A Story of Deep Oriental Love
FIRST DEGREE
"COLAMONG!" Thus Soo Bong extended matutinal greeting to Yuen Gow, his employer, as the latter entered his shop shortly after the hour of ten on a morning that was fogless, windless, warm and conducive to the development of love's young dream.
Yuen Gow returned the salutation curtly, indifferently. And thereafter did not heed the youth who went about his work so conscientiously, so willingly, so ardently. Yuen Gow's mood never harmonized with a day of Spring.
On his part Soo Bong was not in the least perturbed by his employer's manner. His was accustomed to it, expected it. Had it been different he would have been surprised and worried. Hai! What different attitude could he, a penniless hand-to-mouth toiler, expect from one of Grant Avenue's most prosperous merchants? The youth's wage was a mere pittance. Yet even so, in the way of youth, he was hopeful—extravagantly hopeful. The promises for the years to come were roseate.
A natural optimism to the young, no matter what the nationality. Hai! Eyeglasses were not the outcome of a day's experimentation. Knowledge was not garnered in reading but one page of Confucius. So philosophized Soo Bong. But more to the point there was Sin Ping, coveted prize, daughter of Yuen Gow, on the horizon!
In the eyes and mind of Soo Bong this daughter of his "bossee" was theexquisite quintessence of all girlhood. In her was embodied all his dream of idyllic happiness in the life to be lived. Not for one sad instant did he speculate upon the possibility that Sin Ping did not and never would love him. That thought had no part in his fantasy. His were daydreams never touched by realities.
Soo Bong knew that she liked him. Whenever she came into her father's shop she had the loveliest smile and the pleasantest word for him. It was these, in the first place, that had won his heart. What did it matter that he was the son of a lowly coolie! In China, yes, Sin Ping would have been unattainable. But here in America—
Affairs glided along peacefully enough until the advent of the Chinese New Year. This year the observance savored of Occidentalism. Every year the celebration was becoming less Oriental. Fewer firecrackers banged to scare away mythical devils. There was feasting—and, of course, the settlement of the year's accumulated debts. But nearly all the other rites, older than the white man's civilization, were forgotten.
This year Yuen Gow celebrated by inviting all of his friends and employees to a feast at his very pretentious bungalow just beyond the edge of St. Francis Wood. In this way he appealed to Ms gods for special favors for himself, his family and his revered ancestors.
Soo Bong, clad in his best native Chinese garments, entered the Yuen Gow bungalow and immediately Yuen Gow himself greeted him.
"Thrice welcome, Soo Bong! Make thyself comfortable and one of the merriest." The tone of his voice was the quintessence of hospitality. For, on the New Year caste is forgotten—no, not forgotten, but religiously ignored.
The youth fidgeted. Then answered properly: "I am honored to be here." He didn't feel elated. Nor much at ease. For, despite the gracious greeting, he couldn't forget that all callers that day were received with the same words.
Yuen Moy, the only son of the house, took Soo Bong in tow and piloted him to the music room where the younger set was gathered. Most of them wore American clothes. A piano-player rioted through the latest jazz, accompanied by many young Chinese voices singing in perfect English the inane words of the song. As Yuen Moy, with his newest guest, crossed the room the cacophony ceased. But almost immediately from a phonograph came the swift; intoxicating strains of a fox-trot. Couples moved, in close embrace, across the floor.
SOO BONG'S discomfiture increased tenfold. He didn't dance. He didn't sing American songs. But he didn't have much time to feel ill at ease, for Sin Ping, a lotus flower who spoke American slang, saw his embarrassment and cried: "Welcome to our city, Soo Bong!" Then, in the melodious Chinese tongue, she wished him a very happy New Year.
"Thank you," he replied, and returned the wish, his heart thumping with hope. "I am mortifyingly sorry. I do not know these new dances," he said. "I shall have to learn them, I perceive. Perhaps you can recommend me to a capable teacher who can direct my footsteps along the path of music.
"Just like that," Sin Ping promised smiling captivatingly.
"And the intellectual one's name is—"
"Sin Ping—if you'll be so kind as to cut out the intellectual. Now, then, come on! Let's dance!" And immediately she placed her arm in position about, his neck.
He drew back a little. But, glancing at the other couples and noting that all the girls had their arms in similar positions, he placed his own arm about herwaist.
"Watch my feet. Do as I say and we'll get along famously," Sin Ping said. "Why, these dances are as easy to learn as it is for my father-to make money! Now watch your step!"
The youth's feet, for the first five minutes or so, acted rather strangely. But after that, responding to the grace of his teacher, he caught the rhythm of the dance and was soon gracefully, if cautiously, executing its movements.
All too soon the dance ended, and Sin Ping slipped from his arms. But in a moment he was again on the floor with her. Hai! A new and exceedingly pleasant sensation. Thrilling! Now that the young ones had started there was no stopping them. A third record, livelier and madder than the others, was selected. Soo Bong was just on the verge of again taking his host's daughter in his arms when another youth stepped up to claim her.
"How about this one with me, Sin Ping?" be asked, ignoring the other.
The girl shook her head negatively. "Sorry, Bunny, but Soo Bong has engaged me as his teacher—for three more dances, at least: I'll tell you what, though—I'll give you the fourth."
Bun Kai, Bunny to his friends, raised
