THE PRIDE OF HIS HOUSE
A Story of Honolulu's Chinatown
By Dr. Yamei Kin.
IN one corner of the picturesque city of Honolulu may be found a home
like so many other Chinese homes of men who have gone abroad to seek
a livelihood. Over the general merchandise and drygoods store of Li
Sing Hing is a suite of apartments reached by a flight of steep stairs,
scarcely more than a ladder. The first room at the head of the stairs is
quite large, and used for a reception room or parlor, and furnished
according to the taste and means of the master. One side was occupied
with an old-fashioned set of three straight chairs and a capacious sofa, all
upholstered in green reps. A grandfather's clock stood in the corner,
slowly ticking the time away. Various chromos such as Wide Awake,
Fast Asleep, Christ Before Pilate and other specimens of European art
adorned the walls, for Ah Sing had a fair knowledge of the English
language, and was considered one of the most enterprising merchants.
Several bright colored carpet rugs were spread over the cool, light
matting. But on the other side of the room Ah Sing had let his soul down
from the mazes of Western civilization which he was earnestly trying to
master by hanging up a couple of scroll pictures in the usual style of
Chinese water-color painting. The landscape scenes reminded him of the
hills around the village from which he had come, and where he hoped
some day his bones might repose beside those of his ancestors. Under
these scrolls stood a pair of beautifully carved teak wood Chinese chairs,
with a small square tea table to match between. The most highly prized
article was a long panel, on which was written a sentence from the
ancient classics. The firm yet graceful lines of the characters made
almost a picture in themselves, and showed a master's scholarly hand.
Every time Ah Sing read the sentiment, "The superior man preserves
harmony," he recalled the face of his old teacher as he amplified the terse
statements of the ancients, and with much note and comment revealed the
full extent of wisdom inclosed; how he had emphasized the duties a man
owed to his ancestors and the obligation to leave a posterity, which
should perform the same duties, so that the spirits of the departed should
not wander homeless and hungry without a son to offer sacrifices to
them. This was to be remembered in the midst of striving for the calm
and dignity that belonged to the superior man. But it was so easy to for-[illustration omitted]
get in the new life he was surrounded with,
just as the old green rep sofa was the most natural thing to drop into on
entering the room, rather than the stately carved Chinese chairs. Sundry
pieces of bric-a-brac stood on brackets and what-nots around the room.
Pink and blue Dresden shepherdesses jostled mandarins in full official
costume. A group of the Eight Immortals smiled benignly at terra cotta
figures of dancing girls and a Dutch flute player. But the special article
of pride was a great glass chandelier hung in the middle of the room, full
of many sparkling pendants. These failed to relieve altogether the cold
whiteness which reminded one too forcibly of a funeral; hence, several
little red baskets filled with gay artificial flowers and with red and green
tassels attached, and in addition three or four [illustration omitted] rows
of pink flowered globes off a job lot of hand-lamps that he had bought at
an auction, so that when the chandelier was lighted up the bits of color
made it truly Oriental in effect. Under the chandelier stood a round,
inlaid table also handsomely carved, for the master had prospered in his
business and could afford much more display than he ordinarily made.
The windows overlooked a small back yard filled with rows of pot plants
and a few shrubs, but mostly boxes and things out of the store occupied
the available space. To the left a door ajar showed a kitchen with an
array of brass and copper sauce-pans and an earthen range with its big
hole for the rice pot, and smaller holes for the other things. Wood
chopped fine was piled up ready to stick into the spaces under the holes
to furnish heat to cook with. This was an improved range and had a hood
connected with the chimney in the back, so that no smoke could escape
to blacken the room, as with many of the common ranges. The pictures
of the kitchen god and goddess were pasted up as usual over a small
shelf, bearing an offering of rice and wine and lighted tapers floated in a
cup of nut oil.
