Dragonfly Dreams

by Eleanor McCallie Cooper

  Ma walked over to the window and looked out at the overcast sky.

  “Do you really think no one even knows what has happened to us? I must write to them.”

  No matter what happened, Ma always wrote a letter home. She sent one every week to her mother in Tennessee and almost as often to her brother. The letters from her family arrived on Tuesday when the mail boat pulled into the harbor, and the very next day, she’d have a letter on the return boat.

  Suddenly the distressed look on Ma’s face changed, and she turned away from the window, addressing us excitedly.

  “This may be the best news we could hear!”

  “Ma! How can you say that?”

  “I know my country, Nini. If America is attacked, she will fight back. It is only a matter of time before US troops will rescue us. I know they will come!”

  She turned back to the window and was looking up at the sky, as if she expected to see American planes flying over at that very moment.

  “Move away from the window!” Da yelled. “We don’t know what we are facing now. Japan is at war with America. You may be in danger.”

  Ma lingered at the window a little longer, then pulled the curtains.

  “We have to be careful of everything we do or say. The last thing you should do now is write a letter home. You could be accused of being a spy.”

  “How could I be a spy? My letters are only to my family,” Ma challenged.

  Da picked up newspapers from the desk and crumpled them in his hands. Tossing them in the fireplace, he lit a match. Da added more paper until he had a lively flame.

  “Bring that to me, Nini,” Da instructed, pointing to a letter on the rosewood table.

  “But that’s Nana’s letter,” I stammered.

  Grandmother Julia had lived with us when I was born in New York. I was named after her. My name is Julia in English, and Ju-Lian in Chinese, which means Red Lotus. But I called her Nana, and she called me Nini.

  It was a fat letter because Nana had enclosed pictures and newspaper clippings. She always wrote a special message just for me and included news about my cousin. I had not seen my cousin since I left for China. Without Nana’s letters, I wouldn’t know anything about my cousin or Ma’s family.

  “You heard me.”

  Da’s face was illuminated by the flames, but I saw no warmth there as he added, “And get those in the dresser.”

  He twisted another sheet of newspaper, and the flame shot up.

  I looked at Ma, hoping she would stop him. Ma came over to the table, picked up the letter, and pulled out the pictures.

  “All of it,” he said. “The least little thing could be used against you. Letters. Pictures. Newspaper clippings. Anything that shows you have connections in America and that you send news back and forth. You never know what will happen. Get the others.”

  I stared in disbelief as Ma handed him the letter and pictures, then turned away. She headed for the bedroom and didn’t watch as the letter caught fire and the photographs crackled in the flames.

  I followed my mother and watched her open the top drawer of the dresser and pull out a bundle of letters.

  “Ma! Don’t give him Nana’s letters!”

  Ma sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, holding the letters tightly in her lap. “Oh, Nini, I know these letters mean everything to you and to me, too. They are our only tie to home.”

  “Why is he burning them? You’re not a spy.”

  “No, I’m not. But he wants to protect us.”

  “But why, Ma?”

  “I can’t explain it now, Nini.” Ma looked only briefly at the letters, then handed them to me. “Here, take these to your father.” I could tell by the tears in her eyes that this was not the time to talk.

  CHAPTER 4

  Christmas passed, and still the American planes hadn’t come. The mail stopped, and no more letters made it across the Pacific Ocean to our port city in northern China. It was the first Christmas I hadn’t received presents from Ma’s family—the usual gifts of pajamas and socks, a party dress, a doll, and puzzles. The usual Christmas Eve dinner with roast pork and the Christmas day party with eggnog and Sun’s cake didn’t happen either. Sun had been a pastry chef’s apprentice at the Empire Hotel and every Christmas he made us a seven-layer cake with smooth, sweet chocolate icing.

  But what I missed most was going to school. It wasn’t school so much that I missed, but seeing Chiyoko.

  I hadn’t seen Chiyoko for three weeks. I had a dream that she had gone to the garden and was looking everywhere for a message from me. I woke worrying about her and wondering if she had left a message for me. Now I understood why she had insisted on the secret hiding place!

