Dreams of the Red Phoenix (25 page)

She turned and left him on the porch, looking out at the Chi
nese who went about their business in what had been his front
yard. Charles wanted to hate them. They were the reason his
mother wasn't leaving with him. They needed her more than he
did. Charles spat onto the dusty ground below.

“Damn,” he said loudly in English. “Damn this damn country.”

Charles headed off to where he always went when he got riled
up inside. He took the stone steps to the top of the wall. He need
ed air and the view across the rooftops to the millet fields and
the purple, shadowed mountains. His father had been lost in that
great distance. He spat again—not down at Japanese soldiers on
sentry duty below but instead beside his own dusty sneakers on
the brick path.

When he looked up, he noticed that one of the pigeon cag
es was open, and he went to close it. As he rounded the corner,
the full coop came into view, and Dao-Ming stood before it. She
had a feedbag at her feet and was sweeping the open cage with a
handmade whiskbroom.

“Hey,” Charles said, “what do you think you're doing?”

Dao-Ming didn't look up from her task.

He stepped nearer and changed his tone. “Did Han ask you to
do that for him while he's away?”

Dao-Ming nodded.

Charles reached for one of the pigeons that was strutting
about and stroked it. “I always did whatever Han told me to do
with the birds. He knows everything about pigeons.”

“I know more,” she said in a high, crackly voice, and in En
glish, too.

Charles nearly dropped the bird. “Since when can you talk?”

She offered an odd smile.

“And what do you know about pigeons?”

“I know we use them to help cause.”

Why had she kept quiet for so long? he wondered. He cocked
his head to the side and looked her up and down. “What cause?”
he asked.

Dao-Ming laughed. “The cause your father work for, silly.”

“Now, wait a minute—” Charles began.

She held up a pudgy finger and shushed him. “With radio and
supplies.”

Charles took off the Red Army cap, slapped it against his leg,
and suddenly noticed that she was wearing his father's wool driv
ing cap.

“Where'd you get that thing on your head?” he asked. “That's
mine. Give it to me.”

“Not yours. Reverend leave it behind.”

“I know. I saw it down in the cellar, but I tell you it's mine.”

Dao-Ming went back to cleaning the cages and even hummed
to herself as Charles tried to fathom that she had known his fa
ther in a way that he never would.

“All I want is his ugly old cap. It's all I've got left of him.”
He could feel tears starting down inside, though he didn't cry
anymore.

Dao-Ming finally looked up from her work and tossed it his
way. He snatched it from the walkway and put it on his head.
Then he looked at the Red Army cap in his hand and sensed her
watching him with her small, dark eyes. He walked over and
placed Han's army cap on her head.

“Here,” he said. “You're the Red, not me.”

Dao-Ming gave a big grin, a front tooth missing and eyes crin
kled shut. He suddenly worried she might think he had given
her the grungy cap because he wanted to go steady.

“I better get going,” he said and started to stride away.

“Han here,” Dao-Ming shouted after him.

Charles stopped and went back. “What on earth do you mean
by that?”

Just then, Han stepped out from behind the corner tower. He
no longer wore a Red Army uniform but still appeared strong
and sure of himself.

“Jesus,” Charles said, “you gave me a fright.”

Han bowed, but Charles wasn't having it. He strode to his
friend and lifted him up in a big bear hug. Han laughed, and
Charles did, too.

As Charles set him down, Han said, “Charles-Boy is in good
spirits. You are going home soon.”

“I'm happy, all right,” Charles said, “but, sad, too, if you know
what I mean.”

“It is sad we must say good-bye. You and your family are good
people. May many happinesses come to you in your own coun
try.”

Charles was at a loss for words, but he sputtered out, “You,
too, Han. You be safe, now.”

Charles realized how ridiculous that sounded. He might be
excited about his own future, but Han had nothing to look for
ward to except more fighting, and Charles couldn't imagine how
his friend could be happy about that.

“My country will be great someday. Our dream will become a
reality,” Han said. “The people will no longer suffer. You will see.
There is no better satisfaction than that.”

Charles nodded and wanted to understand but knew the time
was past for that. Soon he would start the long journey back
across the ocean to the America of his dreams. How could he
possibly explain the joy in that to Han? Instead, Charles reached
out, and they shook hands like men.

A
s the others lined up outside the kitchen for their supper,
Shirley slipped past them on her way up to her bedroom.
She found a clean linen blouse in the back of her closet and a lace
skirt she had usually saved for Sunday service. She dragged her
hairbrush through her knotted curls and applied lipstick for the
first time since her husband's death. In the intricately carved mir
ror above her dressing table, she saw a changed woman: older,
more haggard and thin, but flushed with life.

Once back downstairs, Shirley received a bowl half filled with
noodles from Lian.

“For you, Mrs. Carson,” Lian said. “Sit on piano bench and eat.”

