Dreams of Joy (Shanghai Girls 2)

I follow the direction of his eyes and see a heap of padded clothes in another corner. I run across the room and kneel next to the pile. I pull gently on it, and it falls forward. It’s Joy. Her skin looks like old parchment. Her cheeks are hollow and her lips have a bluish tint. I suck in air, sure we’re too late, but the sound causes her eyes to open. They burn bright—staring in an unseeing, feverish way. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. “Mama.”

I swallow my terror and fear. I can’t be too late.

“Z.G., boil some water. Hurry.”

While he goes back outside, I peel away more of Joy’s clothes, and there tucked against her naked but shriveled breasts is my granddaughter. She too is alive. I open my bag and bring out the packet of brown sugar I brought with me. I take a few granules and drop them into Joy’s mouth. Then I do the same to the baby.

Z.G. returns with a pot of hot water. I make a weak tea of brown sugar and some slices of fresh ginger. While Z.G. stirs the concoction, I look for a knife. I slice open my arm and let the blood drip into a cup. For millennia, daughters-in-law have done this for their mothers-in-law out of respect and reverence during times of famine. I do it because I love my daughter. Z.G. wordlessly pours the tea over the blood. I spoon a bit into Joy’s mouth while Z.G. blows on another spoonful to give to the baby. Our eyes meet. What now?

I’m torn. Should we stay here and build their strength or try to get them back to Shanghai as quickly as possible? What will happen when the brigade leader realizes we want to go back to Shanghai? It’s clear he’s been hoarding food while the people in the commune have been dying. What would the punishment be for that, and what would the brigade leader be willing to do to keep his activities a secret? We have to get out of here and we have to hurry.

I feel hopeless. Z.G. is just an artist, a Rabbit artist at that. He’s not good in an emergency, but then I realize with sudden clarity that I’m not either. My sister always got us out of trouble. What would May do? After I was raped and my mother died, May put me in a wheelbarrow and pushed me to safety.

“Can you push a wheelbarrow?” I ask Z.G.

We grab some quilts and tuck them into two of the wheelbarrows to provide cushioning. Then Z.G. carries Joy and the baby outside and lays them on the quilts. While he goes back to get Tao, I give Joy more of the blood tea and half a cracker that I’ve pre-chewed. Z.G. reemerges from the house, supporting Tao, who has just enough strength to walk. Joy sees him and begins to mutter and shake her head. “No, no, no.” She must be delirious.

I smooth hair from her forehead. “Everything’s going to be fine now.”

Joy turns her head and closes her eyes. Z.G. and I heft our wheelbarrows and begin to walk. The first part is easy. Joy barely weighs anything and we’re going downhill. We turn right at the villa. When we reach the front gate, I stop.

“Wait,” I call ahead to Z.G. I run inside the villa. Kumei, Yong, and Taming aren’t in the kitchen. I hurry through the courtyards to Kumei’s bedroom. She lies on the bed. Ta-ming sits cross-legged next to her. Flies feast in the corners of his mouth and eyes. He’s a bundle of protruding and crooked bones. His eyes are vacant.

“Ta-ming,” I beckon softly.

He continues to stare at his mother, unable, it seems, to expend the energy to turn his head. I slowly approach so as not to frighten him. The truth is, he may be beyond frightening. I try to rouse Kumei, calling her name and shaking her. She doesn’t open her eyes and her body remains limp. It’s too late to do anything for her, but I can’t leave Ta-ming—not after leaving all those other children and babies in the pits by the side of the road. As for Yong, there’s no way she could still be alive. I take Ta-ming’s hand, and he looks up at me.

“Can you walk?” I ask.

He moves like an ancient—brittle, deliberate, and slow. I go to the chest in the corner, grab some clothes, the boy’s violin—about all that’s left from his inheritance from his father—and some drawings that Kumei did in class with Z.G. Then we walk back through the silence of the villa’s courtyards and corridors. Once he and his worldly goods are stowed in the wheelbarrow next to Joy, I pick up the handles and we begin to walk back to the center of the commune.

I’m terrified about what will happen when we reach the car. Miraculously, the brigade leader and his guards are nowhere in sight. We don’t have time to wonder where they are or what they’re planning. Z.G. and I quickly pile the four nearly lifeless bodies in the backseat. Z.G. joins me in the front seat, I gun the motor, and we begin the long and grisly journey back through the death roads toward Shanghai.

