The Language of Threads: A Novel

By Gail Tsukiyama

Readers of Women of the Silk never forgot the moving, powerful story of Pei, brought to work in the silk house as a girl, grown into a quiet but determined young woman whose life is subject to cruel twists of fate, including the loss of her closest friend, Lin.

Now, in bestselling novelist Gail Tsukiyama's The Language of Threads, we finally learn what happened to Pei, as she leaves the silk house for Hong Kong in the 1930s, arriving with a young orphan, Ji Shen, in her care.

Her first job, in the home of a wealthy family, ends in disgrace, but soon Pei and Ji Shen find a new life in the home of Mrs. Finch, a British ex-patriate who welcomes them as the daughters she never had. Their idyllic life is interrupted, however, by war, and the Japanese occupation. Pei is once again forced to make her own way, struggling to survive and to keep her extended family alive as well. In this story of hardship and survival, Tsukiyama paints a portrait of women fighting the forces of war and time to make a life for themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Apr 1, 2007
• ISBN: 9781429909716

Gail Tsukiyama

Gail Tsukiyama was born in San Francisco, California, to a Chinese mother from Hong Kong and a Japanese father from Hawaii. She attended San Francisco State University where she earned her Bachelor of Arts Degree and a Master of Arts Degree in English. She is the bestselling author of several novels, including Women of the Silk and The Samurai’s Garden, as well as the recipient of the Academy of American Poets Prize and the PEN Oakland/Josephine Miles Literary Award. She divides her time between El Cerrito and Napa Valley, California.

Book preview

Chapter One

1938

Pei

Pei glanced down into the dark, glassy water of Hong Kong harbor and suddenly felt shy and wordless. She saw herself as a child again, whom, at the age of eight, her father had taken to the girls’ house in the village of Yung Kee. Compared to their small farm, everything had been big and frightening. For nineteen years, Pei had lived and worked with Lin doing the silk work, only this time, Lin’s patience and kindness wouldn’t be waiting for her when she arrived.

Now, she alone would have to care for Ji Shen in the big, vibrant city; the thought terrified her. At fourteen, Ji Shen was almost half Pei’s age, and had already been orphaned once, fleeing from the Japanese devils in Nanking. She had miraculously found her way to the girls’ house, where Pei and Lin had nursed her back to health. As the Imperial Japanese Army closed in on Canton, they’d made a desperate run to Hong Kong without Lin to guide them. That the past weeks had been spent in constant movement was a saving grace. Pei’s days had been filled with the needs of Ji Shen and with their impending voyage.

When the ferry groaned and finally docked, it swayed from side to side, knocking and creaking against the wooden pier. As the crowd pushed to disembark, Pei stopped abruptly at the railing and stared down at the clapboard ramp that led to the crowded pier.

We have to keep moving, Ji Shen whispered, gently urging her forward.

Pei held onto her cloth sacks and inched toward the ramp. High shrieking voices pierced the air, attacking them from every direction. Pei felt a sharp jab from someone behind, then stepped down the ramp into the dizzying, hypnotic life that would now be hers and Ji Shen’s.

Hong Kong’s so crowded, Ji Shen said, clutching the sleeve of Pei’s white tunic.

Yes. Pei smiled wearily. She hoped Ji Shen couldn’t see how afraid she was. Everything around them hummed and buzzed with movement. Ships from all over the world were docked in Hong Kong harbor, ships with long, complicated names written on their sides. Sampans huddled together, filled with families who lived their lives on the boats crowded, swaying decks. Faces glared at them, then quickly turned away. There were more Westerners than Pei had ever seen. Even many of the Chinese women were dressed in Western clothing.

From the pier they turned left and walked down the crowded street, sidestepping swarms of people as if in a dance, sweating in the humidity. The salty pungent smells and high whining voices were overwhelming. They passed endless stalls of merchants, selling silk stockings, flowers, fresh fruit, and hot noodles in soup. Filthy, toothless beggars thrust their wooden bowls out, hoping for a coin or two. Ji Shen squeezed Pei’s arm tighter as they fought their way through the crowd. A long, jagged line of rickshaws and their drivers snaked from one end of the street to the next. Pei felt her pocket for their envelope of money and the letter Chen Ling had given her with the names and addresses of other silk sisters who had made their way to Hong Kong. Go to the address at the top of the list, Chen Ling had directed. In her other hand, Pei grasped her belongings, including the cloth bag Moi had insisted she take. Pei carefully swung it over her shoulder, the jars of herbs and dried fruits clinking against one another.

