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“I did it for Father Louie. Before he died, he seemed to sense what was coming. He made me promise to do whatever was necessary to keep you and Sam safe. He didn’t want the family separated—”
“He didn’t want Vern to be left only with you,” I say. But this is far off the point. What she’s saying about Sam can’t be true. Please let it not be true.
“I’m sorry. Pearl, I’m so sorry.” And with that, May lets the rest of her confession fall from her lips in a jumble. “Agent Sanders used to walk with me sometimes when I was coming back to the hou
se after work. He asked about Joy, and he wanted to know about you and Sam too. He said this was an opportunity for amnesty. He said if I told him the truth about Sam’s paper-son status, then we could work together to get his citizenship and yours. I thought if I could show Agent Sanders I was a good American, then he would see that you were good Americans too. Don’t you see? I had to protect Joy, but I was also afraid of losing you, my sister, the only one in my life who’s loved me for who I am, who’s stood by me and taken care of me. If you’d just done as I’d said—hired a lawyer and confessed—then the two of you could have become citizens. You never again would have had to be afraid, and you and I never again would have had to worry about being separated. Instead, you and Sam continued to lie. The idea that Sam would hang himself never entered my mind.”
I’ve loved my sister from the moment she was born, but for too long I’ve been like a moon spinning around her entrancing planet. Now I whirl away as the anger of a lifetime boils out of me. My sister, my stupid, stupid sister.
“Get out.”
She stares at me in that Sheep way of hers—complacent and uncomprehending.
“I live here, Pearl. Where do you want me to go?”
“Get out!” I scream.
“No!” It’s one of the few times in our lives that she’s so directly disobeyed me. Then, in a heavy but raspy voice, she repeats, “No. You’re going to listen to me for once. Amnesty made sense. It was the safe thing to do.”
I shake my head, refusing to listen. “You’ve ruined my life.”
“No, Sam ruined his life.”
“That’s so like you, May, placing fault on someone other than yourself.”
“I never would have spoken to Agent Sanders if I’d thought there was any danger to Sam or you. I can’t believe you’d think that about me.” She seems to gather strength, standing there in her emerald satin. “Agent Sanders and the other one gave you every chance—”
“If you call intimidation a chance.”
“Sam was a paper son,” May goes on. “He was here illegally. For the rest of my life I’m going to blame myself for Sam’s suicide, but that doesn’t change the fact that what I did was right for the both of you and for our family. All you and Sam had to do was tell the truth—”
“Didn’t you consider what the consequences of that would be?”
“Of course I did! I’ll say it again: Agent Sanders said that if you and Sam confessed, then you’d receive amnesty. Amnesty! Your papers would have been stamped, you would have become legal citizens, and that would have been that. But you and Sam were too stubborn, too country-Chinese and ignorant to be Americans.”
“So now you’re blaming me for everything that’s happened?”
“I don’t want to say that, Pearl.”
But she just did say it! I’m so angry I can’t think straight. “I want you to move out of my house,” I seethe. “I never want to see you again. Not ever.”
“You’ve always blamed me for everything.” Her voice is calm, calm.
“Because everything that’s been bad in my life is because of you.”
My sister stares at me, waiting, as if she’s ready to hear what I have to say. If that’s what she wants …
“Baba loved you more,” I say. “He had to sit next to you. Mama loved you so much she had to sit right across from you, so she could stare at her beautiful daughter and not the one with the ugly red face.”
“You’ve always suffered from red-eye disease.” My sister sniffs, as though my accusations are insignificant. “You’ve always been jealous and envious of me, but you were the one who was cherished by Mama and Baba. Who loved who more? I’ll tell you. Baba liked to look at you. Mama had to sit next to you. The three of you always spoke in Sze Yup. You had your own secret language. You always left me out.”
This freezes me in place for a moment. I’ve always believed they spoke to me in Sze Yup to shield May from this or that, but what if they’d been doing it as an endearment, as a way of showing I was special to them?
“No!” I say as much to her as to myself “That’s not how it was.”
“Baba cared enough about you to criticize you. Mama cared enough about you to buy you pearl cream. She never gave me anything precious—not pearl cream, not her jade bracelet. They sent you to college. No one asked if I wanted to go! And even though you went, did you do anything with it? Look at your friend Violet. She did something, but you? No. Everyone wants to come to America for the opportunities. They came your way, but you didn’t take them. You preferred to be a victim, a fu yen. But what does it matter who Baba and Mama loved more or whether or not I had the same opportunities as you? They’re dead, and that was a long time ago.”
But it isn’t to me, and I know it isn’t to May either. Just consider how our competition for our parents’ affection has been repeated in our battle for Joy. Now, after our whole lives together, we say what we truly feel. The tones of our Wu dialect rise and fall, shrill, caustic, and accusatory as we empty all the evil we’ve stored up on each other’s heads, blaming each other for every single wrong and misfortune that’s happened to us. I haven’t forgotten about Sam’s death and I know she hasn’t either, but neither of us can help ourselves. Maybe it’s easier to fight about the injustices we’ve carried for years than to face May’s betrayal and Sam’s suicide.