I wish we could drive straight out of the country. Go north to the Soviet Union? That might be worse than where we are now. Go south to Canton and hope we can cross the border? That would be a brutally hard and long journey, taking weeks of travel over dirt roads and through numerous guard posts. Joy and the others wouldn’t make it. We have to go back to Shanghai for them to build strength (if they live), gather money and food (if I can find them), and make an escape plan (if we survive that long).

We stop where we can to buy a bit of food, doling it out to Joy, Tao, and Ta-ming in one or two bites at a time so their stomachs will adapt and accept the sustenance. We give the baby bottles of watered-down soy milk, trying not to overwhelm her weakened system. The boy hasn’t spoken and the baby’s cries are weak. Neither Joy nor Tao has much to say. Talking takes too much effort. At night, I pull the car far from the side of the road. Z.G. helps Joy to the front seat, where she sleeps with her head in my lap. I’m exhausted, but I stay awake, watching my daughter’s chest rise and fall with each breath.

When we near the roadblocks preventing the masses from entering cities like Hangchow and Soochow, Z.G. returns to the backseat and pulls the curtains. Much to my relief, we pass through most of the security posts without difficulty. We were here a couple of days ago, and the young men with their machine guns still remember the limousine with the blue curtains. Additional questions are unnecessary.

It takes us five days to reach the outskirts of Shanghai. A little food, plenty of water, tea, and soy milk have considerably revived our bunch. Looking in the rearview mirror, I see Joy staring out one window while Tao leans on the other side of the seat, staring out the other. Ta-ming sits between them, eyes straight forward, seeing nothing.

Remembering the last big checkpoint with the camp for those who’ve tried to enter the city illegally, I pull off the main road and drive to a secluded area. Z.G. and I do what we can to make Tao and Joy presentable. I brush Joy’s hair and pin it into a bun at the nape of her neck. Z.G. dresses Tao in one of his shirts and buttons it. We have only four travel permits. The sentries outside Shanghai are bound to be more inquisitive than those in the countryside. The baby can easily be hidden under Joy’s blouse, but what can we do about Ta-ming? I take him to the back of the car and open the trunk. He grips my hand tightly.

I kneel down so we’re eye to eye. I hold his shoulders and speak directly to him. “You have to get in here. It’s going to be very dark and very scary. You’ll need to stay silent. But it won’t last long. I promise.”

I tuck him in the trunk, put his violin case in his arms for comfort, close the lid, and drive back to the main road. Coming from this direction, we can see into the camp, where bodies have been dumped in a big pit. I brake at the final roadblock and hand the guard four sets of papers. He leafs through them suspiciously. When he peers over my shoulder to s

ee into the backseat, Z.G. snarls at him. “We’re on important business. Step aside and let us through or I’ll report you!” It sounds tough, and the guard obeys. I’m the only one who hears the fear in Z.G.’s voice. As soon as we pass into the city proper, I drive down an alley and get Ta-ming out of the trunk.

“You’re a good boy. A brave boy.”

He doesn’t acknowledge me. I understand his numbness. I went through it myself twenty-three years ago, when I fled Shanghai.

Two hours later, Z.G. and I sit at his dining room table. Joy and Tao rest on separate couches in the salon, where we can see them. They’re too weak to walk upstairs to the bedrooms. Z.G.’s servants have made a clear soup. I still won’t allow Joy and Tao to feed themselves. Their temptation to gorge would be too great. Fortunately, they don’t have the strength to fight and lie there docilely as two of the servants spoon broth into their mouths. Ta-ming, young yet remarkably resilient, sits at the table with Z.G. and me. The third servant brings a tray with dishes, chopsticks, napkins, a teapot, and teacups. The tray just has room for a small bowl of rice, which fills the room with a homey and safe fragrance. She sets the bowl in front of Ta-ming before returning to the kitchen for the rest of the meal. The boy stares at the rice. Then Z.G. and I watch as he counts out one grain of rice at a time—one to Z.G., one to me, one for himself—setting them on the table in three small piles. This is how hungry they once were. Life and death are separated by a thread or, these days, by a few kernels of rice.

Joy

THIS IS JOY