“In some communes, Chairman Mao has asked husbands and wives to sleep in separate dormitories,” I answer lightly. It’s true, but it has nothing to do with why my mother and Z.G. are in separate rooms.
“I hope that rule never comes here,” Tao says so somberly that Kumei breaks into giggles.
Z.G. waits for us at the villa’s front gate. Tao waves good-bye and then bounds up the hill toward his house. I’m tired but happy. As we near the kitchen, we hear Yong and my mother laughing conspiratorially.
“That man is a small radish—an insignificant person,” comes my mother’s voice. “A brigade leader! How ridiculous. He doesn’t look like he could lead anything.”
I’ll have to tell my mother to be more careful. Brigade Leader Lai lives in the villa, and sound travels.
“He’s better than Feng Jin and his wife.” Yong sniffs disdainfully. “Those two have been running the village since Liberation. She was once one of my husband’s servants. He was a peasant, who used to come begging at our door.”
“Illiterate too, I suppose.”
“Of course, and in charge.”
“Oh, but that Tao!” This again from my mother. I hear the humor, but it’s tinged with contempt. “Hsin yan,” she spits out just as Z.G. and I enter the kitchen.
Yong quashes her laughter. Kumei gives me a sideways look. Z.G. sets the food containers on the table. The silence is awkward and I know my cheeks are beet red. The literal translation for hsin yan is heart eye, but it means mind or intention. It can have a good interpretation—kindhearted—or a negative one, meaning that someone has done something nasty or is tricky. I know my mother, so I know which interpretation she’s using, and so does everyone else.
“We brought you dinner,” I say with what I’m sure is a very stiff smile on my face. “I hope you enjoy your meal.” Then I nod to everyone and step out of the kitchen and into the corridor. I breathe in the humid air and let it out slowly.
THE NEXT THREE days follow the same pattern: waking before dawn to the sound of announcements accompanied by military music, taking something to the blast furnace, following our red-flag leader, painting all day, eating in the canteen, and stealing secret moments with Tao that have become more and more intense. Throughout the fourth day, I’m aware of him watching me. That night, after dinner, Tao helps pack up the food containers for my mother and Yong. He hands them to Kumei, who sets off with Ta-ming and Z.G. We follow behind them, and then we veer off the path and climb the hill to our secret spot. We kiss. We do other things. We kiss some more, and then we turn to the view. The glow from backyard furnaces glitters on the landscape as far as we can see—a galaxy of red stars.
I know what’s coming next, and I’m ready for it. I’ve turned twenty. I know myself and I know what I want. But going all the way is not what Tao desires, at least not right this second.
“Comrade Joy,” he says, “I asked you last summer and now I ask you again. Will you go with me to Party Secretary Feng and his wife to ask permission to marry?”
This time I don’t hesitate. “Yes!” It’s a yes to everything—the New China, the commune, Green Dragon, Tao, and doing the husband-wife thing—as my mom has always so delicately called it—without having to worry about getting in trouble.
Tao takes me straight to the Fengs’ house.
“It’s about time!” Sung-ling exclaims.
She and her husband are delighted. We meet all the criteria, so they immediately fill out the forms for us, which they’ll turn in to the district office.
“Do you want me to pronounce you married right now?” Feng Jin asks.
We’d both love that, but Tao wants to tell his family and I need to tell my mother and Z.G. We walk to the villa hand in hand. Never again will we have to worry about someone seeing us, though public shows of affection are discouraged, even between married couples. Tao says good night at the front gate. I pass through the various courtyards, making my way to the building where I’m staying with my mother and Z.G. They’re awake and sitting in the shared living space. The light from the oil lamp flickers. Shadows dance on the walls. Z.G. wears the same expression he had when he confronted me last summer about my visits with Tao. My mother has her hands folded tightly in her lap and her back is rigid, but I can tell she’s trying to hide her emotions, as she usually does.
“Where have you been?” she asks calmly. The stillness in her voice shows me just how upset she is.
“I’ve been with Tao. He asked me to marry him and I said yes.”
She nods almost imperceptibly. “Yes, I thought this might be coming.”
“It’s out of the question,” Z.G. says to my mother. “You must tell her no.”
