Father's Robes of Immortality

I

EARLY in February, soon after the Chinese New Year, Stepmother came to me visibly agitated.

’Je meh yeh ah? (What’s the matter?) ’ I cried.

Stepmother burst into tears.

‘I have just returned from the Shrine of Kuan Yin, where I cast your Father’s horoscope. It is very, very clouded. The Will of Heaven cannot be discerned. When I beseech the gods to reveal the future, they remain noncommittal. I fear these ominous signs. It is time,’ and her voice broke, ‘for you and your brothers, as dutiful sons, to provide him with robes of longevity.’

Startled by the suddenness of Stepmother’s unusual request and her tears, I could only stammer, ‘Deem ghy ah? Deem ghy ah? (Why? Why?)’

In China always, and in San Francisco’s Chinatown less often, longevity robes are considered indispensable ceremonial garments for burying the aged. But Father, longevity robes, and death were incompatible phenomena. I considered Father still very much alive, even though his state of health had perceptibly declined.

My apparent aversion to the idea nettled Stepmother. Her sadness gave way to bewilderment, then exasperation. ‘Why,’ she demanded belligerently, ‘are you so ignorant of Chinese ways?’

Stepmother’s attitude concerning Father’s longevity robes and Great Birthday varied not one jot from her general pattern of reasoning. For any of the family to question tradition was like sullying the Image of Perfection. Realizing the hopelessness of opposing her wishes on such grounds, I shifted the discussion to a more realistic basis.

‘Do you realize,’ I cautioned her, ‘that Father’s Great Birthday may plunge the family into debt? Why, think of the ceremonies we have observed recently!’

I enumerated the list: American Christmas and New Year’s; Chinese Passage of Winter; the ten days of Chinese New Year’s celebration culminating in the Day of Man. In less than two solar months, I reminded her, we had celebrated no less than seven major holidays, counting Washington’s and Lincoln’s birthday, and several minor family birthdays. On each occasion the entire family had gathered for a huge banquet, exchanged presents or money gifts, visited the family tombs, and worshiped the ancestors. The burden of servicing this ever-expanding Chinese-American standard of living, I contended, was proving ruinous.

A snort of disapproval was Stepmother’s only answer.

That a crisis had arisen was indubitable. But it concerned Stepmother and Father, and not us. She could bend us to her will, but Father was different. His unorthodoxy had long been a sore point with Stepmother. At a tender age he had left his mother in a poverty-stricken Kwangtung village near Macao to follow in the footsteps of his father, adventuring in the Land of the Golden Mountains — California. At twenty, when Chinatown was young and queues indispensable, he had shorn his pigtail, earning for himself the sobriquet of ‘The Little Foreign Devil.’ At thirty-four, he began to blaze a pathway for Americanism in the Chinese Community which did not run its course until he had named five of his six children after the daughters of two Republican chief executives, a governor of California, and the war-time Democratic president and vice president of the United States. At forty, when most parents still clung tenaciously to the dubious social advantages of a Chinatown existence, he was crusading for American homes in American neighborhoods for Chinese families. At sixty-one, by virtue of my marriage in Vienna, he culminated his modernity in the acquisition of an American daughter-in-law. Father was enthusiastically American.

II

The very moment that Stepmother set forth to bless the household with prosperity, fecundity, and contentment, she deprived it of family peace. Father stubbornly refused to coöperate.

For three months she waged furious guerrilla warfare against him. Hardly a day passed that she did not try to cajole, browbeat, or trick him into admitting that a Great Birthday was a worthy event. At every opportunity she challenged him with quotations from the ancient sayings.

‘No! No monkeyshines for me!’ he said flatly.

By nature unblasphemous, Father seldom indulged in cursing. His most powerful oath consisted of an innocuous parochial expression, ‘ Jahm tow! (May you be decapitated!’ However, when Stepmother proved to be a daily thorn in his side, it was more than even his spirit could withstand. Hurling ‘decapitations’ right and left, he would bolt from the room and retire to his bedchamber.

But it was hopeless to outargue Stepmother on matters pertaining to filial piety. Undeterred by Father’s baleful glance, she went purposefully about her plans.

First she summoned the maternal relatives and paternal kinsfolk from near and far to make an immediate appearance. On those who were laggardly she showered a fusillade of imperious telegrams: ‘Come at once! Filial piety must be preserved ! ’ They came.

