The Language of Threads

  Li smiled to herself. They were both grown men now and no longer needed her protection. She had prayed they would fly high and away from the pale, lifeless world she’d known all of her adult life. And they had, with wings she had managed to keep safe and strong. It was all the happiness she had thought she’d find in this lifetime.

  Slowly and meticulously Li began to dress, one layer after another, three tunics in all, the entirety of her summer and winter wardrobe. She’d thought about buying something new to wear for when she finally saw Pei, somehow thinking that a new tunic might help to distract from the years and scars. But in the village that day, her reflection caught in a piece of glass told her another story. It would take more than a new tunic to cover the years of sorrow. Li stuffed her savings back into the pocket of her worn trousers.

  Once she made it to the border, she’d have to wait until nightfall before attempting to cross over into Macau. Li took a deep breath and trembled at the thought of what she was doing. For the first time in ages she felt the blood surging through her veins. Li slipped on her padded jacket atop her three layers of clothing, then made sure the fire had completely destroyed her letters from Pei. Only ashes were left. She opened the door and felt a cool February wind blowing, the sun struggling to break through the gauzy layers of cloud. Li swung the cloth bag over her shoulder, started down the dirt road, and never looked back.

  The morning remained gray and heavy, threatening rain, the clouds so low Li felt a thick blanket just over her head. Each step brought a new discovery wherever she looked. The land she knew so well began to change its shapes and textures. At first hilly, with mulberry groves and fish ponds, then flat and wet, ripe for growing rice. She walked by a multitude of farmhouses just like the one she’d left behind, with generations of a family living in one open room. Voices stirred in the distance. She saw women and children out in the rice fields, stooped over in the meticulous planting, old before their time. Beyond them, a lone ox moved slowly across a field.

  Farther along, Li found herself having to cross a stream. She paced along the edge to find the shallowest spot to cross and, when she finally gathered enough courage, held her cloth sack raised high over her head. At each cautious step, she was filled with fear that the water would rise up and swallow her. She thought back to how, in the prosperous years, her father would wade into his fish ponds, pushing the wire net heavy with fish to one side; Pei would jump in and imitate him when their parents weren’t looking. Li had always watched from the edge, never daring to wade in.

  She relaxed only when she’d made it to the other side, the water never reaching higher than her chest.

  Li spent a damp and cold night among some trees along the road, afraid to sleep for fear that someone might find her and report her to authorities. She cushioned her body against the hard ground with grass and leaves, regretting that she hadn’t thought to bring one of the threadbare blankets. Real and imagined sensations crept into the dark reverie of her half-sleep: the snapping of twigs, the scurrying of animals in the night, the deep, dank cold that chilled her to the bone, even before it began to rain.

  By late afternoon the next day, Li was hot and exhausted. She carried in her cloth sack two sets of the clothing she had started out with, peeling off the damp layers as the day grew warmer. At the top of a steep, rocky slope she looked down and saw a lone guardhouse, with Red Guards patrolling along the barbed-wire fence that marked the border between China and Macau. It was difficult to see any difference from one side of the fence to the other. She stared beyond the barrier, at the swaying trees, the dry, rocky terrain, and the dirt road that was supposed to lead her to freedom.

  Li would have to wait until dark before she attempted to cross the border. According to the map, she’d have more than enough time to make it to the cove, though it would be harder traveling in the pitch-black night, which hid even shadows. She’d be blind to the simplest dangers. With each step there was a chance that she might fall and twist an ankle, or hit her head and lie stunned or dead. Li told herself it wasn’t any different from all the times she’d been sent out to dump night soil or fetch water in the dark of night.

  She looked around her and spotted a shady area among some rocks. Li had never been so tired and hungry in her life. She hid herself among the rocks and pulled out the last of her rice and pickled turnips, washing them down with the tepid water she carried. Li felt time move in a strange way, as if one life had ended and another was about to begin, though she was still caught somewhere in between.

  Li closed her eyes and waited for night to fall.

  Pei

  Pei hurried from one room to the next, making sure everything was just right for Li’s arrival. She hadn’t been herself for days, nervous and distracted, unable to sit long enough to get any mending done. Mai and the other girls smiled and accepted all the work Pei brought to them to finish. Even her own embroidering had been put aside, the fourth panel completed, the last an open space waiting to be filled. Song Lee clicked her tongue, shook her head, and took care of Gong. Pei realized the Invisible Thread would run just as smoothly without her.

  Ho Yung had come to see her just that morning, carrying a small package. He and Quan had planned Li’s escape meticulously. The fishing boat would drop Li off at the secluded beach of Shek O, on the tip of the island’s western side, far away from inquiring authorities. All Quan and Ho Yung had to do was wait for Li to arrive and deliver the second half of the payment to the men on the fishing boat.

  There had even been an answer from Li, putting to rest Pei’s fears that her sister might be turned in to authorities if Pei’s letter had fallen into the wrong hands. Li’s words came back to her.

  The letter writer has made sure I memorize all your instructions. There’s nothing to worry about. Your words are safely locked in my heart. I never dared to believe that dreams could come true until now.

