The Long March Home

by Zoë S. Roy

  Yezi squatted beside the man. “Where is your home?”

  “I don’t have one any more.” The man shook his head, his scraggly brown beard hiding the shy smile behind it.

  “Why not?” She gazed at him with concern. To her, everybody had a home, even it was a tiny cluttered shelter that housed many family members.

  “I lost it,” the man said, looking away.

  Yezi placed a dollar in the can. “Will you get it back someday?”

  “Don’t know.” The homeless man tapped on the can with his fingers. “God bless you.”

  Yezi was touched by his words. Those words had always made her feel better. I was lucky to have Popo Yao when my folks were sent away from us. Yezi stood up and ran to catch up with Helen. Turning left onto Hudson Street, they peered into all the shop windows they passed, but did not spot anyone resembling a Kung Fu man. Many people streamed in and out of the stores, shopping bags dangling from their hands, looked like they might be Chinese. Yezi strained to hear what they were saying, but she could not understand most of them. They were not speaking in the Kunming dialect or Mandarin. Yezi and Helen strolled along several other streets in Chinatown, but still did not discover a single sign related to Kung Fu. Instead, the different aromas wafting from the restaurants and the inviting pictures of mouth-watering dishes advertised in their windows made them suddenly realize how hungry they were. They decided to get something to eat and entered a cozy diner. Yezi ordered rice noodles in chicken soup. Helen asked for fried rice with beef.

  Satisfied after their meal, they entered a nearby jewellery store. Jade-coloured stones, amber-like bracelets, luminous earrings and glassy necklaces glistened under the store’s harsh, interior light. Helen could not believe her eyes when she saw the prices. “They’re so cheap,” she told Yezi, who had no clue about jewellery or its prices. Fingering the smooth surfaces of the elegant items, Yezi eyed their glimmering colours and delicate shapes, but did not know what to buy. Finally, Helen purchased a silvery bracelet and green necklace for $1.98. Under Helen’s suggestion, Yezi selected a stone with the picture of a horse, her zodiac sign, and a glass paperweight for her grandmother, for which she also paid $1.98.

  The two girls continued to amble down the sidewalks under the light of lampposts. At a store window they paused to watch some colourful tropical fish swimming lazily in a big tank. Yezi noticed a man reflected in the glass; she had seen the same man somewhere before. She suddenly felt uneasy. She tugged at a corner of Helen’s blouse. “I think that guy in the black T-shirt is following us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I remember now. I saw him when we went into the jewellery store. He came into the store after us. Now he’s hanging around at the corner.” Yao’s anxious warnings about being kidnapped came to Yezi’s mind.

  “Let’s find a crowded restaurant and lose him there,” Helen said, taking Yezi’s hand in hers.

  They rushed across the road and merged into a crowd in front of Penang, a Chinese-Malaysian chophouse on Washington Street. When Yezi turned her head, her eyes sweeping the street, she spotted the same man crossing the road. “He’s still after us,” her voice quavered. In a panic, she dragged Helen into the dining hall, and they headed upstairs.

  On the second floor, they reached a spacious room crowded with diners around the tables. Their loud conversations bounced off the walls as light blended with the hazy steam of hot dishes. A waitress guided them to a corner table for two and handed them menus. Yezi took a deep breath as she scanned the menu; most of the dishes cost more than $2 each. She did not have much left from her emergency money. Turning to the dessert page, she pointed to the Egg Tart. “This one, please.” Helen ordered a cup of iced tea. The waitress stared at them with a twisted mouth. “That’s all?” They bobbed their heads and looked knowingly at one another.

  Though momentarily at ease, they still faced the problem of how to return home safely since they did not have enough money to take a taxi. Helen decided that the only thing to do was to ask her parents for help and went to a phone booth to call them.

  Helen returned to the table where their orders sat and leaned toward Yezi. “My dad’s coming to pick us up.” It was hard to hear because of the buzzing conversations around them.

  Yezi raised her voice. “What should we do if the guy comes in here?”

