Read Online All the Flowers in Shanghai by Duncan Jepson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Duncan Jepson
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period and funeral. There is much work to do,” she continued without looking at me. “Feng, after you have finished your drink, go to your grandfather. He will look after you and tell you what you must do.”
The tightness and shininess of Ma’s skin that had allowed her to keep her youthful looks, that had made Sister, too, such a beauty, had suddenly gone. I realized my mother was now an old woman.
Chapter 5
A ll the wedding preparations came to a halt. Ba and Grandfather stayed close to Ma until the funeral was finished. It took place in our house and lasted five days before she was cremated. Sister’s body was laid out in its coffin in the courtyard and every evening people came to pay respects. One evening her fiancé’s family arrived and, after a short time spent paying respects, the father took Ma and Ba aside to discuss something. They talked at length and as they did, Ma kept looking up at Sister’s photograph at the head of the coffin. My parents nodded many times. When the conversation ended, father and son paid their final respects and left. Ma and Ba resumed their places, seated on the left of the coffin, as other mourners came to see them.
The photograph of Sister, chosen by Ma, had been taken when she was at her most beautiful. It remained on the altar until after Sister’s body was cremated. On that day, we followed the coffin to the crematorium and watched it pushed into the flames. My parents burned small paper-houses, imitation money, and paper servants to help Sister in the next life. Ma cried and Ba held her. I stood in silence with any memory of Sister’s bitter words lost in the strange and awkward newness of this experience. I felt nothing.
Sister had died of cancer, a badness that had slowly grown inside her and ate at her. She had never been pregnant, Grandfather had been wrong there, and when he found out the truth he had agreed with Ma and Ba not to tell me. Sister had foreseen everything that was to happen. I had understood nothing.
At the end of the funeral, the three grown-ups went to their rooms. I sat on the floor in front of the altar in the courtyard, looking at Sister’s photograph. It should have been taken with the coffin but had been forgotten. When she had her strength back, Ma would insist on burning it along with the mourning clothes that we had worn for the last few days. It had been taken by a photographer who’d insisted Sister should wear bright red lipstick and a Western hairstyle, both of which she’d liked anyway. Ma had reservations about it, because she felt it looked too Western, but now that did not matter. The photographer had been satisfying his own desires but in that he had captured Sister as she had lived, an image created purely to please her suitors and Society. There was nothing more.
I stared at her thickly painted lips. I should have left the photograph for Ma but I took it with me. I needed still to see those lips and dark eyes that could be so selfish and callous. I wanted to remember the Sister who had never loved me, only scared me, who had lived for herself and the admiration and respect of those she wanted to join. This photograph represented the person she’d wished everyone to remember after they had been introduced to her, but eventually she had left our family not for a wedding ceremony but in a funeral procession. A life spent with Ma, Ba, and Grandfather was all that seemed to be left for me. If Bi returned perhaps I would run away with him, for I understood there would be nothing for me here. I was simply the daughter who had survived. I would be taking care of my parents as they grew older.
Grandfather found me sitting quietly in my room. He came over and kissed me on the forehead. He saw the photograph then, kissed me again.
“I never liked that photograph.”
I looked down at him on the edge of my bed.
“I thought you, Ma, and Ba liked it. She looks older, like a woman.” My sentence trailed away as I was unsure of
The tightness and shininess of Ma’s skin that had allowed her to keep her youthful looks, that had made Sister, too, such a beauty, had suddenly gone. I realized my mother was now an old woman.
Chapter 5
A ll the wedding preparations came to a halt. Ba and Grandfather stayed close to Ma until the funeral was finished. It took place in our house and lasted five days before she was cremated. Sister’s body was laid out in its coffin in the courtyard and every evening people came to pay respects. One evening her fiancé’s family arrived and, after a short time spent paying respects, the father took Ma and Ba aside to discuss something. They talked at length and as they did, Ma kept looking up at Sister’s photograph at the head of the coffin. My parents nodded many times. When the conversation ended, father and son paid their final respects and left. Ma and Ba resumed their places, seated on the left of the coffin, as other mourners came to see them.
The photograph of Sister, chosen by Ma, had been taken when she was at her most beautiful. It remained on the altar until after Sister’s body was cremated. On that day, we followed the coffin to the crematorium and watched it pushed into the flames. My parents burned small paper-houses, imitation money, and paper servants to help Sister in the next life. Ma cried and Ba held her. I stood in silence with any memory of Sister’s bitter words lost in the strange and awkward newness of this experience. I felt nothing.
Sister had died of cancer, a badness that had slowly grown inside her and ate at her. She had never been pregnant, Grandfather had been wrong there, and when he found out the truth he had agreed with Ma and Ba not to tell me. Sister had foreseen everything that was to happen. I had understood nothing.
At the end of the funeral, the three grown-ups went to their rooms. I sat on the floor in front of the altar in the courtyard, looking at Sister’s photograph. It should have been taken with the coffin but had been forgotten. When she had her strength back, Ma would insist on burning it along with the mourning clothes that we had worn for the last few days. It had been taken by a photographer who’d insisted Sister should wear bright red lipstick and a Western hairstyle, both of which she’d liked anyway. Ma had reservations about it, because she felt it looked too Western, but now that did not matter. The photographer had been satisfying his own desires but in that he had captured Sister as she had lived, an image created purely to please her suitors and Society. There was nothing more.
I stared at her thickly painted lips. I should have left the photograph for Ma but I took it with me. I needed still to see those lips and dark eyes that could be so selfish and callous. I wanted to remember the Sister who had never loved me, only scared me, who had lived for herself and the admiration and respect of those she wanted to join. This photograph represented the person she’d wished everyone to remember after they had been introduced to her, but eventually she had left our family not for a wedding ceremony but in a funeral procession. A life spent with Ma, Ba, and Grandfather was all that seemed to be left for me. If Bi returned perhaps I would run away with him, for I understood there would be nothing for me here. I was simply the daughter who had survived. I would be taking care of my parents as they grew older.
Grandfather found me sitting quietly in my room. He came over and kissed me on the forehead. He saw the photograph then, kissed me again.
“I never liked that photograph.”
I looked down at him on the edge of my bed.
“I thought you, Ma, and Ba liked it. She looks older, like a woman.” My sentence trailed away as I was unsure of
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