by Zoë S. Roy
“I love it. Maybe your Chinese-style ravioli might actually make more money than your pies.”
“What do you mean ‘my pies’? We made them together.”
“No matter what we sell, pies or ravioli, many people will think, based on gender stereotypes, that it’s you who make them. So though your pies aren’t authentic, your so-called ravioli will be.”
“You’re sexist and racist,” Nina laughed, lifting her hand and pretending to slap his face.
“I most definitely am not!” Roger grabbed her hand. “You look sexy when you’re mad. Now, give me a kiss to thank me for all my hard work.”
Nina happily obliged.
That afternoon they went to a couple of grocery stores to find the ingredients they would need. Finally, from an Asian food store they bought wonton wrappers that they would use to make the dumplings, which would be filled with ground beef and minced celery. They worked all night.
The next morning, they drove to the farmers’ market and filled a table with their homemade Chinese-style ravioli. It was a beautiful morning and the market was full of shoppers. By noon, they were sold out. Back at home, they counted the money they had made, and their profit was six dollars. When Roger told her that amounted to an hourly wage of $1.50, Nina clapped her hands and sighed. “I guess we’re what you would call oh so cheap labour.”
“It was fun though,” Roger said. “We can do this again, and see how it goes. It can be our weekend activity for now.” He placed the bills and coins in a box. “This is your capital for next weekend. Let’s take a break now.”
That night, when Nina went to bed, she fell asleep right away. When she woke up, she walked to the bay window in the living room and looked out. At sunrise, the bay looked as if it were covered by an orange-red carpet, dotted with white seagulls looking for their morning food.
Another beautiful day had started. She suddenly remembered the pies they had made Saturday morning, and a delightful thought crossed her mind. She pulled open the fridge door and took out a blueberry pie. After cutting it into several pieces, she laid one slice on a plate and took a bite. When she imagined Roger saying, Blueberry pie for breakfast? she smiled and thought, the pies we made together are the very best. Then she put another huge slice on a plate and decided to surprise him with breakfast in bed.
13.
THE FALLEN RED SUN
ON SEPTEMBER 8, 1976, Nina arrived at the Baiyun Airport of Guangzhou — her hometown. Riding on an airport bus and with her eyes wide open, she eagerly looked out the window. Everything looked grey — the buildings, the streets, people’s clothes, even the trees, as if dark clouds had been cast over the city for too long. Does Mother still live in the same building? When she alighted at the Liuhua Bus Station, she located a phone booth and dialled the number of the Guangzhou Children’s Hospital. “May I speak to Dr. Liao?”
“Who’s calling?” The person’s response sounded impatient.
To avoid possible trouble, Nina said, “I’m her relative. May I speak to her?”
“It seems she has more and more relatives now,” the woman said in a louder and more irritated voice. “She’s busy. She can’t answer the phone.”
“Could you please tell the doctor that Nina called?” she asked. “Does she still live on Yuexiu Street North?”
After hearing Nina’s politely persistent tone, the person on the phone softened hers. “Yes. I will.” Then the line went dead.
Nina decided to go to the old address under the assumption that her mother still lived there. A crowded bus reached the stop where Nina was waiting. She lifted her luggage and stepped on the bus, jamming herself in with all the standing passengers. The air was so sticky and hot that she wished every stop were hers. By the time the vehicle reached her destination, Nina was soaked in sweat. The shade cast by a four-storey brick building on the street in front of her seemed to beckon. She recalled that seven years earlier, she and Rei had paced back and forth in front of the building until she finally had seen her mother’s figure in the window. Her steps quickened, and she slipped through the entrance and went slowly upstairs. The mixed odours of food cooking and laundry stirred old memories — Nina and her mother had lived in this building in a one-bedroom apartment. They had been forced to move out of their three-bedroom apartment after her father had been jailed. Half a year later, her father had committed suicide, and her mother had been placed under house arrest. Then Nina had been dispatched to a faraway military farm in Yunnan Province.
