The Long March Home

by Zoë S. Roy

  27.

  AN ENDLESS OCEAN APART

  AFTER SUPPER THE FOLLOWING DAY, Yezi rushed back to her bedroom and immersed herself once again in her grandmother’s diaries. She travelled back with her grandmother to Wolfville, Nova Scotia, August 25, 1926.

  The bus finally pulled over in town this afternoon. Agnes was both physically and emotionally exhausted. Everything looked the same, but she knew she had changed a lot these past months. A young girl at the station recognized her. “You back from China? Let me help you.” She took one of Agnes’s travel bags and walked with her back to her parents’ house.

  Agnes’s mother was hanging the laundry on the clothesline in the back yard. The bed sheets and towels fluttered in the air when the sea breezes slapped them. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Agnes’s mother flicked a shirt with her fingers and cocked her head; she seemed to hear their approaching steps. She ran to the front and pulled Agnes tightly into her arms before Agnes could call out to her.

  Agnes could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but she didn’t cry; her mother did, though. The sun shining on her wet face made her mother’s cheeks glow. She let her mother hold her, then walk her slowly into the house. She was home.

  Agnes’s mother pampered her and Agnes gradually recuperated from the long, draining journey. China was a faraway place; everything that happened there seemed to have turned into a secret dream. But an unexpected reality suddenly hit her one morning: she felt seasick as she walked into the kitchen. Momentarily confused, she looked around the kitchen, recognizing the door and kitchen walls, but the rolling waves of the sea were still washing over her. Her father was sitting at the kitchen table and her mother had just served him fresh milk from a porcelain jug.

  “Good morning,” Agnes said, as she carefully sat down, but the smell of the milk made her feel even queasier.

  “Do you want some breakfast?” her mother asked, placing a plate of toasted bread on the oak table.

  Agnes took a deep breath. “No, thanks. I feel dizzy.” She shook her head. “I think I’ll go back to bed.”

  Her father’s concerned eyes followed her as she left the room. “She seems to have lost her spirit in China.” He rose and picked up his black briefcase. “I’m going to the clinic.”

  The next morning, Agnes felt the same. The nausea hit her in waves as she made her way gingerly to the kitchen. She was suddenly stunned by a thought: Am I pregnant? She sat down, her legs trembling slightly. She placed her hands on her belly, and stroked it, allowing herself to feel the wonder of the possibility that a new life might be growing inside her. She didn’t know whether to feel great joy or deep sorrow. It distressed that she could not share the news with Mei, that they would not be able to raise their child together. She made her way back to her room, lay back on the bed and wept.

  Her mother knocked on the door. “Agnes, there’s some mail for you from China.”

  Agnes jumped out of bed, ran to the door and took the letter from her mother’s hand. Recognizing Mei’s handwriting made her heart flip. She could not hide the delight she felt.

  Her mother noticed the change on Agnes’s face. “Who is the letter from?”

  “My tutor!” She tore open the envelope, which had been mailed from Wuhan City, Hubei Province.

  August 7, 1926

  Dear Agnes,

  Since your departure, I’ve sometimes regretted that I didn’t ask you to stay. I miss you so much, but maybe it’s God’s will that you had to leave. The situation here worsened after the June 7 incident, although the murderer was caught and executed. Since then, a number of violent riots have disrupted the city. Most of the missionaries are leaving the West China Mission, and my university is facing closure.

  Even if I can graduate next year, I don’t know whether I’ll be able to practice medicine when a war seems inevitable. It seems the Northern Expedition will end the warlord era and establish a unique country. China is in evolution. People need a better life. I think joining the Expedition is my best chance at serving the cause of the social gospel.

  I’ll never forget those precious days we spent together. And now ranges of mountains and endless waters separate us. I wish we could see each other again.

  I have resigned myself to the notion that I can’t do anything about it. I will pray for you. And I will love you always.

  Yours, Mei.

