Before I was Willow, I was Weed. My grandmother, NaiNai, insisted that naming me Weed was better. She believed that the gods would have a hard time making my life go lower if I was already at the bottom. Papa disagreed. “Men want to marry flowers, not weeds.” They argued and finally settled for Willow, which was considered “gentle enough to weep and tough enough to be made into farming tools.” I always wondered what my mother would have thought if she had lived.
Papa lied to me about my mother’s death. Both he and NaiNai told me that Mother died giving birth. But I had already learned otherwise from neighbors’ gossip. Papa had “rented” his wife to the town’s “Bare-sticks” in order to pay off his debts. One of the bachelors got Mother pregnant. I was four years old when it happened. To rid her of the “bastard seed,” Papa bought magic root powder from an herbalist. Papa mixed the powder with tea and Mother drank it. Mother died along with the seed. It broke Papa’s heart, because he had intended to kill the fetus, not his wife. He had no money to buy another wife. Papa was angry at the herbalist, but there was nothing he could do-he had been warned about the poison.
NaiNai feared that she would be punished by the gods for Mother’s death. She believed that in her next life she would be a diseased bird and her son a limbless dog. NaiNai burned incense and begged the gods to reduce her sentence. When she ran out of money for incense, she stole. She took me to markets, temples, and graveyards. We would not act until darkness fell. NaiNai moved like an animal on all fours. She was in and out of bamboo groves and brick hallways, behind the hills and around ponds. Under the bright moonlight, NaiNai’s long neck stretched. Her head seemed to become smaller. Her cheekbones sharpened. Her slanting eyes glowed as she scanned the temples. NaiNai appeared, disappeared, and reappeared like a ghost. But one night she stopped. In fact, she collapsed. I was aware that she had been ill. Tufts of hair had been falling from her head. There was a rotten smell to her breath. “Go and look for your father,” she ordered. “Tell him that my end is near.”
Papa was a handsome man in his thirties. He had what a fortuneteller would describe as “the look of an ancient king” or “the matching energy of sky and earth,” meaning he had a square forehead and a broad chin. He had a pair of sheep eyes, a garlic-shaped nose that sat on his face like a gentle hill, and a mouth that was always ready to smile. His hair was thick and silky black. Every morning, he combed and braided it with water to make his queue smooth and shining. He walked with his back straight and head up. Speaking Mandarin with an Imperial accent, Papa wore his voice like a costume. But when Papa lost his temper, his voice would slip. People were shocked when Mr. Yee suddenly took up a strange voice. Ignoring NaiNai’s opinion that his ambitions would never be realized, Papa dreamed that one day he would work for the governor as an adviser. Papa attended teahouses where he showed off his talent in classic Chinese poems and verse. “I must keep my mind sharp and literary skills tuned,” he often said to me. One would never guess from the way he presented himself that Papa was a seasonal coolie.
We lived in Chin-kiang, a small town far away from the capital, Peking, on the south side of the Yangtze River in Jiangsu province. Originally, our family was from Anhui province, a harsh region where survival depended on an endless round of crushing physical labor. For generations my family worked the region’s thin and unfertile soil and struggled with famine, flood, locusts, bandits, and debt seekers. NaiNai bragged that it was she who brought “luck” to the Yee family. She was purchased by my grandfather when he was forty years old. No one was allowed to mention that the purchase took place in a local sing-song house. When NaiNai was in her prime, she had a slender figure, a swanlike neck, and a pair of fox eyes with both ends tilted up. She painted her face every day and modeled her hairstyle after the Imperial empress. It was said that men’s blood would boil when NaiNai smiled.
By the time the family crossed the Yangtze River and migrated to the south, NaiNai had given the Yee family three sons. Papa was the eldest and the only one sent to school. Grandfather expected a return from his investment. Papa was expected to become an accountant so that the family could fight the government’s tax collectors. But things didn’t turn out right-Grandfather lost his son to the education.
Papa believed that he was too good to work as a coolie. At sixteen, he developed the expensive habits and fantasies of the rich. He read books on China’s political reform and chewed tea leaves to sweeten his peasant garlic breath. An ideal life, he told others, would be to “compose poems under blossoming plum trees,” far away from the “greedy material world.” Instead of returning home, Papa traveled the country, making his parents pay the bills. One day he received a message from his mother. The message informed him that his father and brothers were gravely ill and near death from an infectious disease that had swept through his hometown.
Papa rushed home, but the funeral was already over. Soon enough, his house was possessed by the debt seekers. NaiNai and Papa fell into poverty and became coolies. Although NaiNai vowed to regain their former prosperity, she was no longer healthy. By the time I was born, NaiNai suffered from an incurable intestinal disease.
Papa struggled to keep his “intellectual dignity.” He continued to write poems. He even composed a piece titled “The Sweet Scent of Books” for my mother’s funeral. Invoking a newfound spirituality, he insisted that his words would make better gifts than jewelry and diamonds to accompany his wife in her next life. Although Papa was no different from a beggar in terms of possessions, he made sure that he was lice-free. He kept his appearance by trimming his beard and never missed a chance to mention his “honorable past.”
Papa’s honorable past didn’t mean anything to me. For the first years of my young life, food was the only thing on my mind. I would wake hungry every morning and go to sleep hungry every night. Sometimes the clawing in my stomach would keep me from sleeping. Having to constantly scavenge for scraps, I existed in a delirium. Unexpected luck or a good harvest might bring food for a while, but the hunger would always return.
By the time I was seven, in 1897, things had only gotten worse. Although NaiNai’s health had continued to deteriorate, she was determined to do something to better our lot. Picking up her old profession, she began to receive men in the back of our bungalow. When I was given a fistful of roasted soybeans, I understood that it was time to disappear. I ran through the rice paddies and the cotton fields into the hills and hid in the bamboo groves. I cried because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing NaiNai the same way I had lost Mother.
Around this time, Papa and I worked as seasonal farmhands. He planted rice, wheat, and cotton and carried manure. My job was to plant soybeans along the edges of the fields. Each day, Papa and I woke before dawn to go to work. As a child, I was paid less than an adult, but I was glad to be earning money. I had to compete with other children, especially boys. I always proved that I was faster than the boys when it came to planting soybeans. I used a chopstick to poke a hole and threw a soybean into each one. I kicked dirt into the hole and sealed it with my big toe.
The coolie market where we got our jobs closed after the planting season was over. Papa and I couldn’t find any work. Papa spent his days walking the streets in search of a job. No one hired him, although he was received politely. I followed Papa throughout the town. When I found him wandering into the surrounding hills, I started doubting his seriousness about finding a job.
“What a glorious view!” Papa marveled as he beheld the countryside spreading below his feet. “Willow, come and admire the beauty of nature!”
I looked. The wide Yangtze flowed freely and leaped aside into small canals and streams that fed the southern land.
“Beyond the valleys are hidden old temples that have stood for hundreds of years.” Papa’s voice rose again. “We live in the best place under the sun!”
I shook my head and told him that the demon in my stomach had eaten away my good sense.
Papa shook his head. “What did I teach you?”
I rolled back my eyes and recited, “Virtue will sustain and prevail.”
Virtue finally failed to sustain Papa. The demons in his stomach took over-he was caught stealing. Neighbors no longer wanted to be associated with him. The pity was that Papa never actually succeeded as a thief. He was too clumsy. More than once I witnessed him being beaten by the folks he stole from. He was thrown into the open sewage. He told his friends that he had “tripped over a tree stump.” Laughing, they asked him, “Was it the same stump you tripped over the last time?” One day Papa came home holding his arm, which had been knocked out of its socket. “I deserved it,” he said, cursing himself. “I shouldn’t have stolen from an infant’s mouth.”
By the time I was eight years old I was already a seasoned thief. I began by stealing incense for NaiNai. Although Papa criticized me, he knew that the family would starve if I stopped. Papa would sell the goods I stole.
I snatched small items at first, such as vegetables, fruit, birds, and puppies. Then I went for farming tools. After selling what I stole, Papa would rush to a local bar for rice wine. He took his sips slowly, closing his eyes as if concentrating on the taste. When his cheeks began to redden, he would recite his favorite poem. Although his friends had long since left him, he imagined his audience.
The Grand Yangtze River runs toward the ocean,
Never to return, so went the dynasty’s glorious days.
When would the time come again for heroes?
Though music continues playing, swiftly and triumphantly,
Reform miscarried, reformers beheaded,
Foreign troops plagued the country
His Majesty locked in the island of Yintai.
Where have been the gods’ responses?
Weep the learned man,
Brokenhearted and in despair…
One day a man clapped. He was sitting in a corner. He stood up to congratulate Papa. He was tall, a giant in the eyes of the Chinese. He was the brown-haired and blue-eyed foreigner, an American missionary. He was by himself with a thick book and a cup of tea in front of him.
He smiled at Papa and praised him for his fine poem.
Absalom Sydenstricker was his name. The locals called him the “plow-nosed and demon-eyed crazy foreigner.” He had been a fixture in town for as long as I could remember. Not only was he ceiling tall, he also had hair growing on his forearms and the backs of his hands like weeds. All year long Absalom wore a gray Chinese gown. A queue went down his back, which everyone knew was fake. His costume made him look ridiculous, but he didn’t seem to care. Absalom spent his time chasing people on the street. He tried to stop them and talk to them. He wanted to make us believe in his God. As children, we were taught to avoid him. We were not allowed to say things that would hurt his feelings, such as “Go away.”
Papa was familiar with Absalom Sydenstricker since he, too, spent time wandering the streets. Papa concluded that Absalom was laying up credit for himself so that his God would offer him a ticket to heaven when he died.
“Or else why leave his own home to wander among strangers?” Papa questioned.
Papa suspected that Absalom was a criminal in his own land. Out of curiosity that day, Papa listened to what the foreigner had to say. Afterward, he invited Absalom home for “further discussion.”
Thrilled, Absalom came. He didn’t mind our dirty hut. He sat down and opened his book. “Would you like a story from the Bible?” he offered.
Papa was not interested in stories. He wanted to know what kind of god Jesus was. “Based on the way he was tortured, stabbed to death, nailed and tied to posts, he must be a royal criminal. In China such elaborate public torture would be given only to criminals of high status, like the former Imperial prime minister Su Shun.”
Excitement filled Absalom’s voice. He began to explain. But his Chinese was difficult to understand.
Papa lost his patience. When Absalom paused, Papa interrupted. “How can Jesus protect others when he couldn’t even protect himself?”
Absalom waved his hands, pointed his fingers up and down, and then read from the Bible.
Papa decided that it was time to help the foreigner. “Chinese gods make better sense,” he said. “They are more worshipper-friendly…”
“No, no, no.” Absalom shook his head like a merchant’s drummer. “You are not understanding me…”
“Listen, foreigner, my suggestions might help you. Put clothes on Jesus and give him a weapon. Look at our god of war, Guan-gong. He wears a general’s robe made of heavy metal, and he carries a powerful sword.”
“You are a clever man,” Absalom told Papa, “but your biggest mistake is that you are knowledgeable of all gods but the true God.”
I observed that Absalom’s face was a big opium bed with a high nose sitting like a table in the middle. His eyebrows were two bird’s nests and under them were clear blue eyes. After his talk with Papa he went back into the streets. I followed him.
“God is your best fortune!” Absalom sang to the people who paused in front of him. No one paid attention. People tied their shoelaces, wiped snot off their children’s faces, and moved on. Absalom stuck his long arms out like two brooms in the air. When he saw Papa again, he smiled. Papa smiled back. It took Papa quite a while to figure out what Absalom was trying to say.
“We have shed blood unlawfully,” Absalom said, waving the Bible in Papa’s face. “It may be innocently, but the stain remains upon us. Mankind can only remove it by prayers and good deeds.”
I discovered where Absalom lived. His house was a bungalow located in the lower part of town. His neighbors were coolies and peasants. I wondered what had made Absalom choose the place. Although Chin-kiang was the smallest town in Jiangsu province, it had been an important port since ancient times. From the water’s edge, stone-paved streets led to shops and then the center of the town, where the British Embassy was located. The embassy occupied the highest point, with a broad view of the Yangtze River.
Although he was not the first American missionary to come to China, Absalom claimed he was the first to arrive in Chin-kiang during the late nineteenth century. According to old folks, soon after Absalom arrived, he purchased a piece of land behind the graveyard, where he built a church. His intention was to avoid “disturbing the living,” but to the Chinese, disturbing the dead was the worst crime one could commit. The church’s tall shadow stretched out over the graveyard. The locals protested. Absalom had to abandon the church. He moved down the hill and rented a shop as his new church. It was a room with a low ceiling, crooked beams, falling studs, and broken windows.