  “You see, everything will be fine,” Ho Yung reassured her, after hearing Li’s words. “How do you think Li has survived all these years without you?”

  “What if something goes wrong? The boat—”

  “Nothing will go wrong. You’re just making yourself crazy, not to mention all of us!”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Quan and I will pick you up first thing tomorrow morning. It should take a little over an hour to drive to Shek O. And now that it’s settled, I wanted to give you something.” He handed Pei the package he was holding, flat and square and quite heavy in her hands.

  Pei felt her blood rise to color her face. She had received so few gifts in her life that the gesture still embarrassed her. “What could it be?”

  “Open it and see,” Ho Yung answered.

  Pei hesitated, then carefully unwrapped the package to find the silver-framed photograph of Lin as a child. She stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Ho Yung.

  “I thought you might like to have it.” He ran his fingers through his graying hair.

  Pei was at a loss for words. She stared into Lin’s eyes; they had been gentle even in childhood. “You can’t imagine how much,” she finally said. She leaned over and kissed Ho Yung on the cheek.

  Pei had been in and out of Li’s room, just across the hall from the bedroom she shared with Gong, at least twenty times. She couldn’t stop worrying about where Li was at that very moment. Was she cold and frightened as she waited to get on a boat that would take her across the sea to a sister she barely knew?

  Sometimes, Pei found herself just standing there, wondering if she’d forgotten anything. In truth, she had forgotten everything, and all their childhood secrets now came tumbling back in bits and pieces.

  For years, Pei hadn’t thought about the ghostly fortune-teller who had determined their fates just by the touch of his fingers upon their faces. She could still feel the tingling sensation, but struggled to recall his exact words about Li: “Two sons. Illness, but she will survive.” She was eight and Li was ten then. The fortune-teller’s words were as f
oreign as another language. How could Pei know that they would come true, with two sons named Kaige and Yuan, and a marriage that became a long illness worse than any death.

  Pei ran downstairs and brought up a vase of fresh flowers to put in Li’s room. Five minutes later, she hurried back in to open the window in case it was too hot. Pei stepped back and hoped Li would like the pale purple gladiolas. She couldn’t remember ever having flowers in the house when they were growing up. It seemed as if everything that was alive in their childhood had dried up, died, or been given away. She and Li were no exceptions.

  Stolen Crossing

  Li heard voices in the shadowy night. Guided by a sliver of moon and a huge round light beside the guardhouse that swept the barbed-wire fence and beyond in every direction, like a big white eye that could see everything, she made her way carefully down the rocky path. Then she moved away from the voices; dirt and rocks slid beneath her weight. She hoped to cross over to the Macau side farther down the path and away from the guards. According to the map, a jagged line of guardhouses and barbed-wire fence ran all along the border, as far as the eye could see. It stopped only when the land touched water on one side and mountains on the other.

  Li had studied the movements of the guards and the light. It took the men one hundred and sixty-eight paces to walk from end to end of the area they patrolled. She had to take advantage of the monotony of their job, find the crack to crawl through when their backs were turned. She could easily count to one hundred before the guard returned her way again.

  One, two, three, four, five . . . Li moved as quietly as possible, waiting until the guard walked away from her and back toward the guardhouse before she descended the final few feet to the fence. Eight, nine, ten, eleven . . . She made it to the barbed-wire fence, where her hands reached out and touched the savage wire thorns. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen . . . She slid her cloth sack between the fence to the other side, then felt the barbs sink into her palms as she spread the wire strands wide enough apart to squeeze through. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two . . . She crouched to avoid the eye of light that raced her way. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five . . . Her trouser leg caught on a wire thorn and tore as she pulled her left leg through; The barb ripped into her calf. She bit down on her lip rather than scream. Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three . . . The light fell on her just as she rolled out of its touch, chasing her like a rabbit running for its life. Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one . . . Her heart pounded so loudly, she was sure someone would hear her. Sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty-five . . . She lay perfectly still until she was sure no one had seen her. Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight . . . Her leg throbbed. She heard faint voices in the distance. The light raced back in her direction. Eighty-four, eighty-five, eighty-six . . . Cloth bag in hand, she ran as fast as she could, putting distance between her and the border before the guards found the material from her trousers pinned to the barbed wire, before they knew that she had inched through a crack right before their eyes. Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred . . .

  Li kept running until she could no longer run and the eye-light blinked and disappeared behind the dark trees. She fell to the ground where she stopped. Her palms stung as if she held a bee in them. She was glad it was too dark to see the gash that ran down her calf. Anyway, there was no time to stop and tend to her wounds. Somehow she’d have to find her way to the cove. Li took out Pei’s map, held it up to the thin moonlight, uncertain now of where she was and which direction she was supposed to go. She stumbled around in the dark, then just stopped and closed her eyes. Real darkness. When she opened her eyes again, she could make out the shadows of trees, the edges of rocks. Seeing at night was a different way of seeing. Finally, she found her way back to the dirt road. According to the map it headed directly to the cove; and if not, she was certain at least, that it headed somewhere.