This display of clan solidarity amazed me. Upon inquiring of a kinsman who had just arrived by airplane as to the reasons, I was told: ‘In American slang, your Father is the “Big Shot” of the Greater-Family. None of us in America is closer in direct line of descent to the original ancestor who founded the Han Dynasty. According to Chinese genealogy, he is the Senior Elder Uncle. It would be an everlasting disgrace if, when the Community honors him, we were not here to share in the joys and labors. To be correct, although we are older in age we should address you, your brothers, and your infant son as “Elder Uncles,” for you belong to a “higher generation.” ’

The thought of my baby boy receiving the kowtows of men with hoary beards and possibly grandchildren tickled my sense of humor, but we knew such a prospect would never develop, for in actuality these honorifics were ignored. Older cousins were familiarly addressed as ‘Elder Brother.’

Our little home in Chinatown was packed with kinsfolk long before the appointed day. Their presence was balm to Stepmother’s spirit. When they pitched in to work, she heaved a sigh of relief. The Greater-Family was carrying on.

Its members composed the reception committee on duty day and night — welcoming visitors or gift-bearing messengers, uttering ceremonial words of appreciation, distributing ‘thank-you ceremonial money’ for each gift received; recording each donor’s name, his greeting card, and a description of the gift in an extraordinary catalogue kept for the festive occasion; displaying each gift in the American living room (which overnight had been transformed into a combination Chinese ancestral, guest, and great hall) to its best advantage.

Still others brushed the names of each donor in heavy black strokes on red and gold banquet invitations. Officially acknowledging the receipt of the gifts, these were worded as follows: —

The-Severe-One-of-the-Household having attained his Sixtieth and Sixth Birthday exactly on the 29th day of the Third Moon, there has been reverently prepared in his honor a Banquet of the Peaches (a Longevity Feast) at the Restaurant of the Blossoming Almond. Awaiting with expectancy the arrival of Your-Illustrious-Presence, we, TheSons-who - have - been-graciously - blessed-byGood-Fortune — The Senior Son, GloriousDescendant; The Middle Son, CreativeDescendant; The Youngest Son, EquallyCreative-Descendant; and including The Grandson, Harmonious-Gift-of-the-Ancestors — bend low our bodies in humble respect.

Chinese etiquette prescribes that verbal invitations must always supplement printed ones. For this difficult task Stepmother appointed ‘Elder Brother’ Wellington and his mother. Their visit to the elders of three hundred and fifty households was a masterpiece of artful courtesy. Our family was povertystricken, they roundly asserted, while that of the hosts was abounding in fertility, physical and financial. Our family was unworthy of such munificent largesses. The lexicon of gratitude was barren of words to express the family’s heartfelt appreciation. But would the hosts condescend to set foot in the Blossoming Almond? Their presence would illuminate with grandeur a shabby occasion.

As a consequence of these calls and the information that the sons of Source-ofProsperity (Father’s Chinese name taken at the time he married Mother) intended to honor their father’s Great. Birthday, gifts from relatives, friends, business associates, and Chinatown’s communal organizations poured into our home: —

Seafoods of every description, dried and preserved, including shark fins and White Flower Glue, a gelatinous fishy substance used for preparing broth; oysters, large and small, and ‘Ethiop’s Hair,’ a black, kinky seaweed which made a delicately flavored soup; rare delicacies, such as bird’s-nest soup, winter mushrooms, and other choice edible fungi, preserved duck giblets, and liquors of every vintage and nationality; a capacious mahogany swivel chair to match Father’s desk; a modernistic study lamp for reading Chinese newspapers; two giant loving cups tied with flaming red bows and engraved with appropriate longevity sentiments, one from Father’s consolidated clan organization, ‘The Four Brothers,’ and the other from his business partners; a giant French mirror engraved with golden Chinese characters; table linen, candies, Italian and Chinese pastries, and a large birthday cake with sixty-six candles; scores of Chinese scrolls rampant with mythological creatures or overflowing with Chinese calligraphy; countless pieces of Chinese jewelry, usually small peaches carved in solid gold, symbolizing that Father was ‘The Venerable One’ who had found the Peaches of Longevity that grew in the Kun Lun Mountains; boxes of noodles and vermicelli, the ambrosial food for those who desire endless life; cigars, cigarettes, and innumerable red packages of gift money; floral bouquets, baskets, and potted plants; and last but not least, a large indigo-blue Buddha, his stomach stretched like a kettledrum with laughter — these were the gifts showered upon Father.

