Threads
Page 11
Yuming
NOW I KNOW. Now I know why Kai had insisted on stuffing a huge sack from the market full of food. It was practically more than we could carry, but he insisted on bringing it with us when we slipped out of the store well before dawn.
Here at the Great Wall, the sun has almost set in the misty, pink sky behind us; it’s nothing but a thin orange line above the hills, and standing in front of us are a cast of frightening-looking characters who, a few months ago, I would have shuddered to be near. But now I jut my chin forward, like Kai does, so I look unafraid.
Kai is holding a box of candies out to a bearded man with broken teeth who, at Kai’s insistence, we’d spent the greater part of the afternoon looking for. The man is dressed in rags, and a mangy gray dog sits, panting, at his feet. “One box?” the man asks Kai sharply. “One box for three people, for the week?” He laughs, but as if to say that he finds nothing funny about it.
“It’s all I have,” Kai lies. Off to the side, hidden in the shadows of the Wall, Li is pretending to sleep, his arms wrapped around the bulky sack of bottles and boxes like it’s a giant stuffed toy. The old man looks from Kai, to me, to Jing. I don’t blink.
The man snatches the box from Kai’s hand and laughs again, but this time like he is amused. “One box is nothing.” He rips it open and pours its contents out at his feet. The dog smiles up at him before wolfing the candy down.
We are on a hill off to the side of the Wall. A teenage boy who has been watching us from beneath a tree takes a few steps toward the old man’s back, ogling the dog and the slobbery candy, until the man pivots swiftly, as if he has eyes in the back of his head, and pulls a knife from his pocket. “Get back, Tao,” he hisses, and the teenager throws his head back and roars with laughter before disappearing into the shadows.
I keep my chin high and try to breathe evenly. Why couldn’t Tao have been Bolin? Why can’t my brother suddenly appear and take me away from here?
The man turns to face us again. I eye Kai and Jing. They’re still staring at him, just like Kai had told us to do when he’d explained his plan.
“Kai-Kai—last time, you brought me more,” the man says. “And where’s that little runt of yours?”
Kai doesn’t answer.
The old man leans toward us. He smells like something rotten. “I need more. Three people for a week? The price for that is more.”
Kai stares at the man for another moment before finally gesturing to Li, who jumps up and drags the sack over.
“Ah, the runt is here! The runt whose boldness got me in trouble last time.”
Li grins up at the filthy man proudly as the man snatches the sack from his hand. Startled, Li slowly backs up until he’s at his brother’s side.
“If you have the runt with you, you can forget it.”
“Then give me back my food.” I can tell that Kai is trying to keep his voice steady, but it’s wavering. If we can’t stay here, near this portion of wall that the rotting old man says he owns, then where? It had taken us hours to get from the tiny village to the Great Wall today. We had waited and waited in the shadows near a gas station before sneaking onto a bus when the driver got out to fuel up and pay. When the bus reached a larger town, we leaped from its windows, made our way to a bus station, and stowed away on a different coach. Now it’s practically dark out. We are exhausted and dirty. We have nowhere else to go.
The old man laughs and laughs until he can barely stand. The gray dog wags its tail, smiling and panting at its owner. The man looks us over again before he digs through the sack, nodding. Then his face turns serious. “This food is mine. I will give you permission to stay: four people, including runt, one night. When the sun comes up, I want you gone. And I don’t ever want to see you again. You are trouble.”
Kai looks as if he is going to protest, as though he’s going to tell the old man what he told us as we huddled together behind the store counter last night: The Great Wall is the best place to beg and pickpocket.
I had been wary, thinking, It’s possible that Mr. Zhang could look for us there; it might even be the first place he would go. But I didn’t say anything.
Can we stay there through the winter again? Li had mumbled. He was close to sleep.
Through the winter, Kai had agreed before turning on his side, his back toward Jing and me. There are people—a whole group—they live there behind the Wall, all year long.
