One Bright Moon

by Andrew Kwong

  Hearing this and not being able to comfort Mama was hard to bear. Then one morning Sheree said to me, ‘I think we should go to Shiqi and see your mama in July. She may come good if she could see us and the baby. Oh, how much I feel for her, my mother-in-law I still haven’t met.’

  Within a month, I had found a locum doctor to take over my medical practice and booked tickets to Shiqi for myself, Sheree, Serena and Sheree’s by then ten-year-old brother, Adrian.

  After stopping over in Hong Kong for two days to see Baba and meet friends and cousins, we travelled to Macau by ferry across the Lonely Sea, and then took a short taxi ride to the Macau–China border. Baba accompanied us, but, still fearful of being detained for his transgressions years earlier, he wouldn’t proceed any further. The plan was for us to have a short stay in Shiqi, then take the train via Guangzhou back to Hong Kong; it ran all the way to Kowloon in the city centre, which would make the journey easier for the children.

  ‘Don’t forget to give my love to Mama and your sisters. I’ll wait at the railway terminal for you,’ Baba said. I could see how sorry he was not to be able to go home. And it was now only a three-hour trip on modern buses.

  How things had changed in China since Deng Xiaoping had taken over and started opening up the country for business. The signs were immediately evident at the border: the guards and customs officers were much more relaxed than they had been three and a half years earlier. One officer even extended a hand to welcome us back to ‘the Motherland’, while another checked our passports and visas. He looked me up and down a few times more and nodded without much of an expression. Several female officers giggled as they practised their basic English on the children.

  On the way to Shiqi I observed further signs of change. Some parts of the gravel and red-earth road had given way to widened, all-weather tarmac, while other sections were being straightened. It was already a lot smoother to travel on. The ruins of fortresses along the Wonder River, like tired warriors, continued to stand their ground, despite the many seasons of typhoons and tempests they had endured – a reminder of the resilience of the people of the Pearl River Delta facing foreign encroachment in bygone years. There were still rice fields aplenty, but a few tractors and other machines had replaced some of the teams of hard-working water buffalos. The July sun was merciless.

  I prayed that Mama would cheer up on seeing me arrive with my gweilo wife and brother-in-law and half-gweilo baby. I also hoped the district officials would be civil enough to leave us alone.

  As we reached the outskirts of the town, I began pointing things out to Sheree. ‘See that straight row of grey brick houses, and the levee wall?’ I said. ‘That’s Kwong Street, my old home. Not far behind it to your right is the town of Shiqi, with Pagoda Hill rising in the middle of it. And to the left, see the small hill with another pagoda on it? That’s Old Crow Hill!’

  Gum trees on both sides of the road rustled as the bus carrying us headed to the west side of town, joining the chorus of beeping, ringing vehicles: small cars and buses, and, more noticeably, a large army of cyclists on their way home for their lunchbreak. What a great leap from my day.

  My heart beat faster and louder as the bus turned left onto the bridge over the Wonder River which Mama and I had crossed together on that chilly morning when Baba had been taken off to prison.

  When we arrived at the bus station, a crowd of people surrounded the bus, craning their necks to see the passengers. I spotted Eighth Uncle with ease and then hands began to wave. ‘Ah-mun is home. Ah-mun is home!’

  I rushed forward to embrace Mama, trying to stop her emaciated, trembling body from shaking more. I unleashed tears of joy and sadness. Weng and Ying cried also, as did Sixth Aunt and others. In a big huddle we hugged, caring not what the world around us was doing or saying; it was our time together that mattered.

  Then I turned to look for Sheree and the children. There she stood, surrounded by my family, smiling and nodding, with Serena cuddling close to her, peering at the strangers around her. Adrian already seemed to have made friends with a few kids. No English was required: we were one big family.

  We crowded into a small bus the family had hired, which tooted all the way to our street while other vehicles and bicycles responded with honks and ringing bells as if rejoicing too for the return of a long-absent local.