  Agnes sighed and walked over to the window. The weeds at the shore waved in the breeze, the ocean ripples merging with the sky’s large, gray clouds, making it difficult to distinguish the bay from sky. She wondered what she would do. It seemed fortuitous somehow to have received a letter from Mei just as she had discovered she was pregnant. But having a baby as a single woman, let alone a baby fathered by a Chinese man, would be considered unacceptable, and scandalous, in her Christian family and society. She would have to make some hard choices.

  Several days later, Agnes helped her mother set the table, and the family sat down to boiled corn and a roast ham for supper. Agnes told her parents that she had decided to move to Boston to find a job. “I won’t stop you,” her father said, sighing, “although I’d like you to stay.” A descendant of a loyalist family, her father preferred to keep his family roots in Canada.

  Agnes did not say anything more, but, on the same day, she sent a telegraph to her Aunt Joanne telling her she would be leaving for Boston the next week. She wrote a letter to Mei as well. She wanted him to know about the baby. Aware that Mei was on the expedition to Beijing, and not knowing where else to send the letter, Agnes decided to mail it to Mei’s parents in Chongqing.

  Agnes found a part-time job as a nurse at a busy clinic in Boston. In early May, 1927, she gave birth to a baby girl. She named her Mayflora.

  That was the last page of the diaries, which took Yezi a few days to read through. On the very last page, Agnes had glued her copy of the photograph of the two of them at the summit of Mount Emei. Yezi let her fingers run gently over the photograph. They looked so happy. Reluctantly, she closed the book, but she still had questions: Why didn't Grandma ever get a letter back from Mei? Did he ever receive her letter? She remembered what her father had written to her in his last letter a week ago.

  Lon had met with Ling after her return from Chengdu, but she had not discovered any further information about Mei. Ling had said that the woman called Mei and her husband had apparently gone to visit relatives in Hong Kong and that they planned to remain in Japan for several months.

  Eager to get to the bottom of her questions, Yezi ran down to the living room. Agnes was easing back on the couch after a day of her volunteer work as the treasurer of the church. A stack of files rested on the table. “Grandma, are you okay?”

  Agnes turned her head, “I’m fine, dear.” She looked tired, but her face gleamed when she saw Yezi with the diaries in her hand. “How did you like them?”

  Yezi wrapped her arm around her grandmother’s neck and kissed her cheek. “I liked reading them very much, Grandma. It’s the greatest stuff I’ve ever read. I wish that you had continued writing in the journals.”

  “I didn’t keep writing after your mother’s birth. I don’t know why. You can ask me anything you want to know.” Agnes took the books and stroked the aged covers and engraved letters. “I hope you understand my experience.”

  “I think so,” Yezi hesitated. “Why didn’t you think of marrying Mei at that time?”

  “I would have if I could’ve stayed in China or if he could’ve followed me here.” Agnes simplified her explanation for Yezi. “But under the circumstances, I just didn’t have time to work out a solution or make any decisions. Everything happened too suddenly.”

  “But why did the mission send you back to Canada?”

  “At one time I was very angry with the mission for sending me back, but they had very firm rules. Relationships between people of different
races were frowned upon at that time. And the mission was concerned that those kinds of relationships would interfere with the goals of their mission. I had to obey their rules, so I had no choice but to give up my position. It was a very painful thing for me to do. Without the benefit of being under their wing in China, the only thing option left to me was to return to China as a non-missionary. Then I would have been free to join Mei. But then I discovered I was pregnant and I couldn’t take the rist of travelling pregnant and alone.”

  “Your parents, my great-grandparents, were not happy about your having the baby, weren’t they?”

  “That’s true, but I can’t blame them. A single mother, at that time, was considered a sin, and shameful, especially if she had a baby of mixed race.” Agnes motioned for Yezi to join her on the couch. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes. There are offensive words that refer to people of mixed races.” Yezi thought of a few she had heard. “Words like ‘mongrel’ and ‘bastard’….”

