Peking Opera House

Very early on a particular Saturday morning, Mrs. Liu disturbed Ying from a deep sleep. She leaned over and whispered into his ear, “My dearest Ying, will you please get up so we can go to the Opera House?”
Ying rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat upright. His room was still dark, but he knew his mother wanted to leave soon. She was always one of the first to arrive at the Opera House on the day of a show. Ying stretched his body, then went to the bathroom and took a shower.
Meanwhile, Lien-Hua stayed in bed, snuggled safely beneath her blankets. As Ying came out of the bathroom, his mother called down the hall, “Ying, will you please wake your sister?”
Ying went into the kitchen and grabbed an ice cube from the freezer, He took it into his little sister’s bedroom and opened the door.
“Lien-Hua, mother wants you to get out of bed,” whispered Ying.
Lien-Hua laid in her bed, hoping Ying would let her sleep. Ying tiptoed through the room and stood beside his sister. He pressed his cold, wet hand against her face. Lien-Hua quickly pulled the blanket over her head, hiding from Ying.
“Quit it!” she shrieked.
“Mom wants you to get up. We have to be at the Opera House soon. Please don’t make her wait.”
“Just let me close my eyes for a few more minutes,” said Lien-Hua.
“If you close your eyes, you will fall asleep again.”
“No I won’t.”
“If you don’t get out of bed, I will put this ice cube under the blanket,” said Ying.
Lien-Hua threw back her blanket and scowled at her brother. Her usually beautiful long black hair looked like a tangle of black wires sticking out of her head.
“I’m up, now go away,” she said as she shooed Ying out of the room.
Lien-Hua got up and shuffled to the bathroom. Ying returned to the kitchen.
“Did she get up?” Ying’s mother asked.
“With a little help from this little ice cube,” said Ying as he popped the ice cube into his mouth and chewed on it.
“That was very clever of you. I always have such a hard time getting her out of bed.” Ying’s mother placed a bowl of cinnamon rice on the table and shared it with Ying. Mama’s cinnamon rice was Ying’s favorite.
After they finished, Ying took the bowl to the sink and rinsed it off. Mrs. Liu looked up at the clock. It was already 7:15, 15 minutes later than she planned on arriving at work. People would be waiting for her.
“Hurry up, Lien-Hua, we’re running late.”
Lien-Hua came into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“We don’t have time for breakfast now. I packed yours with your lunch. You’ll have to eat it in the car.”
Mrs. Liu handed each of the children a brown paper bag. They grabbed their jackets and put them on as they hurried to the car. Ying and Lien-Hua rode in the back seat. Lien-Hua opened her lunch bag and looked inside. She pulled out a small rice ball and began eating it.
“Ma?” said Ying.
“Yes dear?”
“Do you think Mr. Wong will be there?”
“Of course he will. Today he will be working on choreography.”
“Choreography?” asked Ying.
“”You remember, don’t you?”
“Do you mean the dancing thing?”
“It’s more than just dancing. He works with all of the performers. He helps the sword fighters, too. He makes sure their footwork looks just right for the audience.”
“What will you be doing, mama?” asked Lien-Hua.
“I’ll be sewing costumes for the performers. We have to make sure everything is okay for tonight’s show,”
“Will I be able to help you?”
“I’m sure I’ll find something for you to do, Lien-Hua.”
While Lien-Hua and Mrs. Liu talked about plans for the remainder of the day, Ying thought about Mr. Wong. “How fantastic if I could watch Mr. Wong and the sword-fighters,” he said to himself. He rode quietly in the back of the car and wondered if he could hold a sword or be in a sword fight.
Mrs. Liu parked the car in a small alley and walked towards the Opera House. It was tucked in the middle of a Hutong which was lined with markets and shops. The shops were closed and the street was quiet.
A small brown pagoda stood at the entrance of the Opera House. Sign boards announced tonight’s show. Giant red lanterns swayed gently above the theatre entrance. Two golden Foo Lions stood guard on pedestals just outside the Opera House.