The breeze drawing through the windows blew open the door on
the opposite side of the parlor, and disclosed what seemed to be a bed-room, but the bed-stead was an importation from China, with a beautiful
carved canopy and side pieces, but without springs, and not any more
comfortable to sleep on than the Chinese chairs were to sit upon, though
costly and of fine workmanship. On the edge of the bed sat a woman
about thirty-two or three years of age, rather tall for a Chinese woman,
but with too large a mouth and nose to be called pretty; however her
delicately arched eyebrows and oval outline of face, with its pale ivory
tinted skin of exquisite texture, and air of refinement showed her to be of
rather better blood than most of the women one sees in the mercantile
communities which have grown up from the coolie laborer abroad.
Moreover, her feet had been partially bound in youth, so that she wore a
shoe six inches long, which, though not up to the fashionable
measurement of two and a half inches, yet redeemed her from the stigma
of being a common slave or a boat woman. Her dress was of the
simplest—a pair of black trousers reaching to the ankles and a blue cotton
tunic or wide-sleeved jacket called a "saam." She sat in deep meditation,
and finally clasping her hands together, jingling the heavy bracelets, said
aloud: "Ai ya, why have all my pray-
ers and sacrifices failed?
Kwan Yin has indeed been deaf. I wonder what I could have done to be
so unfortunate." Just then the outer door of the parlor opened. A young
man of medium height, smooth-shaven except the queue, came slowly
across, near to where the woman was sitting, and stood hesitating. Ah
Sing's round, boyish face, usually so bright and cheerful, was troubled to-day, and it was some time before he asked: "Well, what did the new
doctor say?" "Oh, I don't think this one amounts to any more than the
others. She will not even give me one dose of medicine. I have been
twice, and she says there is no hope." His face fell, for he had hoped
more than he had been willing to acknowledge to himself even. Drawing
towards him a pipe standing on a table near by, he sat down on the little
bamboo stool, and for a few moments the gurgling of the water as the
smoke passed through the pipe was the only sound. Then making a
distinct effort, he remarked: "I am the last one of our branch of the clan."
"Yes," she assented. "How long have we been married, Yut Ho?"
"Sixteen years," she replied. Then he sat silent again, and smoked a few
puffs more. "We have had no children at all," he said gently. She
nodded her head, as he went on with a sigh. "I wish we did not have to
do this thing. You have been a good wife to me in every way, but it can't
be helped." "I know it," she said, and rose, passing through the parlor to
the kitchen, where she busied herself with preparations for the evening
meal. Once in a while her tear-dimmed eyes glanced up at the teacher's
panel and she wondered vaguely why it should be so hard to fulfill her
part in preserving harmony. But the last thought as she went to sleep that
night was an echo of her husband's words. It can't be helped—it must be
done. A few days after this, Yut Ho might have been seen one afternoon
dressed to go out calling, with fresh, new satin shoes, black, shining
trousers, and a handsome light blue saam or jacket; covered, however,
while going through the streets by a saam of black similar to the trousers,
so that she should present the quiet aspect of a respectable woman; but
on entering the house where she was to spend the afternoon, she would
lay the upper garment off and appear in the style that befitted her
position. The house where she called was that of a poor woman, so far
as this world's goods go, but blessed with a large family, among whom
were several young girls. The mother rose and greeted respectfully the
wife of Li Sing Hing, and hurried her daughters, who moved easily
about, not having bound feet, to bring tea and refreshments, inwardly
wondering to what she owed the honor of a call. Gradually, as the
afternoon wore on, she surmised that the rumors she had heard were true.
Yut Ho had given up all hope of having a son of her own, and was
looking for a hand-maiden to serve her to bear an heir for the family. At
first she resented the thought of any of her daughters going in a
secondary capacity, though they were of the large-footed class, for girls
of any kind were much sought after by young men growing up, since it
was different from China, where a wife could easily be found. But she
reflected, Li Sing Hing was rich and generous, and could afford to keep
her daughter in much more comfort than she would have as the only wife
of a laborer. Moreover, if she should be the mother of a son, her position
would be assured, or even honorable, and the more she looked at the
kindly, strong face of Yut Ho, and was impressed with her refinement
and good breeding, and the more she felt that her daughter would perhaps
be more kindly treated than if left to the caprice of a mother-in-law, who,
in her querulous old age, might be hard to please. Of course, none of this
was expressed in the chat of the two women, though Yut Ho stayed till
late in the afternoon, but they each understood the attitude of the other.
