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Then Yong sways forward. “Heaven created the world,” she says, “but it forgot to make happiness. This is especially true for women. When I married, my father hired people to cry. He wanted so many people to cry that the Yangtze would overflow its banks. For seven days, broth was my only sustenance, so I would be weak and obedient. A veil covered my face. When my husband lifted it, I saw a stern face. This was to make me understand that I needed to be compliant. Only since Chairman Mao came have we found happiness. I wish all gladness for Tao and Joy.”
A few more bawdy jokes, unrefined quips, and rowdy laughs erupt from the guests. More cups of rice wine are drunk. Then it’s time. Everyone but Tao and Joy backs out of the room. The door is closed. The young men go outside. They clap their hands, whoop, and bang together whatever they can find to make noise—all in an effort to break their friend’s concentration and prolong the duration of the husband-wife thing. The young women, with Kumei and Jie Jie as their leaders, linger by the door to the wedding chamber to eavesdrop. They begin to giggle. Have they heard something already?
THE NEXT DAY is the end of Z.G.’s assignment. Today we’ll be going south to another commune. We pack our bags. I wrap a scarf around my camera and the few rolls of film I brought with me. I walk up the hill to where Joy lives. It’s early, and the bamboo mats and bedding for most of the family still cover the floor of the main room. The children stand around in their birthday suits. They seem even grimier with their clothes off.
The door to the other room is still closed. My mind shies away from the thought of Joy in there with Tao and what they did last night. Joy emerges. She has a look on her face I don’t understand. Doubt? Confusion? Disgust? I wonder if Joy’s father-in-law is going to examine the wedding sheets for bloodstains as my father-in-law did so many years ago. At least that doesn’t happen. Either the tradition is gone in the New China or this family owns no sheets.
Tonight will Joy and Tao sleep in the main room with the other children? In the future, when Joy and Tao want to do the husband-wife thing, will they sneak out of the house and find a spot in a field? I catch Joy’s eyes. The gleaming light that shone from them last night has disappeared. I remember the feeling of disappointment I had after my wedding night—is that what all the fuss is about?—but my circumstances were very different. Joy insisted she was in love. So maybe the husband-wife thing isn’t the problem. Maybe she woke up this morning in a small village in the middle of nowhere in the second room of a shack that’s home to twelve people and finally realized what she’s done.
I want to ask her what’s wrong, but I don’t feel like I can. Instead I say softly to her in English, “One last time, I ask you to come home with me. It’s not too late …”
My daughter—tremulous and uncertain—stares out the open door. A sheen of sweat glistens on her upper lip. She stands very still.
“Walk out of here with me, Joy,” I continue in E
nglish—a language that seems so open and free to me in this claustrophobic place. “Please.”
When she shakes her head, I give her my wedding presents—my camera, film, and the scarf. “Take some photographs,” I say. “Send me the film and I’ll get it developed. I’ll send some of those pictures to May. She’ll want to see you here.”
Joy walks me down the hill to the villa. Z.G. and I pick up our bags. Then she escorts us up the hill that leads out of the village. Above us, clouds like fish scales drift across the sky. Cicadas screech. We say our good-byes at the welcome sign. My girl doesn’t cry and neither do I, but looking into her face I see not the gloriously strong bride of last night but someone unsure. Z.G. and I are halfway down the other side of the hill when I glance back. I expect to see my daughter still standing there, but she’s already started her journey to her husband and her new life.
Z.G. continues along the path. He’s loaded down with his suitcase and various other satchels. The art supplies and all the posters that were done in the commune were sent ahead of us in a caravan of wheelbarrows earlier this morning. I want to say that I’m torn between my daughter and going off alone with Z.G. for the next several weeks, but this decision is easy.
“Z.G.,” I call. He stops and looks back at me. I set my bag in the dirt and hurry to him. “I’m staying here.” He unburdens himself of his bags, preparing for an argument. “I can’t leave Joy,” I rush on. “I’ve come this far, and I love her too much.”
He regards me, clear-eyed. What I’ve learned these past five months is that, while he may not be the best father or give the best advice, he feels some connection to Joy.
“I wish I could stay here with you,” he says at last, “but my status is too unstable.”
“You don’t have to explain. Dog today, cat tomorrow,” I recite, quoting his servant from when I first arrived in Shanghai. The success he’s had with his New Year’s poster and his recent Mao portraits helped get him out of the political trouble he was in, but that could change on a whim.
“I’ll return in three months to take you to the trade fair in Canton. I used my guan-hsi to get permission to bring both you and Joy with me. Joy probably won’t want to come. In any case, she can’t because she’s married into the countryside. You’ll need to attend the fair with me though.”
Or else he’ll be in trouble again.
“I understand,” I say, “but I may not want to leave.”
“You say that now, but by then you’ll know if Joy is happy. If she can show you that, then you’ll be able to come with me.”
For the first time, I feel something like admiration for Z.G. He’s finally beginning to understand the kind of woman I am. He puts his hands on my upper arms and squeezes them. He stares into my eyes. I hold his gaze.
“Pearl.”
“Yes?”
“You’re a good mother. I can never thank you enough for that.”
He lets go of my arms, picks up his satchels, and heads down the path toward the road, where he’ll catch the bus. I watch for a few moments, then turn, walk back to my suitcase, and continue on to Green Dragon Village.
Pearl
A SMILING FACE
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG.
I roll over and pull the pillow over my head. I had another restless night, getting woken up a couple of times by the sound of someone prowling through the corridor outside the building where I sleep in the villa. I could use a little extra sleep.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
