just Cook, the man who loved you as a little girl.” He smiles. “I know, because he’s told me this many times.”
After the professor leaves, I sit on the edge of the bed. Dust billows up around me. I smooth the bedcover and rake up dust with my hand. This room probably hasn’t been cleaned since May and I left. I get up and go to the closet. I remember the day my father-in-law ransacked this room, grabbing clothes for May and me to wear to work in China City. He left behind our Western-style dresses, and they’re all still here, as are the shoes, furs, and hats.
My eyes fall on a ermine-lined black brocade coat. It’s mine. Mama had matching coats made for May and me, but I was the one who really wanted it. I thought mine was elegant, but May said hers was too somber and made her look old. (Which, of course, was a not too veiled criticism of me.) May lost hers the winter before everything changed. I can still hear Baba scolding May for being forgetful and yelling at me for not being a better jie jie , who should have reminded her little sister to remember her coat. May was eighteen! Why should I be responsible for telling her to get her coat at a party or from a hatcheck girl at a club? Baba then told me to give May my coat. My sister, even though she didn’t like the coat, would have taken it too, except I was taller and she didn’t like that it hung down to her ankles.
I shut the closet door and turn away. I go to our dresser. Inside the drawers I find undergarments, cashmere sweaters, silk stockings, and bathing suits. I pull out a nightgown: flesh-colored silk trimmed with handmade lace. It can’t possibly still fit, but it does. I stare at myself in the mirror. Reflected around me are images of my sister and me. I’ve changed so much inside. I’m no longer the girl who was in those posters, but I’m slim as I was back then, and it seems I’ll be able to wear my old clothes, although I can’t imagine where I’ll ever wear them in Communist China.
I’m exhausted, but I sit down and write two letters: one to Louie Yun in Wah Hong, giving him my address, and the other for him to send to May, saying that I’ve arrived, that I haven’t found Joy, and that I’m in our old home. I also explain how she’ll send mail to me. Then I stand and go to the bed, where I fold back the coverlet, trying to keep the dust within its folds. I stretch out on the cool sheets and glance at the other bed—May’s bed—before turning away. I’ve come here in search of my daughter, but I’ve also run away from my sister. And yet May is here, staring at me benignly from the walls. I look into her eyes and say, I’m home. I’m in our room. Can you believe it? We never thought we’d see this place again. And, May, oh, May, it’s just the same .
I GO BACK to the Artists’ Association several times. Even after I give the woman in the lobby a bribe, she insists she doesn’t know where Z.G. is. All she can tell me, finally, is that he was struggled against by the membership and that he left town. I’m tempted to ask again about Joy, but I already know she’s with Z.G. and I’m afraid of bringing unwanted attention on her. I slip the woman more money, and she arranges for me to meet the Artists’ Association’s director—a pudgy man with hair graying at his temples. I pay his bribe, and he tells me that Z.G. went to the countryside to “observe and learn from real life”—whatever that means.
“But where in the countryside?”
“I wasn’t given those details,” he responds.
“Do you know when he’ll return?” I ask.
“That’s not for me to decide,” the director answers. “The case is no longer in my hands. It is being handled by people in Peking.”
I leave the Artists’ Association feeling both worried and let down. What did Z.G. do to be in such obvious trouble, and why did he have to drag my daughter into it? I’ve done everything I can think of. Now all I can do is wait, because they’ll
After the professor leaves, I sit on the edge of the bed. Dust billows up around me. I smooth the bedcover and rake up dust with my hand. This room probably hasn’t been cleaned since May and I left. I get up and go to the closet. I remember the day my father-in-law ransacked this room, grabbing clothes for May and me to wear to work in China City. He left behind our Western-style dresses, and they’re all still here, as are the shoes, furs, and hats.
My eyes fall on a ermine-lined black brocade coat. It’s mine. Mama had matching coats made for May and me, but I was the one who really wanted it. I thought mine was elegant, but May said hers was too somber and made her look old. (Which, of course, was a not too veiled criticism of me.) May lost hers the winter before everything changed. I can still hear Baba scolding May for being forgetful and yelling at me for not being a better jie jie , who should have reminded her little sister to remember her coat. May was eighteen! Why should I be responsible for telling her to get her coat at a party or from a hatcheck girl at a club? Baba then told me to give May my coat. My sister, even though she didn’t like the coat, would have taken it too, except I was taller and she didn’t like that it hung down to her ankles.
I shut the closet door and turn away. I go to our dresser. Inside the drawers I find undergarments, cashmere sweaters, silk stockings, and bathing suits. I pull out a nightgown: flesh-colored silk trimmed with handmade lace. It can’t possibly still fit, but it does. I stare at myself in the mirror. Reflected around me are images of my sister and me. I’ve changed so much inside. I’m no longer the girl who was in those posters, but I’m slim as I was back then, and it seems I’ll be able to wear my old clothes, although I can’t imagine where I’ll ever wear them in Communist China.
I’m exhausted, but I sit down and write two letters: one to Louie Yun in Wah Hong, giving him my address, and the other for him to send to May, saying that I’ve arrived, that I haven’t found Joy, and that I’m in our old home. I also explain how she’ll send mail to me. Then I stand and go to the bed, where I fold back the coverlet, trying to keep the dust within its folds. I stretch out on the cool sheets and glance at the other bed—May’s bed—before turning away. I’ve come here in search of my daughter, but I’ve also run away from my sister. And yet May is here, staring at me benignly from the walls. I look into her eyes and say, I’m home. I’m in our room. Can you believe it? We never thought we’d see this place again. And, May, oh, May, it’s just the same .
I GO BACK to the Artists’ Association several times. Even after I give the woman in the lobby a bribe, she insists she doesn’t know where Z.G. is. All she can tell me, finally, is that he was struggled against by the membership and that he left town. I’m tempted to ask again about Joy, but I already know she’s with Z.G. and I’m afraid of bringing unwanted attention on her. I slip the woman more money, and she arranges for me to meet the Artists’ Association’s director—a pudgy man with hair graying at his temples. I pay his bribe, and he tells me that Z.G. went to the countryside to “observe and learn from real life”—whatever that means.
“But where in the countryside?”
“I wasn’t given those details,” he responds.
“Do you know when he’ll return?” I ask.
“That’s not for me to decide,” the director answers. “The case is no longer in my hands. It is being handled by people in Peking.”
I leave the Artists’ Association feeling both worried and let down. What did Z.G. do to be in such obvious trouble, and why did he have to drag my daughter into it? I’ve done everything I can think of. Now all I can do is wait, because they’ll
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