Toward the North

by Hua Laura Wu

  It was already fall. The people who had arrived in the early morning wore thick jackets and caps. But it felt like summer when the sun shone at noon. Both the performers and the audience were sweaty. The people on stage were hot because of their active movements and thick costumes. The audience was also hot because they shouted excitedly. Zhongyue walked around but couldn’t find a shaded seat. People kept offering him cigarettes and tobacco, saying “meegwetch”—he knew it meant thanks in Ojibwa. He guessed that they were the parents of his students.

  Then it was the children’s turn to perform.

  Though the children’s clothes and accessories were simple, all of them had eagle feathers, and the girls had bells on their skirts. The age of the children was also uneven. The oldest ones were teenagers who tried to imitate the adults’ expressions. The younger ones had only gone through a couple of powwow parties; their steps were not steady yet. The youngest ones were toddlers learning to walk. They cried when they stepped onto the stage. The audience burst into laughter and couldn’t stand straight.

  Zhongyue finally found a shady corner and sat down, but the music suddenly stopped. Someone took the microphone and coughed gently. The crowd became quiet. The person next to Zhongyue said he was the chief. The speech the chief gave was extremely modern. The first time was in English, and the second time in Ojibwa. He spoke about world affairs and then local business. After giving thanks to heaven and to the four seasons, he said that he appreciated the rain and sunshine. He was also grateful for birds in the sky and animals on the earth. He gave thanks for the harvest and for kind neighbours. It was a lengthy speech filled with big words, Zhongyue felt sleepy as he listened.

  As Zhongyue was about to close his eyes, his neighbour nudged him awake. The voice from the microphone had gotten much louder.

  “You can see how lovely our children are, but don’t forget to thank those who help our children: schoolteachers, volunteers, and school bus drivers. Don’t forget that there’s a father among us who helps our children, but who has left his own child.”

  As all the audience turned to look at Zhongyue, he flushed, sweat spreading all over his face. Before he could wipe his sweat, several large men came and picked him up. They ran around the audience and placed him on the podium. Someone passed a microphone to him. Feeling nervous, Zhongyue forgot how to speak English. He stammered, “I … I’m not….” He couldn’t find any more words to say; he only saw hands in the audience clap like trees waving in the wind.

  Returning to his seat, he felt as though his body had been scattered and he couldn’t get the pieces back into place. His hands and feet kept trembling; he didn’t know whether it was because of a panic attack or because he was so touched by the gesture from the community.

  Drumbeats resounded, but the tempo had changed and become very fast.

  Then a small and skinny boy came to the stage and stood still. He began to spin quickly, following the rhythm of the drumbeat. He wore head gear made of fur and a black-and-yellow mirror hung between his eyebrows to protect his forehead. He was dressed in green. A breastplate made of porcupine quills was on his chest, and a huge shield of eagle feathers on his back. Brass ankle bells were tied on each of his legs. His clothes were embroidered with the designs of animal feet and geometric patterns, which were blurred because of his movement. No matter how fast the drumbeat was, the boy never missed one step. His steps started with the drum and finished when it stopped. His ankle bells jingled like rain pouring down, and his clothes moved like a green cloud dancing with the wind. The audience gaped at the scene.

  Unexpectedly the drum stopped, and everyone in the audience became silent. After a long while, the people began whistling, stamping their feet and screaming in unison, “Neil! Neil! Neil!” At that moment Zhongyue recognized that the boy was Neil.

  As Zhongyue watched Neil come down from the stage, he also spotted Dawa. He hadn’t seen her for about three weeks, since school had begun. Pushing through the crowd, Zhongyue approached Dawa, who grasped Zhongyue’s hand and repeatedly told him, “I’ve found it.” He asked what she’d found. Dawa said he shouldn’t have forgotten what he asked her to find. “It’s Neil’s hobby,” she continued. “I know now. Neil had trouble listening to words, but had no problem with rhythms. The chief said he’d send Neil to the annual powwow contest for North American Indians in November.” Zhongyue was very happy to hear about this. He told her that the DVD of the sign language dictionary he had ordered for them was in his car and that he’d give to them later.

