The Language of Threads by Gail Tsukiyama Read Free Book Online

duties here.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI have to attend many social functions, and it’s important to have my clothing ironed and ready for each event.” She squeezed the white linen napkin tighter in her hand.
    â€œYes,” Pei said again, this time in a louder, stronger voice.
    The newspaper suddenly lowered with a sharp crackle, and a bald, heavyset man wearing thick, black-rimmed spectacles glanced up at Pei. “Where are you from?” Chen seen-san asked.
    Pei felt suddenly hot and sticky; a film of sweat gathered at her temple. “The village of Yung Kee.”
    â€œAnother silk worker?”
    â€œYes.”
    He lifted his glasses and stared intently at Pei for a moment with dark, small eyes. “She appears capable enough,” he said, before raising his paper again.

    In the quiet of her room that night, Pei fingered the smooth silver handle of Lin’s brush and assessed her first day in the Chen household. The scent of mothballs lingered heavily. Unanswered questions flashed through her mind so fast she couldn’t hold onto them. Had she made the right decision? How was Ji Shen doing all alone at the boardinghouse? Would Quan remember to take her on a tour of Hong Kong at the end of the week? What did Leen mean when she advised Pei to watch out? The house was so big . . . Chen seen-san’s thick black glasses . . . Chen tai’s closet . . . So many cheongsams of silk and satin . . . So many rules to learn and follow . . .
    The faint whine and clicks of doors opening and closing, followed by the faraway sound of voices, brought Pei back. She stood up and walked quietly to her door to listen, grasping Lin’s brush tightly in her hand. Very slowly she opened her door a crack, but saw only darkness.

Chapter Three
    1939
Pei
    Pei filled the iron with hot coals and pushed down on the cover. It felt heavy and solid as she lifted it upright on the wooden ironing board. The first few months of washing and ironing had been difficult, a never-ending process of filling the washtub with water and heating the coals for the iron. Now, after six months, Pei’s back ached constantly and her hands were rough and dry, her fingers cracked and split. Water and steam surrounded her as they had in her early days at the silk factory, soaking cocoons. Only now, Lin wasn’t there to help her through the long days.
    On her first full day in the Chen household, Ah Woo had sat Pei down and explained the rules she was to follow: “You are never to enter a room in the main part of the house without permission. . . . Never touch any of the Chens’ property. . . . You are not to have any personal guests in your room. . . . Bathe regularly and keep yourself presentable. . . . You’ll have every other Sunday off.” The words came out stilted and formal, and Pei could almost hear Ah Woo breathe a sigh of relief when she had finished her prepared speech.
    Pei observed other rules, unspoken, yet just as important. As the saitong, she spent most of her time in the small laundry room off the kitchen, or outside, where she hung the clothes to dry.
    Getting along with the other servants in the house came second to keeping the household running smoothly. Ah Woo and Leen did all they could to help Pei settle in. So did Wing, the gardener, who ventured to the backyard on Pei’s first morning of washing. “For you,” he said, producing a yellow lily from behind his back, while Fong smiled politely from a distance. When they passed each other in the hallway or kitchen, Pei and Fong nodded stiffly to each other, as if there were some great wall between them. “Fong thinks she’s better than us,” Leen had confided in Pei. “Just because she cares for Ying-ying and spends more time upstairs.”
    After six months, work in the Chen household had become routine. Every morning Chen tai left the clothes she wanted washed and pressed on a chair next to her bed. While