Her thoughts drifted to flowers for no apparent reason. Then she realized why: She was thinking of what the two men said about young girls blossoming in the forest. She didn’t understand what they meant, but as she lay there on the cobblestones, she imagined herself turning into a beautiful flower. The dragon king was emerging from the lake, brushing the wet hair from his forehead, and walking toward her. He knelt down next to her, and the blue water of his eyes filling her heart. The petals started to open, a forest of flowers, blooming, blooming, blooming at night.
Chapter 17: A turning point, 1946
The Communists peasant soldiers were moving rapidly into northeast China as they competed against the Nationalists for the weapons left behind by the defeated Japanese Army. The abbey school that Little Jade attended had sent out letters to all the parents.
“The chaos of the war is closing in and the school can no longer be responsible for the safety of its students,” these letters read, in large words surrounded by a deep red border. “Please come fetch your child as soon as you can.”
The students were leaving in droves. The nuns requested that all students pack up their belongings. Every day, parents came for their daughters. There were tearful embraces and hurried farewells among the students and teachers. Time was running out.
As the student body thinned, the school cut back on the curriculum. Classes were combined. Most of the school buildings were shut down, except for one administrative building that also doubled as the dormitory for the school’s last inhabitants. Toward the end, three Chinese nuns were left, along with two servants, a cook and a cleaning woman. The Chinese nuns wore gray habits and fluttered around like ghosts.
Finally, there were half a dozen students left, the unclaimed and presumed discarded ones –Little Jade among them. They were taught one class a day, a Bible study class. It was a ritual for the last few students. On Sundays, an elderly nun led the six girls into the chapel through the side door. She opened the door with an ancient key tied with a thick black string to her waist. Inside the chapel, she lit a single candle with trembling fingers. There were no more masses and visiting priests.
Another nun with a deeply creased face led the students in and knelt in front of the statue of the Madonna. Little Jade was at the edge of the half-circle of praying nuns and students. The nuns began the singsong chant of the Madonna. The chant glorified the beauty and kindness of Mary the Madonna who had given birth to baby Jesus.
In the chapel’s semi-darkness, Little Jade closed her eyes, barely touched by the faint glow of a precariously flickering candle. She prayed hard to the white-robed deity above. She stood silently reciting bits and pieces of Lotus Kwan Yin Sutra that her grandmother had taught her.
Little Jade stared up at the statue of the Madonna who was gazing at her infant son. What was she thinking? Was she contemplating the unknown future of her child? Did she know that his soft fingers and toes would one day be stained with blood? The curtains at the back of chapel rippled ominously. Behind the curtains lurked the statue of the suffering Jesus nailed to the cross.
How terrible! Little Jade closed her eyes to block out the image in front of her. This Jesus, this Madonna, had nothing to do with me. Little Jade shifted uneasily in the kneeling position. She did not belong to the lighted part of the altar. She wanted to shrink into the darkened part of the chapel. She closed her eyes and remembered her grandmother who had been the sky above and the earth below—someone who would never change and would always be there. Yet she was gone. In Little Jade’s life, her father was like a long-anticipated guest who finally came to visit, sometimes for a day, sometimes for months, but he was never expected to stay forever. And her mother—where could she be? Little Jade couldn’t form any image of her. She remained a mystical figure like a goddess who existed long ago and about whom stories were woven into fables. Whether they would be told as an example of good deeds or a warning against a bad deed, Little Jade did not know. And then there was her step-grandfather who cared for her during a nightmare that stretched into months and had not yet ended. Step-Grandfather’s sad eyes still haunted Little Jade. She missed him terribly. Bai Feng was gone too, probably forever.
Little Jade lowered her head, resting her forehead over her interlaced fingers. Her thoughts returned to her grandmother and to how the old woman’s hands had touched all over her face. She could almost smell her scents of jasmine and sadness.
“Don’t worry. Kwan Yin will protect us.” Little Jade could hear her grandmother chanting:
“When traveling in a dangerous land, where bandits come with knives and swords, say the name of Kwan Yin aloud and the bandits will throw down their weapons. When crossing the ocean with treasures of pearls and corals, and when the waves of the sea threaten to turn over the ship, say the name of Kwan Yin aloud and the waves will calm. When the executioner is ready to befall his ax, say the name of Kwan Yin aloud and the ax will fall apart. When traveling in the forest, tigers and wolves come hungry for prey, but say the name of Kwan Yin and the beast will walk away. A thousand people pray to Kwan Yin, and she has appeared to them in a thousand different places. She always hears your prayer and she always protects you.”
Little Jade felt as if she was in her grandmother’s bedroom again. She could hear the chanting of the Lotus Sutra rising and falling, sounding clear for one moment and fading away the next. She was curling up inside the mosquito netting under the heavy quilt of blue silk. She wanted to stay there forever. Inhaling deeply, she could smell the sandalwood incense. Each strand of incense smoke carried to heaven an urgent request, a desperate plea, a fervent wish. The scent lingered in Little Jade’s memory, a promise deferred indefinitely into the future.