Most of the people thought Absalom a harmless fool. Children loved to follow him around. His feet were the main attraction, because they were huge. When Absalom asked the local shoemaker for a pair of Chinese shoes, it became news. People visited the shop just to see how much material it would take and if the shoemaker would double the charge.
When asked his reason for coming to China, Absalom replied that he was here to save our souls.
People laughed. “What is a soul?”
Absalom let us know that the world was coming to an end, and that we would all die if we failed to follow God.
“What evidence do you have?” Papa asked.
“That is what the Bible is for.” Absalom winked an eye and smiled. “The Lord explains the one and only truth.”
Papa said that he was rather disappointed by Absalom’s description of the Western hell. Chinese hell was much more terrifying. Papa loved to challenge Absalom in teahouses and bars. He reveled in the gathering crowd and his growing popularity. Behind Absalom’s back, Papa admitted that he followed Absalom around for the food, especially the cookies baked by Absalom’s wife, Carie.
Compared to NaiNai, Carie was a big woman. She had light brown eyes and a wrinkled, soft, white round face. She wore a funny-shaped hat, which she called a “bonnet.” Stuffed inside this hat was her brown curly hair. Carie wore the same dark dress all year long. It was the color of seaweed. Her skirt was so long that it swept the ground.
Carie had been warning her husband about Papa. She didn’t trust Papa. But Absalom continued to treat Papa like a good friend, although Papa refused to attend his Sunday church on a regular basis.
Like a true artist, Papa fooled Absalom by pretending that he was interested. He was giving me an opportunity to steal. The day after I took the church’s doormat, I heard Carie cry, “There is no need for housekeeping because everything is gone!”
When Absalom held up his Bible-story drawings, I asked about the beard-men who had golden rings on their heads. “Why are they walking in the desert with sheets draped around them?”
Absalom didn’t know that I only asked questions to distract him, so I could carry on with my stealing.
It was hard for Absalom to concentrate. He was interrupted by people’s cries. “When can we have food, Master Absalom? Would you ask God to bring food for us now?”
As Absalom went on with his speech, children pulled his arms and pushed him around. “Who is Virgin? Who is Mary?”
“Who is Madonna?” I asked loudly, attaching myself to Absalom like a leech. My hands were inside his pockets.
By the time Absalom blessed me with a “Jesus loves you,” I had his wallet.
Slipping the wallet into my pocket, I hurried down a side street and made my way out of town. I sensed that I was being followed and cut a jagged path. Still I felt the pair of blue eyes at my back. They belonged to a cream-skinned white girl wearing a black knitted cap. She was a little younger than me. She always sat in the corner of the church room with a black leather-bound book in her hands. Her eyes seemed to say, “I saw you.”
By now I knew who she was. She was the daughter of Absalom and Carie. Her family servant had called her Pearl. She spoke to the servant in the Chin-kiang dialect. Her mother and father never seemed to need her. She was always by herself and was always reading.
To get rid of her, I ran as fast as I could toward the hills. I passed the wheat and cotton fields. After a couple of miles, I stopped. I looked around and was glad that she was no longer in sight. I took a deep breath and sat down. I was excited about my harvest.
As I began to open the wallet, I heard a noise.
Someone was approaching.
I froze and held my breath.
Slowly, I turned my head.
Behind me, in the bushes, was that pair of blue eyes.
“You stole my father’s wallet!” Pearl yelled.
“No, I didn’t.” I imagined the food the money in the wallet could buy.
“Yes, you did.”
“Prove it!”
“It’s in your pocket.” She put down her book and tried to reach into my pocket.
I knocked her aside with an elbow.
She fell.
I held tight to the wallet.
She rose. Anger made her pink lips quiver.
We stood face-to-face. I could see sweat beaded on her forehead. Her skin was white, as if bleached. Her nose had a pointed tip. Like her father’s fake queue, her black knitted cap hid her blonde curly hair. She wore a Chinese tunic embroidered with indigo flowers.
“Last chance to give the wallet, or you’ll get hurt,” she threatened.
I worked up a mouthful of saliva and spit.
While her hands went up to protect her face, I ran.
She followed me through the fields and up and down a hill. By the time she caught me, I had already hidden the wallet. I raised both of my arms and said, “Come and search me.”
She came and didn’t find the wallet.
I smiled.
She gasped, taking off her knitted cap. Golden curls fell across her face.
From then on she followed me everywhere. I was unable to steal. I spent day and night thinking about how to get rid of her. I learned that she had one living sibling, a younger sister, Grace. The Chinese servant who took care of the girls, Wang Ah-ma, had been with the family for a long time.
“ Pearl and Grace want so much to look like the Chinese girls,” Wang Ah-ma chatted to her knitting friends. They sat outside the house under the sun. Wang Ah-ma was making new caps for Pearl and Grace. The caps would cover their blonde hair so that they could look like Chinese girls. Wang Ah-ma said that she had to knit fast because the girls were wearing the old ones out. “Poor Pearl, every day she begs me to find a way to help her grow black hair.”
The women laughed. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her to eat black sesame seeds, and she went crazy eating them. Her mother thought that she was eating ants.”
Before the spring planting season, farmers came to town to purchase their supplies for the year. While men bought manure and had tools fixed and sharpened, women inspected the livestock. Going in and out of food stalls and supply shops, I hunted for stealing opportunities. It had been weeks since I’d had a full meal.
Papa had pawned nearly every piece of furniture we owned. The table and benches and my own bed were all gone. I now slept on a straw mat on the packed-earth floor. Centipedes crawled over my face in the middle of the night. NaiNai suffered from an infection that wouldn’t heal. She could barely move from the one bed we still owned. Papa spent more time with Absalom, trying to get hired.
“Absalom needs my help,” Papa said every day. “Absalom doesn’t know how to tell stories. He puts people to sleep. I ought to be the one to tell his Bible stories. I could turn Absalom’s business around.”
But Absalom was only interested in saving Papa’s soul.
One night I heard Papa whisper to NaiNai, “The dowry would be handsome.” It took me a while to figure out what he meant. One of his friends had made an offer to purchase me as his concubine.
“You are not selling Willow!” NaiNai hammered her chest with her fist. “She is just a child.”
“It takes money to make money,” Papa argued. “Besides, you need to buy medicine. The doctor said that you are getting worse…”
“As long as I am breathing, don’t even think about it!” NaiNai broke down.
What if NaiNai died? I became scared. For the first time I looked forward to Sunday, when I could attend the church, where Absalom would talk about heaven and Carie would serve meals. Papa and NaiNai wanted to join me, but they were embarrassed to show their despair in front of foreigners.
Absalom’s church was a room with benches. The walls were mud-colored. Absalom said that his God was a humble god, one who cared more about his followers than about the appearance of his temple. Absalom said that he was in the middle of raising funds to build a proper church.
I wanted to tell Absalom that people were not interested in his God or his church. Food was the reason we came. We waited for Absalom to finish preaching. We had to endure. I cried joyfully when it was time to clap our hands together and say “Ah-men.”
After the meal we felt good. We sang songs to thank Absalom’s God. Carie taught us Hymns and Oratorio. The first song Carie sang to us was called “Amazing Grace.” Her big voice surprised everyone. It was deep like a Chinese gong. The room vibrated. The sound was like a spring waterfall pouring down from the mountains. Carie’s soft round face melted into a sweet expression. She sent her notes up through the ceiling effortlessly.
I fell in love with “Amazing Grace.” The song moved me in a strange way. I grew up with Chinese operas, but it was Carie’s song that made me think of my own mother. Never before had I been able to imagine what my mother looked like. The song brought her to me, vivid and clear. Mother was as beautiful as a Chinese goddess. I could almost smell her fragrance. Her face was egg-shaped and her eyes gentle and bright. She was petite but had a full figure. “Come, my child,” I could hear her say. “I have been longing to see you.”
Tears filled my eyes. I noticed that I was not the only one who was falling in love with “Amazing Grace.” NaiNai wanted me to learn the song so that I could sing it at her funeral.
Carie had a monstrous instrument she called a “piano.” She often played it to accompany her singing. Her fingers danced over the keys as she sat on a stool with the bottom of her dress covering the ground. We spent many Sunday afternoons together. Word by word, Carie taught me “Amazing Grace.” I went home and practiced in front of NaiNai and Papa.
Amazing Grace,
How sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I sang the same way I would sing a Chinese opera. My voice was charged and loud.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind but now I see.
Papa and NaiNai enjoyed the song and waited eagerly for me to go on. I had to tell them that this was all I had managed to learn so far.
Papa went quiet for a while and then said, “Although ‘Amazing Grace’ is a foreign song, it is about us, because we are lost, confused, and scared.” NaiNai agreed. “ Willow,” she said, turning to me, “make sure you learn the full piece from Carie, because I could go at any time.”
I asked NaiNai if she was going to heaven and if so whether she and my mother would meet. NaiNai nodded. “Your mother would love to hear you sing ‘Amazing Grace.’”
I went to Carie and begged her to teach me the rest of the song. She was delighted. She sat me next to her by the piano and began.
The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.
Carie’s voice changed. The tone became tender, reminding me of a gentle creek flowing through a meadow.
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.
From Wang Ah-ma, we learned that Carie had lost four of her children after arriving in China. “I don’t know any woman who has experienced worse, four male children,” Wang Ah-ma sighed, putting up her four fingers.
According to Wang Ah-ma, Carie had her dead sons’ names carved on her bed board. “The Mistress speaks to their spirits every night before sleep.”
People wondered what kind of food Absalom’s family ate and what it tasted like.
“Cheese and butter,” Wang Ah-ma said. She stuck a finger in her throat and bent over to imitate retching. “It tastes like spoiled tofu.”
“What about Pearl?” I asked.
“ Pearl is different. She has a Chinese stomach.” Wang Ah-ma smiled with approval. “ Pearl eats what I eat. She is strong as an ox.”
“Do you mean she won’t die like her brothers?” I asked.
Wang Ah-ma lowered her voice to a whisper. “It doesn’t make sense to me that four of Carie’s children had to die. It was the same disease. I mean, the boys suffered the same as the Chinese children. Why did the Chinese children survive? Pearl ’s body has learned to fight the disease like a Chinese. For Buddha’s sake, she has been successful!”
The listeners nodded in admiration. “You did well for your mistress, Wang Ah-ma!”
Wang Ah-ma’s face bloomed like a summer lotus. “ Pearl eats double meals. One in the kitchen with the servants, and the other with her parents. The child has an incredible appetite. She loves soy nuts, lotus seeds, and roasted seaweed. Pearl ’s favorite is scallion pancakes, which I buy every week especially for her.”
I should have seen it coming when Pearl caught me. My mouth was stuffed with pancake, which I had stolen from Wang Ah-ma. Pearl waited for the moment. She made sure that she had a witness. My hand was in Wang Ah-ma’s basket, although Wang Ah-ma hadn’t realized what was happening.
Pearl dragged me to Carie, who was sitting in front of her piano.
The town followed.
Papa and NaiNai were called.
“A rat naturally knows how to dig a hole,” children cheered. “What do you expect, the father sets an example?”
“I caught her in the act,” Pearl announced.
Carie didn’t look at her daughter. She turned to me.
“You didn’t do it, did you, Willow?” Carie asked, closing the piano lid.
Fearing that Papa and NaiNai would lose face in front of the town, I boldly lied. “No, I did not do it.”
Carie rose to greet Papa and NaiNai. In a gentle voice she said to them, “I’m sorry, my daughter made a mistake.”
“But Mother!” Pearl interrupted. “I caught Willow in the middle of her act!” She turned to Wang Ah-ma. “Please, Ah-ma, tell Mother the truth…”
“Mistress,” Wang Ah-ma said, stepping up. “ Pearl made no mistake…”
Carie signaled a stop with her right hand and said, “Ah-ma, the soup on the stove is boiling.”
“It is not boiling, Mistress. I have just checked.”
“Go and check again,” said Carie.
“Yes,” Wang Ah-ma said, nodding, “I’ll go now. But Mistress, Pearl was right about the pancake. Willow did steal it.”
“No, Willow did not,” Carie repeated without looking at anyone.
NaiNai and Papa exchanged relieved glances.
“Mother!” Pearl ’s tears streamed down her cheeks. “If you check Willow ’s breath, you will smell the scallions!”
“That’s enough, Pearl.” Carie waved a hand.
“I swear to God.” Pearl began to weep.
“Go and help set the dinner table,” Carie said. “Your father is on his way home.”
“Mother, I’m not the one who lied!”
“I didn’t say you lied, Pearl.”
