by Jennie Liu
I want to believe him, but an embarrassed Yun does not sound like the Yun I know. And Ming still doesn’t know that Yun is pregnant. Or at least that she was.
By now she must’ve gotten rid of the baby. Once she calmed down, I’m sure she went back to the clinic. She didn’t want to keep it, and the government wouldn’t allow it unless she could pay the fines for having a baby against Family Planning rules. I don’t know why it makes my heart pull to think the baby is gone. I don’t know why I wanted her to have it.
Lately I’ve been thinking more and more about the orphanage. I can’t help wondering if maybe Yun went back there to see if she could get a position. Although she didn’t much like taking care of the babies, it’s work she knows how to do. I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.
Now, the bus pulls up to Xutan Street, close to my old elementary school. I get off and watch the bus pull away with a screech and a hiss before I start walking to the Institute. The air is thin and sharp. I hug my new coat tightly around me, glad for its coziness.
The coat is the first big purchase I’ve made aside from the phone. My cheap polyester coat was useless once the weather turned truly cold. So last week Ming went with me to the underground market on Bai Street. I spotted the quilted, purple coat at the third stall, but blanched and started to walk away as soon as the seller told me the price. Ming stopped me and haggled the price down by 15 yuan. “You’ll have to learn. That’s how it’s done,” he said.
Now, just outside the Institute, I stand for a moment, gripping the high collar of my coat close around my throat. At first, the gatekeeper in his box doesn’t notice me. I knock on the window, and he comes out and opens the gate for me. He’s the same gatekeeper who’s been there for as long as I can remember, letting us in and out every day we went to school. He doesn’t recognize me.
I go through and cross the courtyard toward the main building. The three stories of windows look down at me. At the second floor, near the end, where I know the dayroom to be, I expect to see Guo or one of the other Down’s kids standing there, but there’s only the reflection of the gray-white sky.
It doesn’t feel right to enter through the big glass doors at the front of the building. I’ve only gone through them the first time I came to the orphanage when I was eight and then when I left.
I glance back to the gate. The gatekeeper has already gone back into his guardbox.
I go around the main building and enter at the back door near the big laundry room. The two washers and dryers are churning under the frosted windows, and a dozen colored plastic buckets sit on the floor and in the long, tiled sink, but no one is here. The hall is quiet, and I feel the chill of it, not much warmer than outside. I quickly go to the stairs.
As I reach the first landing, Caretaker Deng lumbers down from the steps above, a basket overflowing with dirty sheets on her hip. She stops on the second landing when she catches sight of me below her and peers at me from under the messy hanks of her home-cut hair. Her eyes run up and down my long coat, then to my face. I pull off my hat, and she recognizes me.
“What’s this? Luli?” Of all the caretakers, Caretaker Deng was the least gruff. “Miss Luli, I should say.”
Miss Luli. Her voice is laced with friendly sarcasm, and I’m embarrassed—as she intended. “How are you?” I mumble.
“What are you doing here?” She drops her basket on the landing and puts her hands on her hips, leaning back as if to relieve aching muscles.
“I . . . I just came to visit.” I hold back about Yun.
“Came back to see us old folks?” Her mouth is open, amused, showing her tea-stained teeth. “Like other kids come back to see their parents, huh?” She points to the box of fancy plums I’m gripping. “What did you bring us?”
I scuttle up the steps between us and hand her the box.
She takes it with a satisfied smile as she eyes the gold lettering. “Well, I could use a break. Come on, I’ll take you to visit the wards.”
I follow her down the second-floor hallway, the quiet broken only by the slap, slap of her plastic shoes on the tile. We pass the baby room and then the toddlers’. I only glance in the open doors as we go by, again struck by the eerie quiet. I’d gotten used to that when I lived here—the strangeness of so many subdued children, with only the littlest ones raising a terrible noise at feeding time.
Near the end of the hall, Caretaker Deng flings open the door to the older children’s dayroom. “Someone’s come back to visit us!” she shouts above the noise of the television. She waves the box of salted plums in the air. Three caretakers standing at the television, sipping from jars of hot tea, tear their eyes away from the screen to look over at us. The dozen or so children see the treats and start shuffling toward us, but they’re quickly shooed away by Caretaker Deng. I feel a little bad. I didn’t think to bring them anything.
The caretakers crowd around me and are soon fingering my coat, asking me how much it cost, where I’m working—they know I’m working since I have such a nice coat—how much money I make. I answer all their questions while my eyes flick around them toward the children. I don’t see Guo or Pengjie, who had been closest to us in age. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering about Yun, but I know without asking that she hasn’t come back here. One of the caretakers would’ve remarked on it by now if she had. Their surprise at seeing me makes it clear that no other former wards have turned up.
After they run out of questions, the caretakers take the plums and drift back to their show. I notice now that the walls are brighter and cleaner than I remember. Though they’re still the same shade of tan. All the years I was here they’d never been painted. “New paint?” I ask Caretaker Deng as she chews a salted plum.
