false pretences. There was plenty left, which I was welcome to. Lunch had better be much improved. I was to make a start on it as soon as I had eaten and finished clearing up.

  ‘One last thing, Lu Si-yan,’ Mrs Chen said quietly. ‘He is harmless, you will always have a roof over your head, and you will never want for money. I think you can count yourself lucky, don’t you?’

  I wanted to knock the sickly smile off her face and scream, No, no, no! I am not lucky. I am the unluckiest girl in the whole of China. But I wasn’t expected to reply. Mrs Chen had already gone.

  I fetched the bowls of discarded food from the dining room and sat down to eat, but I had lost my appetite. I didn’t care about having a roof over my head – after all, Mother and I had managed without one once upon a time. I didn’t care about money. We had never had money – not much, anyway. I remembered one of my father’s favourite sayings: ‘If you realise that you have enough, you are truly rich.’ The Chens had more than enough money, but were they truly rich, Mr Chen with his empty eyes, Mrs Chen with her heart of stone?

  I could see it all now. I was being trained to look after Yimou, to take over from Mrs Chen, and, as his wife, it would be much more difficult for me to leave him than if I were simply a paid servant.

  I was in trouble again at lunchtime. I forgot the soup. The scolding missed its target this time though. I was too busy wondering if Yimou knew that I was to marry him. I caught him gazing at me adoringly, as small children sometimes do, and wished that I could just be friends with him.

  By the evening, I was so tired that I could hardly keep my eyes open. Disaster struck when I managed to ladle soup into Mrs Hong’s lap. Yimou burst out laughing, then clamped his hand over his mouth when he saw his father’s face. Mrs Chen leapt to her feet, called me a stupid, clumsy child, and said that perhaps she was mistaken in thinking she could turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse. Mrs Hong patted me on the back and told me not to worry, that it had been a long day.

  ‘The poor child’s exhausted,’ she declared to Mr Chen. ‘Let her have a bowl of food, then send her to her room. We can sort ourselves out here for once.’

  Mr Chen nodded, but I knew from the look on Mrs Chen’s face that she was furious again with her mother-in-law for interfering.

  ‘The poor child’s exhausted,’ I heard Yimou repeat as I left the room.

  ‘The poor child is being spoiled,’ I heard Mrs Chen retort.

  Chapter Seventeen

  You Have Made Your

  Own Bed

  The following week, Xiong Fei was dismissed. It was my fault. I told him nothing at first about what had happened on Sunday, except that my cooking had failed the test and that I had missed Mrs Hong’s bowl and put her soup in her lap instead, which amused him greatly.

  ‘Pity it wasn’t Mrs Chen’s lap,’ he grinned. ‘You need to improve your aim, Lu Si-yan.’

  ‘If it had been Mrs Chen’s lap, I might not have survived to tell the story. At least Mrs Hong was nice about it.’

  ‘So what was the husband-to-be like?’ Xiong Fei gazed at me searchingly.

  ‘Very handsome,’ I managed, after a pause, refusing to meet his eye.

  ‘Very handsome, but –?’

  ‘Beautifully dressed.’

  ‘Beautifully dressed, but –? Come on, Lu Si-yan, tell me. I’m your friend. All you’ve told me so far is that he’s nicely packaged.’

  I couldn’t tell him. I feared that if I did, he would confront Mrs Chen. I didn’t want that to happen. It was my problem, not Xiong Fei’s.

  ‘I can’t really say,’ I answered finally. ‘I didn’t see much of him. He didn’t speak very much. He seemed – harmless enough.’ />
  At the end of the week, though, I couldn’t help blurting out how I felt. I had been woken very early that morning by my door opening and a figure standing there. It was Yimou, I could see from the spill of light from the hall. I heard him whispering, ‘The poor child’s exhausted. Kiss it better. Have to kiss it better.’ I was petrified that he was going to come in and kiss my hand. I lay still, not daring to move in case it encouraged him to enter. Mr Chen came to my rescue again. As soon as Yimou heard his voice, he closed the door and went away.

  Mrs Chen was particularly demanding that day. In the evening, Xiong Fei arrived to find me close to tears. When he asked me what was wrong, I told him of my fears that Yimou would come into my room. He was horrified.

  ‘You said he was harmless, Lu Si-yan. How can you be so sure? He might be dangerous, for all you know.’

  I tried to explain. ‘He seems harmless because he’s like a small child. He’s never grown up, Xiong Fei. I think his brain is not quite right. He’s harmless, but I’m frightened of him because I don’t understand him.’

  ‘How can you stay here and marry him then, Lu Si-yan?’ Xiong Fei could see I was about to cry, and put his arms round me, just as Mrs Chen came into the kitchen. He let go of me instantly to plant himself in between Mrs Chen and me.

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Mrs Chen. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m protecting Lu Si-yan from you, Mrs Chen,’ Xiong Fei replied fiercely. ‘Why do you treat her like a slave? Why are you forcing her to marry your son? What sort of people are you?’

  Mrs Chen gaped in astonishment. In the silence that followed Xiong Fei’s outburst, time seemed to stand still. At last she found her voice, chilling in its wrath.

  ‘How dare you! How dare you, a mere student, a mere nothing, criticise those of us who labour to feed and clothe you? You will finish making our meal, then you will leave, for good.’

  ‘No, Mrs Chen,’ Xiong Fei retorted, ‘I will not finish making your meal. I am leaving now. I will not work for people who mercilessly exploit young children. I only hope that Lu Si-yan will find a way to escape your clutches. She deserves better.’