  Agnes scowled. “They’re swear words.”

  “Was my mother abused with these words?”

  “Not really. I don’t think so.” Agnes’s mind returned to an incident that occurred in 1937.

  Ten-year-old Mayflora was playing with two-year-old Dora on the living room carpet. “Sit still, my baby.” She placed a small hand mirror into Dora’s hand. “I am going to comb your hair.” Dora took the mirror and looked into it. Flora ran a comb lightly through Dora’s hair and then tied a bright blue ribbon around it. “Mom, why is Dora’s hair red but mine isn’t?”

  Agnes’s foot hung over the treadle of a sewing machine.The spinning wheel stopped turning as she thought how best to answer. She looked tenderly at Flora and then said thoughtfully, “Dora looks like Daddy, but you look like me.”

  “Really?” Flora held Dora in her arms and cradled her little sister’s head against her own. Dora giggled and then squirmed in Flora’s arms. “My eyes are smaller than Dora’s. One of my classmates calls me ‘China Girl,’ and calls Susan ‘Africa Girl.’ Do I look Chinese?”

  Startled by the question, Agnes remained silent. She and her husband, Jensen, had discussed this before and resolved to keep information about Flora’s birth father a secret for as long as possible so as to avoid any disturbance to Flora’s life and happiness. Agnes got onto the floor and sat with her daughters, wrapping her arms around them. “Does Susan look African?”

  Flora shook her head. “She has a nice suntan, that’s all.”

  The door opened just then. It was Jensen returning home after work. “Hello everyone! I’ve got potatoes and steaks for dinner.” He placed a paper bag on the kitchen table and walked over to where they were sitting.

  “Daddy!” The two girls opened their arms; Jensen kneeled to kiss them one by one.

  “What’s new?” he asked. “Who has a suntan?”

  “Susan,” Flora giggled. “I wish I had a suntan. Do I look Chinese?”

  “Hmm,” Jenson hesitated. “Yes, a little bit. Do you feel bad about that?” He sat on the floor beside her and watched her face.

  “No. But I don’t like it when the girl at school calls me that.”

  “Tell her you are American!” Jensen gave her a big hug. “In America, people are from many different cultures and races. This is our nation. Together, we’re Americans.”

  “Okay, I will.” Flora jumped up from the carpet. “Mom, I’m hungry. Are we going to have steaks? Hurray!”

  “Hurray!” Dora’s arms jerked in the air.

  Yezi gently stroked Agnes’s arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh yes. Your mother didn’t face any problem regarding her mixed racial background. Maybe because of the war, people dealing with many more stressful situations. Maybe because she didn’t really know about her background. How about you? Any problems?”

  “Not really. Helen became my friend because she wanted to learn numbers in Chinese. But sometimes I feel embarrassed when I have no clue about the music or games my friends are talking about.”

  “You can learn if you’re interested. But you don’t need to learn everything others know. Everybody is unique. You have your own personality and interests. You have your own strengths.”

  “What are they?”

  “You know two languages. You have cross-cultural experiences. Besides, you’re bright and beautiful like your mother.”

  “Thank you. Sometimes I think you understand me better than my father.”

  “He’s just worried about you. Having gone through many troubles in his own life, he’s afraid you might lose your direction. He and your mother both hated that they didn’t have the chance to be with you more when you were a little girl.”

  “Sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m Chinese or American.” Yezi recalled the incident in the first grade, during which she had proclaimed “I’m Chinese!” She had changed a lot during these two years in Boston with her grandmother. Who am I? she wondered. “Did my mother have the same problem?”

  “She didn’t know about her birth father until she was fourteen. Then she became interested in everything Chinese, and she started to learn the language.” Agnes told Yezi how Mayflora kept asking questions about her father after she saw the photograph of Agnes and Mei taken at Mount Emei. “Your mother read as many books as she could to find about China and she learned a lot.”

