by Zoë S. Roy
Yezi began checking the campus mailroom frequently, anxious for a letter from her newly-discovered grandmother. At last, in mid-July, a letter from the U.S. arrived. Yezi ran home and rushed into the apartment, waving the envelope at her mother. “Grandmother’s letter! It’s here!”
Meihua opened it. As she read it through, her eyes clouded over.
“What happened?” Yezi shook her mother’s shoulder.
“She didn’t get the visa.”
Yao came in with a cup of tea. “Have something warm to drink. It will help you calm down. The sky won’t fall.”
“What is a visa?” asked Yezi, her hand pulling at her braid.
“She needs a visa to enter China. It’s like getting permission. But they didn’t give it to her.” Meihua dabbed her eyes with a white handkerchief.
“It’s okay. We can wait for her as long as we’re alive,” said Yao, a wry smile on her face.
“Thanks, Yao. You’re right.” Meihua lowered her voice, “I can wait. It is nothing compared to eight years in jail.” She thought back to the wild geese that flew over tea bushes at the camp. Now the warm tea soothed her heart. Yao’s right.
Shocked and saddened, Yezi couldn’t understand why the visa people rejected her grandmother’s application.
Sang graduated from high school in late July of 1976. During the Cultural Revolution, there were no graduation ceremonies that parents could attend as education was not valued. But Meihua was proud and she and Yao prepared a special dinner so they could celebrate with him at home.
Since his grandmother’s visit was postponed, Sang decided to leave earlier than planned for Xiaohe Village. Meihua sobbed as if it were the last time she would ever see him, even though Sang had promised her monthly visits home.
“Don’t worry. My cousin’s family will look after him,” said Yao, patting Meihua’s back.
“I know. But Dahai’s…” Meihua pulled her handkerchief from her pocket. “I just couldn’t bear to lose another son.”
“Mama, you know what? If I delay going there, it will hurt my chances of getting a recommendation for a university.”
“Can’t you wait for your father to come home?” asked Yao. “He’ll be back soon. And I know he will want to accompany you to the village.”
“Okay, but I’m definitely leaving next Monday, even if he hasn’t made it back home before that.” Sang sat on his bed, staring at his stacked luggage. “I’m old enough to do this by myself.”
Lon arrived just in time to accompany Sang to Xiaohe Village. With the help of his father, Sang was able to take all his personal possessions with him.
Yezi reminded her brother to search for a fossil of Yuanmou Man in his spare time. Sang grinned. “Absolutely. If I find one, it’s yours!”
The summer break arrived at the beginning of August. Yezi and Jian continued practicing their swimming in the river; Yao still watched over them from the shore. When Yezi opened her eyes under water, she could see the shiny surface above. But each time she tried to lift her head above the water, her body sank. Jian and the other girls encouraged her to keep trying so she could learn to swim with her head above water.
Every Sunday evening, Yao accompanied Yezi to her tutor’s home for violin lessons. The tedious practicing helped Yezi come to appreciate that one minute’s performance from a violinist was based on more than one hundred times in practice. The image of the happy American girl playing her violin always cheered her up and motivated her to practice.
By the end of August, Yezi had learned to swim with her head out of the water, and she was as tanned as all the others. Her fear of water, and of being called “white-skinned piglet,” faded. To Meihua’s delight, she had also learned to play a couple of simple pieces on her violin.
In September of 1976, Yezi entered the fourth grade. Her mother returned to her teaching post after a nine-year absence. Like a paintbrush, time had coloured Meihua’s hair gray. But her face brightened when she stood in front of her students.
September 9, Yezi’s teacher announced in class that Chairman Mao had died. Yezi could not believe her ears. Is he really dead? She had thought that “Long live Chairman Mao” meant he would live ten thousand years. Uncertain whether she should feel sad or relieved, she lost herself in thought. My brother was eighteen when he died. The idea of death stirred in her heart. I don’t want Popo Yao to die, nor Mama or Baba. She sobbed; so did the other students.