Ying reached out and grabbed the brass handles on one of the two large red doors. He held the door open for his mother and sister. The inside of the theatre was quiet, too. Wooden chairs were lined up for audience members. Mrs. Liu and the children walked down the aisle and through the orchestra pit. Mrs. Liu climbed the stairs at the front of the stage. Ying and Lien-Hua followed.
“Click-click-click.” Went their shoes as they walked across the wooden floor of the stage. Mrs. Liu opened a door at the back of the stage and inside they went. Several of the performers were in the backstage area, stretching and getting ready for their rehearsals.
“Good morning, Lien. I see you brought some guests.” It was Mr. Wong.
“I did. I hope they won’t get bored watching us get ready.”
“I think there will can find many things to do,” said Mr. Wong.
One of the dancers approached Mrs. Liu, holding a long shiny dress. “I need to fix a seam. It broke during last night’s rehearsal.”
“That’s awful. Let’s go to the fitting room and make sure it doesn’t happen again. Mr. Wong, could you watch Ying while we fix the dress?”
“It would be my pleasure. He could help us with choreography,” said Mr. Wong. Just as Ying hoped, he would get a chance to see sword fights.
Ying followed Mr. Wong and the actors through the winding hallways of the backstage. They climbed a set of stairs which ended next to a large control panel. It was covered in buttons, switches, and levers. Mr. Wong flipped several switches, which turned on the stage lights.
“There we go,” said Mr. Wong. He walked onto the stage, stopping halfway across.
“Ying, please come here.” Ying went towards Mr. Wong and stopped. Mr. Wong took him by the shoulders and moved him into position.
“Stand still.” Mr. Wong then positioned each of the actors onstage. He hopped off the stage and stood in the middle of the auditorium.
“Ying, move to your left,” he said. Ying shuffled his feet.
Mr. Wong held up a hand and waved it in the air. As he did, Ying moved left and right, positioning himself just right. Mr. Wong pointed to the actors and did the same. He worked the actors like a puppeteer, moving them on the stage with a wave of a hand or the motion of a finger.
“Stay right there!” said Mr. Wong.
He quickly climbed onto the stage and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a roll of glow-in-the-dark tape and broke off tiny pieces and placed them in front of everyone’s feet. Ying looked around at the stage. Tiny green marks were all over the stage.
“What are we doing?”
“These are called marks. We’re marking the stage so the actors will know where to stand.”
“But there are so many marks.”
“There are many actors doing many things. Each one has their own marks to hit during the Opera.”
“Now if you’ll do me a favor and stand offstage, I want to rehearse a scene with the actors.”
Ying waited next to the stairs. Mr. Wong talked with the actors, moving back and forth in a repetitive motion. After a few moments of waiting for Mr. Wong and the actors, Ying got up and wandered around the Opera House. As he walked around, he wished his sister was there so they could play hide-and-seek.
He walked down the steps and through a side door. The hallway was decorated in dark gold wallpaper and the floor was covered in red ornamental rugs. Ying thought this must be where the audience waited during intermission.
He walked along, looking at the pictures of dancers and swordsmen. A row of statues along an edge. Ying approached one of the statues and looked at it.
“That’s Mei Lan Fang,” said a voice. It was Mr. Wong.
“Who is he?”
“Mei Lan Fang was one of the greatest Dans of all time.”
“What is a Dan?” said Ying.
Mr. Wong walked along the hallway and stood in front of a picture of an actress in a silk robe. “Do you see that performer?” asked Mr. Wong.
“Yes.”
“That’s Mei Lan Fang.”
“Really?”
“A long time ago, all performers in the Beijing Opera were men – even the ones who played women. They were world famous for their roles.”
Ying looked at the picture of the woman in the silk robe then looked at Mei Lan Fang’s statue.
“He looks very different.”
