Mom gave me an embroidered silk bag filled with dust from the incense holder and a pinch of soil from Yellow Stone. She asked me to carry it with me to Beijing and to spread it on the ground there when I arrived. It would ensure protection from the gods and Buddha at home. I hid the bag safely in the middle of my wooden trunk.
After breakfast, I checked my train ticket for the last time. Dad, my sisters, and Jin had borrowed bikes and were coming to Putien to see me off at the bus station. I hugged Mom at the door again and again.
She cried, but a smile shone through her tears. She pulled me once more into her arms, then gently pushed me away and nodded. Only at that moment, as I looked at her, did I realize that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world and that I was going to miss her when I was thousands of miles away in Beijing.
As I hopped up onto the backseat of one of the bikes, our neighbors came out to wave good-bye to me. The cigarette man, Liang, was old now. He wobbled to the edge and smiled and bowed to me. The doctor was also there, waving his cane in my direction. Some neighbors stood at my mom's side, comforting her. I took a long last look at the cobbled street of Yellow Stone, the Dong Jing River, and the Ching Mountain, looming tall in the background.
Good-bye, Yellow Stone. I am forever your son.
We rode on our four bikes, chatting and laughing on the way to the bus station. I had never seen Dad so happy and carefree. He joked and told stories about my childhood. We arrived at noon. My bus was already boarding.
Jin was coming with me to Fuzhou to see me off at the train station, because I had never seen a train before. Without his guidance, it would be Da in Wonderland, running after the train as it left. I had never been on a bus before, either. The only motor vehicle I had ridden on was the commune's noisy tractor.
Together Jin and I threw my heavy wooden trunk onto the overloaded luggage rack on top of the shaky, dusty bus. Then we squeezed into a crowded seat that was marked for four people but actually had six occupying it. My sisters came onto the bus and hugged me tearfully; then Dad climbed up the steps. He stumbled, and I sprang out of my seat to meet him. He gave me a bear hug. I was surrounded once more by the same warmth I used to feel as a small kid hiding under his padded cotton overcoat. He took my face in his hands and bit his lower lip until it turned pale.
“I want to get some fruit for you, son. You wait.” He stumbled down from the bus and ran toward a fruit stand a few yards away. His back was hunched over, and his steps were slower than he wanted them to be. He climbed over the guardrail that separated the passengers from the onlookers and almost fell.
When he came back, the engine had already started. Dad walked in front of the bus to stop it. The driver was yelling at him. He ran to the window where we sat and passed four pears to me. He was out of breath and looked very tired. His eyes were wet, but there was a smile on his wrinkled face. I couldn't help the tears that rolled down my cheeks as we pulled away from the crowded station. Dad stood there waving to me. I craned my neck until I could see him no longer.
I love you, Dad. I am your son forever.
AFTERWORD
After graduating from college, my brother became general manager of the biggest paper factory in Fujiang province. It is a dream come true. To this day, he still gets teary talking about life during the Cultural Revolution as compared to his life now. He is happily married to his wonderful college educated engineer wife, which is another achievement in itself—for had the Cultural Revolution continued, he would probably have ended up an unwilling monk.
My three sisters have all married happily as well. Si is now the owner of a small store, Huang a jewelry trader, and Ke a musician.
I broke all the ropes that were meant to tie me down, succeeded as a college student, and then went on to receive a full scholarship to attend Columbia University Law School in New York. Not long after, I fell in love with and married a beautiful Chinese medical student. We now live happily with our two young children in the Hudson Valley, where I'll continue to tell my tales of hope in the land called China.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Da Chen is a graduate of Columbia University Law School. A brush calligrapher of great spirituality who also plays the classical bamboo flute, he lives in New York's Hudson Valley with his wife and two small children.
Published by
Dell Laurel-Leaf an imprint of Random House Children's Books a division of Random House, Inc. New York
Copyright © 2001 by Da and Sunni Chen Family Enterprise
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eISBN: 978-0-307-48279-2
RL: 6.6
v3.0
Da Chen, China's Son
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