Coming Home
Vivian looked down at her mud soaked dress in disbelief. Vivian had never known it to rain in L.A. in June, but incredibly, large droplets of rain pelted her window as she rode the trolley towards Chinatown. By the time Vivian had made it to Chinatown its dirt roads had been reduced to a series of muddy channels.
I need to learn to love galoshes. Not that it would’ve made much of a difference.
Vivian had done everything in her power to keep dry and clean. She walked slowly and carefully under every storefront arbor to keep the rain off her clothes and hair. She saw a few heads turn as she walked along the sidewalk. With her knee high skirt, short hair, and high heels, Vivian stood out in this section of town. But now only saw looks of pity and a few grins as she stood mouth agape by the side of the road. The older men among the onlookers in particular got a kick out of the sight of this modern young Chinese girl, dressed for a day on the town, looking like she spent it on a farm instead.
This is what you get for being too nice Viv.
She didn’t realize the car, a clunky old Model T, was in the street right behind her when she made way for a group of ladies walking towards her. Vivian was taken back just by the sight of so many Chinese women together in one place. Chinese men outnumbered women almost ten to one in L.A.s Chinatown, a fact her older brother never failed to bring up anytime the topic of marriage was brought up.
The women were carrying bags, chatting away, and taking up the sidewalk when Vivian made the mistake of moving to her left in order to let them walk by. They smiled and returned Vivian’s greeting as she stood precariously on the edge of the sidewalk. It was then that she heard the gurgling jalopy coming and turned around just in time to see it hit the muddy puddle that splashed all over her. The ladies turned around to shout curses in Chinese at the driver as the he continued on without even slowing down. Vivian just stood there, drenched, boots filled with mud and god knew what else, feeling certain that this particular get up had just met its ignoble end.
Just a block away, I was just a block away. The thought could have brought her to tears but she found herself laughing instead.
Vivian got off as much mud as she could with the help of some of the people around her, who offered her small towels and sympathetic remarks, all coming at here from different angles and in a mix of Chinese and English.
“He was driving like a madman!”, “Who lets them ride on these streets!”; “He didn’t even stop! Can’t be from here!”, “It’s such as shame to see such a pretty young girl looking such a mess!” “Do you need help getting home?”
Vivian thanked them for their help, and told them that her father lived nearby. It was then one of the ladies in the crowd recognized her.
“Your Chung Chiu-Wai’s daughter Liu-Tsong! I didn’t even recognize you! Your father must be so proud of you! A big movie star!”
“Yes, thank you” Vivian said demurely, “but I’ve just been in a few movies, I’m not really a star…”
“Oh, but I saw you in so many movies. You know Douglas Fairbanks! He’s a big star just like you!”
Vivian tried hard not to laugh for fear it would mock the woman’s well-intentioned but wildly off the mark appraisal of her fame. A crowd gathered around her and soon she had autograph books thrust into her face. The gang of elderly ladies formed a phalanx around her and swatted at the black, leather bound, autograph books some of the young men had produced, yelling at them in Chinese.
“Give Liu-Tsong room! You’ve got a lot of nerve young man, asking a young woman to write in your dirty book!”
Vivian laughed as she reassured the old ladies of her safety and signed the books, providing some with a muddy fingerprint in lieu of the lipstick kiss she often gave by her signature. As the group began to disperse the old ladies, items placed back into the mud stained bags they used to wipe off her jacket, escorted Vivian to her father’s store around the corner.
“Liu-Tsong!” her father shouted as he ran from behind the counter to greet her, “what happened to you!”
“She was so politely making way for us Mr. Chung when a car came roaring by and splashed her with mud! That driver should be ashamed of himself!” The chorus of old ladies informed him. They continued on about what a terrible person the driver must be, and how gracious Liu-Tsong was about it, and how proud you must be Mr. Chung to have such a talented and famous daughter. Vivian stood silently, sharing little, knowing smiles with her father as he stood patiently waiting for them to leave so he could clean his daughter’s clothes and the mud off the floor. He thanked them for their kindness, which they returned as they wished him and his daughter continued success. The ladies left the store and resumed their walk just as Vivian first found them, chattering and in total command of the sidewalk.
