Chapter One
Homecoming
* * *
The skyline of the Bund came into view as the steam liner SS President Coolidge pulled into the port on the Whangpoo River. On the fifth deck, Yuan Guo-Hui joined the rest of the first-class passengers by the door, waiting to disembark.
Six years had passed since he had left his hometown of Shanghai to study in America, but the sight of the buildings lining the waterfront had not changed. From the Custom House with its clock tower built in imitation of Big Ben, to the Banque de l’Indochine with its iconic columns and arched gate, to the Sassoon House famed for being the first skyscraper in the Far East, to the Yokohama Specie Bank Building with the Japanese flag flying high on top. Every structure was just as he remembered it.
Dominating them all was the Shanghai and Hong Kong Bank. Known for its neoclassic facade and marble interior, it had been called the most luxurious building from the Suez Canal to the Bering Strait. Its magnificent dome sat like a crown jewel at the center of the strip.
“Mr. Yuan.” A ship attendant came up to him. “Everything is all set. I made all the arrangements myself. Your trunks will be delivered this afternoon to your home as soon as we dock.”
“Thank you.” Guo-Hui put down his small suitcase, pulled out his wallet from his suit pocket, and placed a U.S. one dollar bill into the attendant’s hand.
The attendant’s mouth fell agape. His eyes gleamed, and a smile spread across his face. “Thank you. Thank you very much, sir,” he repeated profusely and bowed his head before he walked away.
Guo-Hui picked up his suitcase as the ship moved closer to shore and the junks rushed to get out of its way. A swell of excitement rose in his heart as he watched the sampans carrying fishermen riding out to the sea for the day’s catch. The voices of the passengers grew, their energy nearing burst as the vessel stopped and the ship’s exit opened for them to depart.
“So long, Clark,” a man traveling with his wife and young son called out to him. It was the family from Philadelphia that stayed in the cabin next to him during the three weeks they were at sea. An insurance company had sent him here to take on a managerial role at their branch office in Shanghai.
“Bye, Mr. Yuan,” their son said and waved. In the long hours of the afternoons on board the ship, Guo-Hui had taught the nine-year-old how to play chess.
“Goodbye, Clark.” The wife picked up the boy’s hand. “Take good care.”
“You too, ma’am.” Guo-Hui tipped his hat. Clark was the English name he’d adopted when he lived in America. The foreigners had such a hard time remembering his name. It was easier this way. Besides, he quite liked the name Clark. He took it from the actor Clark Gable. After years of being called ‘Clark,’ even he thought of himself more as Clark than Guo-Hui.
The man shook his hand. “Come on by and see us. You know where we’ll be.”
“I will.” Clark watched them step ahead out into their new world. He’d done the best he could to prepare them mentally for life in Shanghai, especially the wife. The poor woman had no idea how drastically her life was about to change. She was thrilled for a chance to escape the Depression and to live in an exotic country she’d only read about. She’d gushed that it would be an adventure of the lifetime. It would be that all right, only there would be many adventures that she wouldn’t find very pleasant, like the squat toilets.
Slowly, Clark walked onto the platform off the ship. On the serene campus of Wesleyan University, how could he explain to his fellow classmates and professors what Shanghai was like? How could they imagine this scene? Crowds of men unloading piles and piles of cargo off clusters of boats gathered in utter disarray around the narrow wooden ramps. Hundreds of automobiles traversing up and down the avenue from every direction in no order whatsoever while masses of pedestrians crisscrossed the streets, seemingly without the slightest fear of being run over. There was nothing like this in America. Not even in New York City.
And the noise! Once outside, a myriad of noises hit him. Shouts of laborers transporting loads of cotton and tea to the port for export overseas. Greetings of hawkers soliciting the hordes boarding and disembarking ships, and the honks of trucks and rings of bicycles weaving through, driving them to scatter away. One of the trucks nearly hit a rickshaw crossing its way. The truck driver yelled out the window, and the rickshaw coolie cursed him back.
“Ge!” The crisp voice of a young woman cut through the crowd. “Ge! Over here!”
