Freedom is a curious thing. Some- many, perhaps, but certainly not all- take it for granted, just like they have their entire lives. Others melt at the mere thought of it, having never known its touch. And then there are those who walk a zigzagged path between liberty, slavery, and the grey area in between. Would it be presumptuous for me to inform you what I personally have learned about the concept?
I know that freedom is something you don't want to be without. Six months of locked doors, barred windows, and visits from Mr. Snyder the Spider would have ruined jail for me, if being in jail itself hadn't already done that. I got out, of course. I climbed out the window into a dead cherry tree, shimmied down the smooth trunk, and got my butt in the back of Teddy Roosevelt's carriage.
But in a way, I'm still imprisoned. I'm never truly free. And I'm not totally sure I want to be. Is freedom all men make it out to be? I must sound like a spoilsport to you, but experience has taught me to be cautious around things placed so high up that you can't examine the goods. Like America.
Among my boys, the newsies, I'm famous for riding out of the Refuge in Roosevelt's' carriage. But the Refuge wasn't my first prison. Nor my last.
000
I was born in the early spring of 1882 in China, in the southern province of Guangdong. Why am I telling you this? Well, it's part of my history, and if you don't know something's history, you don't know nothing about it at all. Anyways, my mother died giving birth to me in our poor rural village of Laam Hua (Blue Flower). This foreshadowed an unlucky life for me, but my grandparents, who were aging rice farmers, refused to believe the fortune teller.
"He will do better than us both," Ye-ye (the Chinese word for paternal grandfather) promised at my red egg ceremony (a naming ceremony involving eggs dyed red a month after a baby's birth). With a resigned, loving sigh, he raised me on gentle pats on the head, spontaneous rambles on ideas I couldn't understand, and stories. Ah, the stories. Tales of the heroic Monkey King, who brought us Buddhism, the Moon Lady Chang-O and her husband Wang Yi, the Celestial Archer who now lives on the Sun, and my father. Baba.
Baba was only fourteen when he heard it was possible for him, a poor dirt peasant, to leave his village and journey to the Land of the Gold Mountain (a Chinese nickname given to America after the Gold Rush). Being the only son and child, he was somewhat spoiled for a peasant. He begged Nai Nai (my father's mother) and Ye-ye to let him leave them to find work in this faraway land. They obviously refused; how could they allow their only child to run off just like that? He was impulsive, reckless, and their life insurance in old age.
But Baba never wanted anything more. Besides, the odds were in favor of his plans. The rains stopped coming as frequently, so the rice harvest had less to offer. That meant less to eat, to sell, to pay hefty taxes imposed by the selfish landlord. Baba would later tell me he saw his life flash before him as if he'd already lived it: "Nothing but mud. The mud of the rice paddy, the riverbank, the village roads. Mud. That would be my life. I would marry, make children to wallow in the mud all their lives just like me, and then I would die and be buried in the mud."
Ye-ye, a sentimental soul, saw his son's desires for a better life. Seeing how many boys like him wanted to leave China and its unfair Manchu rulers, he at last consented. But not without some conditions, starting with a wife.
My mother, Chiu Lan, knew Baba all his life. Everyone in a small village has met and spoken to each other. You could say we're a giant extended family. They never had much conversation, but they tolerated each other. Her parents had other daughters to marry off; it was a good bargain for both families. Baba wasn't exactly pleased with getting married at fifteen, but Mama lessened his workload. And I like to think they loved each other a little. Even gruff Nai Nai admitted they'd slip away from work occasionally to chat in the nearby bamboo grove and come back to the field with tender smiles on their faces.
Mama never went hungry with my family. Unlike some mothers-in-law, Nai Nai kept her son's wife well fed with rice and vegetables, sometimes taking food out of her own dish to put in hers. Unsurprisingly, she became pregnant soon after the wedding. Meanwhile, Baba made rapid preparations to leave. Only seven months after his marriage, he was saying goodbye to his family before starting the long journey to Canton, where'd he take a ship to California and work to send money home. Brushing my mother's face tenderly, he promised they'd be together again.
But it wasn't to be. As I said before, Mama died giving birth to me. My baba had to spend his trip in the ship's hull, since the Oriental Exclusion Act was passed that same year. He expected a fantastic land of riches and opportunity, but instead stumbled upon a wild, hostile country where men who looked like him got scorned at best; murdered by a mob at worst. We did not receive a letter until I was six, so we assumed him dead. Poor Nai Nai placed all her hopes for him upon me.
So I grew up with my grandparents in the rice paddy, trapped in the muddy cycle that my baba loathed. Strangely, I didn't find it so bad. Then again, I was only eight when I left.
Poor, aging, tired. In the eyes of the villagers, Ye-ye and Nai Nai lost everything. Their son abandoned them for some crazy quest to earn money in the Land of Gold Mountain, a country thousands of li across the sea. His wife, their caretaker, dead in childbirth. Now an unlucky baby Water Horse baby on their hands. Nevertheless they persevered.
I grew up wild, living off the land. In spring I rode our neighbor's water buffalo as he pulled a plow through our field. Once the rainy season arrived to flood our paddy, I stabbed rice seedlings into the mud. Throughout summer, I scared the crows, waving a stick or banging metal pots against one another, hollering "Sz! Sz! Die! Die!" Harvest accompanied a crispy dry autumn. Golden stalks blooming rice kernels were cut by hand and taken into our shed. There it laid on sheets, drying out like our paddy. Once rid of moisture, Ye-ye carried bundles of stalks to the mill, where the Old Man Bo removed bran, chaff, and stubble. Nothing went to waste; what we did not eat went to the goat or the ground to replenish the soil. Some rice kernels had to kept to produce seedlings, which we grew indoors; seedlings can survive outdoors, but seeds are vulnerable treasures to protect.
Everything had to be precise; sow seedlings one day too early, the rains arrive too late to save them; sow seedlings a day too late, your paddy floods too soon. Ye-ye predicted the exact day based on the movement of the pesky birds. They possessed some instinct telling them when to curse our soil with their ominous black shadows,food was coming.
My favorite holiday was the New Year. We'd sweep the house, ridding ourselves of the old year to make room for the new. Nai Nai hung round scarlet paper lanterns adorned by golden tassels at the bottom. The Kitchen God's portrait, which supervised our behavior throughout the year, received a final offering of sweets before being burned so his greedy mouth would be too full to report misbehavior to the Jade Emperor, who controlled the rain.
In the village, garlands of lanterns, ribbons, and banners bathed our modest town in red. Fires blazed to scare off Nian, the monster who tormented villages at this time of year. Elaborate processions paraded down the street. Traveling shows displayed their multiple talents, somersaulting, walking on their hands, acting out tragedies. Young men hid under the vivid canopy of fabric or paper, becoming a lion with an oversized head. These lions are not like the caged beasts they show in the Bronx Zoo; they have huge eyes that gaze intently, never denying anyone the time of day. Chinese lions imitate the real ones, but a mischievous element of humor is added. Some instill fear, but they protect you.
Best of all, the dragon dance. A train of grass, silk, paper, and bamboo, the dragon, our lucky guardian, circled through the street like a rattlesnake. People pounded drums, waved flags, blew horns to announce his presence. A giant head with two eyes painted on by a skilled artisan followed a fellow holding a large ball attached to a rod bobbing in every direction. Powerful, strong, agile...Nai Nai was born a Dragon. Her face lit up at the majestic creature of her lunar sign.
Ye-ye stoically observed the fireworks, his favored tradition, while concentrating on his family's enjoyment, never his own. He'd buy me rice candies; once he even splurged on treats to share with my friend Guo Li. Although a timid Sheep, Guo Li laughed heartily at my pranks. We'd dash down the dirt paths, believing we might fly if we ran fast enough. In sweltering summer we carelessly skinny dipped in the river, no matter how many times other boys stole our clothes. Once I convinced him to climb into a parked fisherman's boat when the owner was away. The tight net ensnared us both; the poor fisherman mistook us for water demons and drew his long knife before recognizing us! Nai Nai vehemently banned me from the river following that incident.
Life could be kind or cruel. Despite my troubled start, Fate gave me balanced luck. A healthy yin yang, good as well as bad. At least until my sixth year...
000
"You won't regret this. I promise." Nai Nai poured tea into a strange woman's cup. This woman, donning a navy blue cheongsam, harrumphed. My sepia eyes trailed down her dress, following the intricate pattern of thread vines. I paid no mind to their boring conversation, something I'd do differently if the chance presented itself.
