by Zoë S. Roy
Yezi was busy every day, learning the language and experiencing a different life. But eventually, homesickness crept into Yezi’s heart. One morning, she decided to write letters to everyone back in China.
August 31, 1979
Dear Mama and Baba,
I’ve been here for two weeks. Grandma’s letter must’ve reached you before mine. Grandma drives! She’s very healthy and takes a long walk almost every day. She’s busy even though she’s retired. She volunteers a lot at the church and at a volunteer centre.
Grandma has hired a tutor, a university student, to help me with my English. The tutor takes me to parks and shopping centres. She teaches me how to play children’s games, how to greet people, and how to ask for directions.
Yesterday, Grandma took me to a public school in the neighbourhood. We met with the principal and handed in my school report. In September, which is next week, I’ll join the seventh grade.
Is there any news about Baba’s job? When will he transfer back to Kunming?
Is Sang still very busy at the university? I hope he can come to America someday. Will you tell him that I miss him?
I’ll write a letter to Popo Yao, please read it to her.
Your loving daughter, Yezi.
Yezi wrote a second letter.
Dear Popo Yao,
How’re you doing? I’m missing you a lot. Grandma likes the dresses you made for me.
There’s Chinese food in Chinatown, but I’m learning to eat American food. Besides milk and bread, there’re pizza, pancakes, hamburgers, and Kentucky fried chicken. I’m sure you would like Kentucky fried chicken and French fries.
Forever yours, Yezi.
She also wrote to Jian telling her about the places she had visited and what she had seen in Boston. She ended the letter like this: “You asked me to find out if the moon is rounder in the United States. Jian, I’m not sure about the moon’s shape, but it seems brighter here. By the way, have you been accepted to a top notch junior high school?”
She finished the three letters before lunchtime. In the kitchen, Agnes mixed canned tuna with mayonnaise. Yezi watched her grandmother making sandwiches. It’s easy. Soon I’ll make them by myself, she thought.
After lunch, Yezi drew a rectangle on a piece of paper and showed it to her grandmother. “Can I get this thing to put my letters in?”
Agnes chuckled and gave her several envelopes and also an address label sheet that she pulled out of one of the kitchen drawers. “These are envelopes and these labels have our address.”
Yezi happily addressed each of the letters, and carefully placed the address labels on the corners of the envelopes.
“Let’s go to a postal office to mail your letters,” Agnes said, grabbing her purse as she waited for Yezi to seal the envelopes. Hand in hand, they sauntered out the front door.
21.
KUNG FU MAN
YEZI’S NEW LIFE WAS LIKE a kaleidoscope tube. Each time she looked into it, it would display a different complex pattern in various colours and shapes.
School began on September 2, the day after Labour Day. Escorted by her grandmother, Yezi walked the two blocks to a three-storey brick building covered with straggly ivy. At the entrance, Yezi asked her grandmother to return home. “I am okay, Grandma. I can go in by myself.” She said she preferred to find the classroom on her own.
Agnes smiled and nodded. “Good girl. Enjoy your first day!”
Yezi climbed the stairs to the second floor and located her classroom. Students were already sitting at desks, chatting. A girl mouthed hello while a boy eyed Yezi skeptically. “Are you one of the boat people? Welcome to class.”
Why does he think I came by boat? Surprised by his words, Yezi thought: It would’ve taken me a couple of months to get here by boat. “I came by airplane,” she answered, wondering whether they would now refer to her as one of the “plane people.”
The girl who had greeted her, tapped the back of the chair next to her. “Come, sit here. Was it more dangerous coming by plane?”
Sitting down, Yezi asked, “Why would it be dangerous?”
“People might shoot it down,” replied the boy, hooking his finger as if he were about to pull a trigger. “But how did you find an airplane? Most people escaped by boat.”
“Why would people shoot at the plane?” asked Yezi, her puzzled eyes searching the boy’s face for an answer.
Another boy had been listening. He suddenly piped up, “Aren’t you from Vietnam?”
“No, why?” Yezi stared at him.
“Don’t get me wrong.” Shaking his head at Yezi, he chuckled at the assumptions his classmates had made. “You guys messed up. She isn’t one of the boat people. She isn’t even Vietnamese. That’s why she got here by plane.” He turned to Yezi and asked, “Where are you from, anyway?”
Before Yezi could reply, the bell rang, and more students entered the room. A blonde woman, wearing a pale green dress, walked to a wide desk in front of the blackboard.
“That’s Ms. Shaw, our English teacher,” the girl told Yezi.
“Welcome back to school!” The teacher scanned the class, a happy smile on her face. “I hope everybody had a good summer.” Noticing the new girl, she walked over to Yezi, asked her name, and then introduced her to the class.
“If any of you are interested in China, ask Yezi.” Ms. Shaw eyed the class. “Meanwhile give her a hand whenever she needs help, will you?”
What does ‘give her a hand’ mean? Yezi struggled to understand the logic of the teacher’s words.
The teacher strolled back to the front desk. “For our first English lesson, I’d like you to write a story about your summer. First discuss it with someone next to you. Then write it on your own.”