Clark turned to the direction of the voice. His sister Wen-Ying, two years his junior, was waving at him. With her was another young lady dressed in a Western-style white blouse and a blue skirt. Was that Wen-Li? His youngest sister? He could hardly believe his eyes even though his family had sent him photos over the years. She was only eleven when he left for the States.
“Wen-Ying!” He hurried over to them. “Mei Mei? You’re Mei Mei?” His family had always called Wen-Li “Mei Mei,” an endearing term meaning little sister, because she was the youngest. “Let me look at you. You’re all grown up!”
“Every day, I think of you.” Mei Mei’s face brightened with a big smile. She looked so much like their mother, with her oval face, phoenix eyes, and dainty cherry lips.
“Not only all grown up, but also the school flower.” Wen-Ying threw her a teasing look. A school flower was an honorary title that students gave to the most beautiful girl in their school.
Mei Mei pouted. The braids running down her neck swung as she turned her face. “You’re making fun of me.”
Clark chuckled. He took a good look at Wen-Ying. In her white floral-patterned qipao with her hair parted to one side in finger waves, she looked every bit like a proper young lady from a well-reputed family. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he told his other sister.
“No need to flatter me. I look like father. Beauty—Mei Mei can have all of it.” She threw their little sister another glance, this time with indulgence and adoration. It was true. Their mother was a known beauty in her younger days. People always told their father how fortunate he was to have married such a good-looking wife.
“Young Master!” A man in a dark gray Chinese tunic suit joined them.
“Uncle Six,” Clark greeted the man. Uncle Six had served as the Yuan family’s head of household staff and his father’s right hand since Clark was a child.
“Young Master. Good to have you home.” Uncle Six looked at Clark from head to toe. “You’ve grown tall!”
“Yes,” Clark said. In fact, at one hundred eighty centimeters, he’d reached a height taller than most Chinese men. Clark stared back at him. “What happened to your hair?” He didn’t remember the loyal servant being bald at the top of his head.
Uncle Six let out a hearty laugh. “Got old. Got old.” He held out his hand. “Come. Let me help you. The car’s waiting.”
Clark handed over his small suitcase. Uncle Six took it and led the way. As they walked, the savory smell of fried pork buns drew Clark’s attention to the food vendors on the side of the street. Scallion pancakes, soup dumplings, egg pancakes, glass noodle soups. Food he’d longed to taste over the years when he lived in America. He wanted them all.
“Buy some flowers, sir?” A little girl came up to them. Her pants reached only above her ankles and her shoes were almost falling apart. Before he knew it, five other children followed, all holding out stems of wilting peonies. “Want to buy some flowers, sir?”
Clark slowed his steps. The little girl lifted her head and smiled. All he could see were the gaps in her teeth. With hesitation, he reached his hand into his pocket.
Looking straight ahead without any change of expression, Wen-Ying placed her hand firmly on his wrist. “Don’t.”
Clark curled his fingers, then dropped his hand. She was right, of course. These children were most likely pawns of gangsters and swindlers preying on the sympathy of unwitting travelers. An act of generosity would not benefit the children. Rather, it would encourage the perpetrators to kidnap and abuse children to run more of such schemes. Still, six years away from home must have softened his heart. He wanted to help the girl.
“Shoo. Shoo.” Uncle Six swatted at the children, keeping a distance in case they had lice. “Go away.”
Finding no success, the children soon lost interest and went away to hustle a foreign couple walking toward them.
Clark turned his head slightly and glanced at the kids. This will change, he thought to himself. China will rise and get better. This was why he decided to return home instead of continuing his studies for a master’s degree overseas. The country needed capable people to build a better society. He was fortunate enough to have been born into a wealthy family and given educational opportunities beyond the reach of most people. It was time for him to take up the mantle and contribute his part.
They came to their Cadillac parked on the sidewalk and found their chauffeur, Huang Shifu, in a heated argument with another chauffeur. The other driver’s Rolls Royce was blocking half the road.
“What’s going on?” Wen-Ying demanded to know.
“Da xiao jie,” Huang addressed Wen-Ying and pointed at the other driver, “he wants me to move my car. How can he be so unreasonable? I was here first.”
