Fish Heads and Duck Skin

by Lindsey Salatka

  “Sure, okay,” I said, scrunching up my face. “But I think you should rest soon.” Even though it seemed highly unlikely that he was stalling for any particular reason, I couldn’t help wondering, what is he up to? But then I decided that was ridiculous. Mr. Han was simply trying to maximize his time at home and see his favorite places. That made more sense than some conspiracy theory I was concocting because I was wet and tired, and my brain was overloaded and glitching.

  Be still in this moment, Tina, I scolded myself. Let him enjoy his time, we’ll be home soon enough.

  “Look. Over the edge, into the water,” he said once we arrived on the bridge.

  I leaned over the side, not sure what I was looking for.

  “Do you see the reflection of the arches?”

  “I do.”

  “See how reflection looks like full moon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tonight is a full moon. But even when it isn’t, the reflection of the arches always shows us a full moon.”

  I stood up, suddenly curious. “Did you know it would be a full moon tonight?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Now walk with me across to the other side of the bridge.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “There are many places to rest where we’re going,” he said.

  “Now you’re talking,” I said.

  As we reached the far side of the bridge, I pointed at the pagoda straight ahead of us. “The moon makes that pagoda look like it’s glowing.”

  “Mm,” he said. “This is pagoda where my grandfather would meet his many warrior friends for tai chi. Here is where they practiced to become strong, focused, and aware.”

  “I see.”

  “It is also where I discovered my rooting.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  Then he stepped away and turned to face me. “Go through the sequence with me, Ting Ting. Show me what you’ve learned. I want to see if I have been an adequate teacher.”

  “Mr. Han, my tai chi practice is not a reflection of your teaching ability.”

  “Shh, Ting Ting. Be quiet now. You must be still. Listen.”

  “Alright, but as you know I have a hard time quieting my mind and—”

  “I know, Ting Ting. Now stop talking and listen.”

  “But I want you to know that I sincerely appreciate all of your efforts, and I hope—”

  “Ting-ah Mah-ting! Your grandfather says BE SILENT!” He said gruffly and then cleared his throat again.

  I was so surprised by his attempt at my American name, and also by his tone, that I didn’t push back. Instead I did what he directed: I shut my mouth and began my tai chi sequence. I continued to think about the myriad things I wanted to share with him but said nothing. And as a result, I heard many things: the river under the bridge softly lapping on the sandy banks and back on itself. The rushing of the central flow and the bubbling of the water that circled the pillars. Frogs called, insects buzzed, and leaves rustled as the breeze gently blew between them.

  The temperature was perfect against my skin as I dipped and turned and shifted my balance. I felt less jerky than usual, more peaceful somehow. I was less aware of how my clothes pulled as I moved, unbothered by the squeak of my wet shoes as I turned. The various itches and areas of bodily soreness weren’t presenting themselves, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the beautiful setting, or the numbing effect of our long journey. Maybe it was the rawness of my recent loss, or the softer sadness I felt for our upcoming departure from China. My sequence felt different at that moment. I moved with a level of calmness that I’d never felt before. Instead of feeling stiff and unnatural, I was light and smooth, as though the sequence was moving through me instead of the opposite.

  Then I heard it—a small sound so clear, so unmistakable that I immediately jumped out of my stance and sprinted back across the bridge toward it.

  61.

  She was crying like the days-old infant she was, tucked into a basket under a willow tree by the beginning rise of the bridge, near where I’d leaned over to admire the false moon reflection. Swaddled tightly in a purple and green checkered blanket, she wore a hand-knit, pale-pink cap pulled low over her ears and brow.

  An unexpected wave of calm washed over me as I crouched down next to her. “Well, who do we have here?” I said in the soft, high voice I adopted whenever I spoke to babies. I leaned over to pull her carefully out of the basket and cradle her in my arms. She quieted down immediately. “Where’d your mama go?”

