Chinese Cinderella by Adeline Yen Mah
Finally, I choked out to the room at large, ‘My father wishes to sleep. They want you to go home now. I am sorry.’
No one replied but, in the painful silence, Wu Chun‐mei took out her handkerchief and handed it to me. I shrugged and tried to give her a smile of thanks but something in her eyes suddenly made it impossible for me to feign nonchalance. With tears strangling my voice, I told them, ‘Thank you for coming. I’ll never forget your loyalty.’
One by one they trooped out, leaving their gifts by my side. Wu Chun‐mei lingered and was the last to go. As she filed past the stairway she shouted towards the Holy of Holies, ‘This is unfair. You’re cruel and barbaric! I’ll tell my father!’
I gathered my presents and hesitated at the threshold of my parents’ room, thinking about running away. Their door was wide open. Father ordered me to go in, close the door and unwrap my packages.
Out came a jumbled collection of comics, kung‐fu novels, a chess set, a skipping‐rope, packages of treats: salted plums, sweet ginger slices and dried watermelon seeds, and a sheet of calligraphy paper with the character VICTORY prominently stroked out with brush and ink.
‘Throw the whole lot into the waste‐paper basket!’ Father commanded.
I hurried to comply.
‘Why should your classmates give you gifts?’ Niang asked suspiciously.
‘It’s because we won the election today. I’m now class president. We worked hard at it . . .’
Niang interrupted me in the middle of my explanation. ‘Stop bragging!’ she screamed. ‘Who do you think you are? A princess of some sort that all your friends should come and pay you tribute? You are getting altogether too proud and conceited! No matter what you consider yourself to be, you are nothing without your father. Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!’
‘You’ve breached our trust in you when you asked your friends to come here and insult us,’ Father said in a quiet voice which made me grit my teeth in pain. ‘Family ugliness should never be revealed in public. Since you’re not happy here, you must go somewhere else.’
‘But where can I go? Who will take me in?’ I asked shakily.
‘We’re not sure,’ Father replied cruelly.
Times were hard and on my way to school in the early mornings, I had seen infants wrapped in newspapers left to die in doorways. Beggar‐children in rags routinely rummaged the garbage‐cans searching for food. Some were reduced to eating the bark peeled off the sycamore trees lining the street on which we lived.
‘What’s going to happen to me? Will I be sold?’ I knelt in front of them in a state of panic.
‘You don’t know how lucky you are to be fed and housed here in these uncertain times,’ Father said. ‘Apologise to your Niang.’
‘I apologise, Niang.’
‘It’s your aunt who has taught you to lie and cheat. She feeds your arrogance by giving you money behind our backs,’ Niang said. ‘She is an evil influence. Before it’s too late, you must move out of her room and not speak to her again. We’ll find you an orphanage which’ll take you in until you’re old enough to find a job to support yourself. Your father has enough to worry about without the likes of you. You can go now.’
The thought of being separated from my aunt filled me with dread. Sombrely, I climbed the stairs and went back to the room I shared with her, perhaps for the last time.
After a sleepless night, I walked to school the next morning feeling apprehensive and ashamed. Along the way I kept asking myself, ‘What’ll my friends say this time? How will my voters look at me? Will I be the laughing stock of my class? Will everyone sneer and whisper about me during recess?’
I waited in the bathroom for a long time, reluctant to face my peers. When the bell rang, I was among the last to file into our classroom. Teacher Wong was already standing in front of the blackboard writing something with a piece of chalk. Immersed in my misery, I didn’t pay any attention until Wu Chun‐mei nudged me and pointed at our teacher’s back. I looked and looked again. To my amazement, I saw my name ( Yen Jun‐ling) written in big characters on the blackboard.
Teacher Wong turned towards me and smiled proudly. ‘I want the class to welcome and salute Yen Jun‐ling as your new class president. You have elected her of your own free will. From now on, she will be the one who will lead you in reciting Sun Yat‐sen’s last testament in front of our flag before lessons begin. When I am called away during class, she will take charge and you are to report to her!’
