Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 384

Aunt Yan wore skirts to work. I had never seen her in a dress before. She used to wear overalls. Occasionally she would bring
home some goodies, sometimes a piece of candy or a box of heart-shaped chocolate. I didn’t know how she got them, but I
could see the labels on the wrapping paper. The logo of Oriental Department Store. I screamed when I saw the brand name. It
was the most expensive shop in the whole Shanghai city! The cheapest goods in there, which was a piece of sticker, cost seven
dollars, which was more than enough for me to buy 30 buns!
Why did Aunt Yan suddenly have so much money? I didn’t know. Maybe the restaurant gave it to her, maybe the customers. I
noticed that Aunt Yan wore shorter and shorter skirts to work, and she wore sleeveless tank tops.
I received pocket money again, every month.
One day Aunt Yan went home with low spirits. She was fired. She did not tell me the reason, and I could tell she was not happy
about that. She asked me to return my pocket money, and I did, of course.
The hawkers were on the streets, peddling.
“Soup dumplings! Soup dumplings! Juicy and delicious!” they were shouting. I looked at Aunt Yan longingly, and my mouth
watered.
She patted my shoulder, and said, “Not now, dear, we don’t have enough money. Sooner or later, I will earn a lot, and you will be
taken care of like a princess.”
Some weeks later my aunt told me that she had found a job. I was really happy, and Aunt Yan looked brighter than ever, the color
returning to her pale face.
She earned quite a high income. I had meat in every meal, and the lunch boxes that Aunt Yan prepared for me were always
packed with tasty food.
“What kind of work are you doing actually?” I asked one day.
Aunt Yan was suddenly very angry and she became red in the face. I did not know what happened, and I thought my aunt was
mad. I wailed, and wailed, hoping that Aunt Yan would comfort me, as she always did. Yet she didn’t, not this time, she stomped
towards me and slapped me. I stopped crying immediately, and I froze in fright.
My aunt had never slapped me before. She went into her room and slammed the door loudly.
I sat in the living room, still shocked at what happened. Then I heard Aunt Yan crying bitterly, and I was worried. I felt as if I had
been stabbed with a knife.
My aunt went to work as usual, and started bringing strangers into our house. They were often old but wealthy men. I was
puzzled. Did Aunt Yan have new boyfriends? Did she fell in love with these men?
I remembered the magistrate of Shanghai had been to our house, hand in hand with my aunt. I asked him naively, “What were
you two doing in Aunt Yan’s bedroom? Were you in love?”
He laughed, pointed a finger towards me, and laughed some more until tears rolled down. “Me? In love with such a woman?
Your aunt is a courtesan, kid.” He sneered.
I dropped my jaw, and was too shocked to say anything.
My aunt was a courtesan.
Two lines of hot tears streamed along my cheek, and I felt very bad.