Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [70]
In February, after just over three months in Peking, Z.G. and I board a train and head south to Shanghai, because he wants to be home for Chinese New Year. When I left Shanghai, it was unbelievably hot and humid. Now, as we step off the train, it’s not as cold as Peking, but it’s still plenty cold. Children wear so many layers of padded clothes that their arms stick straight out from their bodies. The adults don’t look much better.
When we arrive at Z.G.’s house, I see the posters of my mother and aunt in the salon. I’d forgotten about those. Then the three servant girls, all dressed in heavy padded clothes, welcome us. They show me to my room. Big steel-cased windows look out onto the street. It’s winter, so the trees are bare, which allows the sun to warm the room—a good thing since Z.G.’s house has no heat to speak of. I have, for the first time in my life, a vanity, a mirror, and a double bed, plus my very own closet and bathroom. But it’s cold! I put on my flannel underwear, heavy socks, and an extra sweater under the coat Z.G. bought me in Peking. I wrap a muffler around my neck and put on my gloves, prepared to wear them in the house to stay warm.
When I go back downstairs, Z.G. takes one look at me, and says, “This is not appropriate. You’re in Shanghai now. Please come with me.”
I’m not sure what’s wrong with what I’m wearing, since he’s still in his traveling clothes and is as bundled against the cold of the house as I am, but I follow him back upstairs and then up another flight of stairs to the attic. Some of his paintings lean against the walls. Boxes and chests are stacked haphazardly on the floor, but he knows exactly what he’s looking for. He squats, opens a chest, and motions me to come to his side.
“I used to have a studio, where I painted your mother and aunt,” he explains. “I went there when I returned to Shanghai after Liberation. My landlady had kept everything. People go away—to war, to sojourn in other countries, to escape gossip—but we Chinese always come home … if we can. My landlady knew I would return eventually.”
He pulls out a fur-lined black brocade coat.
“Here, try this on. It was your mother’s. She left it at my studio one day.”
I take off the heavy gray-wool blanket thing that kept me warm in Peking and put on Auntie May’s coat.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say, “but isn’t it too showy?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Z.G. assures me. “Women have been wearing fur-lined coats in Shanghai forever.”
I eagerly look to see what else might be in the chest. Z.G. hands me a red satin robe embroidered with a pair of phoenixes in flight. “Your mother wore this for a poster I did where she portrayed a goddess. She was lovely in it. And look, there’s more.”
I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I have to state the obvious. “These are costumes.”
“You could wear them for special occasions. You should have seen your mother when she dressed as Mulan, the woman warrior …”
I don’t understand old people. Does he think if I put on one of these costumes that I’ll be like May? Can’t he see that I’m not like her at all? I stare at the robe in my lap. The fabric is soft and luxurious in my hands. I look up at Z.G. I still haven’t told him the truth about my upbringing, my father Sam, or the anger I carry toward my mother and aunt.
“It’s hard for children to imagine their parents when they were young,” Z.G. says. “But we had such great fun, your mother and I. Your aunt Pearl was wonderful too, but May was one of those people on whom fortune always seemed to smile. Come, I want to show you something else.