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The Glass Chamber
Chapter II
Here was Teacher Chu, sitting in a red sandalwood armchair next to Father, waiting for us all, an over- stuffed indigo wrapper on the grey slat-tiled floor beside his mud clad shoes. When we entered Father’s study, he was sipping wine from a celadon cup while Father was smoking tobacco, the silver hookah pipe in his hand glinting in the cold, opaque winter air. A large bronze basin filled with blazing charcoals was placed in front of their feet, and in its middle sat a gurgling pot, its lid clanking. The room was permeated with the mixed smell of burning coals, rice wine, and old books—hundreds of volumes of books that filled all the shelves surrounding the walls, piled up on the desktop, the tea table, the chairs, the sitting stools, and even on the daybed. Father wouldn’t allow anyone touch his books. And as far as cleaning, all the servants could do was to brush their covers ever so lightly with a chicken-feather duster.
I felt warm and snug the minute I stepped in the room. Having scrapped the dirt and snow off our boots on the mat, Tai, Bang, Ling and I quietly walked toward Father. Jing came over and helped us take off the hooded capes that we wore every time it snowed. Hui, Father’s new maid-- a twelve-year-old girl a dimple on each cheeks and large black eyes-- was bought for five taels of gold from Yi Wu, Wang Sao’s hometown. Mama said what Father had done was a charitable deed. “Otherwise the poor family of seven would have starved to death,” Mama sighed, shaking her head when the old, wrinkly lady in black peasant clothes brought her to meet with us the first time.
“Children, this is Teacher Chu, come over and kowtow to him,” Father said, gesturing us to kneel in front of the man sitting next to him. Teacher Chu-- a man in his late thirties, slim, mustached, black hair parted in the middle-- was staring at us through a pair of wired glasses with a grin at the corner of his mouth.
“Mr. Wang, time is different now. There is no need to observe this kind of outdated tradition.” The man stood up, shaking his hands, redness spreading from his nose to the tip of his ear lobes. Since he was standing now, I noticed that he was very tall, and the black cotton-padded robe he was wearing seemed too short for him.
“Nonsense!” Father waived at him in dismissal. “I want my children to learn the traditional values. And this is the reason I hire you as their private tutor to teach them the Chinese Classics, which embody so many treasures that we are losing now. ” Father said loudly, his jaws firmed up.
For a while, Father had not been happy with the new school that the four of us had been attending, and the sentiment got worse after I enrolled. He thought that the school system implemented by the Ministry of Education of the newly founded Republic was nothing but a joke. “They think everything Western is good, and everything Chinese is trashy. What do they know?” More than once I heard Father complain to his friends who came over for a chess game. “You’re right, Magistrate Wang, those people had no right to sit in a position they don’t deserve,” Mr. Du, Father’s chess pal jibed,
holding a “ju” in his hand, contemplating the next move. Father’s friends still addressed him by his official title, regardless of the fact that it belonged to the Qing Dynasty, and had been abolished years ago.
When Father read the curriculum I brought home on the first day of the school, he was so exasperated that he threw it on the floor.
“What? They don’t even teach The Book of Odes any more? And there is no class on Confucius’ Analects or the teachings of Mencius, let alone Lao-tzu and Chuang-tzu. Now, you tell me, what do singing and dancing have to do with education? I don’t send my daughters to school to be a singsong girl!” Father said, slapping his palm on the dining room table, causing a small dish of roasted peanuts tipped over, peanuts rolling everywhere.
At first, Father tried to teach us the Classics himself, but soon found it time consuming. Although retired years ago from his post as the County Magistrate of Hai Yan, he had been keeping himself very busy. Besides spending long hours praying and studying Buddhist scripts, he was also working on his “grass style” calligraphy, exchanging poems with his friends, attending the weekly “Poetry Society” meetings, not to mention appearing at weddings and funerals as the most revered guest. Besides, Father didn’t have the patience. After a couple of sessions that he taught us to mark the unpunctuated text and found the result less than satisfactory, he gave up.
“I won’t waste any more time on you,” Father said, more frustrated than angry. “I will find someone who has the time to drill all those Classics into your heads.”
So, Father hired Teacher Chu, San Ma’s remote relative, a learned man who had passed the last civil service examination of the Qing Dynasty and earn a title of Xiu Cai.
“I think he’s the most qualified tutor for the children,” San Ma said at the diner table, rinsing her mouth with tea and spiting it in the porcelain basin that Yan was holding in front. Then she wiped her lips with a warm towel handed by Hui and continued, “We’d better hire him before he accepts another position. I heard that a literary magazine is offering him a job as the chief editor.”
“All right. Since he’s your relative, I trust him. I’ll write a letter to ask him to come as soon as he can.” Father nodded his head, smiling.
