The Merchant’s Wife

by Hsu Ti-shan

Translated by William H. Nienhauser, Jr.

“It’s time for your morning tea, sir.” The voice of the second-class cabin attendant

was urging me to get up. Since I’d been very busy yesterday before boarding the ship, my mind and body were so completely exhausted that I slept from nine o’clock straight on through until seven A.M. without stirring. When I heard the atten- dant’s call, I got up immediately. After attending to those matters which need to be taken care of in the morning, I went to the dining hall.

By that time the hall was crowded. Everyone there was drinking tea and chatting: predicting who would be victorious in the European War, discussing whether Yuan Shih-k’ai [1859-1916] should have made himself emperor, or conjectur- ing whether the revolt of the Indian soldiers in Singapore was incited by the Indian Revolu- tionary Party. The buzzing and murmuring al- most transformed the hall into a marketplace. I wasn’t accustomed to it. As soon as I was done with my tea, I returned to my cabin, took a vol- ume entitled Miscellanies of the Western Capital, and ran off to starboard looking for a place to sit. I was planning on an intimate conversation with the characters of the book.

As I opened it and was about to begin reading, an Indian woman, leading a child of about seven.

or eight by the hand, came and sat down facing me. I had seen this woman at the Pond for Releas- ing Life 1 in the Temple ofSupreme Joy2 the day before yesterday. I had also spotted her boarding ship, and on board had often seen her at the rail, port and starboard, enjoying the cool air. As soon as I saw her my curiosity was stirred, for though her attire was Indian, her deportment was not that of an Indian woman.

I laid the book down and watched her furtively, pretending to be reading whenever she turned her gaze toward me. After I had done that several times, I feared she might suspect an ulterior mo- tive and lowered my head, not daring to allow my eyes to touch her again.

She absentmindedly sang Indian songs to the child, who pointed here and there, asking her questions. AsI listened to her replies, uncon- sciously I stared at her face again. When she saw me raise my head, she ignored the child and quickly asked me in a Southern Fukienese dialect, “Uncle,” are you going to Singapore too?” (She had the accent of the Hai-cheng country folk, and her tone of voice too was that of a country dweller.) She spoke slowly, syllable by syllable, as if she were just learning to speak. When she asked me this question my suspicions multiplied, and I

Professors Dennis T. Hu, Muhammed Umar Memon, V. Narayana Rao, and Seng-tong Wong have all made important sugges- tions and clarifications to the translator. The responsibility for any remaining infelicities or errors lies solely with the latter. In the case where Muslim terms cannot be identified, romanizations according to the Chinese renderings are provided.

The numbered footnotes were supplied by the translator, whereas the footnotes keyed with letters are the author’s own. 1 A pond where people release captive fish or turtles, often after purchasing them nearby; the practice is a Buddhist one,

reflecting the Buddhist principle of respect for life. 2 This temple is locate~+n the island of Penang off the west coast of Malaysia. 3 “Lao-shu” in the origi) al, which means “Old Uncle.”

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HSU TI-SHAN

answered, “I’m returning to Amoy. Have you been to our area? How is it that you speak our language?”

“Eh? I suppose since you saw that I am dressed as an Indian woman, you suspected I wasn’t from the ‘lands of the T’ang.? To tell you the truth, my home is in Hung-chien.”

When the child saw us conversing in our native dialect, he had a strange feeling. Shaking his mother’s knee, he asked in Indian: “Mama, what language are you speaking? Who is he?” He had probably never heard her speak this language be- fore, and thus felt it was strange. To learn this woman’s background a little more quickly, I went on with my questions.

“Is that your child?” She first answered the child, then turned to me

and sighed. “Why not? I raised him in Madras.” The more we talked the more familiar we be-

came, so that our initial inhibitions subsided. Once she knew my home and that I was a teacher, she stopped addressing me as “uncle” and called me “sir” instead, which was more appropriate for a man of my profession. She related to me, more- over, the general conditions in Madras. Because her experiences were out of the ordinary, I asked her to tell them in some detail. By then she was in a mood to talk, and she agreed. Only then did I put the book in my bag and with undivided atten- tion listen to her story.

