The Wondrous Woo

by Carrianne Leung

  I wasn’t sure if it was instinct, but my internal compass pressed me home. The sun was already rising by the time we turned the corner onto my block. The light hit the houses, scattering and breaking up the dark. Traffic had already started picking up, and cars collected in the lanes, preparing to merge onto the highway for the long commute to work. “Wait, no, turn around,” I said, pointing. It hit me. Before we went back to the bungalow, there was one place I had to check first.

  I was right. Ma was standing in the exact spot where Ba had died, in the middle of two opposing rivers of traffic. I pointed to her, and Mouse screeched the car over to the side of the road and put on the emergency lights. I looked at Mouse for some indication of what to do, but he looked terrified, his face pale and his eyes wide. I got out of the car, drivers behind us honking their horns.

  Ma stood with both her feet on the solid white line, the division between the eastbound and westbound lanes, her face thoughtful, as though she were a tightrope walker. She only had on her hospital gown and a terrycloth bathrobe over it. Her calves were blotched with red, and her hospital slippers were wet and dark with mud. The river of cars sprayed water all around her.

  I ran to the curb closest to her and yelled.

  Ma turned her head toward the sound of my voice. She smiled a small smile and pointed at the two lanes of traffic. The cars sped past her, oblivious. “Which way, nui? East? Back to Hong Kong? Back to my parents? Back to my home? Shall I go back?” she cried in Cantonese. Her voice was high and reedy like a child’s.

  Then, turning again, she pointed toward the other two lanes. “Or should I go that way? Is that the right way? West? Maybe we haven’t arrived yet.” She spoke and weaved dangerously forward and backward slowly, as if in a dream.

  “Please, Ma. Don’t move. I’m coming to get you!” I was shaking violently. “I’m sorry. For everything. Please, Ma. I need you. I need you.” My voice cracked.

  When I said those words, I knew them to be truer than ever. I needed her.

  “Which direction, Miramar? Which way did Ba go? I don’t remember. Tell me. I want to go to him.”

  I stood, frozen on the curb watching her helplessly. She wrung her hands and started to scream, “Nui, nui, where is he? Where is Ba?”

  Hearing Ma wanting to join Ba made something explode in me — all my grief over Ba, all my worry for Sophia and Darwin and Ma, and all my love too. The memory of what love had been like when Ba was alive. I felt an enormous force blast from my body and then, suddenly, everything came to a complete halt. The moving landscape froze. The cars, the sound, the wind lashing my hair all over my face — all of it stopped. There was just stillness. The air was so thick I could feel it closing around me like an embrace. I saw the faces of the drivers, their eyes like stones. I saw a baby in the backseat, his mouth still open in the middle of a wail, and his mother’s face, contorted in frustration. I looked back at the car and saw Mouse, his eyes still wide and fixed on me. And Ma. She was standing with her feet on the line, her eyes downcast. I stepped between the cars to reach her. And then, there was Ba, standing beside her. He looked exactly as I remembered, his briefcase in one hand, his other hand beckoning me to come closer. I reached them, and he stroked me on the cheek and then guided my hand to Ma’s. Hers was icy and pointy with bones. Then he was gone.

  Around us, the vehicles snapped back into motion, the sounds of their engines drowning out my thoughts. What had just happened? Ma’s hand was freezing against my warm one. She slowly lifted her vacant eyes. “Nui?” she whispered.

  “Just my hands, Ma. Just my hands now,” I said softly.

  With my other hand, I extended it to signal to the cars to stop. They immediately halted, as if we had suddenly materialized and were for the first time, visible. Gently, I led my mother back to the curb. Once there, we collapsed into an embrace. I cried into her hair, my legs weak, and let her comfort me. She patted my back, rubbing circles into my skin. “Don’t cry, nui nui. It’s okay. Ma’s here now. Don’t cry.”