“That was the magic of the Dan. They practiced their art form so nobody could tell they were men, even though everyone knew they were.”
“Are there Dans now?” asked Ying.
“Not anymore. Now women play women and men play men in almost every role.”
Ying and Mr. Wong walked along, looking at the displays in the lobby.
“I have some more rehearsals, would you like to come and watch?” said Mr. Wong.
“I don’t think so,” said Ying.
“I think you’ll like this part,” said Mr. Wong.
Ying followed Mr. Wong to the auditorium. A large group of actors were seated on the stage, waiting for Mr. Wong.
“Sit here,” said Mr. Wong. Ying sat with the actors he had met earlier in the morning.
“We were having problems with the fight scene last night,” Mr. Wong said to the actors. “We need to concentrate on hitting our marks for the scene. Everyone get up and go to your places.”
The actors got up and scattered across the stage. Ying stood up and remained there.
“Ying, come here for a second. I want to show one of the actors something. Take this sword and hold it just like so.” Mr. Wong positioned the sword in the air and stepped back for a moment.
“Ying, I just need you to hold the sword as I positioned it.”
Ying held it tightly in his fist. The sword was much heavier than he imagined. Mr. Wong took his own sword and stood in a ready position. Ying’s sword wavered slightly as Mr. Wong waved his sword back and forth.
Mr. Wong swash buckled with Ying and his steady sword for several moments, until Ying’s arm grew too tired to hold the sword any longer.
“That’ll be enough Ying. Thank you very much. You can sit in the audience with your fans,” said Mr. Wong. Ying turned around to see his father seated alone in the auditorium. As Ying hopped off the stage, the actors gave Ying a round of applause.
“Did you have fun?” Mr. Liu asked.
“Of course. I didn’t think I’d actually get to hold a sword.”
“I have to take you and your sister home now to get ready for the Opera.”
“Awww,” sighed Ying.
“We will come back after dinner to watch the Opera,” said Mr. Liu.
“But I would like to stay,” said Ying.
“The actors need some time to do some very important things. I’m sure you understand that, right?”
“Yes, papa.”
“Then let’s find your sister and go home.”
Ying and Lien-Hua went home with Mr. Liu. They ate dinner and got ready for the show. It was a magnificent Opera about an old Emperor with four daughters and no sons. Mr. Wong played the Emperor, dressed in a long golden robe and a fancy headdress.
After the show, Ying and his family were lucky enough to go backstage. Mr. Wong and Mrs. Liu were there, surrounded by many important people.
“Mr. Wong! Mr. Wong!” called out Ying.
“Hello Ying. Meet Mr. Tang. He owns the theatre.”
Ying shook Mr. Tang’s hand. Mr. Tang had a kind smile as he spoke directly to Ying.
“I heard you were practicing with Mr. Wong today. Will you be in my Opera some day?”
“Only if I get to act with Mr. Wong.”
“Then I guess I should make sure that happens,” said Mr. Tang.
“Yes Mr. Tang. I think you should.”
“The Liu Family went home and sat in the sewing room, sharing a pot of Jasmine Tea. The fragrant smell of the Jasmine Tea filled Ying’s nose as he took each sip.
“That was a very good Opera, Lien. I thought the costumes were especially beautiful tonight,” said Grandma Mei.
“I liked the oldest daughter’s gown the best,” said Lien-Hua.
“Thank you, everyone.”
“What did you think, Ying?” asked Grandma Mei.
“I was glad I got to go to the Opera House before the show. I got to see things many people will never have the joy of seeing.”
“And you got to do things many people will never have a chance of doing.”
“Yes, that too,” said Ying.
Ying smiled as he sat in the sewing room with his family. He thought about being a sword fighter for Mr. Tang’s Opera House. He imagined his statue in the lobby, next to Mei Lan Fang and Mr. Wong. Maybe one day, he too would be able to truly do something many people only dreamed of doing – being an famous actor for the Peking Opera.