  I peered into the basket to see if it held any clues. There was a full bottle of milk and a note in characters that I couldn’t read. I closed my eyes and held her closer, because I could guess what it said.

  “Mr. Han?” I turned to look and see if he’d followed me, but instead of my friend I saw a different figure approaching. A policeman. The same one who’d directed me to the park earlier.

  My internal frenzy immediately returned.

  “Ohshitohshitohshitohshitbecalmbecalmbecalmbecalm,” I muttered under my breath. “Whatever you do, don’t act like you’ve just stolen a baby. Be natural, Tina, be still. Breathe.”

  As the officer stepped off the path and walked toward us with a purposeful stride, I had the wherewithal to reach into the basket, crumple the note, and jam it into the back pocket of my jeans.

  His frown reached me first. It spoke volumes. I don’t remember the actual words we exchanged—it was all such a panicky blur! But I remember thinking I needed to get us out of there as he bent down to inspect the basket. He held up the bottle of milk and looked at me. Then he stood again and, with increased volume to his commentary, reached for her.

  I turned to run, even though I knew I couldn’t get away from him and protect her at the same time. I paused, briefly considering kicking him in the shins to get a head start but decided I couldn’t risk the potential (likely) loss of balance. So instead I turned back and faced him straight on, frozen. Inside my head I vowed to bite him hard if he reached for her again, hard enough to leave teeth behind if I had to. They were my only feasible weapon and, at this juncture, expendable. He would regret not donning his white uniform gloves today.

  Then I heard another noise, this one harder to decipher.

  It was faint—a high pitched ringing, almost like I was eavesdropping on someone else’s tinnitus. Then the policeman waved his arms spastically and stumbled away from me.

  I turned toward the ringing sound, and there, in the center of the bridge, stood Mr. Han. He looked so strong then, so powerful, with his back straight, his chin high and legs planted, I wouldn’t have recognized him if I hadn’t known it was him. His arms were pushing as they would in our tai chi sequence, but this time they were also slowly pulsating as though they were shifting energy. And every time Mr. Han pushed at the air, the policeman staggered away from us, from me and the baby. The officer tried again and again to advance, to no avail. He continued lurching backward.

  “Come toward me, Tina,” Mr. Han commanded in English, in a voice deeper and louder than usual. I snatched the bottle from the ground where the officer had dropped it and crammed it into my sweatshirt pocket. I cradled the baby against my chest and quickly walked to the bridge. Once I reached Mr. Han, his voice switched back to soft and low. “Now, go to the train station. Be sure to walk on the side of the street without lights.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry. I’ll meet you there. Hurry!” I nodded and walked at a clip toward the park exit. I didn’t turn back.

  I didn’t dare look left or right until I got to the grocery store, and once there I bee-lined around back to the delivery entrance which was steeped in darkness. I walked up the short, steep ramp and backed into a corner of the entryway. I waited there several minutes to see if anyone had followed me. The coast appeared clear.

  I looked down and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re sleeping, Baby. I know you’ll want your bottle soon, but I need to make a quick phone call so keep your pee
pers closed for a few more minutes okay?”

  I wasn’t expecting a response, but I still felt like she deserved an update. I sat down cross-legged, grabbed my phone from my pocket, and dialed Katie.

  After four rings, her voicemail picked up.

  “Katie! It’s me, Tina. I need your help, it’s urgent! Please call me back.”

  I immediately redialed and left that same message again. And again. And again. Finally, she picked up.

  “Why must you torture me?” she moaned groggily.

  “Katie! I found a baby.”

  She groaned. “Today’s my day off.”

  “Sorry about the timing, I wasn’t looking for her, I just—”

  “Ugh. Where are you?”

  “In Guilin.”

  “Mm. Lovely mountains there.”

  “Katie! What the heck do I do now?”

  “About what?”

  “About this baby! I can’t leave her here; I don’t know what will happen to her!”