“Good. I’ll have Yan clean up a spare room so that he has a place to stay.” San Ma said, taking a tooth pick from Yan.
So it was settled. We were having a tutor who’d teach us the essence of Chinese culture every afternoon when we return home from school.
Now here was Teacher Ming, standing humbly in Father’s study, trying to dissuade Father from enforcing the traditional “kowtow” ceremony on his future students.
“Mr. Wang, I can’t agree with you more. But it is indeed unnecessary for the children to kneel on the cold and wet floor, they might catch cold.” Teacher Chu’s voice was soft and gentle, with a hint of Soochow accent, which was sometimes detectable in San Ma’s speech.
“My children are not that fragile!” Seemingly annoyed, Father grumbled. “All right, if you insist, we’ll do as you wish. But I still want them to kowtow in front of the portrait of Confucius before the class begins tomorrow.” Then Father pointed a commanding forefinger at Hui and said, “Go clean up the small room behind the prayer room, have Lao Jiang bring a table and a couple of long wooden benches, find the scroll of Confucius’ portrait in the storage room and hang it up on the wall. Go!” Father said, waiving a discharging hand. As Hui turned around and ready to leave, Father clapped his hand to call her back. “Wait, there is one more thing. Tell Wang Sao to get incense, candles, fruits and all necessary offerings to set up an altar for Confucius. Everything has to be done the right way before our home school begins.”
“Yes, Master. Is there anything else?” Hui asked Father in a quivering voice, her eyes casting down, thin lips twitching as if she was about to cry. Sometimes Father looked grim, or even surly, particularly to a new maid like Hui who had never seen anyone like him before. I didn’t understand why she was here today, because Yan was the one who normally waited on Father and his guest in the study. But I liked Hui better; for one thing, she always wore a demure smile on her face--except for today of course—while Yan mostly looked somber, especially when she was around Wang Sao.
“That’s all, you may go now.” Father gazed at Hui for a moment, his voice gentler; and there was even a hint of a smile on his face. Deep in his heart, Father had a soft spot for little girls, especially such a pretty one like Hui.
“Thank you, Master,” Hui muttered as she bowed to Father. Then she lowered her head and trotted toward the door as if she was fleeing for her life. Poor Hui, she dashed out in such a hurry that she forgot to pick up the umbrella that she left on the front porch floor.
Shortly after she disappeared in the snow, she shambled back to fetch the umbrella, her cheeks pinkish red, her black hair dotted with snow flakes as white as plum blossoms. Looking at her slender figure in cilantro green, standing in a frozen world of whiteness, I couldn’t help conjuring up some lovely images of the forthcoming spring –the rice seedlings swaying in water, the tender twigs of the willow trees, the chirpings of the swallows, the murmurs of the stone creeks, the golden daffodils, the purple irises, the pink azaleas, and all the delicate colors and sweet smells of my favorite season.
Looking out the window, I caught Hui smiling at me while cocking her neck, brushing the snow flakes off her shoulders. How I envied her! I wouldn’t mind trading places with her if I could wear a face as pretty as hers. But Mama had laughed when I had told her what I thought. She said that I wouldn’t have lasted for one day as a maid. “For one thing,” Mama said, pinching my cheek. “You can’t carry a spittoon.” I sighed. She was right; I couldn’t do a thing on my own. I couldn’t even sit on a spittoon to pee without Wang Sao’s helping hands, let alone carrying it to Da Ma’s garden and dumping the content into the huge reeking wooden barrel the same height as I.
As I was smiling back at Hui, she blushed and ran away quickly, clutching the red umbrella in her arm like a large flower bouquet. Peeking at the corner of my eye, I saw both Bang and Tai staring at her back, mouths dropped. Then I realized that I wasn’t the only one who had been enthralled by her beauty.
“Umm—“Father cleared his throat and said, “What’s so interesting outside?”
Alert by his ominous tone of voice, I briskly turned my head to face him, waiting for more of his tongue-lashing remarks. To my astonishment, he waived his hand and said, “The four of you are dismissed. Go back to your rooms and study what you’ve learned today. I have more things to discuss with Teacher Chu.”
“Yes, Father.” We said simultaneously. Tai and I looked at each other, trying to hide a relieved smile, while Bang and Ling remained expressionless.
“Don’t forget to get your capes,” Teacher Chu grinned, pointing at the capes that Hui hung on the far wall by a small brazier. Unlike most of the grown men I had seen, Teacher Ming had strait and gleaming white teeth, which made his smile more pleasant to look at.
If the color of his blue robe was not fading, the sleeves not patched, and the Mandarin collar not frayed, Teacher Chu might look even better. But I honestly didn’t care what he was wearing. I liked him, and I didn’t mind to spend time after school with him, no matter what he’d teach.
