Walkerville Collegiate Institute - Blue and White Yearbook (Windsor, Ontario Canada)

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BLUE AND WHITE for after all, wasn’t he offering- me this lovely home in which to live? If I had looked astonished, he didn’t seem to not¬ ice it. “I am sorry I kept you waiting so long, but you see, I was speaking to your ancestors,” he continued. “Huh! I mean I beg your pardon, sir,” I said, quite bewildered. “I said I was conversing with your ancestors,” he repeated. “My ancestors! Why, I thought they were dead,” I uttered, puzzled. “Of course they are, silly, but perhaps you don’t understand. I was speaking with dead, your long-gone ancestors.” He led me to the room which he had just left and there I beheld an enorm¬ ous gilded figure of Buddha sitting cross-legged upon a lotus. A fabulous fortune of pearls, rubies and sapphires lay at his feet as an offering. “Just a few minutes ago,” my would- be uncle began, “I conversed here with your ancestors, the once mighty rulers of China, with the aid of divine Buddha. Perhaps you find it hard to believe. Your mind has become too practical and too westernized, but you must believe me when I say some of these old Oriental powers still exist.” I thought he was insane, and accord¬ ing to what little knowledge I had of psychology, I grinned to humour him. “I know you think I’m insane,” he said as though reading my thoughts again, “but in time you’ll understand what I am saying. Right now, I think it best that you retire. The journey must have been a fatiguing one. Your room is upstairs, the first one on the right.” I thanked him and slowly mounted the flight of stairs, when I heard Strauss’ “Tales of the Vienna Woods” burst forth and then the beautiful voice of a woman singing passionately. Never before had I heard a voice so full of warmth and quality. As the haunting, vibrating notes filled the house, the rich tones reverberated and I imagined my¬ self in the woods, listening to my fav¬ ourite waltz, sung as never sung before. When the last chords had faded maj- Page Thirty-six estically away, uncle broke the spell an p said, “Beautiful, wasn’t it? My secret- s ary sang it. Would you like to mee I her?” ' c “Yes, please,” I answered. a This time he led me to a wide, white- i walled room. A huge window filled the s whole of one side, thus spreading befor- I our feet a vast, never-ending view of the c countryside. In the corner, leaning or the grand piano, the slim form of a wo- t man shook in silent sobs. f “Mai Ling,” my uncle called a little j severely. t Immediately she regained her com¬ posure and as I looked into her eyes, 1 i thought I caught a glimpse of tragedy t To say that she was beautiful would be c unjust, for she was more than beauti- 1 ful. She was charming, ravishing, un- 1 ique. She was dressed exotically in a ( black velvet gown, which was form-fit- ting from the neck to the waist, sud¬ denly spreading to a full skirt which i folded richly about her delicate, sandal¬ led feet. j “I want you to meet my nephew, Mai i Ling,” uncle said. She politely acknow¬ ledged the introduction and in a low. t husky voice making an excuse of some » forgotten duty, left the room. During i those few fleeting moments, I believe! experienced the sweetest sensation in the world. I felt towards Mai Ling, a; Mark Anthony must have felt toward; i Cleopatra, as Alessandra towards Rom- i ona, and as Romeo towards Juliet. • Late that night I lay restlessly in bed. I was greatly disturbed by the day’s ev¬ ents, and there kept appearing forever before my eyes, the vision of the god¬ dess-like face of Mai Ling. I rose and decided to take a walk in the garden. The night air was so sweet and so inviting. Myriads of stars stud¬ ded the heavens around the almond moon, which beamed enchantingly. In the intangible sweetness of the night, under the thick shade tree in the mellow moonlight, I saw Mai Ling, wearing a billowy, white chiffon evening gown. She looked like a picture with her fine, silk-like hair brushed in a youthful