I had a hard time that afternoon. My neck felt stiff, as if pressed under a stone grinder. I went up into the hills and sat alone. I didn’t move until the sun set and the boatmen returned. Mist began to spread along the riverbank. The moisture was thick in my lungs. I lost sleep that evening. I was deeply ashamed. Pearl ’s tearful face hovered before me all night long. I got up and admitted to Papa and NaiNai that I had taken the pancake.
They were not surprised.
The teahouses celebrated spring by hosting parties. “Men of words” gathered around blossoming camellias and peach and plum trees and composed poems. Papa loved the parties, while I loved the blooming peach flowers that looked like pink clouds. Then came the April wet season. The southern China rain didn’t come in showers. It came like a spreading thick fog. When I stuck out an arm, I could feel no drops. But once I stepped outside, wetness would wrap me. In ten minutes of walking, moisture would soak through my clothes. If I wiped my face with a hand, water would come off. Very slowly, my hair would droop. Strands of hair would paste against my skull.
In a month, the river would rise a few inches. Water and sky would become one gray color. Toads, eels, earthworms, and leeches would be found everywhere. The dirt path would become sluggish. Bamboo would thrive. By the time summer arrived, it would cover the southern slopes of the hills.
My teeth were green from chewing milkweeds. I had just turned nine. It became harder to resist the urge to steal. I had been thinking about a boy who had visited us during the past Chinese New Year. He was a distant relative and seventeen years old. His name was San-bao. He was an apprentice working for the local blacksmith. What I really had been thinking about were the soy nuts San-bao had promised me. I wondered when he would deliver his gift.
My legs carried me to San-bao’s shop. I wished that I had nicer clothes. San-bao was surprised to see me. He wore a dirty apron and was bare-shouldered. He was a strong and cheerful man who had a horse’s jaw. I could see wormlike thick veins under his skin. Putting down his sledgehammer, he asked what had brought me to visit.
I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t say that I had come for the soy nuts. I said that I was just passing by. He smiled gleefully.
“Have you eaten?” he asked after a moment.
“No.” I was embarrassed for replying too quickly.
“What would you like me to get you?”
Before I could stop myself, my tongue went, “Soy nuts would be nice.”
“Oh, right, soy nuts.” He remembered his promise. He told me to wait and went inside the shop. When he came out, he said, “We’ll take a walk, and I’ll get you the soy nuts.”
As soon as San-bao paid for the soy nuts, I reached for the bag.
“No, not yet.” San-bao took it away. “I don’t want the beggar children to jump on you. We must find a quiet place to sit.”
I followed San-bao. We arrived at the back of the old churchyard where the weeds were waist-high. Black crows shot into the sky. Field mice ran through the wild berry bushes. We sat down. San-bao watched me eating the soy nuts. As soon as I finished, he put his arm around my shoulders.
“I am good to you, aren’t I?” he asked.
I nodded, feeling a little awkward.
“Do me a favor,” he said, pulling my hand over and placing it on top of his crotch.
I was shocked.
“You don’t have to be so serious.” He grinned.
“I’m going home, San-bao.”
“Come on, Willow.”
“No, San-bao.”
“You owe me.” He dropped his smile and his voice turned cold.
I was frightened. I got up and ran, but he caught me.
“You really believe that I’d let a cooked duck fly away?” He pushed me down.
I struggled to free myself.
He held my neck and twisted my head to the side. “I paid for your soy nuts.”
“I’ll give you the money back!”
“You have no money.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“I want it right now!”
“I don’t have it.”
“Yes, you do. You have something I like. All you have to do is to let me touch it…” He reached inside my clothes.
“San-bao, please!”
“ Willow, give me no trouble.”
“Let me go!”
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
“No!”
“You bitch!”
“No!”
He pressed my face down to stop me from screaming.
I fought and kicked, but he was too strong.
My clothes were ripped.
I begged him to stop.
Refusing, he forced himself onto me.
Losing strength, I broke down. There was no way I could escape. I regretted my foolishness.
It was when San-bao pushed my face to the side that I saw a shadow. There was a figure hiding behind a stone tablet.
A familiar black knitted cap revealed who it was.
“Help!” I screamed.
Before San-bao could react, Pearl ran up. She struck San-bao with a big rock.
Instantly, San-bao fell over and was still.
“Oh, my God.” Pearl stepped back. “Did I kill him?”
I gasped getting up.
Pearl bent down and put a finger under San-bao’s nose.
“He’s not dead!” Pearl said. “Should I hit him more?”
“No, no more!” San-bao pleaded, trying to raise himself.
“You deserve to die!” I yelled.
Pearl picked up the rock again.
“No!” San-bao rose and ran.
Pearl chased him until he disappeared.
Gratitude filled my chest.
Pearl came back and brushed the dirt off my clothes.
“Thank you for the rescue, my friend,” I uttered.
“Who is your friend?” She turned away. “Liar!”
“Please forgive me, Pearl. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
“Do you expect me to trust you?” She looked at me, disgusted. “You took my father’s wallet and spent his money; you stole Wang Ah-ma’s pancakes and lied to my mother… You little donkey ass!” You little donkey She walked down the hill, swinging her basket.
I tried to hold back my tears.
She sang a Chinese song that I knew well. The hills echoed. The colorful wild flowers in her basket bounced under the bright sunshine.
Jasmine flower, sweet jasmine flower
Your beauty and fragrance is the best among the spring
I’d like to pick you and wear you in my hair
But I fear that you would be upset and wouldn’t come back the next year
Noises filled the Sunday church. Men exchanged opinions on the weather and methods for pest control. Women knitted, mended, embroidered, and chatted. Someone shouted across the room. Children threw pine nuts at each other. Mothers nursed their infants and yelled at their elder children. Absalom was unable to quiet the crowd until Papa rang a merchant’s bell.
“Folks, the Western monk needs our help,” Papa said with raised voice. “In my opinion, Absalom offers not an alternative but a better deal. Look, we have fed our gods and they are fat and happy. But what have they done for us? Nothing. Now, folks, I’d like you to take a hard look at Absalom’s God, Jesus Christ. Just look at his appearance. Anyone who is not blind can tell that he works harder than the Chinese gods. So listen, folks, listen to Absalom.”
Absalom picked up the opportunity. “Today we shall learn about the Baptism of Christ.” He pulled out his color drawing and pointed. “The two men are Lord Christ and John.”
I saw two figures standing in a river performing a ceremony. John and Christ had almost oriental features, with smaller noses and slightly slanted eyes. Absalom had finally taken Papa’s advice. He had smoothed the deep-set Western eyes and flattened their pointed noses. Christ now had longer earlobes, resembling Buddha’s.
Papa told me that Absalom at first had insisted on presenting a fully bearded Christ. It wasn’t until Papa proved to him that no Chinese would worship a god that looked like a monkey that he agreed to trim the beard.
“Buddha’s face changed as he traveled from India to China.” Papa pointed out to Absalom the difference between the early India Buddha and the later Chinese Buddha. Buddha’s eyes grew smaller as he arrived in China, his skin lighter and smoother. The Chinese sculptors made sure that Buddha appeared well fed. With his eyes half closed, Buddha looks like he is about to nap after a satisfying meal.
When Absalom baptized Papa, it was a big day for the town. Everyone wanted to see Papa being dipped in the river like a pot sticker in soy sauce. It was the first time Pearl and I sat together. We both had been trying to help our fathers draw a crowd.
Absalom and Papa stood face-to-face in the river with water up to their waists. Absalom was in his dark gray robe, while Papa wore his washed white cotton gown. Papa was red-faced and looked nervous, while Absalom was serious and solemn.
Speaking his heavily accented Chinese, Absalom explained, “Descending into the waters implies a confession of guilt and a plea for forgiveness.”
Papa repeated loudly after Absalom.
“Make a new beginning!” Absalom shouted. “Come to the light on the Cross!”
Papa tried to stand still but wasn’t able to. “When should I take a breath?” he asked.
Absalom ignored him. “‘Take me and throw me into the sea,’ says Jesus,” he sang.
“Tell me when,” Papa spoke again.
“Wait.” Absalom held him.
“I am afraid of drowning,” Papa said. “I really am.”
“Trust in God.”
Gently, Absalom pushed Papa back until his head went under the water.
The crowd held its breath.
“Lord Jesus bears all righteousness!” Absalom hailed.
The crowd cheered.
Papa looked frozen. He emerged from the water and immediately sank back again.
“Papa, what are you doing?” I shouted.
“He is accepting Christ’s death,” Pearl said quietly.
“For what?”
“For his sins and the sins of humanity.”
Papa reemerged from the river, spilling water like a fountain. He didn’t choke. I was relieved. I saw NaiNai among the crowd wiping her tears. The night before she had told us that she liked the idea that her son was getting a cleaning.
“God calls out, ‘This is my beloved son!’” Absalom shouted. “‘This is the anticipation of his death on the Cross and his Resurrection!’”
Led by Absalom, Papa walked out of the river.
“I feel God and his Will!” Papa said to the crowd. “Jesus made me shake off a failed life. I am to begin a new one!”
I was sure Papa did it for Absalom to thank him.
As if touched by Papa’s transformation, Absalom stuck out both of his arms toward the sky, calling out, “Praise the Lord!”
Speaking together as if singing a duet, Papa and Absalom stood side by side in the church on Sundays. Folks were curious when they heard about Papa’s new luck on getting blessed by the foreign god. They came to see if they could acquire the same protection.
Papa delivered an outstanding performance for Absalom.
“We live in an underworld filled with demons,” Papa began with the same enthusiasm he showed when reciting his Chinese poems. “Doomed by fate, we are captured by evil, spellbound by mean spirits. We, the incense burners, the coolies, the losers, gamblers, drunkards, thieves, and deaf-n-blinds. Be afraid no more, because Jesus is here to help. All you have to do is to make a new start by signing up with Absalom.”
Papa asked the town’s seventeen-year-old widow, Lilac, who was an egg seller, “Am I right to guess that Buddha hasn’t answered your prayers?”
“No, he certainly has not,” Lilac replied.
“Are you losing faith in him?”
“I am afraid to say yes, but yes.”
“You are disappointed.”
“I don’t mean to offend Buddha. But yes.”
“Lilac, you have been visiting the temple since birth. The incense you have burned could make a hill. Did your life change for the good? You were bought and sold twice. You were married to a sick man who was dying. You were forced to sleep with the crop in order to balance his yin and yang elements. You barely escaped from your in-laws. You came to Chin-kiang friendless and family-less and still are. Have you ever questioned the god you worship?”
Lilac shook her head and began to weep.
“Well, consider your disappointment an investment!” Papa said.
“An investment?” Lilac’s big eyes widened.
Absalom frowned.
Papa’s tongue had never been so slippery as his words poured. “This investment warns you not to make any more bad choices, so that you won’t end up captive to evil spirits forever!”
“But I have been burning incense!” Lilac protested. “I don’t deserve bad luck forever!”
“Have you ever asked yourself the reason that bad luck still follows you?” Papa asked.
Lilac shook her head.
“Why you and no one else?”
“Why?”
To drive home his point, Papa punched his right fist into his left palm. “It’s the wrong god you have been worshipping!”
Lilac was stunned.
“The Christian God says, Lilac, you deserve a chance for a better life. Yes, you, Lilac!” Like an opera singer, Papa commanded the stage. “God tells me that Lilac deserves the same chance as his beloved son, the Lord Jesus Christ! Now make your wish and claim it!”
“I’d certainly make that wish,” Lilac said in a small voice. “But first and most of all I wish that my eggs be given a chance to become chickens.”
I admired Lilac because she never complained about her misfortune. She was always cheerful and kind. Her egg service was fully booked before winter. This year she thought that I was old enough to help her separate the good eggs from the bad. She hired me. What surprised me was that Pearl was there too. I learned that Pearl had been visiting Lilac since she had been a little girl. Lilac’s egg house was her playground. Lilac adored Pearl because she was such a dependable helper. Carie told Lilac that her daughter was permitted there for the learning experience. Pearl had so much fun that she would forget to go home. Wang Ah-ma had to come and drag her back at the end of the day.
At Lilac’s request, Pearl showed me the way. I learned that it would take about a month and a half for the eggs to hatch. Pearl taught me to separate eggs from the main basket. We removed the eggs that were too small or whose shells were too thin, or had a broken yolk or had been in the storage too long.
Pearl told me that what she loved to do most was shine the eggs. This was done after Lilac sealed the egg house, leaving only a small hole in the door. Pearl and I took turns holding the eggs in front of the hole where the sunlight shone through. This was called “the first look.” The purpose was to see if the egg yolk carried a pearl. If there was a pearl, the hen had been visited by a rooster, which meant that the egg would turn into a chick.