Ride, missees? Cheap deal! A barefoot boy wearing once-white cotton pants and shirt—he was no older, Pei guessed, than thirteen or fourteen—stopped in front of them. A pointed straw hat hung from a string around his neck, thumping against his back. He pointed to a red-and-green rickshaw, which sat next to a nearby stone wall. On the ground beside it, an older woman in mismatched, soiled clothing cradled two smaller children on a straw mat.

I’ll give you a much better price! another voice, belonging to an older, bigger man interjected.

No, no, thank you. Pei took a step forward, but neither rickshaw driver moved.

Cheapest deal in Hong Kong! the boy repeated.

Pei pulled Chen Ling’s letter from her pocket and looked past Ji Shen and the rickshaw drivers toward the crowded street ahead. In the weeks before Lin died, she had told Pei of going to Hong Kong with her father as a little girl. Across the street was a large open space—the one Lin had said was Statue Square. Statue Square was where the Government House and city hall stood, flanked by the precipitous green hills that loomed over everything. Pei caught her breath at the sight.

Where are we going? Ji Shen asked.

Pei cleared her throat. Over there. She straightened her shoulders and began walking toward the square.

Please, missees, cheapest deal in all of Hong Kong! The boy was still following them.

Don’t listen to him. The older man laughed. He’s too scrawny to pull you more than a few feet!

Pei stopped. She put down her belongings and looked up at the darkening sky. It was getting late. Statue Square would have to wait until another day. From the corner of her eye, Pei could see another rickshaw driver approaching them. She turned toward the boy. His smile grew wide now that he’d gained Pei’s attention. She pointed to the address at the top of Chen Ling’s letter. Do you know where this is?

The older rickshaw driver coughed and then spat on the ground in front of them. Only a fool would choose a boy to do a man’s job! he said, stomping away.

The boy studied the letter for a few moments. Finally, he nodded his head in recognition. In Wan Chai, not so far from here. No problem. I’ll have you there in no time, the boy boasted. He glanced quickly at Ji Shen.

Pei hesitated. Are you sure you know how to get there? Maybe we should try—

Yes, yes, right away. The boy nodded again. He ran back to the woman sitting on the ground, whispered some words to her, then grabbed the rickshaw and quickly pulled it toward Pei and Ji Shen. Right away, right away! I know just the place. No need to worry. He stepped aside, offering Pei and Ji Shen help up into his rickshaw.

Pei suddenly remembered the stories she’d heard of rickshaw pullers doubling and even tripling prices once they arrived at their passengers’ destination. Lin had told her to settle on a price immediately, before climbing up into the seat.

How much? Pei asked, fingering the Hong Kong coins she’d gotten at the exchange in Canton. She kept her voice low and confident.

Don’t worry, missee. The boy smiled. I’ll bring you there for a fair price.

When they’d settled on a fare, Ji Shen stepped up into the rickshaw. Then Pei squeezed into the torn leather seat next to her, proud of her first Hong Kong transaction.

The boy jumped between the wooden poles, squatting low to grip a pole in each hand. Don’t worry, Quan will get you there.

Pei felt sorry for him and wondered how such a skinny boy would be able to pull them more than a few feet, but Quan straightened his back, tightened his leg muscles, lifted up the poles, and moments later had them gliding smoothly down the crowded street. He called out, Coming through! Coming through! to urge the crowds and waiting rickshaw drivers out of his way. Ji Shen let out a scream and covered her eyes when they barely missed knocking down another driver. I’ll kill you next time! the man shouted after them, raising his fists at them, but Quan simply turned around and yelled back, You have to catch me first!