  Agnes told Yezi about one of Pearl Buck’s novels, East Wind: West Wind. The protagonist, a Chinese woman named Kwei-lan, had been betrothed to a Chinese man before her birth. The man, who had been trained as a doctor in the States, objected to foot binding. Finally he fell in love with Kwei-lan when she asked him to unbind her feet. “Your mother played the part of Kwei-lan when her drama teacher organized a play adapted from the novel.”

  “Was she a good actress?”

  “She certainly was,” replied Agnes with pride. “The teacher asked me to be their consultant when she learned I’d been to China.”

  Yezi pictured her mother in a long black gown, her single, waist-length braid swinging lightly against her back. On stage, Mayflora looked up into the sky and proclaimed, “I’ve stood up as a new woman! Unbound, my feet no longer hurt. Thanks to God the Supreme, my soul has been liberated from the shackles of a thousand years.” Mayflora’s eyes would have flashed with joy, just as if she had turned into the Chinese woman she was imitating. Yezi imagined how much her mother must have enjoyed playing the main character in East Wind: West Wind.

  “During the war, the life was stressful,” Agnes continued. ‘Your grandfather was in the army. I had a part-time job and then took care of your mother and aunt Dora. There was less food. Sugar, meat and canned food were rationed, but we managed,” said Agnes.

  Yezi said in an admiring tone, “I didn’t know my mother could act.”

  “You know, your mother had many talents. She won second prize in an Irish step dancing contest. She made many friends. Susan was her best friend even after she revealed her Chinese background. And then, to your mother’s surprise, Susan revealed that she had a black great-grandmother. They were friends for many, many years. One New Year’s Eve, their resolution was to go to university.”

  “Did they go to university together?”

  “They went to different universities. Your mother majored in Fine Arts. Susan studied American History.”

  “What does Susan do now?”

  “Sadly, I lost touch with her after your mother left for China.” An idea dawned on Agnes. “But you know what? I have some of your mother’s old letters. I’ll find them for you.”

  “Great! I want to learn more about her.”

  Agnes glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s after 10:30. You should go to bed. We’ll find the letters tomorrow.”

  Yezi bounced from the chair. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

  “Why?”

&nbs
p; “It’s an engagement!” Noticing her grandmother’s astonishment, Yezi made a face. “Anyhow, it’s a secret.”

  “What secret?” Agnes eyed her.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not mine,” Yezi added as she hurried into the bathroom.

  Agnes drew a breath and simply said, “Good night.”

  28.

  THE LONG MARCH HOME

  AT THE END OF LAST class on the following day, Yezi stuffed her books and pencil case into her knapsack. Angela, in a seat several aisles behind her, called to Yezi, waving her hand. “Helen is at the door.”

  Angela and Yezi hurried out the door and into the hallway where Helen was pacing. She looked shorter, as she no longer wore her hair spiked up, but now let it hang loosely over her shoulders under a purple headband. “Let’s get cracking. My mom’s waiting.” She motioned to Yezi and Angela to follow, and rushed outside to a waiting car at the curb.

  Helen’s mother dropped the three girls off in front of Angela’s home, a mansion on Ivy Street. Angela led Yezi and Helen through a tree-canopied garden and up the stone steps to the front door. She fished out a chain from around her neck; at the end of it, was a key. She pulled the chain off, and opened the door. “Come on in,” she said, waving her arm with a flourish.

  The living room was covered with a thick, soft, scarlet carpet. Two crystal chandeliers suspending from the ceiling twinkled in the sunlight coming through the windows. A grand chesterfield lay in the centre of the room, flanked by two armchairs like guards. Helen plopped in one of them, her head perched on one arm and her legs on the other. She called the position Mom’s Cradle. Yezi enjoyed sitting in a corner of the chesterfield. Her hand brushed the black leather of the chair’s arm next to her. It gave her the feeling that she had become a baby again, stroking Yao’s arm before falling asleep.