After the examination, we placed the qualified eggs in warm baskets padded with cotton. Lilac would take the baskets and store them underneath her big brick bed behind her stove. We had to wait for four days to have “the second look.”
The purpose of the second look was to see if the pearl had swelled. Lilac taught us to hold the egg in our palm. Back and forth we turned the egg toward the sun. We looked for a shadow, the pearl. It was not an easy task and it took an experienced eye. Afterward we removed the eggs that hadn’t swelled. Again we put the qualified eggs in the cotton-padded baskets and put them under Lilac’s bed.
We would repeat the procedure every four days. It was what Lilac called “the third look” and “the fourth look.” When the shadow became clear to our eyes, we moved all the egg baskets from underneath Lilac’s big bed and transferred them to ceramic pots. Inside the pots was a mixture of earth and straw. It looked like a hot cave. A tiny fire was built underneath the pots to keep the temperature warm. According to Lilac, this was the most crucial step. If it was too hot, the eggs would be cooked. If it wasn’t warm enough, the pearl wouldn’t turn into a chick.
The success or failure of Lilac’s year would be determined in a few days. Lilac invited all her gods onto her walls. She lit incense and performed ceremonies begging to be blessed. This year she put up a picture of Jesus Christ.
I was tempted to take a peek into the pots. But Pearl refused to go along with me. She followed Lilac’s instruction faithfully. Like a mother hen, Lilac wouldn’t leave her eggs. Day and night, she guarded the pots, adding and withdrawing straw to and from the fire. She no longer spoke but whispered-she was afraid to disturb the eggs. I watched Pearl draw pictures of Lilac, who was sleeping with her mouth wide open. Lilac had been talking about making good money hatching her eggs before she fell asleep. In the last two-week period Lilac had grown thin. She had no time to eat or sleep. She feared that the temperature would waver and destroy her harvest. Her eyes became red and her cheeks sunken. Pearl and I avoided talking to Lilac because she was irritable and nervous.
When Lilac put out the fire, we knew that the winter was over. In just a few days the air warmed. Spring came with dampness, and we had to battle excessive moisture.
The three of us took the eggs out of the giant ceramic pots to air them. We put the eggs on Lilac’s brick bed with cotton pads underneath. Lilac sent Pearl and me to notify the farmers that the time to pick up their baby chicks had come.
We were thrilled when we saw the little beaks appearing. The young chickens chipped away at the shells and worked their way out. Pearl called it a grand birthday party when all the chicks finally broke through.
“What beauties!” Pearl cried to the chicks hopping on and off her hands.
Lilac was too tired to celebrate. She snored, leaning against the wall, while Pearl and I counted the chicks. We put the chicks into baskets to be picked up. Lilac laughed and cried in her sleep. Her face glowed with pleasure. “What should be done in summer, you don’t do in spring!” she yelled. “Am I not right?”
“You are perfectly right, Lilac!” Pearl and I answered. We helped her to the bed, where she would sleep for days.
It was early September. Hot, sweet air filled my lungs. Pearl and I ran down the hills. We passed little children playing with dirt and earthworms. We passed the town’s oldest man napping in the shade of a tree. I was thrilled because Pearl had finally invited me to her home.
“My mother doesn’t know that I am bringing you,” Pearl said excitedly.
“Will she… mind?” I felt nervous. “After all, I did lie.”
“Oh, she has long forgotten that.”
“Has she?”
“Mother said that sometimes people can’t be held responsible for what they do, because they don’t know God.”
I stopped. “What if she remembers? What if she tells me, ‘I don’t want a liar as my guest’?”
“Oh, she knows you, and she’s always liked you.”
“How do you know?”
“ Willow, my mother was bound to adore you.”
“Why?”
“Because you can sing.”
I looked at her.
“ Willow, my mother has been trying to organize a children’s choir, but she can’t find any children who can sing or are willing.”
“She knows that I’m willing,” I said. “But I don’t know if she thinks I can sing well enough.”
“Yes you can.”
“My voice can’t hold the highest notes. It cracks.”
“Mother will teach you how to carry the high notes. Besides, the church songs are no Chinese operas. They are much easier to sing.”
“Will you sing too, Pearl?”
“Yes, I love singing, although I don’t really have much of a voice. But it doesn’t matter. I can sing ‘Jasmine, Sweet Jasmine’ forever.”
She began the tune and I joined. When we finished, Pearl began again in the Yangchow accent, and I followed. We sang in both Soochow and Nanking accents, too.
“Do you have a favorite Chinese opera?” I asked after we exhausted all our accents.
“The Butterfly Lovers!”
“That is my favorite too!”
“The Ming dynasty version or the Ching dynasty version?” Pearl asked. I was surprised at her knowledge. “The Ching version, of course.”
She nodded and then we began.
I live by the Yangtze River near its source,
While you reside farthest down its course.
You and I drink water out of the same stream,
I haven’t seen you though daily of you I dream.
When will this river water cease to run?
When shall I not love you, the way I do?
I only wish our two hearts would beat as one,
And you wouldn’t disappoint me in my love for you.
Hand in hand we walked along the riverbank. I asked if she was allowed to sing Chinese opera at home.
“Are you kidding?” she mocked. “Absalom allows no other sound than God’s.”
I asked if she got along with her parents.
“My parents use a fork and knife; I use chopsticks.”
Both Absalom and Carie were out when we arrived, so Pearl gave me a full tour of her home. The house was a three-room bungalow made of brick and wooden boards. The middle room served as a living and dining area. On each side were bedrooms. Pearl shared hers with her baby sister, Grace. Her parents’ bedroom had a big wooden bed. The sheets were washed white and made of coarse cloth. The stains on the wall showed a leaky roof. The place was extremely clean. Even the worn-out furniture glowed. Pearl pointed out the pink curtains. “Mother made them herself with fabric from America.” On the side of the house there were two large ceramic jars containing water from the river. I was surprised that the family lived just like us.
“Mother leaves our door open all year long,” Pearl said.
“She will receive anyone who knocks?”
“My parents love any opportunity to introduce Jesus Christ.”
“But Carie cares about people, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, my mother does, a great deal, unlike my father, who cares only about God.”
“I don’t know about leaving the door open all the time,” I said. “Beggars might get in and it would be hard to get them out.”
“People who show up are ‘too poor to afford a string to hang themselves with,’ in my mother’s words. ‘Foreign Mistress, Carie TaiTai,’ they call her, and beg for food.”
“Your mother has to put up with a lot.”
“This is nothing compared to what she has been putting up with from her husband.” Pearl told me that Carie had tried to convince Absalom to leave China in order to save her dying children.
“Does your mother still want to leave China?” I asked.
“No, she gave up.” Pearl paused and then went on. “The visitors Mother truly enjoys are sailors from America. She bakes cookies for them and they love her for it. After food and wine, Mother and the sailors sing ‘Afar from Home’ together. They all laugh and cry at the same time.”
As Pearl predicted, Carie was pleased the moment she found out that I was willing to join her children’s choir. She took me to the piano and I sang “Amazing Grace.”
Carie showed me how to steal breaths when hitting the high notes. I learned not to strain my voice. To instruct me, Carie began to sing other songs. I loved Carie’s voice although I had no idea what she was singing. I promised to come again for lessons. Carie believed that my voice would change for the better with practice. After a couple of months, I did improve. I was able to carry the high notes effortlessly. I could imitate Carie’s voice, and I also had the ability to memorize a song once Carie had sung it. Soon, Carie invited me to sing at Absalom’s Sunday service. I sang the song clearly withemotion as if I understood the lyrics.
Pearl was proud. Her face glowed when Carie said, “I thank God for Willow!”
Absalom was also impressed. “Keep up the good work for the Lord,” he encouraged.
I knew in his heart Papa didn’t care much about God although he pretended that he did. I figured that I could do the same. What I loved was to sit by Carie as she played the piano. Carie never quizzed me regarding my knowledge of God. I was grateful that she didn’t mind that I sat quietly. She said that a child ought not to miss the joy of music. She would sing a tune that came to her mind. I would hear seasons in Carie’s voice. The sound of spring was like the Yangtze River filling up the creeks. Her sound of summer was like the sun’s touch. Autumn was colors that vibrated and heightened my senses. Her voice of winter was deep, a story of snow.
While sitting by Carie I felt happiness. But once in a while the words would fill my heart with sadness. It would happen in the middle of my practice. I would choke and break down. Carie would put her arm around me.
“Let’s take a break,” she would suggest. “I’ll play you my favorite tune.”
Carie’s music never failed to cheer me up. When Carie was in a good mood, she would sing duets with me. I loved the sound we made together. If I began to get an idea about heaven, it was through singing with Carie.
“Willow, how I wish that I could take you to see America,” Carie said one day.
Carie spoke about her homeland. She said that she didn’t mean to live in China forever. It was her duty as a Christian wife to follow Absalom to China and set up her tent in the small town of Chin-kiang. It was not her choice, she emphasized.
I asked Pearl if she shared her mother’s feelings.
“Well, China feels more like home to me than America,” she replied matter-of-factly. Pearl hadn’t been to America since she was three months old. “ America is my mother’s real home and she says it’s mine too.” She paused and then added, “ America is where Mother comes from and where she wishes she could return.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I have no idea where I will end up eventually.”
I asked if she missed America. She laughed. “How could I miss something I have no idea of?” I asked if she knew her relatives in America. “I know their names,” she replied, “but I don’t know them personally. My parents talk about my aunts, uncles, and my cousins. They are strangers to me. The only people I know besides my parents and sister are your people. I am afraid that one day my father will decide to return to America. I can’t imagine leaving China.”
I looked at her, trying to picture the moment of such a departure.
“In a way it is sad that my mother is not like her husband,” Pearl resumed after a while. “Absalom’s home is where God’s work is. He doesn’t care where he lives, be it America or China. My mother lives with a broken heart. As far as she is concerned, her life is as an exile. She holds on to her piano, because it is from her home.”
I had noticed the way Carie cared for her piano. Its legs were in slippers-Carie raised the piano from the packed earth to protect it from moisture. In Chin-kiang water came into the rooms at the end of each rainy season. Wooden furniture had to be put on bricks. We laid planks from room to room when the water was too high. Carie’s biggest concern was that mold would eventually destroy her piano.
We practiced for the Christmas performance. Carie had translated the lyrics from English to Chinese. Although I was literate in neither language, I liked the English version better. I told Carie that the sound of “Silent Night” in Chinese was not as beautiful as in English. Carie replied, “The beauty of a song shouldn’t matter as much as its message.”
Absalom had his highest attendance ever-the children’s singing drew people in from the streets on Christmas Eve. For the first time, I saw a big smile on Absalom’s face. To celebrate, he got rid of his fake Chinese queue and let his shoulder-length brown hair hang down. It took the crowd a while to get used to his new Western-man look. Papa told NaiNai that Absalom needed the success. He had returned from a rough tour recently. While Absalom was preaching in a neighboring village, he was beaten by folks who had never seen a foreigner in their lives and who thought that Absalom was there to do harm. Dogs were let out to chase him away.
Pearl showed me Carie’s yard. “Mother is determined to create an American garden. She brought plants from America. This is dogwood and that is a Lincoln rose, Mother’s favorite.”
“This looks like a Chinese butterfly flower.” I pointed at the dogwood. “And the Lincoln rose must be a cousin of the peony.”
“I am sure there is some sort of connection. Mother said God created nature the same way he did humans. What we see is God’s generosity.”
“Do you really believe in God, Pearl?” I asked.
“I do,” she said. “But you know me. I am also Chinese. Part of me can’t talk to my parents, not that they care.”
“Do you get confused too?” I asked carefully. “I mean, about God?”
She kicked a rock off the road. “It hurts me that God doesn’t respond to my mother’s prayers.”
“Is your mother mad at God?”
“Mother is angry at Father, not at God,” Pearl explained. “She is still unable to accept the deaths of my four brothers.”
“Is that why she doesn’t preach, even though her Chinese is much better than Absalom’s?” I asked.
Pearl nodded. “Mother wants to have faith in Father’s work, but she can’t convince herself. She told me that she has a hard time staying on the sunny side.”
“Your mother shows the goodness of God to us.”
“Mother says that she helps others because it helps in healing herself.”
“A woman hides her broken arm inside her sleeve,” I told Pearl, repeating something NaiNai had said. “Your mother abandoned her parents for her crazy husband.”
Pearl and I discovered that God had a strange way of making things work for Carie. At first she wasn’t able to get people to join Absalom’s church, but when she started to help the locals, attending their sick and dying, administering Western medicines for humans and animals while refusing money or gifts, the locals began to crowd the church.
