Day was breaking. Lae Choo, who had been awake all night, dressed
herself, then awoke her husband.
“’Tis the morn,” she cried. “Go, bring our son.”
The man rubbed his eyes and arose upon his elbow so that he could see
out of the window. A pale star was visible in the sky. The petals of a
lily in a bowl on the window-sill were unfurled.
“’Tis not yet time,” said he, laying his head down again.
“Not yet time. Ah, all the time that I lived before yesterday is not so
much as the time that has been since my little one was taken from me.”
The mother threw herself down beside the bed and covered her face.
Hom Hing turned on the light, and touching his wife’s bowed head with a
sympathetic hand inquired if she had slept.
“Slept!” she echoed, weepingly. “Ah, how could I close my eyes with my
arms empty of the little body that has filled them every night for more
than twenty moons! You do not know—man—what it is to miss the feel of
the little fingers and the little toes and the soft round limbs of your
little one. Even in the darkness his darling eyes used to shine up to
mine, and often have I fallen into slumber with his pretty babble at my
ear. And now, I see him not; I touch him not; I hear him not. My baby,
my little fat one!”
“Now! Now! Now!” consoled Hom Hing, patting his wife’s shoulder
reassuringly; “there is no need to grieve so; he will soon gladden you
again. There cannot be any law that would keep a child from its mother!”
Lae Choo dried her tears.
“You are right, my husband,” she meekly murmured. She arose and stepped
about the apartment, setting things to rights. The box of presents she
had brought for her California friends had been opened the evening
before; and silks, embroideries, carved ivories, ornamental
lacquer-ware, brasses, camphorwood boxes, fans, and chinaware were
scattered around in confused heaps. In the midst of unpacking the
thought of her child in the hands of strangers had overpowered her, and
she had left everything to crawl into bed and weep.
Having arranged her gifts in order she stepped out on to the deep
balcony.
The star had faded from view and there were bright streaks in the
western sky. Lae Choo looked down the street and around. Beneath the
flat occupied by her and her husband were quarters for a number of
bachelor Chinamen, and she could hear them from where she stood, taking
their early morning breakfast. Below their dining-room was her husband’s
grocery store. Across the way was a large restaurant. Last night it had
been resplendent with gay colored lanterns and the sound of music. The
rejoicings over “the completion of the moon,” by Quong Sum’s firstborn,
had been long and loud, and had caused her to tie a handkerchief over
her ears. She, a bereaved mother, had it not in her heart to rejoice
with other parents. This morning the place was more in accord with her
mood. It was still and quiet. The revellers had dispersed or were
asleep.
A roly-poly woman in black sateen, with long pendant earrings in her
ears, looked up from the street below and waved her a smiling greeting.
It was her old neighbor, Kuie Hoe, the wife of the gold embosser, Mark
Sing. With her was a little boy in yellow jacket and lavender
pantaloons. Lae Choo remembered him as a baby. She used to like to play
with him in those days when she had no child of her own. What a long
time ago that seemed! She caught her breath in a sigh, and laughed
instead.
“Why are you so merry?” called her husband from within.
“Because my Little One is coming home,” answered Lae Choo. “I am a happy
mother—a happy mother.”
She pattered into the room with a smile on her face.
* * * * *
The noon hour had arrived. The rice was steaming in the bowls and a
fragrant dish of chicken and bamboo shoots was awaiting Hom Hing. Not
for one moment had Lae Choo paused to rest during the morning hours; her
activity had been ceaseless. Every now and again, however, she had
raised her eyes to the gilded clock on the curiously carved mantelpiece.
Once, she had exclaimed:
“Why so long, oh! why so long?” Then apostrophizing herself: “Lae Choo,
be happy. The Little One is coming! The Little One is coming!” Several
times she burst into tears and several times she laughed aloud.
Hom Hing entered the room; his arms hung down by his side.
“The Little One!” shrieked Lae Choo.
“They bid me call tomorrow.”
With a moan the mother sank to the floor.
The noon hour passed. The dinner remained on the table.