Nina mounted the entire flight of stairs to the top floor and laid her suitcase down and against the door to make a seat. In that humid hot afternoon, she perched on the edge of her suitcase, then slid and leaned her back against the door. The clamour of vehicles and bicycle bells came in from the street, and unclear human voices echoed against the building’s walls. Soon, she slipped into slumber.
In her dream, she felt like she was being held in somebody’s arms. She also heard breathing near her head. Nina opened her eyes and gradually the face before her came into sharp focus. “Mother!” she called out. “Joyful tears trickled down both their cheeks. After eight long years, they were finally in each other’s arms again.
“Sweetie!” Her mother pulled Nina to her feet and opened the door. “I don’t believe my eyes.”
“Did the woman in the office tell you I’d called?” Nina asked as she moved her suitcase into the room.
“Yes, but she didn’t say your name.” Mother motioned Nina to take a seat. “Are you hungry? I bought some food on the way home,” she said, taking three containers out of her tote bag. As she opened them, the aroma of shredded pork with peppers, fried green beans, and plain rice spread into the room. She also removed two buns from another package, which she placed on the kitchen counter for her breakfast the following day. “I’ll make some noodles if this isn’t enough for us,” she said, a wide and happy smile on her face.
“It all smells great,” Nina said as she squeezed her mother’s arm. She couldn’t believe she was finally here, at home, with her mother. She pulled two bowls from the cupboard and two pairs of chopsticks from the wooden holder on the side of the cupboard. She was amazed that she still remembered where everything was after so many years.
“I should’ve bought some soup too,” her mother said, sighing. “I didn’t imagine it was you who had called. Nor could I have imagined this wonderful surprise of having you here! I will cook for you tomorrow.”
Sitting around the table, the daughter and mother enjoyed the meal that they had not been able to share together for ages. “Did you come from Hong Kong?” asked Mother.
“I came from Canada,” Nina said, knowing then that the letters she had sent had never reached her mother.
“Canada? How? In September, 1969, I received a letter from your farm that asked for you to return. I knew something had gone wrong. You hadn’t come home…” her mother said. The wrinkles on her forehead seemed to have smoothed. Seeing her daughter again made her eyes beam. “I didn’t know the details until a year later when Rei finally got out of jail. He said you had fled to Hong Kong.”
Nina was instantly relieved, Rei, her cousin, had survived the shooting during their escape. “How is he?”
“He works in a small factory. Got married a couple of months ago.” Mother paused. She placed some more pork and green beans in Nina’s bowl. “Eat some more, please. Don’t starve yourself.”
“I’ll make my long story short,” Nina responded. “In Hong Kong, I was granted political asylum to the United States. Later, I moved to Canada. I guess none of my letters ever reached you.”
“No, never.” Tears trickled down her mother’s face. “I only prayed that I would see you one more time before I died.”
Nina learned that after her mother’s release from house arrest, she had not been allowed to resume her work as a doctor. First, she was asked to work in a factory and then she
was sent to work as a caretaker in the hospital where she had worked previously as a doctor. She worked as a caretaker for years as part of the obligatory labour reform, until a doctor shortage meant she was finally permitted to practise medicine again.
They had so many stories to share and so many questions for each other that they talked until well past midnight. Their chat was like a creek flowing through a dark wood till it reached open land and then a hillside; sometimes there were sighs under the moonlight, and sometimes there were loud cheers in the sunshine.
The following morning, Nina’s mother went to work as usual. The revolution did not allow anyone to take personal leaves. Serving the country was everybody’s priority. Intellectuals had to reform their ideology and behave more carefully. Nina’s mother left a key to the apartment on the table before leaving for the hospital.
