The Dark Becomes Her

“The Soulful Heart recital is this afternoon,” Tina announces Saturday morning. I know the unspoken question there. Will Ma and Baba take us?

“Again?” Ma voices her displeasure. “This is the third weekend in a row!”

“Only for an hour to file some papers,” Baba says quickly, trying to explain. “I’ll finish as fast as I can. In time for the recital.” He looks to Ma to see what the verdict will be.

“I talked with Auntie Valerie,” Ma says, referring to one of her friends. “Asked around about this program. She says that it’s a reputable one.” To my parents there are considerations on the hierarchy of people whose opinions we trust. Those from a Taiwanese background with higher professional standings are among the most trustworthy. Then it’s a complicated network depending on your age, relationship, profession, until we reach the people at the very bottom: the kids. I can talk to them until my lips are blue, but it will not play an iota into their considerations until someone else in a higher threshold says the very same thing.

“Maybe we’ll go and see what all the fuss is about,” Baba says, nodding. Tina shrieks excitedly and high-fives Denny, then bustles around the kitchen helping with the dishes. Being on her very best behavior all morning.

The voices still come on the other side of my bedroom wall. Sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping. Too many voices. Smells that continue to permeate from her room when I walk past her door. But my parents brush it all away. They keep seeing what they want to see.

I stay in my room to work on my essay, even though it’s more Investigations into Demonic Influence on Vancouver’s Chinatown than The Changing Landscape of Low-Income Chinese Seniors’ Housing Availability. I already searched for the name Shu-Ling gave me when I came home from hot pot: 壽德公, The God of Good Deeds. It didn’t come up with very much. An obscure page somewhere listed it under a header of a type of god: 有應公, The God that Answers—usually nameless and homeless, with no ancestor shrines set up to worship them, they’re instead considered restless spirits who are appeased with generic offerings after unexplainable phenomena. Hauntings. Supernatural activity. Curses.

Often they’re sought out by people who are desperate, who have been turned away from other, more legitimate temples because what they seek is not salvation from evil, but the kind of dark promises that only evil can make. These websites come with a warning: Beware of offerings to these nameless, faceless gods because you don’t know who might answer your request.

I think about the people who have nowhere to turn. The people who come up again and again in my research into Chinatowns. Chinese Canadians once congregated here because it was difficult for them to find homes and jobs elsewhere. They came together and found strength in numbers, in helping each other. Sharing common goals. The various benevolent associations started as a way for people to build community, to help transition the immigrants as they settled into life in a new country. The Formosa Friendship Association is just another variation on that.

Except now, many people would rather set aside our past difficulties and challenges and replace them with a shiny and sanitized version of history and call that progress. So many dreams and hopes, so many stories, forgotten. It makes me feel small and insignificant, like a pebble in a stream.

“Ruby!” Ma calls up the stairs, disrupting my focus. “It’s time to get ready for the recital!”

I change into something more presentable than pajamas, then we’re off to the recital at Soulful Heart. We find parking on the street and walk over to the mall. Tina chatters animatedly beside Baba on the short walk, so excited she’s almost vibrating. Denny slips his hand into mine and slides on the icy sidewalk, laughing when I pull him up.

“It seems like she’s settled in well at the new school. Making lots of friends, right, Ruby?” Ma says, walking beside me, watching Tina up ahead. “After all that crying and protesting about switching schools.” It sounds like she wants me to validate her choice, that in the end, it was a good idea for her to take the teaching job at Westview, to move us both away.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I mumble, the safest answer. “She has lots of friends now.”

“That’s ’cause you’re nice.” I reach over and ruffle his hair. “And your teacher loves you.” Because Denny is friendly and clever and eager to help.

“Westview definitely has nicer equipment.” I manage to say something positive. And cute boys, my mind interjects helpfully, but I don’t share that.

“At first I wasn’t sure about the influences of those Westview girls, but after Mrs. Tsai’s visit…” Ma gestures. “Dancing being able to help get you to Yale and Harvard. Imagine that!”

Ma frowns, disagreeing. “Sure, sure, but some things are better than others. If your sister decided to do hip-hop with her stomach showing and shorts, shaking her butt, your father will have a heart attack and then she will have to live with the memory of his death forever.”

“It’s only a costume,” I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “They’re performers.”

