Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 435

The Little Shanghainese Dressmaker
St. Paul's Convent School, Wong, Kristie - 13
I
n the year of 1913, the northern winds howled outside, and snowflakes flew around in Shanghai. Everyone hurried home to
avoid the bone-chilling night. Not a single person could be found on the street – except for a small figure who was sitting
on the doorstep of a rundown wooden house that trembled in the wind.
Wenxue sat frozen stiff, gazing blankly into the distance. She saw a Dragon’s Dress Tailor Company store in the distance, but
quickly turned away as she knew she could never afford the dresses. She had only a thin, cotton sweater to keep her warm, and
as the wind mercilessly lashed at her red cheeks, she could not stop shuddering. She did not cry, for this was the least of her
sufferings. She often had to wait for hours on end before her father returned home, as she was not allowed to keep the key.
“You have no right to keep the key,” her father had said.
Though she disagreed, she never argued, because her father firmly upheld the Chinese belief that females had a much lower
status than males. If she talked back, she would be slapped for disobedience.
After waiting for another agonizing hour, Wenxue finally glimpsed her father’s outline in the distance. As he approached her,
she saw that he was in a foul mood again, perhaps because he had been unfairly treated at work. “Hello, Papa!” she greeted him,
wary that he might take out his frustration on her, as he habitually did whenever he was feeling upset. Thankfully, he simply
ignored her presence and entered the house.
Once inside the house, Wenxue was about to enter her bedroom when her father started yelling at her. “You stupid, useless girl!
Can’t you see that I’m exhausted? You’re such an ungrateful daughter! Why didn’t you make me some tea?”
Wenxue scurried to make a cup of tea. Just when she was about to reach for a cup, her father yelled again. “How many times
have I told you that I dislike this cup! Won’t you ever obey my wishes?”
“Papa…the other cup hasn’t been washed…” she stuttered. “I don’t care! It’s your fault that you didn’t wash it!” he hollered.
“I…I was out doing errands for the whole day, Papa! I’m so sorry!” She tried to explain, but to no avail. He went on yelling at
her, using all sorts of profanities, and even slapped her across her tear-streaked face before he sent Wenxue to her room.
Wenxue cried until her eyes stung. She felt as if she could no longer take the daily verbal abuses from her father. He regularly
scolded her for trivial matters. He even said that he wished her mother, who died at childbirth, had bore him a son instead.
She felt trapped, as she could not survive without the measly sum her father provided for her meals. The agony in her heart was
far harder to bear than her stinging cheek and ringing ears. No amount of consolation could heal the cuts her father had made
in her heart, because the cruel insults that he hurled at her on a daily basis had scarred her forever. Nobody knew how she
suffered at home, for she always pretended to be happy. She had nobody to talk to, and drawing was the only thing that