  Chapter 36 ~

  AFTER BRINGING MA HOME, Mouse went to collect Sophia and Darwin from the hospital. A doctor came with them to check on Ma. Thankfully, she was fine. She was cold, she was tired, and still frail, but otherwise she was in good form. The first thing she said to me after I got her in some dry clothes and tucked her into bed was, “Nui, I’m hungry.”

  I made her my specialty — instant noodles with a slice of ham and fried eggs. This was how Sophia and Darwin found her, slurping noodles like she hadn’t eaten in years.

  Sophia ran right to her, burying her head in her chest and clutching at Ma’s covers. “I’m so sorry, Ma. I’ll try to be better. I swear.”

  Ma set her bowl down on the bed and reached with her hands to stroke Sophia’s head. “Tsaw nui, shhhh. Okay, now. I’m okay.”

  Darwin hung back by the door until Ma looked up and reached her other hand out to him. He joined her on the bed too and the three of them clung to each other.

  Later in the day, they all took a much-needed nap. I lay down too, but sleep did not come. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the night before, and the extraordinary event on the road with Ma. I went out to the living room where Mouse was sitting quietly.

  He sat up, his face suddenly energized. “Lang lui, it was incredible. One second you were on the curb, calling out to your Ma, and the next, you were right there with her. You actually did it! You ground the axis of the earth to a stop!” He jumped up on the couch with excitement.

  “Shhhh! Everyone’s sleeping.”

  “Oh, sorry!” He stepped back on the floor. It was strange to see him in our living room, as if two worlds were being superimposed onto each other.

  “I don’t think I did it alone. I just think that for once I was in the right place, at the right time.” I didn’t want to tell him about seeing Ba. It was too precious. Some things could not be explained with words. What I knew to be true was wondrous, and it all happened. Just like Sophia and Darwin’s Gifts, what happened out there on the road was as real as anything else in the world. It wasn’t the explanations or reasons that mattered. It was that they happened at all.

  Outside, it began to rain, a light drizzly mist that seemed to signal spring was on its way.

  “Hey, lang lui, listen. About that night…” Mouse had moved to Ba’s old chair while I sat on the carpet.

  “Mouse, I’m sorry.”

  “No, you were right about a lot of things. I mean, not everything, in case you think you’re a smartass.”

  I kicked his feet playfully. “Okay, so tell me what I was wrong about.”

  “I do live in my own world. Whether you think it’s nuts or not, I created it and … it’s mine.”

  “I had no right to disrespect how you live.”

  “Yeah. Okay, apology accepted,” he said, shrugging. “If there was one in there.”

  “Okay, so tell me where I was right.”

  “Where you were right, Missy Woo, is that there are parts of myself that I left behind. Maybe it’s time to go back and get ’em. I mean, even the kung fu heroes have a past right? Even though they have to leave it behind, the past is still who they are.”

  “Go on.”

  “So, this is what I’m gonna tell ya.” He sat back on Ba’s recliner and stretched out. “Here’s another story. About a guy name Arthur Ga Yee Chow.”

  He paused, looking at the popcorn ceiling. I felt a thrill happening; he was going to tell me the truth. The real story.

  “Ol’ Arty was born in Duckbill in the Prairies. His Ba was the owner of the Glowing Lights Chinese and Canadian Food Emporium. He had tagged ‘emporium’ on the end because he thought it sounded classy. So, Arty grew up in the kitchen, tied to his Ma’s back while she churned out everything from chicken balls and egg rolls to grilled cheese and hot beef sandwiches smothered in gravy while Dad gave the customers his best Chinaman: Yessy,
boss. Okaeey, Boss. You the Boss!” Mouse’s eyes were still pointed upward, but he did not have the familiar dreamy look he got when he told stories. There was a softening in his face. He looked like a child.

  “They were the only Chinese family in Duckbill. Let’s just say, aside from the chop suey, they were not a big hit in the local community.”

  He grew silent. I lay down on the carpet, also looking at the ceiling, recognizing a light brown stain where years ago, Darwin had thrown Sophia’s dish of chocolate ice cream when she would not let him have the TV converter.

