Free Dead Man's Gold and Other Stories by Paul Yee Page B

“So-ying, this is Lan, my local wife. Lan, this is my First Wife, So-ying, and my son, Jee-wah. So-ying, meet my local daughters.”
    So-ying turned and ran to her room. For twenty-five years, Lok-hay’s letters had declared affection for her. Not once had he mentioned a second wife. Not once had he mentioned having other children. She dropped onto the bed and burst out weeping. The long trip had exhausted her, and very quickly she cried herself to sleep.
    Later, when she saw Lok-hay alone, she whispered, “Why did you not tell me about them?”
    â€œThere was no need,” he replied briskly. “I never thought the Chinese would be allowed to immigrate again. Caught in between, I decided to have one family here, and one in China.”
    â€œYou should have told me,” she protested. “I am your First Wife.”
    â€œYou still are,” he said. “And you are the mother of my son. You have nothing to fear. Are you angry?”
    She looked away and stared at the wall. Eventually she said, “I know that life here was difficult. You were lonely and lacked company.”
    â€œLan is kind and gentle,” her husband insisted. “She speaks English and helps me run this hotel.”
    â€œBut you vowed to come back to China and build a big house.”
    He looked her straight in the eye. “I would have kept my promise. Lan has no desire to go to China. But now the Communists make our return impossible.”
    In the following days, the daughters fitted the newcomers with galoshes and showed them the sights of the city. In a department store, So-ying tried to pay but fumbled counting the correct bills. As the sale was rung through, she grabbed the purchases before a clerk bagged them, causing the stepdaughters to redden in embarrassment. When they registered Jee-wah for school, So-ying stood silently as the girls chatted with the principal and signed all the documents. The boy watched his half-sisters intently, as if he already knew they would soon teach him all about the New World.
    In the hotel, So-ying watched her husband heave heavy coal into boilers that heated the building, soak bedding in cement tubs, and crawl on his knees to wax and polish the long halls. Lan and Lok-hay ran busy through the day, seven days a week. Lan bent over a sewing machine powered by a foot pedal to mend sheets and towels. She dipped pillowcases into starch before ironing them, and explained to So-ying how this extended the life of the cloth. Even during mealtimes, the telephone rang and boarders banged at the counter to borrow keys, pay rent or bemoan the lack of heat. So-ying offered to help, but Lan said respectfully, “You are the First Wife. You don’t need to work.”
    Every night, her son raced to Lan’s apartment to watch television. For hours he sprawled before the swirling lights, mesmerized by the jingles, armed cowboys and constant smiles. Sometimes he fell asleep there and didn’t return until morning. When So-ying complained, her husband replied, “This way he will learn English faster.”
    Now and then, she saw Lok-hay press his lips to Lan’s mouth. So-ying longed to smile the same way as Lan. Sometimes, Lok-hay or Lan took the children to the movies, but So-ying stayed home, as she knew no English. She hid her hurt inside like a mound of ice that couldn’t melt, and sat alone in her room. The faded, yellowing blossoms on the wallpaper brought her no cheer. The sink was rusty, but no matter how she scrubbed, she could not clean it. When she felt the four walls closing in, she ambled along the corridors of each floor by herself.
    On one such stroll, she heard an anguished voice call out, “Save me!”
    She looked around. Again she heard the call for help, and followed it to a door. She tapped lightly on the frame.
    â€œAre you all right?”
    The door swung open. The curtains were drawn shut but a lamp threw a glow over an old man in