Yezi expected the teacher to explain the assignment in more detail, or read the class something from a textbook, but she did not. Instead, the students around her began talking with each other. “I love your name,” said the girl sitting next to Yezi. She sported a long ponytail, and her hair was the colour of honey.“What does your name mean?”
“Leaf,” Yezi said.
“Nice. It reminds me of summer. I had lots of fun this past summer.”
Uncertain what she should say about her summer, Yezi responded anxiously, “What kind of story does Ms. Shaw want?” She was eager to know the teacher’s expectations.
“Write whatever you like.” The pony-tailed girl winked at her. “Do you have a boy friend?”
Startled, Yezi flushed. She shook her head, embarrassed.
“I’m going to write about my trip to Cape Cod with my folks.” The girl opened her binder. Pencil in hand, she doodled on the corner of a page. “Did you go anywhere with your folks in the summer?”
“No, oh, yes. I came to Boston.” She remembered looking out at the clouds through her window on the airplane. She imagined herself a swallow gliding effortlessly through the air. It would never again be like the time she dreamed she was a baby swallow being chased and not knowing where to go. This time, she was a free swallow, flying in a boundless sky.
“Okay, that’s your story. I’m going to start writing mine.” The girl began scribbling.
Yezi stared at a blank page in her own binder, as if her mind’s eye were searching for an expansive scene in the emptiness. Ms. Shaw stopped in front of her desk, rescuing her from the void. “Follow me,” she said, motioning Yezi to a chair next to the teacher’s table. “Tell me anything about your summer in China.” Ms. Shaw spoke slowly, smiling widely to encourage her. “Don’t worry about writing.”
As Yezi relaxed, memories flooded her mind: the plane ride from Shangai; arriving at Logan International Airport; her first hamburger. Yezi had trouble finding the right words to express herself clearly, but Ms. Shaw listened to her with interest.
Ms.
Shaw told Yezi her task in the next period was to listen as others read their stories. Then she could write about one of the stories she had enjoyed the most when at home.
During the second period, Yezi had her binder open, ready to take notes. The first reader told about her experience playing in a swimming pool. The second one had a camping story. The third talked about a family trip to the seaside. One by one, twenty-five other students shared their stories. Yezi had a hard time following them, but she caught some episodes and discovered a buoyant tone in most of her classmates’ stories. Listening, she thought that maybe some day she too would be able to tell stories like these.
For her homework, Yezi wrote about one girl’s dog, even though she herself was afraid of dogs. Yezi could visualize the desperate, missing pet wandering for two days. Like a lost child wanting to get back to his or her mother, the dog strove to find his way home. At the end, Yezi mentioned that she did not understand why the girl had let the dog sleep on her bed, since bugs on the dog could have infected her.
Like a smolt on its long journey to the ocean, Yezi dove into her new waters, and worked hard to catch up to her fellow students. In her spare time, she read books from her grandmother’s shelves. Sometimes, with her grandmother, she went to the local library where she enjoyed immersing herself in a sea of magazines and books. Meanwhile, Agnes pored over various encyclopaedias, equipping herself with enough knowledge to answer Yezi’s many questions.
A month later, Yezi received a thick envelope from her parents, which had letters also from Yao and Jian. Her father’s case had been reviewed along with other branded “rightists” across the country; as a result of his rehabilitation, he would be allowed to return to Kunming at the beginning of the year. Her parents mentioned their appreciation for the Central Party’s new policy that would help them reconstruct their life. Puzzled by their attitudes, Yezi thought they should feel angry about how they had been mistreated and incarcerated as anti-revolutionaries. She wondered who should be blamed for all those wronged cases. Yezi was glad to know her mother was taking some Chinese traditional medicine for her headaches, and that it had reduced some of the pain. Yao’s letter, written by Jian, simply mentioned that she was content to hear about Yezi’s new adventures, and hoped she still remembered the Chinese language. Jian wrote briefly about her hectic life at junior high school, where everybody went crazy with their studies and competed to earn higher grades.
One day, in music class, a male teacher, Mr. Tice, played the piano while the students sang “All in the Golden Afternoon” from the movie, Alice in Wonderland. The movie had delighted Yezi when she watched it with her grandmother. And now she sang along: “Little bread and butterflies kiss the tulips / And the sun is like a toy balloon….”
Suddenly, Kevin, a skinny boy sitting next to her cried out, “Ouch!” Yezi tilted her head and noticed a taller and seemingly fearless boy named Aaron, stabbing Kevin in the back with a pen. She stared at the annoying Aaron, who smirked back at her.
The class, unaware of the attack in their midst, continued to sing: “There are dizzy daffodils on the hillside / Strings of violets are all in tune….”
Aaron flung his pen at Kevin, who jumped up from his seat. With his hands on his head, Kevin ran toward the front of the room. Yezi turned and glared at the attacker, her tone firm, “Stop it!” Aaron did not say anything but grabbed another pen and this time threw it at her. Yezi ducked, then picked up an eraser from her own case and tossed it in his face. She had fought with Tao. This boy did not frighten her much. A girl shrieked as Aaron jerked out of his seat and fell to the floor.