After getting up late, Nina prepared a bowl of noodles for a western-style brunch. Then she went out for a walk. There were not many people on the street, but in the shade under an apartment building’s portico, several elderly people perched on wooden or bamboo chairs were waving their fans. A group of children played noisily around them. In the food and vegetable stores, there were the usual line-ups. Most of the people Nina saw were still dressed in dark colours: dark blue, grey, and military green. Occasionally, Nina saw toddlers wearing bright red, orange, or colourful floral prints. None of the girls or women walking by were wearing skirts. She was glad then that she had made herself unnoticeable by pulling on a navy blue T-shirt and grey slacks instead of her usual summer attire — a pink blouse with a white skirt or shorts. In addition, her two shoulder-length braids not only made her look younger, but it also mirrored the fashion of the other women she saw on the street.
She strolled over to Yuexiu Park where the air seemed clearer and cleaner somehow. There were some elderly people doing Tai Chi or standing under trees swinging their arms back and forth — a sort of exercise. Even though several young women were pushing baby strollers around the flowerbeds, Nina could not shrug off the sensation that many of the elderly persons looked at her as if she were an alien. The few young people in the park suddenly reminded her that most people her age were supposed to be working at some kind of a revolutionary post instead of loitering in a park.
On her way home, she went to a grocery store and joined in a line-up at the meat counter. On her turn, she said, “One pound of ground pork and a half pound of fish fillet, please.”
“How many ration coupons do you have?’ the clerk asked. “We don’t take one and a half coupons. Where have you been living lately?”
Nina looked up at the clerk’s blunt face, and only then remembered that, because of the Cultural Revolution, ration coupons were used to buy meat, egg, sugar, bean noodles, and even soy sauce. “Sorry. I’ve forgotten to bring coupons,” Nina mumbled and then left the counter.
“Next!” the clerk said, rolling her eyes.
Maybe I should make a vegetarian supper, Nina thought as she walked to another grocery store although she did not have a bag or basket. After paying for the vegetables she selected, she tied them together with abandoned straw ropes she had found in the store. With one hand, she held a bundle of long string beans and green peppers and with the other she held a bunch of eggplants. She then strolled home. When she reached the building, the elderly people and children were not there anymore since the shade had moved away. The sun was inching westward in the bright sky, but the place looked empty, dead.
Up on the top floor, she opened the door. It was about three o’clock. Still groggy from the jet lag, she decided to nap.
Suddenly, a loud rapping on the door woke her up. She jumped out of the bed. “Who is it?”
“Open the door!” someone shouted.
It was about five o’clock; she wondered what the emergency was. Fire? She sniffed but did not smell any smoke.
The knocks resounded, and she rushed to the door. One of her hands slid the metal bar loose; she pulled open the door with the other.
Two seniors stepped in, a man and a woman. Both wore black bands on their left arms. Poor couple. A black band on the arm was a sign of death. Has something horrible happened to their children? Nina wondered. Before she could say anything, the grey-haired woman spoke. “I’m Zhang. He is Li.”
Puzzled, Nina looked at them. “Do I know you?”
“On behalf of the Residents’ Committee, we’re here to check your residency permit and must ask you a couple of questions. I saw you arrive yesterday,” the woman said as she glanced at the man who held a notebook and a pen. Then she stared at Nina. “Who are you? What’s your relationship with Dr. Liao?”
When she realized they were here to interrogate her, Nina told herself: This is China. You have to obey these Residents’ Committee members. “I’m Dr. Liao’s daughter. I’m here to visit my mother.”
“Why haven’t you visited your mother before?” the woman committee member asked. She pulled the arm of her fellow worker and asked, “Have you seen her before?”
“I saw her nine years ago before she left for Yunnan. I haven’t seen her since,” the elderly man answered, turning to Nina. “Where did you come from?”
“I came from Canada.”
“Is it an imperialist country?” the woman asked, her eyes alert. She turned to the man. Then her gaze fell on Nina.
The man sized Nina up, and then he patted his partner. His voice suddenly filled with excitement. “My dear comrade, do you remember Dr. Bethune?” he asked, turning his thin-haired head back and forth between Nina and his comrade.