I had nodded as he talked, promising to teach us how to survive, but the whole time I was listening to Wai Gong’s voice in my mind. Go with them, Yuming, I imagined him saying, his hands clasped behind his back, his face thoughtful. You’ll get enough money for a train ticket to Shanghai and a bus ticket to Yemo Village, and then you’ll be on your way home.
“This is my Wall,” the old man goes on, urging me back to the present. He reaches down to pet his dog gently before looking back to us with squinting eyes. “Understand? My. Great. Wall.”
Kai nods, looking defeated. The old man tosses him a box of crackers and a can of soda from the sack, and walks away.
Nearby, a fire crackles in a metal tub. It’s getting cold, so we sit next to it, on the opposite side from where the smoke is blowing. Li curls into Jing’s lap, and I stare at the orange flames as Kai opens the crackers. When I close my eyes, the flames are blue on the inside of my lids. Kai shoves some crackers into his mouth and passes the box to Jing. He holds the end of a stick into the hottest part of the flame until an ember glows at the end. Then he jams the ember into the rim of the metal tub. Sparks fly. One lands on my ankle, and I swat it away and cross my legs underneath myself. “Watch it, Kai-Kai,” I taunt, suddenly so exhausted that I am angry. I didn’t survive everything I’ve survived just to be burned alive by a miniature con artist in the hills next to the Great Wall of China.
I scoot backward, untie the white T-shirt from the factory from around my waist, and lean against the Wall, using the shirt as a cushion for my head. The stone stabs me through the thin fabric. Jing lifts Li onto Kai’s lap and joins me. I think she’s going to say something, but she just settles herself next to me. Soon she is asleep, her head bobbing until it is finally resting on my shoulder.
Up above, people laugh and talk. Bottles clink. I remember the stories that Mr. Chen, our teacher, told us of the Great Wall. If you love somebody, lock a padlock on the chain at the Wall; your love will last forever. He showed us drawings of men constructing the Wall in the olden days. He taught us how much money the Chinese government makes from wealthy tourists who pay to visit.
Wealthy tourists like the ones we saw today as Kai, Li, Jing, and I jogged west then east again along the Wall, searching for the old man with the dog. I had scanned the crowds for Mr. Zhang as we wove our way through people from many different places: the wealthy Chinese families, the South Koreans laughing and taking pictures of one another, the American girl in sunglasses and a baseball cap who seemed lost in thought, playing Scissors, Rock, Cloth discreetly with herself, probably hoping nobody would notice.
Bolin and I had played that same game. Sometimes, there would be the longest stretch of ties—Scissors, Rock, Cloth. Both rock. Scissors, Rock, Cloth. Both scissors. Scissors, Rock, Cloth. Both cloth.
Where are you, Bolin?
Sleep blurs the edges of my mind. I feel myself drifting off, even though I don’t think it’s a good idea. Measure your risks, Yuming. The T-shirt is the closest thing to a pillow that I’ve had since leaving home to search for Bolin. The fire crackles somewhere to my right, and the voices overhead on the Wall are quieter now. I’ll just close my eyes for a minute. Tomorrow—tomorrow, it all starts. Somehow, I’ll get some money. Beginning tomorrow, I’ll do whatever it takes to return home.
When I open my eyes, my stomach aching with hunger, the sun is bursting through the hazy white sky. I’m leaning against the stone wall with a kink in my neck. My behind is numb and damp with dew. I look beside me to see if Jing is awake, only to find that she is gone.
Clara
A hostess who speaks perfect English seats us. I watch her walk away as Mom and Dad sit down. Then I clear my throat and shove my hand into the pocket with Yuming’s photograph and note. “I’m going to go find the bathroom.”
Mom looks around the restaurant. “Want me to come with you?”
“No, that’s okay,” I say with a forced smile. “I’ll ask the hostess.” I leave quickly before Mom can get up to join me. I know she and Dad don’t think that I’m okay, and they don’t want to leave me alone. But the truth is, ever since I realized we needed to come back to China, I’ve felt almost as good as when Lola was alive.