  While they chatted, Neil came over, riding on a man’s shoulders. He held a soft drink in his left hand and a hot dog in his right, and his mouth was full of scarlet ketchup. The man was tall and well built, and his face was shiny. Not sure of his age, Zhongyue guessed he was Neil’s father. Before Zhongyue had a chance to say hello, the man stretched out his hand, laughing out loud. “I’m Raymond, Neil’s grandpa. Thanks for taking care of my boy.”

  Neil jumped down from his grandfather’s shoulders. He gave Zhongyue a big toothy smile and pulled at Zhongyue’s clothes. “K ... kite,” he said.

  Zhongyue patted Neil’s head and spoke to him in sign language: “Sorry. I didn’t bring the kite. How about next time?”

  Then the loudspeaker announced, “Anybody who is interested in learning about the herbs on the mountain, please meet Dr. Raymond Maas in tent one.”

  Neil clapped his hands, calling, “Grandpa, Grandpa!” Dawa asked Zhongyue if he would come, saying that what she told him about herbs and healing was only a drop in the bucket. Neil’s grandfather knew much more. Zhongyue followed the crowd of attendees into the tent and sat among them. Raymond gave everybody two gifts: a package of tobacco to honour Mother Earth, and a small bag of tea for peace of mind. He also introduced them to some brewing methods for Native teas, and mentioned safety issues about hiking on mountains. Then the group trekked onto the mountain.

  After fifteen minutes, the noise from the powwow diminished; the woods gradually became darker, and the colours of flowers deepened. Raymond noticed a cluster of blooming purple flowers under a huge tree. Pushing the bushes aside with his wooden stick, he leaned over to pluck the plant. Suddenly a man and a woman jumped up from the ground, startling everyone in the group. The woman’s blouse was unbuttoned, and her shoulder was partially exposed. Bits of grass were all over her clothes. A plastic sheet was spread on the ground, and a fur canteen and several wooden bowls were scattered on it.

  Raymond hit his wooden stick so hard on the tree trunk that the stick broke into two parts. “You bastard! Joy! You dare to drink at this powwow? You’ve broken our ancestors’ rules!”

  Joy didn’t reply. Instead, he picked up the fur canteen and walking away, leaving the woman standing there alone.

  Everybody’s high spirits were dampened, as if freezing rain had drenched them. Nobody spoke, but all eyes turned to Dawa. Pretending to see nothing, she squatted down with Neil and helped him to dig up an herb with sharp stones until only the root was left in the soil. Dawa dropped the stone and tried to pull the root up. But the thin root was very tough. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get it out. Trembling, she kept pulling. Zhongyue went over and cut off the herb. He picked the root and tossed it into Neil’s basket. Then he helped Dawa stand up and said, “Let’s go.”

  The three walked slowly and gradually fell behind the crowd. When the were some distance away, Zhongyue said hesitatingly, “Dawa, you could leave and bring Neil back to China.”

  Dawa’s mouth pursed tightly, and her lips became thin and purple. She leaned against a tree. “Except for here, are there any places that can accommodate a child like Neil?”

  Zhongyue was speechless.

  Xiaoyue,

  You said in your letter that Xiang will take you to Disneyland over the Christmas holiday. I’ve felt sad for a long time. Not only because I can’t see you over the winter break, but also because as
your father, I’m supposed to be with you. Xiang has taken away the chance for me to do so. You’ve asked me to take you to Disneyland for years, but I didn’t do it because of my hectic life—I was busy writing my thesis, job-hunting, keeping my job, and getting a promotion. Things are always lining up in front of me, blocking my vision. I’ve forgotten that your childhood can’t wait forever. Living in Sioux Lookout has helped me see many things in life. Every time I see that deaf child, Neil, I can’t help but think of you, my dear daughter. Everybody can see Neil’s misfortune, but few people notice his luck. Neil has a wonderful mom who always carries his dream. But I, your dad, am not the same. I can’t carry your dream until I can forget my own. Neil’s mom makes me feel guilty.

  In early October, Zhongyue received a registered letter in a thick, large manila envelope. The unfamiliar name of a law firm on the envelope looked ominous. Inside were divorce papers.