The singing halted, and the entire class fell silent. Mr. Tice walked over to Yezi. His eyes flashed behind his glasses. “What’s going on here?”
“Aaron bullied me!” skinny Kevin responded from a corner of the classroom.
“Aaron started it first,” reported a girl.
Another girl said, “Yezi hit Aaron with something.”
The teacher turned to Yezi. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I didn’t—” Gaping at the teacher’s thin moustache and shoulder-length hair, Yezi hesitated and wondered if she should express her true feelings; her grandmother had said that telling the truth was important. Finally she mumbled, “I can’t be quite sure if you’re a man or woman.”
Muffled giggles spread through the class.
Mr. Tice glanced at his watch. “Aaron, Yezi and Kevin, go to the principal’s office right now.” He returned to the piano and spread out his arms. “Let’s carry on.”
Since that incident, Yezi had become quite popular for daring to face up to Aaron, the class bully. Several students befriended her and some invited her to join in their games, checkers at lunch, dodge ball on the playground, and Dungeons & Dragons on the weekend.
Helen, a student from another class, approached Yezi during the afternoon break. Her spiky, red hair looked like porcupine’s quills. Helen begged Yezi for help with Chinese numbers. In exchange, she would help Yezi learn American songs and what was trendy.They began spending more and more time together and often strolled around the playground together.
One day, Yezi could not help but ask, “Can you tell me what your hair style is?”
“Punk. Do you like it?” Helen took Yezi’s hand, “You can touch it.”
Yezi pinched a stiff strand. “How does it stand up like that? It must be hard to do.”
“It’s easy. You use hair gel to hold it.”
“What does ‘punk’ mean?”
“New music and fashion. I like new things.”
“Aren’t you afraid of what people will say or think about you?”
“Why should I? This is a free country. You can do what you want as long as you don’t break the law.” Helen asked Yezi, “Hey, do you still remember that song I taught you?”
“The one by the Free Rocks?” asked Yezi. “Yes! Listen!” She began chanting, “I’ve got a mind of my own / I’m listening to no one…”
Helen joined in, “I wanna laugh out loud / Oh, yeah. I’m not afraid of Mao.”
“I was afraid of Mao!” Yezi giggled. She asked Helen how the Free Rocks knew about Mao. Helen said punk musicians knew everything.
One Friday, at lunchtime, Helen pulled Yezi aside. “Do you have any plans for after school?”
“No. Why?”
“Let’s go to Chinatown!” Helen exclaimed. “Let’s find a Kung Fu man.”
“What’s a Kung Fu man?? And why do you need to find one?”
“Have you heard of Bruce Lee?”
“No.” Yezi shook her head. “What about him?”
“He’s a great Kung Fu man. I want to learn Kung Fu and jump on walls, just like he does. You need to see one of his movies.” Helen leaped up and down, her spiked up hair glinting in the sun.
“Once I saw people break bricks with their hands.” Yezi mimicked Helen, her skirt swinging back and forth as she too leapt up and down. “Okay, let’s go find a Kung Fu man, but I must phone my grandmother first.” Yezi had ten dollars tucked into her pocket that her grandmother had given for emergencies. She thought it would be more than enough for this unexpected after school trip.
When classes ended, they got on the bus that headed downtown, and then boarded the subway. They sat close together, knapsacks on their laps, staring at the crowds that got on and off. Half an hour later, they were in Chinatown. Helen told Yezi that Boston Common, the park, was near Chinatown. Her parents used to take her to play there. She would point it out to Yezi. From the subway station, Helen led Yezi through the bustling Tremont Street and turned left into Oak Street. A Chinese archway rose above them. People strolled under it; a number of children played around it.
Helen pointed to the top of the archway. “Can you read those words?”
“Sure,” Yezi gazed at the characters. �
��Li, Yi, Lian and Chi.”
“What do they mean?”
Clasping her hands together and wrinkling her brow, Yezi tried to translate their meaning. She was about to answer Helen’s question when an elderly Chinese man beside them came to her rescue. “They mean courtesy, good manners, justice and uprightness.”
“Thank you,” Helen said. As she walked to the back of the archway, she gazed up at the characters on the other side. “What about those words?”
The old man answered, “Serve the world as your duty.”
“It sounds like something President George Washington once said,” replied Helen.
“It’s a saying of Sun Yat-sen!” The elderly man stroked his chin, his face lighting up. “He was the president of the Republic of China.”
Both of the girls giggled and thanked him for his help. Then, Yezi noticed a person sitting cross-legged at the foot of the archway. A tin can with some change inside it lay in front of the man, whose eyes wandered aimlessly around the street. A beggar? Eyes widening, Yezi was surprised to find that poor people also lived in the United States.
Helen fished two quarters out of her pocket and dropped them into the can. The clink drew the homeless person’s eyes back from their roaming. “Thank you, Miss.”