Winged: A Novella (Of Two Girls) by Joyce Chng Page A

wearing a few layers of clothing to
keep themselves warm.
     
    Lee Hsu had to wear yet another set of new
clothes and he grumbled while his nanny, an middle-aged woman with
a cheerful disposition, combed his hair (an act he found deeply
embarrassing – he could do it himself) and braided it deftly. This
time, it was a blue brocade top with a well-made pair of pants,
lined with wool to provide warmth. His nanny adored him, more than
his real mother who was by now playing her precious mahjong and
nagging at his sisters. They would of course be dressed in
beautiful silk garments. His mother minced when she walked. She had
bound feet and her shoes were tiny and exquisitely made. His
sisters were made to go through the pain when they were little
girls. They couldn’t run and jump like the other girls he had seen
outside his family home.
     
    As it was an important family gathering, Lee
Hsu had to greet the guests together with his family. The
salutations were all done in a staid and polite manner, perfectly
detached and even dispassionate. The guests were mostly relatives
from both sides of the family and there were many familial terms
used as signs of respect. By the time he reached Thirteenth
Maternal Aunt, Lee Hsu had become so bored he had to control his
urge not to run out of the room and back to his ship.
     
    Then it was the lunch banquet, served early
so that dinner would be a punctual affair. Lee Hsu slipped away
after the second course had been served, thankful that in the
general cacophony of chatter, nobody noticed him leaving the table.
He sneaked back into his study and admired his ship. He had not
given a name to the ship yet, though he was half inclined to call
it “Lee’s Ship”.
     
    Someone coughed at the door and Lee Hsu
started, seeing the familiar silhouette of Old Liu. He swallowed,
preparing himself for a tongue-lashing.
     
    Old Liu was holding a bowl of noodles in his
gnarled hands. From the smell and look of it, it was still piping
hot and fragrant with sesame oil and shallots.
     
    “You need to eat, young master,” Old Liu
said and handed him the bowl (still warm) and a pair of ivory
chopsticks. “I noticed you leaving the table.”
     
    Lee Hsu accepted the bowl of noodles mutely
and nodded. Old Liu normally left him alone to his own devices and
did not say anything about his countless projects. With a small
smile and a nod, Old Liu bowed and walked down the corridor to help
out with the festivities. The boy watched him leave, suddenly
feeling a pang of regret.
     
    He finished the noodles, savoring the
smoothness of the buckwheat strands. The cooks made them by hand
and they were exquisite fresh. He placed the empty bowl and oily
chopsticks on the floor, sighed to himself and went back to put the
finishing touches on the ship. As he worked quietly and diligently,
he could hear Chinese traditional opera – his family had invited a
well-known troupe to perform. It was Butterfly Lovers ,
probably his mother’s choice.
     
    With steady hands, Lee Hsu poured the
gunpowder in using an impromptu ‘funnel’, a cone shaped out of
paper. He had the matches ready. His project was going to take
flight later in the evening. He patted his ship, feeling proud of
himself. He wanted so much to be one of the illustrious great
thinkers.
     
    Lee Hsu straightened and drew himself to his
full height. From where he was standing, he could see out into the
courtyard, being on the second floor of his family house. He would
be launching his ship from this particular angle. He crept to the
parapet and peered out. The servants were clearing the dishes and
cleaning the tables for the banquet later in the evening. Most of
his relatives had retired into their chambers to rest and prepare
themselves for more festivities. The Chinese opera singers had
already finished their act and were removing their make-up. As he
watched, the hua dan – the young maiden – was removing the vivid
pink from her cheeks – and a young