"He looks like a brat," Navy Dress commented dryly upon noticing me peeking around the doorway. I must have been out playing since I recall being out of breath. My lower lip protruded again. I forgot her stitchery; she and her dress were ugly, like the blackbirds stealing our crops.
"Nonsense," Nai Nai piped. Her voice rose higher than normal. "He just needs a good washing. Grandson, come here. Come on."
I shook my head defiantly. I spurned folks who called me a brat. Stamping my foot, I sprinted down the dusty path to the forbidden river. I submerged myself, letting the chill shock me. I swam against the stubborn current until my teeth chattered uncontrollably. My body mimicked my mouth, trembling. Energy draining rapidly, I hoisted myself onto the muddy shore, unsure of what punishment awaited at home.
Nai Nai surprisingly did not thrash me. She heated water on the stove to wash me. Thankfully the mean lady had left hours earlier. Ye-ye kneaded my scalp while Nai Nai brought a bowl of rice. I ate heartily, muttering thanks. Once dinner ended, Ye-ye rested my small hands in his wrinkled palms.
"Faai Ma, Fast Horse (my pet name; my true name is a secret), something important has happened," he said. "Your father has written to us from the Land of the Golden Mountain."
"Baba?"
"Yes. Baba."
"But he is dead."
"No. He could not write to us because he got in-" sighing heavily "-illegally."
"Illegally? What?"
"The white men at Gold Mountain do not care for people like us. The year you were born, their leaders passed an act saying we could not go to their country. However, your father did not know this when he left. He managed to get in, but he had to hide his true identity. Now he wants..."
"Is he coming back?" I tried to picture our farm with Baba. Would he scold like Nai Nai or spoil me like Ye-ye?
"No Faai Ma. He wants you to go to him. The woman from earlier is the wife of a rich merchant in Canton; we offered her a decent sum of money in exchange for pretending you're her son and traveling to the Land of the Gold Mountain legally."
"What?" I understood nothing except that I was leaving. Leaving. My six year old mind rebuffed the possibility.
"You will go to the Land of the Gold Mountain-"
"I'm leaving? You're kicking me out?"
"No, no..."
"Ye-ye! Nai Nai, tell him he can't make me go!" I clutched her trousers desperately. She gave me a sad smile.
"We think it's for the best, dear. You are your father's son."
"Not you too!" I glanced at the front door, but Ye-ye wisely blocked my path. "I'll run away-"
"Don't think about it," Ye-ye snapped. "As a young boy, you should respect your elders. We will miss you, yes, but life is easier with your baba. I've had a scribe write back to your father, promising you will go to him in your eighth year. Faai Ma, you will be a paper son."
000
From that day forward, my grandparents treated me as if I already belonged to Tsu Ho Faa, the rude woman. I no longer played in the dirt beside other children or spent the day in the fields. To pass as the offspring of a Tsu, I attended lessons, sitting next to the local scribe in the village, learning to read and write the Chinese. Lek Sung, the scribe, taught me little without payment. He overlooked my messy calligraphy, my fractured readings, focusing mainly on paying customers. I disliked him intensely.
My family made endless concessions for my education. Instead of buying a new jacket, Ye-ye patched his tattered rags. My field days ended, as did my friendship with Guo Li. No time to say hello, much less chat; we grew apart. Ye-ye grew our rice alone, his back stooping lower to the point I feared he might break his spine. Nai Nai took demeaning jobs, like cleaning out houses or stables in exchange for extra coins. Yes I loathed school, but wasting my grandparents' sacrifices seemed so much worse.
My nai nai and ye-ye now spoke differently to me.
"Do not dirty your face," Nai Nai barked. "A son of Tsu Chao (Ho Faa's husband, the merchant) is not a filthy peasant."
"You should study harder," Ye-ye prompted me. "Do not disappoint Tsu Chao, or he won't give you his papers."
"Don't expect Ho Faa to like you after you ran off like that."
"Be gracious to your paper family."
"Think of your baba whenever the Tsu family agitates you."
"Never let the Tsu's find you ungrateful."
"Don't expect their true children to admire you."
"Watch what the true sons do. Imitate them. Prove you are from a landowning family."
They did not say these things because they didn't love me, but neither wished to become too attached to something that was no longer theirs.
000
My eighth year arrived late in January. If you play by American rules, though, I was a few months shy of seven. We are one at birth and celebrate our birthdays on the New Year.
This New Year lacked the happiness of the previous ones. I might have enjoyed it more if the signs weren't scattered about. Nai Nai taking me for a new Western suit at the tailor's, Ye-ye paying the barber to professionally cut my hair before midnight (cutting hair after the New Year is bad luck). My belongings, including Baba's letter, packed in a burlap bag.
A messenger from Canton driving a rickshaw arrived the morning after the festivities ended, ready to take me to the Tsu's, who'd let me pretend to be their son.
"So soon?" Nai Nai choked.
"He must study for the exam," the messenger explained. "The immigration officials will want proof he is theirs. The boy must get to know them better." Nai Nai bowed her head sorrowfully, unable to find fault with his reasoning. I chewed my fingertips, quivering; the regret in her eyes tightened the knot in my stomach.
"Let him eat his breakfast here," Ye-ye said. "I want to feed him one last time."
The rice Ye-ye drudged to produce disintegrated to dust on my tongue before clogging my throat. I savored each morsel, knowing I'd probably never eat at their table again.. Nai Nai's hand laid on my shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut. I stalled, secretly praying the messenger would become so impatient he'd return to Canton empty-handed. But he waited faithfully outside, uninterested in my grandmother's cooking.
Finally I could eat no more. Intolerant of wasted food, Ye-ye swallowed my leftover rice. Then Nai Nai took me back to her room to put on my Western suit.
"Remember, think of your Baba," she chided. Her voice wavered. "He'll be so happy. Do not get into trouble. Stay safe. Study hard; one wrong answer can be the end of you. If they do send you back, remember-" blinking back tears "-you have a home here."
"Nai Nai." I look into her deep eyes. "Please."
"Faai Ma, shush. Let me fix your hair." Her hands twitched, unable to hold the comb steadily. "Remember everything we've taught you. We do love you so. Don't forget." The comb fell onto the packed dirt floor. She turned a blind eye to it.
"I won't. I promise."
"Keep your promises, okay?"
"Yes Nai Nai." Done grooming me, she stroked my cheek the way I petted our little ducks.
"Remember everything you have experienced in China. Us, the farm, your people. Don't forget. All this is in your heart, and there it will stay. I implore because-" letting a flood gush down her face in rivulets "-I will never give you advice after today. Understand?"
Now I saw the full extent of the promise. Without me, my grandparents would be alone. Old, weakening each year...if I ever got the chance to return, they probably would be gone. I'd never see them after today.
"Let me stay, I can take care of you."
"No Little Grandson. Whether you stay or go, we will be dust one day. We lived; now you must find your path." She kissed my wet cheek. "I will always be with you, my precious gem. You might be too little to remember this, but here is something you won't forget. She opened her jewelry box, an object no one touched since Mama died, and produced a jade circle strung on a silk cord. Oi, the character for love, was etched in the green stone.
"Carry this to America. Now you won't forget." She clasped it in my hand. The jade felt cold against my sweaty palm.
"I won't, Nai Nai."
"Good. Good."
Ye-ye showed no emotion. He stared blankly as we walked through the house a final time, stopping me only to kiss my forehead.
"Be a good boy," he implored.
"Yes, Ye-ye."
"We are waiting!" the messenger hollered, now eager to get going. My legs turned to stone, immobile. Nai Nai dragged me to the rickshaw, shoving my bag in the driver's hands. I looked our paddy, barren, dry...
"Try to act happy," my grandmother murmured as I climbed onto the cushioned seat. "Really, you're lucky to get out of here." My mouth curved, seeking something to say, but she ran into the house. The messenger kicked off the bike. We jolted. I yelped the rickshaw bounced on the uneven road, but he showed no concern. Our speed steadily increased as my home shrunk to a small dot before vanishing completely. I let my tears flow. I wish I held them back; they marred my last view of home.
000
The Tsu's home lacked the garnet columns, the curved roof, and the golden trimmings I expected. Nai Nai described their enormous wealth in superfluous detail, which made me wonder why they needed to take me. Two poor farmers couldn't pay very much.
"All this for a hundred wen that I don't see a sniff of," the driver had grumbled halfway into the ten hour trip, unaware of my open ears. "What does a filthy rich family like them need a peasant's money for? And who has to do the hauling? Me, that's who."
A hundred wen? Most peasants never saw more than fifty! Finished crying, I accepted my place as a paper son. My grandparents' sacrifices would not, could not go in vain.
