Butterfly Tears

by Zoë S. Roy

“Landowner’s doggy, shut up!” roared back a boy.

  One girl attempted to judge the situation. “Weidong, you’re to blame because you started it first.”

  “You evil girl! You stinking capitalist! Go back to Shanghai!” taunted the boy with his arms up in the air.

  “A triumph! Dahan! Fight against landowners and anti-revolutionaries until the end!” Another boy supported his friend by shaping a mud ball and throwing it toward the girl who had defended Suyun.

  “Chairman Mao teaches us, ‘If you do not beat down all reactionaries, they will not fall.’ Beat them down!” Several boys and girls recited Mao’s words, urging the boys on.

  Another five or six clumps of mud flew toward Suyun and the other girl. Some missed their targets and hit the wrong person. Then those who had been hit joined in the turmoil of clay: wet earth flew in all directions. Cheers, curses, and sobs drifted through the limbs of the birch trees that circled the playground.

  The school principal, a middle-aged man with a straw hat, unexpectedly appeared in the middle of the warfare. “Girls and boys! Stop fighting!” A few lumps of the clay still flew, seeking their targets. The principal shouted, “Chairman Mao … he has passed away!”

  The fighters froze and the mudslinging stopped suddenly. Children turned to the principal, their mud-streaked faces confused and frightened. Terrified, Suyun thought. Wasn’t he supposed to live forever? What do we do now without Chairman Mao?

  ***

  Staring at her father’s letter, Suyun wondered whether it might be possible to find her missing uncle via the Internet.

  Exhilarated by the idea, she wrote a message using the five “Ws” formula—“who, what, where, when, and why.” Then she pulled up some online newsgroups – Chinese Newsgroup, Chinese Culture group, Taiwan News, and Politics of Hong Kong – and she posted her message to these groups with hope.

  Days went by and no message appeared. Her hope shrank. Perhaps it had been foolish to think she could actually find him this way.

  She had given up hope completely when one day, in the computer lab, she checked her e-mail and found a message from

  Sito@msc.uchicago.ed

  Re: Seeking A Family Member

  Sito? The name surprised her. The sender was from the University of Chicago. Oh, yes, it must be Sheng Sito! She recalled her visit to Chicago the year before.

  ***

  She waited at Number 895 of a two-storey brick house. When the door opened, a young man with a brush cut stretched out his head and asked, “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “I’m Xiaoyan’s friend from Canada.”

  “Oh. She’s not back yet. Come on in and have a seat,” said the man.

  Suyun thanked him and entered. She followed him into the living room and made herself comfortable on the couch.

  “How did you get here, by taxi?”

  “No. I took the subway and then two buses.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “You are bold! I’ve lived here for eleven years, and have never dared to take the subway alone. I’m too afraid of robbers.” He shook his head and grinned at her, incredulous.

  “Robbers? Are you serious? I seldom hear about any robberies in St. John’s.”

  “You country girl. Take a walk around the University of Chicago in the evening and you will find one in no time! And if you can’t find any, I’ll fetch one for you.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Suyun thought he was teasing her. He reminded her of someone, but she could not put her finger on whom. Who does he resemble? “Are you Taiwanese?” she asked.

  “Why do you think I might be Taiwanese?”

  “Well, you seem to have the same sense of loneliness and also the expectation that people from that island have.”

  “You have a sharp tongue, like the well-known Taiwanese journalist, Yingtai Long. She is an acute observer.”

  “After two years in Newfoundland, I’ve learned a lot about living on an island. Of course, an island in the Atlantic is not as hot as one in the Pacific.”

  “Ha! A genuine islander meets a fake one.”

  Suyun laughed. They shared the same kind of straightforward attitude when speaking.

  “Hey!” Suyun’s friend rushed into the living room, breathless but smiling. She embraced Suyun, and then stepped back to make the introductions. “Sheng, this is my former classmate, Suyun; and Suyun, this is my housemate, Sheng Sito.”

  “We have been getting to know each other,” Suyun and Sheng smiled, answering in unison.