  Xiaoxiao Fan had initiated a separation, but she had also suggesting that spending a year apart might help them get back together again. After Zhongyue came to Sioux Outlook, the two had often talked on the phone, but their conversations were mostly about their daughter. Xiaoxiao had never mentioned divorce on the phone, not even a hint. Of course, Zhongyue should have guessed—separation was usually a necessary prelude to divorce—but he just didn’t expect Xiaoxiao to act so quickly. He couldn’t help but recall all the details of the relationship between Xiaoxiao and Xiang. Perhaps Xiang wasn’t the result of the separation, but the cause of it. He felt like he had been walking in the dark and had had fallen into a trap without warning. His head spun. He picked up the phone to dial that familiar number.

  The phone rang for a while before someone picked it up. It was Xiaoxiao. She was panting heavily, which made Zhongyue think about her in bed with Xiang. Holding his breath for a few seconds, Zhongyue faked a chuckle and said, “Xiaoxiao, I guess you just couldn’t stop, right?” Xiaoxiao hung up right away. He dialled again, but no one answered. Sitting on the floor with the phone on his lap, Zhongyue was ready to keep calling throughout the night. Each time he punched the keys, he got angrier. Soon he felt anger exploding in his head. The receiver seemed to melt in his tight hand. About an hour later, when someone finally picked up the phone, Zhongyue felt as though his head had exploding into numerous fragments. His own howl almost knocked him down.

  “Bring that Xiang in front of me if you dare. That man is a fucking asshole!”

  The other end was deadly silent. After a long while, a trembling voice sounded: “Dad?” Zhongyue realized it was his daughter, Xiaoyue, who had answered the phone. He lowered his voice and said that he didn’t know it was her. Xiaoyue said nothing, but she sighed weakly. It was gentle sigh, but it left a wound that would not heal. Zhongyue felt a pain in his heart.

  “Don’t sigh. You’re only a kid. Sighing belongs to adults.”

  Xiaoyue protested that she wasn’t a child anymore—she was eleven. After a pause, she said, “In fact, you and Mom didn’t live happily. Separation may be good. Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. In the future, when you have a new home, I have two places to go, one home during the winter break, and another during the summer break. I have many friends who do this.”

  Her words touched Zhongyue’s heart, but he was unsure whether he felt happy or sad. He found that children who grew up in foreign countries, compared to their peers in China, seemed immature in some aspects, but too mature in other aspects.

  After the phone call, Zhongyue couldn’t focus on the work he needed to prepare for the next day. He was lost in thought. Xiaoxiao and he always had thought that Xiaoyue was like a tomboy, rather carefree. He’d never thought that Xiaoyue had watched them and known about their unhappy marriage. Both of them had tried to hide their unhappiness from their daughter. His unhappiness was mainly due to Xiaoxiao’s unhappiness, but he had been ignorant about his own feelings and about his daughter’s.

  Xiaoxiao had been among the elite, the flower of flowers. She’d been ahead of him in every major thing. She got her degree first, got promoted earlier, came to Canada six months earlier, and got a good job before him. Not to mention her salary was much higher than his. She was ahead of him, but unwilling to see that he had fallen permanently behind her. She always stepped forward first and then turned back to pull him towards her, until they were almost at the same level. That was Xiaoxiao’s happiest time, but she couldn’t indulge in it. She was used to plugging away, and she couldn’t rest for long. She had to move forward and then come back for him. Even though he was always a few steps behind her, he eventually reached the goal she’d expected him to. What let her down wasn’t that he didn’t reached her goals, but that he did it at his own pace. She couldn’t stand his laid-back lifestyle. He always felt like he was a thousand-year-old ox cart, each joint heavily rusted. If Xiaoxiao let go, he would immediately crash and break into pieces of useless wood.

  The two of them continued in this lifestyle for several years, and gradually Xiaoxiao got tired of it. He was unaware of her unhappiness until it was too late. In fact, he could have done something, but, according Xiaoxiao, the problem was his personality: he was like a string when he was lifted, but like a heap when he was put down. At this point, he was unhappy simply because he saw that she was unhappy. His real unhappiness appeared much later.