When I was fifteen I was married to Lin Yin- ch’iao of the Ching-chao area. My husband ran the sugar shop around the corner from us. Al- though he spent little time at home, this scarcely affected our good relationship. During the three or four years I spent with him, we never argued or had a difference of opinion. One day, he came back from the shop looking troubled and de- pressed. As soon as he came through the door, he grasped my hands and said, “Hsi-kuan,” my busi- ness is ruined. From now on I won’t be going back to the shop again.”

When I heard this I had to ask, “Why? Has business been bad?”

“No,” he said. “No, I ruined it myself. These past couple of days some friends have been urg- ing me to gamble with them. At first I won quite a bit, but then I lost everything-even the store’s equipment and furniture. I wish I hadn’t done it . . . I’m really sorry; I can hardly face you.”

I was stunned for a while and couldn’t find the right words to console him. I was even more at a loss for words to rebuke him.

He saw my tears stream down and hurriedly wiped them away as he went on. “Ai, you’ve never cried in my presence before. These tears you shed before me now are like molten pellets of iron dripping one by one into the depths of my heart. It really hurts me more than you. But you needn’t worry too much: I’ll simply look for some capital to set up business again.”

Then we two sat there wordlessly staring into each other’s eyes. Although I had a few things I wanted to set straight with him, whenever I looked at him, I felt as if he had a kind of de- monic power that, before I could speak any thought, had long since understood it. I could only say, “From now on you’d better not throw your money away! You’ve got to realize that gam- bling …”

He was at home, without ajob, for almost three months. It turned out that we could get along on the money I had saved, so there was no need for him to worry about a livelihood. He would be out the whole day to borrow money for capital, but unfortunately no one trusted him enough to loan him a penny. He was so desperate that he finally decided to migrate to Southeast Asia.

By the time he was ready to leave for Singa- pore, I had all the things he would need, includ- ing a pair ofjade bracelets to sell at Amoy for travel expenses. He wanted to take advantage of the morning tide in leaving for Amoy, so the day before we were to part we talked all through the night. The next morning I saw him off onto a small

a Overseas Chinese refer to their motherland as “Tang Shan,” the lands of Tang China. b It is customary for people of Fukienese origin to address one another by adding the suffix “kuan” to the given name, whether

it is a person of an older generation speaking to one of a younger, or a man and woman of the same generation addressing each other.

THE MERCHANT’S WIFE 43

boat and then walked back alone, my mind trou- bled. I sat down at my desk thinking that most men who went to Southeast Asia never missed their homes or thought of their families, and I wondered whether he would be like them. As I was still lost in this thought, a trail of hurried footsteps stopped at the door. I recognized them as his and quickly got up and opened the door. “Did you leave something behind?” I asked.

“No,” he replied. “I forgot to tell you some- thing. When I get there, no matter what I’m doing, I’ll write you. If I don’t return in five or six years, you come look for me.”

“All right,” I said. “You had to come back to tell me this? When the time comes I’ll know what I should do. It’s getting late. You’d better hurry back to the boat!”

He pressed my hands, heaved a long sigh, and then turned and left. I watched him until he reached the edge of the banyan tree’s shade and saw him descend the long dike, before I closed the door.

I was twenty that year when I parted from Lin Yin-ch’iao. After he left home only two letters came, one saying he had opened a grocery store in Tanjong Pagar in Singapore and that business was good. The other said he was quite occupied with business and couldn’t afford to come home. For many years I waited for him to come back for a reunion, but year after year my hopes were in vain.

The woman who lived next door often urged me to go to Southeast Asia and look for him. When I gave this some thought, I realized we had been separated for ten years. To go searching for him, even if it weren’t easy, would be much better than suffering alone at home. I got together the money I had saved, turned the house over to the care of a village family named Jung, and went to Amoy to take ship. Since this was the first time I had gone abroad, of course I couldn’t get used to the rocking of the ship in rough seas, so when I arrived in Singapore, after what seemed to be ages, I was happier than I’ll ever be again. I asked someone to take me to the Yi-ho-ch’eng Grocery in Tanjong Pagar. I can’t put into words the ex- citement I felt. I saw that business in the shop was

furious and there.was no need to wonder about the success my husband had enjoyed in those ten years, since I could see it displayed right before my eyes.