"You have a home here." Faithful Nai Nai. I yearned to jump off the garish rickshaw, to gallop like the Horse I am back to Laam Hua. Still, reason kept me put. Hours had passed since I left; the driver came at sunrise. The sneaky sun began his languid descent to beneath the horizon.
I thought of the story of the ten suns. Once there were ten suns, the sons of the goddess Xi He of the Valley to the East, and Di Jun. Their mother escorted them across the sky to her valley one by one during a ten day week. Tired of this routine, the ten boys decided to disobey their parents by transcending the sky all together. Their combined heat made life unbearable. To save the Earth, the Jade Emperor ordered Di Jun to retrieve his children. The poor god tried, but he could not sway his disobedient sons. Di Jun then hired Yi, the Celestial Archer, to scare them into obeyed. Instead of frightening them, Yi shot nine of the boys, leaving one to warm the earth. Angered, Di Jun took away Yi's godly state, making him a mortal. Luckily, the people made him Emperor of the Earth. He was offered a pill to make him immortal again; at least until his wife saw how badly he ruled and ate the pill herself.
The thought of Ye-ye, who told me this tale in a futile effort to quell my rebelliousness, stabbed my heart. I tried to think of something that wouldn't connect to my lost family, but nothing came to mind. That is how family is in China. They are your foundation, your everything.
I can't say I didn't enjoy parts of the ride to Canton. Tiers of rock shaped like rice cakes emerged from glassy water, frosted in verdant swirls. Temples and towns, teeming with activity, added some variety to the mostly green palette Nature gave Guangdong. Cerise ribbons, pastel tunics, harlequin produce for sale in the market. I might have enjoyed lunch in a village called Mong Sing, Busy Town, where we ate rice balls and salted pork at a tea shop, if the driver hadn't splattered chewed food by talking and belching the entire meal.
I passed time alternating between napping and observing my China land, knowing I'd soon lose my homeland for a strange baba in a hostile country. Occasionally the driver braked without warning, desperate to breath soundly, sip from his canteen, or visit the privy. Later in the journey, I took advantage of these breaks to stretch my legs, knowing the temptation of running home died as distance increased.
"A hundred wen, a hundred wen," I repeated to myself endlessly. You will be a paper son.
By late afternoon, we reached the city. Canton radiated energy. It started small: a row of huts, slums- beggars scrounging up a meal. My fancy Western suit made me a stranger among my own kind. Then it grew into bustling markets. Rickety bicycles, wooden carts, people waving their hands, complaining about the traffic. Rickshaws just like mine rolled past. I began counting. Ten, eleven, twelve...too many. Square brick buildings; some had curved roofs while newer, fashionable edifices had flat tile roofs. Stalls loaded with produce, cloth, little trinkets lined the streets. I smiled at the farmers selling their wares, hoping they knew how I appreciated their labors. Every so often we passed a pagoda or temple. Ornately carved with auspicious symbols, splashed in golds and reds, these places of worship sparked a new round of tears. Ye-ye always wanted to make a pilgrimage to one of the great Taoist temples; unfortunately he hadn't the funds. One hundred wen.
People clogged the streets like ants smashed in the dirt. Laughter blended with crying; normal talking was blotted out by shouts, advertising various wares. Smoked fish, buttons, pickled vegetables, women... I may have been young, but in small rural villages, curious children, especially boys, found out about these things faster than you might think.
Now that we reached the Tsu's, I pondered why they needed our one hundred wen. Wen have little value- one thousand equals a mark of silver. A noble family could swim in silver if it pleased them. I wished for the thousandth time we'd spent the money on something better.
Like I said, the Tsu home bore no resemblance to the grand expectations Nai Nai placed in my head. Instead of beautiful crimson columns, the house looked like a stone block. Grayish white. Yes there were columns; pale white pillars lacking color. Tall glass windows lined in gold. Statues of white women donning flowing robes. I hated it.
"Here we are," the driver snapped. "More trouble than it's worth." I eagerly hopped off the rickshaw, clutching my bag. The ground rocked beneath me. I shivered despite the warm weather. Unlike New York, it never gets truly cold in Guangdong. Palm trees grow year round.
The driver kicked off again, still bemoaning the journey. I stood on the gravel driveway, dumbfounded. No one came to retrieve me. Had we come to the right house?
I observed a tiny round garden placed in the middle of the driveway. A plum tree about my height cast a long shadow over three peony bushes. Delicate pink petals tinted with white scattered on the surrounding ground. Plum blossoms are wonderful; they produce sweet fruit, a similar fragrance, not to mention they survive the harsh winter snows up north. An amethyst fruit already began growing. I closed my eyes, thinking about the plum orchard Guo Li's family grew. They made decent money (for a farmer) selling plums. Once Guo Li gave me a basket of plums. They exploded in my mouth, the saccharine juice dribbling down my chin.
Forgetting my duties, I scampered over to the tree. The driver gone, nobody else watching, what did you expect a child to do? I waded through the peony bushes, sending petals flying. I grasped the slim boughs, gradually shimmying upwards, not caring about my Western clothes. My stomach swelled enticingly at the thought of plum. I could even send Nai Nai a blossom- I know she always wanted a little orchard.
"Boy! What are you doing?" a shrill voice barked. Startled, my grip lessened. My Western shoes, useless for climbing trees, skidded against the young bark. I landed on my back in the peony bushes, burlap sack next to me. Petals exploded like confetti.
"What in God's name!" The voice's owner coldly observed me. Sharp nose, pointy ears, an embroidered violet cheongsam...
"Ho Faa!" I scrambled to my feet, my face burning. I already disobeyed Nai Nai; if Ho Faa didn't hate me before, she surely did now. "I'm sorry. I just-"
"Tramping through my garden. Wrecking my flowers. Disgraceful." She yanked me onto the gravel by wrist. I stifled a painful yelp. This was my mother now...
"No manners, no dignity, not worth a hundred wen! Your grandparents conned me." I clenched my teeth. If she hated me enough to insult Ye-ye and Nai Nai, then I had the right to hate her back.
"A hundred wen is a lot of money," I piped. "You can fix your garden."
"Don't be coy. I don't like cheeky boys."
"I'm not cheeky, I'm just telling the truth. Don't adults say not to lie?"
Ho Faa slapped me across the face. "How dare you! A mountain of gold wouldn't be worth taking you. Lucky you'll be gone soon. If you aren't out of my house within a year, you can walk back to your miserable hovel."
I'd have gladly done so, but my grandparents didn't deserve such a prodigal grandson. Nai Nai's instructions came back to me, so I held my tongue.
"Come. You better learn everything fast. inside" She grabbed my arm again, dragging me into the house. Though westernized on the exterior, the inside looked more Chinese. A dragon painting on the west wall. Sliding screen doors made to preserve the ladies' modesty whenever guests came. I saw a courtyard entrance near the very back. For the first time, I actually liked coming here.
"The boy is here," Ho Faa hissed. A middle aged man wearing a black Western suit strutted into the main hall. His lank hair was streaked with gray, his dark eyes shrank into his eyes, and his face looked shriveled and starved. A thin pipe stuck out from between his thin lips.
"Good, good," he muttered. "I got the wen."
"Don't tell me you've already spent it."
"Only a little. I bargained well."
"Bah! You know how those waiguoren are. Especially the ones from England. Have you forgotten the Opium Wars?"
"Relax wife."
"I can't believe you're doing this to me!" Ho Faa yanked my arm up, shaking me. "You waste our fortune on opium from waiguoren, who don't even let us come to their country. When you become short on funds, you take this dark skinned urchin for a hundred wen to waste it on more opium! You expect me to believe this-" pointing at me "-resembles my baby? My dead baby!" She released my arm only to shove me on the marble floor. "I won't have him in the baby's room. Make good use of him, but keep him away from the children. My true children." She spat on me before storming off. Shuddering, I curled into a ball, fighting back tears. Grandparents, of all the paper families, why this one?
"Boy." Chao, the husband of Ho Faa, helped me up. "I'm sorry for my wife's behavior. It pains her to see someone pose as her deceased son."
"Oh." My eyes trailed a winding crack in the floor.
"However, she is right. Your one hundred wen will only pay for so much, especially since opium prices are rising. Not to mention you are a dark skinned peasant."
I bit my lip. Though I knew folks preferred lighter complexions, since they suggested you were too rich to work in the sun, the comment stung. I never got insulted over my skin until coming here. As a matter of fact, Nai Nai praised my Terra-Cotta color.
"You're like a rain cloud," she teased. "Dark, sweet, refreshing. You make the crops grow, the rivers run, sometimes a ribbon of many colors stretches across the sky after you come..."