Vivian’s father turned to face her. He had turned noticeably pale.
“I’m OK” Vivian assured him in English. “My clothes on the other hand…”
Her father’s face regained its color. “We’ll take care of the clothes.” He said in Chinese, “You need to be more careful on the streets. Especially around here. ”
“Yes, your right father. I’ll be more careful next time.” Vivian said in Chinese, her head lowered slightly. “I’m sorry but I wasn’t able to pick up the vegetables before this happened.”
Vivian’s father smiled at her. No matter what her mood she always warmed at his smile. It made her want to run up to him and wrap her arms around him the way she did when she was small.
“I’ll send one of your brothers” he said, “Go upstairs and change. You can use your mother’s clothes.”
As Vivian walked toward the door that led to the staircase she saw her two younger brothers taking a break from their work to laugh at her sorry condition. She quickly checked to see if her father was looking at her before playfully sticking out her tongue at them. This caused them to laugh even louder as Vivian opened the door and went up the stairs, the steady click of her footsteps accompanied by the sound her father telling her brothers to stop messing around and get back to work.
Vivian’s father Chung Chiu-Wai was a prosperous man, and his home, an apartment floors above his launderette, was actually two blocks outside of Chinatown proper which meant he was one of the few Chinese in Los Angeles to have running water in the kitchen and in the bath. The landowners who owned all the property in Chinatown never did restorations or provided the buildings with running water so people would have to go outside to the pumps to gather buckets of water to heat up to fill into a tub. That was the way the Chung family had to bathe when Vivian was small, when they lived in Chinatown in a small building next to her father’s first laundry. After her father and brothers took their baths she would climb into the tub with her mother, who would sing softly to her as she washed her hair. Vivian filled the water to the brim, only her head and knees sticking out of the steaming water as she sat scrunched up in the small tub. As a child Vivian hated getting water in her eyes, but now, as she sat down in the steaming tub, the first thing she did was throw her head forward in the water and dunk it.
After her bath Vivian went into her parent’s room to get a change of clothes. Her mother had been dead for over ten years now, but nothing in her parents’ room had changed. It was as if her father still thought she was home. Vivian could almost hear her voice now, singing as she cooked, telling Vivian about the correct way to cut the vegetables, and reprimanding her father for smoking in the house.
“You live above a laundry! How many customers are you going to get if all their clothes smell like smoke!”
After her father would leave to finish his smoke outside her mother prepared dinner with Vivian, berating her absent father as she did so. Then, in an instant, she would change her tune and tell Vivian to never mind what she said and Vivian should be so lucky to find a hardworking man like him when she is older.
Vivian opened the top drawer of the dresser wedged in-between the wall and the bed and went through her mother’s clothes. They smelled fresh, with not even a hint of the musty smell you would expect of clothes that have been packed away unused for years. Her hands lightly grazed the blouses, shirts, and pants folded neatly in the drawer. She closed the drawer and went to a small armoire by the bed. She took out her mother’s blue Chinese blouse and pants out of the cabinet. She looked at herself the full length mirror, twirling her short hair as she moved her head from side to side and made a vain attempt to braid her short hair in pigtails. She heard a knock on the door, and her father’s voice asking if it were OK to come in. He took away her dirty clothes as she took one of her mother’s jade combs from a black lacquered box on the dresser and began to comb her hair.
Vivian’s brothers and three of her father’s friends arrived about two hours after Vivian had dressed, just in time to find the dumplings she had cooked and placed in neat rows on the plates in the center of the living room table. Vivian’s younger brothers, Simon and Martin, both in their teens, greeted their big sister warmly. Vivian felt particular fondness for Simon, the youngest, whose large body frame proved proof for Vivian that Martin’s cooking was improving. Her older brother Harold, always so stern and serious, greeted her as warmly as the occasion required. They all sat down, the guests on chairs, Vivian and her younger brothers on stools. After a typically brief speech by her father, Vivian began to fill the bowls with rice.