When Yezi got home, the door to her mother’s room was closed. She overheard Ling, her mother’s best friend, speak. “Don’t think about it too much.”
“When will they trust me?” asked Meihua. “I’ve never complained about anything.”
“They don’t trust anyone who isn’t from a family of poor peasants or factory workers, but I don’t really care,” replied Ling, her voice firm. “My background remains only with me. I don’t have kids who could be affected.”
“Why didn’t they allow us to attend the meeting?” Meihua’s voice sounded desperate. “It was just a memorial service for Chairman Mao.”
“It’s okay,” sighed Ling. Yezi did not see her, but could imagine her caring eyes. “Things will change in the future.” Ling’s voice had a soothing effect just as her words “take care” had in the past. That phrase had always made Yezi feel warm inside. She always said it, as she was leaving, whenever she had dropped by their apartment to bring Yao some food.
Mao’s death marked the end of the Red Terror; Deng Xiaoping’s rehabilitation brought fundamental changes. A year later, in October, 1977 when both Lon and Sang returned home for China’s National Day, Sang informed them that entrance exams for universities would soon be re-established. He had heard from his high school teacher that exam scores would be the only criteria for acceptance; recommendations regarding an applicant’s politics were no longer required. Looking at his father, then his mother, Sang asked, “Do you think it’s possible?”
Lon answered, “Quite possible, but who knows when?”
Meihua was happy; entrance exams meant that all qualified applicants could go to university without having to rely on a recommendation from a unit authority. “I think Sang should start preparing for possible exams,” she said.
Sang opened his palm and then closed it tightly as if he had caught something called opportunity and did not want it to slip away. “I’ll borrow a couple of books and get started.”
At the end of October, the People’s Daily announced the re-establishment of entrance exams. After receiving permission from his brigade, Sang returned home to prepare for the exams. It was a battle all the youth who had missed the opportunity for higher education in the past ten years were willing to entertain.
Each time Yezi saw Sang bury himself in books, she felt hope for him. His dream would come true. He would become a university student. Yezi could not help but ask, “Brother, will you study at Mama’s university?”
“I don’t think so. You should ask me which program I’m going to apply for,” said Sang.
“Okay. Which one?”
“Medicine,” he said, imagining himself in a white uniform helping patients. “I’ll go to a medical university if I’m accepted.”
“Is that far from home?”
“Depends on which university. We can talk about it when I finish my exams.” He waved his hand. “Don’t you see I’m busy right now? Leave me alone.”
Yezi wondered what she should do when her time came.
In early February of 1978, winter jasmine was just starting to spread around the lakeshore again when an acceptance letter from the medical university in Kunming arrived at their door. Sang returned from the countryside. The new admission requirements generated a light-hearted atmosphere at colleges and universities all over China. It was a promising time that benefited from Deng Xiaoping’s policies.
By then, Ye
zi was half way through the sixth grade. She was busy preparing for two sets of exams: final exams for elementary school and entrance exams for junior high school. She spent most of her spare time working on assignments, completing quizzes and pre-tests.
One Saturday evening at the end of February, Meihua announced, “Great news! My mother is arriving in two weeks!”
“Are you sure?” Yezi paused in the middle of her homework. She leaned against the back of her chair.
“Certainly. I got her letter today. She wrote to confirm her arrival date,” said Meihua happily.
“Wow! This time Grandmother is coming for sure!” Yezi clapped her hands.
“Is she coming by air?” asked Yao, coming out of the kitchen, a cup of tea in her hand. “I’d be scared in the sky.”
“It’s nothing to be afraid of,” Meihua said. “You are fine if you just think of yourself as sitting in a big room full of people.” She chuckled, “Even though I was afraid the first time I got on an airplane.”
“When did you do that?” asked Yezi and Yao together.
