Pearl of China (4 page)

“I’d certainly make that wish,” Lilac said in a small voice. “But first and most of all I wish that my eggs be given a chance to become chickens.”

I admired Lilac because she never complained about her misfortune. She was always cheerful and kind. Her egg service was fully booked before winter. This year she thought that I was old enough to help her separate the good eggs from the bad. She hired me. What surprised me was that Pearl was there too. I learned that Pearl had been visiting Lilac since she had been a little girl. Lilac’s egg house was her playground. Lilac adored Pearl because she was such a dependable helper. Carie told Lilac that her daughter was permitted there for the learning experience. Pearl had so much fun that she would forget to go home. Wang Ah-ma had to come and drag her back at the end of the day.

At Lilac’s request, Pearl showed me the way. I learned that it would take about a month and a half for the eggs to hatch. Pearl taught me to separate eggs from the main basket. We removed the eggs that were too small or whose shells were too thin, or had a broken yolk or had been in the storage too long.

Pearl told me that what she loved to do most was shine the eggs. This was done after Lilac sealed the egg house, leaving only a small hole in the door. Pearl and I took turns holding the eggs in front of the hole where the sunlight shone through. This was called “the first look.” The purpose was to see if the egg yolk carried a pearl. If there was a pearl, the hen had been visited by a rooster, which meant that the egg would turn into a chick.

After the examination, we placed the qualified eggs in warm baskets padded with cotton. Lilac would take the baskets and store them underneath her big brick bed behind her stove. We had to wait for four days to have “the second look.”

The purpose of the second look was to see if the pearl had swelled. Lilac taught us to hold the egg in our palm. Back and forth we turned the egg toward the sun. We looked for a shadow, the pearl. It was not an easy task and it took an experienced eye. Afterward we removed the eggs that hadn’t swelled. Again we put the qualified eggs in the cotton-padded baskets and put them under Lilac’s bed.

We would repeat the procedure every four days. It was what Lilac called “the third look” and “the fourth look.” When the shadow became clear to our eyes, we moved all the egg baskets from underneath Lilac’s big bed and transferred them to ceramic pots. Inside the pots was a mixture of earth and straw. It looked like a hot cave. A tiny fire was built underneath the pots to keep the temperature warm. According to Lilac, this was the most crucial step. If it was too hot, the eggs would be cooked. If it wasn’t warm enough, the pearl wouldn’t turn into a chick.

The success or failure of Lilac’s year would be determined in a few days. Lilac invited all her gods onto her walls. She lit incense and performed ceremonies begging to be blessed. This year she put up a picture of Jesus Christ.

I was tempted to take a peek into the pots. But Pearl refused to go along with me. She followed Lilac’s instruction faithfully. Like a mother hen, Lilac wouldn’t leave her eggs. Day and night, she guarded the pots, adding and withdrawing straw to and from the fire. She no longer spoke but whispered—she was afraid to disturb the eggs. I watched Pearl draw pictures of Lilac, who was sleeping with her mouth wide open. Lilac had been talking about making good money hatching her eggs before she fell asleep. In the last two-week period Lilac had grown thin. She had no time to eat or sleep. She feared that the temperature would waver and destroy her harvest. Her eyes became red and her cheeks sunken. Pearl and I avoided talking to Lilac because she was irritable and nervous.

When Lilac put out the fire, we knew that the winter was over. In just a few days the air warmed. Spring came with dampness, and we had to battle excessive moisture.

The three of us took the eggs out of the giant ceramic pots to air them. We put the eggs on Lilac’s brick bed with cotton pads underneath. Lilac sent Pearl and me to notify the farmers that the time to pick up their baby chicks had come.

We were thrilled when we saw the little beaks appearing. The young chickens chipped away at the shells and worked their way out. Pearl called it a grand birthday party when all the chicks finally broke through.

“What beauties!” Pearl cried to the chicks hopping on and off her hands.

Lilac was too tired to celebrate. She snored, leaning against the wall, while Pearl and I counted the chicks. We put the chicks into baskets to be picked up. Lilac laughed and cried in her sleep. Her face glowed with pleasure. “What should be done in summer, you don’t do in spring!” she yelled. “Am I not right?”

“You are perfectly right, Lilac!” Pearl and I answered. We helped her to the bed, where she would sleep for days.

C
HAPTER
4

It was early September. Hot, sweet air filled my lungs. Pearl and I ran down the hills. We passed little children playing with dirt and earthworms. We passed the town’s oldest man napping in the shade of a tree. I was thrilled because Pearl had finally invited me to her home.

“My mother doesn’t know that I am bringing you,” Pearl said excitedly.

“Will she . . . mind?” I felt nervous. “After all, I did lie.”

“Oh, she has long forgotten that.”

“Has she?”

“Mother said that sometimes people can’t be held responsible for what they do, because they don’t know God.”

I stopped. “What if she remembers? What if she tells me, ‘I don’t want a liar as my guest’?”

“Oh, she knows you, and she’s always liked you.”

“How do you know?”

“Willow, my mother was bound to adore you.”

“Why?”

“Because you can sing.”

I looked at her.