  I thought about all the stories Mouse had told me, realizing for once, that for every one, there was one he had never told. It was the one that did not end with the hero’s victory, the exaltation, the triumphant recognition of his greatness. I imagined a kid named Arthur, small as a mouse, in some tiny prairie place, inventing his future.

  His eyes were closed, and he nodded in memory. “An overactive imagination and a whole shitload of kung fu movies saved Arty’s ass. He may not have known who he was, but he knew who he wanted to become.”

  “Where are your parents, Mouse?”

  “Ma died. Cancer. It was quick. Dad went back to the four villages. ‘Nothing left here,’ he said. I could have gone, but…” he stopped. He looked a little forlorn.

  I stood up and scooted him over so I could squeeze into Ba’s La-Z-Boy recliner with him. “I think I would really like this Arthur guy. We have a lot in common,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

  I packed all my things from my apartment and moved back into the house in Scarborough. It was not going to be permanent, but for now, it was where I wanted to be. I kept my job at the community centre. I figured I was honing the skills I needed to be a real live woman warrior. They might not have been legitimate skills I could write in my CV: “Can do phone impersonations of government officials and lawyers,” but I was helping. And Ma had always said I should be helpful.

  Together we settled back into our quiet suburban life. Spring was coming. I smelled it in the damp crush of earth every time I took a step. Soon, the neighbourhood crabapple trees would blossom, lightening the dull grey street with their sprays of pink and white. The days would get longer, and the kids would play baseball on the street again.

  Sophia had gotten accepted at a fashion design program at George Brown College downtown. She was already at work on her first collection, which she named “Geometry.” Surprisingly, she decided she was over ripped sweatshirts and instead went heavy on shoulder pads and cinched waists — very Joan Collins from Dynasty. Afternoons were when she and Ma would make tea and sit together at the kitchen table, just like when Sophia was little, drawing ideas and poring over fabric samples.

  Darwin’s Gift was still coming in steadily, which he kept under wraps. He had gotten a glimpse of what being a grown-up meant, and he was smart enough to hold it back for as long as he could. Meanwhile, he found some kids from school to form a garage band. They named it Skywalker.

  I took over all the finances and set us on a budget. Between the money we had saved from Darwin and Sophia’s earnings, Ba’s estate, and my income, we were going to be fine. Darwin was also confident that if need be, he could cut an album with Skywalker that he was certain would go double platinum in a matter of weeks. This would have sounded like hot air from anyone else, but I had heard them practicing, and I had to admit they were pretty great. Mouse said he would get them a gig at Dusk just to start out. When they were old enough to be allowed into a bar, of course.

  Once she was strong enough, Ma went back to church and started playing mah jong again. We fought less, laughed more. Ba would have been proud of us.

  I still missed him, but the missing came to me in different colours. Sophia, Darwin, Ma, and I began talking about him again, bringing Ba back into the house like the first warm breeze of the season. Sometimes, we would remember a funny story, and what began with laughter would occasionally turn to tears. And sometimes, what began as tears turned to laughter. There were days when the pain returned with all its sharp blades, but those days passed, became new ones. Ba was gone, but he was not gone.

  While all the men go off to war to seek revenge, honour, and all those glorious things, it was the women who kept the clans together. Without them, there was no return.

  Yes, but Ba, I think the women were also out there — in the battlefields, in the woods, in the hills. The women had quests too. But they came home because they wanted their families to be together again.

  There were still boxes in the basement of his things that Ma’s friends had packed for us. They stayed there waiting to be released again. That day had not arrived yet, but there was still time for all of that. I packed away all the “Dormant” files and set them in a box beside Ba’s boxes. I didn’t feel a need to read them anymore. I whispered their names one more time — Janeanne, Lee, Theresa, and Daniel. I wished each of these people who had felt like my friends, peace.