Carie was concerned that I had become a distraction to Pearl ’s study. Absalom disagreed. He told her, “ Pearl is doing a great service to the Lord when she takes the opportunity to influence her friend.”
To encourage my friendship with his daughter, Absalom gave me gifts such as a picture of Christ by his own hand. Absalom put Pearl to work with me using his own translation of the Bible. We fooled around instead. Pearl had a hard time concentrating on doing God’s work. Only when we saw Absalom’s shadow passing by the window did we recite the Bible in dramatic, loud voices.
Carie set new rules for Pearl about spending time with me. She was only allowed to play after she completed her studying. Carie taught Pearl at home herself. Pearl was also given Chinese lessons by Mr. Kung, a chopstick-thin Chinese man in his fifties. I sat by Pearl ’s door and waited patiently. I noticed that Pearl often went ahead of Mr. Kung. She finished the novel All Men Are Brothers before the lesson even started. Pearl had told me that the novel was about a group of poor peasants who were driven into desperate situations and became bandits. In the story, they seek justice and become heroes. Mr. Kung was impressed that Pearl had memorized the novel’s one hundred and eight characters, but he criticized Pearl the way any Chinese teacher would. “A truly smart person…” Mr. Kung paused and smoothed his goat beard with his thumb and first finger before continuing, “… is the kind of person clever enough to hide her brilliance.”
“Yes, Mr. Kung,” Pearl answered humbly, and winked at me.
Papa celebrated the day Absalom made him a “Clergy.”
“I thought my best luck would be to become the church’s gateman.” Papa wept as he sat on the doorsill.
NaiNai was overwhelmed with happiness. “Promise me, son, you will honor Absalom by weathering the storms with him.”
Papa promised like a son of true piety. He told NaiNai that Absalom had started training him to be in charge of the Chin-kiang church.
“What will Master Absalom do when you take over?” NaiNai questioned.
“Absalom will work on expansion. He plans to go deep into the countryside.”
Papa told NaiNai that although he felt honored, he was having difficulty committing himself to God.
“Absalom has assigned a dog to be in charge of catching mice,”
NaiNai sighed. She worried that her son would let Absalom down.
Papa tried his best to play the part. He said that he would never admit that he was in it for the money. Papa told NaiNai that his promotion came as a result of Absalom’s fight with another man of God.
“Is there another God’s man?” NaiNai and I asked.
“A new missionary who called himself a Baptist,” Papa explained.
“Is Absalom a Baptist as well?” we asked.
“No, Absalom is a Presbyterian.”
Regarding the difference, Papa said that he was confused himself, although Absalom had explained it to him.
“As far as Absalom is concerned, Chin-kiang is his territory,” Papa concluded.
The Baptist was a red-haired heavy fellow with one blind eye. He often came by our church and told the crowd that Absalom had it all wrong. He pointed out, for example, that Absalom only sprinkled the heads of his converts when he ought to soak their heads in the water.
This made sense to the Chinese. The logic was that if a little water was good for the soul, more water should be better, and that a deep soaking would be the best way to go.
Absalom was convinced that the Baptist was here to destroy his work by snatching away his converts. “He is planting doubts in their heads about me,” Absalom complained to Papa.
I didn’t know how to deal with the Baptist when I met him outside the church. By walking away, I would insult him. So I waited until he finished his preaching about immersion.
Our encounter upset Absalom. He vowed revenge.
NaiNai predicted rather gladly, “The fisherman profits when a crab and a lobster are locked in a fight.” By fisherman, she meant Papa.
Papa agreed. “I heard Absalom shout at his wife,” he reported, mimicking Absalom. “‘I have taught, labored, and suffered all the troubles of instilling the fundamentals of Christianity into the heathens! It is nothing short of religious thievery when my future members would be added to the Baptist’s glory!’”
“Is it that serious?” NaiNai wondered.
“Oh, yes, for Absalom,” Papa said. “How otherwise would I receive my promotion as a Clergy? Absalom is no fool.”
“You’d better not meddle,” NaiNai warned.
Papa smiled. “I would benefit more if their fight continues.”
NaiNai shook her head and said, “Being a crippled donkey walking on a broken bridge-you are going to fall sooner or later.”
“I am no longer the same rotten character you think,” Papa said. “I’ll not be the one to bring Absalom’s church into contempt. Absalom will win.”
“I just want to be able to have a clean conscience when I die.” Tears filled NaiNai’s eyes. Papa took out a string of copper money and laid it by NaiNai’s pillow.
“Absalom paid me for your medicine, Mother.”
NaiNai cupped her face in her palms and began to weep.
“Where is Absalom now?” I asked Papa.
“He is touring the countryside. Perhaps he is in the middle of conducting a study class.”
“Does he teach?”
“Yes.”
“What does he teach?”
“Absalom teaches Bible history, philosophy, religions, Greek, and Hebrew. He spreads the Gospel.”
“Does he take women disciples?”
“No, Absalom’s disciples are men only.”
“How far does he travel?”
“As far as he is able to reach.” Papa paused for a moment and then added, “The man is ambitious. I have little doubt that his Christian God will conquer China one day.”
Papa told me that he was amazed by the fact that educated Chinese youths were willing to follow Absalom.
“Absalom has converted even Chinese Muslims.” Papa scratched the back of his head in disbelief. “I believe it is the way Absalom wages the war of God that attracts young people. He is absolutely committed and stubborn. A zealot, so to speak. The young worship his energy and determination. More than anything else, he sells God’s victory. People want to follow a strong man, a leader.”
I asked Papa, “How can you be a Clergy if you don’t believe in God one hundred percent?”
“Keep your voice down, my daughter.” Papa was embarrassed. “Be the keeper of my secret. According to Absalom, God will call.”
“Have you been waiting?”
“Yes, I have, and I must be patient.”
“I hope you mean it.”
“I do,” Papa swore.
The winter of 1899 was brutally cold. Sky and hills merged in one bitter whirl of wind and snow, which was rare in southern China. In the mornings the valleys were silent under their blanket of whiteness. The weather helped Papa achieve the attendance he had promised Absalom. Attracted by the church’s warm fire, the poor gathered under the portrait of Jesus Christ and prayed.
The way Papa preached the Bible was different from Absalom. Papa told it the way he would a Chinese story. He prepared his material carefully so that it would always have a suspenseful beginning and a satisfying end.
When Absalom returned from his trips, he was bothered by Papa’s exaggeration and invention. Especially when Papa compared Jesus to the Chinese folk heroes, even the fictional Monkey King. Papa argued that the Monkey King had the same kind heart as Jesus. Papa’s aim was to do whatever it took to keep the audience coming back.
“Stick to the Bible from now on,” Absalom ordered Papa. “Emphasize that the journey of the faithful will be over a lifetime of poverty and sacrifice.”
Papa convinced Absalom to at least allow him to mention Buddhism. “I’ll use the concept as a tool to ease people toward Christianity,” he promised. Answering Absalom’s doubts, Papa said, “Nobody likes to be told that their religion is bad and silly.”
People attended the church, but no one agreed to the conversion. Calling on his wits, Papa became inventive. Inspired by the local fortune-teller, Papa copied drawings from the Bible onto cards with which he played with the locals. The rewards for joining the church and obeying God would be good harvests, sons, and longevity. For punishment, Papa described scenarios borrowed from the Chinese hell, where men and women were chopped to pieces and fed to beasts.
Pearl burst out laughing when Papa exchanged the names of Chinese gods with Christian saints. For example, Guan-ying as Mary.
“Absalom will tear out his hair for this one,” Pearl said.
I asked if she missed her father when he was away. She said that she didn’t. “I don’t know him enough to miss him.” She adored Papa and thought that he was funny and creative. Pearl especially enjoyed the New Year’s couplets and riddles Papa created. The phrases were from the Bible. Papa gave Bible Sticks for people to draw-an idea he stole from the Buddhist temple, where drawing fortune sticks was part of the worshipping ceremony.
Absalom continued to complain, and even threatened to fire Papa. But he was impressed with the results. Church attendance soared. The Chin-kiang church was now known throughout the province, although there were still not enough converts.
Pearl and I were told by our fathers to influence our playmates. I didn’t feel comfortable talking about a foreign god. Pearl shared my feelings. We bribed our playmates with games and food in exchange for promises that they would show up at the church on Sundays. The trouble was that once the children became too familiar with Papa’s Bible stories, they wanted different stories or they would stop coming. In the meantime, spring arrived-and the laborers left for home to work in the fields.
Papa worried that when Absalom returned from his latest trip, he would find the numbers down. Papa didn’t want to lose his job. Every night, Papa worked hard on refreshing the Bible stories.
For several Sundays, Pearl and I sat in the back of the church listening to Papa speaking to an almost empty room. Pearl didn’t seem to be bothered by the declining numbers. She continued to bury her face in her books.
I wondered what we would do if Papa lost his job. NaiNai’s illness had worsened during the winter. The medicine no longer had any effect. NaiNai was reluctant to call for a doctor for fear of going deeper into debt. At the thought that I might lose NaiNai, tears came to my eyes. As I raised my chin to push back the tears, I noticed something strange was happening to the church’s ceiling. The beams were covered with brown-colored spots. I went to Pearl and pointed out what I saw. She wondered if the spots were bugs.
For the next few days we watched. The bugs did not move. A week later we found that the bugs had swelled and were turning into green leaves.
“The leaves are growing!” Pearl and I looked at each other and were excited.
In a week, the green leaves took up the entire corner of the ceiling. They began to spread over to the window and then to the top of the doorsills. We called all our friends to come and look. They came. They went home and told their parents about the green miracle on the church’s ceiling.
Eventually we learned that the green growth was willow sprouts. The beams had been made of willow trunks. Although the trunks were stripped bare, the warm spring had brought them back to life.
The news that the foreign god was showing signs of his existence brought people rushing back. Papa called the church’s ceiling God’s Garden. The place was packed the day Absalom returned. The willow beams were flourishing. The new sprouts were five and seven feet long. With the breeze from the window, the leaves swayed like dancers’ sleeves across the room.
With Absalom by his side, Papa read from the Book of Revelation. The crowd listened while enjoying the miracle of God at work. Bees, butterflies, and birds flew in and out of the room and drove the little children wild.
An opera troupe, the Wan-Wan Tunes, arrived. For the Spring Moon Festival it would play The Butterfly Lovers. The moment Pearl and I heard the news, we could barely contain ourselves. Pearl begged Carie for permission to join me and NaiNai, who said it was the last show she wanted to see before she died.
We dressed up for the performance. I wore a blue floral cotton gown and Pearl wore a purple silk dress embroidered with pink butterflies. Pearl carefully stuffed her curly hair under the black knitted cap. From the back, we looked like twin sisters. We made necklaces with fresh jasmine buds. Hand in hand, we walked toward the riverbank where the performance was to take place.
The stage was next to the riverbank. It was an abandoned temple with four columns. The crowd began to gather at sunset. Some people came with boats and others watched from rooftops. There were also people watching from a faraway hillside. With Pearl and me on either side of NaiNai, we pushed through the crowd. We settled near the stage. NaiNai took out roasted soy nuts for Pearl and me to share as we waited for the curtain to open.
The drums finally began. Our hearts raced. We cheered with the crowd. “Wan-Wan Tunes! Wan-Wan Tunes! ”
The curtain moved aside. The stage warmers entered. A string of cartwheels followed. The chorus singers introduced the story. A moment later the actors appeared. The star actor, who played the male lover, the handsome Liang, was a girl. She wore heavy makeup. She was dressed in a splendid sun-colored costume with long jade beads. Her voice had what opera fans would call a copper sound to it, considered the highest quality for a young male voice. Her Wan-Wan tune brought joyful tears to NaiNai’s eyes.
My eyes followed Liang’s every move. His lover, Yin-tai, was a supreme beauty. The actress was wrapped in a long-sleeved pink silk costume. She moved like a goddess stepping from the clouds. Although her breath seemed a little labored, her voice was sweet.
The evening deepened. The stage was brightly lit with lanterns. In front of our eyes, the love story unfolded. The lovers proclaimed their passion and fought the feudal force that tried to separate them. Pearl and I both wept at the end-the lovers had taken their own lives in the face of society’s brutality.
Later on, Pearl would tell me that she had learned the Chinese version of Romeo and Juliet before she knew the name Shakespeare.