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BLUE AND WHITE I! I e- i it r» a a K It if it ot Ik li te¬ at k- ' P he ne © it, ot as d$ ad in- n? a- ‘nt nc tr- in ol- re¬ in- it ;ed :he iadj ac-‘ of 5a: Tragedy Lurks in The House of Usher. Thick, grey clouds were massed ag¬ ainst the heaven when I was riding on my horse. As dusk drew nigh, I was in sight of the stately House of Usher. The dreary sight of the mansion made me shiver. I was rather disappointed and almost dreaded the thought of en¬ tering. As I walked up the flagstone pathway, with a premonition of some future dread event, I felt as if I were leaving my freedom behind me. Only yesterday I had received a letter writ¬ ten by an unknown uncle who had in¬ vited me to live in his House of Usher. After the death of my father, a month ago, I had thought that my last relative had died. And then I was given a letter, written by an uncle whom I had never known to exist. However, I decided to accept his invitation and place my fut¬ ure hopes in his House of Usher. I lifted the thick iron knocker and brought it gently against the heavy, ponderous door, causing a muffled sound to reverberate with a low moaning tone. As this sound died away, the huge door opened, and what surprised me was not the sight of the Oriental who answered, but the thick, drowsy odour of incense which floated out. “Tell your master that his nephew is here”, I said, handing the boy my riding cane and hat in an attempt to assume nonchalance. “Yes, sir,” he replied as he left. ‘‘Mas¬ ter has been expecting you. I will inform him immediately.” I wandered into the front room, and instead of finding it furnished with El¬ izabethan furniture as I had expected, I found the room filled with antique Chinese furniture belonging, perhaps to the Ming Dynasty. “Hmm!” I mused, “Uncle must have felt homesick.” When I sat in one of the lavishly carv¬ ed chairs, which was a masterpiece in itself, I felt uncomfortable and out of place, for not only did my imported Per¬ sian angora sweater clash in contrast to my surroundings, but also the fine carv¬ ings on the chair stuck into my back. Nevertheless, I did not mind it so very much. I was too engrossed in this Orien¬ tal room. Richly embroidered hangings, worked with gold and silver thread, stretched to the thickly-carpeted, glossy floor. In one corner was the benevolent statue of worldly-wise Confucius, beside which lovely w ' hite lilies rose from the highly- polished mahogany table which sparkled and gleamed in the faint light. This room was really bewitching, not at all like the rooms Pearl Buck describes in her books. For fifteen minutes I w’aited patient¬ ly with a continual droning and mumbl¬ ing which seemed to come from an in¬ ner room. When I began to feel that the boy had failed to convey my message to his master, one of the doors creaked open, and an elderly man, dressed in a Mandarin robe, entered. He was middle- aged, with hair slightly greyed at the temples. His face w’as very kindly, but his eyes w ' ere cold as steel. When he half-closed his eyes, how’ever, he had the appearance of a true, loving, and sincere father. His nationality, I should say, was perhaps American. I rose and was about to ask him if he knew where my uncle was, w’hen he greeted me with, “Nephew, I am so hap¬ py to see you. Welcome to the House of Usher.” Nephew! He had called me nephew’! Was it that I was related to this - this - white man, this barbarian? It was al¬ most an insult. Why, I thought to my¬ self, I am a full-blooded Chinese. My fa¬ ther w f as a Chinese. My father’s father was a Chinese, and so w ' as my father’s father’s father. It was simply ridicul¬ ous ! Just before my father passed away, he had given me proof that I was a de¬ scendant of the blue blood of China. Think of it! My ancestors had once ruled the mighty territories of China. And this wfflite man was trying to have the honour of being related to me. But I locked up my fury and smiled cordially. 1 Page Thirty-five

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BLUE AND WHITE j page-boy fashion. There in the sombre shadows, I frankly confessed my love. In those short moments, we found that out love for each other was more than a passing fancy. It was so perfect that it seemed as though God and God Him- ( se lf must have created it. Suddenly Mai Ling turned around as sorrow pressed ( convulsively against her heart. “I’ve something to tell you and I must t tell you now,” she whispered, with her face as pale as death. ‘‘That man isn’t { your uncle. He’s nothing but a mad sci¬ entist.” “Every minut e you’re here, you are I i in danger. Do you know what he wants I. to do? He wants to take your heart out of your body and make it perpetual. He i- believes that if he can make your heart v beat as your ancient ancestors’ once a did, he can make your heart beat for- t- ever, and you will be his slave, always.” “Now, you can’t expect me to believe h that, can you?” I asked. “No, perhaps not. But come, I’ll prove it. That scientist isn’t home to-night, ai so we shall not be found,” she replied, r- Swiftly she led me down stairway af- v, ter stairway. As we passed a door mark- le ed “Danger”, I asked her what was in if side. “Dynamite”, was the answer, it At last we reached the experimenting is room and there on the shelves were hun¬ is dreds of bottles, each containing a grue- fl- some-looking heart. That was proof en¬ ough for me. 4 “Let’s get of here at once,” I suggest- v- ed, half panic-stricken, but she told me tr that was impossible. My would-be uncle 4 had secretly guarded the house, and if we did escape we should surely be soon in caught. She told me to trust her and I et should thus be safe. Love always finds a d- way. id All the next day I waited in my room In tike a condemned prisoner waiting to be it, electrocuted. As night came on, I heard •w a single knock and a note was slipped a under my door. Mai Ling wrote me to n. meet her where I had met her the prev- ie, ious night. ‘‘Go immediately as it is ur- ul gent,” the note said. I instantly obeyed, and in th e garden, pinned on a tree, I found another note containing details for my escape. In the end the note said, “By the time you read this, I will be far beyond human help. I know you’ll keep sacred our love, and you must forgive me for what I am ab¬ out to do, as it is the only solution to our problem.” At that instant a terrific explosion sharply rent the air and in a few seconds the stately mansion was nothing but a pile of bricks and broken timbers. What a supreme sacrifice it was! She had blown up the house, destroyed the mad scientist, to make possible my escape. As I did not have the courage to look for her mangled body under that heap, I turned my back to the fearful scene of that dreadful tragedy, and walked sil¬ ently down the road. JOE HONG, 12B. Attention, All Lovelorn! A Song Love Letter Oh Johnny, My Own: They say If I Didn’t Care would I Pour Out My Heart Into a Song. To¬ night’s the Night and I’m In the Mood because I Have a True Confession. Last night, All in Fun, I Was Care¬ less about All the Things You Are. I Will be Faithful Forever to My Reverie on the Isle of May. Remember the Angel Serenade we heard At the Chapel in the Moonlight? Day In, Day Out, I walk with Billy, but when I’m in a Melancholy Mood I dream of You. It’s My Turn Now because It Was Written in the Stars that I Must Have One More Kiss. Why is it All Over Town that we are parting? What Can I Say after I say I’m Sorry? I Promise you that I’ll Surrender, Dear. I’ll keep on loving you No Matter Where or When. Now you know but There’ll be Changes Made. Every Little Moment that you are with Rose Marie I’m Fit to be Tied. Does your heart beat for me? Darn That Dream of you, Scatterbrain. I’m In the Mood for Love in a Little Dutch Page Thirty-seven