  “We’ll call the police.” Helen’s firm voice helped Yezi relax, but she still craned her neck every few moments to check the entrance of the restaurant, in case their stalker attempted to sneak in. It was 9:00 p.m. when Helen’s father arrived at the restaurant to take them home. Yezi was not accustomed to being out this late. It was now dark out. At the door, Yezi peered anxiously up and down the street to see if the man might still be loitering around. The breeze had turned chilly, and the street had emptied. There were only a few pedestrians hurrying away. Yezi was not curious about Chinatown any more.

  Yezi was relieved when she finally got home. Her grandmother was waiting for her in the living room. Book in hand, Agnes sat in an armchair, reading under the table lamp. Swallowing hard, Yezi felt guilty. “Grandma!”

  Agnes laid the book on the end table. “You’re back finally.” Then she lifted the telephone and dialled a number. “Nancy, she’s back. Thanks for waiting.” It panged Yezi to see the worry in her grandmother’s eyes.

  “Sorry to keep you up so late.” Yezi took the paperweight out of her pocket as she ran toward Agnes, her heart pounding. “This is for you.”

  Agnes reached up, took the glass ball and admired the shiny fish and water weeds at its the centre. “I got your message, Yezi, but I really didn’t expect you to stay out so late.” There was a slight tremor in Agnes’s hands, her voice soft but firm. “If you hadn’t shown up by ten, my friends and I would have gone to Chinatown to search for you.”

  Agnes talked to her about several cases of missing children and teenagers she had read about in the newspaper, and stressed how important it was that she be careful, and that Agnes always know where she was, and who she was with. “Once you realized that it had gotten late,” Agnes said, “you should have phoned me to let me know where you were and when you’d be home.”

  The shadowy image of the man in the black T-shirt that had followed them flashed through Yezi’s mind and made her shiver. Yezi told her grandmother about her afternoon and evening, but skipped the episode of being followed to avoid worrying her grandmother any further. The adventure in Chinatown was over. Yezi promised her grandmother that she would always phone to let her know where she was and if she was going to be late.

  22.

  A SKELETON FOR CHRISTMAS

  TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, AGNES opened a box of decorations that she had brought down from the attic. Yezi helped her pick a spruce tree from the local market, which they brought home and set up in the living room. Together, they opened the box of decorations and pulled out all the ornaments that Agnes had collected over the years.

  Picking out a tiny human figure from a box, Yezi exclaimed, “Oh, I like this one best!”

  “That drummer was your mother’s favourite, too,” Agnes said, as she turned toward Yezi. “Did she tell you about it?”

  “Never. Mama never said anything about Christmas.” Yezi’s fingertips ran over the miniature ornament. “But once I read a story called ‘A Little Match Girl.’”

  “Was it in English?”

  “No. I borrowed a Chinese version from Jian. I didn’t know I had a Grandma then. Now I’m with you for Christmas!” She smiled gleefully as she wrapped herself around her grandmother’s arm.

  “Wait a second.” Agnes hurried back to her room and returned with another box. Removing the cover, she carefully sorted out several postcards and displayed them on the table. “Tell me which one you like the best.”

  Yezi carefully examined all the postcards. They were all of paintings in
different galleries. She singled out one that had an image of a man, his own hands squeezing the sides of his face: “Scream” by Edvard Munch. “This one for sure,” she said, holding the card up to the light so that she could examine it in more detail. Yezi wondered why she enjoyed that painting in particular. The man’s gawking eyes and gaping mouth are funny. Maybe I like the dark running river. Maybe I like the floating red-orange clouds.

  “You are your mother’s daughter!” Agnes chuckled. “You didn’t even spend enough time with her to—” She paused suddenly, her eyes misting over.

  “Did Mama like that picture, too?”

  “Yes, honey, she did. You are like two peas in a pod.” She turned back toward the tree, and the box of ornaments, to hide the tears threatening to spill.

  As she placed another ornament on the tree, she added, “By the way, your Aunt Dora and her family will also be here with us on Christmas.”

  “That’s awesome,” Yezi said, proud of the new words in English she had learned from her friends over the past months. Dora was Meihua’s half-sister. Her mother had only mentioned her once, but Agnes had shown Yezi photographs of Dora with her husband and two children after she’d arrived in Boston. “How long does it take them to get here from Maine?”

