Part 18 (1/2)

”You have nothing to give but the boy, well, almost nothing,” he said. ”You can keep wet-nursing my son for a few months. And then I'm sure we can work out some arrangement where we both get what we want. But know this-I can take him from you anytime I wish. A son belongs to his father and the law is on my side. If you do your job well, I'll keep you around. I might even let him live with you.”

”I'm his mother, he's only two years old ...”

”No, you're his nanny. And if you leave town, I will come for you and take him away and you will never see him again. I promise you this.”

Liu Song drifted between the sh.o.r.es of relief and horror. I can keep him for now. She watched as her stepfather lit another cigarette, blowing smoke.

”Your auntie Eng is walking him back to the Bush Hotel right now. You should run along. He'll need his diaper changed.” As he spoke he unconsciously scratched himself inside the waistline of his trousers.

Liu Song slipped away, rubbing her arms for warmth. She wanted to take William and run-despite Uncle Leo's warnings. But she had nowhere to run to.

When she arrived back at her apartment, she found the place eerily quiet. Auntie Eng was nowhere to be seen, a stubbed-out cigarette on the floor outside her door and the accompanying smell were the only evidence of her having been there.

Liu Song trembled with relief when she found the carriage parked in the middle of her apartment, William inside, fast asleep. He looked so still, she worried that something was amiss-she couldn't help but lift him from the carriage and clutch him to her chest, feeling his warmth, his breathing, his moment of joyful, satisfied, comforted wakefulness as he smiled and touched her face. Then she smelled tobacco in his hair and on his clothing. She undressed him and drew a hot bath, wanting to scrub away every fingerprint, every odor, every taint Uncle Leo and Auntie Eng had left on her precious child.

As she dried him off, William looked up at her and smiled. Her heart was awash in hurt and anger, disappointment and fear. She wanted to take him and disappear, run away. Instead she smiled through her tears and sang a lullaby. She tickled his belly b.u.t.ton, pretending everything would be okay.

Parting.

(1925).

When Liu Song woke in the morning, she lit an old candle for her parents and solemnly placed a tea offering in her family shrine, next to the statue of Ho Hsien-ku, the only woman among the eight Chinese Immortals. Liu Song understood that kind of isolation, that loneliness. She couldn't bear to sing or act or perform or even smile. Just putting on a brave face for William when he woke up took all the emotional energy she had left from a hollow, empty, sleepless night. She'd called Mr. b.u.t.terfield from a pay phone and told him she was ill and couldn't string two notes together, and it wasn't far from the truth. As she watched William in his high chair, eating mashed carrots and taro root, she wondered what kind of life she could provide him without Colin's help, material and emotional. Her answer came with a knock on the door.

She knew it would be Colin. She'd run off, half-hoping he would go without saying goodbye but half-dreaming he'd come back and never leave.

His expression as he stood spoke his heart even before he opened his mouth. He looked like he hadn't slept, and he was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on the day before. He didn't come bearing flowers. The only thing he held in his hand was his hat.

”Cowin,” William said, as he smiled with a mouth full of carrots.

Liu Song invited Colin in, but he hesitated, absently waving at her son.

”I'm sorry, Liu Song.” He cleared his throat. ”I had no idea that would happen last night. I knew my father was ill. My mother had sent a telegram months ago, but my mother worries too much. And they've been begging me to come home, offering any excuse for me to give up my dreams. I've ignored them for so long-too long, I guess. I didn't know my father was near death-I'm told he may not even live long enough to see me return. But I have to go.”

Liu Song looked away, glanced at the clock. He must have read her mind.

”We sail today, in a few hours.”

Liu Song heard William saying h.e.l.lo and laughing in his singsong voice. She stepped back as Colin took a step toward her. She stood between him and her son.

”If you asked me to stay ...” Colin hesitated. ”I would ...”

”I would never ask that,” Liu Song said, even as her heart screamed: Ask! ”Family is too important. I could never impose ...”

She watched as his posture, his face, his eyes, relaxed. He seemed relieved, as though a weight had been take off his shoulders. But is he happy I didn't ask him to stay or happy that I understand why he has to leave?

”You must wait for me then.”

Liu Song stared back at him. As if I have a choice.

”But what about your ... fiancee?” Liu Song hated saying the word. ”I know I'm a single girl, without a real family, with a child-not high on anyone's list of candidates for marriage, but I thought we shared something special. I thought I meant more to you. More than just kindred spirits on the stage, before the cameras ...”