"Rain clouds are darker than me!" I protested. "But you are right about them. They are beautiful too."
"Then you're the earth itself. Sometimes stubborn, other days generous. It doesn't matter; you are all we need to survive." She kissed me softly on the forehead. "Never let anyone say your color is too dark. It is beautiful."
"We still can make this work," Chao added. "I have a plan: one that will teach you everything the officials will ask about and give us our money's worth for you."
000
Tsu Chao made good use of me. He led me to the kitchen, my new home. I was to be a lowly houseboy, not a son.
"This is better," he declared. "You know a house better after cleaning it. Also, this is closer to home for you, right? You fit right in." He shoved me into the cook's arms, laughing on his way out.
I spent my first day as a paper son cooking rice, chopping onions, and stoking the fire. I knew how to cook simple dishes back home, especially since Nai Nai required assistance during the New Year, but preparing a feast for a rich family that hated you was different. Cook frequently scolded me. I didn't wash the rice properly, I skewered the radishes, I spilled wine...the list went on.
"More trouble than it's worth," I whined, quoting Ho Faa.
"Bite back your tongue or I'll pull it out," Cook threatened. "Don't expect kindness from Mistress, understand?"
"Does she know what that means?"
"You talk a lot, eh?" Cook shook her head, softening after everything was in the oven and she caught a chance to sit down for a minute. "I suggest wearing something simpler if you're going to be houseboy. Go change after dinner."
"Yes, Cook. By the way, do you have a name?"
"Doesn't everyone?" she snorted. "Call me Sai Siu. Small Laugh."
"You can call me Faai Maa. That's what my grandparents nicknamed me. I'm a paper son, you know." I prattled on. "Soon I'll go to America to be with my baba. I hear you can pick up gold right off the streets."
"Sure. You just think of that gold when Mistress comes storming in." Somehow Fo Haa knew exactly when I finished Cook's chores.
"Scrub the main hall," she commanded as she burst into the kitchen. "We have guests coming." I took a metal pail filled with water and oil that burned blisters on my hands. The brush's rough bristles scratched them further. I'm not going to even mention my knees. Yet I obeyed, thinking of Ye-ye's one hundred wen. Turns out, no guests arrived. My work had been for naught, unless you counted Ho Faa's vengeance against me.
Ho Faa had nine children, a lucky number: four sons, five girls. The youngest, a daughter, looked about my age. They sat at a long rectangular table in salmon colored cushioned chairs under a crystal chandelier. Mealtimes were a solemn, almost funeral-like affair. To spite me further, Ho Faa decreed that I help serve the food.
"He needs to observe a proper family eat," she reasoned. "In return, when he has finished, he may eat at our table."
The Tsu children despised me like their mother. Han Na, the oldest daughter, spilled soy sauce all over the table just as I sat down. The family's eyes never left me as I scrubbed the brown liquid away. Gwai Yu, her youngest surviving son, demanded more rice each time I picked up my chopsticks. Fang Hua, the girl my age, gave me the most grief.
"Why is your face so ugly?" she queried coldly. "He looks like a cracked egg."
"Fang Hua," Chao chided. "Eat your bamboo shoots."
"Did Cook prepare them?" she snapped. "I won't eat anything he's touched. He looks dirty."
"Cook made them," I said, eager to eat. "I didn't touch them, I swear."
"You're lying, I can see it your eyes!" She began bawling, bangng the table. "Make him go away, he's horrible! He's nothing like my brother!" Her painted blue bowl tipped over; steaming egg drop soup splashed onto her cherry silk dress. Fang Hua screamed.
"My darling!" Ho Faa rushed over to her daughter.
"Make him go away!" the girl wailed. "He did it! He's playing tricks on us with his mind! Make him leave. I-I haven't got a brother no more."
"She's right!" Han Na chimed in, an accusatory finger pointed at me. "He'll never be Sai Lou, Little Brother! Send him back!"
Now I saw what kind of family bought me. Biting my lip, I stamped my foot before dashing into the hall. I charged past the dragon paintings into the hall I scrubbed and out the door. The wind howled like a demon. I cried as I ran. If no one understood me, at least the wind knew how I felt.
I galloped like a horse who broke free of his reins. My eyes searched for the great road that took me away from Laam Hua. Perhaps I might run back to Nai Nai, who'd feed me her own flesh if necessary. I imagined her soft hands kneading my scalp, like the day I first fled Ho Faa. Yell at me, thrash me, I don't care, just take me back!
I wandered the streets until the dark clouds swallowed the white moon, but the great road never came to sight. The pitter-patter of rain echoed in the distance. My stomach grumbled. I reached in my pants pocket for a handkerchief, but my hand closed around a cold jade circlet. I pulled out Nai Nai's jade. Don't forget.
"Forget what?" I said aloud. Such serious thoughts to place upon a child! But I hadn't felt like a child in what seemed like a long time. Hugging myself as the rain drenched me, I walked home, to the Tsu's. Scoldings, a slap, a mattress in the kitchen. Sai Siu slipped me a dumpling. I ate in silence before hiding the jade circlet in a hollow brick I loosened out of the fireplace. If this house keeps secrets, I shall too.
000
I became like the Tsu house; on the outside, an obedient servant conforming to the changing atmospheres around me. On the inside, I remained the peasant boy from Laam Hua. I worked from before sunrise to late after dark. Every morning I started the fires in the great hall, the parlor, and the three sitting rooms. After the family went downstairs to eat, I swept the ash out of their bedroom hearths before kindling a new one unless it was summer, when the heat alone killed buzzing flies. I weeded the vegetable garden, chopped bamboo shoots, caught chickens for Sai Siu, and scrubbed the pots following each meal. The minute a spare moment arrived, Ho Faa would snatch it away.
"Scrub the floors. Was the windows. Sweep the courtyard. You are a poor replacement. My true son, may he rest in peace, would be ashamed to look upon your dark face."
The children left special clutters of toys, books, even ink to torment me. Fang Hua slinked around me while I cleaned, hissing, "Demon. Horrible." Meals were the worst. I might've starved if Sai Siu didn't let me gorge myself in the kitchen after they went to bed.
"Fast Horse, bah! Little Pig, more like," she snickered.
To Chao's credit, I got to know the house better. I cleaned twenty-eight rooms, forty windows, and fourteen chandeliers. I knew the mansion better than the family! I counted the the stairs, how many steps from the garden to the south wall, even the average number of times Chao passed out from too much opium. Sai Siu surprisingly could read. She taught me to add, subtract, keep track of numbers. I think she's the reason I'm so good at selling papes today.
We became allies. She kept me fed, I kept her entertained. I told her stories of Laam Hua. Most made her laugh, but others elicited a tear or two.
"I'm sorry, they make me think of home," she explained, wiping her eyes after I recalled the river demon incident.
"Where did you come from?"
"I'm a city girl, but my father used to take me on trips through the country." She sighed. "My husband was a fisherman. We lived on his boat, going down the river. Sadly he died twelve years ago. I went to my widowed mother, who worked here. She made me assistant cook. I rose in the ranks until Master began letting servants go. Master chose to pay the opium bill over them!"
"I'm sorry about your husband."
"Hush. Time soothes the wounds." She stroked my back. "Faai Hau, tell me about your father."
"Baba?" I shrugged. "I don't know anything."
"He cares for you," she insisted. "He waits for you in America, the Land of the Gold Mountain. You must pass the examination they'll give you, or you'll be deported. Here." She placed a small notebook in my lap. "Write everything down. I'll teach you what I know. You are a paper son, but act like a true son." Paper son. True son. I wondered how the officials tell the difference.
I studied the copybook every evening while I warmed myself by the fire. I added obscure details, like the hue of Ho Faa's best dress. Many times I did not know how to write a figure down. Chao frowned whenever I asked him.
"Not good," he muttered. "Your grandparents said you could read."
"I do," I protested. "But the scribe didn't teach me much."
"Look, I don't have time for you," he finally said one morning, inhaling another puff of opium. "But since I promised I'd get you to your father, I'll make sure you can study for that interrogation. You'll take classes in the morning with my children. Then do your chores as always."
"Thank you, sir." I bowed, not sure what to expect. Had a favor or burden been bestowed? I shook my head, wondering at how much my life changed in one month.
000
Five months ago I stood at Lek Sung's stall, trying to hear his grumbled lessons over the hubbub of the market. Now I sat at a rosewood table between Gwai Yu and two of his older brothers, Ji and Zeon, in the library. Rows of shelves filled with books, leather bound volumes ranging in thickness, cast short shadows in the noon sun. Our tutor, Fung, a lanky mustached man, arrived with a mountain of paper tucked underneath his right arm.
