The Paper Daughters of Chinatown - Heather B. Moore Page 0,45
the night.
Mei Lien had long held a vague idea of what would happen on her wedding night should she marry. And she knew that wealthy Chinese men had more than one wife, at least in China. With arranged marriages, love and devotion were rarely a part of a Chinese marriage, yet Mei Lien had seen love between her mother and father. A rare occurrence, to be sure, but Mei Lien had thought that if she married, she could find happiness with her own husband through devotion and mutual values.
This would never happen now. Even if, by some miracle, Ah-Peen Oie decided Mei Lien could be a kitchen worker or other type of servant, Mei Lien knew that she had no value in the eyes of a man looking for a wife.
Mei Lien turned over on her soft bed and watched as the frame of light around the single window brightened with the rising sun. On her second day here, she’d pulled aside the heavy drapes only to find the window barred. And when Ah-Peen Oie came next into her room and discovered that the drapes had been moved, the woman had beat her with a fire poker.
Those bruises had now faded, but other bruises soon appeared from other beatings. Most of the time, Mei Lien didn’t even know why she was being beaten. At least she was no longer tied to her bed. And it had now been eight days since the last beating, or maybe nine or ten, since the days and nights seemed to blend into a vast nothingness. The passage of time with no incidents made her nervous. Had Ah-Peen Oie decided that Mei Lien was no use after all? Would she be dumped in the street to live like a rat?
Mei Lien laughed a dry, raspy laugh that tasted bitter in her throat. She was a rat now. A rat addicted to opium. Despite the three thousand dollars Ah-Peen Oie had paid, she kept spending money on keeping Mei Lien drugged. As the window brightened with the day, her body began to shiver, a sure indication that her next opium dose was due. Despite her aversion to opium and her self-loathing that her body and mind could betray her, her thoughts focused on the sounds of the house, seeking out any signs of imminent relief.
She listened for footfalls that might indicate Ah-Peen Oie, or one of the servant girls, would soon arrive with the bitter powder. And not make her beg, as she had yesterday. But no footsteps approached her bedroom door. Mei Lien climbed out of her bed and reached for the satin robe draped over the single chair in the room. All her old clothing had been taken and burned, replaced by luxurious clothing befitting a woman of high status . . . or a courtesan. Once she had clothed herself more securely, she padded to the door and listened. She knew better than to open the door and look into the corridor. She’d done that on day three, and Ah-Peen Oie had seen fit to enact her special discipline.
No sounds save for the usual creaking of the household in the lazy early mornings. Mei Lien closed her eyes and inhaled, then exhaled. Her head was starting to hurt, and she knew it would only intensify if she didn’t get her next dose, and soon. Mei Lien turned to look at the window. The soft yellow light was now a hot orange. It was at least two hours past when Ah-Peen Oie should have arrived.
The headache that had been a warning screamed through her temples now, and Mei Lien sank to her knees and rubbed at the sides of her head. The pain wouldn’t abate, and there was no food or water inside the bedroom to help anything.
Goose bumps raced across her skin, and she started to tremble violently. She curled up in the robe and shivered, gripping the silk close. Maybe if she didn’t move, didn’t think, her body would relax, and the withdrawal wouldn’t be so bad.
But the pain in her head only intensified, and Mei Lien gripped her hair, feeling as if pulling her hair out might relieve the pressure. She moaned, but even that was soundless. She tried to rise to her feet and make it to the door. Perhaps begging would bring mercy. But she didn’t have the strength to lift her head, let alone cry for help if she wanted to.