All the colorful, crowded shops that lined the busy street Quan had turned on to mesmerized Pei. In the fading light of early evening, the street seemed to open up and come alive right before their eyes. Bars, curio shops, food stalls, fish stands, a shoe repair shop, a dress shop all blended together. Bright, harsh lights hissed and flashed—garish red, green, and yellow against the oncoming darkness. Pei had never seen anything like it, not even when she’d visited Canton with Lin. A quick spirit seemed to live here in Hong Kong, making everyone and everything move faster and louder than they did anywhere else she’d been.

After weaving in and out of dozens of streets, Quan rounded a corner down a narrow lane, which, though quieter, was just as dense with people and brightly lit shops. He drew the rickshaw to a stop, then turned around to face them.

Pei looked up at the narrow, grayish building, which rose four or five stories above an herbalist’s shop. Signs plastered across the front window advertised ginseng and snake gallbladders and deer horn. To the side of the shop, an entrance led upstairs. The small window in the door was covered with a flimsy lace curtain. At one time the door must have been painted an auspicious bright red; now most of the paint had flaked down to the pale brown wood. In the fading light, the building looked tired and forlorn.

Here, missees, this is the place. The boy carefully lowered the wooden poles and offered his dirty, callused hand to help them down from the rickshaw.

Pei accepted his help. Is it safe here? The words slipped from her lips.

As safe as anywhere in Wan Chai. Just don’t go wandering around alone at night. There are many foreign-devil sailors looking for a good time, and bad men roaming the streets at night. Quan shook his head from side to side as if to make his point, his hands brushing against Ji Shen’s long braid as he helped her down and signaled for them to follow him. I think it’s this way, he said.

Pei and Ji Shen followed Quan as if he were an adult, not a young boy barely older than Ji Shen. Strangely, Pei had felt comfortable with him from the moment she touched his callused hands. He swaggered up to the door and rapped hard three times. When no one answered, he knocked again, harder and louder. Pei held the letter up against the dim light to see the name and address again. Song Lee was written in neat black characters. Chen Ling told her Song Lee had been in Hong Kong for over eight years now, and would help Pei just as she had helped other sisters who had left Yung Kee. She was a good worker, Chen Ling had said. Tell her that I gave you her name. The last thing I heard was that she had found work in a good household.

At last, they heard the slow scrape of footsteps. Ji Shen held tightly onto Pei’s arm. Then an irritated voice called out, I’m coming, I’m coming! The lace curtains parted and dark, suspicious eyes glared out at them.

I beg your pardon. Pei stepped forward. We are looking for a Song Lee. I was given this address as a place I might find her.

The lace curtains fluttered closed, and in a few moments, they heard the door unlatch and open just a crack. What village are you from? the woman asked.

The village of Yung Kee.

Are you from the sisterhood?

Pei nodded. Yes. I was told by Chen Ling that Song Lee might be able to help us.

The door swung open wider, and they stood in front of a thin, wiry woman in her forties who glanced at Pei’s clothing and lacquered-black hair and chignon, then at Ji Shen’s long single braid. Come in, come in. I’m sorry for all the questions, but you must be careful in this area. Beggars will rob you blind if you let them!

Pei stepped in, then turned around, remembering Quan. No, no, I’ll carry this up for you, he said, stepping in behind them. All part of the service.

Single file, they followed the woman up a dark, narrow stairway, their steps resonating. Once upstairs, the building was slightly more inviting. The first floor had a high ceiling, which at least kept the building cool and comfortable. Doors to other rooms opened in three directions.

The woman didn’t say another word until they reached the landing. This way, she said. She led them through the middle door into a small, yet comfortable sitting room. There was an old sofa, a few chairs, and a small cabinet, which held a few small jade pieces. You must be thirsty. Let me bring you some tea.

Quan smiled, then spoke to the woman in a cheerful, bargaining voice, a street voice. These missees need a cheap and clean room.

The woman bowed her head slightly toward Pei and Ji Shen. We will talk about that when I return with tea. She smiled. Please, make yourselves comfortable.

Pei looked around at the worn furniture. Her tongue flicked across her parched lips. She reached deep into her pocket and brought out a small silk pouch, from which she extracted several coins. Here, this is for you, she said to Quan. You’ve been very kind to help us.

Quan glanced at the money. Too much, he said. Just what we agreed on.

Please, take it, Pei insisted.