"Right, the texts of Confucius," he said briskly, slamming his materials onto the table. "Gwai Yu, I hope you did your homework."
"The lesson was too long," the brat whined. "I can't learn such hard lessons." I gaped at his ingratitude. Back home I was one of the only children to receive any schooling.
"Well you'll have to do better," Fung rebuked him. "French is important, especially with those blasted traders swarming our ports. Why, the last time I was in Hong Kong, I saw a whole boat full!"
"Why should I learn French?" Gwai Yu persisted. "I'm the fourth son. I don't need to take up Father's trade."
"Will you shut up?" Ji snarled.
"Manners." Fung shoved a book at Gwai Yu. "Read this. You-" to Ji "-I want that arithmetic memorized by tomorrow. Zeon, you owe me a recital on the history of China during the Han Dynasty. Tell me how Confucius influenced society despite his long being dead and how that relates to today."
"I'm bored," Gwai Yu yawned.
How can anyone be bored I pondered. Confucius, French, imperial dynasties. These things jumbled in my mind like tangled yarn.
"Excuse me sir, but what do I do?" I asked before I realized what I was saying.
"A new pupil?" Fung examined me similarly to how Nai Nai examined a product before plunking her money down. "A lucky face, though I don't indulge in those mystical whims. You do look smart, I'll admit. What's your name?"
"Eh..." Unsure whether to give my real name or my fake name, I shrugged. Better play it safe. "Faai-Lok." The deceased baby I impersonated. Faai-Lok means happy, but this baby's death brought terrible sorrow to his mother, his siblings, his twin sister Fang Hua... Lok gik sang bei, Nai Nai would say. Extreme joy turns to great sorrow.
"Well Faai-Lok," Fung said, raising his eyebrows, "Let's get you started. Can you read?"
"Simple things."
"Simple? Not good enough. I will teach you character by character if it benefits you. Once you get started, we'll move on to our history, our literature. Ever heard of the Tao Te Ching?"
I shook my head, though it rang a bell.
"Excellent piece. The writings of Laozi, the man who founded Taoism."
"Laozi?" I gasped. My ye'ye's hero?
"Yep. Listen to me and you can read all he has to say. If you want I'll let you study the works of Confucius, the Zhuangzi, the operas...so wonderful." He sighed. "But first basic reading. Mathematics is vital. Then your family's history." He took my hand. "I won't let you disappoint the white demons who question you. You won't have to walk back to Laam Hua."
Fung changed me forever. I became more intelligent, more observant. That first day, he drew a square on paper.
"This square is a wall protecting your character," he explained. "You write in there until you've learned how to write them on your own. Then you don't need the square anymore.
"There are thousands of characters. Some are simple, taking only one or two strokes. Others are very complicated to memorize and write. Also, writing is not just marking lines. There's an art, a feeling to it. You must be able to see, to feel what each character is saying. Some stand for a single words, others are for entire phrases! Some newer, some old as the Middle Kingdom itself! Chinese is not a set of words, but a living breathing language that evolves over time. You should be very proud to have come from such a language!"
He leaned closer to me. "Especially Yue (our word for Cantonese). This tongue has survived thousands of years, under cruel emperors who wished to stamp it out. The Dragon Emperor could not replace it with putonghua (standard Chinese, Mandarin), the Mongols had to accept it; even the white demons, the waiguoren who swarm our ports, can't stop it from thriving!
"Now-" placing a short brush in my hand. The cinnamon end hairs came from horses, my kind. "We write. We'll have to write putonghua, for Yue is too fine to put on paper."
"Huh?" I gaped, totally ignorant. Nothing clicked in my young brain. Language is alive, Cantonese is a proud tongue, but we have to write in Mandarin. What does he want of me?
"Old Fung, you talk more than you teach," Ji scoffed. "You want him to learn something useful? Send him back to the kitchen where he belongs."
"Ji! Have you pawned your manners? Faai-Lok is my student." Fung guided my hand. "I show you to write一 jat, one." Guided by his steady hand, I drew a straight horizontal line with a thickened end that slanted backwards.
"Excellent. Again." I drew many jat's until my hand hurt. Next came 二 ji, two, which was two lines, the shorter on top of the longer. I learned to write all the numbers up to ten, even unlucky四 sei (four), which sounds like sz, which is "die."
Ho Faa arrived late in the afternoon, when the sun glowed honeycomb yellow, slowing down time in her sticky, sweet golden honey. She sent me back to the kitchen, but Fung gave me a notebook to write my homework in.
"Practice your numbers," he whispered in my ear. "Also, never let anyone tell you don't deserve an education. I already can tell you're better than all the others combined."
"Do ze, thank you," I said before slipping back to Sai Siu to chop bamboo shoots.
000
I think Fung's the reason I can draw decent today. He drilled me relentlessly on my characters. If I so much as forgot to thicken the end of a single stroke, he'd make me rewrite it ten times.
"Work hard," he'd chide whenever I complained. "You'll thank me someday."
Writing demanded much effort. The multitude of symbols cluttered in my head, so I studied them in a notebook by the fire's dying glow, long after everyone went to bed. There's specific rules; you make strokes from left to right, horizontal before vertical, diagonals right-to-left before diagonals left-to-right, top to bottom, inside before outside...you get the idea.
I struggled every session, but as the weeks wore on I noticed improvement. My strokes became neater, my hand steadier. I noticed secrets not even Ho Faa could snatch away. My collection of characters expanded; I mastered simple strokes while taking new ones. About a month after starting Fung said I didn't need to use the boxes anymore.
"Characters do not need to be lonely in cages," he hummed. "Let them connect into sentences, as words are meant to do."
He compared sentences to trains. I didn't know what a train was until he explained. Trains are giant metal machines that ride on steel rails across the land, pulling a long line of wagons behind it. They go fast, but you need lots of coal to produce enough steam to make the engine go. Never step in front of a train, for you'll surely die.
"You'll see them in America," he chuckled. "You might even ride one!"
Months flew by. I hated housework, but Fung's lessons brought me a break. I escaped, you could say. The Tsu's left me be, I evaded chores, Fung liked me...for the first time since leaving Laam Hua I felt happy. I wrote a short letter back to my grandparents, knowing how proud they would be.
Dear Nai Nai and Ye-ye
I am learning to read. My teacher is nice. I am a houseboy, but soon I go to the Land of the Gold Mountain. I miss you all very much.
Love,
Your Grandson
My least favorite subject was English. It's so different from Cantonese. Alphabets, verb tenses, spelling… I didn't even understand Chinese grammar. But Fung knew it was necessary, so I spent hours repeating useful phrases in the Western tongue.
"Do ze" now was "thank you." "Nei hou" became one word, "hello." "Chengmah, mhgoi, and satpui" all meant "Excuse me." I hated it.
000
"I'm going to San Francisco," Chao announced at dinner, six months since I arrived. "Our stores need to be supervised. Besides-" eyeing me "-I need to get him to his father." I concealed a smile, knowing I held a small degree of power over my enemies.
"How long will you be gone?" Ho Faa wearily queried, beckoning me to bring the rice bowl. "You haven't been home a year. Now-"
Sensing yet another argument, Chao pointed to me. "Boy, go eat in the kitchen," he finally said to me. "Start studying. We leave in a week. If you fail the test, I'm not paying for your journey back."
"Yes sir." Still holding the giant rice bowl, I returned to Sai Siu. We ate the rice soberly, knowing we'd likely never meet again.
"I won't miss the Tsu family, but I will miss you," I lamented between spoonfuls of puffy rice.
"You will stay in my heart," she promised. "Faai Maa, you've helped me a great deal in the kitchen. I will remember you, even though I only knew you for six months. Please, for your sake, be good for your Baba. He's waiting for you now, as we speak."
I spent more time studying the Tsu family under Fung's omniscient eye than cooking their food. One wrong answer to the immigration officials could get me deported, as well as land the Tsu's in serious trouble with the law. Not to mention my grandparents' one hundred wen would be wasted.
"Where was Master Chao born?"
"Upstairs, in the birthing room."
"And what color are the walls?"
"Lavender."
"How old is this house?"
"Sixty-two years."
"When were your parents married?"
"January 8, 1870."
"When was your oldest brother born?"
"September 3, 1871."
"How old are you?" This was a trick question. Like I said before, all Chinese babies are one at birth and turn another year at Chinese New Year. However, we still keep our biological birth dates, even the exact hour, to know what Fate might have planned for us. So we can play by American rules too.
