Daughter of the Bamboo Forest

by Sheng-Shih Lin;Julia Lin

  Your father

  It was the first letter Little Jade had ever received. She read it over and over. It was so short that she soon memorized every word. Her father did not say that he was coming to take her back. This she noted with a needling anxiety. At least he had not forgotten her. She liked the way he had addressed her by her full name. She carried the letter with her everywhere and used it as a bookmark, and refused to show it to anyone, including Bai Feng. At night, Little Jade pressed the letter against her cheek, feeling the smooth paper. She imagined the ink seeping into her skin, leaving blue imprints like tattoos.

  ***

  Little Jade’s father arrived during a class one afternoon. As soon as the nun knocked on the classroom door and interrupted the teacher, Little Jade knew that the nun had come for her. She closed her notebook and hurried out of the classroom. She could feel her classmates’ eyes on her back like black flies. She followed the billowing gray robe of the nun down the empty concrete hallway. The day was cold and the sky sparkled like a great gem. The air was pure and icy and filled with white sunlight. She balled up her fists and bit her lip, she remembered the first time she had seen her father: Had it also been a blindingly bright day then?

  Little Jade remembered her grandmother’s hand holding firmly onto hers and her grip squeezing tight as she led her to see the returned father. She remembered her heart racing ahead of her. As she walked down the hallway, her heart was already outside the door, anxiously waiting for her grandmother to open it. But here at the school—seeing the door of the guest lounge approaching at the end of the hallway—she wanted to run away.

  The door opened without a sound. Little Jade saw her father sitting on the deep green sofa smoking a cigarette. His hand dangled from the armrest which was covered with a crocheted square of yellow and white daisies. Seeing her father, Little Jade’s heart took so great a leap that she could imagine it bursting from her chest and landing between the two of them. Without openly staring at him, Little Jade devoured her father with her eyes and inhaled his cigarette smoke deep into her lungs. He was wearing a white shirt. Its starched collar was crisp against his clean-shaven face.

  An Ling looked up and smiled at Little Jade. He nodded at the nun as she closed the door and turned to Little Jade. He asked her whether she wanted some tea. He had brought along a box of candy for her, and he pointed at the red velvet box on the coffee table. Little Jade was glad to be treated like a grown-up, and she accepted his offer of tea. An Ling poured the tea from a pot that the nuns had left in the lounge. The thin white teacup with its gold rim felt hot in Little Jade’s hands. She put it down and rubbed her hands together stealing glances at her father’s half-frowning face waiting for him to speak. But he kept on smoking, drawing deeply at his cigarette and blowing more and more smoke into the space between them. Little Jade looked down, and studied the shadows on the polished wood floor that had been cast by crystalline sunlight streaming through the rippling white lace curtains.

  An Ling leaned back, resting on the sofa. He smoothed back his thick hair, shining with hair oil whose sight and scent were so familiar. “Have some candy,” he said suddenly. “Here.” He pulled at the pink ribbon on the candy box. Ash from his cigarette fell on the red velvet box and he brushed it off clumsily while thrusting the opened box in front of his daughter. Little Jade stared at his hand and at the gold-foil-covered candies. She took one, peeling the foil carefully. What is he going to say? Little Jade picked up the teacup with a shaking hand and took a sip. The tea was bitter.

  An Ling drew at his cigarette and did not speak a word. His brows were knitted as they always were whenever Little Jade was around and his cheeks were more hollowed than they used to be. There were more angles and lines on his face. Through his open collar, the bony knot at his throat looked bare and helpless.

  Little Jade did not know when they started, but she was startled to find tears crawling down the sides of her face. At first An Ling did not notice because Little Jade did not make a sound. She was thinking of her grandmother—the way she looked at her and shook her head, and the way she sighed. Little Jade closed her eyes and felt a curtain of tears streaming down her face and dripping from her chin. “What’s the matter, Little Jade?” An Ling went over to his daughter, pulling a large handkerchief out of his pocket trying to wipe her face.

  Little Jade blew her nose and said between sobs, “I miss grandma...”

  An Ling’s face turned pale just as it had the first time Little Jade ever saw him. Little Jade looked hard at him with blurry eyes. There’s no use, no use, she thought. He stood up. “I’ve got to go,” he said, “I will come see you again in a month’s time.”

  He spoke quickly, airily, each word light as a feather.

  “The end of next month?” Little Jade asked.

  “Yes,” he said, as he put on his black trench coat. “I promise.”

  There was something in his voice this time, which reassured Little Jade in a small way. But the feeling was fleeting, and it dissipated as soon as she saw him walk out the door of the guest lounge. The door swung open behind him, letting in enormously bright sunlight and a frigid wind. He must be walking quickly down the corridor now, as fast as he could, without breaking into a run.

  Instinctively, Little Jade ran after him and called out: “Baba!” She felt her throat tearing. Halfway down the hall, he stopped amidst the sunshine and turned back to look at his daughter, his hair blown back by the incessant wind. “Baba!” She called like a small child. She could hear her own voice, thin, wavering, piercing against the wind. An Ling stood there, the length of his body blocking the hallway, his trench coat blown open, flapping like wings impatient to take off.

  Little Jade ran to him. “Take me home,” she pleaded in a small voice as she clutched his sleeve. “Please...”

  He looked at his daughter and then down at the concrete floor. A nun walked pass them, and they averted their faces. Little Jade knew that many eyes were peering out of the classroom windows. Chattering students were being hushed by their teachers.

  “I can’t,” he explained softly. “Not today. Silver Pearl is giving birth soon.” He stopped, staring over the girl’s head, and then looked down at her again. “I promise I’ll come back to see you,” he repeated. “I will come again soon.”