  After a pleasant week’s visit, Suyun left Chicago and returned to Newfoundland.

  ***

  She was right. The message was from Sheng.

  Dear Suyun Ren,

  I read your posting. We met in Chicago last year. I was very surprised to read your post. My father is Xianlin Ren. That would make him your uncle! And us cousins if we can find more evidence.

  I phoned my father who promised to send me a letter about his family history. If we are family though, I don’t understand why you are from Xinjiang Province (you mentioned it when you were here). My father is from Guangdong Province. Hope you can tell me more about your family.

  By the way, my surname is after my mother.

  Hope things are fine with you.

  My best,

  Sheng Sito

  The words on the screen seemed to jump up and down in front of Suyun’s eyes. She responded immediately.

  June 25, 1996

  Dear Sheng,

  It’s incredible to get in touch with you via the Internet. What you said in your message astounds me.

  My father was born in Sichuan Province, and I, in Xinjiang Province. I don’t know if his province of origin is Guangdong. I’ll ask him. Father never mentioned his family to me in the past. I didn’t know anything about the death of my grandparents or my uncle’s disappearance until two weeks ago. My grandfather is Shenyu Ren (I have to ask my father about my grandmother’s name). You could ask your father if your grandfather has the same name as my grandfather.

  Please send me your mailing address. Then I can send you a photocopy of my father’s letter.

  It’s difficult to make things any clearer right now.

  Keep in touch and talk to you again soon.

  Suyun

  That same night, after much hesitation, she dialled the number of her father’s factory.

  “Hello, could you connect me with the benchwork workshop?”

  “Who’s calling?” asked the operator.

  “Suyun,” she answered with hesitation. “I would like to speak with my father, Xianpu Ren.”

  “I guessed it was you! We seldom receive long distance calls from overseas. I’ll put you through to him.”

  She heard someone else pick up the receiver, Suyun asked, “May I speak to Master Ren?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Suyun.”

  “It’s you! I didn’t even recognize your voice.” The speaker’s voice sounded excited. “Are you calling from overseas? I’ll get your father right away.”

  A few minutes later she finally heard her father ask, “Is anything urgent?” the worry in his voice palpable .

  “Father, everything is okay. I have good news for you. I think I might’ve found Xianlin Ren.”

  “My heavens! Really? Where is he?”

  “In Taiwan. One of his sons is in the States…”

  “Is it possible?” Her father lowered his voice. “So many people in the world have the same name.”

  “What’s my grandmother’s name? Can you find a photo or anything left by your parents and brother?”

  “Her name was Chunhua Ren-Zhang,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. Her father then abruptly changed the topic. “Are you busy with your studies? I’ll send you a letter very soon.”

 
Immediately, Suyun realized it was not convenient for her father to talk about the family history over the phone. “My studies are going well. You take care, Father. I’ll send you a registered letter.”

  The following day, she mailed a letter to her father. Then she received another e-mail message from Sheng.

  From then on, the lives of the two brothers, unknown to each other for forty-six years, were suddenly connected by messages. Via truck, train, airplane, telephone, and computer, the messages crisscrossed between Xinjiang Province and Newfoundland, between Taipei and Chicago, and between Chicago and St. John’s, as they traced the brothers’ family history.

  A month later, Suyun’s father and Sheng’s father finally held each other’s photograph and heard each other’s voices over the phone. Though the faces in the photographs appeared different from those remembered four decades ago, their voices were still recognizable. Exhilarated, they looked forward to a meeting in person.

  In mid-August, Suyun passed the defence for her thesis. As planned, she would return to Wulumuqi City where her fiancé had been waiting for her for three years. A journalist position also awaited her. She and her cousin, Sheng, arranged for a family gathering. Suyun would join their fathers at Sheng’s home in Chicago and then go back to China with her father on the same flight.

  Patricia had a farewell party for Suyun and decorated her living room with strings of colourful balloons. At the sight of these balloons, Suyun thought, I’ll hang up all kinds of balloons at Sheng’s home to celebrate the reunion of my father and his brother. Delighted at the imagined meeting, she bought a large package of brightly coloured balloons.