Stepmother, bursting with pride, examined the flaming red card accompanying each gift and chortled at its inscription: ‘Hail, the Longevity Elder: May your happiness in the Southern Mountains [where Chinese mythology has placed the abode of the immortals] be eternal! ’

Nevertheless, up to the very last moment, Father’s perversity had us worried. We were afraid that he intended to withhold his approval of the celebration. We were mistaken; for when the automobile loads of presents arrived, and the longevity feast was on the tip of everyone’s tongue, Father was overwhelmed, He capitulated without a murmur.

When his smiling countenance showed his acknowledgment of defeat, he became as putty in Stepmother’s fingers. With an air of mystery, she dispatched Younger Brother to the tailor’s to fetch Father’s longevity garment. Stepmother had made a concession. Like a good sport, she too had compromised — but with the West.

The moment Father opened the box, he shouted gleefully, ‘ Jahm tow! ’ Before him was spread an elegant Occidental full-dress suit, lustrous black, and with all the time-honored accessories, from top hat to patent-leather pumps. The sight of his grinning face had a peculiar effect upon Stepmother. The contrast between endless days of fighting and this conclusive victory was more than she could bear. She broke down and sobbed; nor did she lift her tear-stained, smiling face again until she heard a mighty roar of approval.

‘Jun ho ah! Jun ho ah! (Excellent! Excellent!) ’

III

The eve of Father’s sixty-sixth birthday was at hand. As we gathered our respective families under the paternal roof, the Gregorian solar year and the fact that on the morrow Americans the nation over would celebrate Mother’s Day possessed no significance. As filial descendants of a father about to celebrate his Great Birthday we were living in Ting Chow, the 14th year of the 77th Cycle.

Sleep, except for the two baby grandchildren, was out of the question. Descendants did not sleep on such a glorious occasion. Moreover, there were not enough beds to go round. While Father, utterly exhausted from the extensive preparations, retired to his bedroom, the household waxed merry. As befitting the joyous character of the occasion, Stepmother started games to make the watch through the night pass quickly. The young and old women played ‘Swallows,’ the young men stud poker; and the old men gathered in the Great Hall and reminisced with pleasant sighs of the days when they were young and Chinatown un-Americanized.

But when the clock struck three, the family put aside its games and prepared to felicitate Father according to immemorial Chinese custom.

Stepmother, dressed in her formal robes, prepared an informal altar on the floor of the roof. Only I, as the eldest son, accompanied her. Pushing aside the roof door, I beheld the setting she had selected for her outdoor ritual. Its grandeur was breath-taking. The stars were flickering and wavering before the on rushing dawn. The Nob Hill skyscraper apartment hotels moulded themselves into a natural amphitheatre of worship beyond whose eastern rim lay the Coast Range Mountains and the waters of the Bay, where the suspension cables of the world’s longest bridge, like the quiescent strings of an orchestra of giant harps, awaited, so it seemed, only Stepmother’s command before breaking forth into paeans of joy.

Totally oblivious of these external glories, Stepmother was preoccupied with the rites of worship. The altar finally arranged to her satisfaction, she bowed humbly before it. Methodically she lit the bank of red altar candles and its flanking incense sticks, which gave off a fragrant but choking fog of smoke; set fire to the tall stack of variegated spirit money on the floor; raised aloft the bowl of boiled rice, the ceremonial chopsticks, and the dishes of chicken, duck, pork, and snow-white sweetened biscuits, and gravely proffered them to an imaginary person. She concluded by pouring a small tumbler of rice whiskey as a libation on the ground. During all these movements she mumbled her simple, informal prayers. I stood at one side, not actually participating, and yet worshiping with her in spirit.