  “Well, you can’t bring her out of Guilin,” she scolded. “We don’t have a license to operate in that province. If you take her, it’s highly illegal. You could be—”

  “Katie, listen to me—there’s an angry police officer out there who’s onto me, and I can’t hand her over to him. I’m not leaving her, I’ve already decided.”

  “And you’re sure she was abandoned?”

  “Yes. I’m ninety-eight percent sure.”

  She sighed. “First thing is to clear up the other two percent.”

  “And I will do that.” I felt in my back pocket to make sure the note was still there.

  “Okay, good. Now then, is the baby defective?”

  “What?”

  “Because even if we could assume a license to operate in that province, we don’t have the type of license that allows us to assume control of abandoned children without deformities.”

  “I can’t even believe you’re saying this.”

  “If she has no health issues whatsoever you need to turn her over to authorities, Tina. There is a process—”

  “But that’s ridiculous when I’m here right now and I can help her! I’m supposed to help her, Katie. Her mama must have seen me. She put her in a place where I would find her first, I just know it. She could have put her in the path of the policeman. She could have left her at the door of the hospital. Or dropped her into the river! But she didn’t. She put her right where I would find her, so I’m in charge of her well-being now.”

  Katie paused. “Well you should look closer then,” she said quietly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “For deformities.”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “It’s the only way. Start with her feet.”

  I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her.

  “Fine, I’ll count her toes,” I grumbled. I carefully unswaddled her on my lap. She whimpered and turned her head a couple times, then fell back asleep. She was wearing tiny pink snap-front pjs that ended at the ankle and white socks, which I slowly peeled off. Ten shiny little piggies stared back at me.

  “Do you see any problems?”

  I didn’t answer as I tried to think of what to do next.

  “Is there a club foot?”

  “Uh—”

  “Tina, you need to give her over to—”

  Then I noticed a faint scratch on the inside of her right ankle, about a centimeter long, probably caused by the sheer, tiny toenail tip I could see dangling from the big toe of her other foot.

  “Oh. Uh oh,” I said, inhaling sharply through my teeth.

  “What? What is it?”

  “I found something pretty serious.”

  “You did? What?”

  “I can’t really describe—eek. It’s—I think you’re gonna need to see it.”

  “Is it an open wound?”

  “Uh-huh—it looks bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “Very bad.”

  Right then the baby started to cry. I nearly squeezed her with pride. Thank you, Baby! I wanted to say. Such a team player! Then I picked her up and rocked her to quiet down again.

  “Very well then, the procedure is for you to wait at the abandonment location for two hours, in case the mom has a change of heart.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t wait. This injury is far too serious.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll wait at the train station; the mom can look for me there,” I said.

  She sighed. “When will you arrive back in Shanghai?”

  “I’m one day out. Hopefully.”

  “Okay. Call me when you’re close. I’ll send the van to the train station to collect you.”

  “Thanks, Katie.”

  “Of course, no problem. Are you at the station now?”

  “Not yet, I’m waiting for someone, then I’ll go directly there,” I said.

  “Alright. Hey, nice job.”

  “With what?”

  “You’re already good at your position. No training even!”

  “But I’m …” I started and then stopped.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. See you soon.”

  62.

  I found Mr. Han curled in a ball on the bank of the river, near the trunk of an Evergreen tree. He was snoring so loud I couldn’t have missed him. I could hear both his inflow and outflow from the middle of the bridge.

  I squatted down and touched his head. It was cold. “Mr. Han, are you okay? Mr. Han, wake up.”

  He blinked his eyes open and smiled at me. “Oh, hi Ting Ting. Where is your baby?”

  “Not my baby, this baby, who I’m taking care of until I can get her to a safe, loving, long-term solution, is in here, sleeping.” I pointed to the sling across my chest which I’d fashioned out of a long off-white cotton tablecloth I’d just bought at the grocery store.

