A Hundred Flowers (13 page)

On his desk were his schoolbooks, which he had studied diligently every day. Little Shan brought by his assignments so he wouldn’t fall too far behind. There was a stack of papers in which he practiced writing all the new characters. Tao had them all memorized and would make up the weekly exams when he returned. He was determined to be sitting behind Ling Ling again as soon as possible.

Tao leaned against the desk and suddenly his entire body felt tired. All night he had drifted in and out of sleep, waking when he heard his mother get up every time that baby cried. At first he thought the high whining sounds came from stray cats in the courtyard. Then his
ma ma
told him that a patient had had a difficult birth, and that the girl, Suyin, and her baby would be staying with them until she regained her strength. Tao had heard her screams and moans the morning the girl had the baby downstairs. He’d stood on the stairs, not knowing what to do until Auntie Song brought him back upstairs, telling him not to be afraid, his mother was helping a patient deliver her baby. Why wasn’t she staying at her own house? he had asked his mother. “Because she doesn’t have a home,” she said. He wondered if it would take as long for her to get her strength back as it did for his leg to heal.

Tao felt funny knowing a girl and her baby were staying in the room next to his. He’d glimpsed the girl only a few times from the doorway. He hadn’t really seen the baby yet. Was it sick too? The room used to belong to his great-grandfather’s second wife, Great-Auntie Shu. The room was always dark and smelled old like mothballs. He once heard Auntie Song say that Great-Auntie Shu liked her plum wine and kept her room dark because of her headaches in the morning. His own room once belonged to his great-grandfather’s first wife, but by the time it became his, she’d been dead for a very long time. Great-Auntie Shu had been much younger than the first wife, and his
ye ye
’s mother, younger still. Tao couldn’t understand why his great-grandfather would want so many wives. When he asked his mother, she smiled and said, “Well, if he didn’t have three wives, there wouldn’t be
ye ye
or
ba ba
or you. And then where would I be?” He thought about that for a long time. Tao imagined his
ma ma
would still be living in Zhaoqing, married to someone else with another little boy who wasn’t him. Afterward, whenever he looked at the portrait of his great-grandfather, he always remembered to thank him for marrying so many wives.

Tao stopped and listened, but the room next door was quiet, except for the baby’s crying. What Tao couldn’t understand was that if the girl slept in the same room as her baby, why didn’t she take care of it? “Because,” his mother answered, “she’s still very weak after the birth, and a baby needs full-time care.”

Tao glared out the window. He was no crying little baby needing full-time care from anyone. He was well enough now to go to school all by himself.

*   *   *

“You’re up so early,” his mother said. She stood in the open doorway of his room, as if his thoughts had conjured her up. Usually her hair was tied back or pinned up in a bun, but he liked it hanging down loose, which always made her appear younger.

“I’m exercising,” he said, using the same tone the doctor used when he discussed the need for him to
exercise to strengthen the leg.
Tao walked toward her, trying not to limp. His mother smiled and he saw how happy it made her to see him walking again, and how pretty she looked on the rare occasions she did smile now.

“Very good,
sai-lo,
I’m so proud of you,” she said, opening her arms to him.

Little man.
It was what his father called him, a nickname he hadn’t heard since his
ba ba
was taken away. Tao had just reached her and barely felt her arms wrap around him when the baby began to cry in the next room. His mother gave him a quick squeeze and a kiss atop his head before she pulled away and was gone.

Wei

Wei was uneasy with a stranger in the house. He found himself listening throughout the night for unexpected movements. There had been too many distractions already. He had never been adaptable as a young man, why should he be now at the end of his life? How did Kai Ying know they could trust the girl? They knew nothing about her. She had simply wandered in off the street and into their lives. And where was the baby’s father?

When he had voiced his concerns to Kai Ying once or twice, she’d finally said, “What would you have me do, throw her out on the street after she just had a baby? She’s only a child herself,” she added. The girl must have come from somewhere, he thought, she could go back there when she was stronger. Until then, he would wait and keep a watchful eye on her.

