The Language of Threads by Gail Tsukiyama Page B

hours of reminiscing and stories. During Pei’s first few months on Conduit Road, Mrs. Finch had recounted her life story. “I was born and raised in Cheltenham, England,” she said. “I knew if I didn’t find my way to London as soon as I was out of school, I’d marry, live, and die in a small English village.”
    Pei had listened intently; then, for the first time she began to divulge bits and pieces of her own life to someone outside the sisterhood.
    â€œI thought I would live the rest of my life in Yung Kee doing the silk work,” she began, “but it seems that life plays tricks on you.”
    Mrs. Finch smiled. “For better or worse, I suppose. But at least we were destined to meet.”
    Pei nodded, a sad stillness running through her. She couldn’t help but wish Lin had lived to meet Mrs. Finch. “I had a friend who would have loved talking to you.”
    â€œHad?”
    â€œShe died in a fire.” She realized it was the first time she’d ever said the words aloud.
    â€œI’m sorry; it must have been horrid for you.”
    Pei suddenly wished she hadn’t brought up Lin’s death. “Yes,” she said, unable to say any more.
    â€œTime heals,” Mrs. Finch said gently, then turned toward the window and changed the subject, as if she could read Pei’s mind. “Well, it looks as if it’ll be another nice day.”
    Pei removed the breakfast tray and sat down on the yellow chenille bedspread. Mrs. Finch closed her eyes again, opening them when the music ended. “Since the end of summer, there have been rumors,” she began, “that the Japanese will eventually make their way to Hong Kong.”
    Pei nodded grimly. She’d heard the same rumors down at the Central Market, the prating of servants who insisted Hong Kong would be swallowed up by the Japanese even though it was a British colony. Still other servants spoke of the thick layer of fear rising in the households of the Westerners they worked for: “The wife had everything packed and ready to be shipped back to England by the time the husband came home from work!”
    During the first few weeks of September 1941, although Pei watched and waited, she saw little change in the carefree, extravagant Hong Kong way of life. She said nothing to Ji Shen, who had barely survived the Nanking massacre, and who still suffered from nightmares about the death and dying she had witnessed. It wasn’t fair that she should have to relive the horror.Without Lin’s guidance, Pei wouldn’t know where to go if they had to leave Hong Kong. Now, she wondered if she should seek out Ho Yung, who had been so kind to them once before, but then she shyly put the thought to rest.
    â€œWill you be leaving Hong Kong?” Pei asked.
    Mrs. Finch smiled. “Oh, no, my dear, I have no intention of leaving. If the Japanese want me out, they are going to have to carry me out of this flat! And I promise you, that won’t be an easy task. But in the event that something so awful does happen, I’d just like us to be prepared, that’s all. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
    Pei breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Yes, of course.”
    â€œBottled water, canned food—we need to stock those kinds of things. You can never be too safe. I don’t know how Mr. Finch and I made it through the war back in 1914. London was all but shut down; there was so little food and no fuel. It’s the only time I’ve ever thanked God that we had no small children to worry about.”
    â€œWhere did you go?”
    â€œGo? We stayed put. London was our home. I was still teaching at the time. Howard hadn’t been called to serve because he was already in his forties. He never did feel right about it. Volunteered in every civilian war effort he could. Sometimes, he was out till all hours. I worried about him just as if he were out on the battlefield.”