Free Falling Leaves: The True Story of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter by Adeline Yen Mah Page A

bell would sound and we would file downstairs to the diningroom. There, around an oval table, we settled into our assigned seats. Ye Ye, token master of the house, presided at the head facing the garden, with Aunt Baba to his right, and Father and Niang to his left. Gregory and Edgar sat next to Aunt Baba. James and I were relegated to the foot of the table. In those Shanghai days, Franklin and Susan did not eat with us.
    We presented ourselves nightly in our school uniforms with our hair combed, bladders emptied and hands washed. We sat upright in our seats: anxious and stiff, hoping to be unnoticed. We, the stepchildren, never spoke at the dinner table, not even to each other. Whenever my name was called, an oppressive fear invariably gripped my whole being and my appetite would vanish. Without fail, an unpleasant scene would follow.
    There were always six or seven tasty dishes. Two maids brought in the food: pork loin, roasted chicken, steamed fish, Shanghai crabs, sauteed vegetables, ending with a steaming tureen of hot soup. Father genuinely loved to see his children eat during dinner. We were encouraged to have as many bowls of rice as we wished. It was frowned upon to leave behind any scrap of food, even one grain of rice, in our bowls.
    James and I both had an aversion to fatty meat. We were forced to eat it and soon developed ingenious methods of hoarding chunks of it in our pockets, socks, trouser cuffs, or sticking it to the bottom of the table. Sometimes we would make a dash for the bathroom with our cheeks bulging with
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    fatty meat which would be flushed down the toilet. When all else failed, we swallowed it whole.
    Fresh fruit was always served after dinner. When Father had guests, we ate the leftovers. Though there was less food, we liked to eat by ourselves. It reminded us of the good old days in Tianjin. We did not have to hide the fatty meat. We were free to laugh and talk and be ourselves again.
    A governess was engaged to look after Franklin and Susan, a supposedly educated woman called Miss Chien. Their meals were served separately in their room, and they ordered what they fancied from the kitchen. Austerity apparently ceased on the first floor. They were served bacon and eggs, toast and cereal, fresh strawberries and melons for breakfast. Franklin’s hair was fashionably cut by the best children’s hair stylist in Shanghai. Susan wore brightly coloured dresses trimmed with lace and ribbons. They often outgrew their elaborate costumes before they had a chance to wear them. They received lots of toys and played on their own private balcony. Every afternoon they had tea with finger sandwiches, chocolate biscuits, sweet buns, cakes and pastries.
    Though she was ostensibly Franklin’s tutor, Miss Chien also acted as a spy and informer, reporting back the activities and conversations of those from the second floor. Ingratiating and obliging, Miss Chien never overstepped her boundaries. She and Lydia became friends. Lydia was the only one of us ever to have afternoon tea with them, on the first floor in the antechamber.
    We resented the double standards. Lydia held a series of meetings on the second floor. Various strategies were proposed. Hunger strike? Rebellion? An interview with Father alone? An anonymous letter pointing out the injustices? We whispered and complained and felt very conspiratorial. There were many plans. None was carried out. One Sunday afternoon, James got up to go to the bathroom in the midst of a fantasy plot and found Niang eavesdropping outside the slightly open door. They stared at each other for a few dreadful
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    seconds. Then Niang placed her fingers on her lips and waved him on. James realized that the game was up. He stayed in the bathroom for a long time, fearing the showdown. Finally he returned. Niang had gone. The door remained ajar. Lydia was still plotting. There was a stunned silence when James revealed his discovery. We were terrified. When the dinner bell sounded, the