“You get used to things, and then you wear them every day,” Ma argues back. “Like that dress you wanted to get for last year’s recital. With that long slit along the side. What would everyone think?”

“We’re here,” I say, not wanting to get into an argument about the validity of dance costumes. Or be reminded of the beautiful green dress that I almost bought last year for the year-end recital, which made me feel pretty with the way it moved.

“Baba says there’s going to be food there,” Denny whispers at me conspiratorially when we walk through the doors. I hide a giggle behind my hand. My family does love a chance at free food.

There’s a sign hanging on the main door. MALL CLOSED AT 3 FOR PRIVATE EVENT, USE SIDE ENTRANCES FOR STREET-SIDE BUSINESSES. I didn’t even think it was possible to shut down the entire mall for that. When we walk into the lobby, I can’t help but let out a gasp. The entire space has been transformed. A stage has been set up beside the fountain, which has been decorated with twinkle lights and draped with flowers. Black backdrops hang on either side of the stage, obscuring the view of the other businesses so that it doesn’t even seem like the mall any longer.

A series of photographs on stands for display highlight the members of the troupe, all dressed in traditional white hanfu. Their long sleeves are embroidered with blue patterns. The photographs follow a progression, twirling, bowing, leaping, until the final photograph shows a woman with her arm extended upward, sleeve rippling overhead, her face caught in a moment of artful yearning.

Behind these photos there is a section with black cocktail tables, where smartly dressed people are mingling and chatting with one another. The banner is hung over the doorway into Soulful Heart: WELCOME TO THE WINTER SERIES, then the title of the performance follows:

“Welcome, welcome.” Mrs. Tsai appears from nowhere, greeting us with arms wide. Her smile wide. “I’m so pleased you were able to make it.”

“Tina! Tina!” We’re surrounded by a circle of girls. All of them beaming with too-white teeth and similar wide smiles. They’re followed by older women dressed in white blouses and floral skirts. The girls are in light green, ruffles at their shoulders and wrists. To my surprise, my mother and sister also match them. They must have coordinated earlier. The feeling hits me in a cold rush. You don’t fit in.

“This is Amy Liu,” Mrs. Tsai introduces one of the women, only distinguishable to me from the others at this moment by her small gold hoop earrings. “She’s one of our dance teachers of the younger troupes.”

“I’m going to sit with my friends!” Tina flutters her fingers in our direction and fades into the crowd of girls, arm in arm.

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Chen!” Amy beams at us, then bends down to my little brother. “And this must be Denny!”

“Denny!” Ma’s voice goes high as she tries to nudge him forward. “Say hi!”

Amy doesn’t seem bothered by this. She straightens and gestures for us to follow her. “Come grab some appetizers before they’re gone.”

“Stop it! Be friendly!” Ma hisses through her teeth before following Amy with a smile, Baba right behind her. Denny stays back, not so eager for food as he was before. He gestures for me to lean in closer.

“She smells like Tina,” Denny whispers in my ear, then wrinkles his nose. “Yuck.”

I don’t like it. Does that mean Amy is a part of them too? My guard is up, sweeping my gaze across the crowd of people, searching for anything that might stand out as strange.

“Stay close to me tonight, okay?” I put my arm around him as we trail after our parents. My finger reaching compulsively to touch the pendant through my shirt, to make sure it’s still there.

Amy shows us to a table in the corner, with a glittering RESERVED sign sitting in front of it. There’s a waiter dressed in black and white who stamps our hands to permit us access to the spread of food.

“For our VIP guests.” She grins, glasses in hand, filled with something fizzy and pink. She hands them to Ma and Baba, who look pleased with this special treatment.

There’s tuna served in green porcelain spoons, topped with slivers of cucumber, and black and white sesame seeds. Slices of beef on a cracker drizzled with garlic sauce, accompanied by slender tendrils of green onion. Tempura shrimp, smothered with red gochujang sauce. Everything in tiny portions. Not to mention trays of fresh fruit and veggies. A stack of shrimp tails quickly collects on Denny’s plate.

Me: at the lobby, about to go in for the performance

Delia: Getting there now.

I scan the room, but I don’t see a familiar face. There are too many people now, waiting for the performance to begin.

Shen: What? You’re not supposed to be here

Delia: I just want to see her.

Shen: Delia, don’t

Shen:…

Shen: Delia???