None of the employees in the store knew me, so I told them who I was and why I had come. A young clerk said to me, “The boss didn’t come down today. I’ll take you to his home.” Only then did I realize that my husband didn’t live in the shop; at the same time I guessed he had married again. If not, he certainly wouldn’t have kept a separate “home.” On the way I tried to sound out the clerk a bit, and it was just as I’d expected!

The rickshaw wound about through the streets and stopped at a two-story, half-Chinese, half- foreign building. The clerk said, “I’ll go in first and tell the boss.” I was left outside, and it was quite some time before he came back out and said, ”T)1e boss has gone out this morning and isn’t back yet. His wife asks you to go in and wait a while. Maybe he’ll be home soon.” He took my two cloth bundles-that was my only baggage- and I followed him in.

I saw that the rooms were plushly furnished. The so-called “boss’s wife” was a Malay woman. She came out and nodded perfunctorily. As far as I could see her manner was most disrespectful, but I didn’t understand Southeast Asian customs, so I just returned her greeting. She was wearing huge diamonds and pearls in her hair. Among the precious stones, gold, and silver that she wore, her swarthy face was conspicuous in its unbeara- ble ugliness. She exchanged polite pleasantries with me and had someone bring me a cup of coffee while she herself stayed to one side, smoking, chewing betel nut, and not engaging me in much conversation. I thought that was due to the uncer- tainties of a first meeting, and thus didn’t dare ask her too many questions. After a short time I heard the sound of horses coming from the main gate straight up to the portico and guessed it was my husband returning. I saw that he was much fatter than ten years ago and sported a potbelly. He had a cigar in his mouth, and was carrying an ivory stick in his hand. As he got out of the car- riage and stopped in the door, he hung his hat on the rack. Seeing me seated to one side, he was just

TI-SHAN

m~er suspicions about her. I put on a lake- green cotton blouse and a bright red skirt. When she saw them she couldn’t repress her laughter. I felt like a country bumpkin from head to toe and was quite embarrassed.

“That’s all right,” she said. “Our hosts aren’t from ‘Tang lands.’ They certainly won’t notice whether you’re wearing the latest fashions. Let’s go, then!”

The horse-drawn carriage went on for some time and then passed through a grove of coconut trees before arriving at our hosts’. Just inside the gate was a very large garden, and as I followed her into the sitting room, I looked about me. They really had a strange banquet set up. All the female guests were Malays or Indians, and they were in the midst of an animated and in- comprehensible conversation. My husband’s Malay wife left me by myself and went over to chat with them. Before long she left with a woman. I thought they had gone for a walk in the garden, and didn’t pay much attention. But after a good deal of time, when they hadn’t returned, I became a little anxious and said to one of the women present, “Where did the lady who came in with me go?” Although she could get my mean- ing, I didn’t understand a word of what she said in reply.

I sat on a cushion, my heart beating violently. A servant brought a pot of water and gestured to- ward the set table. I saw the others wash their hands and realized that it was a custom before eating. So I washed my hands. They showed me to a table. I didn’t have the faintest idea where I was supposed to sit and simply took the place they directed me to. They prayed before they selected what food they wanted, with their hands, from the platters. The first time I picked up something to eat with my fingers, it was certainly unwieldy, but they taught me how to do it. At that time I was very troubled by the absence of that Malay woman of my husband’s, so I wasn’t able to con- centrate on eating or socializing. After the tables were cleared, the guests kissed me with a smile and left.

about to ask me something when that Malay woman stepped forward and murmured a buzz of words at him. Although I didn’t understand what she said, I could tell from her expression that she wasn’t happy at all.

My husband turned to me and said, “Hsi-kuan, why didn’t you give me any notice before you decided to come? Who made you take the trip?” I had thought that once he saw me, he would be sure to say some tender words; I had never dreamed that he’d angrily demand an explana- tion! Then I suppressed my disgruntled feelings and forced a smile, saying, “But Yin-ko,” you know that I can’t write. And that letter writer in the village, Mr. Wang, often writes the wrong words for people, even to the point of getting the wrong meaning across. So I didn’t want him to write for me. Besides, I’d made up my mind to come look for you, and sooner or later I still would have had to set out. Why waste all the time and effort? Didn’t you say that if you hadn’t re- turned in five or six years I should come?”