Vivian served tea to the guests and they would each take turns remarking on how big she had grown and how they remembered when Vivian tried to serve tea as a little girl; getting more on the table than in the cups as stood on her tiptoes gripping a teapot almost as big as her head. In those days the women would sit separated at one side of the table at the beginning of the meal, but the two groups would mingle as the night wore on. Vivian would be instructed to go to bed, but would always come back out into the living room, eventually falling asleep in her father’s arms. After her mother died only the men came by to share drinks or play cards but the wives often stopped by to greet Chiu-Wai during the day at his store. They would come with gifts of food that they had made. Her father would do his best to refuse, but they were always so persistent.
“It’s not a gift.” They would say as the placed a gift on his counter, “Just a little extra we had, just thought you might like some”
As the dinner wore on her father asked Vivian to go get the homemade wine from the kitchen. Vivian warmed the wine and filled their guest’s cups but said little as she sat listening to them talking about how the restrictive laws placed on Chinese immigrants were slowly breaking down the community in Chinatown.
“It’s no place to bring up a family, you were right to move when you did Mister Chung.” The large and imposing dock worker Lam Ching-Ying said before filling his mouth with a dumpling.
“No one can even make a family” another one her father’s friends, a thin, wiry man name Yu Fong said as he gathered his cigarettes and stood up from the table, “young men send for their wives but they aren’t allowed in. All the money spent to send them is wasted, now many don’t even bother to try.”
“Buildings are breaking down, no one will fix them. The whites are just waiting to sell the land to the city and we will have to make way for another train station.” Lam Ching-Ying went for another dumpling with his chopsticks. “It isn’t enough that they want to stop Chinese from coming here. Soon they’ll try to send us back.”
Vivian’s father nodded his head with his guest but said nothing. Vivian thought he was being unusually silent tonight. But if the others noticed they did not address it.
Occasionally one of the guests would ask Vivian how she was doing, what it was like in Hollywood, or if she had met Charlie Chaplin or some other famous actor. Her responses would be met with a smile or approving nod, but eventually the guest’s attention would be directed back to the group of friends. Vivian didn’t mind. She was happy to just make sure no one had an empty plate or empty glass.
Vivian realized that what she missed most about living in her parent’s home were the sounds. The sound of running water, commands yelled over steam presses, and hiss of fabric being pressed during the day. She missed the sound clinking of plates and cups and conversations that went long into the night. This night was much like those, with only the sound of women’s voices missing.
After the last cup of wine had been drunk Vivian joined her father in escorting his friends to the door, some needing more assistance than others, and wishing them well as they left in a group for their homes. She helped her father to bed, sitting silently with him for awhile as he drifted off to sleep. She went back into the dining room to find her brothers gone but the dishes remained. She collected the dishes and brought them to the kitchen sink. As she began washing them she heard her older brother, who she had assumed had already went off to bed, enter the room.
“You shouldn’t clean in Mother’s dress.” Harold said with his usual perfunctory directness.
“Its fine,” Vivian replied, preparing herself for the lecture to come, “I won’t destroy two dresses in a day.”
“It’s past one. You ruined your dress yesterday.” Harold grinned.
You think you’re so clever.
Vivian’s face hardened. “Yes, and I want to finish and go to bed. So, unless you’re going to help me how about we call it a night?”
“Why should I help? While you’re here to visit us, you might as well do the work that you should be doing.”
The porcelain bowls let out sharp clinking sounds as Vivian moved her hands briskly through the sink. She knew she should keep quiet. The easiest way was simply to admit he is right so he would leave Vivian alone to curse him under her breath. But with every check that she wrote to pay for the college degree that filled his head and emptied her pocketbook; the less inclined she felt to play the role of chastised pupil to his enlightened professor.
Vivian turned towards Harold, her whispered voice coming out like hissing steam.
“My work…my work,” Vivian paused, unsure if she could even speak “my work is paying for education as you know full well. If you have such a problem with it maybe you should quit school and spend more time at the launderette. Since I can’t be around father needs someone to help with the accounts and carry the laundry.”
“When I finish school father won’t need the launderette.” Harold replied calmly, “And you won’t’ need to play anymore tramps and whores.”
Vivian remained silent. She took her hands out of the sink and quickly dried them off. She looked straight at her brother.
