Читать книгу A Cold Season In Shanghai - S.P. Hozy - Страница 10

Olga came to visit me today. It has stopped snowing, so she had my niece Anastasia drive her over in the car. Once a week, weather permitting, Anastasia takes her mother out shopping in the car so she can buy her meat from the butcher, her fruit and vegetables from the greengrocer, and her bread from the baker. Olga says she will never shop in those grocery stores where they sell everything “from canned soup to canned nuts.” She always buys the best and brings me some because I don't have a car. Anastasia, who has two children of her own now, is the perfect daughter and niece. She seems genuinely pleased to see me whenever she comes, and she takes the time to have a real conversation with me. Unlike her mother. Olga spends our time together grilling me about my bad habits. How many cigarettes have I smoked today? How much have I had to drink? Am I eating properly? She's still the older, wiser, and in her mind, more experienced sister.

“I had a letter from Lily today,” I tell her.

“Lily Tang?”

“Yes. Lily Tang. From Shanghai.”

“You're kidding,” Olga said. “I thought she was dead.”

“I didn't know she was still alive either. I haven't heard from her in years,” I said. “But she is alive, and she's been living in a village, working in an orphanage. When the Communists took over, she was too old to be of much use, I suppose, except to look after children.”

“But how can she afford to come here?”

“Her youngest brother has sponsored her. Apparently he owns a restaurant in Toronto. Isn't that amazing? And he's applied to have her come as a nursemaid for his grandchildren. She wants to stay with me for a few days before she goes to live with him.”

“You mean Lily's going to be an amah?”

“Yes,” I said. “Sad, isn't it?”

“So many terrible things,” said Olga. “I mean, to have her child taken away from her and everything.” Olga was putting away the groceries she'd brought me, even though I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself. It's her way of letting me know she thinks I'm incompetent. One of the ways, because there are many. Olga thinks that because I never had children, I don't know anything about keeping house. But she's wrong; I know enough to do what I have to do.

“I know. I don't imagine she ever got over that,” I said, watching her.

“How could anyone?” my sister said. “And he was such a talented little boy.”

“I know. I wonder whatever happened to him?”

“Maybe she'll be able to tell you. She must have had some contact with him.” Olga sighs and looks around when she's done. “Everything's so shabby,” she says. She's looking at my old sofa and matching chair, upholstered in green fabric with large cabbage roses on it. “It's depressing.”

I've never cared much about domestic things. In Shanghai, I used to have a maid who came in every day to tidy up and do my laundry. Here a maid would be unthinkable, not to mention beyond my means. I live in an apartment over a hardware store on Gerrard Street in the east end of the city, and it suits me just fine. I have to climb a steep set of stairs to get up here, but for now that's not a problem. Someday I'll have to think about moving. Olga thinks it's low class.

“Only poor people live in apartments,” she tells me. “Especially apartments over stores. Respectable people live in houses.”

“Well, I'm not exactly rich,” I remind her. I'm treading a fine line here, because Olga and Jean Paul have offered to give me money many times, and I have always refused. “And besides, the hardware store has a quiet clientele, it closes at five o'clock every afternoon, and there are no cooking smells or cockroaches, no screaming neighbours and plenty of hot water. I never have to cut the grass or shovel snow. I'm quite content with my three rooms and kitchen.”

“For God's sake, Mother,” Anastasia says in exasperation, “leave Aunt Tati alone. She doesn't come into your house and criticize everything.” Olga gives me a look that says, You wouldn't dare. There's nothing in my house to criticize. But she remains silent. She knows she's crossed a line, and she's embarrassed that her daughter has seen it. It's a pattern that goes back a long way in our lives. I have never lived up to Olga's expectations.

“I'm sorry,” she mutters finally, but I know the next time she visits, she'll find fault with something else. On her way out the door, Olga turns. “Did they ever find out who killed that young man, Daniel?”

“Not that I know of,” I replied.

“Wasn't that brother of Lily's involved with the Green Gang? He was some kind of gangster, wasn't he?”

“You mean Number Two Brother,” I said. “He wasn't really a gangster, but he had a lot of power. He had some kind of government position. And the Green Gang had a lot of political connections. They wanted to get the foreign business interests out of China.”

“That's right,” said Olga. “Now I remember. You don't think he had anything to do with it, do you?”

“I can't imagine why he would,” I lied, “but I've always wondered.” I don't tell her of my suspicion that Lily's brother and Lily's husband arranged to have Daniel murdered. And I also don't tell her there were things I knew about Daniel that I should have told the police and didn't.

“Hmph,” Olga grunted as she made her way down the stairs in her heavy coat and fur-lined snow boots. “Ask Lily when she gets here.”

After Olga and Anastasia leave, I settle into my shabby but comfortable armchair and read Lily's letter again. It's clumsily written, as if she's translated it badly from Chinese. I think back to all those English classes with Mrs. Wilkinson and realize Lily probably stopped speaking English after the Communists took over.

“Dear Tatiana,” she writes,

I am sure you never would think to hear from me again, but I have found you. I have stayed living in China all these years and looking after children in an orphanage that Chairman Mao himself has built. It is a fine place for children who have no parents. They learn to read and write so they can be the best Chinese people for our Fearless Leader.

Now I find out my Number Three Brother has a restaurant in Toronto Canada. He has ask me to come and look after his grandchildren. Such an honour. The government has finally give me a passport so I can come. Now I will be able to see my old friend Tatiana if she will let me stay with her for a visit. The ship will come to Vancouver in February and then I will take the train to Toronto. There are many years to talk about. Many memories. So sorry not to write before but I am very busy with the children. I hope you look forward to seeing me.

Your old friend, Lily Tang.”

So many memories, I thought. Did I really want to relive those times?