"I'm seven years old." Faai-Lok was born a little less than three months after me, with Fang Hua. Chao lived in America at the time, so he registered both children in the immigration documents. Unfortunately, a fever struck the boy down in 1884, sending Ho Faa into a grieving state from which she never recovered, according to servants.
I wrote even the most obscure facts (What is Ho Faa's favorite dessert? Almond jelly) in a cheap notebook held together by strings. No money need be squandered on me. I received two Western suits, one made of brown corduroy and the other made of navy wool, that Ji outgrew. Ho Faa allowed me one pair of black leather shoes foreign missionaries donated. I packed a suitcase, containing the two suits, my peasant clothes, a round bamboo hat Ye-ye bought me the previous year, and a wooden horse on wheels. Ye-ye carved it himself, humming serenely by the fire. Nai Nai accused him of spoiling his three-year-old grandson, but her heart melted when she saw me pulling it around on a string outside. I took my meals in the kitchen. Sai Siu cut my hair short, clamping her firm hand on my head so I couldn't fidget.
Chao, on the other hand, spared no expense in his personal preparations. All his sons, save for Gwai Yu, accompanied him on this voyage. Ho Faa wept bitterly, knowing they'd only return to marry a girl of her choice, then leave again. Nevertheless she hired extra tutors to drill them on questions. Teams of tailors sewed crisp new suits, the latest styles, for each one. The cobbler, a portly mustached man, stumbled in one blustery morning to make their leather shoes. However, they only got suitcase each; even in the kitchen I heard them squabbling and whining over what to bring. Despite Chao's disbelief in Chinese luck, he let his wife summon an astrologer to check his charts, ensuring that each son would be safe in the Land of the Gold Mountain. He predicted wonderful futures for each son, although I think they had more to do with Chao's tips than his charts.
Six days later, the eve of my leaving arrived. I sat in the great library, wondering how I'd gone from an illiterate peasant to a somewhat educated houseboy in six months. Now I could read whole books, even some philosophy! I glanced at Fung, realizing he'd be lost to me as well. He returned my gaze.
"Today's a special day. Why don't we study something you want?"
"Okay." I pursed my lips, thinking. Anything but the immigration test. "The Tao Te Ching."
"What?"
"The Tao Te Ching. You said, on my first day, if I did good, I would be able to read it. It's written by Laozi, right?"
"Aye."
"My ye-ye loves him."
"It's very advanced, you know."
"I want to read it!" I pouted.
"Alright, alright. No no need to get saucy." He swept a large volume off a shelf. Stiff crimson spine, golden lettering. Positive energy radiated off it.
"The Works of the Middle Kingdom," I read softly.
"There's more than just the Tao Te Ching in this edition," Fung explained. "There's also the Zhuangzi, which I mentioned, another vital book in Taoism. Some Confucius, Mencius, even the Art of War! Very advanced, so let me help you." He opened the book. The scent of aging paper wafted up my nose.
"Not many people cram all this philosophy into one book," he prattled on, "but I wanted to do something special."
"You made this book?"
"I didn't make it, but I got a printer acquaintance to print this fine volume." He stroked the page lovingly. "I desired something to help my students understand it better. See the little notes on the side? My commentary."
"Commentary?"
"My thoughts, my questions, my analysis." He smiled. "My printer friend died soon after he finished this. It's very special."
"Yeah." I pictured Nai Nai's jade circlet in the brick.
"That's why I want you to have it."
"What?" I gaped, not sure I heard right.
"Even tutors have their favorites," he confessed. "Please, take it. I feel so much guilt whenever I look through it. Really, it would be doing me a favor."
"But sir-"
"We're alike, you and I. We both came from poor, rural villages. We both are worth much, but the world can't seem to accept that. Please." He rested the book in my hands. "I want you to remember you're Chinese, no matter where you go." Remembrance again.
"Sir-"
"Please, for me." He bowed his head. "I'm sure."
"Alright then."
"I'll help you understand the format, then it's up to you." He patted my head. "You're smart. You'll have a better life, better things. You'll do so much more than me."
"Fung-"
"Please, for me, remember." He sighed. "Don't show this to the master or his family."
"Why do they hate me?" I blurted out, forgetting my manners.
"Huh?"
"Them. Why do they hate me?" I shouldn't have derailed the conversation, but I couldn't resist asking. "They act like all the trouble is my fault, especially Ho Faa."
"I don't condone her terrible behavior, but try to understand how hard it is to have you take her child's place," he said. "She placed all her hopes on that baby."
"Why? She has nine other children." Nine is a lucky number, for the character for nine is similar to that for happiness, for which Faai-Lok was named. "Besides, she made me her slave, not a son."
"One child does not replace another." He leaned closer to me so the other boys wouldn't hear. "Master has been unfaithful in the past. She saw Faai-Lok as her means of winning him back. She may not be beautiful, but she gave him many sons. A fifth son to stop the unluckiness of four sons." He sighed. "Master Chao cared so little, he didn't even leave his mistress in America. The boy died of fever before he got home."
"That's awful." I already disliked Chao, but now I loathed him. He abandoned his family to chase a dream in America, one he could never sustain. But then again, was my father any different? He left us in worse circumstances to enter a country by breaking the law. He never wrote to us save for a couple letters demanding I forsake everything familiar to join him across the sea.
"Yes. But anyway, let us study. We won't get another chance." He flipped through some pages. "Ah. Here we go. Tao (the Way) that can be spoken of is not the constant Tao. The name that can be named is not a Constant Name..."
Fung's warnings proved correct. I made little sense of the book, despite his commentary. However, my seven-year-old mind understood one thing: nothing is constant.
I spent my final night in the Tsu house curled next to the hearth, resting my feet on my suitcase. I arrived sporting a cheap Western suit, carrying a burlap bag. Now I left better dressed, harder worked, and literate. I stashed the book and the jade in my suitcase. Although there other suits were nicer, I still planned to wear my grandparents' suit to the harbor, to remind me why I was crossing the ocean. I hid both in the bottom, underneath the peasant smocks. As I buried my treasures, I heard the crinkle of paper. Fearing I damaged the book, I yanked my peasant clothes out. The Works of the Middle Kingdom were quite intact, but a yellowed paper fluttered out of the hidden pocket Nai Nai sewed into my smock. Baba's letter!
I replaced the other items before reading my father's words to us. I recalled Ye-ye hassling Lek Sung, the scribe who failed to teach me, over the price.
February 12, 1887
Dear Honored Mama and Baba,
It is I, your son, Lei, in America, the Land of the Gold Mountain. I can't tell you how sorry I am for not writing. I've enclosed money. This land is not what the legends built it up to be. The whites here don't like Chinese. Just as I left, their leaders passed a law saying laborers like myself couldn't enter the country. I sneaked in by hiding in the hull; I'll spare you the details, but I got in safe. I'm lucky; a mob lynched a man the minute he stepped foot on the soil.
Don't worry. I'm safe and healthy in New York. I made money working; I can afford to send for my wife, Lan, and my child. I hope the child is healthy. Lan, I long to see your sweet smile again.
I know this wasn't what we agreed, but I can make twice as much in a month in America than a lifetime in the Middle Kingdom! I want to send for Lan and our child as soon as possible. They can pass off as relatives of a merchant family. If they pass the immigration exam, they will be let into the country. We can be together at last. I could even send for you, honorable parents! You don't want to spend all your lives stuck in the mud. There will be difficulty, but I know the rewards are worth it.
I am so grateful to you. I love you. Please know that this is my wish for my family. Write back soon.
Your loving son,
Lei
I inwardly cringed. The letter revealed a shallow man, the kind who dipped his chopsticks into another man's bowl too many times without giving proper thanks. The more I reread, the more my blood boiled. Did he know how much work rice took? Did he know how much pain he caused his "honored parents?" He didn't even know Mama died giving birth two weeks after he left.
So this is what I left Laam Hua for.
I bit my lip. No fair, no fair. I should've been sleeping between snoring Nai Nai and mumbling Ye-ye, safe in our two room house. Baba never should have left. If he did, then he might as well not write at all if he wasn't returning. Tears trickled down my face in rivulets. NOT FAIR, NOT FAIR!
I peeked into the hidden pocket. Another letter. I unfolded this one.
January 8, 1888
Dear Honored Parents,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I abandoned Lan, when she needed me the most. I'm sorry I let all those bad things happen. I'm sorry for everything I've done in America. But please, send my son. He's all I have.
I married again. Forgive me for not seeking your approval, but my son needs a mother when he gets here. Her name is Aileen. She's an Irishwoman. I found her begging for coins with her two daughters; her husband died two years ago. We married six months ago. We pooled our money to buy a nice flat above a store in New York in the district where Chinese people like me live. It's called Chinatown. We are expecting a child of our own in the spring.