At the front of the restaurant, the hostess is standing behind a tall wooden stand, talking on a cell phone. I look behind me, toward our table and the giant buffet behind it. I can’t see Mom and Dad from here. Interrupt her! Hurry! I can hear Lola yelling. I can practically see her jumping up and down with excitement.
“Excuse me?”
The hostess moves the phone away from her ear and smiles at me. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, um…” I look behind me again. “I’m wondering if you can help me with something. Because your English is really good.” Lola is leaning forward, tucking her hair behind her ears, and motioning for me to move it along.
“One moment,” the hostess says, then she speaks some Chinese into the phone and laughs before hanging up and turning to me. “What can I help you with?”
“We’re American.”
“Yes?”
“And I have a project for school.”
“School,” she repeats. “Yes?”
“I’m doing a project on factories in Hebei Province.”
“Oh,” she says, still smiling. “What kind of factories?”
Pink factories! I picture Lola yelling. I clear my throat. “Well, um, you know, any kinds.”
Purses, dummy!
“Purses,” I say. “On purse factories.”
“Many factories make purses here in Beijing. They ship all over the world.”
“Yeah, right!” I say. “Do you know of any?”
“My cousin used to work at one. She made purses and other things, too. Very hard work.”
I nod. “Yeah! I know—”
“Very little sleep, and poor working conditions.”
Interview! You want to interview her cousin!
“Does your cousin live around here? Maybe I could interview her!” I say, without really thinking.
“No,” the hostess says sadly, tilting her head to the side. “She lives in the country now, in a small village, with her family.”
I check over my shoulder and spot Mom walking my way, waving. “Have you ever seen a pink factory?” I blurt out to the hostess.
“Pink?”
“Yeah, a few hours outside of Beijing?”
“Outside of Beijing?”
Mom is getting closer.
“Huh, perhaps….I come from north of here. There are many factories in the northern area—in the countryside. That’s where most factories are, in fact.”
“Really? In the north?”
“Yes, almost all factories in Hebei Province are in the area north of the city of Beijing.”
“Great!” I say as Mom approaches.
“You find the bathroom, sweetie?” she asks.
“The bathroom is up the stairs,” the woman says. “We have Western-style bathrooms. Very nice,” she adds.
“I’ll join you, then,” Mom says, putting her arm around me.
North of the city. My first major lead. I congratulate myself as Mom and I walk up the stairs. Mom smiles down at me—but it’s a sad kind of smile, so I look away.
At the top of the staircase, Mom stops and takes a breath. I imagine Lola standing by the bathroom door, waiting for us. I can picture her looking back and forth from my face to Mom’s. “So, have you decided anything?” Mom asks me quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“About the ashes.” She clears her throat. “About Lola’s ashes.”
I swallow hard and look away from her, to the bathroom door. The image of Lola vanishes.
“What do you mean?” I ask again, suddenly thinking of her funeral. Everyone was there. People I’d never even met were crying and blowing their noses. I was sitting in the front row between Mom and Dad, and I imagined what Lola would say if she could see what was going on. She’d roll her eyes at all the drama. She’d motion for me to sneak out the side door with her. It was a beautiful day in May.
I squeeze my eyes shut in the dim upstairs hallway of the restaurant, and then open them, trying to make the image of Lola reappear. But I can’t, and I suddenly feel panicky, as though maybe the black hole followed us to China after all. I even look around a little bit to see if Lola moved somewhere else, even though I know it’s ridiculous; I know she’s not really here.
At the funeral, I had told Mom and Dad that I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t be there—and I went outside. There was this huge magnolia tree at the cemetery. Lola was obsessed with magnolias. I didn’t love them like she did. All you have to do is give a branch a tiny shake and all the petals fall down on your head, and that’s so annoying.
But that’s what I did at the funeral, while people like my cousins from Spain, Lola’s teachers, and even her friends gave speeches about her. I stood under the magnolia tree and shook the branches. It was crazy how easily the petals fell off.
Mom puts her hand on my back. “I mean, have you decided if there’s a special place you’d like to spread Lola’s ashes?”
