A Paper Son (30 page)

“You're quite certain of that?”

“Am I certain of my own children?”

“Just answer, please.”

“Yes. I am certain.”

“And Rose would agree?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You've all been together on that boat for a month now,” the man says. “Certainly that would be enough time for someone to rehearse a story a few hundred times, would it not?”

Li-Yu looks from one man to the other and to the guard for an explanation, but none is forthcoming. She remembers conversations aboard the ship about the processes and interviews here, the tricks and the traps, conversations she'd ignored, thinking none of it really pertained to her as a citizen with papers. She remembers hearing of paper sons, boys and men who sought entry to the country with forged documents that proclaimed them to be the sons of Americans. Many of them had been successful but many of them had been caught, and either sent back to China or detained on the island, for weeks, months even. One passenger aboard the ship, a man perhaps ten years her senior who reminded her of Zhang, told a story about his cousin who'd been held there for almost a year. Li-Yu was sorry for him and for the others she'd heard about, who'd done nothing worse than her parents had in undertaking this voyage. But these were the problems of other people; she could not imagine they would have anything to do with her, or with Rose and Henry.

“I don't understand,” Li-Yu says. “Henry is my son and Rose is my daughter, and they were both born in California and I have the papers to prove it.”

There is no response but for the further shuffling of papers. The men thank her and the official escorts her back to the bunkhouse. They leave her there and immediately lead Rose away. Separated now from both her children, unease seeps into Li-Yu. It spreads through her, triggering thoughts of Mae, of Bing and his deception, of the helplessness she thought she'd finally escaped. When the guards bring Rose back to her she fights the urge to leap up and embrace her.

“What happened?” she asks.

“They asked me lots of questions,” Rose says, with a shrug. “I answered them.”

“What did they ask about?”

“You. Dad. A lot about Henry.”

Li-Yu nods. “Me too,” she says.

They continue to wait. After lunch they are shown to the yard again but she catches no glimpse of Henry. There is a man walking nearby, his hands clasped behind his back, his head down, and she calls to him to ask him about her son, but he shakes his head and says something that might be Korean or Japanese. A few hours later they call her again and ask her all the same questions, and more, and then they take Rose again and do the same. After dinner they tell her they were able to reach her sisters, and that she is free to go. The ferry will be leaving in a half-hour, they tell her, and she flushes with relief.

“And my son?” she asks.

He points to the list on his clipboard. “I only have females on here,” he says, with a smile that is not unfriendly. She and Rose gather their things and hurry back down through the walkways to the pier, where they join a small group of travelers and station employees awaiting the coming ferry. The
Crystal Gypsy
is there, too, having discharged its white passengers onto the mainland, undergone an overnight cleaning, and returned, its hulking mass moored at the end of the same long dock they'd arrived on the previous day. On the other side of a fence, waiting to board, sits a group of miserable-looking passengers. Disinterested guards form a loose perimeter around them.

Li-Yu finds a place to sit and keeps one eye on Rose and the other on the door of the men's quarters. Rose splits away from her and walks over to the dividing fence. She laces her fingers through the openings and watches the other group.

The door to the men's quarters still does not open. She looks back at her daughter and sees that her attention now seems to be directed at an old man sitting by himself, at the edge of the group. He seems to be awakening from a daydream. She and Rose watch as he sits down on the ground, crosses his legs, and unsnaps a ragged leather case. He pulls out an
erhu
, places it on his knee, arranges his fingers around the handle of the bow, and begins to play. It is a slow and mournful song, and makes Li-Yu think of a funeral. It reminds her of China, a nation that is already beginning to fade in her mind. When the song is over, Rose calls out to the musician.

“Where are you going?” she asks him, in Chinese.

“Back to China,” he calls, without raising his head to meet her eyes.

“Why?”

“They won't let us in,” he says.

“Why not?” Rose asks.