The dead lovers came back to life as butterflies. They reunited and lived happily ever after. It was a tragedy with a happy ending. Spreading their giant wings, the lovers danced and sang:
Dreams possessed me
I wandered and finally was where you were
We sat on the veranda
And you sang the sweet old air
Then I woke
With no one near me
The moon shining on
Lighting up dead petals
Making me think that you have passed and gone
After the performance, we escorted NaiNai home. Pearl and I went back to the stage and waited at the exit, hoping to steal glances at the actors. We were fascinated that the entire cast was female. A turtle-faced, bald-headed lady was in charge of the girls. She had played the evil rich man in the opera. Pearl recognized the actor who had played Liang and the girl who had played Yin-tai, her partner. Without makeup and costume, she looked bone-thin. She went and sat on a stool. Her head rested against the wall. She was pale and looked ill. Liang helped her remove her boots and then folded the costumes and packed them into cases.
We learned that the troupe lived in two boats docked by the lower bank. This was where the night soil and trash were dumped. Although the air stank, we didn’t want to leave until the turtle-faced lady threatened to send for our parents.
Pearl and I talked about the opera on our way back. We entertained ourselves with the Wan-Wan tune and the opera’s theme song. We danced as the butterflies, swinging our arms up and down.
The next afternoon Pearl met with me again. We visited the troupe before they departed for the next town. We witnessed something we didn’t expect: The troupe girls were forced to practice their acrobatic skills on the stone pavement. Pearl and I felt fortunate that our parents had not sold us.
Finally we located Liang, who was washing a bucket by the water.
Pearl introduced herself and expressed our admiration.
Liang gave a grateful nod but lowered her eyes. We saw tears running down her cheeks.
“What happened?” Pearl asked. “Where is your friend, Yin-tai?”
“She is sick.”
“Maybe she is just exhausted,” Pearl comforted her. “Give her a day to rest. I’m sure she’ll recover.”
“No, there is no hope.”
“What do you mean?”
“She is dying of tuberculosis,” the actor sobbed. She pulled over the clothes she was washing and showed us a bloodstain.
Pearl and I were shocked.
“Isn’t she supposed to perform tonight?” we asked.
“The performance has just been canceled.” The actor broke down. “The doctor said that she wouldn’t make it through the night.”
We didn’t know what else to say.
The beautiful actress died. Having no money for a proper burial, the turtle-faced lady dumped the body into the river. Since the girl had been sold to the troupe at a young age, neither her parents nor any relatives had been notified about her death. After Pearl told Carie what had happened, she called Absalom and Papa. Both men went to the river and brought the body back. Absalom conducted a modest ceremony and the actress was buried in the back of the old church. NaiNai, Wang Ah-ma, and Lilac washed the young actress and dressed her in the dress I had worn to the opera. I was comforted to see that she fit my dress perfectly.
Liang came for the farewell. She was sorrow-stricken. For a moment my mind went back to the stage scene where he expressed his undying love for her as she lay dying.
Pearl couldn’t stop weeping. Weeks later, she went to Absalom demanding an answer. “Why didn’t God do something?”
Absalom told her that “one has to work to earn God’s protection.”
The distressed Pearl came to NaiNai. She took her to the Buddhist temple and asked to read a chapter from the Buddhist scripture. The title was “Heavenly Deaths and Circle of Life.” Afterward, Pearl and I burned incense and prayed for the actress’s soul.
“I am learning what is gay as well as what is terrible,” Pearl said, as if to herself. “I’ll accept the Buddhist notion that all that is truthful is beautiful.”
Dysentery claimed countless lives during the Year of the Rat. NaiNai was among the sick. The local doctor refused to let Absalom and Carie treat NaiNai with their Western medicine. He insisted that the effect of the Chinese herbs that he prescribed would be disturbed.
Papa spent all his savings. NaiNai continued to get worse. I was with Pearl in the hills when a neighbor came and told me that NaiNai was about to depart. By the time I reached NaiNai’s bed, she was almost unconscious. “Carie…” she kept calling.
I flew from the house and went to Carie. Without saying a word, Carie picked up her medicine box and came.
“My mother is possessed by evil spirits,” the panic-stricken Papa warned. “If you touch her, bad luck will follow you home.”
“What a shame that my husband converted you!” Carie was disgusted. “You certainly don’t sound like a Christian.” Opening her medicine box, she ordered Papa, “Stay away.”
Taking out her needle and tube, Carie administered a shot for NaiNai. “The dose will do the job,” she said. “Let me know if it doesn’t. I’ll fetch the doctor at the embassy.”
By midnight, NaiNai was asking for water. At sunrise, she said that she was hungry.
While Papa got down on his knees to express his gratitude to Carie, Absalom said that it was God’s will that NaiNai lived.
“It has nothing to do with my wife,” Absalom insisted. “It’s the church members’ collective praying that God answered.”
If Papa was a fake Christian, he changed at that moment. So did NaiNai, who officially said good-bye to the little Buddha statue in her room. She replaced it with a clay figure of Christ-a gift from Absalom.
Still, some things would never change. In NaiNai’s Christian heaven, angels took the form of peach flowers, butterflies, and hummingbirds. God himself lived in a Chinese landscape where lakes reflected clouds and bamboo and pine covered the mountains. What amused Pearl and me the most was that NaiNai’s Christian God traveled on the backs of deer and rode a crane if traveling great distances.
By the time I turned eleven, Pearl knew almost everyone in Chin-kiang. Our favorite person was the popcorn man, who made it to our town the first week of every month. The man spoke a northern dialect and his skin was the color of coal. Dirt thickened his hair and he wore the same canvas clothes with patches on top of patches year after year. Although he never smiled, he couldn’t have been a nicer fellow. His fan-shaped nose was forever smeared with coal dust. Pushing his little cart, he wandered from village to village.
On the popcorn man’s cart was a cannon-shaped cooker made of iron. The firebox was made of tin cans. Connected to the bottom of the firebox was a wooden bellows with an aluminum pipe. A crate of firewood was on the side. On top of the wood sat a cotton sack. We got excited when the man started to heat up the cannon. We watched the flames shoot high. We kept our distance after adults warned that the cannon might explode.
Pearl and I stood by the popcorn man and watched for hours on end. He rotated the cannon with his left hand and worked the bellows with his right. The man needed no clock to tell him when it was time to pop the corn. When he felt that the temperature was just right, he picked up the cotton bag and covered the cannon with it. Using an iron pipe, he pried the cannon open. The sound of an explosion followed. This was what the children had been waiting for.
“Pop!” the man would shout right before the explosion.
While small children covered their ears and some closed their eyes, Pearl and I enjoyed the sound of the explosion. Following the sound came a delicious smell. The cotton sack was instantly full. To us, it was pure magic-a can of corn or rice could be made many times its original size.
Pearl and I jumped for joy the day Carie finally agreed to give us a can of dry corn. It was already dark and the popcorn man was gone. We caught him and begged him to pop the corn for us. The man shook his head and said that the stove was already shut down. We begged and begged. We offered to help him.
We were thrilled when he finally agreed. I worked the cannon while Pearl pulled and pushed the bellows. The flames blazed. Pearl kept looking at the popcorn man-she didn’t want the cannon to explode. About ten minutes later, the moment arrived. The man took over.
We heard the grand sound of the explosion. It felt as if we might go deaf.
That night, the popcorn tasted better than ever.
It became our passion to follow the popcorn man. We were like two fools, said Carie. Her rice jar was our target. Before long, Carie found out that we had been gradually emptying her grain storage. When the popcorn man came, Carie showed up. She called him a crook. Her opera-like voice was heard by the entire town. Carie grabbed the popcorn man by the arm and demanded that he leave.
Pearl and I were embarrassed. We each held Carie back as the man collected his things.
Carie yelled, waving her fist, “Don’t you ever come back and steal from my children!”
The man hurried away, dragging his cart.
For days Pearl and I were sad. We could not forget the popcorn man. We felt guilty about ruining his business.
Absalom had been working hard to convert the town’s newcomer, Carpenter Chan. He was sixteen years old and originally from Canton. He limped a bit. He told Absalom that he had been beaten by his former employer. He had no job and was homeless and in debt. Absalom took him under his wing, hiring Chan to build his church in exchange for shelter and food. Absalom knew exactly the kind of church he wanted. He had a plan and he had purchased the land. It was a leveled lot on the main street near the market.
What Absalom didn’t expect was Carpenter Chan’s stubbornness and peculiar sense of style. Although the man was smart, he was incapable of following Absalom’s design because he found it ugly. Chan had grown up building Chinese temples and was proud of his craft. His ancestors were among those who built the Forbidden City for the emperor. Carpenter Chan’s speciality was Tokung, the traditional interlocking wooden structure. He was frustrated that he was not given an opportunity to use his skills. Carpenter Chan took every opportunity to convince Absalom to alter the design. He told Absalom, “The best Chinese architecture always has the Tokung style. It is a symbol of power, wealth, and nobility.”
“I’d like to have none of that.” Absalom was determined. “The church is a place where souls gather under God. No soul is above or under any other. Instead of power, wealth, and nobility, I’d like you to demonstrate simplicity, humbleness, and warmth.” Absalom wanted his new church to follow a Western design, to be inviting instead of intimidating.
“Why won’t you let me offer Jesus the best of my abilities?” Carpenter Chan was confused. “I should build him a temple instead of a house.”
Nail by nail, Absalom and the carpenter fought. Carpenter Chan was polite and obedient, but the moment Absalom turned his back, he put back what he was ordered to take down.
Absalom threatened to fire Carpenter Chan. He demanded that all the windows be changed. “Make the frames narrower with pointed arches,” Absalom ordered Chan and his crew. “Or I’ll have you walking, all of you!”
Carpenter Chan was miserable when he eventually complied. To him, the rough stone façade was an insult to his reputation.
Absalom called the work a masterpiece, and he praised Carpenter Chan for his fine skills.
When Carpenter Chan started to work on the interior, he invited his friends, the local artists and sculptors, for ideas.
“I understand that you are masters of rendering Chinese gods,”
Absalom warned them instead of greeting them. “But I don’t want my Entrance Jesus to look like the Kuang-yin Buddha. You are forbidden to make Jesus’s expression vicious like the Chinese gate god. Do not show his teeth. As for my Worshipping Jesus by the altar, I don’t want him to look like the Chinese kitchen god. Heaven forbid-do not make Jesus fat.”
By the time the Jesus was presented to Absalom, he had a Buddha belly.
“No Chinese would worship a god who mirrors a bone-thin coolie,” Papa advised.
Absalom was upset. He took up the scraper and carved the fat off of Jesus’s belly himself.
At Sunday church, Carpenter Chan met Lilac, the egg lady. He fell in love with her at first sight. She liked him but was troubled by his limping. Knowing that she was already a converted Christian, he converted himself to please her. It made Papa happy, because he could add one more number to his book. In the meantime, Absalom began another project-to create a school. Carpenter Chan was hired to build an addition behind the church.
Papa was put in charge of the fund-raising. While Absalom was impressed by Papa’s effectiveness and enthusiasm, he was irritated by his methods. Papa told the local businessmen that an investment opportunity had arrived-God would reward them with fortune and prosperity.
Under Absalom’s nose, Papa inflated the numbers for the church attendance. He became bold. He signed up the walk-ins as church members and put out more food to attract beggars from neighboring villages.
“See the rug you walked on when entering this church?” Papa would open his preaching with the same sentence. “That’s the rug my daughter Willow tried to steal before she was saved by God. Yes, the same God who will change your life too.”
Pearl wouldn’t tell me what was bothering her. NaiNai suspected that something was going on inside her family.
“Absalom is in big trouble,” Papa came home and told us. “He is being investigated by the Christian headquarters in America.”
“What did he do?” NaiNai asked.
“He was suspected of cheating.”
“On what?” I asked.
“On his conversion numbers,” Papa sighed.
We went silent. We knew that Papa was guilty.
“Maybe you should stick your head out for him,” NaiNai said.
“The problem is that Absalom doesn’t exactly know what I’ve done. He believes in my work so much that he recommended the investigators talk to me directly.”
“Oh, no!” I was afraid for Papa.
“You are going to let Absalom down.” NaiNai shook her head.
Under the candlelight Papa’s slanting eyes narrowed into slits. He sighed and sighed.
“How could you do this to Absalom?” NaiNai wiped her tear-filled eyes.
“I only meant to help,” Papa responded. “Half of the people I helped convert are for real.”
“Absalom can certainly count on me for a solid member,” NaiNai agreed. “Son, I want you to make it right for Absalom.”
Papa went door-to-door to talk to the converts. “We must be prepared to protect Master Absalom,” he urged, describing the investigation. “Act like a real Christian when questioned. Try your best to memorize the key elements, such as Jesus bore mankind’s guilt down into the depths of the Jordan, and that Jesus inaugurated his public activity by stepping into the place of sinners.”
Papa wouldn’t let people sleep until they could respond with the correct answers. By midnight everyone was exhausted. They kept giving Papa the wrong answers.