“If father only knew how you are talking to me right now…”she said calmly.
“It’s because of father that I am talking to you right now. Do you know why he didn’t go to see your latest picture? Have you given it any thought?”
Vivian was silent, suspecting the answer but knowing that Harold wanted to provide it.
“It was with his blessing that you were able to pursue acting. When he sees you play the characters you play, and how they make Chinese people look like backstabbers and cheats, make loving fathers like him into monsters, and how they make you…” Harold trailed off. Vivian was surprised he didn’t finish his insult. He never pulled any punches with her before.
“They’re just characters, they aren’t real” Vivian replied.
“Yes, but some people…enough people… can’t separate the Chinese on the screen from the Chinese on the street.” He paused for a moment, staring at her intently. Vivian turned back to the sink and began washing the dishes again. She looked at Harold out of the corner of her eye. He leaned against the doorframe, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his forehead.
“You’re lucky you can’t read Chinese, you don’t find out what the newspapers back home say about you.”
“Home?” Vivian laughed, “You mean China?”
“Yes” Harold replied, either oblivious to the incredulity in Vivian’s response or unaffected by it. “China…father wants to live there, to go back to Grandfathers home. There is opportunity there for us. Not like when Grandfather left. Once I become a doctor, we are going.”
Vivian felt the strength go out of her legs but managed to stay standing. It was typical that she wasn’t included in any family plans but didn’t think she would have been left out of one this big.
“You know that I’m not going with you.” Vivian herself couldn’t tell the withering tone of her voice suggested resolve or resignation to that fact.
Harold looked at her for a moment then lowered his head. Vivian thought for a moment he might apologize.
“Your clothes are on the chair by the front door” He said without any hint of emotion in his voice. “Goodnight little sister.”
Vivian collapsed into a nearby chair. Vivian looked around the room. She saw the ashtrays her father left out for his guests. They were clean, unused, and placed in a pile on a side table.
She rubbed her eyes.
Get to bed Viv, your exhausted.
Somehow she couldn’t leave the chair. Although she tried hard to fight them, memories began to flood her mind. For a moment, she thought she saw her mother sitting at the table, waiting for Vivian to join her.
Vivian covered her mouth as tears rolled down her face.
I need to learn to love galoshes. Not that it would’ve made much of a difference.
Vivian had done everything in her power to keep dry and clean. She walked slowly and carefully under every storefront arbor to keep the rain off her clothes and hair. She saw a few heads turn as she walked along the sidewalk. With her knee high skirt, short hair, and high heels, Vivian stood out in this section of town. But now only saw looks of pity and a few grins as she stood mouth agape by the side of the road. The older men among the onlookers in particular got a kick out of the sight of this modern young Chinese girl, dressed for a day on the town, looking like she spent it on a farm instead.
This is what you get for being too nice Viv.
She didn’t realize the car, a clunky old Model T, was in the street right behind her when she made way for a group of ladies walking towards her. Vivian was taken back just by the sight of so many Chinese women together in one place. Chinese men outnumbered women almost ten to one in L.A.s Chinatown, a fact her older brother never failed to bring up anytime the topic of marriage was brought up.
The women were carrying bags, chatting away, and taking up the sidewalk when Vivian made the mistake of moving to her left in order to let them walk by. They smiled and returned Vivian’s greeting as she stood precariously on the edge of the sidewalk. It was then that she heard the gurgling jalopy coming and turned around just in time to see it hit the muddy puddle that splashed all over her. The ladies turned around to shout curses in Chinese at the driver as the he continued on without even slowing down. Vivian just stood there, drenched, boots filled with mud and god knew what else, feeling certain that this particular get up had just met its ignoble end.
Just a block away, I was just a block away. The thought could have brought her to tears but she found herself laughing instead.
Vivian got off as much mud as she could with the help of some of the people around her, who offered her small towels and sympathetic remarks, all coming at here from different angles and in a mix of Chinese and English.
“He was driving like a madman!”, “Who lets them ride on these streets!”; “He didn’t even stop! Can’t be from here!”, “It’s such as shame to see such a pretty young girl looking such a mess!” “Do you need help getting home?”