I can’t talk for a second. Spread them? I stashed the tin in my backpack today—I didn’t want anything to happen to it at the hotel. But I don’t want to spread the ashes anywhere. “No,” I mumble. “Not yet.”
Mom nods sadly, takes my hand, and pushes open the door that says WOMEN in Chinese and in English. The bathroom is fancy, with marble tiles, and pale-green paper towels arranged on the counter in the shape of a fan. It’s even better than the one at the Starbucks at the Great Wall.
“Dad and I want you to take your time,” Mom says. We stand side by side in the mirror, and I watch her talk. We look alike—light-brown hair, blue eyes; so different from Lola, but I never thought about things like that. I never cared. “You know, we’re going to the Dan Temple today.”
I nod. Why is she telling me this? Of course I know that. We talked about it last night and again this morning before we left the hotel.
“Lola loved it there.”
“Yeah,” I say. I remember last time we hopped around on the stone floor in the courtyard. If you step on a crack, you’re dead! Lola had yelled. We’d giggled at the Buddhas with their fat bellies, while Mom and Dad told us to shush.
Mom considers me for another minute and then finally says, “Okay, I’ll be right out,” stepping into a stall. “We’ll have to have a quick breakfast,” she goes on, through the closed door. “It’s going to take a while to get to the temple. It’s not even in Beijing. It’s in Sunma, which is quite a ways north of the city.”
“North?” I ask, smiling a little.
“Yeah. Dad asked our waitress—she said with traffic, it will probably take two hours to get there. We have to go straight north, all the way into the countryside of Hebei Province.”
Suddenly, Lola is back. She grins at me from where she’s sitting on the edge of the counter, and I grin back. North of the city, she mouths, and I nod—at the image of her and at my reflection in the mirror. Today could be the day—the day that I figure out a way to save Yuming.
Yuming
TWO YEARS AGO, after Bolin mo
ved to Shanghai, our home was strangely quiet. I missed his thumping footsteps and his easy laugh. Above the bed, tacked to the wall, was the large map of China that he had often stood in front of, studying.
As the months rolled by, Bolin had sent us money—first from Shanghai, and then from different places, and never with a return address. I had tried to picture him working, talking with new friends, playing xiangqi in parks, sleeping somewhere at night—but I couldn’t. How could I, when I didn’t even know where he was? He didn’t want us to know where he was, and this understanding burned in my veins.
That was the beginning—the beginning of the looking. Everywhere I went, I searched faces, scoured crowds. I hunted for his familiar twinkling eyes and his spiky cowlick.
Like his father, Wai Po would grumble. Abandoning his family.
Wai Gong would correct her. No, just an adventurer, he’d say.
It had made me wonder about the parents I’d never known. Whenever I tried to visualize the face of the woman I imagined to be my mama, all I could see was the back of her, walking alone down the dirt road—away from me. Now, my heart thudding as I look at the empty space where Jing had slept, I am overcome by a familiar understanding: A person can be here, and then, the next moment, they can be gone.
Panicking won’t do me any good, but I can’t help it. I stand and turn in a quick circle, searching the area for Kai, for Li, but mostly, for Jing. I can’t blame her for leaving me. I abandoned her first, after all. Is this how she had felt when she’d overheard us planning our escape in the sewing room? When Li had fallen to the cafeteria floor, clutching his stomach and moaning? When Kai and I had helped walk him to the bathroom? Am I just like my mama? My papa? Bolin?
I stumble forward, disoriented. The Wall is shrouded in morning fog. Birds chirp lethargically in the dark trees. The fire pit from last night is nothing but a tin of ash now. The sights and sounds around me are of empty spaces—of things that have ended, of people who have left. Where is Jing?
My back and neck are stiff; my red T-shirt and the seat of my pants are soaked with dew. I have a sense of dread that’s different from what I felt when Mr. Zhang pushed me onto the bus. It’s like the emptiness after Bolin left—a yawning space bigger than the sprawling map of China over the bed.