  By early September, Suyun was ready to leave. Patricia saw her off at the airport. “Have a good trip and a happy family reunion. Write to me from China.”

  “For sure. You have my word. Please send me a copy of your book when it’s published,” replied Suyun.

  “Definitely.” Patricia hugged her and said, “and don’t forget to let me know the date of your wedding.”

  When Suyun thought about rejoining her fiancé, her eyes beamed. “Yes, I will.”

  She followed the crowd through the gate, and stepped into the passenger compartment. The plane rose slowly into the sky. She looked out the window from her seat. Clouds in different shapes drifted in the sunshine. Some appeared to take on human form and others seemed to be horses running across the blue sky. Newfoundland was shaped like an enormous leaf floating on the waves of the Atlantic Ocean, slowly becoming smaller and smaller. Farewell, St. John’s. Suyun’s eyes misted. On this lovely island three years had flown away like a black swallow swiftly dissolving into white clouds.

  ***

  Several hours later, this large metal bird finally landed at O’Hare International Airport. The bright clouds were rising higher while a few other metal birds were landing on their own nests.

  Exiting Customs, she spotted a woman with a little girl of five. She recognized them immediately from the photo Sheng had sent her. It was Sheng’s wife, Fen, and their daughter. But she did not see Sheng and wondered where he was. When they finally stood facing one another, Suyun shook Fen’s hand. “Where is Sheng?” she asked. Suddenly sensing something was wrong, she searched Fen’s face for an answer. The little girl, standing beside Fen, gripped the strings of two helium-filled balloons, one white and the other black. The balloons tried to escape from the little girl’s hand.

  Fen’s eyes were heavy. “He … he’s…,” she stammered.

  “My daddy’s gone to Taipei. He left this morning,” said the little girl.

  “Why?” She held her breath and looked into Fen’s eyes, puzzled.

  “My father-in-law, your uncle –” Fen stopped, tears streaming down her face. She took a deep breath. “Yesterday … we got a phone call from Sheng’s brother, telling us my father-in-law had a heart attack before he boarded the plane. They sent him to the hospital right away, but he never regained consciousness and passed away.”

  Fen’s story took Suyun aback. Shaking, she leaned against the railing, her hand grasping the bar, and her eyes fixed on the balloons held in the little girl’s hand. When the little girl saw Suyun’s despairing eyes, she could not help but call out, “Auntie-cousin!” She walked up to Suyun, and reached out to grab her hand. Unexpectedly, the balloons slipped from the girl’s hand and bounced up to the ceiling. The white balloon became lodged against a light fixture. Suyun’s eyes followed the black balloon that tumbled across the ceiling toward the other end of the hallway disappearing from view.

  Fen wrapped her arm around Suyun’s shoulder and rocked her gently. “Let’s go to pick up your father. His plane arrives at a different gate. He’ll be here in half an hour.”

  Suyun finally withdrew her gaze from the lost balloons and checked her watch. It read 7:18. What will I tell my father? She shuddered. “Yes, let’s go,” Suyun said, unable to hold back her tears. “I think we shouldn’t mention my uncle’s death to my father for the time being.”

  “Right,” Fen said. “We could say he’s postponed his trip because of some medical problem. Later, we’ll tell him the truth.”

  Suyun nodded. Her mind’s eye drifted: A young journalist for the Central Daily of the Nationalists in Guangzhou City fled to Taiwan after the Communists’ takeover in 1949. The lanky man stood alone on the windy shore, staring in the distance over the South China Sea. He gripped in his hand a few letters that he had sent to Chongqing that were rejected at the border of China. The dictator’s black hand had made China a birdcage wrapped in red flags. Thirty years later, after the door of this huge cage was opened, the middle-aged journalist sent more letters. But they returned with different stamps – the one to his parents stamped with the word “deceased,” and the other to his younger brother with the word “disappeared.”