“Yes! We had a foreign couple come here recently. The director wanted to make a good impression, so the walls got a new coat. And they actually adopted Pengjie! You remember him? They didn’t mind that he was eleven years old, that he had Down syndrome. The wife’s brother had Down’s, and she wanted a brother for her daughter just like she had. Can you imagine?” She shakes her head as if she’s never heard anything so bizarre.
She has to get back to the laundry now. She asks me if I want to visit the director, but I shake my head and say I’ll go out the back way.
I follow her along the dim hallway, dumbfounded about Pengjie’s amazing luck. It’s hard to believe.
“Caretaker Deng, I didn’t see Guo.”
“He turned sixteen last month. He’s in the other building now.” She means the one for disabled adults.
We’ve reached the stairs, and Caretaker Deng hoists up her basket. “Well, it was certainly a surprise to see you come back to visit us. Every once in a while a child comes back, brought by their parents. Only the foreign ones, of course.” She trudges down the stairs. “Maybe to make them feel grateful. How about you? Are you grateful you got out?”
I am, but I only incline my head slightly when she glances back at me.
“A good job in a factory! Well done! You know, I was the one that recommended you for the position in the bathroom. But you had your own mind, huh?” She stops at the bottom of the stairs, drops her basket, and leans against the railing to rest. “I honestly didn’t expect you to get a better position. It’s not easy to go out as a ward.”
“Remember Yun? She left the year before? She helped me.”
“Oh, I remember her. The one with the four pocks on her face. The two of you were always together. She got work in the factory? Really! Why didn’t she come with you to see us?”
“She left the factory a couple of months ago. I lost contact with her. Actually, I was wondering if she had come back here.”
Caretaker Deng frowns and shakes her head. “No. Like I said, hardly anyone comes back to visit. Huh! I understand now. You came just to ask after your friend!” She fakes a hurt look. “And I always thought you were a little different than the foundlings who grow up here.”
She bends to get the basket, but I rush fo
rward and pick it up. She grins and starts toward the laundry room as I follow.
“It’s too bad your grandpa didn’t release you for adoption when you first came here. Even though you were an older child, you might have actually gotten a family since you didn’t have any defects.”
My heart squeezes, and I quickly blink back the tears that rush up to my eyes.
“You should forget about Yun,” she says as we turn into the laundry room. She raises her voice over the swish and hum of the machines. “The ones that grow up here don’t know how to connect to people. Though I have to say, that girl wasn’t as unlucky as everyone thought if she found a job in a factory. Why did she leave the factory?”
I shrug, unwilling to give her any reason to criticize Yun.
“Yes, you should forget her.” She takes the basket from me and swings it to rest on the sink. “But I know you won’t, because you had people for a while. They tried to hang onto you as long as they could, and you never forgot about them.”
Chapter 10
Yun
Someone’s calling me: a number I don’t recognize. I let it go to voicemail, then listen to the message, mostly out of boredom. “Yun, it’s Luli! I got a phone! Just like you kept saying I should. Anyway, I got your number from one of the other girls and I just want to check how you’re doing. I know you told Dali you’re okay, but where are you living? Did you—well, please call me back. I’m really sorry about what I said the last time we talked.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. I’m not still angry at Luli for what she said about Yong, but I know she’ll want to talk about the baby. I just can’t deal with that right now.
I’ve been lying around Yong’s for days and days, so nauseous I can barely move, too sick to hunt for a job. Yong isn’t around much. He goes in and out to see friends, to work, even disappearing for a few days at time. We don’t talk about the baby. I don’t want to think about it, and I guess he doesn’t either, although a few times I’ve seen him studying me, only to turn away when I notice.
He comes in now, while I’m still staring at Luli’s new number debating whether to return her call. “Hey,” he says. “I’ve been thinking. We should go to my ma’s. She lives in Yellow Grain Village, just a couple hours away. She can take care of you till we get things straightened out.”
I wasn’t expecting this at all. “Your ma won’t mind?” None of the girls I know have met their boyfriends’ parents. Most of them keep all that private, not even telling their parents that they’re seeing someone. Ming definitely never introduced me to his family as his girlfriend. Certainly not his dad.
Yong shrugs. “She’ll be fine with it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “If I’m going to get the termination and then find work, I should be here, in the city.”
“I’ll bring you back as soon as I’ve got enough money for it. But that could be a while, depending on how many jobs I get in the next few weeks. Don’t you want to have someone looking after you in the meantime?”
Eventually, I agree. I know it might be a bad idea, but I’m too sick to care.
***
I’ve never been so miserable.
I cling to Yong with my head against his back. My eyes are squeezed closed against the cutting wind and dust driving into my bones. The stink of exhaust and pollution along the congested expressways nauseates me.
As we get further away from the city and into the countryside, I feel more and more uneasy. The private detective’s warning flits through my mind. He’ll tell a girl they’re going to go on a weekend trip together . . . then sell her . . .
My pulse suddenly begins to speed up. For a moment I panic, wondering what I’ll do if Yong isn’t actually taking me to his ma’s place. But Yong tears faster along the highway. The drone of the motorbike rumbles in my ears, the potholes and bumps of the smaller highways making me feel even queasier. I can yell into the wind or beat on him to stop, but then what? We’re in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not as if I can walk all the way back to the city. I can do nothing but hang on until he stops.