“So you came up with this brilliant idea on your own, huh?” my husband scoffed.

When he finished he went straight into the house. What he said proved that he was a dif- ferent man from ten years ago. I couldn’t under- stand the reason behind all this. Was it because I was getting old, losing my charm? But I felt that I was so much prettier than that Malay woman. Could it be an accusation of misconduct? But I had pleased him all the years we had been mar- ried and had never gone beyond my bounds. To this day I haven’t been able to figure out the rid- dle of Yin-ko.

He put me up on the ground floor, and for seven or eight days didn’t come to my room even to speak to me. That Malay woman, however, was very hospitable. She came and told me, “Yin-ko has been rather upset these past few days because you showed up. But don’t worry too much about it; in a few days he won’t be angry anymore. We’re invited to dinner tonight. Why don’t you go get dressed and we’ll go together?”

These sweet words of hers completely dispelled

44

4 “Ko” is “brother,” used here as a suffix of affection.

THE MERCHANT’S WIFE 45 I too wanted to follow them out the door, but

the mistress of the house told me to wait a bit. I gestured to her in mute talk, and we were dying with laughter when an Indian man in his fifties came in from outside. The woman hurriedly got up and said a few words to him, and then they sat down together. Encountering a strange man while in a foreign place, I was naturally abashed. That man walked up to me and said, “Hello, you mine now. I use money to buy you. It good you stay here.” Although he spoke Chinese, his syntax, ac- cent, and tones were all wrong. When I heard him say he had bought me, I couldn’t help bursting into tears. The woman was at my side comforting me, trying to be nice about it. It was after nine, and they told me to go in and sleep, but I simply sat, fully dressed, through the night off to one side of the sitting room. How could I have done as they said?

Sir, hearing this much of my story you certainly must be wondering why I didn’t choose to die. Well, I had the same thoughts then, but they guarded me like a prisoner-no matter what time it was there was someone with me. As time went on, my violent emotions subsided; I gave up want- ing to die and decided to live this life of mine through and see what fate had in store for me.

The man who bought me was Ahuja, an Indian Muslim from Madras. He was a serge merchant, and since he had made a fortune in Singapore, he wanted to take another woman home with him to enjoy life. And my ill fate brought me to this chance, turning me into his foreign curio. Before I had lived a month in Singapore, he took me to Madras.

Ahuja gave me the name Liya. He made me un- bind my feet and pierced a hole in my nose, hang- ing a diamond nose ring through it. He said that according to their customs every married woman had to wear a nose ring, since that was the sign of a wife. He also had me wear a fine kurta, C a ma-la- mu, d and a pair of ai-san. e From then on I became a Muslim woman.

Ahuja had five wives-six including me. Among those five I got along best with the third. The remainder I detested, because they often took ad- vantage of my not being able to speak their lan- guage and made fun of me too. My small feet were naturally a rarity among them: although they couldn’t stop touching them, I didn’t take of- fense. What I hated was that they told tales to Ahuja about me and made me suffer.

Akolima was the name of Ahuja’s third wife- she was the very same woman who had arranged that dinner when I was sold. She was quite fond of me, often urging me to use surma f to line my eyes, and to dye my nails and palms with balsam flowers. Muslim women use these things daily, as we Chinese employ rouge and powder. She also taught me to read Bengali and Arabic. I remem- bered that because I couldn’t write a letter, I had given Yin-ko an excuse and ended up in this pre- dicament. Therefore, in this period when I hadn’t a single friend or relative around, I wanted to use the time to work hard at learning to read a bit. Al- though Akolima was not much of a scholar, she was more than good enough to be my teacher. I studied a year with her and then could actually write! She told me that in their religion there was a holy book, which wasn’t readily given to women, but that later she would be sure to bring it to teach me. She always said to me, “Your fate has been such a painful one because it was predeter- mined by Allah. Don’t keep thinking of your fam- ily! Someday it’s possible that great happiness will descend upon you, and it’d be too much for you to enjoy.” At that time such fatalistic words of comfort could actually raise my spirits somewhat.

