AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I pull Ta-ming onto my lap and hold him tight.
REMEMBERING Z.G.’S and my drive to Green Dragon, I’m fearful of what we might see once we turn off the main highway. But we encounter no dead or dying people either on the road or in the fields as we bounce along the dirt road. We see no children abandoned in pits. Yes, it’s November and the climate is warmer this far south, but Kwangtung province is also farther from the capital. It doesn’t seem to have been as badly affected by the strategies of the Great Leap Forward. What’s the old saying? “The mountains are high and the emperor is far away,” meaning that the farther you are from the capital and the emperor’s policies, the easier it is to live your own life.
The driver drops us off just outside Wah Hong, since the village was built centuries ago and was not designed for automobiles. We hurry to the cousin’s house. He’s surprised to see us, but he welcomes us, offering tea and giving thanks.
“If not for the money your sister sends,” he says, “we would have gone hungry.”
“Soon you may not be so grateful,” I tell him. As I explain our situation, his eyes become hooded. “We need clothes for Z.G., whatever food you can spare, and water. As soon as we leave, you must take the money May has sent to the village and bury it. Don’t lie to the police when they come. Tell them you saw us and you chased us off.”
“Where shall we tell them you went?”
“Macau.”
This is not where we are going, but it will be safer for the Louie relatives if they don’t know the truth. But the main thing is they’ll send the police in the wrong direction.
We’re in Wah Hong for less than an hour. Z.G. trades his elegant Mao suit for a set of dirty peasant clothes. Remembering my escape from China many years ago and how the bandits who boarded our ship recognized a well-off girl from the rest of us by her shoes, I get Z.G. to trade his Shanghai street shoes for a pair of sandals. I give the cousin five twenty-dollar bills. He falls to his knees and puts his forehead on my feet in gratitude. Then we walk out of Wah Hong. I hold Ta-ming’s hand, Joy has the baby in her sling, and Z.G. carries several water flasks and a basket filled with rice balls. He still looks out of place—like a goat without fur.
So, on to my family’s home village, Yin Bo, a place that has lived in my memory. I left when I was three, so I don’t know how to get there. We know we shouldn’t walk together, but we’re afraid to separate. When we see someone coming toward us—a peddler or a farmer taking produce to market—some of us split off from the group, go into a field to pretend they are working, or walk ahead or lag behind, while one of us asks the way to Yin Bo. It sounds like it will be about a ten-mile walk along dirt roads or on the raised pathways that separate rice paddies. Not for one second does Dun leave my mind. I’m scared and worried for him, but I keep putting one foot in front of the other.
After two hours, we see a car approach. The desire to run is fierce. I slow down, Joy speeds up, and Z.G. and Ta-ming—who don’t speak Cantonese—step into the fields. The car stops next to Joy. After leaning down and listening to the driver, she points to her left. The car comes to me and stops.
“We’re looking for troublemakers,” the driver says. “Have you seen them?”
“There are many people on the road,” I answer. “How can I tell which ones are troublemakers?”
“The man was well dressed, like a three-pen cadre.”
“Three-pen cadre? I’ve never heard of one of those. But if you say one man looks like our great Chairman, only thinner, then yes, I saw him and the others. They went that way.” I point to my right—giving a completely different direction than Joy did—and hope that my shaking hand and my nervous sweat aren’t too noticeable.
It’s early evening when we enter Yin Bo. To me, it looks like any other small village—low houses made from gray brick, openings where glass windows should be, and pigs, ducks, and chickens wandering the alleyways. Maybe three hundred people live here, maybe fewer. A young mother with a baby on her hip comes out of her shack to stare at us. Soon others—a few children, a teenage girl, two farmers with piles of hay strapped to their backs—stop to ogle us.
“Excuse me,” I say. “Can you help us? We need some food and a place to stay. My name is Zhen Long—Pearl Dragon. I was born here. My natal family name is Chin. You are Chins too. I am part of your family. We’re all related.” But these people are too young to remember me. “Is there a grandmother or grandfather I could talk to?”
They stare at me slack-jawed. No one wants to risk doing anything wrong.
“You are Chins. I am a Chin,” I repeat. “My father was born here. I was born here. This is my daughter and my granddaughter. I may have uncles or aunts still living here. They would be my father’s brothers and their wives. I need to see them.” When no one moves, I point to the teenage girl. “Go get the headman. Do it now!”
Then we stand there, waiting, as the girl runs down an alley on her bare feet. A few minutes later, she returns with not one man but several men—all of them older, all of them crowding and pushing each other to get to the front of the pack. This is my father’s home village, so it doesn’t surprise me that the men—again, all of them Chins—resemble him. They have his slightly bowlegged gait, weak jaw, and slope to their shoulders.
As they near, one of the men hurries forward. He’s older, probably the headman. He extends his arms and calls, “Pearl?”
I shake my head, trying to dislodge memories that have no place right now.
“Pearl, Pearl.”
The man stops a couple of feet in front of me. He’s shorter than I am. Tears stream down his face. He’s countryside old—his skin wrinkled and brown from the sun—but there’s no question it’s my father.
Pearl
FATE CONTINUES, FORTUNE ABOUNDS
“BABA?” I SAY, stunned. The man before me can’t possibly be my father. I know he can’t. But he is. “I thought you were dead.”
“Pearl.”
When I was a girl, my father never once hugged me, but now he puts his arms around me and holds me tight. Not in ten thousand years could I have imagined this reunion, not now, not ever. I have so many things I want to say and so many questions I want to ask, but I have the others with me and we’re in a desperate flight. Reluctantly, I pull away from him.
“Baba, I want you to meet some people. This is your granddaughter, Joy. The baby is your great-granddaughter. And you must remember Z.G.”