  “Six or seven hours.”

  Yezi was thoughtful for a moment. Thinking about meeting her mother’s sister led her to think about her grandfather, Mei, her mother’s birth father.

  “Grandma, can you tell me about my grandfather?”

  “Which one?”

  “My mother’s father. In China. The one who disappeared. The one my mother hasn’t been able to find.”

  Gazing into the distance, Agnes answered slowly, “When you grow a little bit older, I’ll let you read my journals. I wrote in them while I was in China. That was more than fifty years ago.”

  “Your diary’s older than Mama!” Yezi exclaimed.

  Agnes muttered with a softened voice, “Yes, it’s my very old secret.”

  On the last day before the Christmas break, Yezi and Helen sauntered around the neighbourhood to admire the festive decorations. Yezi loved the twinkling, multicoloured lights on all the trees, the displays of reindeer pulling Santa’s sleighs; the red, pink and cream-coloured poinsettias that dotted porches; and the nativity scene: baby Jesus nestled in a crib, his mother, Mary, kneeling by him, her gaze lovingly fixed on her child. Yezi had never seen anything like this. The colourful lights and decorations were like splashes of colour painted on the glittering white snow that blanketed the streets and the gardens in her neighbourhood. Yezi could hear music drifting through the lit houses on her grandmother’s street. Of all the Christmas carols she had learned, Yezi cherished “The Twelve Days of Christmas” the most. Joining Helen, she would hum along, “Twelve lords a-leaping, eleven ladies dancing, ten pipers piping…” until she had to pause for breath.

  Finally they wished each other happy holidays and headed home.

  Aunt Dora and her family arrived on Christmas Eve. Dora hugged Agnes, and then Yezi. “You really look like Flora. Does your mom’s Chinese name mean ‘Mayflora?’”

  “Her name has a double meaning,” Yezi explained. “Mei in Chinese can mean ‘beautiful’ or ‘America.’ ‘Hua’ sounds like the word for ‘flower’ and is also the word for ‘China.’ So Mama’s name means either ‘beautiful flower’ or ‘America and China.’”

  Aunt Dora was amazed. “My God. Chinese is such a complicated language. What does ‘Yezi’ mean?”

  “Leaf,” Yezi said.

  “The daughter is a leaf. The mom is a flower.” Aunt Dora laughed.

  Uncle Marvin shook hands with Yezi. “I know two words: ni hao, which I think means ‘how do you do’? Is that right?” He edged a child of nine forward and introduced him to Yezi. “This is our son, Ralph.”

  Yezi led Ralph to the couch and brought several picture books over to show him. “Where’s your sister?”

  “She went to visit her boyfriend’s family,” answered Ralph, staring at Yezi. “She’s older than me, so my parents let her go.” He looked puzzled. “You don’t look Chinese.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t have slanted eyes,” the boy raised his voice.

  Yezi chuckled. “I’ve only seen slanted-eyed Chinese people in ancient stories.” Disappointed, Ralph made a face.

  Everybody went to midnight mass that evening. A fresh layer of snow covered the church steps when they left the service.

  On Christmas day, the family spent the morning opening the gifts under the Christmas tree. Yezi opened more presents than ever before in her life. Her hands were busy untying shiny ribbons and tearing off colourful wrapping paper. Yezi received a sweater with a deer pattern, a tan suede skirt, a pink scarf with matching gloves, tapes of popular music, and several books. One box wrapped in glimmering green paper came from Ralph, but he asked her not to open it until later. Everybody thanked Yezi for her gifts. She was delighted that they liked her gifts. She had ordered something for each of them from one of her favourite mail-order catalogues. For a moment, she wondered what her parents were doing. It saddened her that Christmas was not celebrated in China. It’s their Tuesday evening now. My parents should be at home. Sang may be in class at his university. What is Popo Yao doing? Dozing in front of the TV? Yezi sighed. She would have liked to share this day with them.

  Yezi enjoyed the roast turkey with cranberry sauce, and the mashed potatoes and gravy they feasted on for Christmas dinner. The steamed turnips, roasted sweet potatoes and blanched beans were not as inviting but once she tasted them, she thought they were perfect.