Quan hesitated, then quickly pocketed the coins. I’ll stay a little longer. Just in case you need me to bring you somewhere else tonight, he said shyly, watching Ji Shen.

When the woman returned, she sat down, poured each of them a cup of tea, and spoke words Pei suspected she had repeated many times before. I am Ma-ling Lee. I was also a member of the sisterhood, though I left it many years ago to come to Hong Kong. When other sisters began migrating to Hong Kong, I decided that they might need a place to stay while they decided what to do. Hong Kong is a large, sometimes frightening place. Ma-ling sipped her tea. You can stay here as long as you like, but there is a small fee. Many sisters have passed through this way. Most of them find work in a household within a few months. The less fortunate ones find whatever work they can.

What kind of work? Ji Shen asked.

Ma-ling smiled. We’ll talk about that another time. You two must be tired. Let me show you where you can sleep.

And Song Lee? Pei asked.

Ma-ling stood. You can see her tomorrow. Right now she’s working as a domestic for a household up on the Peak. I’ll try to get in touch with her first thing in the morning, she offered.

Pei smiled. We’re very grateful.

Quan parted with them at the foot of the stairs. I’m sure you’ll be all right here, he said. It looks as if she can get in touch with your friend.

Thank you, Ji Shen said.

Quan blushed. If you ever need anything, just ask for Quan. I’m around Wan Chai a lot. People here know me. He backed slowly down the stairs. A moment later, they heard the front door open and quietly click behind him.

The room Ma-ling brought them up to was not what Pei had expected. Once a large, open space, it was now divided into numerous smaller rooms by thin wooden partitions that didn’t reach the ceiling. If Pei stood on her toes she could look over the partitions from one space to the next. They walked down the narrow aisle that separated the cubicles. At the entrance to each space hung a white cotton curtain most of the curtains were askew. Bare and clean, each small cubicle held two single cots and a wooden chair. Ma-ling told them there were some larger cubicles in the back with two sets of bunk beds.

You can have this room. Ma-ling stopped and pointed to a cubicle with a curtained window that looked out on a small, colorless concrete courtyard. For a moment, Pei stood looking out at the graying darkness.

Thank you. She tried to smile, grateful at least for the window.

Everything will look better in the morning, Ma-ling assured her. The bathroom is down the hall. There are only a few other sisters staying with us now, so it should be quiet. The kitchen is downstairs. I’ll bring you up some tea and sweet buns in case you’re hungry.

Thank you for everything, Pei said, too exhausted to say anything else.

Ma-ling closed the door behind them, leaving Pei and Ji Shen by themselves. Pei couldn’t believe they had come so far from their life in Yung Kee and the silk factory. With the Japanese now occupying most of China, she wondered whether Chen Ling and Ming were safely hidden away at the temple in the countryside where they’d taken refuge, and whether Moi would be all right by herself at the girls’ house. Pei tried to push these thoughts out of her mind. Yet she couldn’t stop wondering if she had made the right choice leaving Yung Kee. Her doubt was like the constant prickling of bristles.

It’s as if everything’s alive here. Ji Shen’s voice rose and filled the small space.

Pei inhaled, the warm air tasting slightly stale. I suppose it’s time we join in, she heard herself respond. She looked around at the bare, colorless cubicle that was now their home, then hurried to open the window, letting in the demanding, boisterous voices from outside.

That night, in a restless sleep, Pei dreamed of Lin. Once again she heard her friend’s sweet, calm voice telling her that everything would be all right. At twenty-seven, Pei had spent almost twenty years of her life with Lin, first at the girls’ house with Auntie Yee and Moi, and then at the sisters’ house, where their life took on the comfortable rhythm of work at the silk factory. Pei was amazed at how easy it was to forget. Suddenly gone were the raw, sore fingers from soaking the cocoons in boiling water, the long, grueling hours of standing on damp concrete floors, the lives that were lost in their union’s struggle against the rich factory owners. And Lin’s death. It wasn’t just Lin’s death that tormented her, but how she had died, and what had gone through her mind as she gasped for breath, slowly suffocating in the devastating fire that destroyed the silk factory. In the past month, Pei had learned what to hold on to, and what to discard.

