had an elevator, for fear you might then imagine a place far grander than where we lived. I will now tell you that three of the fourteen bedrooms had been sealed off from the rest of the house because the damage from the last monsoon was so bad. We had only one working indoor toilet and two working bathtubs, one set inside the bedroom where Nei-Nei Down and British Grandfather slept. As you may imagine, this shortage led to long lines in the morning, though Uncle Chachi claimed he preferred the outhouse, and never used the indoor toilet. The family took scheduled turns in my grandparents’ tub, and our boarders and guests used the other tub, which was inconveniently located up on the third floor. Uncle Chachi also bathed up on the third floor. This may explain why we never had female boarders.
The pipes on the second floor had burst long ago, and when we learned the cost of repairs, Nei-Nei Down put a board over the top of the tub and ordered me to use it as a desk. Thus, I do my schoolwork sitting in a low chair at the claw-footed bathtub. It is one of the few times when being absurdly short has its advantages.
We installed the elevator in 1919, after the war ended, for Grandfather came home with both knees shattered, and he never walked right again. I believe that Uncle Chachi used all his remaining connections with the British to have the elevator paid for with reparations funds. We did not want British Grandfather to feel trapped on the first floor. The elevator builders must have been dishonest men, for now, less than ten years later, the machinery had begun to screech and moan terrifyingly. It ascended with short, jerky motions and dropped like a stone. We avoided it at all costs. But we used it that night.
“Say as little as you can,” Nei-Nei instructed us. She clutched my arm. “And you,” she added. “Say nothing at all. Just smile and look pretty.”
“Can’t I come with you?” Dawid asked desperately.
“No,” said British Grandfather. “I advise you to go back up to your rooms and—tidy up.”
“And—”
“Tidy up,” British Grandfather said firmly. “Put away anything that is out of place.”
“Out of place,” Dawid echoed, at a loss—and then a light seemed to dawn. “I understand, sir. Count on me. ”
Our palace’s front hall was chaotic, overflowing with young men in uniform. My friend Bridget would have been in ecstasy, had the reason for the crowd been different. I had not seen our house so full since I was a little girl, in the lost days when Uncle Chachi threw loud, elegant parties.
Some of these men were from the Chinese Protectorate. I recognized them by their dark jackets and drab ties. Others were policemen in uniform, including the man I had spoken to behind the mosque, with the moustache. There were Straits Settlement Police, in their own distinctive deep-blue caps, and one young, slim blond man in a pinstriped suit, whom I could not identify at all, but he seemed to be in charge. His hair was such a brilliant color that it looked like a cap of shining gold. His features were as even and fine as a movie star’s.
Nei-Nei Down caught me gawking and gave me a jab. “He is the most dangerous one here,” she said. “He is British liaison to the Chinese Protectorate.”
At that instant, the fair-haired young man looked up with the most electrifying smile I had ever seen. His appearance was perfect, though a few of his gleaming white front teeth were a little bit crooked. This tiny flaw made him even more charming.
“Ah,” he said, “the royal family.” And then he winked at me.
“You must be Mrs. Coleman,” he said to my grandmother, who nodded confusedly. No one ever addressed her by that name. Her name was Nei-Nei Down or Chao Lin, or wife of British Grandfather.
Then the man’s expression changed. Its charm and animation drained away. “And this must be Colonel Coleman himself. It is an honor to meet you, sir. My elder brother served in your
The pipes on the second floor had burst long ago, and when we learned the cost of repairs, Nei-Nei Down put a board over the top of the tub and ordered me to use it as a desk. Thus, I do my schoolwork sitting in a low chair at the claw-footed bathtub. It is one of the few times when being absurdly short has its advantages.
We installed the elevator in 1919, after the war ended, for Grandfather came home with both knees shattered, and he never walked right again. I believe that Uncle Chachi used all his remaining connections with the British to have the elevator paid for with reparations funds. We did not want British Grandfather to feel trapped on the first floor. The elevator builders must have been dishonest men, for now, less than ten years later, the machinery had begun to screech and moan terrifyingly. It ascended with short, jerky motions and dropped like a stone. We avoided it at all costs. But we used it that night.
“Say as little as you can,” Nei-Nei instructed us. She clutched my arm. “And you,” she added. “Say nothing at all. Just smile and look pretty.”
“Can’t I come with you?” Dawid asked desperately.
“No,” said British Grandfather. “I advise you to go back up to your rooms and—tidy up.”
“And—”
“Tidy up,” British Grandfather said firmly. “Put away anything that is out of place.”
“Out of place,” Dawid echoed, at a loss—and then a light seemed to dawn. “I understand, sir. Count on me. ”
Our palace’s front hall was chaotic, overflowing with young men in uniform. My friend Bridget would have been in ecstasy, had the reason for the crowd been different. I had not seen our house so full since I was a little girl, in the lost days when Uncle Chachi threw loud, elegant parties.
Some of these men were from the Chinese Protectorate. I recognized them by their dark jackets and drab ties. Others were policemen in uniform, including the man I had spoken to behind the mosque, with the moustache. There were Straits Settlement Police, in their own distinctive deep-blue caps, and one young, slim blond man in a pinstriped suit, whom I could not identify at all, but he seemed to be in charge. His hair was such a brilliant color that it looked like a cap of shining gold. His features were as even and fine as a movie star’s.
Nei-Nei Down caught me gawking and gave me a jab. “He is the most dangerous one here,” she said. “He is British liaison to the Chinese Protectorate.”
At that instant, the fair-haired young man looked up with the most electrifying smile I had ever seen. His appearance was perfect, though a few of his gleaming white front teeth were a little bit crooked. This tiny flaw made him even more charming.
“Ah,” he said, “the royal family.” And then he winked at me.
“You must be Mrs. Coleman,” he said to my grandmother, who nodded confusedly. No one ever addressed her by that name. Her name was Nei-Nei Down or Chao Lin, or wife of British Grandfather.
Then the man’s expression changed. Its charm and animation drained away. “And this must be Colonel Coleman himself. It is an honor to meet you, sir. My elder brother served in your
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