Everyone clapped and I glowed with happiness. The eyes of my supporters were shining with respect and admiration. I said to myself, How is it possible? Me, the same despised daughter publicly rejected by my parents yesterday is now being honoured by my teacher and classmates! Which is the true me? Though it’s blatantly obvious that my father loathes me as much as my stepmother does, perhaps he’ll change his mind one day if I bring him a few more honours. Besides, does he truly hate me or is he just going along with her because he loves her more than me and wants a peaceful life? After all, I am his real daughter.
All day, girls came up to offer their congratulations and pat me on my back. Nobody mentioned a word about being dismissed by my parents from my house. It was as if none of that ever happened. As I basked in their goodwill, yesterday’s horrors started fading. By the time I walked home, I had put those dreadful memories behind and was light‐heartedly skipping along the pavement from stone to stone.
I pushed open the back door and reality rushed back at once. Cook was plucking a freshly killed chicken in the kitchen. He glanced at me and called out ominously, ‘Ah Sun, she’s back from school!’ Now why did he say that? I didn’t wait to find out but my spirits sank and happiness evaporated as I climbed the stairs: past the Holy of Holies where the door was mercifully closed. Past the antechamber where my two half‐siblings were having afternoon tea. (No tea for the likes of me, of course. Never tea for the likes of me!) Past my grandfather Ye Ye’s room . . .
Ye Ye was standing at his door watching me with a sad expression on his face. He started to say something but Ah Sun was calling out in a loud voice, ‘So you’re back! Tell me what else belongs to you!’
She was in my room, kneeling on the floor and packing a suitcase.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked foolishly.
‘What does it look like I’m doing? Your Niang ordered me to pack your clothes and move you out of your aunt’s room. You are to sleep on the couch in your Ye Ye’s room tonight. Tomorrow, your father and Niang are flying to Tianjin and you’re to go with them.’
‘To Tianjin tomorrow!’ I exclaimed in dismay. ‘And Aunt Baba, what about her? Is she coming too?’
‘You must be dreaming! Your Niang says it’s a bad thing you’re always with her. She spoils you too much.’
‘But I have homework to do!’
‘Homework!’ Ah Sun scoffed. ‘What for when you’re flying off in an aeroplane at noon!’
I ignored her and sat down at my desk, laid out my books and started my homework as if my life depended on it. As I tackled my maths and did my English translation, the gloom of tomorrow’s departure seemed to lighten slightly. Ah Sun sneered at me, but I told her, ‘This is what I want to do on my last afternoon in Shanghai.’ She finished the packing and went away.
I sat forlornly at the edge of the landing on our floor, longing for my aunt to come home, desolate at the thought that I would never be able to go back to school or see any of my friends again. I pictured them waiting vainly for me to lead them in reciting Sun Yat‐sen’s last testament tomorrow morning; and I felt an overwhelming sense of despair.
For once, Aunt Baba was early. From the defeated way she walked up the stairs, I suspected she knew my fate. We entered our room and she closed the door. She peered over at my homework as she peeled off her coat.
‘Autumn has come early this year and the weather turns chilly when the sun goes down,’ she murmured, taking my cold hands and rubbing heat into them. ‘Are you wearing enough clothes?’ She looked f
She helped me put on my sweater. We sat side by side on her bed. She removed the key from the chain around her neck, opened her safe‐deposit box and took out my stack of report cards. I knew that in her eyes, my grades had been conferred with an extraordinary value.
‘Never mind!’ she said consolingly. ‘With such exceptional grades, you’ll be able to become anybody you want! Let this be your secret weapon, your talisman, your magic charm which will bring you all the riches you can ever wish for. One day, the world will recognise your talent and we’ll leave them and live together in our own home. Just the two of us.’
