Bless the Bride

in baggy pants and a dark blue cotton jacket. On his head was a skullcap and down his back hung a long pigtail. It was my first glimpse of a Chinaman and I watched him with interest.
    Then all the rumors I had heard about the Chinese and their habits rushed into my head. They smoked opium. They ate puppies. They stole women for the white slave trade. I glanced uneasily at Frederick Lee. Was it possible that I was being stupidly naïve and was being lured into captivity? My rational brain quashed this instantly. If anyone wanted to capture white women for prostitution, there would be no need to seek out someone who lived miles away in Greenwich Village when there were plenty of girls who were willing and able and already offering their services just around the corner.
    “Why do you think that man is running like that?” I asked Mr. Lee. “He looked as if he was in some kind of danger.”
    “No Chinese likes to be out on the street longer than he has to,” Mr. Lee said. “Surely you know that our Italian neighbors on Mulberry take great delight at beating and kicking us, even setting our queues on fire.”
    “Your what?”
    “The pigtails that Chinese men wear. They are a constant torment. Small boys love to tug at them. Larger louts even try to cut them off.”
    We passed a storefront. What appeared to be scrawny cooked ducks hung by the necks in a row, and in front was a tank full of live fish swimming around. Two older men were chatting at the doorway, both wearing similar long pigtails.
    “Then why continue to wear them if they pose such danger? They do make the Chinese stand out as different, don’t they?”
    “It is a hard decision to make, unfortunately. Back in China any man who does not wear his hair in the queue is thereby insulting the Emperor and thus subject to instant beheading. So a man who cuts off his queue can never go home again.”
    “That’s terrible,” I said. “Barbaric.”
    “No more barbaric than the way we are treated in America,” Mr. Lee said calmly. “What about the Chinese out West who were driven from their homes, or locked in their cabins and burned alive? Is that not barbaric?”
    “Extremely,” I said. “But why would anyone do this?”
    “Because we look different, and because we work hard and prosper. Always a recipe for hate.”
    I glanced across at him. “You use the word ‘we,’” I said. “You’re not Chinese, are you? You don’t look like these men.” But as I said it I realized that what I had taken for an arrogant stare was, in fact, a slight difference in facial features—the high, flat cheekbones and the narrower-than-usual eyes.
    “I am half Chinese,” he said. “I am one of the few of the first generation to be born here. My father had to flee from the West Coast after the Gold Rush when the persecution started. He came to New York and has prospered. I received a good education. I have been brought up between two cultures but consider myself an American.”
    “I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “So do I take it your employer is also a prosperous Chinese gentleman?”
    “Extremely,” he said. “He owns many businesses, including a large import company. He brings things like porcelain and fine silks over from China. Ah, here we are now.” We stopped outside a storefront. GOLDEN DRAGON EMPORIUM was written in golden letters over the doorway and under it presumably the same thing in Chinese characters. In the window brightly colored plates and cups, jade statues, and carved ivory daggers and balls were displayed. “Please be kind enough to wait here for a moment. I will go and announce our presence to my employer.”
    “May I know his name?”
    “My employer is Lee Sing Tai,” he said. “You may have heard of him. As I told you, he owns many businesses—cigar factory, importing, this store, that restaurant.”
    I shook my head. “I know nothing about the Chinese.”
    “You will address him as Mr. Lee, or Honorable Mr. Lee.”
    “Oh,” I said, as light dawned. “The same last name as you. So that’s why you work for him. You’re related?”
    “Not exactly, but we are both members of the Lee clan. In a way we are all related. This is how things work among the Chinese—we rely on our clan for support. And Lee Sing Tai knew my father when they were still in California. This is why he employed me.” He held up a slender hand. “Now please wait here. I will not keep you but for a moment.”
    With that he darted inside the