Vivian thanked them for their help, and told them that her father lived nearby. It was then one of the ladies in the crowd recognized her.
“Your Chung Chiu-Wai’s daughter Liu-Tsong! I didn’t even recognize you! Your father must be so proud of you! A big movie star!”
“Yes, thank you” Vivian said demurely, “but I’ve just been in a few movies, I’m not really a star…”
“Oh, but I saw you in so many movies. You know Douglas Fairbanks! He’s a big star just like you!”
Vivian tried hard not to laugh for fear it would mock the woman’s well-intentioned but wildly off the mark appraisal of her fame. A crowd gathered around her and soon she had autograph books thrust into her face. The gang of elderly ladies formed a phalanx around her and swatted at the black, leather bound, autograph books some of the young men had produced, yelling at them in Chinese.
“Give Liu-Tsong room! You’ve got a lot of nerve young man, asking a young woman to write in your dirty book!”
Vivian laughed as she reassured the old ladies of her safety and signed the books, providing some with a muddy fingerprint in lieu of the lipstick kiss she often gave by her signature. As the group began to disperse the old ladies, items placed back into the mud stained bags they used to wipe off her jacket, escorted Vivian to her father’s store around the corner.
“Liu-Tsong!” her father shouted as he ran from behind the counter to greet her, “what happened to you!”
“She was so politely making way for us Mr. Chung when a car came roaring by and splashed her with mud! That driver should be ashamed of himself!” The chorus of old ladies informed him. They continued on about what a terrible person the driver must be, and how gracious Liu-Tsong was about it, and how proud you must be Mr. Chung to have such a talented and famous daughter. Vivian stood silently, sharing little, knowing smiles with her father as he stood patiently waiting for them to leave so he could clean his daughter’s clothes and the mud off the floor. He thanked them for their kindness, which they returned as they wished him and his daughter continued success. The ladies left the store and resumed their walk just as Vivian first found them, chattering and in total command of the sidewalk.
Vivian’s father turned to face her. He had turned noticeably pale.
“I’m OK” Vivian assured him in English. “My clothes on the other hand…”
Her father’s face regained its color. “We’ll take care of the clothes.” He said in Chinese, “You need to be more careful on the streets. Especially around here. ”
“Yes, your right father. I’ll be more careful next time.” Vivian said in Chinese, her head lowered slightly. “I’m sorry but I wasn’t able to pick up the vegetables before this happened.”
Vivian’s father smiled at her. No matter what her mood she always warmed at his smile. It made her want to run up to him and wrap her arms around him the way she did when she was small.
“I’ll send one of your brothers” he said, “Go upstairs and change. You can use your mother’s clothes.”
As Vivian walked toward the door that led to the staircase she saw her two younger brothers taking a break from their work to laugh at her sorry condition. She quickly checked to see if her father was looking at her before playfully sticking out her tongue at them. This caused them to laugh even louder as Vivian opened the door and went up the stairs, the steady click of her footsteps accompanied by the sound her father telling her brothers to stop messing around and get back to work.
Vivian’s father Chung Chiu-Wai was a prosperous man, and his home, an apartment floors above his launderette, was actually two blocks outside of Chinatown proper which meant he was one of the few Chinese in Los Angeles to have running water in the kitchen and in the bath. The landowners who owned all the property in Chinatown never did restorations or provided the buildings with running water so people would have to go outside to the pumps to gather buckets of water to heat up to fill into a tub. That was the way the Chung family had to bathe when Vivian was small, when they lived in Chinatown in a small building next to her father’s first laundry. After her father and brothers took their baths she would climb into the tub with her mother, who would sing softly to her as she washed her hair. Vivian filled the water to the brim, only her head and knees sticking out of the steaming water as she sat scrunched up in the small tub. As a child Vivian hated getting water in her eyes, but now, as she sat down in the steaming tub, the first thing she did was throw her head forward in the water and dunk it.
After her bath Vivian went into her parent’s room to get a change of clothes. Her mother had been dead for over ten years now, but nothing in her parents’ room had changed. It was as if her father still thought she was home. Vivian could almost hear her voice now, singing as she cooked, telling Vivian about the correct way to cut the vegetables, and reprimanding her father for smoking in the house.