“Willow, my mother has been trying to organize a children’s choir, but she can’t find any children who can sing or are willing.”

“She knows that I’m willing,” I said. “But I don’t know if she thinks I can sing well enough.”

“Yes you can.”

“My voice can’t hold the highest notes. It cracks.”

“Mother will teach you how to carry the high notes. Besides, the church songs are no Chinese operas. They are much easier to sing.”

“Will you sing too, Pearl?”

“Yes, I love singing, although I don’t really have much of a voice. But it doesn’t matter. I can sing ‘Jasmine, Sweet Jasmine’ forever.”

She began the tune and I joined. When we finished, Pearl began again in the Yangchow accent, and I followed. We sang in both Soochow and Nanking accents, too.

“Do you have a favorite Chinese opera?” I asked after we exhausted all our accents.

“
The Butterfly Lovers
!”

“That is my favorite too!”

“The Ming dynasty version or the Ching dynasty version?” Pearl asked. I was surprised at her knowledge. “The Ching version, of course.”

She nodded and then we began.

Hand in hand we walked along the riverbank. I asked if she was allowed to sing Chinese opera at home.

“Are you kidding?” she mocked. “Absalom allows no other sound than God’s.”

I asked if she got along with her parents.

“My parents use a fork and knife; I use chopsticks.”

*          *           *

Both Absalom and Carie were out when we arrived, so Pearl gave me a full tour of her home. The house was a three-room bungalow made of brick and wooden boards. The middle room served as a living and dining area. On each side were bedrooms. Pearl shared hers with her baby sister, Grace. Her parents’ bedroom had a big wooden bed. The sheets were washed white and made of coarse cloth. The stains on the wall showed a leaky roof. The place was extremely clean. Even the worn-out furniture glowed. Pearl pointed out the pink curtains. “Mother made them herself with fabric from America.” On the side of the house there were two large ceramic jars containing water from the river. I was surprised that the family lived just like us.

“Mother leaves our door open all year long,” Pearl said.

“She will receive anyone who knocks?”

“My parents love any opportunity to introduce Jesus Christ.”

“But Carie cares about people, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, my mother does, a great deal, unlike my father, who cares only about God.”

“I don’t know about leaving the door open all the time,” I said. “Beggars might get in and it would be hard to get them out.”

“People who show up are ‘too poor to afford a string to hang themselves with,’ in my mother’s words. ‘Foreign Mistress, Carie TaiTai,’ they call her, and beg for food.”

“Your mother has to put up with a lot.”

“This is nothing compared to what she has been putting up with from her husband.” Pearl told me that Carie had tried to convince Absalom to leave China in order to save her dying children.

“Does your mother still want to leave China?” I asked.

“No, she gave up.” Pearl paused and then went on. “The visitors Mother truly enjoys are sailors from America. She bakes cookies for them and they love her for it. After food and wine, Mother and the sailors sing ‘Afar from Home’ together. They all laugh and cry at the same time.”

*          *          *

As Pearl predicted, Carie was pleased the moment she found out that I was willing to join her children’s choir. She took me to the piano and I sang “Amazing Grace.”

Carie showed me how to steal breaths when hitting the high notes. I learned not to strain my voice. To instruct me, Carie began to sing other songs. I loved Carie’s voice although I had no idea what she was singing. I promised to come again for lessons. Carie believed that my voice would change for the better with practice. After a couple of months, I did improve. I was able to carry the high notes effortlessly. I could imitate Carie’s voice, and I also had the ability to memorize a song once Carie had sung it. Soon, Carie invited me to sing at Absalom’s Sunday service. I sang the song clearly withemotion as if I understood the lyrics.

Pearl was proud. Her face glowed when Carie said, “I thank God for Willow!”

Absalom was also impressed. “Keep up the good work for the Lord,” he encouraged.

I knew in his heart Papa didn’t care much about God although he pretended that he did. I figured that I could do the same. What I loved was to sit by Carie as she played the piano. Carie never quizzed me regarding my knowledge of God. I was grateful that she didn’t mind that I sat quietly. She said that a child ought not to miss the joy of music. She would sing a tune that came to her mind. I would hear seasons in Carie’s voice. The sound of spring was like the Yangtze River filling up the creeks. Her sound of summer was like the sun’s touch. Autumn was colors that vibrated and heightened my senses. Her voice of winter was deep, a story of snow.

While sitting by Carie I felt happiness. But once in a while the words would fill my heart with sadness. It would happen in the middle of my practice. I would choke and break down. Carie would put her arm around me.

“Let’s take a break,” she would suggest. “I’ll play you my favorite tune.”

Carie’s music never failed to cheer me up. When Carie was in a good mood, she would sing duets with me. I loved the sound we made together. If I began to get an idea about heaven, it was through singing with Carie.

“Willow, how I wish that I could take you to see America,” Carie said one day.

Carie spoke about her homeland. She said that she didn’t mean to live in China forever. It was her duty as a Christian wife to follow Absalom to China and set up her tent in the small town of Chin-kiang. It was not her choice, she emphasized.

I asked Pearl if she shared her mother’s feelings.