The violinist doesn't answer. He just shakes his head and raises his bow again. He plays another song, sadder than the first. When it is over, Rose opens her bag and withdraws the tube of bamboo and its enclosed stack of papers. Li-Yu expects her to produce a pencil, and perhaps to take some notes, but instead she listens, astonished, as Rose calls one of the guards over and instructs him to deliver the package to the musician. Rose throws it over the fence and it lands neatly in the guard's hands. Still wearing his bored expression he walks over, sets the tube in the instrument case, and returns to his spot. The musician tips his head, and issues a sort of salute with his bow. Rose returns to her mother's side.

“You didn't want your stories?” Li-Yu asks.

Rose shakes her head. “I want him to have them.”

“I would have liked to read some of those,” Li-Yu says.

“I think they probably belong in China,” Rose says. “Besides, I remember them all.” She wanders off again, heading toward the water.

Li-Yu turns her attention back to the door of the men's building, which has grown maddening in its refusal to swing open. Finally it does, but three grown men emerge, heading for elsewhere. It swings shut again with a definitive clang. A few minutes later she approaches one of the nearby guards. “My son is supposed to be coming out of there,” she says. “We're going on the ferry.”

“I'm sure he'll be out soon,” the man says, automatically.

“What's taking him so long?” she asks.

The man shrugs.

She continues to watch the doorway, a ball forming in her stomach, until she hears the ferry's horn approaching. Now she can feel panic rising into her throat. She chokes it down and approaches another guard. “My son, Henry Long,” she says. “He's supposed to be here. He's supposed to be on this ferry.”

This one is more sympathetic. “Okay,” he says. “I'll go look.” He heads up the walkway and disappears into the building. The ferry continues to approach. Li-Yu swivels her head back and forth from the doorway to the boat, watching one and then the other. Just as the ferry pulls up to the pier the guard reappears in the doorway, alone. It seems to take him forever to walk down to the pier.

“What did you say his name was?” the guard asks.

“Henry! Henry Long!” she cries. “He's only ten years old!”

“Spell that for me?”

She does, and he returns to the men's quarters. The ferry's doors rumble open, and two members of the crew wrestle a metal ramp into position. Some of the other passengers drag their luggage across it, chattering happily. “Are you coming?” one of the crewmen calls to Li-Yu and Rose.

“Yes,” Li-Yu says, “we're just waiting for one more. My son.”

The man nods and trots across the ramp, his footfalls reverberating loudly across the metal surface.

After a long minute the guard re-emerges, bringing with him an official, who carries a clipboard. Again it seems to take them an eternity to close the distance between the building and the docks. The guard points at Li-Yu, says something to the official, and returns to the group waiting to board the
Gypsy.
The violinist begins to play another song.

The official approaches with maddening calmness. “What seems to be the problem?” he asks.

“My son!” Li-Yu yells at him. “Where is my son? Henry Long!”

The man consults the clipboard, shaking his head. “He's not on my list.”

Li-Yu screams, “He's here! We came together, just yesterday, right on that ship!” She jabs a finger toward the
Crystal Gypsy.
“We sailed from Canton! Tell them, Rose!”

“He's my brother, Henry,” Rose says, her voice cracking. “He's with us.”

The official looks down at his clipboard. “I don't have a position on that, ma'am,” he says, disinterested. “He's just not scheduled for this ferry.”

“But he's only ten! He's my son!”

He flips to another sheet on his clipboard, and then another. “There appears to be an irregularity,” he says. “But we have your sister's address—we'll contact you there.”

“We have to go,” calls the crewman, from inside the ferry's doorway.

“Please!” Li-Yu shouts. “Just one more minute!” She turns back to the official, and when she speaks her voice seems disembodied, as if emerging from a louder and more desperate version of herself. “He's only a boy!” she shouts. “He can't stay here alone!”

“He's hardly alone, ma'am. I'm sorry. I understand your concern, but there's nothing else I can do. You should board the ferry, and you'll be contacted.”