“What did Jesus say to the crew of the ship?” Papa drilled again.
“I don’t remember…”
“Take me and throw me into the sea!” Papa shouted out for them.
“What does the word baptism mean to Jesus?” Papa kept pounding.
“His death!” people chanted. “Jesus’s own death!”
The next morning Pearl arrived.
“It didn’t work,” she reported. “Absalom has been fired.”
“It can’t be true,” cried NaiNai.
Pearl burst into tears. “A new minister is on his way as Father’s replacement.”
Papa was shocked.
“How is your mother doing?” NaiNai was concerned.
“Mother is in distress. She told me that Father is going to lose his salary.”
It took Carie a while to make us understand what had happened. Absalom had never paid much attention to his accounts. Papa had led Absalom to believe that he kept an accounting book. The trouble was that Absalom was unable to produce the book. Papa had spent all the church funds without bothering to make a detailed record. He had been taught by Absalom that as long as the money was spent doing God’s work, he had the right. To help increase the conversion numbers, Papa had loaned most of the church money to families whose homes had been destroyed by floods and storms.
“Is your family going to starve without Absalom’s salary?” I asked Pearl.
“I don’t know,” Pearl replied. “Mother has already told the servants that she might not be able to keep them.”
“The town will not let its pastor and his family starve.” NaiNai turned to Pearl. “Tell your mother that you have my invitation to move in and live with us.”
For the next few weeks, the town of Chin-kiang united in defending Absalom. The investigator from the Christian headquarters accused Papa of being a man of corruption with a history of theft. Absalom responded by saying that God had restored Papa’s soul. “Since his conversion, Mr. Yee has been a model Christian for the community.” Absalom acknowledged that his work needed improvement, but he refused to admit that he had been misusing the church funds.
The new pastor arrived on a boat from America. He was a young man with red hair. He had a small head and a white face. If Absalom were a lion, this man would be a goat. He didn’t want to speak to Papa, who tried to negotiate.
“God doesn’t negotiate,” the new pastor told Papa.
At the next Sunday service, Papa presented a petition to the new pastor. It was signed by the entire town of Chin-kiang. It requested Absalom’s reinstatement or all the church members would leave.
The young pastor could hardly believe what he read. When he avoided the subject and started to preach, people got up and left. Children swarmed after the young pastor. “Absalom! Give us back Absalom!” they shouted.
The young man reboarded the same boat he came on and went back to America. He never returned.
Before the month ended, Absalom was reinstated.
A celebration was held at the church. Donations spilled from the paper box. Absalom was also asked to host the wedding between Carpenter Chan and Lilac. Within a year, a set of twins was born. Carpenter Chan and Lilac asked Papa to think up names for the boys. After discussing it with Absalom, Papa named them Double Luck David and Double Luck John.
The town of Chin-kiang was peaceful and quiet until Carpenter Chan got in trouble with a powerful warlord.
Although he was only in his early twenties, the warlord was famous along the Yangtze River. His nickname was Bumpkin Emperor. His territories included most of the canals in Jiangsu province. He had two sworn brothers, whom the locals nicknamed General Lobster and General Crab. Until now, their main enemies had been other warlords.
It happened when Bumpkin Emperor entered the town and took a fancy to Lilac. He claimed that Carpenter Chan had stolen his mistress. The two men had a fight and Bumpkin Emperor swore revenge.
Under Papa’s questions, Lilac confessed the truth. She had had a one-night affair with the warlord and agreed to be his concubine before she met Carpenter Chan.
“Absalom knew my story,” Lilac said to Papa. “He told me that God would forgive and protect us as long as we accepted Jesus as our savior and we did! I thought my troubles were over.”
Papa comforted Lilac and Chan, telling them to place their trust in God.
Bumpkin Emperor returned the next day with his troops. He threatened to burn down the church if he was refused Lilac.
Papa was out of his wits because Absalom was not in town. Absalom was away on a preaching tour. Papa was given three days to turn over the couple.
Panicking, Papa sent a messenger to find Absalom.
Pearl and I visited Carpenter Chan and Lilac, who had hidden themselves in the back of the church. Believing that they would not survive, the couple huddled together and sobbed. Pearl had an idea when she learned that Bumpkin Emperor was extremely superstitious.
“I feel like I know this type of character from All Men Are Brothers,”
Pearl told Carpenter Chan. “Please tell me the gods he worships.”
“Bumpkin Emperor worships gods and ghosts of all kinds,” Carpenter Chan said. “He invites a ba-gua master to tell him what to do before engaging in battles. He burns incense and kowtows to not only Buddha, but also to the sun god, moon goddess, god of earth, god of war, god of water, god of thunder, god of wind and rain, and even the god of animals. Bumpkin Emperor believes in supernatural powers and fears the revenge of any god.”
The three-day ultimatum had passed. Bumpkin Emperor arrested Lilac and Carpenter Chan and held a public rally. He was set to have Carpenter Chan beheaded.
It was the first time Pearl and I saw Bumpkin Emperor up close. He had a pair of big frog eyes, orange skin, and meatball cheeks. His head was pear-shaped. His dark-brown uniform was made of wool with lace sticking out from both shoulders. There were medals pinned on his breast. Carrying a sword, he stood in the middle of the town square. Behind him stood a squad of his soldiers.
Pearl and I walked toward Bumpkin Emperor. Pearl carried a bucket of ink. For the first time, she was without her knitted black hat. Under the bright sun her curly golden hair shone like autumn leaves.
No one paid attention to Pearl at first. All eyes were on Bumpkin Emperor. Carpenter Chan and Lilac were tied with their hands behind their backs. Bumpkin Emperor announced Carpenter Chan’s beheading.
The executioner was called to choose his ax.
Lilac fell to her knees. She crawled toward her lover.
The crowd begged Bumpkin Emperor.
Papa and NaiNai prayed for God’s mercy.
The soldiers drove the crowd back.
In my ear, Pearl whispered, “Now!”
Raising the bucket, she poured the black ink water over her head.
“Angry spirit!” I shouted.
Pearl pretended to be possessed by evil as she ran toward Bumpkin Emperor with ink dripping from her face.
The crowd gasped. “Angry spirits!”
“Black blood!”
Pearl landed in front of Bumpkin Emperor. She waved her arms and kicked her legs, knotting herself into a ball, and groaned as if being tortured by invisible spirits.
“What is this?” Bumpkin Emperor asked loudly. “Who are you?”
Kicking her feet, Pearl uttered a string of words no one understood.
“Speak! Who are you?” Bumpkin was visibly nervous.
NaiNai turned to Bumpkin Emperor and said, “You must have done something to offend the gods.”
The warlord got down on his knees in front of Pearl. “Can I help you, whoever’s spirit you are?” He tried to steady his shaky voice.
“I must speak to the one who is in charge,” Pearl murmured in a husky voice, her eyes tightly shut. “I must speak to the general himself.”
“I am the general,” Bumpkin Emperor rose.
Pearl began to speak English.
“What, what is she rumbling about?” Bumpkin Emperor became tense. “Which god are you representing? Is she talking to me?”
“Yes.” I told the warlord that I could be his translator.
“What is she saying?” Bumpkin Emperor turned to me.
“She said, ‘The fire is at your door.’”
“Fire at my door? What does that mean?”
“In the name of the Holy Spirit…” Pearl continued.
“Holy Spirit?” Bumpkin Emperor was confused. “Mother of a mule, I don’t understand!”
“Would you like me to stop?” I asked.
“Of course not,” he said. “Carry on, dammit!”
“Well, she is not making sense.”
“Do the best you can to make her words into sense!”
I began acting, bending down to get close to Pearl. “Yes, I heard you… Went out to him? All the country of Judah? Wait a minute.” I turned to the warlord. “She said, ‘All the people of Jerusalem are going toward the river to confess their sins…’”
Confused, Bumpkin Emperor cried, “Which god is this?”
I shook my head.
“A powerful God,” Papa said, raising his arm to point at the sky. “Perhaps the true God.”
“What is his name? Tell me, please!” Bumpkin Emperor begged.
“Angel,” Pearl uttered.
“His name is Angel,” I translated.
“I have never heard of such a god,” Bumpkin Emperor responded. “Is he new?”
“He is ancient,” Pearl continued. “He’s been here since the beginning of time. Only the wise can hear him. He is mad at you.”
“What… what does he want from me?” Bumpkin Emperor’s voice grew weak.
Pearl went silent.
“The God no longer wants to speak to you,” I translated. “The God is leaving.”
“Please! Don’t go!” Bumpkin Emperor was scared. “Ask what business he had here! If he is a foreign god, who is his patron in China?”
“I was invited by the Dowager Empress of your country,” Pearl began to speak in Chinese. “I was escorted here by the Imperial Minister-in-Chief Mr. Li Hung chang…”
Before Pearl ended her sentence, Bumpkin Emperor fell down and kowtowed, hitting his forehead on the ground. “Your Majesty, I mean no offense! I… I deserve to die three thousand times! Please, forgive me!”
Again, Pearl closed her eyes.
“Please don’t leave! Grant me a chance,” Bumpkin Emperor begged. “Your Majesty, I am asking for a last chance!”
“Release Carpenter Chan and his lady,” Pearl spoke with an imperial tone. “And leave Chin-kiang right away.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, I shall depart instantly.”
“Well, let us have no doubt that God sent Pearl to save you,” Absalom said to Carpenter Chan and Lilac. “My daughter is no angel, but she is a good Christian.”
Later, Pearl told me that she didn’t like what her father said, although she was happy that the trick worked.
“I am sure your father loves you,” I comforted my friend.
Pearl shook her head. “To tell you the truth, I am jealous of those whom he baptizes. He offers affection to strangers, to you, NaiNai, your papa, Carpenter Chan, Lilac, and almost everyone in the town. He will never spare affection for his own children. He is always cold with me.”
“Absalom loves you, Pearl.”
“I don’t feel it. My mother doesn’t feel his love either. Absalom shuts himself in the study so that he can be with God without any distraction!”
“Your father is proud of you, or he wouldn’t say that you were a good Christian.”
“Absalom cares about Chinese people so much that he’s willing to risk his life for them. In the meantime, he believes that they are heathens and he is their superior. He lives to convert people. He even wants a chance with the warlords.”
“Absalom wants to convert Bumpkin Emperor, General Lobster, and General Crab?” I laughed.
“Yes, and their fish wives, shrimp siblings, and snail concubines.”
“That’s impossible!”
“Oh, yes, God works miracles, hah, hah, hah!”
“Papa will believe whoever saves his ass.”
“My father is a nut and your father is a crook.”
We laughed and put our fathers out of our minds.
We walked to the outskirts of town, where someone was getting married. We joined the children who had been invited to the wedding to help inspire fertility. We were given nuts and seeds to throw at the new couple. The groom was a young peasant who was already drunk. He meant to thank the guests but instead he threw up. The bride was dressed in a bright-red embroidered costume. Her face was covered with a piece of silk. Pearl and I admired the costume and the bride’s glittering hair ornament. When the band started the wedding song, we joined in.
Buddha sits on a lotus pad,
Beautiful fingers orchidlike.
Sun goes down and moon comes up,
May your life be peaceful and tranquil.
Mud walls and straw pillows,
Fruits, seeds, and many sons.
Happiness and longevity,
May you have the spring and all its fair weather.
The Boxer Rebellion hadn’t hit Chin-kiang until the first years of the new century. It had spread like a wildfire. Peasants from inland came wearing red turbans. They believed that foreigners were destroying China. It didn’t occur to me that Pearl and her family were foreigners. Pearl didn’t like Westerners. She had witnessed opium addicts in our town and had criticized the white folks and their opium trade. As far as she was concerned, the Boxers’ fight would have nothing to do with her.
But times had changed. There had been incidents where foreign missionaries had been murdered in the northern provinces. Carie made sure that Pearl dressed like a Chinese girl and wore her black knitted cap at all times.
Pearl came to me one day and told me that Carie had been talking about their departure. “Mother said that a ship will come and it will take us all back to America.”
Pearl ’s words devastated me. I didn’t know how to respond.
She looked disturbed and nervous.
“But… you don’t know anything about America!” I said.
“Mother said that America is a place where I would belong,” Pearl said matter-of-factly. “At least I will look like everyone else. I am sick of wearing this damn black knitted cap! I’ll burn it the moment I arrive in America.”
“But you said that you don’t know anyone in America,” I insisted.
“I don’t.”
“Will you still go then?”
“I don’t look forward to leaving, however much Mother tries to reassure me.”
“To leave China is Carie’s wish, not yours!” I tried to sound calm, but it was impossible. I felt like crying. “You will not be able to find a friend like me in America!”