Forgive me for not writing sooner. It's expensive, and I want to be able to send some money. I've enclosed four American dollars. They took me years to earn. Spend them on whatever you wish.
I ask you one thing only: send me my son. He'll have to travel illegally, I'm afraid, but there are safe methods. He can be a paper son. They get registered as children of legal Oriental immigrants, such as merchants or diplomats. They must pass an exam at Angel Island, where they'll be drilled about their paper families. Everything is on paper, though it might not be true in reality. I know it's asking much, but please do this. I want him to have a better life. I'm doing this for Lan, his mother, my first wife and love. At least by the time he's eight, please send him.
Your son,
Lei
I frowned, confused. This letter left me confused. Who is my baba? The idolized son my grandparents waited for? The arrogant immigrant? This sad father begging for his child? I shook my head, longing for home.
This was my last night a servant; tomorrow I'd be the paper son. Next I'd be an immigrant, an illegal. Finally, in the Land of the Gold Mountain, I could be a son again. I'd meet a white stepmother, two sisters, possibly another. A New York flat would become my home. Permanently. I shifted uncomfortably before drifting off, dreaming of Nai Nai dragging me to the rickshaw six months earlier.
000
The following morning Sai Siu shook me awake urgently. "Hurry, get dressed," she hissed. "You'll anger the master."
Groggily I rose off my bed, not remembering last night. An ominous tightness in my gut told me something was happening. The air buzzed with activity, like a telephone line.
"Get your suit on. I'll let you eat some sticky rice balls I made." She nodded at a little meal wrapped in paper. "You be good in America." America. I froze. Today was the day my family's pains would be rewarded. I no longer had to play houseboy; I could be a paper son, like what was agreed upon. It scared me.
I obeyed, slipping into the old suit. I swallowed the rice balls, which melted into mush in my mouth. Sai Siu barely acknowledged me, speaking only orders. I glanced around the kitchen. The same rushed sadness that began my journey to this unhappy house filled the air, ringing in my ears. Don't cry, don't cry, say something meaningful...
"Master is in his carriage," Sai Siu added. "After you're done here, take your suitcase. Go straight to the carriage in the front; don't delay. Look at that face! For God's sake, use a napkin!" She roughly smeared a napkin across my face. "See how much Master's youngest eats! Now go to your father. No dilly dallying." My first friend here treated me like a stranger. Like Nai Nai. I sighed, wondering if this was even right for me. Had I done something wrong?
I grabbed my suitcase, checking first to make sure nothing went missing. The jade, the book, Baba's letters. Check, check, check. I shut the lid and headed for the door.
"Sai Siu?"
"Call me mam, if you please," she grumbled. "Now go. I have work." Stubborn mule. I pouted.
"Thanks for everything," I said, stepping out the kitchen door a final time. Except for this.
"Be good," she chided. I rushed down the hall, toward the library. Fung didn't hold his emotion back like her. Unfortunately, Fung was nowhere to be found. I dashed through the rows of bookshelves. No lean tutor browsing, spouting off about his love of learning. I bit my lip, muttered a good-bye to the library, and headed for the front. I never saw either one again.
"What took you so long?" Chao demanded as I climbed into the carriage. "I almost left, you know."
"He moves so slow," Ji added. "Little Brother is like a tortoise." All four guffawed while I shrank back in my seat, wondering how I'd endure a week in steerage with them.
The carriage jolted. I watched the Tsu house rumble away. No moment of passion or sadness charged through my blood as it did six months ago. A kind of numbness settled over me. No more fear, no pain. I took myself out of this world, transporting myself into the past, when my happiness actually mattered. I can't tell you how I felt boarding the White Virgin, our ship, or throwing up every six seconds the first day on the ocean. We slept in a single room. The boys, who never shared rooms before, fought like hyenas over a carcass, screeching while their father hollered for silence. We brought our own bedding, ate foreign foods we couldn't keep down, and listened to the scared, lonely, afraid murmurings of emigrants no more certain of what lay ahead than us. There were so many different I spent most of the trip sitting on a bench on the poop deck, staring blankly into the mists or studying my notebook. I can't tell you how I felt, because I felt nothing. I only felt what was happening to me.
000
"Almost there," Chao muttered. "Boys, come here. Bring your notebooks." We leaned against the railing, straining our eyes to see America. No luck.
"Yes Baba?" Zeon asked politely.
"Your notebook. Give it." The boy obeyed. Chao grasped the leather bound book, skimming through it. "You shouldn't have used such a nice notebook. These cost money."
"I thought-"
"You thought wrong. No valuables in here. Now if you don't mind." Chao hurled the book over the edge. We all gasped. Zeon lunged, his hands grabbing at air. The notebook splashed into the gray ocean, never to see the surface again.
"What'd you do that for?" Zeon shouted. "My notes!"
"They'll think you're a paper son, an illegal, if you carry notes," he grunted. "You're supposed to know this stuff without any help. I could give you a million more dumb reasons, but I haven't the time. I hope you all learned what you put in there. Remember, one wrong answer can be all they need to send you back to your mother." We nodded. I suddenly didn't mind having such a lousy notebook.
The other sons gleefully discarded their notebooks, raving how relieved they were to not have to study anymore. I held my notebook over the edge of the railing. Thank you Old Notebook. You helped me on my way. Then I let go, condemning my faithful stack of paper to the bottomless sea. I cried in my pillow that night, wondering why a notebook drove me to tears.
000
"Baba! There it is!" We, the immigrants, from China and Russia and India and wherever this ship had been before, crowded against the railings, straining our necks to get our first glimpse of the Land of the Gold Mountain. Just my luck, rain from the previous night stirred a salty mixture of mist and fog that hung over us like a bad omen, obscuring our view of our new home.
We docked at Angel Island- a small island off the coast of California. Chao tossed us each our suitcases- we didn't carry much. Some clothes, a few personal treasures. Poorer families carried even less. The white dignitaries in first class caused me to gasp when I saw their carts of luggage being rolled off onto the docks and loaded in carriages.
"Mr. Tsu!" A portly Chinaman strutted toward him. "Back in America, I see!"
"Ah, Canning! It's been too long!" Chao beckoned us to come. "Come, meet my old friend, Mr. Young. Hurry, get off the boat."
We nervously trudged down the gangplank to the wooden dock, trying not to go so fast we'd skid down the slanted surface. Behind us, a South Asian couple shouted in a foreign language, urging us to go faster.
"Me first," Zeon shoved the rest of us behind him.
"You're not even the oldest!" Ji whined.
"Boys!" Chao glared at us for causing a scene. Canning chuckled.
While the boys shuffled, still fighting to be first, I wiggled between them squabbling boys. They backed away in surprise; I'd practically invisible the entire journey. Chin up, I walked down the plank onto the dock to the wet dirt, taking my own sweet time. I strutted proudly, like a true son. My first steps on America were firm and solid, leaving small footprints in the mud.
The rest of them followed meekly. Canning patted my shoulder as I stood beside Chao. "You put the rest of them to shame," he murmured in Cantonese.
Chao herded us to Canning's carriage, where we crowded in again. We drove to a government building- a stark gray square made of bricks, each one identical to the other. Brown, dying ivy clung to the sides; even the windows reflected hardly any light. It was a miserable place.
In the back I noticed a wooden extension- it stank of rotting wood and overcrowding.
"You will be staying here-" pointing to the back "-until you are landed," Chao explained. "I will wait for you at my flat. After you all pass, I will pick you up. Once that's done, your little brother can 'visit' his uncle in New York."
"But it stinks in there!" Ji whined.
"Deal with it." The two men checked us in at a desk. The first white man I ever saw was a cold, gray haired grouch who hardly looked up from his paperwork. After writing down our names, he pointed to the hallway on our left, which led to the barracks.
Now you might be wondering why we weren't at the Angel Island Immigration Station. Why were we at this rundown government building with makeshift barracks? Well, the immigration station didn't open until 1910, and this was November 1889. I'm not sure what the norm was, but this was my experience.
There's not much that needs to be said about the barracks, other than it overlooked the water, had extremely small windows, reeked of fish and human filth, and was the only place we knew for two weeks.
Two weeks. The first week the Tsu boys bitterly squabbled over space and things while I laid on my bunk, daydreaming about home or studying. Zeon, the nicest of the boys (which isn't saying much), let me borrow his English primer. At least, he never said I couldn't look at it.
