Mrs. Spring Fragrance
partner, as under the red glare of the lanterns they sat discussing the
sad event.
“But you are not without consolation,” returned Leung Tsao. “Your
firstborn grows in strength and beauty.”
“True,” assented Wou Sankwei, his heavy thoughts becoming lighter.
And Pau Lin, in her curtained balcony overhead, drew closer her child
and passionately cried:
“Sooner would I, O heart of my heart, that the light of thine eyes were
also quenched, than that thou shouldst be contaminated with the wisdom
of the new.”
V
The Chinese women friends of Wou Pau Lin gossiped among themselves, and
their gossip reached the ears of the American woman friend of Pau Lin’s
husband. Since the days of her widowhood Mrs. Dean had devoted herself
earnestly and whole-heartedly to the betterment of the condition and the
uplifting of the young workingmen of Chinese race who came to America.
Their appeal and need, as she had told her niece, was for closer
acquaintance with the knowledge of the Western people, and _that_ she
had undertaken to give them, as far as she was able. The rewards and
satisfactions of her work had been rich in some cases. Witness Wou
Sankwei.
But the gossip had reached and much perturbed her. What was it that they
said Wou Sankwei’s wife had declared—that her little son should not go
to an American school nor learn the American learning. Such bigotry and
narrow-mindedness! How sad to think of! Here was a man who had benefited
and profited by living in America, anxious to have his son receive the
benefits of a Western education—and here was this man’s wife opposing
him with her ignorance and hampering him with her unreasonable jealousy.
Yes, she had heard that too. That Wou Sankwei’s wife was
jealous—jealous—and her husband the most moral of men, the kindest and
the most generous.
“Of what is she jealous?” she questioned Adah Charlton. “Other Chinese
men’s wives, I have known, have had cause to be jealous, for it is true
some of them are dreadfully immoral and openly support two or more
wives. But not Wou Sankwei. And this little Pau Lin. She has everything
that a Chinese woman could wish for.”
A sudden flash of intuition came to the girl, rendering her for a moment
speechless. When she did find words, she said:
“Everything that a Chinese woman could wish for, you say. Auntie, I do
not believe there is any real difference between the feelings of a
Chinese wife and an American wife. Sankwei is treating Pau Lin as he
would treat her were he living in China. Yet it cannot be the same to
her as if she were in their own country, where he would not come in
contact with American women. A woman is a woman with intuitions and
perceptions, whether Chinese or American, whether educated or
uneducated, and Sankwei’s wife must have noticed, even on the day of her
arrival, her husband’s manner towards us, and contrasted it with his
manner towards her. I did not realize this before you told me that she
was jealous. I only wish I had. Now, for all her ignorance, I can see
that the poor little thing became more of an American in that one half
hour on the steamer than Wou Sankwei, for all your pride in him, has
become in seven years.”
Mrs. Dean rested her head on her hand. She was evidently much perplexed.
“What you say may be, Adah,” she replied after a while; “but even so, it
is Sankwei whom I have known so long, who has my sympathies. He has much
to put up with. They have drifted seven years of life apart. There is no
bond of interest or sympathy between them, save the boy. Yet never the
slightest hint of trouble has come to me from his own lips. Before the
coming of Pau Lin, he would confide in me every little thing that
worried him, as if he were my own son. Now he maintains absolute silence
as to his private affairs.”
“Chinese principles,” observed Adah, resuming her work. “Yes, I admit
Sankwei has some puzzles to solve. Naturally, when he tries to live two
lives—that of a Chinese and that of an American.”
“He is compelled to that,” retorted Mrs. Dean. “Is it not what we teach
these Chinese boys—to become Americans? And yet, they are Chinese, and
must, in a sense, remain so.”
Adah did not answer.
Mrs. Dean sighed. “Poor, dear children, both of them,” mused she. “I
feel very low-spirited over the matter. I suppose you wouldn’t care to
come down town with me. I should like to have another chat with Mrs.
Wing Sing.”
“I shall be glad of the change,” replied Adah, laying down her brushes.
Rows of lanterns suspended from many balconies shed a mellow, moonshiny
radiance. On the walls and doors were splashes of red paper inscribed
with hieroglyphics. In the narrow streets, booths decorated with
flowers, and banners and screens painted with immense figures of josses
diverted the eye; while bands of musicians in gaudy silks, shrilled and
banged, piped and fluted.
Everybody seemed to be out of doors—men, women, and children—and nearly
all were in holiday attire. A couple of priests, in vivid scarlet and
yellow robes, were kotowing before an altar covered with a rich cloth,
embroidered in white and silver. Some Chinese students from the
University of California stood looking on with comprehending,
half-scornful interest; three girls lavishly dressed in colored silks,
with their black hair plastered back from their faces and heavily
bejewelled behind, chirped and chattered in a gilded balcony above them
like birds in a cage. Little children, their hands full of
half-moon-shaped cakes, were pattering about, with eyes, for all the
hour, as bright as stars.
Chinatown was celebrating the Harvest Moon Festival, and Adah Charlton
was glad that she had an opportunity to see something of the celebration
before she returned East. Mrs. Dean, familiar with the Chinese people
and the mazes of Chinatown, led her around fearlessly, pointing out this
and that object of interest and explaining to her its meaning. Seeing
that it was a gala night, she had abandoned her idea of calling upon the
Chinese friend.