Instead, Pei dreamed moments of pleasure. How Lin always found answers to her smallest questions, even before Pei could ask them. When she first came to work at the silk factory, the steamy, sweet-sweaty smell of the soaking cocoons seeped into every pore of her skin, clung to her clothes, hung on every strand of her hair. It was so persistent, yet so subtle a scent, Pei thought it wouldn’t ever wash out.

Wash your hair with this, Lin had told her one evening when they’d returned to the girls’ house. She held up a bottle filled with an amber liquid. When Lin shook it, white jasmine petals drifted through the liquid, floating slowly back down to the bottom of the bottle.

Does it work?

Lin stepped closer. Here, smell, she directed.

From that day on, the scent of jasmine became a part of Pei’s everyday life. Just after the girls had washed their hair, the strong, sweet smell rose up and filled their room at the girls’ house; she couldn’t help but think of Lin. Even the clean smell of Auntie Yee’s ammonia was no match for the jasmine.

Again, Pei smelled jasmine in her dreams. Ammonia. Cocoons boiling in hot water. The fragrance of Moi’s cooking wafting from under the kitchen door they were forbidden to open without knocking first. Again, Pei stood at the bottom of the wide wooden stairway that led up to their rooms. She heard a sound, a small intake of breath, and looked up to see Lin, radiant in her white burial gown, walking down the steps toward her.

I’ve been waiting for you, Lin said, smiling.

Pei opened her mouth, but at first no words emerged. She felt so dizzy she thought she might faint.

Lin answered her question even before she had asked it. Yes, it’s me.

I’ve missed you. Pei finally found her voice. More than you can know.

I do know. Lin took her hand. Now come along. Everyone is waiting.

Pei held onto Lin’s hand, never wanting to let go. It seemed so real in hers she squeezed it tighter, feeling Lin’s warm softness in her own large, rough hand. But who’s waiting? she asked.

Still so curious. Lin smiled. You’ll soon see. She swept a strand of Pei’s hair away from her face, then swung open the double doors to the reading room.

Pei’s heart raced. She glanced around the crowded room. The smell of burning incense was overpowering. Shadows flickered across the walls. The chairs were filled with women dressed in the white cotton trousers and tunic of the sisterhood. Pei closed her eyes and opened them against the thick, stinging air. She touched Lin’s sleeve to make sure she was really there beside her. Faces from the past appeared fresh and young.

Come, come in, called a high, shrill voice. Pei knew it immediately: It belonged to Auntie Yee.

Pei rushed toward the older woman, fell to her knees before her chair, and threw her arms around her. She breathed deeply. The faint clean smell of ammonia rose above the incense. It’s been so long, Pei whispered into Auntie Yee’s neck.

Auntie Yee squeezed her tightly before letting go. You’ve grown into a fine young woman, just as I knew you would.

Yes, you have, another voice added.

Pei faintly remembered it. She stood up and looked closely at all the faces that surrounded her. Who? she asked.

It’s me, the voice said. Moving out and away from the other sisters was Mei-li, who appeared just as she had so many years ago, before she had drowned herself.

Mei-li? Pei asked.

And don’t forget me, another voice rang out.

Sui-Ying stood by the side of Mei-li—kind, sweet Sui-Ying, who had been killed during their strike for better hours.

All through the years Pei had prayed to the gods that these two friends would find the peace they so richly deserved. Like Lin’s their lives had ended much too soon.

Then, from the corner of her eye, Pei saw movement from behind the others. The flash of gray hair stood out among the rest. Pei strained to see beyond the sisters in front of her, hoping to catch another glimpse. She wondered if this could really be. The last time Pei had seen her mother, Yu-sung, she had been so thin and fragile. Ma Ma, Pei said softly, then again, louder. The hum of voices died down around her.

Yu-sung stepped forward. Her gray hair was neatly combed back. She smiled widely and said, Yes, my tall daughter. I’m here.

Growing up, Pei had rarely seen a smile cross her mother’s lips, Now it glowed before her as bright as any light. Pei took a step forward and began to say something, but the words became confused and caught in her throat. Tears blurred and burned behind her eyes.

It’s all right, Ma Ma said. You have done well in life, just as I always knew you would. After you and Lin visited, I knew I could leave your world in peace.