Colin chewed his lip, then spoke. ”I'm sorry, Liu Song. I never mentioned her because I never thought I would have to. I figured she'd find someone else and free me from that commitment. She was so far away ... just a forgotten memory. You know I'd rather be here-with you, with William. I mean that. I want you. But I guess a part of me knew that I could only run for so long. I could only avoid my obligations back home for so many seasons. I was afraid to declare myself for you because I knew the past would eventually catch up to me. I hoped for better things ...”

Liu Song couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her heart swelled with his unvarnished adoration-his words confirmed what she'd always felt but was afraid to believe. And yet, now he was leaving. With another woman, a girl much like herself. And none of them knew if or when he might be coming back.

”I can fix this, Liu Song. There is so much happening in America-so much we can accomplish. You know what you want and how to get there. You are your mother's daughter in every way. Keep going without me, keep singing and acting and auditioning. Don't give up on your gift-your talent is large enough to fill the screen. I'll come back as soon as I can. You have to wait for me.” He reached into his billfold and handed her a wad of twenty-dollar bills. She refused, but he placed the cash on the table. It was more money than she'd ever had.

”It's all I have,” he said. ”Buy yourself something nice, something to remember me by, something for William, save it for a rainy day.”

Liu Song smiled, sadly, because she never knew guilt had such a price; besides, it seemed that every day was rainy in Seattle. But in the end there was no one else, Liu Song realized. Just William. She'd wait for Colin as long as she could. There was no one else worth waiting for. And she didn't want to settle for less. She nodded, and Colin wrapped his arms around her, holding her closer than he ever had. She reached up, touched his shoulders, then smelled another woman's perfume and stepped away. She couldn't reconcile his words with his obligations, not yet. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her cheek and saw William smiling and laughing. She felt like crying but laughed back at him. The absurdity of her life was made apparent as he dumped his bowl on the floor. The ceramic didn't break, it merely wobbled to a halt.

”Keep singing, keep acting,” Colin said. ”Don't ever stop. Because that's how I'll find you when you're famous and have moved on.”

Liu Song tried to ignore his flattery, yet savored every word. ”I will.”

”Keep performing.”

My whole life is make-believe, she thought. ”Always.”

”I'll send a telegram as soon as I can. I promise I'll write. I'll take care of this and return and it'll be as though I'd never left.”

Liu Song looked at her son and then at Colin. She collected herself and put on the performance of her life. She swallowed her tears. Then she held Colin's hand and touched his face; his cheek was warm, his skin soft. She smiled bravely and wished him safe travels and every happiness, which she could never have.

Living Arrangements.

(1925).

By late winter Liu Song realized she might be waiting forever. She'd counted the days it took for Colin's steams.h.i.+p to reach Hong Kong and then Canton and the time it would take for a telegram to arrive letting her know that he'd made it home safely and when he might be coming back. Each evening she waited for a messenger boy from Western Union to knock on her door, and each evening she went to bed disappointed. She knew that telegrams were expensive, especially from overseas, so she didn't expect much, a few words at best, but she didn't expect silence either. When weeks of silence stretched to months, she learned to accept that quiescence as another kind of message, one she received loud and clear.

She tried to forget about Colin by staying busy at the music store, but even that happy distraction proved to be short-lived as months rolled by without selling a single player piano, even during the holiday season, when all she sang were songs like ”Greensleeves,” ”The Twelve Days of Christmas,” and ”Silent Night.”

William loved the holiday songs. He played inside, where it was warm, peering through the window and waving while Liu Song stood outside as it rained and rained. She smiled and kissed him through the cold gla.s.s.

Despite her street performances, which still drew large crowds, Mr. b.u.t.terfield had struggled to sell even a quarter of the sheet music he'd ordered. Everything about b.u.t.terfield's seemed old now, used, unwanted, everything collecting dust. Hand-painted advertis.e.m.e.nts and discounts hadn't helped.

William clapped and said, ”Sheng dan kuai le.” Liu Song looked at him and raised an eyebrow until he switched to English. ”Merry Cwismas,” he said as she walked into the store to take her break. She was proud of William's English but tired of feeling so alone during such a festive season. She sat down across from her employer.

”I'm afraid we're done for, dear,” Mr. b.u.t.terfield announced as he pored over his ledger and emptied his flask into a crystal tumbler with a cracked bottom.