She didn’t say how I should actually achieve this goal, seeing I was only ten years old and in the sixth grade and about to be banished to a Tianjin orphanage. I saw the mortified stoop of her shoulders and had no heart to challenge anything she was saying. I understood dimly the importance of both of us relishing the dream, though I could think of nothing but the heart‐rending prospect of being sent away from her forever.
‘Will you always be my aunt?’
‘Of course!’ She hugged me.
‘Will you write to me every week?’
‘Yes! And twice a week if you write to me too!’
‘For always?’
‘For as long as you’re in Tianjin.’ She hugged me again. ‘And even after that, for as long as you’ll remember me.’
‘And then?’
‘After that it’s entirely up to you. I’ll be here for you as long as I’m alive. Surely you know that? But you must never forget the dream. Try to do your best at all times. You have something precious and unique deep inside you which must not be wasted. I’ve always known that. You must prove them wrong! Promise?’
‘Yes, I promise.’
Chapter Fifteen
Boarding‐school in Tianjin
At Hong‐Qiao Airport there were huge crowds milling around, pushing and shoving like a human tidal wave, fighting for tickets. To my amazement, fewer than ten passengers boarded our plane from Shanghai to Tianjin. I sat immediately behind Father and Niang next to an empty seat.
I didn’t know it then, but the China I had always known was changing before my very eyes. My grand‐parents Ye Ye and Nai Nai were both born during the Qing Dynasty which ruled China for 267 years until Sun Yat‐sen toppled it in 1911. Following Sun’s revolution, local war‐lords divided the country into fiefdoms and waged war with one another until the emergence of the Nationalist Party under Chiang Kai‐shek. When Japan invaded in 1937, most of China was controlled by Chiang. However, the Communists under Mao Ze‐dong were gaining momentum. Between 1937 and 1945, the Nationalists and Communists formed a united front to fight the Japanese. After Japan’s surrender in 1945, the civil war resumed between Mao Ze‐dong and Chiang Kai‐shek for the control of China.
By September 1948, when Father and Niang took me north to Tianjin from Shanghai to separate me from my aunt, the Communists were already in control of Manchuria and were advancing rapidly southwards towards Beijing and Tianjin. Province after province was being lost to the victorious People’s Liberation Army. Most people were fleeing in the opposite direction. Railroad stations, airports and dockyards were jammed with passengers wishing to escape to Taiwan and Hong Kong.
Being completely ignorant of the political situation, I merely thought it rather strange that the plane was so empty when the airport was so full. As soon as we took off, the airline hostess came around to hand out landing cards. ‘Are you travelling alone?’ she asked.
‘No, I’m with my parents.’
‘Good.’ She smiled. ‘Then they’ll have to fill this out for you.’
Our aeroplane began to toss and roll. I felt sick to my stomach, closed my eyes and must have fallen asleep. When I awoke, Father was sitting by my side, gently shaking my shoulder. I sat bolt upright.
‘Sorry, Father,’ I began. ‘Have we arrived?’
‘Not yet.’ He had three landing cards in his hand and a sheepish expression on his face. ‘The stewardess asked me to fill out these cards. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your Chinese name. Is it Jun‐qing?’
A pang went through me. I meant so little to him, I was such a nobody that he didn’t even remember my name! ‘No, Father. That’s Little Sister’s name. Mine is Jun‐ling.’
‘Of course! Jun‐ling!’ He gave an embarrassed chuckle and quickly scribbled Jun‐ling on the card. ‘Now, give me your date of birth.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Father.’ It was true. In our family, the step‐children’s birthdays were unknown. We counted for so little that our birthdays were never remembered, let alone celebrated.
He scratched his head. ‘Hmm . . . let’s see now. How old are you?’
‘I’m ten, Father.’
‘Ten years old! How time flies!’ He looked into space and was lost in reverie. After a while he continued, ‘But we have to complete these landing cards! Tell you what. Why don’t I give you my birthday? Would you like that?’
‘Yes, please, Father!’ How wonderful! To share the same birthday as my father! I was thrilled!