Pei hung on to her mother for as long as she could, but soon she felt Lin lean near and heard her whisper, You have to leave now.

Pei shook her head. "I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here with all of

Reviews for The Language of Threads

[deltaqueen50 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Language of Threads by Gail Tsukiyama is the sequel to her Women of the Silk and is a story about Chinese women before, during and after World War II. In this book we follow Pei as she and her young friend Ji Shen arrive in Hong Kong and set out to establish a life for themselves in that busy city. She has some connections with other “silk sisters” and is able to find a job and get Ji Shen enrolled in school, but she gets blamed or something she didn’t do and gets fired. Luckily she meets and begins to work for a British woman, Caroline Finch. Of course life changes again when the Japanese invade and conquer Hong Kong. Mrs. Finch is removed to a concentration camp and Pei and Ji Shen must survive as best they can.There are plenty of struggles for these women and the author inserts plenty of history as well. Pei is rather a stoic person and keeps her thoughts to herself, she is one who puts her head down and works through stress and drama. Pei does eventually prosper as she establishes a business and is able to begin a search for her sister who is living in Communist China.The Language of Threads is definitely a sequel and there are many references to places, people, and events from that first book so I would recommend that people start with Women of the Silk. And while I didn’t feel an emotional connection to the story, I was engrossed by the story of women helping other women and in particular, the struggles on one woman to find a place of safety for herself and those she loves.

[diananagy · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is one of the most dear books to my heart. I never expected to like this book but once I started reading it, I couldn't put it down until it was finished. Now, I intend to read even more of this authors books as soon as I am able.

[bookwoman247 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book is a follow-up to Women of the Silk, which I read and enjoyed several years ago.Briefly, Women of the Silk is the story of Pei, who is a poor farmer's daughter who is sent to work in a silk factory at age 8, because her parents cannot afford to feel all of their children. She becomes part of a sisterhood of silk workers.The Language of Threads follows Pei to Hong Kong, where she has fled the Japanese occupation, which catches up with her there.I love this book! I was completely drawn to the characters and their world.

[cameling_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Absolutely loved it. It's a sequel to [The Women of Silk]. The story continues with Pei and Ji Shen fleeing China to Hong Kong because of the Japanese occupation. There they start to build a new life for themselves. Pei's strength and resilience is put to the test many times over as she learns how to fend for herself and then look after Ji Shen in this new world, taking on new work as a laundress, a domestic helper and later on a seamstress. As the Japanese bomb Hong Kong, round up the British into POW camps in Stanley, life becomes even more difficult, with food shortages and avoiding the Japanese soldiers and Triads. But the silver lining is the silk sisters have managed to gather together once more, this time, to live together once more and pool their resources for their survival. It's the 2nd book in a month where I've read about the cruel atrocities inflicted on their victims and it's difficult to think that those individuals are ancestors to current day Japanese, who are fun, reserved, and mostly kind and considerate. Narratives told from the perspective of Pei, Ji Shen, Li (Pei's sister), Mrs Finch (a British employer), Song Lee (a silk sister), and a few other characters, this is a book that's hard to put down once you get started on it.

[debnance_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Women try to survive during the Japanese invasion of China. I didn't realize this was a sequel until I was 2/3 of the way through the book.

[autumnesf · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Follow-up novel to Women of the Silk. Pei and Ji Shen have escaped to Hong Kong as the Japanese take over China. This is the continuation of how they start over of the island, the changes when the Japanese take over Hong Kong, and the new life they struggle to make. Really quick read and good story.

[iammbb · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Another enjoyable read.Set in Hong Kong before and during World War II, this book, like Snow Falling on Cedars, gave me a here-to-fore unseen (by me) glimpse of people dealing with the consequences of war.The Language of Threads follows Pei and Jei Shin, whom we met in Women of the Silk, as she flees the Japanese in China for Hong Kong. We watch as the two women settle into their new life, only to have their lives disrupted again as the Japanese follow them to Hong Kong.Pei reminds me of Celie in The Color Purple, a lowly woman surviving and then triumphing. The parallels include, but aren't limited to, the lost sister and the means to success.