When I was young I remember that Stepmother’s worship stirred me to indignation. A ‘Christian’ in the accepted sense of the term then, I was aggressively intolerant of her strange religious ways. My scoffing ceased, however, when an iconoclastic American college education deprived me of the ‘rock-bound faith’ of the Puritan Fathers, and experience with comparative religions opened my eyes to the humility and sincerity underlying Stepmother’s worship. Barbaric it might have appeared in form and detail to alien eyes, but not to mine that morning. Stepmother, her hands upraised to the emerald blue of the morning skies, clasping a sheaf of fragrant incense, will forever symbolize for me the deeply religious heart whose prayers are grounded in universal humanity.

Meanwhile the other prime mover of Father’s Great Birthday, Maternal Aunt, had transformed our mundane living room into a ceremonial hall by banking the four walls with giant roses, azaleas, gladioli, and potted ferns. In the centre she placed a large table with a red silk cover scintillating with glass beads. This was the family altar.

If we children had been raised in China, we should have known instinctively how to act in a given ceremonial situation. Unfortunately, circumstances made us psychologically Americans. Pair by pair, Maternal Aunt summoned us into the Great Ceremonial Hall. ‘Don’t forget,’ she admonished; ‘cast down your eyes and clasp your hands to suggest extreme humility.’

‘The filial Elder Son! The dutiful Senior Daughter-in-Law!’ announced Maternal Aunt in Chinese.

My wife and I moved slowly into the Great Hall. The three chairs at the right of the family altar were now within touching distance. In the chief seat of honor sat Father, resplendent in his dress suit. At his right sat Stepmother, becomingly gowned in a modern Chinese robe of lavender brocade. The chair on the left was conspicuously empty. I turned quickly to Maternal Aunt.

‘Reserved for Mother’s spirit,’ she whispered sotto voce. ‘She too comes to receive the kowtows of felicitation.’

Maternal Aunt resumed the stern rôle of the mistress of ceremonies.

‘In honor of the Exalted Living Parents,’ she commanded, ‘kneel!’

We prepared to kneel. Maternal Aunt intoned the traditional salutations connected with ‘worshiping the Birthday’:

Our hearts echoed the phrases as we knelt. ‘ May every year see such a glorious day! May every spring witness such a happy morning! ’

‘Three kowtows of respect for your August Parents!’

We knelt. Our foreheads bumped three times on the carpeted floor, slowly, self-consciously.

‘Arise! Serve your Elders tea and sweetmeats!’

Concluding our obeisances, we rose and turned to the sideboard, where we picked up two cups of tea, already prepared. I presented my cup to Father in ceremonial fashion, both hands clasped around the tiny body of the cup. My wife presented a similar cup to Stepmother. In the same ritualistic manner we served them Chinese confections.

Father and Stepmother beamed with satisfaction. Our conduct was exceedingly ‘ righteous ’ in their eyes. They signified their pleasure. Two large red envelopes, each filled with sixty-six pieces of silver, corresponding to the years of Father’s life, were pressed into our palms.

Maternal Aunt, following the rules of precedence, summoned my younger twin brothers. It was their turn to symbolize ritualistically their filial devotion. They entered awkwardly, nervous with suppressed excitement. Again the kowtows were repeated.

‘Good gracious,’ I wondered, ‘were we as befuddled as that?'

A violent tug at my arm aroused me from my musing. It was Maternal Aunt, Her tones were peremptory.

‘Elder Son, fetch the grandson, Tsu-I!’

I dashed for the nursery and returned. With Junior in my arms, my wife and I again prepared to kowtow. Junior, however, was utterly unimpressed with the solemnity of the occasion; seeing his grandparents, he shrieked for joy. The spell woven out of the past was shattered. Father leaped from the seat of honor and clasped his grandson, and the felicitation ceremonies were abruptly concluded on a totally unexpected note of joy.

As the breakfast dishes were being put away, the stairs resounded with the tramping footsteps of delivery men carrying heavily loaded wooden trays on their heads. ‘The “Tea Ceremonial Gifts”!’ shouted Stepmother excitedly. She rushed to the door to supervise their unloading.

‘Tea Ceremonial Gifts’ are presented by the immediate members of the family to a parent on his Great Birthday. None are excused except the sons who must bear the costs of the longevity feast and the robes of immortality. The gifts consist of huge lacquer-red or yellow octagonal boxes filled with dumplings and pastry, peanuts and dried Dragon-Eye nuts, and Chinese doughnuts flecked with sesame seeds and staffed with black sweetened soy-bean centres. The contribution of the eldest married daughter, the most important of all, takes the form of a large barbecued pig, regally mounted on a wooden platter, its crackly red skin elaborately festooned with scarlet letters of longevity.