Wei hadn’t seen the girl since she moved into his auntie Shu’s room. Although the room was at the far end of the hall, he often heard the high whine of the baby crying in the night. A moment later, he would hear Kai Ying answering her call. He couldn’t help thinking that if his daughter-in-law was meant to have another child, she wouldn’t have had a miscarriage. He also knew if Liang were there, she would be angry with him for having such thoughts.

Wei shook his head. He understood this younger generation even less than that of his parents. In the mirror above the sink he saw that his reflection resembled his father more and more as he aged. He wasn’t much older now than his father had been when Wei was born. He wondered what it was like to have a youthful father like Sheng was to Tao. Might he have been a different person if his father had more time and energy to spend with him, or if his mother had been less distant? Would he have been less self-absorbed and distrustful of the world around him? As a boy he had been curious about his parents. He once asked his
amah,
Ching, who had also looked after his half sisters before him, if his mother loved his father.

She looked at him and smiled, pausing a long time before she answered, “It’s about duty, not love.”

“She doesn’t love
ba ba
?” he asked, confused.

“Your
ma ma
’s family made a very good arrangement. And your
ma ma
and
ba ba
love you very much.”

Wei still didn’t grasp what she was saying. Of course they loved him. But how could they love him and not each other? It all seemed too complicated, and the confusion must have shown on his face.

“Don’t worry,” his
amah
laughed. “Love isn’t always found where it should be. You’ll understand when you grow up.”

*   *   *

Two decades would pass before Wei would recall what his
amah
had said. By the time he was in his late twenties, when most men had settled down, Wei was more interested in his research; thoughts of marriage or having a family were distant. His father had died many years before, never knowing whether the Lee family name would be carried on. His mother and half sisters had given up trying to find him a wife. “Wei will never marry,” they teased. “He’ll never find any woman as beautiful as his precious artifacts!” He paid little attention to them, until, less than a year later, he saw Liang for the first time. It was Liang who made him understand what his parents never had, and it was she who gave him happiness for almost thirty-five years. And then she was gone.

Wei looked in the mirror and saw an old man. He splashed his face with cold water and thought he heard the baby crying. He pushed the unpleasant thoughts out of his mind and dressed. After all, this was the morning they’d all been looking forward to. Kai Ying had her patients to tend to and the baby to look after, so Wei would be walking with Tao on his first day back to school.

*   *   *

Wei waited at the courtyard gate as Kai Ying hugged Tao, dressed in his pressed blue school uniform, and whispered words of encouragement to him. “Now, take it slowly,” she said. “You don’t have to do everything on your first day back.”

Tao nodded and hugged her again, then limped over to the kapok tree and reached up to touch the scar on its trunk before he limped back over to Wei.

“What was that for?” Wei asked, pointing at the kapok. He wanted to forget he was the one responsible for having put the gash there.

“So it’ll feel better,” Tao said.

Wei looked down at his grandson. Until that moment, he had forgotten telling him that trees were living entities. He’d forgotten so much.

“You’re a good boy,” he said.

*   *   *

It was October and a calm breeze blew. Wei was relieved to feel milder temperatures were finally coming. Outside the front gate and all along the boulevard, scattered leaves of magnolia, kapok, and maple thickly blanketed the sidewalk. He wondered if it would make walking more difficult for his grandson.

“Why don’t we take a pedicab on your first day back to school?” Wei suggested.

They stood for a moment in silence while he waited for Tao to decide. Very early that morning he had watched his grandson walking back and forth in the courtyard, trying to appear as if everything were normal, though it would take months at least for him to walk without a limp.

“Let’s walk,” Tao finally said.

Wei smiled and let his hand rest on his grandson’s shoulder. “I expect Little Shan will be thrilled to have you back.”

Tao nodded. “But he won’t be happy when I take back my seat,” he said.