  Early that morning, I heard Da on a phone call.

  “That will do no good!” he yelled into the phone. He hung up and told Ma he had to go to the office—the workers were holding a meeting. He left in a hurry.

  Ma was busy packing. Amah was tending to Mei-mei and Weilin in the back room since she couldn’t take them to the park anymore. Sun was cleaning up after breakfast. No one was paying attention to me, so I thought no one would notice. I could get to the secret garden and back before anyone knew I was gone. I grabbed my knapsack and left the apartment without telling anyone where I was going.

  The morning air was bitter cold. I wished I had worn a heavy coat instead of my jacket, but I didn’t dare go back, and besides, I thought, my journey would be quick.

  Since the Japanese had taken over, few people were outdoors, and business seemed to have come to a halt.

  I had heard Da and Sun talking a few days earlier about where the Japanese guards were posted, so I knew which streets to avoid. I didn’t want to take the sidewalks along the wide streets, so I decided to go through the park. In the French Park, the mingling of languages no longer floated from the sandbox like it did when the amahs used to come with foreign children. The trees were bare and the benches empty. I crossed the park without seeing anyone.

  Not many people were at the shops with the green and white-striped awnings. No sweet smell of warm bread or aroma of coffee greeted me. The café had only a few customers, and the bakery was closed. I avoided the sidewalk in front of the French ambassador’s residence by taking a path behind bushes that a child could easily hide behind. When I neared the intersection at the Rue de France, I wondered how I would cross unnoticed.

  I pressed close to a building until I could peek around the corner to see if Japanese guards were where the French policeman used to direct traffic with his shrill whistle and white-gloved hands. I could see the mist of my own breath in the late December air. I watched my breath for a moment before peeking around the corner.

  Standing on the police box were four Japanese soldiers looking in all directions and carrying rifles with bayonets attached to them.

  I jerked back and held my breath. I pulled my jacket tight around me as if that made me smaller and invisible. My heart pounded as I realized no one knew where I was. If I get caught by the soldiers, who will know? Will my parents find me? I shivered.

  A few deliverymen with wagons loaded with goods and a few servants doing duties for their households were the only people out that day. Just then an old sweet-potato man came by pushing his cart. It had a small furnace where he baked the potatoes and kept them warm. He used to walk down the residential streets and beep a horn to let children know he was approaching. That was my favorite sound on cold days, as hot sweet potatoes made a great snack. But today his furnace was cold, and he wasn’t selling anything.

  The Japanese soldier blew a whistle. The sweet potato man stopped so abruptly that potatoes rolled off the back of the cart. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was afraid to lean down to pick them up. So he just kept walking across the intersection when the guards gave him the command to proceed.

  I picked up the potatoes near
est me and ran to give them to the man. By the time I reached him, he was almost across the street. He took the potatoes and said in a whisper, “Thank you, Little Missy.”

  I continued walking alongside the sweet potato man until we reached the Cathedral of St. Georges with its three crosses, three domes, and three arches. Looking over my shoulder to be sure no one was watching me, I slipped down the path behind the cathedral to the cemetery. Behind the oleanders, I found the gap in the wall and squeezed through as I had before, pulling my knapsack behind me.

  The garden seemed more desolate than when I was last there with Chiyoko. The fish statue on top of the fountain appeared frozen, unable to get out of the entangling vines. I was breathing hard, not from exhaustion, but from fear. Just being in the garden, however, calmed me and made me feel closer to Chiyoko.

  I quickly found the pile of bricks we had left at the foot of the wall and searched for the brick that stuck out a little. I pulled on it, but it didn’t budge. I took a brick from the pile and hit against the brick in the wall until it came loose.

  Did Chiyoko leave me something? I looked in the hole and saw a folded piece of paper in the back. My heart beat faster as I pulled it out and opened it.

  Nini,

  I hope you made it home. I worried about you after I left. Soon after that, soldiers came and forced my father to close the clinic. They needed father at the hospital and wanted to send mother and me to Japan. Father agreed to work at the hospital and we were allowed to stay, but I don’t know how long. What has happened to you? Please leave a note for me.