She doesn’t acknowledge him in any way. “Of course, all I’ve ever wanted is your happiness,” she goes on in that same even voice. “You understand that, Joy, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I answer, uncertain.
“Will it be all right if I ask you a few questions?” she asks.
I know what she wants to do. She wants to guide me to a point where I’ll see I’ve made a mistake, but I haven’t made a mistake. I’m happy and this is the right thing to do. Nothing she says or asks will change my mind.
“Don’t you think you’re better than this village? Don’t you see that you’re better than this boy? You went to university and he’s illiterate. You don’t need to settle for a small radish. You’ve already made enough mistakes in your life. Don’t make another.”
“Dad was illiterate,” I say, homing in on something I can fight her on.
My mom cringes at that. I’ve hurt her, but she knows exactly what to say to wound me right back. “That’s correct. Your father was illiterate. He was a peasant. Do you remember how you used to make fun of him for his greasy food, his bad English, and his backward ways? Do you remember when you taunted him for not knowing the names of American presidents? Do you think Tao knows the names of the emperors?”
I doubt it, but I don’t worry about that, because I’ve hit on another argument. “Grandpa Louie always wanted me to come back to China. He wanted all of us to return. You sent me to Chinese school to learn traditions, rules, and the language. You wanted me to be a proper Chinese girl, because you longed to come back here too. How many times did you tell me that life was better in China?”
“In Shanghai—”
“Right, Shanghai. Well, I’ve been there. I prefer Green Dragon Village.”
“You mean the Dandelion Number Eight People’s Commune,” she corrects me, but to what end? Then, “Your skin has always been as translucent as rice milk. Do you want to ruin your fortune?”
Is she speaking for May when she asks that question? I don’t know, but I answer, “I was here before, and my skin was fine.”
“You’re still young, and you were here only a few weeks. Think what a year, a lifetime, will do to you. An inch of gold won’t buy an inch of time.”
“I don’t care about things like that. I’m not Auntie May.”
“But you’re as stubborn as she is,” she responds. “If you stay here, you’ll be living from dirt to mouth.”
“You’ve always been prejudiced against country people and the countryside.”
My mother doesn’t deny that.
“What about the special coupons you collect as an Overseas Chinese?” she asks. “And the special treatment you’ve received as Z.G.’s daughter?”
“I don’t want special treatment,” I respond. “I want to be a real Chinese, not an Overseas Chinese. And I don’t need special coupons either. I’ll have all the food I could ever want. We grow it here.”
“The only reason Tao wants to marry you is that he yearns to leave the village,” Z.G. suddenly injects. “He may look like a bumpkin, but he’s ambitious. He wants to go to Shanghai, to Peking. But that’s not going to work.”
“I know. You told me yourself that he can’t leave the village, and neither can I, if I marry him. What you don’t understand is that I want to stay here. I
love Tao.”
My mother leans forward. A small, knowing—all right, I’ll say it, malicious—smile plays on her lips. “Isn’t the real problem that you’re pregnant?”
Pearl
RIDING A FLOWERED PALANQUIN
I SHOULDN’T HAVE said that. I told myself I was going to be different on this trip. I told myself that coming out here was an opportunity to reclaim my daughter and to spend time with Z.G. I told myself I would be agreeable, not pick any arguments, and show Joy that I could see her side and give whatever she’s looking for a chance. I know all the things I should and shouldn’t have done, but those words just popped out of my mouth, because what Joy wants to do is unacceptable. I’ve tried hard these past few days—no, these past months—to be alert and vigilant when speaking to my daughter so I wouldn’t hurt her feelings or drive her away. Just now I tried to guide her with questions to help her see her mistake. I never should have let her glimpse what I really thought or felt. Like all mothers, I needed to hide my sadness, anger, and grief, but what I thought—she must have gotten pregnant (just like her mother)—sneaked right out of my mouth.
“Of course I’m not pregnant,” Joy says, her eyes flashing. “How could I be pregnant? We’ve only been here a week.”
“A woman can know—”
“But I haven’t done anything like that!”
That’s something anyway, I think but don’t say. Instead, I ask, “But marriage, Joy? Why?”
“Because we love each other.”