The immigration officials examined us for hookworm, lice, and every disease imaginable. They took us back into special rooms and made us undress. They ran combs and needles through our hair, put their grubby hands on our bare skin, and even made us excrete on tin plates. I came back from those "meetings" wanting to wash off their violating touch.
By the second week, life was bearable. True, we never got along, but the boys made their peace. They didn't call me names or fight so much. We never talked to anyone else besides ourselves. We merely studied, fretted, and waited to be "landed."
Sau, the eldest son, was called in first. He bit his lip so hard that a trickle of blood ran down his ashen chin, like a vampire, as he stumbled into the interrogator's office alone. When he returned an hour later, he tuned out our frenzied questions and collapsed on his bed in a dead faint. Even when awake, he shook his head, fearing he'd get into trouble if he told us anything.
They summoned his two more times. They also started questioning Zeon as well. He returned to us drumming his fingers, saying, "It wasn't what I expected," and nothing more. The officials would be more than happy to kick us out for cheating, so divulging any information put the entire family at risk. The night after Zeon's first interview, I heard him sniffling into his pillow.
It had been ten days when they finally called me in. At first I stood dumbly, frozen in fright. An official, a white haired man whose cold blue stared bored into mine, emerged from his office to get me. As he angrily dragged me by the arm to his gray office, Sau nudged my back.
"You'll be fine," he whispered in Cantonese.
"No talking," the official snapped. "This is America, speak English."
I have to speak English! Stupid, I'd known that all along! But now even my Chinese stuck in my throat. This was what Fung prepared me for all those months, and now I might let his effort go to waste.
The office was just like the building's outside: gray, rough, ugly. Three old men, including the one who dragged me, sat a giant desk cluttered with paperwork. I noticed a photograph of Ji sticking out of a folder.
"Faai-Lok Tsu," Blue Eyes read off my records, although his clumsy pronunciation sounded more like, "Fah Look Sooh."
"Yessir," I stuttered in heavily accented English.
"You are the son of Chao Tsu and Ho Faa Tsu, correct?"
"Yessir."
"Speak articulately."
"Ex-excuse me?"
"I said to speak articulately."
"Huh?"
Blue Eyes groaned. "Let's get started."
"Yessir."
"How many windows in your house?"
"Forty."
"How many chandeliers?"
"Fourteen."
"When were you born?"
"In 1882…"
It went on and on. My brain throbbed as I dug deeper, finding more English words. Sometimes I let my Cantonese slip, eliciting a deeper frown from Blue Eyes. I stammered my answers, mentally kicking myself each time. This man had no issue deporting me, so why was I giving him even more reasons?
"What direction does the kitchen window face?" I saw his smirk- it lasted only for a split second, but I knew he doubted a rich son would ever enter a kitchen. And I returned the favor.
"It faces the south, sir," I said in clear, American English. He glanced at me. I smiled wide to hide how afraid of him I truly was.
"Right," he breathed, suddenly so unbalanced, so unsure. "Well, that's all for you. You're the youngest, right?"
"Yessir."
"Go back to your brothers." He waved me out. I sprinted back to the Tsu boys, who started at me earnestly.
"How'd it go?" Ji demanded.
I opened my mouth, closed it, and burst into tears. Sighing, Sau shoved me onto my bunk to let me release my seven-year-old tears. I sobbed until I fell asleep; when I awoke, Zeon's quilt was draped around my shoulders.
Ji returned to the office twice more, but Zeon and I never did. Zeon scribbled in a fancy journal of his while I looked at the Tao Te Ching.
Great achievement appears to be inadequate, yet its use is never exhausted.
Great fullness appears to be void, yet its use is boundless.
Great honesty may seem to be accused of wrongdoing.
Great mastery appears to be clumsy. Great eloquence may seem to be inarticulate.
Movement can overcome chill.
Tranquility can overcome heat.
Peace and calmness is the Way to guide the world.
It still baffled me, but the words brought comfort. I thought of Fung, who sparkling eyes gleamed with knowledge of the past, and Sai Siu, who loved me to the best of her ability. Ye-ye and Nai Nai, whose love I carried inside me the way a dragon carried fire in his soul. Fire, as in my baba, who awaited me in New York- a Fire Tiger. Strong, fierce, impulsive. So different from me, a Water Horse.
Four days passed. We ate in the mess hall, huddled in our bunks, wondered when Chao would come. Four is unlucky. So I expected to be deported when Blue Eyes approached our bunks, telling us to pack.
"I've sent word to your father," he said tartly. "Sau Tsu, Zeon Tsu, Ji Tsu, and Faai-Lok Tsu, you are landed."
000
There's not much more to be said about my journey. Chao picked us up, took us to his rather drabby flat above his store. He let me stay and stretch my legs on the street for two days before sending me on the train to New York. I never saw them again. I crossed the country alone at seven. Lonelier than ever, I clutched my suitcase tightly, staring at this sweeping land so unlike China. Nothing much caught my eye except a pamphlet I picked up in the Denver station, advertising a little town out west called Santa Fe.
My baba greeted me in New York, introducing his new wife Aileen, my stepsisters Maire and Bridget, and my new baby brother Michael. He was a very nice man, but not a smart one. America was his dream; he never saw the flaws, even when a drunken Irishman mugged us on the street for supposedly stealing his job. He eagerly discarded his Chinese to be Americanized. It was a fun, hopeful dream, but he failed to see beyond it; a failure that got him killed, me on streets, and Aileen on the run.
I sacrificed my freedom to be with my father. I said good-bye to everyone and everything I knew to make his American dream come true. It was a gamble that didn't turn out and ended his life as well as mine. I saw how dreams were so intoxicating; Santa Fe let me escape, hide away from all the trouble Baba landed me in. But I did what he couldn't do; I let go. I chose not to cage myself in a daydream; the path you walk doesn't matter as much as those who walk with you.
So would you call me a free man? I escaped the rice paddy, the Tsus, Angel Island, the orphanage, and the Refuge. I roam as far as I please on the streets. But my mind still transports me back to those cages.
Freedom is a curious thing. Maybe I'm free, maybe I'm not. Perhaps I will be in ten years, perhaps I won't. And not having it might make a better man out of me. I don't know or understand. But I don't have to.
As the Tao Te Ching might say, "The mark of a moderate man is freedom from his own ideas." Amen, Laozi. So be it.
Jack speaks Cantonese, (Yue), which is different from Mandarin (Putonghua, which is also the standard written language). In Cantonese, the same words will have different accents and tones that make the meanings different.
Glossary:
baba 爸- father
Chao 超 - common Chinese male name; in this case it means "to exceed"
Chengmah 請問 - Excuse me (as in getting attention)
dai 弟- little brother
do ze 多謝 - thank you
faai- 快 fast
Faai Lok 快樂 - name meaning "happy"
Faai Maa 快 馬- name meaning "Fast Horse"
Fang Hua 芳 花 - female name, meaning "fragrant flower"
Fung 細- (usually) male name meaning "phoenix"
hua 花 - flower
ho 訶- harsh
Ho Faa 訶 花- name meaning "harsh flower"
jat 一 - one
ji 二 - two
Ji 给- name meaning "to reach up"
Laam Hua 藍 花 - name of Jack's hometown, meaning "Blue Flower"
Lan 蘭 - female name, meaning orchid
Laozi 老子 - founder and deity in Taoism
Lek Sung 叻 送- name meaning "clever" and "to deliver, or give as a gift"
ma 馬 - Horse
mhgoi 唔該。- Excuse me (to get past)
nai nai 奶奶 - paternal grandmother
Sai Siu 細 笑 - name meaning "small laugh"
satpuih 不好意思 - Excuse me (when leaving for a short time)
Sau 秀- name meaning "beautiful, handsome, excellent"
san 三 - three
sei 四- four
sz 死- die
Tao 道- major concept in Taoism, meaning "The Way"
Tao Te Ching 道德经 - series of essays and poems written by Laozi, the founder of Taoism. One of the sacred books of Taoism.
ye-ye 爷爷 - paternal grandfather
Zeon 进- usually male name meaning "handsome"
China was ruled by the Manchus in the 19th century; imperialism from Britain and France as well as poverty caused many Chinese men to go to America to find work. Women were rare. In 1882, the Oriental Exclusion Act banned Chinese laborers from entering America. However, after the 1906 Earthquake in San Francisco destroyed records, families began registering nonexistent family members and selling paper work in China- thus paper sons were born. In 1910 an immigration station was opened on Angel Island- poems scratched into the walls by immigrants can still be found there.
FOR TASK 2 OF CIRCULATION 1 OF S3 NEWSIE PAPE SELLING COMPETITION