Dreams of Joy (Shanghai Girls 2)

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because I’m your mother and I’ve come all this way.”

“No one asked you to come here.”

“Joy!” Z.G.’s voice is startling in its sharpness. She rapidly blinks her eyes, ashamed of herself, fighting back tears. Then to me, he says, “This is all very sudden. We need time to accustom ourselves to things. Let Joy stay here a few days, and then I’ll bring her to you.”

Pearl

THE SORROW OF LIFE

February 15, 1958

Dear May,

Our girl has finally come back to Shanghai. She’s healthy and she’s in one piece. These are the most important things to remember. I’ve been so focused on finding her that I haven’t thought enough about how she would feel when she saw me or what should happen next. I don’t know how to say this except just to say it. Joy doesn’t want to come home. She believes, and this hurts more than I could ever express, that she’s to blame for Sam’s death. As much as I don’t want to accept it, she’s at least partially right. If she hadn’t joined that club, the FBI never would have investigated us.

As you know, I’ve blamed you for everything that happened. It’s only because Joy ran away and I needed your help that I even stayed in contact with you. You’

ve tried to tell me how you feel—at the airport and in your letters—but I haven’t listened or acknowledged you. A part of me is still angry with you, but listening to Joy speak the same words you told me, I heard them in a different way. Amnesty. Do you think they really would have given Sam and me amnesty? I didn’t believe your reasons when you told me what you did. I thought you’d say anything to protect yourself. But I was wrong. You didn’t report us to hurt us. You reported us because you wanted to protect Sam, me, and, I suspect, Joy most of all.

Amnesty. I keep repeating the word, and every time I punish myself a little more. If I was wrong, then Sam must have been wrong too. If we’d confessed, Sam would still be alive and the family would still be together. Oh, May, you should have seen Joy’s face when she talked about Sam. It was a knife in my heart. There’ve been so many mistakes that have resulted in so many tragedies over the years, and now here we are. Sam is dead, and Joy is so torn by guilt that she refuses to come home—either to Los Angeles or even to our old house here in Shanghai. Tell me what to do.

Pearl

I didn’t write about Z.G., because I don’t want all that old business festering between us. I didn’t mention the Green Dragon Collective, Joy’s political views, or Tao, who I presume is a young man she met in her travels. When I think about this Tao, my mind fills with the examples of bad judgment my daughter has already shown. In this regard, she’s too much like her birth mother. But what will be accomplished if I write those things? I fold the letter, put it in an envelope, and write our address in Los Angeles. Then I put that envelope inside a larger envelope addressed to the Louie cousin in Wah Hong Village, along with a note to the man at the family association in Hong Kong to send my letter by airmail.

A letter arrives from May the next day. It was written twelve days ago. I’ve been receiving regular packages with hidden money from my sister since her first package arrived last October. This is the first time I’ve received a simple letter. It has been opened, which is dismaying. Fortunately, not a single word has been crossed out.

February 4, 1958

Dear Pearl,

Sadness upon sadness. Vern died last week. He was never the same after Sam’s death, and after you and Joy left. I think he gave up, but Dr. Nevel says I shouldn’t think that way. “Tuberculosis of the bone never has a happy ending.” That’s what he told me. “And then there were his mental problems.” Yes, Vern was always a little boy in his mind, but he never hurt anyone. He was kind. He bore his ailments and his pain quietly. And we both know how generous he could be.

These past few days, I’ve looked at my life very differently. I was never a good wife to Vern. I was out all the time. I counted on you to take care of him, and you did, as you’ve taken care of so many things for me. I’ve never believed in guilt or remorse. I’ve always resented the way you held on to misfortune. But they’ve come to me now. When I watched the undertaker and his helpers take Vern out of the house …

Now all that’s left of my husband are the lingering odors of his sickness and a few of his model airplanes and boats that weren’t broken on the terrible night Joy ran away. When I think of how I belittled him for those models … When I think of how I always left you and Sam to deal with Vern’s diapers, sores, and smells … Since you and Joy left, he had only me and the occasional visit from the uncles and their families. Oh, Pearl, now I understand how you felt after Sam died, and he was so much more of a man and husband than my Vern ever was.

I arranged for Vern’s funeral to be held at your church. The reverend welcomed me and didn’t once reproach me for not coming to services. The women—Violet and the others—treated me as one of their congregation and not as someone who used to laugh at them for their bad clothes and old-fashioned hairstyles. I’m grateful to everyone, because who else would have seen Vern to the afterlife? His funeral banquet was small—only two tables. I came home and lit incense on the altar. Whether he is in Chinese Heaven or your Heaven, I hope he is with Father Louie, Yen-yen, and Sam. Once again, he’ll be surrounded by the love he deserved.

I try to imagine you reading this letter. Are you thinking, My sister, what a useless, selfish, and self-centered woman? I’ve been all those things. Is it too late for me to change?

Pearl, even though you are far away, please know that I think of you every day. Why has it taken me so long to understand the important things in life? I’ve always relied on others to take care of me. Now I’m alone in this house and in my life. Please come back, Pearl. Please. I need my sister.

Love, May

I weep at the sorrow of life. I pray for Vern and hope that he’s finally been released from the pain he suffered all these years. It hurts me to think of him with only May in his last days. It seems like she’s finally understood the man she was married to and what a good person he was, but what about Vern? He must have thought of her as an exotic bird that would swish into his room late at night or early in the morning, only to disappear again. His only real companionship had come from Sam and me. I’m so tired of weeping. I’m so tired of heartbreak. I’ve found Joy, but will I ever have joy in my heart again?

I pull out a pen and paper and begin to write:

We all did the best we could, but sometimes that isn’t enough. Vern lived longer than his doctors ever expected. I wish I were there with you, because I understand your pain only too well.

Z.G.’S “A FEW DAYS” turns into a couple of weeks. I go back to my old routine: taking the bus to work, surveying the harbor, and collecting paper. I stand in line at the various shops to buy oil, meat, and rice with my coupons. I make time for prayer, go in for my monthly interview with Superintendent Wu at the police station, and keep up with my political meetings. And I swing by Z.G.’s house once or twice a day, always changing the time. When I wear my paper-collecting clothes, Joy and Z.G. don’t notice me.

I look through the windows, watch the comings and goings of the servants, and learn a lot. Joy sleeps late, has breakfast in bed, takes a long bath, dresses, and then she and her father leave the house around noon. I see them step into a Red Flag limousine with blue curtains drawn shut to keep them protected from prying eyes as they’re whisked to parties or wherever it is they go. Sometimes I see Joy in clothes I know. They’re costumes May and I once wore for sittings with Z.G.

Z.G. and Joy are conspicuously visible. She seems to relish the attention. In Los Angeles, Sam was forever a former rickshaw puller. In Shanghai, Joy’s father is a celebrity. It disturbs me to see the way they live, and I don’t understand why Joy doesn’t rebel against all the privilege. Worse, they don’t care to see much of me. But what hurts the most is that it feels like they’re deliberately leaving me out. I’m completely preoccupied with my daughter. I see her every day, and yet in many ways she’s still very far away.