Stepmother assembled the GreaterFamily.

‘Listen carefully,’ she said. ‘The Chinese Code of Etiquette stresses the dictum, “As you receive, so shall you give.” These delicacies are not for us. They must be apportioned equally to all “outsiders” who have graciously proffered gifts. These arc “The-Acknowledgment-of-All-Donors’-Gifts.” ’

Taking a bag, she filled it with sweetmeats, pastry, a slab of barbecued pork, a red package of gift money, a pair of red chopsticks, and an apple-green rice bowl.

‘Do as I do,’ she commanded.

By noon Stepmother, stern taskmistress that she was, was gratified with the progress made. The dining room was piled to the ceiling with gift packages ready for personal delivery. She took a puff of her silver water pipe, stuffed with ripe tobacco and rose leaves. Just one phrase of approbation passed her lips.

’Jun ho ah!'

Stepmother’s ‘heart was contented.’

IV

When the Zodiac pointed to Capricornus, it was the Period of the Cock. The Greater-Family bustled about the main banquet hall of the Blossoming Almond. Stepmother interrupted her last-minute preparations to review my duties as Chief Host.

‘In thirty years,’ she began, ‘since you were a baby, the fundamentals of formal banqueting have changed but little. As the eldest son you must serve as chief proxy for your parents. Greet each guest outside the main door with a profound bow. Remonstrate energetically with them for spending so much money for gifts. Express heartfelt appreciation for their presence. And remember, pass them on to solicitous assistants who are eager to help you.’

It was not until the Period of the Dog, when Aquarius was in the ascendancy, that Stepmother gave the belated signal for the feast to begin. Three hours had elapsed since the arrival of the first guest and the hour designated on the invitation. Stepmother was conforming strictly to Chinese custom. She nudged Father into action. He raised aloft his goblet. Three hundred and fifty goblets followed in tinkling crescendo. The banquet was on.

As each course was served, it revealed that Stepmother had surpassed herself as a connoisseur of Cantonese dietary. There was bird’s-nest soup; shredded shark fins with diced ham; turtles cooked with sweet and spicy herbs; broiled squabs; braised prawns floating in a miniature swamp of Holland peas and tomato-curry sauce; stewed eels with celery cubes and thin medallions of water chestnuts; boiled capons crammed with a stuffing of lotus seeds and bird’s-nest; steamed duck smothered under a bower of parsley; diced chicken with bamboo shoots and roasted walnuts.

Dish followed dish in seemingly endless procession. The guests signified their repletion by laying down their chopsticks. ‘ Mm soen! Mm soen! (Incredible! Incredible!)’ retorted the kinsfolk serving as hosts at each table. They plied the guests with tidbits, refusing to be convinced. Stepmother signaled the waiters to serve that crowning achievement of Chinese epicureanism, known in the Northern Capital as ‘Peiping duck’ but in Chinatown as ‘ duck-hung-in-theoven.’ It came drawn and quartered, boneless, barbecued to the color of lacquer, and the crispness of parchment. It was served with ‘ thousand-layer-biscuits,’ soft as down, and a seasoning with a heavenly taste and an equally charming euphuistic sound, ‘ the sauce of the fairies of the sea.’

‘ Jun ho ah! Jim ho ah! ’ murmured the guests, eyes gleaming with pleasure.

With the serving of the last course, the ceremony of pledging the guests began. Grasping a goblet of Chinese brandy (aptly entitled ‘The-Skin-Increases-FiveTimes’) in our hands, Father, my two brothers, and I approached each table. As the Chief Host, I bowed, thanked the guests for coming, and urged them to enjoy themselves. We sipped twice from our goblets.

The guests responded with vibrant shouts, eloquent of adoration and respect.

‘ Hail the Longevity Elder! Kawn pui! Kawn pui! (Dry cup! Dry cup!)’

Father, reminding us of the Laughing Blue Buddha, bubbled with deep, appreciative laughter. Although the doctors had forbidden him to drink, he simulated draining the goblet with gusto.

Upon our return, Stepmother and my wife began to pledge the guests. Stepmother was in fine fettle. She had come a long way from that tearful morning when first she broached the subject of Father’s longevity robes. As she made the rounds, she had a smile for everybody and a quip for every humorous situation. She was in her element and realized it.