  I sat in the overcrowded bus with Sheree on one side and Mama on the other, my arms around them, feeling so proud. From time to time I turned to my two sisters and expressed my surprise at how the once sleepy outpost on the delta now seemed to be a booming town. It amazed me that Yiu-hoi and Ah-ki wore bell-bottom jeans, and had both grown their hair long like The Beatles. And Weng’s big permed hairstyle was a standout: it matched her big smile. Clearly the Western way of life had begun to seep into the PRC.

  Fewer people were wearing the worker’s tunic; the familiar hues of blue and khaki were giving way to brighter colours. You could hear children laughing and singing nursery rhymes. There were scant propaganda posters in sight, just advertisements and public notices. No loudspeakers boomed out revolutionary slogans – they’d been gone for a few years now, I was told. Shops were open for business everywhere and filled with customers browsing and bargaining.

  The District Head and his committee members had formed a special welcoming party for us at his office in town. We sat on cool rosewood chairs with marble inlays which reminded me of the chairs we’d once had in our Kwong Street home. The officials served us fine jasmine tea and the local sweet lychees I had sorely missed for many years. They were eager to explain the recent modernisation of the town, and their aspirations for its future. Even they seemed to have changed: there were no solemn speeches or revolutionary slogans, no vindictive attitudes towards their long-absent kinsmen – the District Head even extended an invitation for Baba to return, guaranteeing his safety.

  ‘As for your Mama,’ he advised in his now not-so-hoarse voice, while cradling the Camel cigarettes I’d brought, ‘she’s free to leave if there’s a country that will accept her. China’s policy has changed.’

  Mama’s eyes shone.

  After the tea party, we were given a guided tour of a neighbourhood kindergarten, where perspiring but happy children sang and danced to make us feel welcome. The little school was housed in a big old residence, its peeling whitewash exposing the tired local grey bricks.

  That evening, after Serena and Adrian finally settled and fell asleep in the town’s best hotel, where we had a ceiling fan, tiled bath and flushing toilet, Sheree voiced her concern for those children who had sweltered and suffered while putting on their performance for us. We decided to pay for ten ceiling fans to be installed in the kindergarten.

  ‘Every little thing will help,’ Sheree said without hesitation. A few minutes later, she sang out from the bathroom, ‘Oh no, there’s no water coming from the tap.’ I complained to reception and was told that water was only available at certain hours of the day, as it had to be regularly pumped to a tank on the roof to supply the guests’ needs. First in, best dressed.

  CHAPTER 37

  When we arrived back in Australia, I rang Ping in Washington DC to discuss what we could do to help Mama. As soon as I started talking, Ping cut in and said breathlessly, ‘The immigration laws have just changed! The relationship between America and China is being normalised. Retired parents, children and spouses from China are being re-classified as Priority One. That means Mama could be in America within months. I’m going to lodge an application straight away.’ Suddenly our hopes were reignited.

  We prayed that the District Head would keep his word to me and let Mama leave Shiqi, and that she wouldn’t have to sit another English test. People in Australia had long complained that the English test was just a more subtle White Australia policy, a way of keeping non-Anglo people out. Whether that was true or not, it was enough to keep me worrying.

  At last, after six months of bureaucratic procedures and nerve-wracking silences, Mama was given permissio
n to leave Shiqi and move to America to live with Ping’s family. We were all overjoyed. We felt blessed and grateful that our long-time goal of reuniting the family together now appeared to be achievable.

  To reach the United States from mainland China in those days, you had to first go to Hong Kong to catch a plane. In early 1981, Mama set off from Shiqi for Hong Kong via Macau. I knew she felt torn about leaving my sisters behind, and I could also feel some of the joy and excitement she experienced as she crossed the border.

  Waiting for her on the other side of the border was Baba.

  For quite a while after Mama’s arrival, I couldn’t help wondering what they’d said to each other at that moment – the first time they had set eyes on each other since Baba’s bold escape in 1962. A romantic at heart, Baba told me some time later how anxious he was as the day of Mama’s arrival approached. He thought about their early days in Hong Kong, and back to the last night they had spent together in Shiqi before his flight, how they’d lain in silence in the dark room at home, no words necessary except for Mama’s quiet sobs.