That evening, when Ah Sing returned, his wife asked if he had made any
arrangements or had any one in mind, and he had told her no. Then she
quietly said: "I was down at Hop Winn's place to-day. How do you think
his second daughter would do?" "Well, if you are satisfied," said Ah
Sing, "that she is strong and will be obedient, I am willing." "Who do
you think would be a good middle
man?" she asked. He
reflected a moment and then said: "I think cousin Ah Ching would do it.
How much dowry will they want?" "I do not know," said Yut Ho.
"Perhaps $400 would do. The oldest daughter is soon to be married."
Ah Sing began to calculate. "There will be a dowry of $400, a present of
jewelry, bracelets and ear-rings when the papers of contract are signed. I
can send some wine and other goods from the store that will be enough
for a pledge of good faith. Then the astrologer's fee if the Fates are
propitious; a fee for fixing the marriage day; a present to Ah Ching for
his services as go-between, and lastly the feast, which will be no small
item, for my clan and friends are numerous. It will cost not less than
$800. I had [illustration omitted] better say $1,000 in round numbers."
He sighed and looked over at Yut Ho, and he thought what a bother it
was all for the sake of keeping up the family name, and he had been so
comfortable all these years with Yut Ho. He wondered whether this
would not be the beginning of discord, but then he thought of a childless
old age for her as well as for him, finally laid away by strangers, and
then, no matter what happened, nothing would take away Yut Ho's
position, for this girl was simply her servant, to wait upon her and obey
her commands. While he was thus meditating, Yut Ho's housewifely
instincts were already making preparations, changing the order and
adding to their apartments, and in her mind's eye she saw the Chinese
chairs covered with the red satin embroideries only used on special
festive occasions, everything brushed up and in order, ready for the
coming of this girl, upon whom so many of their hopes depended.
We must pass over now a period of nearly two years, and this is the
note we find in the doctor's diary: "Must call again this afternoon to see
Li Sing Hing's baby; has some colic, slight case of indigestion, nothing
much, but parents are anxious." There in a small back bedroom lay the
young mother, who was most carefully waited on that she should not
harm herself in any way, but have every kind of food and medicine
needful. Yut Ho with her crippled feet was walking to and fro trying to
hush a lusty boy who was in the throes of infantile colic. Ah Sing looked
in anxiously, and then said: "I have to go down to the store, but stop on
your way out, Doctor tell me what to get. I will send for it at once." Yut
Ho paused a moment to show the Doctor some new flannel bands and dresses
made after the pattern of some things belonging to the wife of Ah Sing's
English teacher, who had a little one about the same age. She anxiously
inquired if the shape of the new band was right, and pointed with much
pride to the little saam made in the same shape as Ah Sing's, but buttoned
down the middle of the front, with big American white porcelain buttons,
as such an improvement on the Chinese little knotted button. Then she
showed me the gorgeous silk clothes and cap with fringe and long
streamers
ready for his shaving feast, which would occur next
week when the baby was 30 days old. His head would be shaved for the
first time, and he would be formally named and entered in the family
register. To this feast all were welcome. "I am going to invite the
English teacher and his wife," she said. "For though we did not ask them
to the feast when Chin Yo came, because they would not understand it,
surely they would come to baby's feast." She looked down with such
maternal pride and tenderness at the little one, who had at last gone to
sleep in her arms! Her child—truly the child of love and sacrifice, who
should care for and honor her old age, who redeemed her husband, Ah
Sing, from being the mock and reproach of his family—Ah Sing, who had
been so good and kind to her all these years, and of whom she was so
fond and proud. [illustration omitted]