Just as they turned a corner leading up to the street where Wou
Sankwei’s place of business and residence was situated, a pair of little
hands grasped Mrs. Dean’s skirt and a delighted little voice piped: “See
me! See me!” It was little Yen, resplendent in mauve-colored pantaloons
and embroidered vest and cap. Behind him was a tall man whom both women
recognized.
“How do you happen to have Yen with you?” Adah asked.
“His father handed him over to me as a sort of guide, counsellor, and
friend. The little fellow is very amusing.”
“See over here,” interrupted Yen. He hopped over the alley to where the
priests stood by the altar. The grown people followed him.
“What is that man chanting?” asked Adah. One of the priests had mounted
a table, and with arms outstretched towards the moon sailing high in the
heavens, seemed to be making some sort of an invocation.
Her friend listened for some moments before replying:
“It is a sort of apotheosis of the moon. I have heard it on a like
occasion in Hankow, and the Chinese _bonze_ who officiated gave me a
translation. I almost know it by heart. May I repeat it to you?”
Mrs. Dean and Yen were examining the screen with the big josses.
“Yes, I should like to hear it,” said Adah.
“Then fix your eyes upon Diana.”
“Dear and lovely moon, as I watch thee pursuing thy solitary course o’er
the silent heavens, heart-easing thoughts steal o’er me and calm my
passionate soul. Thou art so sweet, so serious, so serene, that thou
causest me to forget the stormy emotions which crash like jarring
discords across the harmony of life, and bringest to my memory a voice
scarce ever heard amidst the warring of the world—love’s low voice.
“Thou art so peaceful and so pure that it seemeth as if naught false or
ignoble could dwell beneath thy gentle radiance, and that
earnestness—even the earnestness of genius—must glow within the bosom of
him on whose head thy beams fall like blessings.
“The magic of thy sympathy disburtheneth me of many sorrows, and
thoughts, which, like the songs of the sweetest sylvan singer, are too
dear and sacred for the careless ears of day, gush forth with
unconscious eloquence when thou art the only listener.
“Dear and lovely moon, there are some who say that those who dwell in
the sunlit fields of reason should fear to wander through the moonlit
valleys of imagination; but I, who have ever been a pilgrim and a
stranger in the realm of the wise, offer to thee the homage of a heart
which appreciates that thou graciously shinest—even on the fool.”
“Is that really Chinese?” queried Adah.
“No doubt about it—in the main. Of course, I cannot swear to it word for
word.”
“I should think that there would be some reference to the fruits of the
earth—the harvest. I always understood that the Chinese religion was so
practical.”
“Confucianism is. But the Chinese mind requires two religions. Even the
most commonplace Chinese has yearnings for something above everyday
life. Therefore, he combines with his Confucianism, Buddhism—or, in this
country, Christianity.”
“Thank you for the information. It has given me a key to the mind of a
certain Chinese in whom Auntie and I are interested.”
“And who is this particular Chinese in whom you are interested.”
“The father of the little boy who is with us tonight.”
“Wou Sankwei! Why, here he comes with Lee Tong Hay. Are you acquainted
with Lee Tong Hay?”
“No, but I believe Aunt is. Plays and sings in vaudeville, doesn’t he?”
“Yes; he can turn himself into a German, a Scotchman, an Irishman, or an
American, with the greatest ease, and is as natural in each character as
he is as a Chinaman. Hello, Lee Tong Hay.”
“Hello, Mr. Stimson.”
While her friend was talking to the lively young Chinese who had
answered his greeting, Adah went over to where Wou Sankwei stood
speaking to Mrs. Dean.
“Yen begins school next week,” said her aunt, drawing her arm within her
own. It was time to go home.
Adah made no reply. She was settling her mind to do something quite out
of the ordinary. Her aunt often called her romantic and impractical.
Perhaps she was.
VI
“Auntie went out of town this morning,” said Adah Charlton. “I, ’phoned
for you to come up, Sankwei because I wished to have a personal and
private talk with you.”
“Any trouble, Miss Adah,” inquired the young merchant. “Anything I can
do for you?”
Mrs. Dean often called upon him to transact little business matters for
her or to consult with him on various phases of her social and family
life.
“I don’t know what I would do without Sankwei’s head to manage for me,”
she often said to her niece.
“No,” replied the girl, “you do too much for us. You always have, ever
since I’ve known you. It’s a shame for us to have allowed you.”
“What are you talking about, Miss Adah? Since I came to America your
aunt has made this house like a home to me, and, of course, I take an
interest in it and like to do anything for it that a man can. I am
always happy when I come here.”
“Yes, I know you are, poor old boy,” said Adah to herself.
Aloud she said: “I have something to say to you which I would like you
to hear. Will you listen, Sankwei?”
“Of course I will,” he answered.
“Well then,” went on Adah, “I asked you to come here today because I
have heard that there is trouble at your house and that your wife is
jealous of you.”
“Would you please not talk about that, Miss Adah. It is a matter which
you cannot understand.”
“You promised to listen and heed. I do understand, even though I cannot
speak to your wife nor find out what she feels and thinks. I know you,
Sankwei, and I can see just how the trouble has arisen. As soon as I