Mermei lived in an upstairs room of a Chinatown dwelling-house. There
were other little Chinese women living on the same floor, but Mermei
never went amongst them. She was not as they were. She was a cripple. A
fall had twisted her legs so that she moved around with difficulty and
scarred her face so terribly that none save Lin John cared to look upon
it. Lin John, her brother, was a laundryman, working for another of his
countrymen. Lin John and Mermei had come to San Francisco with their
parents when they were small children. Their mother had died the day she
entered the foreign city, and the father the week following, both having
contracted a fever on the steamer. Mermei and Lin John were then taken
in charge by their father’s brother, and although he was a poor man he
did his best for them until called away by death.
Long before her Uncle died Mermei had met with the accident that had
made her not as other girls; but that had only strengthened her
brother’s affection, and old Lin Wan died happy in the knowledge that
Lin John would ever put Mermei before himself.
So Mermei lived in her little upstairs room, cared for by Lin John, and
scarcely an evening passed that he did not call to see her. One evening,
however, Lin John failed to appear, and Mermei began to feel very sad
and lonely. Mermei could embroider all day in contented silence if she
knew that in the evening someone would come to whom she could
communicate all the thoughts that filled a small black head that knew
nothing of life save what it saw from an upstairs window. Mermei’s
window looked down upon the street, and she would sit for hours, pressed
close against it, watching those who passed below and all that took
place. That day she had seen many things which she had put into her
mental portfolio for Lin John’s edification when evening should come.
Two yellow-robed priests had passed below on their way to the joss house
in the next street; a little bird with a white breast had fluttered
against the window pane; a man carrying an image of a Gambling Cash
Tiger had entered the house across the street; and six young girls of
about her own age, dressed gaily as if to attend a wedding, had also
passed over the same threshold.
But when nine o’clock came and no Lin John, the girl began to cry
softly. She did not often shed tears, but for some reason unknown to
Mermei herself, the sight of those joyous girls caused sad reflections.
In the midst of her weeping a timid knock was heard. It was not Lin
John. He always gave a loud rap, then entered without waiting to be
bidden. Mermei hobbled to the door, pulled it open, and there, in the
dim light of the hall without, beheld a young girl—the most beautiful
young girl that Mermei had ever seen—and she stood there extending to
Mermei a blossom from a Chinese lily plant. Mermei understood the
meaning of the offered flower, and accepting it, beckoned for her
visitor to follow her into her room.
What a delightful hour that was to Mermei! She forgot that she was
scarred and crippled, and she and the young girl chattered out their
little hearts to one another. “Lin John is dear, but one can’t talk to a
man, even if he is a brother, as one can to one the same as oneself,”
said Mermei to Sin Far—her new friend, and Sin Far, the meaning of whose
name was Pure Flower, or Chinese Lily, answered:
“Yes, indeed. The woman must be the friend of the woman, and the man the
friend of the man. Is it not so in the country that Heaven loves?”
“What beneficent spirit moved you to come to my door?” asked Mermei.
“I know not,” replied Sin Far, “save that I was lonely. We have but
lately moved here, my sister, my sister’s husband, and myself. My sister
is a bride, and there is much to say between her and her husband.
Therefore, in the evening, when the day’s duties are done, I am alone.
Several times, hearing that you were sick, I ventured to your door; but
failed to knock, because always when I drew near, I heard the voice of
him whom they call your brother. Tonight, as I returned from an errand
for my sister, I heard only the sound of weeping—so I hastened to my
room and plucked the lily for you.”
The next evening when Lin John explained how he had been obliged to work
the evening before Mermei answered brightly that that was all right. She
loved him just as much as ever and was just as glad to see him as ever;
but if work prevented him from calling he was not to worry. She had
found a friend who would cheer her loneliness.
Lin John was surprised, but glad to hear such news, and it came to pass
that when he beheld Sin Far, her sweet and gentle face, her pretty
drooped eyelids and arched eyebrows, he began to think of apple and
peach and plum trees showering their dainty blossoms in the country that
Heaven loves.
* * * * *
It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. Lin John, working in his
laundry, paid little attention to the street uproar and the clang of the
engines rushing by. He had no thought of what it meant to him and would
have continued at his work undisturbed had not a boy put his head into
the door and shouted:
“Lin John, the house in which your sister lives is on fire!”
The tall building was in flames when Lin John reached it. The uprising
tongues licked his face as he sprung up the ladder no other man dared
ascend.
“I will not go. It is best for me to die,” and Mermei resisted her
friend with all her puny strength.
“The ladder will not bear the weight of both of us. You are his sister,”
calmly replied Sin Far.
“But he loves you best. You and he can be happy together. I am not fit
to live.”
“May Lin John decide, Mermei?”
“Yes, Lin John may decide.”
Lin John reached the casement. For one awful second he wavered. Then his
eyes sought the eyes of his sister’s friend.
“Come, Mermei,” he called.
* * * * *
“Where is Sin Far?” asked Mermei when she became conscious.
“Sin Far is in the land of happy spirits.”
“And I am still in this sad, dark world.”
“Speak not so, little one. Your brother loves you and will protect you
from the darkness.”
“But you loved Sin Far better—and she loved you.”
Lin John bowed his head.
“Alas!” wept Mermei. “That I should live to make others sad!”
“Nay,” said Lin John, “Sin Far is happy. And I—I did my duty with her
approval, aye, at her bidding. How then, little sister, can I be sad?”