Little Jade thought she heard the sound of bells ringing. With her eyes closed, she felt something brushing past her forehead. Maybe it was the tip of the trailing blue sash from Kwan Yin’s robe. In an instant, an unfamiliar stillness overtook her. With it, a cool, clear feeling rose steadily within her. All the noises and burdens of life, the sharp words and painful edges, all that she had endured, and all the thought she could never be free of, never able to overcome were dissipating.
The future that was yet to come, yet to emerge in shapes that she could not, dared not imagine, no longer seemed so foreboding. Her cup had been empty and wanting for such a long time, but now it was brimming with a perfect stillness. It was as if a voice was telling her, “Don’t worry, Little Jade. Don’t worry.”
***
As rumors abounded that the Americans were preparing to pull out of Tianjin, the school was nearly empty of students. Only four were left. Two older students had become nuns. They changed into the gray nuns’ habits and wore kerchiefs over their hair. They explained to the younger students that they had decided to become God’s brides and would serve God for the rest of their lives.
Little Jade was lying on her bed. She had become quieter after Bai Feng disappeared. She was turning into a mute. She prayed a great deal, partly because the praying comforted her and also because there was not much else to do.
The nuns prayed incessantly. There was a sense of impending doom, but no one mentioned this for fear of hastening its arrival. Little Jade and other three students were assigned chores around what was left of the school. They were glad to perform these small tasks because it kept their minds off the future. They helped the cook in the kitchen, washing and cutting vegetables, scrubbing pots and pans. They helped the cleaning lady with laundry, taking turns washing bed linens and the nuns’ habits, which were heavy when wet.
It was getting cold and the late afternoon sunshine was waning. Everything was still and quiet in Little Jade’s room. Someone was laughing far away and someone else was talking loudly about something she could not make out. Dust motes floated in the rays of the sun. She knew that she should be doing something—collecting firewood, washing dishes, sweeping the hallway, anything to keep busy, but for now she just wanted to be by herself in this desolate room. It would be evening so
on, then the night, and then morning again. How many evenings, nights and mornings did she have left here at the abbey school?
A nun knocked on the door.
“Someone has come to see you,” the nun said. “It’s a woman, a young woman.” Little Jade looked at the nun not understanding. She got up slowly and followed her quietly down the hall. She could not think of anyone who would visit her. A woman that Little Jade had never seen before was standing by the window in the guest lounge. She looked to be in her early twenties. She was wearing a camel-colored trench coat and a matching hat. She carried a black purse and held a pair of black leather gloves. She wore a pink lipstick and an eager expression. She walked toward Little Jade and nodded at the nun, dismissing her.
She took Little Jade’s hand and sat her down on the sofa. She asked her, “What is your name? Do you have a nickname?”
“My name is Su Bright Jade. They call me Little Jade.”
“How old are you? Where are you from?” The young woman leaned forward and smiled and encouraged the girl to say more. Little Jade could smell a faint scent of rose in her hair.
“I am twelve. I am from the Su Village.” Little Jade answered without thinking.
“What is the name of your father? Your mother?” The stranger asked more questions.
“My father is Su An Ling. My mother…” Little Jade hesitated, “her name is Chang Wei Jen, my father told me.” The questions were getting harder. Little Jade was glad that she knew all the answers. She dreaded being asked a question that she could not answer, but it never came.
She had told the young woman the facts that she knew about herself. The facts that she had held onto tightly. It had been strange to say her mother’s name out loud, yet as she did, she saw the young woman’s smile deepen. She reached over to squeeze Little Jade’s hand and said, “I am so glad that I found you.”
Then the young woman told her some things that were amazing. She said that she was Little Jade’s fourth aunt, which meant that she was Chang Wei Jen’s cousin. She told Little Jade that her mother had married again. She said that Wei Jen had been searching for Little Jade these past few months. She had learned that Little Jade was at the abbey school and had been waiting for the right time to get in touch with her.
Little Jade watched this stranger talking and talking. She tried to absorb what was being said. Someone had been looking for her and that someone was her mother. Carefully, in a whisper, she asked, “Are you taking me to see my mother?”
The Fourth Aunt paused for a moment and then explained that she could not take Little Jade with her, nor could Wei Jen come for Little Jade. The Fourth Aunt opened her purse and took out a piece of folded paper on which an address had been written. She also gave her a thick, heavy envelope made of coarse, sturdy paper. The only way for Little Jade to see her mother, said the Fourth Aunt, was for Little Jade to travel to the city of Peking. Little Jade could not go to her mother directly. First, she must go to a house where Wei Jen’s extended family was staying. Wei Jen did not want to be accused of kidnapping. The Su family still knew a lot of people. The young woman urged Little Jade to act fast. Peking was two day’s journey by horse wagon. The Communists were coming soon.
“Do you understand me?” The young woman asked. She looked into Little Jade’s face, searching for a reply. Little Jade averted her face, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t cry, Little Jade. You will see your mother soon. You will go to her, won’t you? She said that it is your choice. It is up to you. Why don’t you take some time to think it over?”