  The darkness offered a particular comfort, shielding her from all terrors rather than revealing them. Li didn’t dare stop to rest though she was exhausted, her legs and back aching. She’d lost track of time. Then, as if she’d been strangely guided there, Li reached a clearing on the left side of the road. She paused when she heard the surge of water below, a spray of salty sea air blowing in her direction. Li held the map up: She’d found the spot. A narrow, steep path led down to the cove. She looked for any sign of a boat down below. All she saw were the dark shadows of rocks and the thin whitecaps.

  When Li reached the bottom of the path, the sea breeze felt cool and clean against her stickiness. It was the first time she’d ever been so close to the sea. She had stepped down onto the sand, sinking into its softness, when someone grabbed her from behind. A fishy-smelling hand covered her mouth. Li tried to scream, then kicked and shoved her elbow into the body restraining her.

  “I’m here to take you to Hong Kong,” the man whispered roughly.

  Li stopped struggling, and he released her. She turned around to see a coarse-looking man with a scraggly beard. His small narrow eyes watched her closely.

  “Hurry,” he commanded, marching down the sand toward the water. Every once in a while, he turned his head to spit into the sand.

  Li followed after him, wondering if it was wise to put her life in the hands of such a terrible man. But she had little choice. Behind a large rock, Li finally saw the fishing boat that was to bring her to Hong Kong. It was no more than a large sampan, bobbing in the rough seas like a child’s toy. The man didn’t stop to wait for her, but kept walking into the sea, swimming the last few strokes to reach the boat, and was helped up by another man waiting on board.

  Li hesitated. She had never learned how to swim and this wasn’t a shallow stream, but the ocean. She would surely drown before she got to the boat. For a split second, Li thought about turning back. She could always tell the Red Guards it was all a mistake and pray that they’d let her go home.

  The man yelled something to her. Li looked up and saw him waving his arms for her to come. She took a few steps forward, the cold water washing over her shoes. She kept going as the salt water rushed up to her knees, sharply stinging the cut on her leg. Li clutched her cloth sack tightly as the waves slipped in and out, rising with each step she took. When the water had risen to her neck, a big wave washed away her sack, splashing into her eyes and mouth. Li froze and couldn’t move any farther.

  “Come, hurry!” the man yelled, the words carried to her on the ocean spray. Li’s feet had turned to stone, sinking into the depths. The next thing she knew, the man was beside her, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he swam her limp body to the boat. She swallowed salt water, coughing it back up as the younger man on the boat reached over and pulled her aboard. Li stood on deck, weaving from side to side with the constant rocking motion.

  “You’ll stay down here,” the younger man directed. He removed the heavy wooden cover to the fish hole and directed Li to hurry and climb down. She was shivering, standing on the windy deck, the two men obviously annoyed at her slowness.

  “Now!” the older man yelled.

  He held a lantern over the hole so she could see the wooden ladder and find her footing. Only when Li descended the slippery ladder into the dark, stinking hole did she realize there were other people waiting down there, the flicker of light illuminating their ghostly faces as they blinked. Before they were returned to darkness, the wooden cover closing with a final thud over their heads, she saw a handful of adults and a child. Her foot left the last rung and touched water, knee-deep by the time her two feet were planted firmly on the bottom of the boat. She couldn’t stand up straight, and stooped low against the ceiling. Though she had seen at least five other people crammed into the small hole, no one said a word. It was darker than any night, and when she tried to take a step in any direction, she ran into an arm or a leg.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  A child whimpered.

  “Over here.” A woman’s voice. “To your left.”

  Li inched left and felt a body move over wit
h a soft sweep of water, so that there was enough room for her to squat and then sit. The burst of fresh air that had come in when the wooden lid was lifted was now gone. The hot, humid air stank of fish and sweat and she didn’t dare imagine what else. The gash on her leg burned as she sat in the tepid water up to her waist. She was so thirsty that her throat felt like sand.

  “How long have you been waiting here?” Li asked, the words coming out slowly.

  “Hours,” the woman’s voice said.

  “Are there any more coming?”

  A man laughed sarcastically. “Where would they put them? Six adults and a child stuffed into a box. As it is, we’re one step away from suffocating!”

  “Then save what little breath you have left!” the woman next to her snapped.

  “They take our good money and crowd us in a hole for dead fish,” the man persisted.

  “Ssh!” Another voice.

  The child moaned, “I don’t feel good.”

  “Soon, soon,” her mother’s voice said soothingly.

  The boat creaked and suddenly groaned to life. It jerked once or twice, then began to move slowly.

  “We go, we go,” the mother repeated.

  Li could barely see the outline of the mother’s pale hand rise up and down again as if she were about to sing a song. But the dark hole was silent, the bobbing of the boat growing as they sailed out to sea, rolling and rising with each wave. Li felt her stomach rise and fall along with the boat, and braced herself to keep from toppling onto the woman next to her. She leaned back against the damp, slimy wall. Her clothes were soaked and every muscle in her body ached. The air was so thick, she felt as if they were all sharing the same breath. She sucked in her share, trying hard to stay conscious.