“Let’s go!” Tai nudged me after he handed me the cape. I donned the cape, fastening its frog closure, standing in line with my three siblings, and bowed to Father first, then to Teacher Chu.
“Hold on to your brother’s hand and watch out for the slippery ice,” Father said standing at the door, patting my head when I lifted up one foot to step out of the threshold.
The warmth of his hand made my heart throbbing and my eyes watery, but I soon stifled my tears and clambered out of the door. It was not like Father had never shown his affection toward me before, but doing it in front of others, especially my half siblings, was indeed something out of the ordinary. I felt more stunned, or rather embarrassed than honored.
“Hey, want to do a little snow fight?” Bang asked Tai, bending down to scoop up a handful of snow the minute we turned to the path leading to our living quarters.
“Well--“Tai looked at me, hesitated. But before he had a chance to make up his mind, a snowball flew over and landed on his nose. “Ai Yo,” Tai groaned, touching his nose. The snow ball must have hit him hard.
“Ha ha, look at you! You look like a white- nosed clown in the opera!” Bang stood akimbo and laughed, his mouth letting out puffs of derisive smoke ,his teeth glinting a
sneering gleam.
Disgusted, I grabbed a handful of snow, aiming at Bang, and pitched as hard as I could.
But he dodged in time, and I missed him. Before I knew it, a snow ball hit me on my face. I turned around and saw Ling standing on my left, one arm still in the air, laughing triumphantly. Nonetheless, her laughter soon changed to a shriek when a large snow ball struck her on the head. Now it was Tai’s turn to snicker.
“Ha, look at Ling; she has grown a bun on her head!” Tai roared, pointing a ridiculing finger at Ling.
Soon the four of us engaged in the biggest snow fight. First Tai and I teamed up against Bang and Ling, but soon things evolved in such a way we stopped taking sides and started throwing snow balls at one another randomly.
We lived in Yong Jia, a town in Zhe Jiang Province, south of the Yangtze River and west of the East China Sea, where the ocean breeze modified the severe current from the north and turned winter as mild and amiable as a big fat cat purring comfortably by the brazier. A snowy day like this was extremely rare. In fact, I had never seen a day snowing so much before. This morning, when I was awakened by the unusual brightness of the room, I saw Mama standing by my bed, wiping the frosted glass with her hand, and looked out the window. Absorbing the radiance of the snow, the silhouette of her face was glowing like white jade, and in contrast, her long cascading hair sleek and shiny like black brocade. Mama was beautiful. I wished Father could see her at this moment; then he’d realize what he had missed.
“Mama…” I murmured, rubbing my eyes.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Smiling, Mama bent over and embraced me. Wrapping me in her heavy pearl gray morning gown, she carried me from the bed to the window. “Look, it’s snowing hard.” She said pointing outside, her silky cheek touching mine, and her warm jasmine breath wafting into my nose—Mama always had jasmine tea first thing in the morning. I loved it every time Wang Sao returned to her village, and Mama looked after me while she was gone. I loved Mama’s gentle touch, soft voice, satiny skin, floral smell, and graceful movements. I loved my Mama.
Looping an arm around Mama’s neck, I peeked out and saw the snow coated surroundings. I couldn’t believe my eyes. What a clean, beautiful world! Everything I could see: the roofs, the eaves, the pavilions, the corridor banisters, the grapevine trellis, the trees, bushes, stone steps, and water jars in the courtyard, even the ugly black cinder path leading to the kitchen, had turned pure gleaming white!
The first time I saw snow was three years before when I just turned four. Pointing at the snow flakes drifting in the sky, Wang Sao told me that a humongous rat had nipped a hole in the Kitchen king’s flour sag and spilled out all its content to the earth. And I had believed in her for a long time till Tai told me the truth, and everyone laughed at me after they found out how vulnerable I had been.
“It seems that the big rat did a good job this time!” Mama said laughing, rubbing her nose against mine. The tip of her nose was cold, which made me shudder a little, so she swathed me tighter in her arms and giggled harder. Startled, I fixed my eyes on her, marveling at her sparkling eyes and cackling mouth; I couldn’t believe that my Mama could be this happy.
“Mama, why are you so happy today?” Fingering Mama’s hair, I asked.
“Nothing, just fell good to see snow again,” Mama put me down on my bed, picking up the clothes that Wang Sao laid on the chair by the brazier the night before, sitting at the edge of the bed, and began to dress me. “It had been a while since I last saw this much snow.” As she helped me sticking one arm into the sleeve of my pink cotton- padded jacket, Mama sighed, her face dimmed, and her eyes became hollow and vacant, as if someone had just turned off the light from inside. Mama had that empty look sometimes, especially when she was thinking about her family up north; and lately she seemed to be in a trance more frequently than ever. Poor Mama, she must have missed her family terribly! But weren’t Tai and I her family too? Why did her mind wander off at times as if she had packed up and left on a one way ticket? No matter where she had gone, it must have been a sad and lonely journey, I could tell by her face.