  When the adults settled to watch television that evening, it came time for Yezi to open Ralph’s gift. She removed the shiny green wrapping paper and uncovered a rectangular box that featured a hand-painted a skull on the lid. Ralph grinned at her.

  Eager to know what was in the box, Yezi quickly lifted the lid. Inside was something shaped like a human figure. Is it a doll? Peeling away the white tissue paper, Yezi caught sight of the skull of a mini skeleton; it had two deep, dark holes for eyes and shiny white teeth in its large mouth. Shocked, she dropped the skeleton on the coffee table.

  Ralph laughed and picked it up. He waved it in front of her face, making the skeleton perform a funny dance. “It’s my favourite,”he said as he passed it to Yezi. “Hold it. You’ll get to like it. I’ve heard the Chinese have lots of ghost stories.”

  Ashamed of showing her fear, Yezi smiled. Gingerly cradling the skeleton in one of her arms, she asked politely, “How do you know the Chinese have ghost stories?”

  “I’ve read some.” Tilting his head, Ralph smirked. “Can you tell me one?”

  “Do American kids like skeletons?” Yezi asked. When she pinched the skeleton’s ribs, she could tell it was made of plastic.

  “I don’t know. But I like them.” Ralph lowered his voice, “Guess what I want most.” Before Yezi could respond, he said, “I want my dad’s skull!”

  “What?” Yezi gasped, not sure whether she had heard him correctly. “How?”

  “I’ll keep it after he dies. That’s it.”

  “Why?” She stared at his face to see whether he was joking.

  Ralph laughed hysterically. “What do you like best?” he asked.

  Yezi shook her head. “I’m not sure.” She thanked Ralph for his surprising gift and asked him to tell her one of the Chinese ghost stories that he had read. Ralph’s story was about twelve-year-old Bocai, who worked as a maid for Furen, and his wife, Pangpo. She had to scrub the floor, clean the tables, chairs and dishes, and do the family’s laundry every day, but the couple never gave her enough food to eat. So, Bocai got sick and died. After she died, Furen and Pangpo started hearing a little girl crying in their bedroom each midnight, but they had found no one. Night after night, the girl’s cries ke
pt them awake. Finally, Pangpo figured out it was Bocai’s ghost, so she placed a plate full of fruit at the door of their bedroom every day. After that the couple finally got some peace and quiet.

  In exchange, Yezi told him about Yuanmou Man and how she dug for his bones on her visit to Popo Yao’s village. Thinking about Popo Yao made her throat tighten. She suddenly realized how much she missed her, and how she longed to sit next to her and eat some of her noodles.

  Ralph was intrigued by Yuanmou Man and asked her many questions about them. “I’ll go there digging with you if you still want to do it,” Ralph said.

  Aunt Dora and her family returned home the following day. They invited Agnes and Yezi to visit them. Dora wanted Yezi to meet Ralph’s sister, Brenda. Agnes promised that they would visit sometime soon.

  Every year, Agnes celebrated New Year’s Eve at the community centre. On the last day of 1979, she spent hours cooking her version of Boston’s famous clam chowder. In the late afternoon, she and Yezi took the large pot of soup to the potluck that was being held at the centre. When they entered the hall, they were greeted by a large banner hanging over the stage that read, “Happy New Year!” A band was playing onstage, filling the hall with joyful music. Yezi’s feet began moving with the rhythm of the music as her eyes lingered on the rainbow coloured streamers that criss-crossed the ceiling, and the bunches of red and green balloons that bobbed lazily from the chairs and tables that filled the room. They approached a row of tables set with prepared dishes. Agnes laid her pot of clam chowder among them. An elderly woman dressed in red came over to greet them and asked, “Is this your granddaughter, Agnes? From China?”

  Agnes nodded and turned to Yezi, “This is my old friend, Nancy. She’s also your mother’s godmother.”

  Yezi shyly greeted the woman, wondering if she had been close to her mother.

  Nancy said, “It’s nice that you are here with your grandmother. Enjoy the party.”