*   *   *

Even walking at a slower pace than usual, they arrived at the school early. He waited with Tao at the front gate until an older man came out to unlock it. Then, as if the simple act of swinging open the gate had also rung some invisible bell, other students began to arrive. The yard quickly filled with the high shrill of voices, boys and girls in their blue uniforms swinging their book bags as they walked in gathering groups.

“You can go if you want,” Tao said.

He watched his grandson glance toward the yard nervously. “Do you mind if I wait here a little longer with you?” he asked.

Tao nodded, but let go of his hand.

A moment later, they heard Little Shan calling Tao’s name from across the yard. His grandson’s face lit up.

“There he is,” Wei said, and smiled. “I’ll go now. I’ll be waiting right here when school’s over.” He placed his hand atop his grandson’s head. “Don’t overdo it on your first day back.”

“I won’t,” Tao said, already moving slowly and steadily away from Wei toward his friends.

Kai Ying

When Kai Ying rounded the corner, she saw the ugly, three-story brick building that housed the public security bureau administrative offices. She hadn’t been back in months, but with Tao’s return to school that morning, she had asked Auntie Song to watch Suyin and the baby, using the excuse of visiting a patient. Since Tao’s fall, she was more determined than ever to find out if Sheng was in Luoyang, and more important, if he was still all right. Kai Ying needed to know something; anything was better than not knowing.

She waited, hot and nervous, in a spare, colorless room for what felt like hours before an unsmiling pigtailed young woman in an olive drab uniform ushered her into another room. Kai Ying hated to think of all the herb business she was missing while she waited yet another hour before she was finally called in to see a Comrade Cheng. He was a very busy man, the girl informed her, and could see her for only a few minutes.

Comrade Cheng’s office was small and crowded, the air thick with cigarette smoke. A large photo of Mao dominated one wall and against the opposite wall stood a row of bulging black file cabinets. Atop a stack of files on one cabinet, a portable fan wobbled as it droned on with a clicking sound, like pebbles being tossed against glass. It was all Kai Ying could do to keep herself from getting up to steady the fan. There was no window, and during the summer, she imagined the office must be stifling.

Comrade Cheng was a heavyset, balding man with a thin sheen of sweat he constantly wiped away from his forehead and neck with a dark blue handkerchief. After their initial pleasantries, he poured her a cup of tepid tea, lit a cigarette, and leaned back in his chair, observing her in a way that made Kai Ying uncomfortable.

“How can I help you?” he asked. He exhaled and a stream of smoke caught in the whirl of the fan.

Kai Ying cleared her throat, her mouth dry. She glimpsed a small photo of his family on his cluttered desk, which gave her hope. At least he was a family man. “I’m here about my husband,” she said. “His name is Lee Weisheng and I was told he was sent to Luoyang for reeducation.”

“And how is it that I can help you?” he asked again.

His smile disappeared into a serious gaze that she couldn’t really read. It made her feel even more anxious.

“I haven’t heard from him in nine months. Please, Comrade Cheng, is there any way I can find out if he’s still at Luoyang? Or if he might not be well?”

Cheng snubbed out his cigarette in the already overflowing ashtray. “Hundreds of men are sent to Luoyang every day. It would take time for me to track down your husband, Mrs. Lee, and I simply don’t have the time.”

“Might you try?” she asked. She felt her heart banging against her chest even as she tried to remain calm.

He waved his arm toward the file cabinets. “You see what I’m up against.”

“Please,” she said. She sipped the tea, which tasted like dirty water.

“What was he charged with?” Cheng asked, lighting another cigarette.

“He was accused of writing a letter to the Premier during the Hundred Flowers Campaign. I never saw the letter. If there was one, it was written with the intent of making China a stronger and better country, just as Chairman Mao had asked. My husband is a good man.”

She had to remind herself to slow down and take a breath. Pleading would show weakness.

Cheng leaned back in his chair and wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief. “I’m afraid there’s little I can do from here. I’m sorry.”

“I see you’re a family man,” she said, gesturing to the photo on his desk. “You must understand how difficult it is, not only for me, but for our son.”