And she does love him. I see it in her eyes. I hear it in her voice. In fact, I’ve known since the first time she said Tao’s name back in Shanghai, but that doesn’t mean marriage is a good idea. My life has been filled with bad choices, and I’ve been living with the consequences for too long. I can’t bear another heartbreak, and I burn with the shame of having failed as a mother. I take a deep breath, hoping that an angel will sit on my shoulder and settle me into the mother I should be. Z.G. isn’t helping, that’s for sure. I guess that’s to be expected. Yes, it’s been nice having him sleep in the room next to mine. I’ve been comforted hearing the weight of his footsteps, his whistling when he thinks no one is listening, his deep sighs, the sloughing and dropping of his clothes as he gets undressed, and his belching and other man sounds, but I know that a Rabbit will never go all out for you, defend you, or do battle for you. On top of that, Z.G. honestly and truly doesn’t know what it means to be a parent. What would Sam say to Joy?
I clear my throat. “Your father believed in perfect matches,” I begin. “My mother believed in them too. So did Yen-yen and Grandpa Louie. Your father and I were very happy, even though an Ox and a Dragon aren’t a perfect match. Still, a Dragon and an Ox have great respect for each other. They work together for common goals. Even I, as a Dragon, could never complain about an Ox’s worthiness. You’re a Tiger. You’ve never mentioned what sign rules Tao.”
“He’s a Dog,” Joy replies.
“Of course,” I respond. “A Dog is the most likable of all the signs.” Joy smiles at that, but she shouldn’t be so sure of my sentiments; I’m not done. “A Dog can put on a smiling face, but by nature he’s a pessimist. He doesn’t care about money—”
“And neither do I,” Joy exclaims.
“A Dog can be violent—”
“Not Tao—”
“Is he the kind of Dog you can trust and love, or will he bite you? Is he a lazy Dog, who likes to lie by the fire and do nothing?”
“You’re listing only negative attributes,” Joy says. “You say these things because you’re a Dragon. A Dog will never bow to your self-importance.”
“Your auntie May would say that a Dog and a Tiger always act on impulse—”
“Auntie May is a Sheep,” Joy cuts me off. “Tao would be too practical to indulge her selfish views.” She seems desperate as she appeals to Z.G., trying to get him on her side. “Tell her that the Dog and the Tiger are among the best matches possible. We believe in strong bonds with other people. That means we both share in our love of the masses and what’s happening here in the commune.”
“Yes, you’re both motivated by idealism,” Z.G. agrees. “These are hallmarks of both your signs.”
God, but men—fathers—can be weak and sentimental.
“Fine, but this isn’t a good idea,” I say to him. “You know that. You just said it was out of the question.”
“I know, but think how much sorrow would have been prevented if May and I had followed our hearts,” he says.
Will I forever feel like I was the one betrayed? Will he ever understand that things would have been very different if he had followed my heart?
“But you and May loved each other.” (How it hurts me to say that, even after all these years.) “Joy can’t possibly love Tao. Sympathy is often mistaken for love. It snares people into unhappy marriages and lives. How do we know Tao isn’t a blind Dog, who just stumbled on a good meal by accident?”
“Is that how you felt about your husband?” Z.G. asks. Before I have a chance to respond, he adds, “In any case, Joy doesn’t feel sympathy for Tao.” He turns to Joy. “Do you?”
“I love him,” she says, and I still can’t help being reminded of May at that age—stubborn, dumb, and romantic.
Z.G. once again addresses me. “A woman is like a vine. She can’t survive without the support of a tree. Isn’t that what you had in your marriage?”
“Tao is not a tree,” I snap, but Z.G.’s words are hard on me. I thought Sam was so sturdy. I thought he could support me, Joy, all of us, forever.
“Besides,” Z.G. goes on, “Joy admires Tao as an artist.”
That stuns me. “You said he isn’t very good.”
“He’s still an artist,” Z.G. says with a shrug.
That’s such an egotistical comment, and so like Z.G., but his earlier words about my marriage still sting. Who am I to say how the heart works? Sam was just a rickshaw puller when we first met, and I loved him deeply.
