I
Ah Oi, the Chinese actress, threw herself down on the floor of her room
and, propping her chin on her hands, gazed up at the narrow strip of
blue sky which could be seen through her window. She seemed to have lost
her usually merry spirits. For the first time since she had left her
home her thoughts were seriously with the past, and she longed with a
great longing for the Chinese Sea, the boats, and the wet, blowing
sands. She had been a fisherman’s daughter, and many a spring had she
watched the gathering of the fishing fleet to which her father’s boat
belonged. Well could she remember clapping her hands as the vessels
steered out to sea for the season’s work, her father’s amongst them,
looking as bright as paint could make it, and flying a neat little flag
at its stern; and well could she also remember how her mother had taught
her to pray to “Our Lady of Pootoo,” the goddess of sailors. One does
not need to be a Christian to be religious, and Ah Oi’s parents had
carefully instructed their daughter according to their light, and it was
not their fault if their daughter was a despised actress in an American
Chinatown.
The sound of footsteps outside her door seemed to chase away Ah Oi’s
melancholy mood, and when a girl crossed her threshold, she was gazing
amusedly into the street below—a populous thoroughfare of Chinatown.
The newcomer presented a strange appearance. She was crying so hard that
red paint, white powder, and carmine lip salve were all besmeared over a
naturally pretty face.
Ah Oi began to laugh.
“Why, Mag-gee,” said she, “how odd you look with little red rivers
running over your face! What is the matter?”
“What is the matter?” echoed Mag-gee, who was a half-white girl. “The
matter is that I wish that I were dead! I am to be married tonight to a
Chinaman whom I have never seen, and whom I can’t bear. It isn’t natural
that I should. I always took to other men, and never could put up with a
Chinaman. I was born in America, and I’m not Chinese in looks nor in any
other way. See! My eyes are blue, and there is gold in my hair; and I
love potatoes and beef, and every time I eat rice it makes me sick, and
so does chopped up food. He came down about a week ago and made
arrangements with father, and now everything is fixed and I’m going away
forever to live in China. I shall be a Chinese woman next year—I
commenced to be one today, when father made me put the paint and powder
on my face, and dress in Chinese clothes. Oh! I never want anyone to
feel as I do. To think of having to marry a Chinaman! How I hate the
Chinese! And the worst of it is, loving somebody else all the while.”
The girl burst into passionate sobs. The actress, who was evidently
accustomed to hearing her compatriots reviled by the white and
half-white denizens of Chinatown, laughed—a light, rippling laugh. Her
eyes glinted mischievously.
“Since you do not like the Chinese men,” said she, “why do you give
yourself to one? And if you care so much for somebody else, why do you
not fly to that somebody?”
Bold words for a Chinese woman to utter! But Ah Oi was not as other
Chinese women, who all their lives have been sheltered by a husband or
father’s care.
The half-white girl stared at her companion.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“This,” said Ah Oi. The fair head and dark head drew near together; and
two women passing the door heard whispers and suppressed laughter.
“Ah Oi is up to some trick,” said one.