  Some years earlier, after having not seen him for eight years, his mother had arrived in Toronto to visit them.

  His father had died young. As children, he and his two brothers had relied on the meagre wages of his mother, who worked in a shoe factory. She had only gone to elementary school, and she could only read a little. She did the dirtiest minimum-wage job at the factory: cutting rubber patterns. Her daily duty was to get hot rubber from the rollers and cut soles according to the prototype. His mother had asked for this type of work because the workers at the rubber workshop could get four extra yuan a month as compensation for working on the toxic raw rubber.

  The raw rubber shed its colour. When Zhongyue’s mother came home from work, her neck and her hands were black. When she smiled, the wrinkles on her forehead looked dark, too. Every evening, she washed her face and hands again and again, pouring out several basins of inky water. Then she cooked supper for her family. The meal was very simple—it rarely had meat —but she made a few dishes and a soup. After the meal, she cleaned up the dishes too. Then she sat down and began to knit. She could knit a variety of patterns: flat stitches, stacked stitches, plum blossom, and gold pin shape. She knitted woollen sweaters for others, but, when she knitted for herself, she used yarn reclaimed from old cotton gloves. Her sweater looked half yellow and half white, but it fitted her well. She made two yuan from each sweater. When knitting smaller sized ones with simple patterns, she could knit five or six sweaters a month—of course, she had to knit all evening, without any breaks.

  Zhongyue was born during hard times. Food was rationed. Even in that southern area that was supposed to have fertile farmland and many rivers, people had to eat a certain amount other grains like corn meal and sweet potato flour. The three boys grew bigger and ate a lot. The shortage of rationed foods made the situation worse. Zhongyue’s mother paid the higher price for the other grains that other people didn’t want in order to have extra food for her children. At each meal, she always let her sons eat first. By the time she took off her apron and sat down to eat, the rice pot was often already empty. Buns made of sweet potato flour were very dry, even with some vegetable oil drops, and tasted like sawdust. Zhongyue’s mother would chew one of these for a long time, but she had trouble swallowing it. As she tried to take in the food, the veins on her forehead would protrude. Zhongyue felt his heart tighten when he saw his mother eat the buns. However, at the next meal, he still couldn’t resist the temptation of rice.

  Due to years of malnutrition and overwork, Zhongyue’s mother’s health gradually deteriorated.

  One night, when the three children were doing homework around
the dinner table, she suddenly asked why the electricity was cut. Zhongyue said that the light was on, and his mother said nothing for a while. Then Zhongyue heard her crying—she had suddenly become blind.

  After she lost her sight, Zhongyue’s mother couldn’t cut shoe soles any more. She was transferred to the packing workshop, which didn’t require her to see. She could no longer knit either. After she lost her monthly compensation and additional income from knitting, the family lived a harder life. The three children learned to take responsibility. After homework every day, they worked on making matchboxes. They could make one fen from making two matchboxes. They made a hundred before going to bed. The children handed in some money they had made to their mother and used the rest to buy cod liver oil for her.

  Zhongyue’s mother’s sight was better sometimes and worse at other times, but at least she wasn’t totally blind.

  Later, all three children grew up and started their own families. After graduating from university, Zhongyue lived in the provincial capital. His mother had lived alone since her children had left home because she didn’t want to depend on any of them. Zhongyue was the youngest, and he was his mother’s favourite. When he invited her to come to Toronto to visit them, she hesitated for a while, but finally came.

  His mother had always conserved everything no matter where she lived. In Zhongyue’s home, she didn’t want to use the washing machine or dryer, so she washed her clothes by hand and hung them in the bathroom to dry. The clothes looked like flags and banners from different countries; water from the wet clothes dripped onto the floor. Xiaoxiao mentioned that the floor tiles might get damaged, and that the clothes that hung in the bathroom would embarrass visitors. Xiaoxiao repeated this many times, and Zhongyue’s mother eventually started washing clothes after they went to work and putting them away before they came back home. She couldn’t see the trace of water on the floor, and she assumed that others couldn’t see it either. But when Xiaoxiao noticed it, she screwed up her face.