“You live above a laundry! How many customers are you going to get if all their clothes smell like smoke!”
After her father would leave to finish his smoke outside her mother prepared dinner with Vivian, berating her absent father as she did so. Then, in an instant, she would change her tune and tell Vivian to never mind what she said and Vivian should be so lucky to find a hardworking man like him when she is older.
Vivian opened the top drawer of the dresser wedged in-between the wall and the bed and went through her mother’s clothes. They smelled fresh, with not even a hint of the musty smell you would expect of clothes that have been packed away unused for years. Her hands lightly grazed the blouses, shirts, and pants folded neatly in the drawer. She closed the drawer and went to a small armoire by the bed. She took out her mother’s blue Chinese blouse and pants out of the cabinet. She looked at herself the full length mirror, twirling her short hair as she moved her head from side to side and made a vain attempt to braid her short hair in pigtails. She heard a knock on the door, and her father’s voice asking if it were OK to come in. He took away her dirty clothes as she took one of her mother’s jade combs from a black lacquered box on the dresser and began to comb her hair.
Vivian’s brothers and three of her father’s friends arrived about two hours after Vivian had dressed, just in time to find the dumplings she had cooked and placed in neat rows on the plates in the center of the living room table. Vivian’s younger brothers, Simon and Martin, both in their teens, greeted their big sister warmly. Vivian felt particular fondness for Simon, the youngest, whose large body frame proved proof for Vivian that Martin’s cooking was improving. Her older brother Harold, always so stern and serious, greeted her as warmly as the occasion required. They all sat down, the guests on chairs, Vivian and her younger brothers on stools. After a typically brief speech by her father, Vivian began to fill the bowls with rice.
Vivian served tea to the guests and they would each take turns remarking on how big she had grown and how they remembered when Vivian tried to serve tea as a little girl; getting more on the table than in the cups as stood on her tiptoes gripping a teapot almost as big as her head. In those days the women would sit separated at one side of the table at the beginning of the meal, but the two groups would mingle as the night wore on. Vivian would be instructed to go to bed, but would always come back out into the living room, eventually falling asleep in her father’s arms. After her mother died only the men came by to share drinks or play cards but the wives often stopped by to greet Chiu-Wai during the day at his store. They would come with gifts of food that they had made. Her father would do his best to refuse, but they were always so persistent.
“It’s not a gift.” They would say as the placed a gift on his counter, “Just a little extra we had, just thought you might like some”
As the dinner wore on her father asked Vivian to go get the homemade wine from the kitchen. Vivian warmed the wine and filled their guest’s cups but said little as she sat listening to them talking about how the restrictive laws placed on Chinese immigrants were slowly breaking down the community in Chinatown.
“It’s no place to bring up a family, you were right to move when you did Mister Chung.” The large and imposing dock worker Lam Ching-Ying said before filling his mouth with a dumpling.
“No one can even make a family” another one her father’s friends, a thin, wiry man name Yu Fong said as he gathered his cigarettes and stood up from the table, “young men send for their wives but they aren’t allowed in. All the money spent to send them is wasted, now many don’t even bother to try.”
“Buildings are breaking down, no one will fix them. The whites are just waiting to sell the land to the city and we will have to make way for another train station.” Lam Ching-Ying went for another dumpling with his chopsticks. “It isn’t enough that they want to stop Chinese from coming here. Soon they’ll try to send us back.”
Vivian’s father nodded his head with his guest but said nothing. Vivian thought he was being unusually silent tonight. But if the others noticed they did not address it.
Occasionally one of the guests would ask Vivian how she was doing, what it was like in Hollywood, or if she had met Charlie Chaplin or some other famous actor. Her responses would be met with a smile or approving nod, but eventually the guest’s attention would be directed back to the group of friends. Vivian didn’t mind. She was happy to just make sure no one had an empty plate or empty glass.
Vivian realized that what she missed most about living in her parent’s home were the sounds. The sound of running water, commands yelled over steam presses, and hiss of fabric being pressed during the day. She missed the sound clinking of plates and cups and conversations that went long into the night. This night was much like those, with only the sound of women’s voices missing.