“Well, China feels more like home to me than America,” she replied matter-of-factly. Pearl hadn’t been to America since she was three months old. “America is my mother’s real home and she says it’s mine too.” She paused and then added, “America is where Mother comes from and where she wishes she could return.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I have no idea where I will end up eventually.”

I asked if she missed America. She laughed. “How could I miss something I have no idea of?” I asked if she knew her relatives in America. “I know their names,” she replied, “but I don’t know them personally. My parents talk about my aunts, uncles, and my cousins. They are strangers to me. The only people I know besides my parents and sister are your people. I am afraid that one day my father will decide to return to America. I can’t imagine leaving China.”

I looked at her, trying to picture the moment of such a departure.

“In a way it is sad that my mother is not like her husband,” Pearl resumed after a while. “Absalom’s home is where God’s work is. He doesn’t care where he lives, be it America or China. My mother lives with a broken heart. As far as she is concerned, her life is as an exile. She holds on to her piano, because it is from her home.”

I had noticed the way Carie cared for her piano. Its legs were in slippers—Carie raised the piano from the packed earth to protect it from moisture. In Chin-kiang water came into the rooms at the end of each rainy season. Wooden furniture had to be put on bricks. We laid planks from room to room when the water was too high. Carie’s biggest concern was that mold would eventually destroy her piano.

We practiced for the Christmas performance. Carie had translated the lyrics from English to Chinese. Although I was literate in neither language, I liked the English version better. I told Carie that the sound of “Silent Night” in Chinese was not as beautiful as in English. Carie replied, “The beauty of a song shouldn’t matter as much as its message.”

Absalom had his highest attendance ever—the children’s singing drew people in from the streets on Christmas Eve. For the first time, I saw a big smile on Absalom’s face. To celebrate, he got rid of his fake Chinese queue and let his shoulder-length brown hair hang down. It took the crowd a while to get used to his new Western-man look. Papa told NaiNai that Absalom needed the success. He had returned from a rough tour recently. While Absalom was preaching in a neighboring village, he was beaten by folks who had never seen a foreigner in their lives and who thought that Absalom was there to do harm. Dogs were let out to chase him away.

Pearl showed me Carie’s yard. “Mother is determined to create an American garden. She brought plants from America. This is dogwood and that is a Lincoln rose, Mother’s favorite.”

“This looks like a Chinese butterfly flower.” I pointed at the dogwood. “And the Lincoln rose must be a cousin of the peony.”

“I am sure there is some sort of connection. Mother said God created nature the same way he did humans. What we see is God’s generosity.”

“Do you really believe in God, Pearl?” I asked.

“I do,” she said. “But you know me. I am also Chinese. Part of me can’t talk to my parents, not that they care.”

“Do you get confused too?” I asked carefully. “I mean, about God?”

She kicked a rock off the road. “It hurts me that God doesn’t respond to my mother’s prayers.”

“Is your mother mad at God?”

“Mother is angry at Father, not at God,” Pearl explained. “She is still unable to accept the deaths of my four brothers.”

“Is that why she doesn’t preach, even though her Chinese is much better than Absalom’s?” I asked.

Pearl nodded. “Mother wants to have faith in Father’s work, but she can’t convince herself. She told me that she has a hard time staying on the sunny side.”

“Your mother shows the goodness of God to us.”

“Mother says that she helps others because it helps in healing herself.”

“A woman hides her broken arm inside her sleeve,” I told Pearl, repeating something NaiNai had said. “Your mother abandoned her parents for her crazy husband.”

Pearl and I discovered that God had a strange way of making things work for Carie. At first she wasn’t able to get people to join Absalom’s church, but when she started to help the locals, attending their sick and dying, administering Western medicines for humans and animals while refusing money or gifts, the locals began to crowd the church.

Carie was concerned that I had become a distraction to Pearl’s study. Absalom disagreed. He told her, “Pearl is doing a great service to the Lord when she takes the opportunity to influence her friend.”

To encourage my friendship with his daughter, Absalom gave me gifts such as a picture of Christ by his own hand. Absalom put Pearl to work with me using his own translation of the Bible. We fooled around instead. Pearl had a hard time concentrating on doing God’s work. Only when we saw Absalom’s shadow passing by the window did we recite the Bible in dramatic, loud voices.

Carie set new rules for Pearl about spending time with me. She was only allowed to play after she completed her studying. Carie taught Pearl at home herself. Pearl was also given Chinese lessons by Mr. Kung, a chopstick-thin Chinese man in his fifties. I sat by Pearl’s door and waited patiently. I noticed that Pearl often went ahead of Mr. Kung. She finished the novel
All Men Are Brothers
before the lesson even started. Pearl had told me that the novel was about a group of poor peasants who were driven into desperate situations and became bandits. In the story, they seek justice and become heroes. Mr. Kung was impressed that Pearl had memorized the novel’s one hundred and eight characters, but he criticized Pearl the way any Chinese teacher would. “A truly smart person . . .” Mr. Kung paused and smoothed his goat beard with his thumb and first finger before continuing, “. . . is the kind of person clever enough to hide her brilliance.”