‘Now you know what to say next time when someone asks you for your birthday.’
That’s how November 30 became my birthday. The same day as my father’s.
Niang’s brother, Pierre Prosperi, met us at the airport. I had met him once before when he came to our home for dinner in Shanghai. I didn’t know where I was or what time it was but dared not ask. The day seemed to be drawing to a close.
‘Say good evening to your Uncle Pierre,’ Niang instructed me. When I did, she exclaimed, ‘Not in the Shanghai dialect! No one speaks that here.’
It was true. Everyone at the crowded airport was shouting to each other in Mandarin, the local dialect of Tianjin. Outside, it was already dark. I knew I was far from home, where Aunt Baba was probably having dinner with Ye Ye and my three brothers. Was she thinking of me too?
Father and Niang hurried me into a big, black motor car. Father sat in front talking business with Uncle Pierre and the chauffeur. Niang and I were alone in the back seat. I smelled her perfume and was dizzy with worry and nausea. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep because I was afraid. We drove for a long time. When we arrived, it was pitch black. The chauffeur got my suitcase out of the boot while Niang told me to stand with her in front of the massive gates of a large building. It looked vaguely familiar. Where had I seen it before?
The gates swung open as soon as Niang pressed the bell. Two tall foreign nuns in starched white habits were standing at the door. They shook Niang’s hand and patted me on the head.
‘We have been waiting for you,’ they said.
‘Bow to Mother Marie and Mother Natalie!’ Niang instructed and I bowed obediently.
‘Sorry we are so late!’ Niang exclaimed as the chauffeur took my suitcase inside. ‘Behave yourself and listen to the sisters!’ Suddenly I realised she was speaking to me. More than that, I was being dismissed. ‘Mother Marie used to be my English teacher and Mother Natalie my French teacher when I studied here.’ She turned to the sisters with a charming smile. ‘I won’t trouble you now but will telephone you at a more civilised hour tomorrow. Sleep well!’
She strode back towards the car, with the chauffeur trailing behind. He respectfully opened the car door for her, started the engine and pulled away. All this time, Father and Uncle Pierre had remained in the car, talking to each other in hushed, earnest voices. Neither of them bothered to look up or wave goodbye.
I watched the tail‐lights of Father’s car disappear and an awful loneliness sank in. They had tossed me aside like a piece of garbage.
The sisters spoke in English, which I barely understood. When I answered in Mandarin, they shook their heads. ‘No! No! No Chinese! You must speak only English or French here! This is how you learn!’
They took me i
‘Where am I, Mother Natalie?’ I asked. ‘Am I in Tianjin?’
She stared at me in astonishment. ‘Didn’t your mother tell you? Yes! You’re in Tianjin and she has enrolled you as a boarder at St Joseph’s where she herself went to school. She telephoned us two days ago and told us you attended kindergarten here as a day girl when you were five years old. Don’t you remember?’
I lay awake for a long time snuggled under the blankets, thinking. No wonder those iron gates looked familiar! So I’m back at St Joseph’s. Well, at least I’m not in an orphanage. Things could be worse. Through a slit in my curtain I could see the shapes of the rows of empty beds in the semi‐darkness. Bed after bed with no child sleeping. Each with its curtain primly pulled back, waiting and waiting. Every one bare and sorrowful. Just like me.
I must have dozed off because I woke to the murmur of voices. Sunlight poured through my curtain and I recalled with a start that I was in a strange place far from home. I crawled out of bed and nervously peered through my curtain.
A little girl my age was sitting on the bed next to mine talking to a grown‐up woman. They smiled at me.
‘Hello,’ the girl said in English. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes!’ I answered, adding hastily in Mandarin, ‘My English is bad. In fact, I hardly speak any!’
She switched at once to Chinese and said, ‘I am Nancy Chen. This is my mother. Mother Natalie says you flew in from Shanghai yesterday. Is that true?’