“Mama, can you lie in bed with me a little while? I’m cold,” Thrusting myself in her arms, I caused her to fall and bump her head on the foot board while I slumped beside her. Frightened that Mama might get hurt, I froze, not knowing what to do.
“It’s all right, doesn’t hurt at all,” Struggling to sit up, Mama rubbed the back of her head and smiled at me.
“Really?” Gazing into her eyes, I asked.
“Really,” Mama assured me. I was relieved. And I was also happy to find that her mind had found its way home as well, I could always tell by the look on her face.
“Ma--” I hugged her, wanting to tell her how I felt about her, but then I realized that I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have the vocabularies to express my feelings. No one had taught me, and there was no way to copy the adults, either, for they never used such kind of words. Everything was hinted and suggested in a furtive and ambiguous manner that I could never guess the hidden meanings no matter how hard I tried.
“Well, what are we waiting for? We need to get ready for school,” Mama brushed her hair to the back and stared at me with her limpid eyes. I noticed that her pupils were dark amber, the color of the prayer beads on her neck. Mama told me that the necklace was a gift from Father on their first wedding anniversary. Father must have loved her once, otherwise why would he give her something so beautiful?
“But it’s snowing, the school might be closed,” I grumbled.
“I don’t think so,” Mama’s voice became a bit raspy. “At least I wasn’t told. Now raise one leg and put it in the trousers before they get cold.” Holding the blue cotton- padded pants in front of me, Mama looked as firm as ever.
While Mama was plaiting my hair, Tai trotted in, clutching an indigo cotton-wadded quilt to his chest, wearing nothing but his long johns; bare neck and shoulders exposed in the bluish cold air.
“Mama, what shall I wear to school?” Stomping his bare feet to generate heat, Tai asked, his face turned purplish white.
“Heavens!” Mama cried out. “Stand by the brazier over there and don’t move. I’ll go get your clothes,” Mama shambled out and came back, heels clicking on the teak floor while carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. “It’s Wang Sao’s fault, she misplaced them. Now, do you want to change here or in your room?” Mama walked over to Tai, his folded clothes in her bosom.
“But Ma, I don’t want to wear that red robe. My classmates will laugh at me,” Taking one glimpse at the pile of his clothing, Tai protested. “Besides, it’s too small.”
“What’s wrong with red? It’s a happy color, especially for a little kid like you. And Tailor Zhou just made it last month, why would it be too small all of a sudden?” Frowning, Mama stood in front of my taut- faced brother, looking more mystified than vexed.
“Ma, red is the color for girls; nowadays not even a groom would wear red. Besides, I’m nine years old, not a kid any more! ” With his pale face turning red, unkempt hair sticking up, my brother looked like one of those fighting rooster in the marketplace where Wang Sao took me one time.
“But this is the heaviest winter robe I have for you. It’ll keep you warm on a cold day like this!” Holding the robe in her hand and thumbing through its thickness, Mama wouldn’t give in.
“No matter what, I don’t want to wear it, and you can’t make me!” Clutching the quilt tight, Tai pursed up his lips and dug his toes on the floor, looking more obstinate than ever.
Watching Tai’s interaction with Mama made me sad. I didn’t want to see Tai being taunted in school, but it was also very disturbing to see him defying Mama like this. Before I knew it, tears began to roll down my face uncontrollably; I briskly wiped my face with the back of my hand. I didn’t want Mama see me crying.
In the end, Mama compromised. She handed Tai a sweater, a Mandarin jacket with Angora lining, together with the blue robe that Tai had been wearing yesterday. Mama let out a sigh said, “all right, you can wear your old robe. But it’s not heavy enough. You must wear the sweater underneath, and the jacket on top to keep warm.”
“Ma, Mei, come downstairs soon, breakfast is almost ready,” Tai stood in front, wearing a cotton filled dark blue robe, black pants, and over the robe a long Mandarin tunic lined with fox skin, around his neck a red woolen scarf, and a pair of black galoshes on his feet. Heavily attired, Tai looked as stiff as an icicle.
I soon became the target of their attacks. Chasing my siblings, I ran past the vermilion brick pavilion in which piles of papers were collected and burned; and saw Old Wang wearing a peasant’s straw cape, shoving a big basket of papers to its opening.
“Hey, Old Wang, are you going to burn the papers in a little bit?” Tai turned around and walked back Old Wang,
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