“When I was twenty-one,” said Meihua. “I flew with my mother to Halifax for my grandfather’s funeral.”
“Where’s Halifax? Is that as far as the United States?” asked Yezi.
“Do you mean from the United States to Halifax or from China to Halifax?” Meihua asked.
Yao snorted. She also wondered where these places were. “This little one always asks difficult questions.”
“Well, Halifax is located on the East coast of Canada. Boston is on the East coast of the United States.” Meihua went to her room and returned with an atlas. She opened it to a page that had a world map. Then, she pointed out two tiny dots: Halifax and Boston. “It’s a two-hour flight from Boston to Halifax. And from Boston or Halifax, China is about the same distance. It would be about a twenty-hour flight.”
Yao’s eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn’t imagine being high up in the air for such a long time.
“I have another question.” Yezi checked the map, her eyes glowing with curiosity. “Why did your grandmother live in a country different from your mama’s?”
“A good question.”
“Is that because your grandmother was sent to live in Canada like you were sent to the camp?” Yezi reasoned this based on her experience, expecting her mother’s answer to be “Yes.”
Meihua frowned at the memory. “That’s not the same thing. Nobody was dispatched anywhere.” Her eyes roved over the map as her mind wandered away. “My mother had decided to move to Boston before I was born.”
“Then you decided to live in Kunming—”
“Enough questions.” Yao tugged at Yezi’s sleeve. “Let’s talk about what we should do to get ready for your grandmother’s visit.”
“I’ve reported it to the leaders,” said Meihua. “They said she can stay in the campus guesthouse, because we don’t have enough space to accommodate her here. They’ll also arrange an interpreter to show her around.”
“Do you mean Grandmother won’t stay with us?” asked Yezi. “Why not, Mama?”
“They said they’d take care of her. They want to leave her with a flawless impression of China.” Not wanting to disappoint Yezi, Meihua explained the situation in what she hoped was an optimistic tone. “Anyway, we can join her whenever we want. The guesthouse isn’t far. Yezi, you can still practice your English with her.”
“That’s good,” Yezi breathed a sigh of relief. “As long as nobody stops her from coming to see us.”
18.
SWEET POTATO CONGEE
TWO WEEKS LATER, MEIHUA DRESSED up after lunch. Then she waited for the car dispatched by the university that would take her to the airport.
Yezi heard a knock as she was about to leave for her afternoon classes. She pulled the door open and saw a young woman standing in the doorway. “Are you Yezi?” the young woman asked. “Aren’t you coming to meet your grandmother?”
Yezi smiled and showed the young woman her book bag. “I’d like to, but I’ve got to go to school.”
“No, you don’t have to.” The woman smiled. “I already told your teacher you’d be going to the airport.”
Yezi looked at her, puzzled.
“Teacher Wei,” the woman called out, looking over Yezi’s shoulder at Meihua. “I’m Zhong Wang, the interpreter from the Office of Foreign Affairs at the university. My director asked me to arrange things for your mother, Mrs. McMillan, and your family.”
“My mama speaks English,” Yezi murmured. “We don’t need an interpreter.”
“You can come with us.” Meihua smiled broadly at Yezi and then turned toward the young woman. “Thanks, Miss Wang. Shall we go now?”
The interpreter led them downstairs. It was Yezi’s first time in a car. In the back seat next to her mother, Yezi listened attentively to the conversation in English between her mother and Miss Wang. “Teacher Wei, please don’t mention anything unnecessary to your mother. You represent China and must think about the dignity of our country.”
Meihua, confused, asked, “What do you mean by ‘unnecessary?’”
“For example, you don’t need to tell her about your time in the prison camp—that sort of thing. You’re in a teaching position now. Your son is going to university. You’ll know what to say if you think positively.”
“Why would I tell my mother about my past?” replied Meihua, scowling. “I’d erase it from my memory if I could.”
