Dreams of Joy (Shanghai Girls 2)

“Didn’t your mother give you traditional medicine when you were a little girl?” Baba asks. Then he turns to me. “Your mother would have been disappointed to hear you didn’t raise your daughter properly.”

My face heats with resentment and exasperation. This man abandoned us. His gambling led directly to May’s and my arranged marriages, to May, my mother, and me having to flee Shanghai, to my mother’s death and my rape, to May and me having to leave our home country …

“Of course, Mama gave me herbs and tonics,” Joy jumps in, defending me and protecting him from my anger. “I hated them.”

“So how do you think those ingredients got to Haolaiwu?” Baba asks.

He’s right. Even after China closed, people in Chinatown bought ginseng, powdered deer antler, or some other terrible-tasting ingredient to cure a cough, indigestion, or trouble in the marriage bed.

“We grow and prepare ingredients for traditional medicines,” he goes on. “We sell our goods at the wholesale market in Hong Kong. We also sell pigs, chickens, ducks … Our commune has several trucks, and we cross the border at the Lo Wu Bridge almost daily. Peking wants and needs foreign exchange with Hong Kong. We’re some of the people who provide that.”

“What are you saying? That we can just drive to Hong Kong?” Z.G. asks, sounding even more skeptical than Joy.

“More or less,” Baba answers. “The border is about eighty Western miles from here. I think we can get you over the border and into the New Territories. Once there, you ought to be able to take a bus the last twenty miles into Hong Kong proper.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?” Joy demands indignantly.

My father gives me a look. Have you not taught my granddaughter any manners?

But Z.G. agrees with Joy. “That’s right. Why didn’t you tell us? I mean, if it’s so easy, then why haven’t you left China?”

Baba stares at me as he answers Z.G.’s last question. “I deserted my family, leaving them to an uncertain fate. I was a no-good man.” (He won’t get an argument from me.) “I’ve stayed here because this is my ancestral home. The fallen leaves return to their roots. I have a house. I stay out of trouble. I do my work—”

“Baba, the police are after us,” I interrupt. “They’ll come here—if not tonight then in the morning.”

“Then we’d better hide you,” he says, “because it’s too late to leave today.”

He packs some food, hands us quilts, and walks us far out into a field. “You’ll stay here tonight. Try to keep the baby up as long as possible. She’ll need to be asleep for the crossing. I’ll get you in the morning.”

“Baba, can’t you stay? Don’t you want to talk?”

“Maybe stories and memories are destined to be incomplete,” he answers. “Besides, it will be safer if you remain here. If the police come, we’ll shout and make noise to alert you. If that happens, go south and hope for the best. In the meantime, our other family members and I have to get things ready.”

With that, he heads back to the village. We spread out the quilts. It’s chilly but not unbearable. Joy paces back and forth with the baby, bouncing her, trying to keep her awake. I put my arms around Ta-ming. “Try to sleep a little,” I say. “Close your eyes.”

I stare at the stars. My father is alive, but can he be trusted?

I WAKE WITH a terrified start just before dawn. I stay still for a few minutes, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. I’m afraid of what will happen today, and of course I’m in terror for my husband. It takes all my strength to quash those emotions because I need to be strong today.

Z.G. is already up, standing a short distance from the quilts, staring south. I get up and walk over to him.

“Z.G.?”

“This is as far as I can go,” he says quietly.

&nbs

p; This is not a moment to get riled up, but I’m outraged. “You aren’t going any farther? Are you kidding me? Dun took your place to keep the blood part of the family together and now you want to go home? Besides, you can’t go back. They’ll blame you for Joy’s painting and for helping us escape.”

“I know, but I’ve been thinking about what your father said last night. Maybe leaving China isn’t the best thing. This is my home.”

When I say, “You and I have never really talked about May,” he turns his back to me. I pull him around to face me. “You cannot stand there and tell me you don’t love her. I know you do.” He doesn’t try to deny it. “May is a few miles from here. Whichever direction you go has an uncertain future, but one of those ways has May.”

“What if she doesn’t want me? I was as bad as your father—”

“Don’t be stupid!” Again, that came out a little louder and harsher than I intended. I address his second point first. “You’re not like my father. You didn’t desert your family. You went to war, believing in a cause. And you didn’t know May was pregnant, right?” When he nods, I say, “And of course she wants you. She’s always wanted you, just as you’ve always wanted her. Finally, when we started all this, I could understand why you didn’t want to come, but I’ll say this again. You can’t go back. You have to leave.”

With that, I return to wake up the others.