“This is Mr. Keswick’s usual spot.” The other driver held his hands to his waist. “Mr. Keswick will be arriving any minute. You need to move.”
Wen-Ying stepped forward. “Why? Keswick doesn’t own the road. Do you know who we are? We have as much right to park here as he does. In Shanghai, who hasn’t heard of our Yuan family?”
Keswick’s chauffeur pressed his lips and cowered. His nervous eyes shifted left and right.
Clark came forward between them. “Let it go.” He pulled his sister’s arm. “Don’t argue with him anymore. We’re leaving anyway.” He glanced at the Rolls Royce’s driver. “You can have the spot.”
“But Young Master—” Huang protested.
“Never mind. I want to go home.”
Grudgingly, Huang opened the passenger door of the Cadillac. Mei Mei climbed in while Uncle Six handed him the suitcase and took the passenger’s seat in the front. Wen-Ying glared at the Rolls Royce’s driver before taking her seat, and Clark got in after her. Huang mumbled another insult to the other chauffeur as he put Clark’s small suitcase into the trunk. The other chauffeur started to say something back, but held his tongue and returned to his car.
On the way, Wen-Ying started to gripe. “Keswick. Who does he think he is? Stepping all over us Chinese on our own land. He’s nothing but another British thief robbing China dry. He and his lot don’t belong here. This is our city. Our country.”
“He’s a board member of the Shanghai Municipal Council,” Mei Mei said. The SMP was the local governing body of the British and American concessions that made up the International Settlement. Only the wealthiest taipans could be nominated to serve as its twelve members.
“Hm!” Wen-Ying sneered. “Shanghai’s more than just the International Settlement. These British taipans only run it because they took a piece of land from us by force.”
“You wouldn’t dare to say that out loud at work.” Mei Mei sneaked a smile.
“Work?” That piqued Clark’s interest. “You never mentioned you’re working in your letters. Why do you have to work? What kind of job are you holding?”
“She’s a translator for the British consulate.” Mei Mei’s grin grew wider.
“The British consulate!” Clark’s mouth dropped. “I thought you hate the British.”
“I despise them.” Wen-Ying folded her hands on her lap. “I’m there to keep an eye on what they’re doing next to take advantage of us Chinese. Besides, my job enables me to stay aware of all their major business transactions in this city. I use the information to steer businesses to our family’s companies. If those snakes take from us, we’ll take back from them.” She lifted her chin.
Clark smiled and sat back into the seat. He understood how she felt, but the British and other foreigners dominated the most prosperous parts of Shanghai. No amount of frustration could change the situation.
“She even has an English name,” Mei Mei said. “Estella.”
“Estella?” Clark laughed. “It sounds nice.”
“Mr. Findlay, her boss, gave it to her.”
Wen-Ying’s frown grew deeper. “Findlay’s an idiot. He didn’t even give me a choice. He simply decided to call me Estella because he can’t pronounce my name. These people. They live in our country for years and years, and they can’t be bothered to learn to speak our language.”
“Well, I think Estella suits you,” Clark said. “I should call you Estella from now on.”
Wen-Ying glowered at him.
“Take it easy.” Clark patted her on the shoulder. “Try to keep an open mind. Not all foreigners are bad. I made a lot of good friends in America.”
“Clearly, you’ve been living abroad too long,” Wen-Ying said. “It’s polluted your mind. The Americans aren’t any better. They’re all foreign invaders.”
“Maybe you should go studying abroad like I did, then you’ll find out not all of them are that bad.”
Uncle Six, who rarely interjected himself in their family conversations, turned around from the front seat. “I agree. Da xiao jie has a better business mind than men. She steers a lot of British businesses our way. If she has a foreign degree, everyone, watch out.”
“I wouldn’t go if my life depended on it. I’m fine right where I am.” She sat even straighter. Her expression firm and unmoved.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. We’re home.” Mei Mei looked past Wen-Ying and said to Clark, “Ba and Ma are very anxious to see you.”
The chauffeur turned the corner and Clark’s thoughts shifted to his parents, who were waiting for him at home.
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