Colors of the Mountain (46 page)

I held my brother’s shoulders as he sobbed. But it was soon over. He was the first to wipe his eyes and smile broadly at everyone. All the tears were over.

During the next two days, Jin threw himself into packing for me as I went around bowing and thanking everyone in the neighborhood. My heart was full of gratitude to even the meanest people on the street who used to slight us. I bid good-bye to them all. They were touched and shook my hand firmly. They said they would try to take care of my parents while Jin and I were gone. I thanked them again.

On the day of my departure, we got up early. Mom prepared all the cows and pigs I had promised the gods and Buddha. She made them with flour and water and painted them red. I kowtowed a thousand times and thanked them for making my dream come true.

Mom gave me an embroidered silk bag filled with dust from the incense holder and a pinch of soil from Yellow Stone. She asked me to bring it with me to Beijing and to spread it on the ground there when I arrived. It would ensure protection from the gods and Buddha at home. I hid the bag safely in the middle of my wooden trunk.

After breakfast, I checked my train ticket for the last time. Dad, my sisters, and Jin had borrowed bikes and were coming to Putien to see me off at the bus station. I hugged Mom at the door again and again. She cried, but a smile shone through her tears. She pulled me once more into her arms, then gently pushed me away and nodded. Only at that moment as I looked at her did I realize that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world and that I was going to miss her when I was thousands of miles away in Beijing.

As I hopped up onto the backseat of one of the bikes, our neighbors came out to wave good-bye to me. The cigarette man, Liang, was old now. He wobbled to the edge and smiled and bowed to me. The doctor was also there, waving his cane in my direction. Some neighbors stood at my mom’s side, comforting her. I took a long last look at the cobbled street of Yellow Stone, the Dong Jing River, and the Ching Mountain, looming tall in the background.

Good-bye, Yellow Stone. I am forever your son.

We rode on our four bikes, chatting and laughing on the way to the bus station. I had never seen Dad so happy and carefree. He joked and told stories about my childhood. We arrived at noon. My bus was already boarding.

Jin was coming with me to Fuzhou to see me off at the train station, because I had never seen a train before. Without his guidance, it would be Da in Wonderland, running after the train as it left. I had never been on a bus before, either. The only motor vehicle I had ridden on was the commune’s noisy tractor.

Together Jin and I threw my heavy wooden trunk onto the overloaded luggage rack on top of the shaky, dusty bus. Then we squeezed into a crowded seat that was marked for four people but actually had six occupying it. My sisters came up to the bus and hugged me tearfully, then Dad climbed up the steps. He stumbled, and I sprang out of my seat to meet him. He was a big man and gave me a bear hug. I was surrounded once more by the same warmth I used to feel as a small kid hiding under his padded cotton overcoat. He took my face in his hands and bit his lower lip until it turned pale.

“I want to get some fruit for you, son. You wait.”

He stumbled down from the bus and ran toward a fruit stand a few yards away. His back was hunched over, and his steps were slower than he wanted them to be. He climbed over the guardrail that separated the passengers from the onlookers and almost fell.

When he came back, the engine had already started. Dad walked in front of the bus to stop it. The driver was yelling at him. He ran to the window where we sat, and passed four pears to me. He was out of breath and looked very tired. His eyes were wet, but there was a smile on his wrinkled face. I couldn’t help the tears that rolled down my cheeks as we pulled away from the crowded station. Dad stood there waving to me. I craned my neck until I could see him no longer.

I love you, Dad. I am your son, forever.

I THANK THE
following people for being there for me as I was in the process of bringing this memoir to life:

My beautiful wife, Sunni, who told me to write this book, taught me how to write it, and worked tirelessly as a brilliant first editor for it, our third child. This is our book!

Victoria, our daughter, for letting me grow with you. Michael, our son, for your great-grandpa’s smiling eyes.

My literary agent, Elaine Koster: you are a dream, a class act, and a dear friend. You are a superagent. Thank you for loving the book with passion, and making it all happen.

Bill Koster, Elaine’s other half: thank you for sharing her vision.

William Liu and Alice Liu for loving me like a son. Without the half-days off during many tumultuous months, this book could not have been written.

My dear sister, Ke Ke, for your blind confidence. I can’t wait to see your book in print.

My brother, Jin; my sisters, Si and Huang, for loving your little brother abundantly. In abundance, I love you all.

Cindy, my niece, for those wildflowers that made my summer days beautiful.

For all my friends mentioned in the book, wherever you are, the book speaks for itself. I miss you all.

To Tom, Joe, Doris, Jeff, Diane, Sharon, Karen, Ken Holland, and
the rest of the Hudson Valley Writers’ Association. Thank you for stirring the ashes, and for believing in me first.

Jean-Isabel McNutt, at Random House: you are a true poet and your craftsmanship overwhelms me.

And the rest of the Random House team who labored over the book with love and enthusiasm.

And lastly, my editor and publisher, Ann Godoff, editor in chief, publisher, and president of Random House: never a day goes by without me thanking God for you. You are an extraordinary editor and a visionary, someone who comes along only once in a long while. Thank you for making a dream come true.