  Your friend, Chiyoko

  I was relieved to know that Chiyoko was still here, that she had not been sent to Japan. But I wondered if she and her mother were living alone and whether they were safe.

  I fumbled in my knapsack looking for something to write on. I had only a pencil and a few loose things—but I didn’t have paper! Why didn’t I take the time this morning to make sure I could write a note to her? My hand touched the box in the knapsack.

  I pulled out the red box and opened it. There lay the dragonfly, its bulging black eyes staring up at me. The day Chiyoko had given it to me, I hadn’t understood the dragonfly as a warning. Chiyoko had been right. Change had come.

  I shivered, trying to hurry. I had to get home before they noticed I was gone. I put the dragonfly box in the side pocket with the picture of St. Patrick that Tooner had given me. I rummaged in the knapsack again. Still no paper.

  I was desperate to talk to Chiyoko. I could say so much if only we could meet. I took her note and turned it over. I wrote on the back.

  I want to see you. Please meet me here SATURDAY 9:00.

  I folded the note differently than she had so she would know I had seen it, and put it back in the hole, replacing the brick, not so tightly this time. I grabbed my knapsack and slid back through the gap in the wall.

  CHAPTER 5

  Rushing up the stairs to the apartment, I heard Ma’s angry voice. I thought she was yelling at Amah for letting me go. I didn’t want Amah to be blamed, but I dreaded Ma’s reprimand. Then I heard other voices—men’s voices, ones I didn’t recognize. The door was ajar. I didn’t burst in as I had with Tooner but hesitated this time and peeked around the door.

  My little sister Mei-mei was standing in the middle of the Mongolian rug with her eyes wide open, wearing her pajamas. Her hair was sticking out in all directions. Ma was standing nearby, wearing a plain housedress and slippers, her hair loose and hanging down over her shoulders. I wondered why Ma was dressed this way for guests.

  “I insist you wait until my husband gets back,” Ma said sternly. She was definitely not being polite.

  The two men wore dark business suits. One was tall and had his back turned to me, his arms folded across his chest. He was looking at the piano.

  The other one, fidgeting with a large set of keys, said, “We don’t need your husband now.”

  I recognized the man with the keys as Mr. Zhou. Da called on him when we needed something fixed in the apartment. Mr. Zhou could get into any room in the building and knew where everything was. He was short and heavy-set with a plump face that hid his eyes. I couldn’t tell what he was looking at until he reached down and picked up the brass monkey from the rosewood table and turned it over in his hands.

  Mei-mei stared at him. He didn’t seem to notice her and put the monkey back on the table. I was glad the letters weren’t there.

  Mr. Zhou said to the tall man with his back to me, “Did you see this rug?”

  The tall man replied with only a grunt.

  “I’m sure it’s company property,” Mr. Zhou said, still jangling his keys.

  That’s not true! I wanted to shout. I remembered when Ma spotted that rug in a Mongolian peddler’s cart. She pointed it out to Da, and he bargained until he got a good price.

  “What about this rosewood table?” Mr. Zhou asked.

  Suddenly the tall man turned in my direction. He had a narrow face and a stern look. I ducked behind the door and sucked in my breath. Even though I only saw a glimpse of him, I guessed who he was—Mr. Yasemoto! The Japanese officer who had taken over the water company.

  My heart pounded so hard I was afraid they would hear it. Mr. Zhou was talking in Chinese and sometimes in Japanese. I wasn’t sure Ma understood what he was saying, but it was obvious he was talking about her furniture.

  “No. It’s worthless,” said Mr. Yasemoto.

  “Uh, of course. It has a stain. It’s worthless,” Mr. Zhou agreed. “Do you want to see the other rooms?”

  Good for you, Mei-mei, I thought, glad for the time Mei-mei had spilled ink on the brass monkey’s spear, staining the table. Then I heard shuffling. I hoped they hadn’t seen me and were moving in the other direction, but I didn’t dare look.

