The Wedding

During the years we lived in Taipei we were fortunate enough to have a live-in maid and houseboy. As I mentioned in a previous post, this certainly did not mean we were rich, for we most assuredly were not. However, in that time and place household help could be had for literally pennies a day. Besha (Bee-Shaw) and Wong were paid the princely sum of $20 American dollars each, per month, for their services and they were very happy to get it. That was simply the going rate in Taipei some fifty years ago. Most all the American families living there had live-in help during those years. I believe that Wong may have actually received $25 since he was experienced and had worked for an American family before us and, therefore, knew and understood our “strange” American ways.

In the first few months we were there, my Mom was pregnant with my brother and then, after he was born, she had the exhausting job of caring for a newborn. Since she also had a toddler, an adolescent and a husband to take care of, having live-in help was truly a blessing to her. For me, as the resident adolescent, it meant that I became a spoiled, rotten brat who never lifted a finger to do housework for over two years. When we returned to the States, it was certainly a rude shock for me to once again begin helping my Mom around the house. I’m not sure I ever got over the indignity of having to do housework! Need I say, I LOVED having servants??

Both Besha and Wong were young, healthy adults of about the same age, so I don’t suppose it’s surprising to tell you that they fell in love and decided to get married. When they invited us to their wedding, my Mom and I were very pleased and excited to be included. I don’t think my Dad cared much one way or the other. Men! What do they know about the romance and excitement of a wedding?

When the big day arrived, my Mom and I got all dressed up and went to downtown Taipei. We went to the given address, a challenge in itself, and upon arrival we found this large building that sort of resembled a church. I’m not really sure what it was, possibly just a large recreation hall or maybe a temple. There were folding chairs lined up in rows and there were lots of flowers. There was a BRASS BAND standing over to the side of the room which seemed a bit surprising to us. In our Americanized version of a wedding, we, of course, expected an organ or a piano or something similar. However, there was only the brass band to provide music. They were playing what can only be described as “Chinese music”. I have no idea what it was except it sounded Oriental and certainly was very different to my ears.

We sat for a while and the place filled up slowly with what I assume were friends and relatives. We received a good number of interested and curious stares as we were the only Occidentals there. Suddenly, the chattering died down, and the band began to play some lyrical sounding song with what sounded like tinkling bells chiming in the background. I can only assume it was the Chinese version of “The Wedding March, for at that point the doors at the back opened and Besha came in.

We hadn’t known what to expect in terms of how Besha would be dressed and Mom and I had wondered if she would be in some “exotic” silk Chinese dress or the like. As it turned out, she was in a full length, white, wedding dress just like any bride I’d ever seen. The only difference I can recall is that the dress desperately needed to be ironed. It was unbelievably wrinkled as though it had been packed away for many years. Maybe it had been, but to this day, I can’t understand why she or her mother or her friends or somebody didn’t have it pressed and made ready for this big day. I guess I’ll never know for we certainly could not ask the bride why her dress why so wrinkled and messy looking. Who knows? Maybe she thought it looked fine.

She came down the aisle alone, not with a Dad escorting her, as we do in our wedding rituals. There were no bridesmaids and only Wong was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, so no groomsmen either. There was a man waiting for them at the front of the church and when she reached Wong, they joined hands and walked together to stand in front of him. At this point the preacher(?) spoke for a while, seemed to bless them and then spoke to the attendees. He read from a book and then, suddenly, it was over.

We, of course, had no idea of exactly what had been said, but apparently, they were now Mr. and Mrs. They turned together and started back up the aisle. As they walked out, heading for the reception, the brass band began playing, very loudly, “You Are My Sunshine”. It seemed so incongruous for the occasion that Mom and I both had to hide our giggles. You are my sunshine indeed!

The reception was held next door and it was basically a nice buffet food spread with friends visiting and talking. The band had followed them over, so dancing may have been planned for later. Mom and I decided that we would eat, pay our respects and then hit the road.

We were both quite knowledgeable about Chinese food and both of us were good with chopsticks, so we did not anticipate any problems. However, the table was laid out with types and varieties of food we had never seen. It looked very nice and smelled good, but the reality is that we had absolutely no idea what we might be eating. Talk about a food adventure! We each put a little of this and a little of that on our respective plates and then retired to a quiet corner to try out these new delicacies.

I honestly have little memory of the food that we ate with one exception. I popped this little tater tot sized bit of food into my mouth and began chewing. I chewed and chewed and chewed and the damn thing just kept rolling around in my mouth not getting chewed up, not dissolving, not doing anything except laying there. I would have bet money that I was chewing on a very large piece of rubber. Finally, in desperation, I spit the “chunk” into a napkin, wrapped it up and stashed it in my pocket. I learned later that I had been eating, or trying to eat, octopus. If that chewy, rubbery mess is what octopus tastes like, then I can assure you I will never eat it again. I certainly have not done so to this very day. God, it was awful!

And so ends the saga of Besha and Wong’s wedding. My most enduring memories of the occasion are the brass band playing “You Are My Sunshine” very loudly and the rubbery octopus.

I wonder what ever happened to those two? They were older than me at that time, so today, assuming they are alive, they are probably venerable grandparents telling stories of their youth and the time they worked for those “crazy Americans”.