Although I never felt a wife’s love for Ahuja, I had to live with him as man and wife. Ah! This child of mine (as she spoke she stroked the child’s head with her hand) was born the year after we arrived in Madras. I was over thirty when I be- came pregnant and had never in all my life expe- rienced such pain. Fortunately, Akolima was thoughtful and often comforted me with her

C Muslim woman’s upper garment. d A bodice. e Trousers. f Surma is generally used only by men. It is a powder applied to an iron’ rod and then inserted into the eyes by the traditional

Muslim vendor. It is intended as a cooling agent. Colerium, often called surma, is used as a sort of eyeshadow and is probably in- tended here.

HSU TI-SHAN

words, distracting me from the pain of that time. Once when she saw the pain was particularly bad, she said to me, “Hey, Liya! Be strong! We don’t have the fortune of the fig tree,” and so we can’t avoid the strain of pregnancy. When you’re going through painful times, appeal to Allah. If he has pity on you, he’ll grant you peace.” She helped me a lot when I was about to give birth. Even today I cannot forget her kindness to me.

Not more than four months after I gave birth, a disappointing turn of events distressed me: I was separated from my good friend. She didn’t die, but I’ll never find out where she went. Why did Akolima leave me? It’s a long story, but probably it was my fault.

We had a young, eighteen-year-old widow next door to us named Honna. She had been widowed since she was four. Her mother treated her cru- elly, but that wasn’t enough. She told her that her sins accumulated from her past lives were great, and if she didn’t pay for them through suffering, she would not be redeemed in her next life. Ev- erything that she ate or wore was worse than oth- ers’. She often wept secretly in the back yard. Since her garden was separated from ours only by a hedge, when I heard her there, crying, I would go and chat with her, sometimes to comfort, sometimes to offer something to eat, and some- times to give her a little money.

When Akolima first saw me help the girl, she didn’t feel it was right at all. I explained to her time after time that anyone in China could receive sorneone’s aid regardless of creed. She was influ- enced by me and later also showed compassion herself for that widow.

One day just as Akolima was handing a few pieces of silver to Honna through the hedge, she was accidentally seen by Ahuja. He kept quiet and tiptoed up behind her, gave her a slap and yelled, “You little bitch! You dirty sow! What are you

doing here?” As he went back in, so angry that his entire body trembled, he pointed his finger at Akolima and said, “Who told you to give money to that Brahman woman? You stained your own reputation! Not just your own, but mine and that of Islam. Ma-sha-Alliih!;; Take off your burqa h im- mediately!”

I heard clearly from inside, but thought that ev- erything would be normal again after the scold- ing. Who would have known that in no time at all Akolima would come in batting tears as big as pearls from her eyelashes, and say to me, “Liya, we’ll have to say goodbye.” When I heard this I was shocked and asked immediately, “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t you hear him ask me to take off my veil? That means he’s disowning me. I’ll have to return to my family right now. You needn’t feel sorry for my sake, for after a couple of days when his anger subsides, he’ll probably have me come back.”

I was so grief-stricken, I didn’t know what to say to comfort her. We sobbed in each other’s arms and then parted. Indeed, as the couplet goes, “Those who kill and burn wear moneybelts; Those who repair bridges and fix roads turn into lepers.” What an apt description of human life!

After Akolima left, my desolate and sorrowful days started all over again. There were simply no feelings of friendship between Ahuja’S four other women and myself. As for Ahuja, as soon as I saw that thin strip of a dark face, with a beard like the spines of a porcupine, I would be filled with loath- ing and wish that he would leave the next second. My day-to-day life consisted of nurturing my child; aside from that there was nothing to do. I was so frightened by Akolima’s incident that I no longer dared venture into the garden for a stroll.