  Right then, a loud cry pierced the air. I peeked around the doorway and saw Amah standing in the hall holding Weilin howling like he’d been pricked with a needle.

  Ma rushed past the men and grabbed Weilin from Amah, as if she were afraid they’d take him too. She stood right in the middle of the hall holding Weilin tightly and spoke with more force than I had seen in my mother before, “Get out of my house! I’ll tell my husband what you’re doing.”

  Mr. Yasemoto said something to Mr. Zhou that I couldn’t hear, and Mr. Zhou spoke to Ma in English. “Husband not work at water company now. We not listen to American wife.”

  “Get out of my apartment!” Ma insisted.

  “You not tell him what to do.” Mr. Zhou was shaking his fist. “Not your apartment anymore. It belong to water company.”

  I heard a clink and glanced at Mei-mei beside the rosewood table. While no one was watching, Mei-mei had stuffed the brass monkey under a cushion on the sofa. The cushion stuck up quite noticeably, but Mei-mei stood in front of it with her arms crossed, just like Mr. Yasemoto.

  Weilin let out another cry. I wanted to yell at Mr. Zhou, too, but instead I caught Mei-mei’s eye. I held my finger to my lips, shhh, to warn her to be quiet. Then I turned and tiptoed down the stairs.

  The water company headquarters was in the same compound as our apartment. I found Da in his office talking to a group of workers. Several men were standing around, talking in groups, making angry sounds and harsh gestures.

  “You see, don’t you,” Da was saying to one of the men who was big and heavy like a wrestler. “It’s worse than useless to strike now. They have complete control.”

  “But we don’t want to work for the Japanese, and, besides, we can’t run the company without you,” the heavy man pleaded.

  “Zhou will see to it that they have what they need,” Da said.

  “Urghh, Zhou! I could kill him!” The big man slammed his fist into his other hand.

  “Well, it’s you who will be killed if you don’t watch out,” Da said.

  “But what will happen to you?” one of
the other men asked Da.

  “I gave Mr. Yasemoto my resignation letter yesterday. He will do everything he can to blacken my name. I won’t be allowed to stay any longer, and he will make it impossible for me to work anywhere else.”

  “We support you. We should quit too,” the big man said while the others nodded.

  Da caught sight of me, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned and faced the men around the table.

  “Listen to me. What you do is up to you,” Da told the workmen. “But remember, you have to protect your families, just as I need to protect my American wife and our children. If you quit, how will you support your wife and children? Put your families first.”

  Da was looking at me now. Then he added, “I have to go. I see my daughter has come with something on her mind.”

  As Da and I walked out of the room, the men continued talking in heated voices, and the big man began to cry. I had never heard a man cry before and the sound of his sobbing upset me. I couldn’t speak at first when Da asked me a question.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You have come to my office, so it must be urgent. What is it?”

  “Mr. Zhou and that tall man—at the apartment,” was all I could get out.

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Yasemoto. I should have guessed. What are they doing?”

  “Taking the furniture.”

  “He has taken over the company, now he’s taking over the apartment, but I didn’t expect him to take the furniture too. He wasted no time. Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, but Weilin is crying out.”

  “I guess he’s the only one who can.” My father’s dark eyes glistened. I couldn’t tell if he had been crying too.

  Da turned toward the door and put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s make a stop on our way home. I need to make arrangements for tonight.”

  CHAPTER 6

  That night we moved to Auntie Boxin’s.

  Da had arranged with his rickshaw driver to bring two rickshaws and a cart as well. I rode in Da’s rickshaw with Ma and Mei-mei. Amah came in the other one with Weilin and the luggage. Sun rode in the cart that carried the household belongings. The rosewood table was stacked against the back of the cart crowded in against beds, the desk, Ma’s dresser, and the sofa. The piano was too heavy, so Ma had to leave it, but she insisted on the Mongolian rug. Sun rolled it up and threw it across the top of the furniture and tied it down. Da oversaw everything, and when we were ready, the rickshaw driver took us first and then went back to get Da.