  “Mm. Hen guāi bǎobǎo,” he said and closed his eyes again.

  “Mr. Han, why didn’t you go to the train station? I’ve been so worried, I—”

  “I needed to rest.”

  “But we have to leave soon. You could have taken a taxi and rested on the train.”

  “Mm. Always so logical. Very practical. Quite efficient! But sometimes sleep must come first. Not optional. Not logical.”

  I sighed and tapped his forearm. “Come on, I’ll help you up. Our train is leaving soon. I have a taxi waiting out front.”

  He didn’t move. “You could have left without me. I can get home.”

  “Don’t be silly! I would never leave without you. You saved me! And you saved her.” I pointed at the lump in the sling. “She says thank you, by the way.”

  He still didn’t move.

  “Come on, now it’s my turn to save you,” I said softly, poking his shoulder with my index finger.

  “But I don’t need saving. I am home here and in Shanghai. It doesn’t matter where I am, Ting Ting. I am always home.”

  I sighed and looked at the river. I noticed the slow swirls close to the bank were dotted with tadpoles. Small pools were forming and then running together as the water ebbed and flowed, continuously changing the pattern of the swirls while the frogs-to-be swam furiously, trying to anchor themselves to anything that wasn’t moving, which was nothing.

  “I’m such a tadpole,” I muttered to myself.

  “Eh?”

  “Mr. Han, would you translate something for me?” I asked as I pulled the rumpled note out of my back pocket and held it out to him.

  He took it and unfolded it. “It says, ‘Love her like your own.’”

  I dropped my head into my hands. I felt happy and sad, full and empty. Brave and terrified, overwhelmed and yet still searching for more, more, more. I stayed like that for a while, letting the feelings wash over me, noticing when they came and when they left, only to be replaced by more thoughts, added fears, and my typical corresponding emotions. I recognized that this was probably much like any minute in any other day, but also that this moment w
as unique because, for what felt like the first time, I was sitting with my thoughts and feelings in observation. They were not large, heavy rocks tied to my ankles as I tried to forge a river much deeper and wider than the one in front of me. I raised my head and looked at him.

  “Three questions,” I said.

  “Wèn ba,” he said and nodded.

  “What if the policeman comes back?”

  He shook his head. “He poses no threat.”

  I paused. “Why? Did you hurt him? That is part two of the first question, by the way.”

  “No, no, he is too full of fear to advance on us again.” He chuckled.

  “Question two: Why didn’t you tell me you had superpowers? That would have been useful information a long time ago.”

  “I don’t have superpower, I can harness energy. This I already told you many times. But only here was there an opportunity to demonstrate.”

  I paused for a moment to consider this and decided to temporarily withhold comment. “Question three: Is it too late for me to change my mind and stay? I don’t want to go home anymore. I want to stay in China for ten thousand reasons that weren’t clear until this moment.” I looked up at him.

  He shrugged. “You and your family have the answer to this question. I know just this simple answer.” He struggled to sit up and then he grabbed both of my hot, sweaty hands in his dry, cold, and shaky ones. He carefully placed my hands on the center of my chest one on top of the other. “Can you feel this? Do you hear it? This is your home. Not this,” he said, tapping on my forehead. “You have lived here long enough. It is time to move home, Ting Ting. But it doesn’t matter whether you stay in China or you move to the US. Méi guānxì. In either place your home will be with you.”

  I closed my eyes and remained still until I could detect my heartbeat. Then I blinked my eyes back open and smiled. “Okay,” I whispered.

  He chuckled. “Now help me up. We don’t want to miss the train. Since I’ve been away for more than one day, my sister will make me something delicious for dinner. This answer, I know.”

  I stood up and he raised his hands to mine. I pulled him gently, letting him do most of the work. Once he was standing on his own, I let go of his hands and walked around him, combing his hair down with my fingers, sweeping the dirt from his shirt and pants, and then holding my hands away from him and clapping, forming dust clouds.