I realize I can’t win the fight against this marriage, but I try to delay things by suggesting we hold a proper wedding in Shanghai. “I’ll hire a flowered palanquin to carry you to the ceremony. I’ll arrange a banquet with all the best dishes. You can have the wedding I didn’t have.”
“Mom, I don’t want that kind of wedding. We’re in the New China. You fill out some forms and you’re married. That’s all.”
“You won’t be able to leave here. You’ll be stuck,” I say, repeating what I consider the greatest reason against this match.
“I don’t want to go back to Shanghai,” Joy insists.
“Honey, you aren’t from Shanghai, but you don’t belong in Green Dragon Village either. You’re from Los Angeles,” I remind her. “That’s your home.”
That’s greeted by sighs from Z.G. and Joy. Apparently, mothers of the bride know absolutely nothing.
AS A GIRL, I dreamed of my wedding—the dress, the veil, the banquet, the gifts—and none of it turned out the way I imagined. As a mother, I’ve dreamed of my daughter’s wedding—a ceremony in the Methodist church in Chinatown attended by all our friends, Joy’s dress, my dress, the flowers, the reception at Soochow Restaurant—but this is nothing like that either. Joy was right that there isn’t supposed to be any kind of ceremony or celebration, but as a stranger and as someone who has some money to spend, I can bend the rules. Brigade Leader Lai is more than happy to take a bribe—some of my special Overseas Chinese certificates, worth less than twenty dollars—so I can give my daughter a wedding that pays homage to the past and is still true to the New China.
The ceremony takes place two days later at dusk on a hillside overlooking Green Dragon’s verdant fields. Scent from tea bushes planted on terraces wafts on the breeze. The bride is in wedding red—an outfit Yong found in a dowry chest in the villa. She wears the pouch May gave her, and I wear mine—symbols of the ways that Joy is linked to my sister and me and the three of us to my mother. Joy’s hair, which has grown a good six inches this ye
ar, hangs in two braids just past her shoulders. Strips of red wool have been woven through the plaits and are tied in heavy bows. Her cheeks shine with happiness and the heat. Her nails have been stained a reddish color with balsam juice. The groom is as dressed up as I’ve ever seen him—a blue tunic, loose blue pants, and sandals. His hair has been combed and he looks clean.
Brigade Leader Lai says a few words: “Communism is paradise. The people’s communes will take us to it. Tao and Joy—comrades first and always—will help the country climb to the highest heights. If Tao sails the seas, then Joy will row in the same boat. If Joy climbs a mountain, then Tao will be at her heels.”
Z.G. takes my hand. His touch—his kindness—at this moment makes me want to weep. Until now, I had thought that my daughter had made the greatest mistake possible in coming to China, but that was nothing compared with this marriage. Mothers suffer; children do what they want. I look over at Tao’s family. They don’t look particularly happy either. The mother must be about my age, although she looks closer to sixty or even older. That happens when you have nine living children, who knows how many dead children, and are as poor as can be. The father is just an older version of his son—thin, wiry, but as dried out and wrinkled as my father-in-law was just before the cancer took him.
Brigade Leader Lai comes to the end of the ceremony. Tao turns to everyone and announces, “Comrades, I am happy.”
“I too am happy,” Joy echoes.
“In hard times, we will share the same piece of pickled turnip,” Tao promises.
“We will drink from the same cup,” Joy adds. “I will work by my husband’s side in the commune. I will work with all of you.”
I take a few snapshots of the wedding couple while Tao’s young male friends set off strings of firecrackers. Then we walk to the canteen. Big wedding banquets aren’t allowed in the New China—even the ceremony was more than what is considered acceptable—but if I look hard I can find ingredients with fortuitous meanings in our meal. We’re served chicken, which symbolizes a good marriage and family unity, but we receive no chicken feet or lobster, which are typically served together to represent the dragon and phoenix. Instead of the many-tiered, Western-style wedding cake I’d always wanted for Joy, one of the servers brings out a plate of sliced pomelo for abundance, prosperity, and having many children. After dinner—and we can’t linger or dance because other members of the commune still need to eat—we head to Joy’s new home. More firecrackers pop and crack. In olden days, firecrackers scared off fox spirits, ghosts, and demons. In the New China, where we aren’t supposed to have superstitious beliefs, the firecrackers symbolize good luck.