  On the day, Baba made sure he was at the Shenzhen Bridge, which connected the colony to the mainland, well before Mama’s train was due to arrive. He felt almost overwhelmed by nervousness and excitement at the prospect of being reunited with his selfless wife, who had sacrificed so much for the good of the family.

  Passengers from China had to walk over the bridge to the British side and have their documents inspected before being allowed to catch the train into town. Baba recalled how thrilled he was as he watched Mama stand in line waiting for her turn to cross over to freedom and into his open arms. As they finally embraced for the first time in nineteen years, Baba was pained by how tiny and frail Mama felt. But as time stood still and they looked at each other through their tears, they rejoiced in being together again, this time, they hoped, forever.

  One of the first places he took Mama when they arrived back in Kowloon was the King Fook Jewellery store where he replaced her lost gold wedding band and bought her a diamond ring. Then he accompanied Mama to the same exquisite department store he had taken me to, to equip her with modern city attire. He was so proud to introduce her to his many friends and relatives, and as they travelled the city, catching buses, trams and ferries, they were overjoyed to re-acquaint themselves with the place where they had first met and fallen in love.

  Mama had planned to spend two weeks in Hong Kong before her departure for the United States, and the time flew by in Baba’s company. Due to his work and financial commitments, Baba had to stay in Hong Kong, so Mama travelled alone on her first ever jet plane trip. She stopped over in Hawaii for an emotional reunion with Grandmother Young, the uncles and their families, then flew on to Washington DC, where she was met by Ping and Randall and their son, Brian.

  On her arrival in DC, Mama immediately embarked on learning English and studying the US Constitution, to prepare for her application for American citizenship. After several attempts, she passed the naturalisation test and became a US citizen.

  Mama and Baba wrote to each other and us regularly. They often expressed their concerns for the daughters they had left behind. The sisters’ applications to emigrate to the United States had at least now been acknowledged by the US Immigration Department, so our hopes grew as time went by. In early 1982, Weng, who was still unmarried, was successfully sponsored by Ping to leave China and settle in Washington DC, where she later met and married David Lau and had a son, Alan.

  In Hong Kong, Baba continued to study in the evenings to gain more postgraduate qualifications in teaching and administration, which helped him obtain a much better paid position as deputy headmaster of a large high school. He had to wait until he retired to be eligible to be sponsored to emigrate to the United States, which he finally did in the summer of 1983. Once settled in Washington, he volunteered to work in a Chinatown welfare association that cared for ageing sojourners and helped settle new arrivals. He and Mama lived with Ping and her family, as they did not have the means to live independently in a new country, but they loved being with the family again and were very happy together.

  Baba and Mama visited Australia together for the first time at the end of 1983, and I was overjoyed to see my parents as a couple again. By that time, my medical practice on the Central Coast was thriving and Sheree and I had been blessed with two more children: Harmony, then two and a half years old, and Andrew-James, or AJ, who was just over one. Baba and Mama were delighted by our two active toddlers and greatly enjoyed helping Sheree take care of them. Mama still had limited English, but she and Sheree had no trouble understanding each other. Both admitted with pride that it was because they were mothers, and mothers share a common language: love.

  We managed to extend Baba and Mama’s visitor visa by six more months so that we could savour our time together. It also allowed my parents to experience many of the joys of the Australian way of life: barbecues, picnics, beach-going. In Sydney’s Chinatown, they even caught up with some old friends, sojourners from Shiqi.

  One fine spring day we decided to take the ferry from Circular Quay to the seaside suburb of Manly. It was pleasantly warm and a gentle breeze caressed us all as we stood on the upper deck waiting to depart.

  ‘This is the most beautiful harbour in the world,’ Baba said to Mama, his arm draped over her shoulder.