A few months later my painful days were about over, since Ahuja returned through an illness to

“This reference to the fig tree alludes to the Koran. where it is recorded that Adam and Eve, having been lured by the devil A- chatsei to eat the fruit Allah had forbidden them to, noticed immediately that their heavenly garments had vanished. They were ashamed by their nakedness and tried to borrow leaves from a tree in Eden to cover their bodies. Since they violated Allah’s command, none of the various types of trees dared loan them any. Only the fig tree, moved by their pitifulness, generously loaned them a few leaves. Allah approved of this conduct by the fig tree and conferred upon it the capability of producing fruit without going through the pain of blossoming and being disturbed by the bees and butterflies,

5 Hsu Ti-shan’s original gloss for this phrase is “Allah forbid.” However, it should mean “As Allah wills.” h A veil.

THE MERCHANT’S WIFE 47 his Paradise. I had heard Akolima say before that one hundred and thirty days after a husband’s death a wife became free, and could pick another match of her choosing. Originally, I wanted to wait until that prescribed day before leaving, but those four women were afraid I’d take advantage of them in the inheritance, because I had a child, so they put various pressures on me to drive me out. I still can’t bear to talk about their schemes.

Honna urged me to flee to her older sister’s. She told me to send a little money to her brother- in-law, and then I could take shelter with them. I’d already met her sister once, and she was a good person. When I thought about it, running away didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. Those four women were treacherous by nature, and if I’d been caught in their schemes, I’d have had it. Honna’s brother-in-law lived in Arcot. I set things up with her and told her to let me know when she found a good opportunity.

A week later, Honna told me her mother had left town and wouldn’t be back until late at night, and I should climb across the hedge. This wasn’t an easy matter, because it must be done so that I wouldn’t cause Honna to suffer afterward. More- over, a barbed wire ran along the top of the hedge, making it difficult for me. I peered up at the jackfruit tree growing next to the hedge-{)ne branch stretched over to her side, and the tree had grown at a slanted angle. I told her to wait until everything was quiet and then to stand ready underneath the tree.

As it happened, the room I lived in had a small door leading into the garden. That evening, when there was just a little starlight in the sky, I packed my clothes and valuables into a bag, put on two extra layers of clothing, and was just about to leave when I saw my child sleeping there. I really didn’t want to take him along, but was afraid that when he woke he’d see I wasn’t there and would cry. So I stopped for a moment and picked him up in my arms to let him nurse. Only when he was nursing did I truly feel that I was his mother, and although I had no emotional tie to his father, I had still borne him. Moreover, once I’d gone, he

; A Muslim woman’s outer garment.

would certainly be ill-treated. As this thought crossed my mind, tears burst from my eyes. And yet to add the burden of a child to the escape would make my task even harder. After I consid- ered all this over and over again, I finally put him on my back and in a low voice said to him, “If you want to be a good boy, don’t cry! All right? You’ve got to sleep quietly too. ” Fortunately, it was as if he understood me then, and he didn’t make much noise. I left a letter on the bed explaining that I was willing to give up those possessions due me, and my reasons for running away, then went out that small door.

With one hand I steadied the child, with the other carried the bag, as I stole to the foot of the jackfruit tree. I tied the bag to a rope and slowly crawled up the tree, stopping for a moment when I reached the extended branch. Just then the child grunted once or twice. I patted him lightly and rocked him a few times, then pulled the bag up, tossing it over to Honna. I crawled over fur- ther and groped for the rope Honna had pre- pared for me. I grasped it tightly to me and slowly let myself down. My hands couldn’t stand the fric- tion and were cut by the rope in no time.

After I had descended and thanked Honna, I quickly left her house. Not far from Honna’s gate was the Adyar River. Honna went with me to rent a boat. After she had explained things clearly, she went back. The helmsman was an old codger and probably didn’t understand what Honna said. He rowed me to the Saidapet Terminal and bought a ticket for me. Since it was the first time I had taken a train, I wasn’t very clear about the regula- tions of rail travel. When he told me to get on, I just did as I was told. Only after the train had started and the conductor examined my train ticket did I learn I had boarded the wrong train.

When it arrived at an intermediate stop, I quickly got off, intending to wait for a return train. By that time it was the middle of the night, and the people in the station said no train would be going into Madras until dawn. I was forced to sit in the transit lounge. I spread my Ma-chih-la’ over me and put my hands in my pockets,

HSU TI-SHAN

pretending to sleep. At around three or four o’clock, looking up by chance, I saw a very distant gleam of lamplight through the railing. I quickly went to the platform and, pointing to the light, questioned the people standing there. There was one man who smiled and said, “This woman can’t tell one direction from another. She mistakes the morning star for the headlight on a train.” Taking a good look, I couldn’t help laughing as I said, “I’ll be darned! My eyes aren’t seeing right!”