“Oh,” the woman lowered her voice. “Please show your I.D.”
Nina went back to the bedroom and returned with her passport. She handed it to them.
The woman looked at the image of an eagle. “Is this a Canadian passport?”
“No. It’s American.”
“Is Canada in the U.S.?”
“No, but I live in Canada with an American passport,” Nina explained. And then she looked at the old man. “Do you remember President Nixon?”
“Yes,” the man answered. “Four years ago, Nixon shook hands with Chairman Mao. She is from his country.”
The woman turned to the page with Nina’s photo and examined Nina’s face. “The photo is hers,” she told the man, “but I don’t understand these foreign words. I can read the numbers though.”
The man took the passport to examine it. “It’s smaller than our resident booklet. I think our booklet should have a photo on it, too.” Then he gave it back to Nina. “Why did you go to America?”
“I visited my uncle.” Nina had to have a cover for her escape.
“What does your uncle do there?”
“He’s a factory worker.”
“Ah, he’s like us, working class.” The old fellow was pleased. “Is he married?”
“Yes, his wife is black.” Nina found herself good at telling white lies.
“Wow! She’s our sister from the same class.” The senior woman was contented, remembering how Mao had said that two-thirds of the people in the world lived a miserable life, and that the black people were discriminated against and exploited by capitalists. “Can they speak Chinese?”
“Yes, they only speak Chinese,” she answered. A funny feeling rose in her, but she had to stifle it.
“That’s good. They still keep our culture. I know it’s not easy. I’m glad to know that overseas Chinese work with President Nixon.” The woman patted Nina’s shoulder. Her voice was filled with sorrow. “Our red sun has fallen. We must be watchful in case any enemy attacks our country at our weakest moment. Do you understand?”
Nina knew “red sun” referred to Mao. When did he die? she wondered, but she dared not ask and only said, “Understood.”
“We’ll come again. We like your mother. She’s a trustworthy and revolutionary doctor.” The woman and man turned to
the door. Their footsteps gradually disappeared from hearing range.
As soon as Nina closed the door, she turned on the radio. The announcer’s voice rose along with a dirge: “Our dearest, greatest leader and the reddest sun in our heart has passed away today….”
She drew a deep breath and plopped down in a chair. A thought crossed her mind: China’s last emperor has finally gone West.
The next day was Friday. Nina went shopping and with ration coupons from her mother, she bought a box of egg cakes, a packet of soft candy, and a silk quilt cover that she would bring with her on her visit to see Rei.
Anxiously and feverishly, Nina had to wait till the evening to visit Rei since he and his wife worked long hours during the day. She took a bus and then headed to a one-storey building where they had had to live with Rei’s grandmother since the couple had no chance of being allotted an apartment. The door opened, and a man with a light beard and crew-cut hair stared at her as if he had seen a ghost.
“Rei! It’s me! Nina,” she whispered.
“Is it true?” Rei murmured. Then he turned and called out with joy. “Grandma, look who’s here!” He gestured Nina over to an elderly woman who sat in an armchair.
“How have you been doing for all these years?” Rei’s grandmother pointed to a chair near her. “Sit down. Rei said you have been in Hong Kong. Is he right?”
“Yes and no.” Nina held one arm of Rei’s grandmother. “Grandmother, did you ever get any of my letters from Hong Kong?”
“Never,” the old woman said.
“They must’ve been stopped somewhere,” Nina said, placing the boxes of cake and candy into her lap. “I hope you like these.”
Nina turned to the smiling young woman who had finished preparing the table. “Are you Rei’s wife?”
The woman nodded. “I’m Ahua,” she said, arranging some cups on the table. “Help yourself to some tea.”
“I hope you like this quilt cover,” Nina said, handing Ahua the package. As she did so, she noticed that the red paper cutting with the Chinese character “double happiness” under a portrait of Chairman Mao on the wall had faded a little. “Is that from your wedding?”