In most societies, eulogies are customarily reserved for the dead. This is not true of the Chinese. Longevity elders upon their Great Birthdays are always honored with panegyrics. The Chairman of the Masculine Concord Consolidated Districts Benevolent Association praised Father for his lifelong service to his native district. The Chief Elder of ‘The Four Brothers’ hailed Father us one of the cornerstones of the organization. The official representative of the ChineseAmerican Society drew especial attention to Father’s Americanism, his progressive outlook on life. A gray-haired minister of the gospel expatiated upon Father’s philanthropic efforts on behalf of Chinatown’s youth. And the president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce extolled Father’s Nestorian service to the Community.

This barrage of laudatory praise (the tracing of the good points of Father and his family backward and forward even unto the third and fourth generation) proved extremely embarrassing to his children. Father, on the other hand, seemed cool, imperturbable. His eyes were rigidly shut. Stepmother’s enjoyment of the speeches was checked by Father’s immovable silence. His closed eyes frightened her. To make sure that nothing was wrong, she pinched him. Father opened his eyes wide and smiled. ‘What’s the matter?’ he seemed to say. Then, noting Stepmother’s worried expression, he added jocularly, ‘Nothing’s wrong, is there?’

But Stepmother and the family never knew whether he closed his eyes out of modesty or in order to avail himself of a pleasant nap.

The master of ceremonies turned to me. It was now the Period of the Boar, sacred to the zodiacal sign of Pisces.

‘The Eldest Son will deliver the “Appreciative Reply to the Assembled Honored Guests.” ’

At home though I was before American audiences, the thought of addressing my own people in classical Chinese, with stereotyped euphuistic phrases, an entirely strange medium for me, struck me with horror. The aplomb laboriously acquired by years of debates and addresses in English forsook me. The Chinese speech which I committed to memory left me. Rising with a heavy effort, it was another person, certainly not my usual self, that I saw reflected in the giant mirror hanging at the opposite end of the banquet hall. Instead of a flourishing delivery, this strangely familiar figure read haltingly the valedictory.

‘Highly respected relatives and friends. This evening you, as honored guests, have by gathering in this hall shed brilliancy upon this occasion. Our family is indeed highly sensible of the unusual honor you have conferred upon us. We deeply appreciate your illustrious presences here. Your bounteous gifts have overwhelmed us. Your illimitably rich expressions of felicitations move us to humble transports of gratitude. Even though to-night’s repast is of an excessively shabby quality and we dare not designate it as a banquet, we nevertheless hope that each of you will share with us many, many cups of brandy. Furthermore, we pray that you drink many more before your departure. At this moment, on behalf of our family, I pledge each of you. I thank you again for your magnificently generous favors. I felicitate you from the depths of my soul. I respectfully salute you. My prayer is that your future shall be as your heart desires — pleasant, prosperous, and unending!’

There was a lull; then a thunderclap of applause. The valedictory speech and the banquet were over.

I lifted my eyes and looked about me. The banquet hall was wreathed in clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke. Countless mothers were bundling their sleepy children in overcoats for the homeward journey. My kinsfolk, like a military guard of honor, had formed into two ranks at the main door. They wore speeding eacli guest passing between the lines with ceremonious bows and handclasps. Tradition insisted that the eldest son should utter the last words of profuse appreciation. I hurried to my post.

Soon the rush of departing guests slackened. Looking back through the carved gilt doorway, I saw a crowd of friends surrounding Father and Stepmother.

‘Hail the Longevity Elder! Hail the Longevity Elder’s Wife!’

There stood Father, erect and smiling in his splendid suit of Piccadilly cut, looking younger every second. Beside him, a worthy consort, was Stepmother, like the slender stalk of the iris, aflame with the lavender fire of gayety.

I wanted to fix forever in my memory that lively scene of color and noise, Father’s Longevity Feast. Some day when Tsu-I grew to manhood I would explain to him why Grandfather’s Great Birthday was such a success, and why even in the western world, even in Chinatown, the old traditions prevailed. He would hear how Stepmother had seen her duty and performed it, in order to make it possible for Father, when the time came, to wander happily in the World Beyond flawlessly clad in his western robes of immortality.