“I can't imagine what you went through to find food for all
these people,” Shirley said as she sat. “You have done well by us
in so many ways.”

The young woman named Li Juan came up then, bowed, and
handed Shirley a plate with meat swimming in a red, gelatinous
sauce. Shirley suspected she was the only one to be given this del
icacy. She would share it with one of her patients who needed the
protein, or with her son, who was still growing and hungry all
the time.

“Thank you, kind and esteemed Mrs. Carson,” Li Juan said,
“for allowing me to live here.”

“My pleasure.”

As Shirley raised her chopsticks, she noticed the helpers
crouched on their haunches in the hallway or seated on the edges
of cots in the clinic, each digging into their bowls of noodle soup.
The elderly Japanese fishmonger huddled on the bottom step as
he had on the day he had first arrived at the mission. Only now
Tupan Feng sat beside him. The two appeared to be having a
debate about the correct use of discipline in child rearing. The
old Chinese warlord insisted the rules should be the same in the
home as in the military, while the fishmonger felt that a softer
touch was needed. Though combative, they seemed to be enjoy
ing one another.

So little joy had surrounded them all for too long, making
this brief moment of peace all the more precious. Shirley cleared
her throat, rose again, and in her best imitation of a minister's
resonant oratory addressed the small band of friends. “I want to
thank each of you for your fine efforts. I have great confidence
that you will continue to run the clinic beautifully when I depart
soon with my son. It has been an honor to work beside you.”

The nurses' aides bowed their heads and accepted the praise.

“I would like to especially offer my gratitude to Lian for her
forbearance and skill in all she does.”

Lian's arthritic fingers twisted the rag that hung from her
belt. She pulled back her shoulders as if Shirley's words were
stones pelted her way. Charles, who must have sneaked in from
his usual roaming about, leaned against the door frame, a lanky
young man who, Shirley was surprised to realize, might even be
mistaken for someone rather suave. He addressed the assembled
group like the man of the household he had become.

“Madam Lian,” he said, “you have been a second mother to
me, often more reliable than my first, if I do say so.”

Lian hissed, “Do not be rude to Mother, Charles-Boy.”

“But really,” Charles continued, “I wouldn't be the fellow I
am today without your help. I learned so much from you, es
pecially from those crazy bedtime stories you told. Frightened
the devil out of me and made me want to grow up faster. Any
thing to escape those witches and spirits in the night!” He bowed.
“Thank you, esteemed and patient Madam Lian.”

Lian dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the rag and hur
ried off toward the kitchen. The others returned to their soup
and shared memories of the terrorizing fairy tales of their own
childhoods. Shirley patted the piano bench, and Charles strolled
over to sit beside her.

“Well said, Charles. Now, help yourself to this plate Lian
made for me. I was afraid to ask the type of meat, but I think
you're so hungry you won't care.”

“Mother, I don't understand you,” Charles said as he start
ed in with his chopsticks. “Did I hear right? You just told
everyone that you're leaving with me. The last I recall, you
were staying behind and planned to join us later, however that
might work.”

She studied his handsome profile and piercing blue eyes, his
large hands as they expertly used the sticks, and the overall heft
of him. To look at her son, anyone would assume he could man
age just fine on his own. It was true, he didn't need her any lon
ger. But she had come to realize that she needed him.

“I've changed my mind,” she said. “My assistants have learned
to run the clinic quite well. They'll do fine without me. Also, I
don't want to be like Lian, separated from my child for the wrong
reasons. That just seems too pitiful. So I intend to go with you.”

“All right, then,” he said.

“But I've promised Captain Hsu that I would accompany him
on a brief visit to his camp on the plains to the east of here. It's
quite nearby. They've set up a medical clinic like this one.”

Charles set down the empty plate and pulled one of his fa
ther's handkerchiefs from his pocket. “When?” he asked.

“Tonight. I'll be back by morning. I'm ready to leave with you
whenever the word comes.”

“I don't know. That doesn't sound like such a good idea to
me,” he said as he wiped his lips. “What if we have to leave to
night?”

She took the handkerchief and dabbed a spot of red sauce
from his cheek. “It's already 9 o'clock and dark outside, son. They
couldn't possibly mobilize us to depart this evening. And besides,
I already agreed to go with the captain. We've put it off for days.
He's coming back to pick me up shortly. But don't worry, you
and I will still leave the mission together. I promise. Doesn't that
make you happy?”

He stood and stretched but didn't reply.

“Well, it makes me happy,” she said. “But will you agree to
a haircut when we get to Shanghai? I've never seen such a dis
graceful mop.”

He planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

“Where are you going?”

“To say good-bye to Li Juan.”

“Ah, I thought so,” she said with a teasing smile.

But he hadn't heard, or didn't care, and was already stepping
away.