  Suyun envisioned these caged birds as wounded or lying belly-up. Many were now learning how to fly, but some had become colour-blind after having seen only the colour red throughout their lives. She cried in her heart: My never-seen uncle, please rest in peace. You were lucky to have been free long before the other caged birds ever had a chance to see the sky. The two women and the child exited the building and made their way through the airport to the international terminal. Suyun took a deep breath and looked up into the sky.

  The sun, glittering like a gigantic, orange balloon, gradually dropped behind the city buildings. The world in front of Suyun blossomed into sunset. She was ready to greet her father.

  *From “Report on an Investigation of the Peasant Movement in Hunan” (March 1927), Mao’s Selected Works, Vol. I, p. 28.

  Twin Rivers

  IN HER BRA AND PANTIES, she ran along the bank of the St. Lawrence River. Footprint by footprint, one deep, the other shallow. Her left leg became heavy. The river reflected a sad, white glare in the sunset. Several blonde men and women in colourful bathing suits played in the ankle-deep water. Their cheerful splashes and voices echoed along the beach. Nobody noticed that a half-naked Chinese girl filled with shame was desperately chasing a man. The man had been her lover, but he deserted her after stripping her of her clothes. Unable to keep up with him, she burst into tears.

  Jiang woke up, weeping. Her tears soaked her pillowcase. Her cozy bedroom seemed empty in the dark. Silvery moonlight slowly streamed in through the window and outlined her pale cheeks and puffy eyes.

  The night before, she had dropped by Limin’s apartment again. Knock! Knock! Knock! No one answered the door, but she could hear noises coming from inside. He must be watching TV, she thought. Anger spurted in her, and she kicked the door so hard that it finally opened.

  A man in his late thirties stood near the door. He did not look at her when she entered. Instead, he shook his head as he turned and strode back to his seat. The television was on. On the coffee table lay a bottle of beer, and an empty can of pork with mustard leaf pickles. Jiang knew Limin would have also eaten
a piece of apple pie or a Mae West cake. He enjoyed Chinese food combined with a western-style dessert.

  “Why are you here again?” he asked, refusing to look at her.

  “You must make a clear commitment to me!” Jiang shouted.

  “I’ve already told you I’m unreliable.” Limin shrugged. He was short, with round shoulders. Shrugging made him look funny. “Forgive me. You’ll find a better man.”

  Listening to his pitiful tone, Jiang felt a twinge of sympathy for him. But when she visualized losing the only man in her life and remembered her lonely past, desperation filled her.

  She glimpsed at the framed portrait of Limin and his wife that he had just recently displayed on the table. They looked as if they were grinning directly at her. Jiang even recognized the smirk that glared out of the photo. Her face clouded over with anger, as she grabbed the frame and flung it onto the floor. “If you don’t marry me, death is the only way out!” Her voice sounded like the cracked glass from the frame shattering into tiny pieces. Limin gaped at the bits of scattered glass, then at her. She slammed the door shut on her way out.

  After her nightmare, Jiang was unable to sleep.

  ***

  Jiang had not found a boyfriend because of her lame leg. She was convinced of this. Many Chinese women her age – thirty-five – had by now become wives and mothers.

  Years ago, when she was a student, she thought she had a chance at love. Once, she went to a student dance. She was so nervous about it that she had practiced dancing with one of her friends for weeks before the event, perfecting every movement, working hard at disguising her limp.

  That night, a male student invited her to dance. Nervously, she joined him. They waltzed. She concentrated hard on following him, raising her left foot often to compensate for her limp. She did well. Looking at her partner’s smiling face, she felt happier than she had been in long, long time. Practice helps me, I can dance well! She was grateful for her girlfriend who had practiced with her and encouraged her to come to the dance.

  The young man seemed interested in her. He suggested they take a walk outside. He led her to a path flanked by gardens behind the dance hall. The heady scent of flowers mingled with the night breeze elated her. She felt confident. When he turned his head, she was startled to see that he had noticed her clumsy gait. “Did you hurt your leg while we danced?” he asked politely.