As I faced Venus, I thought of something Ako- lima had said. She once told me that that star was the transformation of a woman who had been a siren good at bewitching men. Because of this I remembered that the feeling between Yin-ko and myself had been basically good, and that if he hadn’t been fooled by that foreign bitch, he never could have stood for having his beloved first wife sold off. My being sold couldn’t have been com- pletely Yin-ko’s responsibility. If I could have stood those painful days in China, and if I hadn’t decided to go to Singapore to rely on him, none of this would have happened. As I thought it over, I had to smile at my own impulsiveness in fleeing. I figured that since I had made it all right out of the place, what need was there to impose on Honna’s sister? When I had reached this con- clusion, I returned to my waiting place with the child in my arms and summoned all my energies to resolve this question. The things I’d run off with and my ready cash together were worth more than three thousand rupees. If I lived in a village, they could support my expenses for the rest of my life. So I decided on an independent life.

The stars in the sky one by one gathered in their light, until only Venus still twinkled in the east. As I looked at her, it was as if a voice beamed out from her saying, “Hsi-kuan, from now on don’t take me for a woman out to bewitch men. You should know that nothing which is bright and sterling could bewitch. Among all the stars, I ap- pear first, to tell you that darkness will soon ar- rive; I return last, so that you may receive the first rays of the sun on my heels. I’m the brightest star of the night. You could take me as the diligent awakener of your heart.” As I faced her, I felt ex-

uberant, and can’t describe the gratitude I felt in my heart. From that time on, whenever I saw her, I always had a special feeling.

I inquired about where an inn was to be found, and everyone said I’d have to go to Chinglepet to find one. So I took another train there. I didn’t live in the inn for long before I moved to my own home.

That house was bought with the money Ilgot in exchange for my diamond nose ring. It ~sn’t large-only two rooms and a small yard/with pineapple trees planted all around as an enclosing wall. Although Indian-style homes weren’t good, I loved the location near to the village and could not afford to be bothered by appearances either inside or outside. I hired an old woman to help with the housekeeping, and besides raising the child, I was able to find time to read some Indian books.

Every day at dusk, a rather solemn song would drift to my ears. I went into the garden for a look and saw that it came from a small house opposite mine. At first I didn’t know the purpose of their singing, and only later did I understand they were Christians. I met the mistress of the house, Eliza- beth, before long. And I often went to their eve- ning prayer meetings. Her family could be consid- ered the first friends I had in Chinglepet.

Elizabeth was a most amicable woman. She urged me to attend school. Moreoever, she prom- ised to take care of the child for me if I did. I felt that only a person completely without ambition would idle away the days, so the very next year she arranged for me to study at a woman’s school in Madras. I went home once a month to visit my child. She took care of him for me very well, so that I didn’t have to worry.

Since while at school I had nothing to divert my attention, my grades were very good. In this period of about six or seven years, not only did my knowledge progress, but my beliefs also changed. And since graduation I’ve worked as a teacher in a small village not far from Chinglepet. So that’s my whole life in outline; if I were to go into details, I couldn’t finish relating everything in a year’s time.

Now I’m going to Singapore to look for my hus-

THE MERCHANT’S WIFE 49

band, because I want to know just who it was that sold me. I firmly believe that Yin-ko couldn’t pos- sibly have accepted it. Even if it was his idea, then someday sooner or later he’ll repent.

Hsi-kuan and I had been talking for two full hours or more. She spoke very slowly, and the child bothered her from time to time, so she had not told me about her student life in much detail. Because she had talked for such a long time, I was afraid she would be tired out, and so I didn’t go on asking questions. I just said to her, “That you were able to find your way in life during such a period of drifting is really admirable. If you would like me to help you look for Yin-ko tomor- row when we reach Singapore, I’d be glad to do it.”

“It’s not really that I’m so smart. This way was merely one opened for me by some unknown heavenly mentor. When I was in school I was moved the most by Pilgrim’s Progress and Robinson Crusoe. These two books gave me much comfort and many things to learn from. Now I’m simply a female Crusoe. If you would help me search for Yin-ko, I’d be very grateful. Since I don’t really know Singapore, tomorrow I’ll need your-”

At this point the child began pestering her to go into the cabin and get some toys for him. She stood up, but continued speaking: “Tomorrow, I’ll need your help.”