Li-Yu squats down and buries her head in her knees and wraps her arms over her head. The official is saying something about the infirmary, but all she can hear are the ferry's engines idling and the faint voice of the
erhu
. And then something bursts within her and she is up again, running toward the door of the men's quarters with an energy that seems not her own, but she has only taken a few steps when there are arms around her. A dark woolen blue falls over her eyes and shuts out the light, and then a wailing rises from somewhere far away and obliterates the engines and the song and all else.

I saved my file and shut my laptop. Rain slapped at the windows. Lucy reclined on the couch, watching a sitcom I didn't recognize, in which a couple was arguing about someone's company picnic. Eva sat next to her, her head back and crooked to the side, her mouth open, her eyes closed. I checked my phone. It was ten o'clock. Annabel hadn't called.

“I believe her,” Lucy whispered, when she saw me looking up. “There's something in the front that looks like a table of contents. If we can get Annabel on the case, we might be able to figure out what's going on here.”

“And then what?”

“Where's Annabel?”

“I don't know,” I said.

“Let's go to Chinatown,” she said. “The restaurants down there are open all night.”

“It's pouring out,” I said.

“You noticed?” she said.

Eva had awakened and was watching us now. “You're finished writing?” she asked me. I stood up and headed into the kitchen. She crossed the room and slid back into my desk chair. I yanked the cap off a beer and dropped into the couch spot Eva had just vacated.

“Maybe you should call her,” Lucy said.

“I don't think so,” I said. I gulped down beer. On TV someone fell down and canned laughter erupted. My phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket to find Annabel's name on the screen.

“Hey,” I said. “Are you home yet?”

“No,” she said. “I'm still here.”

“But it's late,” I said. “You're not going to be—”

“I'm staying overnight,” she said.

“But the book . . . .”

“The roads are a mess, Peregrine,” she said. “I've had a couple of glasses of wine, I'm sleepy, and it's pouring down rain. I can't very well translate anything if I end up under the wheels of a semi on I-80, can I?”

“Eva thinks it might be the book from my story,” I said.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I explained to her about the missing pages, and reminded her about the soldier's gift.

“That doesn't make any sense,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “That's why I really need to see you.”

“You've made that clear,” she said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

I hung up and dropped my phone on the couch next to me. “She isn't coming,” I said.

“I gathered,” Lucy said. “You must have some Chinese neighbors or something.”

“It's ten at night,” I said. “It's way too late to go out racial profiling.”

On the screen a thin woman in a sweater stood in a clean sunny kitchen, extolling the virtues of her laundry detergent while her children played at the table behind her. At my desk Eva put her hands in her lap and said something I couldn't make out.

“Well, let's take it down to Chinatown,” Lucy said. “I also happen to need some food.”

“Be my guest,” I said. I turned to Eva. “What did you say?” I asked. She had her face down and she might have been talking to herself.

“What happens next?” she asked. I thought I caught a tremor in her voice.

“What, you want me to walk down there?” Lucy said. “You won't drive?”

“No, I won't.” I turned back to Eva. “I've been writing for hours,” I said. “Can't that be enough for one night?”

“Okay, to hell with the research,” Lucy said. “But I'm still hungry.”

“So forget about the writing,” Eva said. Her voice sounded quiet, unnatural. “Just tell me. Have a conversation.”

“Sorry, but story time is over. I'm off the clock.”

“I'm ordering Chinese food,” Lucy said. “If someone wants something, speak now.”

“I was just wondering . . .” Eva said, her face still hidden, and now I was sure of it—there was some just-contained urgency in her voice. I could tell she wanted to say more, but she let it go, and I decided I didn't give a shit what she was wondering.

We ordered pork chow mein, chicken and black mushrooms, black pepper beef. Lucy vowed to interrogate the delivery guy about the book, but he turned out to be a Mexican kid. Lucy asked him if he spoke Chinese anyway. He laughed, handed us a few soaking wet plastic bags and hurried away.