Little Jade nodded, biting her lower lip. Her shoulders were shaking. The young woman sighed and said, “I am sorry I can’t take you with me today. Your mother asked me to give you this message. If you go to your mother, you won’t be able to return to your father. You must understand this. Your father cannot know about your mother.” She squeezed Little Jade’s hand, got up, and put her gloves on.
“Don’t wait too long to decide, Little Jade. I hope to see you soon.” The young woman took another look at Little Jade and walked out of the guest lounge.
Little Jade watched the door swung open letting in a splash of waning daylight. The door swung shut and the room darkened again. Over and over, she read the address on the piece of paper through teary eyes. Were these words written by her mother’s hand? Perhaps her mother’s hands had touched the same paper that she was touching now.
She was careful to not stain the piece of paper with her tears. Her trembling fingers opened the thick envelope. Inside was a thick stack of ten thousand Yuan bills tied together with a rubber band. It was a large sum of money, even with the rampant inflation. As she tried to count out the bills, she paused to wipe the tears from her streaming eyes. Then she would lose count and start all over again, blinking the tears away as she tried to concentrate. The bills rustled between her fingers: red, green, and purple bills that scattered across her lap and drifted onto the floor. She lost count again and stopped. She sat there, letting tears wash down her face as a single thought rang through her mind: mother, mother, mother! My mother wants me, has been looking for me, and is waiting for me. She sent for me, gave me money so that I can go to her in Peking. It doesn’t matter anymore if father doesn’t come for me. It doesn’t matter because, at last, mother has found me. Little Jade sat sobbing quietly in the room among the fallen bills scattered around her. After a while, she wiped her face dry and carefully gathered up the bills, one by one, and placed them back in the envelope.
She got up and pushed opened the door. Outside, a brand new world awaited her. Everything looked different somehow. The world now had a pink glow. Over the horizon, the setting sun dyed half the sky a festive flaming orange and purple, as if even the heavens were celebrating the news of her mother. Little Jade’s shadow followed her as she headed for her dormitory room. She wanted to start packing right away. She walked quickly, almost running, ignoring someone who called out to her. It was getting dark. It was too bad she could not leave today, right now. But no matter, she would see her mother soon enough. It did not take long for her to pack her meager belongs into a simple bundle. At dinner, she ate little and did not say a word. She had to keep quiet in order to contain herself. The nuns were used to her silence by now. Everything would have to wait until tomorrow. She would savor this feeling tonight. Her mother wanted her.
Little Jade was too excited to sleep. She felt swept by a torrent of alternating sensations of hot and cold as if a fever were about to break. Her head was spinning with make-believe images of her mother, whose touch she could not fathom, whose face she could not recognize if she walked up to her on the street.
Two days of journey to Peking: there was only that short a distance between them. She wrapped herself into the quilt and held herself tight, squeezing hard. Her mother would embrace her just like this, only much better as she had long ago when Little Jade was a baby. As an infant she must had looked up to see a familiar face, smiling and cooing, looming over her like a sun, a moon, a universe. Little Jade drifted off to sleep, dreaming shapeless dreams of the impending future.
Chapter 18: Wei Jen
Chang Wei Jen was born in 1911, the year of the birth of the Republic of China and the end of the Qing Dynasty. In that sense, her birth heralded the modern age of China. She was the third child of a wealthy silk merchant in the city of Shen Yang. She had two older brothers. The Chinese culture did not esteem the merchant class because they were a class of people who profited from the labor of others. The ranking of classes from high to low were soldiers who protect the nation against invaders, farmers who produce food for all, laborers who trade their strength and skills for a living, and lastly, the merchants. Scholars ranked above all and China had a traditional civil examination to recruit the talents of the Middle Kingdom to work for the emperor. The best scholar and the best poet had the potential to rise and become the first advisor to the Emperor—a position that would situate him below one person and above all others.
Wei Jen’s mother was alarmed. She was concerned that she would have difficulty marrying off a daughter who aspired to be a scholar. “Who would want a scholar for a wife?” she asked.
The mother did not want Wei Jen to continue her studies beyond the second year and offered to bribe her daughter with gold bracelets. For each month the daughter did not study, she would be rewarded with a heavy, elaborately carved gold bracelet for a bridal dowry. Wei Jen chose to continue with her studies.
Wei Jen’s calligraphy portrayed her personal strength and decisive nature. The strokes were fluent without hesitations and without uncertainties. She went on to study in a school opened by missionaries from America. She studied English from the Catholic nuns. She also studied western history and philosophy. She had a voracious appetite for learning and informed her parents that she would like to attend Peking University, which was the most prestigious university in China.
Her parents refused to give their permission. After Wei Jen graduated from the missionary school, she stayed as a teacher. She also wanted to improve her English by practicing with the nuns. Wei Jen was eighteen and her mother was eager to marry her off. Many matchmakers came and went from the Chang household. As Wei Jen turned twenty, the matchmakers made fewer visits.
The older students from Wei Jen’s class had married at age sixteen and gotten pregnant soon afterwards. Wei Jen was practically an old maid at the age of twenty-two. She secretly applied to Peking University and was accepted. Her parents were not impressed. Wei Jen was not permitted to go anywhere unless she got married first.
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