I stood up and bowed as she left, then sat back down to record the conversation we’d just had in my diary, which I carried with me.

After twenty-four hours some mountain peaks appeared faintly in the southeast. All the people on the ship were very busy. Hsi-kuan too attended to packing and didn’t come out on deck. Only as the ship was entering the harbor did she appear, holding her child by the hand. She sat with me on a bench. “Sir,” she said to me, “I never ex- pected a chance to see this place again. The leaves of the coconut trees are still dancing; the sea gulls above the water are still flying back and forth to welcome strangers.

“My happiness is the same as it was nine years ago when I first met them. In the blink of an eye these years have passed-like an arrow-yet I

can’t find any difference between what I saw then and what I see now. So the expression ‘Time is like an arrow’ doesn’t refer to the speed at which an arrow flies, but to the arrow itself. For no mat- ter how fast time flies, things show no change-as something attached to an arrow, although it may fly with the arrow, doesn’t go through any changes at all. But though what I see today is the same, I hope Yin-ko’s affections won’t change as slowly as natural phenomena; I hope he’ll change his mind and accept me now.”

“I know how you feel,” I said. “I heard this ship will moor at Tanjong Pagar. I think that when we arrive, you should wait on board at first; I’ll go ashore to inquire a bit and then come back for you. What do you think?”

“This is getting to be more and more of a bother to you,” she said.

I went ashore and asked at a good number of homes, but they all said they didn’t know any Lin Yin-ch’iao. I couldn’t find even a trace of the sign for the grocery, “Yi-ho-ch’eng.” I was getting des- perate, and after being on my feet for the better part of the day, a bit tired, so I went into a Can- tonese teahouse to rest. By chance I picked up a clue there when I questioned the shopkeeper. Ac- cording to him, because Lin Yin-ch’iao had sold his wife to an Indian, he incurred the ill-feelings of the numerous Chinese in this area. At that time, some people said it was his idea to sell her, others said it was that foreign bitch who sold her; in the end it couldn’t be said for sure who did it. But his business suffered immensely because of this. He saw that he couldn’t stay in Singapore any longer, and so closed his shop and moved, lock, stock, and barrel, to some other place.

When I returned and had reported all that I had learned to Hsi-kuan, and, moreover, urged her to return to China, she said, “I can never go back. With this brown-skinned child, as soon as I got home, people would shame me and laugh at me. Besides, I can’t read Chinese at all. If I went, I’d just starve to death. I plan to stay in Singapore for a few days, to ask carefully about his where- abouts. If I can’t learn anything, I’ll return to India. Well, I’ve become an Indian now!”

From what I made of the situation, I truly could

5° HSU TI-SHAN

not think of anything to persuade her to return to her home town, and just sighed and said, “Your life is really full of misfortune, isn’t it?”

But she smiled. “Sir, in all human affairs, there is basically no distinction between the painful and the pleasurable. When you try too hard, it is pain- ful; when you have hope, it is pleasurable. As you’re actually doing something, it is painful, but to recall it is pleasurable. In other words, every- thing in the present is filled with suffering. The past, recollections of it, and hope are pleasant. Yesterday, as I related my experiences to you, you felt they were painful. My narration of past cir- cumstances, displayed before your eyes, led you to feel that they were events in the present. If I re- call them myself-the long separation, being sold, my escape, etc.-none of these events are without happiness. So you needn’t feel sorry for me. You

must be able to take things easy. I would only ask one thing of you: when you go back to China, if it is convenient, would you go to my village and let my mother know the latest news? She must be over seventy-she lives in Hung-chien. She’s the only relative I have left in China. Outside her gate there is a very tall olive tree. If you ask for Marne Liang, everyone will know.”

As the boat left the dock, she stood on the shore waving me off with a handkerchief. That sincere expression on her face is something I can never forget. Not more than a month after I got home I went to Hung-chien. The broken-down house under the olive tree was sealed up by old vines. Through a crack in the door I could see faintly several sets of rotting wooden ancestry tablets on the table. How could there have been a Marne Liang there?