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She doesn’t acknowledge him in any way. “Of course, all I’ve ever wanted is your happiness,” she goes on in that same even voice. “You understand that, Joy, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I answer, uncertain.
“Will it be all right if I ask you a few questions?” she asks.
I know what she wants to do. She wants to guide me to a point where I’ll see I’ve made a mistake, but I haven’t made a mistake. I’m happy and this is the right thing to do. Nothing she says or asks will change my mind.
“Don’t you think you’re better than this village? Don’t you see that you’re better than this boy? You went to university and he’s illiterate. You don’t need to settle for a small radish. You’ve already made enough mistakes in your life. Don’t make another.”
“Dad was illiterate,” I say, homing in on something I can fight her on.
My mom cringes at that. I’ve hurt her, but she knows exactly what to say to wound me right back. “That’s correct. Your father was illiterate. He was a peasant. Do you remember how you used to make fun of him for his greasy food, his bad English, and his backward ways? Do you remember when you taunted him for not knowing the names of American presidents? Do you think Tao knows the names of the emperors?”
I doubt it, but I don’t worry about that, because I’ve hit on another argument. “Grandpa Louie always wanted me to come back to China. He wanted all of us to return. You sent me to Chinese school to learn traditions, rules, and the language. You wanted me to be a proper Chinese girl, because you longed to come back here too. How many times did you tell me that life was better in China?”
“In Shanghai—”
“Right, Shanghai. Well, I’ve been there. I prefer Green Dragon Village.”
“You mean the Dandelion Number Eight People’s Commune,” she corrects me, but to what end? Then, “Your skin has always been as translucent as rice milk. Do you want to ruin your fortune?”
Is she speaking for May when she asks that question? I don’t know, but I answer, “I was here before, and my skin was fine.”
“You’re still young, and you were here only a few weeks. Think what a year, a lifetime, will do to you. An inch of gold won’t buy an inch of time.”
“I don’t care about things like that. I’m not Auntie May.”
“But you’re as stubborn as she is,” she responds. “If you stay here, you’ll be living from dirt to mouth.”
“You’ve always been prejudiced against country people and the countryside.”
My mother doesn’t deny that.
“What about the special coupons you collect as an Overseas Chinese?” she asks. “And the special treatment you’ve received as Z.G.’s daughter?”
“I don’t want special treatment,” I respond. “I want to be a real Chinese, not an Overseas Chinese. And I don’t need special coupons either. I’ll have all the food I could ever want. We grow it here.”
“The only reason Tao wants to marry you is that he yearns to leave the village,” Z.G. suddenly injects. “He may look like a bumpkin, but he’s ambitious. He wants to go to Shanghai, to Peking. But that’s not going to work.”
“I know. You told me yourself that he can’t leave the village, and neither can I, if I marry him. What you don’t understand is that I want to stay here. I
love Tao.”
My mother leans forward. A small, knowing—all right, I’ll say it, malicious—smile plays on her lips. “Isn’t the real problem that you’re pregnant?”
Pearl
RIDING A FLOWERED PALANQUIN
I SHOULDN’T HAVE said that. I told myself I was going to be different on this trip. I told myself that coming out here was an opportunity to reclaim my daughter and to spend time with Z.G. I told myself I would be agreeable, not pick any arguments, and show Joy that I could see her side and give whatever she’s looking for a chance. I know all the things I should and shouldn’t have done, but those words just popped out of my mouth, because what Joy wants to do is unacceptable. I’ve tried hard these past few days—no, these past months—to be alert and vigilant when speaking to my daughter so I wouldn’t hurt her feelings or drive her away. Just now I tried to guide her with questions to help her see her mistake. I never should have let her glimpse what I really thought or felt. Like all mothers, I needed to hide my sadness, anger, and grief, but what I thought—she must have gotten pregnant (just like her mother)—sneaked right out of my mouth.
“Of course I’m not pregnant,” Joy says, her eyes flashing. “How could I be pregnant? We’ve only been here a week.”
“A woman can know—”
“But I haven’t done anything like that!”
That’s something anyway, I think but don’t say. Instead, I ask, “But marriage, Joy? Why?”