After another hour, Yong slows. We drive along the dusty, rutted road of a small township, where shabby, low-lying buildings line the main street. There are several newer, white-tiled ones interspersed—a few are even two stories high. I scan the buildings, searching for a police station, bus station, anywhere I can run to if it comes to it.
Yong turns into an alley lane and stops in front of a squat, old-style building. As I climb off the bike, I’m aware that my legs are tingling and numb from the vibration of the motor. I rub them, readying myself for whatever comes next.
Yong undoes my bags, which are piled and tied on the back of the bike, and thrusts one at me. He picks up the other two, saunters past me, and kicks at the door. “Ma! Ma! I’ve come home!”
I take a deep breath and quietly let it go as relief comes over me. We really are at his mother’s place. He hasn’t brought me to some old bachelor’s home to sell me off.
The woman who opens the door has a thin face, tanned by the sun, with a network of fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She’s slight, but more gristly-lean than wispy. She stares at Yong, first bewildered, then cracking into a big toothy smile.
“Yong! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” She grabs him by both forearms, scolding, but is plainly delighted to see him. I quietly let out a long breath.
“What are you doing here?” she says. “Don’t you have to work? Come in, come in out of the cold.” She pulls him in and, not seeing me, begins to shut the door behind him.
I hurry forward, and she notices me. The glee on her face is suspended. “Who’s this?”
Yong half-turns. “Ma, she’s with me.”
Ma’s gaze swings between Yong and me. “What do you mean?” Her hand comes off the door handle, and I quickly slip inside. It’s nearly as cold inside as out.
Yong drops my bags and shuts the door, leaving us in the murky light of the single window. We’re standing in a room that’s barely the size of the factory dorm room, though a doorway shows another room off the side.
“Ma.” He’s embarrassed, awkward. I’ve never seen him like this. “Ma, this is Yun.”
“Yun.” She gapes at him—at me—at him again. “Why is she here?”
Yong rubs his arms as if warming himself. I wait, wondering what he’ll say.
“Ma, we’re married. She’s my wife.”
Ma puts her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “What are you saying?”
I glance at Yong, not sure why he lied, but he ignores me.
“Married! How could you get the permit without your hukou?” Now I’m staring. Yong doesn’t have a hukou?
Yong wipes the dust off his jacket. “It wasn’t a problem.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I took care of it with a payment to the right person.”
“But how long have you known each other?” Ma’s hand drops to her throat. “Why haven’t you brought her to meet me before?” Her voice is rising. “What kind of person . . .” She throws a few wary glances my way until tears are running down her face. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about her?” She mops at her face with her sleeve, peering at me over her arm. “What about those pocks? Don’t you know those are marks of bad character?”
I stop listening. I’ve heard these things so many times. And I’m used to people talking about me like I’m not even there.
I move toward a red vinyl chair—the only one with any padding, though there’s a large tear in the fabric—and plop into it. I’m stiff and drained from the long ride on the motorbike. There’s a TV in front of the chair, and I’m tempted to turn it on to drone out Ma’s moaning, but instead I take in the house.
Besides the three mismatched chairs near the TV, the room is crowded with a large cupboard, a table with stools near the brick stove, and a bed at the back of the room. A faded flowered sheet hangs partly across it, acting as a privacy curtain. The dresser wedged in at the foot of the bed is cover
ed with a little shrine: photos, candles, incense poking out of a gold-colored pot, and a bouquet of plastic flowers. Around the room, a calendar and several pictures of nature scenes are pasted to the wall. There’s one frame with several small photos crowded behind the glass. Yong and another boy who looks slightly older. Now I start to understand. Yong must be a second child, born in violation of Family Planning policies. That’s why he doesn’t have a hukou.
It strikes me that Yong has told me very little about himself.
Yong falls into the chair beside me and snaps on the TV, turning it way up. Ma, still bawling him out, moves to the stove and begins clattering her pots. She makes so much noise for such a little person.
“How long can you stay?” Ma shouts at Yong.
“I have to leave tomorrow, get back to work.”
Ma bangs a pot onto the table. “So soon! Why did you come here then? For just one day!”
“Yun’s going to stay here with you.” Yong yells over his shoulder. “I’m leaving her here with you.”
I look at Ma. She stands frozen in disbelief; her hand is on the pan she just banged against the table. “You’re leaving her here?” Her mouth turns deeply to a frown.
“I have to go back to work.”
“How are you going to make a son if you’re in the city and she’s here?”
“Don’t worry, Ma. I’m sure I’ve put a boy inside her.”
Ma’s head turns sharply to me, her mouth a small round circle of surprise, and her bad temper vanishes.
I, on the other hand, feel as if Yong has dumped cold water on me. Does Yong actually want me to have this baby? Or is he just saying that so his mother will be willing to take me in? I can’t tell, and in this tiny house, I may not get a chance to ask him.