  Two weeks after Ma’s return, we sat down to a real Chinese New Year Dinner. We were late, but we had made it. Ma took her time, cooking for two days, and letting us help. In the end, we made the most memorable meal in the history of the Woo family: braised beef, steamed whitefish, stewed melon and shiitake mushrooms, fiery-hot jumbo shrimp, a slow-cooked soup, roast duck, and mussels in black bean sauce. To top it all off, Sophia and I made our traditional potato and fruit salad with generous mounds of mayonnaise.

  Ma invited everyone: the church ladies, the neighbours, Dr. Fey, and even William K.C. Koo, who stood nervously to one side. I went over to him and handed him a can of Coke. “Hi, William.”

  “Hello, Miramar.” I gave him the opportunity to squirm in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

  “Miramar. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of your mother.” I regarded his face; his eyes were actually tearing up.

  “William, you can only do what you are prepared to do. I’ve been learning that. And I think Ma’s okay.” We both looked over at her, as she scrambled between wok and oven, kitchen to dining room, asking each person if he was enjoying the food as she flew by.

  “Well, thank you for understanding,” he replied. He squinched his face then looked at me. “Do you think she hates me?” he asked.

  “Hate you? No. She invited you here, didn’t she? Give her some time.” I watched his eyes follow Ma’s frantic movements around the kitchen and realized that he really loved her.

  “Go on, get something to eat before Ma yells at you for having an empty plate.” I smiled at him, and surprised myself that it felt genuine.

  Mouse came too. He had been dropping in a few days a week, driving his boss’ broken down Ford or taking the long ride on public transit. Ma seemed to like him.

  “He’s a bit, hei mong mong,” she remarked to me. This meant he had his heads in the clouds, or in the fog, as the direct translation went. But she liked him. I could tell. He was ever the proper Chinese boy, never failing to compliment her on her fine cooking, even rolling up his sleeves to help. She was impressed with his way around a wok.

  “Wah, lo sui sek dut tsu yeh!” The mouse can cook!

  I watched him as he helped Ma ladle out the soup for all the guests. I was not sure what was going to happen between Mouse and me, but it was okay to not know the end before the story even really got started.

  Acknowledgements

  I am in deep gratitude to the wondrous women who have helped me learn what it means to be at once displaced and to occupy many spaces. I learned from them that voices are never singular but a chorus. Heartfelt thanks to Karen B. K. Chan, Eve Haque, Simone Browne, Nupur Gogia, Andrea Fatona, Judith Nicholson, May Lui, Davina Bhandar, Nira Elgueta, Vannina Sztainbok, Denise Hui and Tola Ajao.

  I also want to acknowledge those friends who have supported my writing of this novel with enthusiasm, and especially to those who read early drafts. Deep appreciation to Lynn Caldwell, Catherine Burwell, Je
n Parker, Estelle Anderson, Frances Miller, Kathy Liddle, Sarah Couture-McPhail, Cherie Lunau Jokisch and Cathy Bennett. I offer thanks to Farzana Doctor who is an inspiration and has considered me a sister writer before this novel even began. I have immense respect and love for Jenna Kalinsky, my teacher, my mentor, my editor and a great friend. This novel would not have been written without her holding my hand and sharing her keen passion for the craft. I am indebted to Luciana Ricciutelli and Inanna Publications for taking a chance on this story, and their commitment to publishing women writers.

  My appreciation to my families — the Leungs and the Archdekins — for believing in my fortitude and pre-ordering books to give to their friends. My dogs, Kuro and Bella, are the best companions for a writer who values solitude but still needs a good walk and a wet kiss once in awhile.

  Lastly, I give thanks to Andrew Archdekin who provides me with a soft place to land, and Fenn Archdekin-Leung who calls me home. Always.

  Photo: Taralea Cutler

  Carrianne K.Y. Leung is a fiction writer, educator, and business owner. She holds a Ph.D. in Sociology and Equity Studies from OISE/University of Toronto and works at OCAD University. Carrianne is also the co-owner of Multiple Organics. She, her partner, their son, and two dogs live in the west-end of Toronto.