“Agreed,” the interpreter sounded relieved. “I don’t want any trouble on my first assignment with a foreigner.”
Yezi knew they were discussing her grandmother’s visit, but only caught a few sentences. The conversation ended. She looked at her mother and noticed her mouth was twisted into a tight knot.
They got out of the car at Wujiabar Airport. Yezi followed her mother and Miss Wang into a roomy hall with enormous windows. Rows of chairs lined the walls. Many passengers strode past, carrying suitcases or dragging luggage on wheels. They were better dressed than the passengers Yezi had ever seen at any bus or train station. Amazed, she spotted an airplane outside taxiing past the windows. It glided to a runaway, and then zoomed up high into the air. It’s just like in the movies!
Suddenly, she felt her sleeve being tugged. She looked away from the distant airplane and saw her mother hurrying over to an elderly woman. They embraced, their heads in each other’s hands. At the sight of her mother and grandmother together, Yezi envisioned the two dots on the world map merging into one. Not wanting to disturb them, she stood silently beside Miss Wang.
Meihua turned around and said to Yezi, “This is my mother, Agnes McMillan.” Then, pointing to the woman from the office, she said, “This is Miss Wang, an interpreter from my university.” The elderly woman looked at Miss Wang, puzzled. Hesitantly, she stretched out her hand. “How do you do?”
Miss Wang shook hands with Yezi’s grandmother. “I’m from the Office of Foreign Affairs. I will look after you during your visit here.”
“Thank you very much.” The elderly woman’s gaze fell on the little girl. “Yezi? Please come here. I have so longed to meet you.”
Miss Wang interpreted what Yezi’s grandmother said.
“Grandmother,” Yezi said only one word as she approached and stood before her.
Agnes wrapped her arms around Yezi and whispered in her ear, “You are a beautiful young woman.” Yezi felt her face grow hot, but she couldn’t stop the wide grin that was sweeping across her face.
“I’ll take you to the guesthouse, Mrs. McMillan.” Aware of Agnes’s bewilderment, Miss Wang continued, “We will all go there together. Supper is ready. The driver is waiting for us.” She led the way outside to the car.
Upon their arrival at the guesthouse, Miss Wang asked them to make themselves comfortable in the chairs placed
around the table in the dining room. She went to the kitchen. Soon after, two servers carried out dishes, bowls and plates heaped with food. “Help yourselves,” Miss Wang said. “This is a welcome treat from the university.” She passed a dish to Agnes. Then she picked up a pair of chopsticks for herself.
Miss Wang began to talk as she ate. Meihua seldom spoke; she merely sipped her soup slowly. Yezi had a lot to ask, but did not dare. Agnes’s brow furrowed, but she listened politely to the interpreter rave about Spring University and Kunming’s attractions. The meal ended quietly. Finally, Miss Wang handed Agnes a sheet. “This is a list of sightseeing spots you might be interested in. After you have selected some places, please let me know. I will accompany you. My phone number is on the paper. Goodnight, everybody.”
“Goodnight.” Meihua said, holding her breath. When the interpreter hesitated at the door, her hand on the doorknob, Meihua quickly added, “We will leave soon as well.”
After the interpreter finally left them alone, Meihua and Yezi walked Agnes to her room on the second floor. “Where’s your home?” Agnes asked scrutinizing the guarded looks on her daughter’s and granddaughter’s faces.
“My apartment’s a little crowded. They want you to stay in the guesthouse here, near my home.”
“Where are Lon and the others?”
“They may be on their way home.”
“Can I see them?”
“I’ll bring them here tomorrow night if you like. Sang commutes daily to his university. Lon should be coming home tonight. Tomorrow morning I’ll meet with my substitute teacher to discuss the lessons she will be teaching during my absence.”
“I have lots to ask, Flora,” said Agnes. “First of all, I wonder if you can take a trip with me.”
“To where?”
“Chengdu. You know I lived there for half a year. I’d like to revisit it.”