“Perhaps not, although Mother promised that I would.”
“She is tricking you.” I gave a cold laugh. “You’d be a fool to believe that.”
“But I can’t stay if Mother decides to go.”
For the next few weeks the departure became the only thing we talked about. But the more we talked about it, the deeper our sense of doom became. We ran up and down the hills and laughed, pretending that it was not going to happen. But time and time again we were reminded. For example, Wang Ah-ma became depressed because Carie told her to prepare to go her own way. The pregnant Lilac and Carpenter Chan came to visit Papa and NaiNai to update them on the murder cases involving foreign missionaries.
Pearl and I learned that more people had joined the Boxers. The swelling numbers began to demand that the Imperial government throw out foreigners and shut down their businesses in China forever. When they didn’t receive the government’s response, they began to mob foreign banks and buildings and destroy the national railways. Our neighboring Christian churches were disrupted. Foreign missionaries were taken from their homes and publicly tortured. When the news reached us, Pearl and I realized that our days together were numbered.
Pearl began to talk more about her “real home” in America, while I became cynical and irritable.
“Real home?” I sneered. “I’ll bet that you won’t even know where your front door is.” I asked Pearl if she knew the feng shui of her American home and was pleased that she had no answer.
“Your house could be facing the wrong direction. Bad luck will stick to you forever!”
“What if I tell you that I don’t give a damn if my American home has the wrong feng shui?” She picked up a rock and threw it into the valley. “It’ll be my mother’s home, not mine!”
“But you will be living in it. You will be alone and miserable because you know better!”
“I will have the company of my cousins!” she countered.
I laughed and said that her cousins might know her name, but they would have no idea who she was and what she liked. “They won’t even care. To them you’ll be a total stranger!”
“Stop, Willow, please,” she begged.
We sat in silence and tried not to weep.
The news regarding the Boxers got worse. They were seen in Soochow, which was less than a hundred miles from Chin-kiang. Carie tried to convince Absalom to temporarily relocate. Absalom wouldn’t consider it.
“I won’t abandon God’s work” was Absalom’s answer.
Carie threatened to leave on her own and said that she would take Pearl and Grace with her.
“Mother told me that I must learn to trust in God and accept my destiny,” Pearl said. We held each other’s hands and sat on top of the hill. We watched the sun set without speaking another word.
It felt like living in a bad dream. I imagined Pearl ’s American house. According to Pearl, it was built by her grandfather. Pearl ’s description of the house was word for word from Carie. “It is large and white with its pillared double portico set in a beautiful landscape,” she told me. “Behind the house are rich green plains and mountains.”
I also imagined Pearl ’s relatives, who all had milk-white faces. I imagined them receiving her warmly. They would hug her as if they knew her. They would say, “How are you, my darling? It’s been so long…” Pearl would be surrounded with clean sheets and soft pillows. She would be served plenty of food, but not the kind that she liked. No more Chinese food, of course. No more Chinese faces. No more Mandarin, or stories, or Peking operas. No more “Jasmine, Sweet Jasmine.”
“I suppose I’ll get used to it.” Pearl gave out a long, deep sigh.
She would be forced to adapt. She had no other option. She would forget China and me.
“We might not recognize each other if we meet again,” Pearl teased.
It was not funny, but I played along. “We probably wouldn’t even remember each other’s names.”
“I might lose my Chinese.”
“You will.”
“Perhaps not,” she said. “I’ll try my best not to lose my Chinese.”
“Maybe you’ll want to. What’s the use of Chinese in America? Who would you speak Chinese to? Grace? She’s too young. You two don’t play together. Maybe you will when you get to America. You won’t have a choice.”
She turned her head and stared at me, her blue eyes big and clear. Tears began to well up.
“You’ll be drinking milk and eating cheese.” I tried to cheer her up.
“And I’ll turn into a big fat farmwife,” she responded. “My belly will be the size of a Chinese winter melon, with breasts like round squashes.”
We laughed.
“I could be married, you know,” I said. “NaiNai has already been approached by matchmakers. I could end up marrying an old, greasy rich man and be his concubine. He could be a monster and beat me every night.”
“Wouldn’t that be awful?” She looked at me seriously.
“Awful? What would you care? You will be gone by then.”
Pearl ’s hands reached out for me. “I’ll pray for you, Willow.”
I pushed her away. “You know I have a problem with that. You haven’t been able to prove to me that your God exists!”
“Then pretend that he does!” Pearl ’s tears fell. “I need you to believe in him.”
We decided to stop talking about the departure. We decided to celebrate our time together instead of wallowing in sadness. We went to see a troupe on wheels called the Great Shadow Art Show. It featured the Drunkard Monkey King and the Female Generals of the Yang Family. We had a wonderful time. Pearl was fascinated by the handmade shadow figures. The figures were created from scraped and sculpted cattle hides. The troupe master was from mid-China. He invited Pearl and me backstage, where he demonstrated how the figures worked. The actors hid under a large curtain, each holding a character with four bamboo sticks. The figures were able to tap their feet, dance to the rhythm, and fight a martial art battle while the owner sang in a high-pitched voice our favorite Wan-Wan tune.
By early fall a children’s game was becoming popular. It was called Boxers and Foreigners. It was played by the rules of traditional hide-and-seek. The boys wouldn’t let Pearl and me join because we were girls. All day long Pearl and I sat on top of the hill sucking milkweeds. We watched the boys with envy. One morning Pearl came to me wearing an outfit of Western clothes she had borrowed from the British ambassador. It was a camel-colored jacket with copper buttons in the front and an open neck. The sleeves were wide at the elbow and tight on the wrists. The pants were made of brown wool. “It is their daughter’s horse-riding pants,” Pearl explained.
When I asked why she had dressed up, Pearl replied, “We shall play our own game of Boxers and Foreigners.” She showed me a red-colored scarf. “This is your costume. Tie it around your forehead. You’ll be the Boxer and I’ll be the foreigner.”
To make herself look more the part, she took off her black knitted hat and let her waist-long hair fall freely.
I became excited. I wrapped the red scarf around my forehead like a turban.
With wood sticks as our swords, we charged down the hill. The boys were stunned by Pearl ’s appearance.
“A real foreign devil!” they cried.
Soon children begged to join us. Pearl became the leader of the foreign troops, while I was the chief of the Boxers.
We threw rocks, ran around the hills, and hid in the bushes. In the afternoon, my group climbed onto the roofs of houses while Pearl led a door-to-door search for us. We roamed through the streets until it was dark.
When it was time to round up the Boxers, my group let Pearl ’s people tie our hands behind our backs. My group lined up to be executed. Pearl offered each of us an imaginary cup of wine, which we drank before reciting our last wish. When the shots were fired, we fell to the ground. We remained dead until Pearl announced that it was time to round up the foreigners.
My group chased until Pearl and her people were captured. We tied the foreigners together like a string of crabs and paraded them through the streets. People were invited to watch the execution. Pearl had great fun shouting in English. The villagers were shocked at first, then they applauded and laughed with us.
At Sunday service Absalom announced his family’s departure. “God will prevail” were his farewell words to the crowd. He promised to return as soon as he settled his family in Shanghai.
“Monkeys will scatter when the tree falls,” Papa said. He was worried.
Led by Absalom, the converts packed the church’s valuables and hid them within their own homes. Carie’s piano was a big problem. There was no way to hide it. Papa volunteered to go to Bumpkin Emperor and his sworn brothers for help. The warlords were enemies of the Boxers.
The first thing Papa said to Bumpkin Emperor was “A smart rabbit digs three holes for security. If I were you, I wouldn’t miss this opportunity to make friends with the foreign god.” Papa went on to tell how the Western fleets had recently destroyed the Chinese Imperial Navy.
Bumpkin Emperor took Carie’s piano and hid it in his concubine’s mansion.
Carie was relieved. She thanked Papa. For the last time, she trimmed her roses and cleaned her yard. Watering each of her plants, she broke down. She sat on the dirt and wept.
Pearl and I exchanged farewell souvenirs. I gave her a pink silk fan painted with flowers. Pearl gave me a hairpin with a silver phoenix. She would be leaving in ten days, perhaps sooner.
I shut my eyes and told myself to go to sleep that night. But my eyes stayed open. I tossed until dawn. NaiNai told me to forget about Pearl and to spend time with other girls in town. Over the next few days I tried, but without much luck. People didn’t care to be my friend. Since I’d begun to attend the church school, I had changed. I didn’t like the town girls, whom I considered narrow-minded and shallow. I couldn’t help but compare them with Pearl, who was kind, curious, and knowledgeable. The town girls fought over food and territory, and they fought among themselves. They could be best friends and worst enemies and best friends again all in one day. They often singled someone out to be the enemy of the moment. Then they attacked her by embarrassing her. I avoided them because I knew that Papa and NaiNai’s past would be used to torment me.
Unlike peasant daughters, who were too burdened and exhausted to have time to themselves, the Chin-kiang town girls had time on their hands. Many of their parents were shop owners and merchants. They loved to pretend to be big-city girls. But they knew very little about the big cities, like Shanghai, where Carie once lived before Pearl was born. The Chin-kiang girls looked down on peasants. They made fun of their uncivilized habits and forgot that they were not much different.
I had long accepted the reality that I was considered an odd character among the town girls. Catfighting didn’t suit me. Since I had become Pearl ’s friend, I had been the target of these girls. The fact that Pearl and I were so close drove them mad. They watched us with jealousy and envy. Now I was having trouble. I couldn’t break into the town girls’ social circle. I feared that people would say I had been abandoned.
I played cards with the town girls one afternoon. My heart ached for Pearl. She would be here only a few more days and I wanted to be with her. I forced myself to concentrate on the cards. One girl cheated and I caught her. She argued and denied everything. She didn’t mean aggression, nor did she say anything to provoke my anger, but I attacked her. I stopped the game and called the girl a liar. Step-by-step I exposed her tricks. The cards flew from my hands. The girl was embarrassed and exploded. No one was able to break us apart until Pearl arrived.
Pearl knew it was not my character to fight with others. She knew that I was troubled by her departure. She carefully wiped the blood off my forehead with her handkerchief. The spot on my left cheek where my opponent had scratched me with her fingernails swelled. Looking at me with her gentle blue eyes, Pearl sighed.
“I don’t need you here,” I said.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“No.”
“It’s not like we won’t see each other forever,” she said in a soft voice.
“But when? When will you come back?” I cried out.
She was unable to answer.
It was a clear day when Pearl ’s family boarded a steamboat that came from the upper Yangtze River. The townspeople filled the pier to see them off. Papa, NaiNai, Carpenter Chan, Lilac, and their twins, Double Luck David and Double Luck John, and a newborn son were among the crowd. Absalom had recently baptized the boys and named the newborn Triple Luck Solomon.
Absalom made Carpenter Chan promise to continue his work on the second floor of the new school until the job was finished. Reciting from the Bible, Absalom encouraged him, “It will be the offer of a sacrifice made by fire which ye shall offer onto the Lord.”
Carpenter Chan nodded and gave his word.
Wang Ah-ma begged Carie to take her with them.
“My husband’s mind is set,” Carie told her tearfully. “You must go your own way. We no longer have the money to keep you.”
“I’ll work for free!” Wang Ah-ma stuffed her mouth with the corner of her blouse to avoid crying aloud. “I’ll cost you no money. I have no one else, no place to go. You and the children are my family.”
The actors from the Wan-Wan Tunes opera troupe came. Many of them, including the nasty turtle-faced lady, had become Christians to Absalom’s credit. “Actors travel,” Absalom once told Papa. “They will be perfect to spread the Gospel.”
The actors wished Pearl ’s family a safe journey and sang their new aria, adapted from the Bible.
Surely goodness and mercy
Shall follow you all the days of your life,
And here we shall remain your faithful servants
We shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Pearl promised to return, but she and I both knew that it was wishful thinking. The Boxers were moving toward the coast and might reach Shanghai soon. America would be the place where Carie and her family would eventually end up.
Pearl and I struggled to find pleasant farewell words, but it was impossible.
We bade good-bye and embraced silently.
The steamboat pulled away from the pier, creating big ripples in the water.
I waved as my tears ran.
The ripples went away. The water became calm again.
I stood on the empty pier and a Tang dynasty poem Pearl used to recite came to mind.
My friend left the Mansion of Crane for the South where fish would bite
Hazelike willow down drift, petals scattered in full flight
Her boat disappears where the waves meet the great river
The bright moon is over the sky’s dome
Wild geese fly by mountains and pavilions ancient
Have you achieved the smile after red sorghum wine sweet
Wear the blossoming chrysanthemums full in my hair
Draw the bamboo curtains over the windows and dream for the night