After the last cup of wine had been drunk Vivian joined her father in escorting his friends to the door, some needing more assistance than others, and wishing them well as they left in a group for their homes. She helped her father to bed, sitting silently with him for awhile as he drifted off to sleep. She went back into the dining room to find her brothers gone but the dishes remained. She collected the dishes and brought them to the kitchen sink. As she began washing them she heard her older brother, who she had assumed had already went off to bed, enter the room.
“You shouldn’t clean in Mother’s dress.” Harold said with his usual perfunctory directness.
“Its fine,” Vivian replied, preparing herself for the lecture to come, “I won’t destroy two dresses in a day.”
“It’s past one. You ruined your dress yesterday.” Harold grinned.
You think you’re so clever.
Vivian’s face hardened. “Yes, and I want to finish and go to bed. So, unless you’re going to help me how about we call it a night?”
“Why should I help? While you’re here to visit us, you might as well do the work that you should be doing.”
The porcelain bowls let out sharp clinking sounds as Vivian moved her hands briskly through the sink. She knew she should keep quiet. The easiest way was simply to admit he is right so he would leave Vivian alone to curse him under her breath. But with every check that she wrote to pay for the college degree that filled his head and emptied her pocketbook; the less inclined she felt to play the role of chastised pupil to his enlightened professor.
Vivian turned towards Harold, her whispered voice coming out like hissing steam.
“My work…my work,” Vivian paused, unsure if she could even speak “my work is paying for education as you know full well. If you have such a problem with it maybe you should quit school and spend more time at the launderette. Since I can’t be around father needs someone to help with the accounts and carry the laundry.”
“When I finish school father won’t need the launderette.” Harold replied calmly, “And you won’t’ need to play anymore tramps and whores.”
Vivian remained silent. She took her hands out of the sink and quickly dried them off. She looked straight at her brother.
“If father only knew how you are talking to me right now…”she said calmly.
“It’s because of father that I am talking to you right now. Do you know why he didn’t go to see your latest picture? Have you given it any thought?”
Vivian was silent, suspecting the answer but knowing that Harold wanted to provide it.
“It was with his blessing that you were able to pursue acting. When he sees you play the characters you play, and how they make Chinese people look like backstabbers and cheats, make loving fathers like him into monsters, and how they make you…” Harold trailed off. Vivian was surprised he didn’t finish his insult. He never pulled any punches with her before.
“They’re just characters, they aren’t real” Vivian replied.
“Yes, but some people…enough people… can’t separate the Chinese on the screen from the Chinese on the street.” He paused for a moment, staring at her intently. Vivian turned back to the sink and began washing the dishes again. She looked at Harold out of the corner of her eye. He leaned against the doorframe, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his forehead.
“You’re lucky you can’t read Chinese, you don’t find out what the newspapers back home say about you.”
“Home?” Vivian laughed, “You mean China?”
“Yes” Harold replied, either oblivious to the incredulity in Vivian’s response or unaffected by it. “China…father wants to live there, to go back to Grandfathers home. There is opportunity there for us. Not like when Grandfather left. Once I become a doctor, we are going.”
Vivian felt the strength go out of her legs but managed to stay standing. It was typical that she wasn’t included in any family plans but didn’t think she would have been left out of one this big.
“You know that I’m not going with you.” Vivian herself couldn’t tell the withering tone of her voice suggested resolve or resignation to that fact.
Harold looked at her for a moment then lowered his head. Vivian thought for a moment he might apologize.
“Your clothes are on the chair by the front door” He said without any hint of emotion in his voice. “Goodnight little sister.”
Vivian collapsed into a nearby chair. Vivian looked around the room. She saw the ashtrays her father left out for his guests. They were clean, unused, and placed in a pile on a side table.
She rubbed her eyes.
Get to bed Viv, your exhausted.
Somehow she couldn’t leave the chair. Although she tried hard to fight them, memories began to flood her mind. For a moment, she thought she saw her mother sitting at the table, waiting for Vivian to join her.
Vivian covered her mouth as tears rolled down her face.