  The gigantic Harbour Bridge spanned the water before us. The water was calm. AJ and Harmony marvelled at the large ferry and its many passengers. Serena held Mama’s hand and sang to her the new nursery rhymes she had learnt. Then the boat turned gently towards starboard and the whole of the Opera House came into view. Gleaming in the morning sun, it was elegant and majestic.

  ‘Ah.’ Baba let out a sigh of contentment and said, ‘This is true paradise.’

  Sheree and I looked at each other with big smiles on our faces and nodded. ‘Well, we are in the Lucky Country,’ she said.

  *

  Before my parents returned to the United States, Mama proudly showed off her American passport. She told us how she had lost count of the number of times her application to leave Shiqi had been rejected, and how she had clung to her little flicker of hope that one day we would be reunited, and that the bright moon would shine again for us all. Now that hope seemed like it might be realised. The glow on her face was contagious.

  As Baba pointed out, the battle wasn’t quite over yet. Ying and her family were still in Shiqi, awaiting approval of their applications to emigrate to the United States. But the end of our long journey towards reuniting our whole family was in sight.

  After another agonising two-year wait Ping’s sponsorship of Ying, her husband Hao-ming and their two boys was approved, and the family moved to the United States in 1985. Eager for a fresh start in a new country, Ying asked Sheree to choose English names for her boys. The firstborn became Jonathan and his young brother was named Luke. They both promptly settled into school in Maryland, near Washington DC.

  We were all desperate to get together in America for a full family reunion, but now that everyone was safely out of China, I felt I had to get back to building my medical practice and spending more time with my young family. The reunion would have to wait.

  Then, at the end of a visit to Australia with Mama in 1988, Baba said to me, ‘Your kids are growing up fast. Ying and her family have settled well in DC, and so has Weng. It’s time for us all to get together under one roof to celebrate.’ It was still his ultimate, unfulfilled ambition: to see the whole family together again under one roof.

  ‘You’d love the museums in DC, and there’s so much to see and do there,’ he added, trying to tempt me.

  ‘What a great idea,’ Sheree promptly agreed. ‘The children will be old enough to endure the long flight. And how wonderful it’ll be for them to meet their cousins.’

  From then on, the anticipation of the occasion was overwhelming. Each passing day brought us closer to my whole family being together at last, to achieving what my parents and a
ll of us had fought and worked so hard for all these years.

  The June 1989 reunion was the first such gathering since 1957 – the year the family exodus began before Ping’s departure from Shiqi. How I delighted in Mama’s smile and Baba’s enthusiasm as every day they outlined our Washington sightseeing schedule, which took in sights like the Lincoln Memorial, Capitol Hill and Arlington National Cemetery. Most of the youngsters were at school during the day, but we would get together with them in the evenings and Mama was overjoyed to see her grandchildren play so well together.

  For me, the most unforgettable moment was Baba’s speech towards the end of the celebration dinner party. ‘My dear family and friends, my children and grandchildren,’ he began before thanking a long list of people, including the American government for accepting them. He paid special tribute to Mama’s perseverance and endurance in their quest for freedom, and to the Kawamuras for their financial assistance, which repeatedly helped family members get out of Shiqi. We clapped and we cried, the children looking slightly puzzled at our heightened emotions. Mama leant on Baba, looking so proud.

  ‘Ordinary people like us, throughout history, are often made to suffer by forces beyond their control,’ he continued. Then he shifted his gaze towards his seven happy, healthy grandchildren, and said, ‘The sea may be vast and treacherous, but we must steer our own boats. Hold on to hope and your life with both hands, always and forever.’

  EPILOGUE

  Our momentous 1989 gathering was tinged with a little sadness, as it coincided with the Tiananmen Square protest. Baba was glued to the non-stop media coverage, initially full of hope for the people of China. But his excitement and anticipation were crushed when the tanks rolled in and the massacre began. Then he looked the worst I had ever seen him: grey and dull, sighing continuously, and even shedding tears for those brave young people in the square. Fortunately, the joy of the family finally being together kept him buoyed.