  “I’ll change,” Little Jade said, pulling at his sleeve. “I’ll change.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Please, Baba.” Tears still streamed from her eyes. In shame and fear she tried to hide her face with her free hand knowing that she was making a scene.

  “Don’t do this, Little Jade.” An Ling’s voice grew impatient. “I’ll come back next month to take you home.” Hearing this, Little Jade loosened her grip. An Ling looked deep into his daughter’s eyes for a moment, then quickly turned and walked away.

  Chapter 16: The Dragon King, 1946

  It must be true, Little Jade thought. He will come for me and take me home. He couldn’t lie in front of so many people. She walked back toward the guest lounge in a daze as the sun was glaring above her.

  Everyone had seen what happened with Little Jade and her father in the hallway. From then on, everywhere she went, she felt people's knowing eyes glancing quickly past her. They whispered to each other, “It’s her…she’s the one,” and pretended not to notice her.

  Later that day, when she was eating lunch in the dining room, Bai Feng came to sit quietly next to her. “Are you going home, Bright Jade?” She asked after some hesitation. She was looking away as she spoke.

  “No, I’ll stay here and rot,” Little Jade replied curtly. Bai Feng looked startled, and stayed silent. Little Jade ignored her. She was fighting not to cry—not here, not again, where everyone could see. She ate slowly and concentrated on her bowl. She did not lift her head to look at the people around her. After a while Bai Feng left without saying a word.

  Later, Little Jade told Bai Feng that she was sorry, but she said nothing about her father. She couldn’t. What if he didn�
��t come back as he promised? She could not allow herself to believe him this time. If she told everyone he was coming next month and he failed to show up and shamed her, then what would she do? She couldn’t bear to think about it.

  One day, Little Jade and Bai Feng were leaning against the dormitory window, as was their custom, looking at Jade Lake gleaming like a mirror in the distance, reflecting the early afternoon sun. Summer was in full bloom. The bamboo forest was a luxurious green. That was the day that Bai Feng told Little Jade that her friend Lily had introduced Bai Feng to her brother. They had had tea together during a break from Bai Feng’s hospital duty. His name was Kai, and he told Bai Fang that China needed young people like her to build a new future, a future without corruption. Bai Fang went on and told Little Jade that it was a waste of time to learn about Jesus and Confucius; Kai had said so. He said what China needed was modern ideas and the hearts and souls of young people to fight for an ideal future. The old ways are dead and religious superstition and idols were useless symbols that only hold people back. The force of going forward could not be stopped. Communism was the only savior for China.

  Bai Fang was excited when she repeated what Kai had said to her. Her eyes were shiny and her cheeks were flushed. Little Jade did not say much. She was preoccupied by thinking of her own trouble with her father. Eventually, Bai Fang also fell into silence looking away with glistening eyes and pressed lips. They stood quietly, next to each other, each was deep in her own thoughts, their shoulders nearly touching while they drifted further and further away from each other.

  ***

  The sky had fallen, Little Jade thought, as she lay in bed staring out the window at the moonless night sky. Soon she would be back in her father’s house—two weeks and three more days from today. She would be sleeping in her own bed in the same room with her step-grandmother and listening to the sound drifting from the radio in her father’s bedroom.

  The melody of a song played in Little Jade’s head. It had been a popular tune a while ago and the radio had played this song in which a woman sang about roses blooming everywhere all day and all night long. She listened to the music repeating itself in her mind, humming along under her breath. Everywhere and all over, roses were blooming, in her hair, outside the window, under the night sky. Little Jade made herself smaller, tucking her feet together, and curling her toes. Her tongue pushed against the back of her teeth and her mouth tasted sweet and wet.

  She woke suddenly with damp cheeks and forehead. She sat up drowsily and saw someone standing next to the window, looking out. It was Bai Feng. Recently, she had been acting strange. Little Jade, deep in her own turmoil, hadn’t paid much attention and was only vaguely aware that Bai Feng no longer followed her around.

  Those days Bai Feng sat alone in the back of the classrooms and ate by herself in the dining room. She seemed to have stopped talking altogether. She appeared distracted. Little Jade tried to talk to her a few times during meals, but she soon realized that Bai Feng was more interested in the food and had grown even fatter.

  Little Jade stared at Bai Feng against the background of the night that was slowly withdrawing, diluting its darkness with an increasingly generous infusion of light. Bai Feng was fully dressed and probably hadn’t slept at all last night—or for many nights before. For the first time, Little Jade began to worry about her friend.

  ***

  Little Jade’s heart stood still when the nun handed her the blue envelope—the second letter of her life. She turned and walked away, slowly at first, trying to decide where to go to read it. She walked faster and faster away from the school. The envelope was folded twice in her pocket. She held it between her fingers with all her strength while squeezing it so hard that ink seemed to seep out of the blue paper.

  Little Jade had to get away from the school. It was almost evening, and the sky was the color of fire and smoke. In front of her, the road was narrow and long. She hurried past the schoolhouse, the dormitory, toward the bamboo forest. “I’m coming,” Little Jade called out to the greenness with all her heart. She slowed down as she approached the outskirts of the forest. Lush and thick, it drew Little Jade in with a sense of inevitability. All around her the forest sobbed and sighed. It whispered: “Come...come...here...” Little Jade knew she had better hurry, or it would be dark before she reached Jade Lake. She rushed through the forest, hearing thousands of leaves cooing around her urging her on. Finally she could see the lake, opening itself in front of her, all pale silver and bright under the darkening sky. Maybe the dragon king would come out tonight, Little Jade thought as she looked for a large stone to sit on. She pulled the blue envelope out of her pocket. She opened the envelope with numb fingers and struggled to read in the fading light. The wind was turning cold.

  Bright Jade My daughter:

  I will not come to take you home at the end of this month. Your second mother is quite ill after giving birth to a daughter, your sister. I will come to see you as soon as she is better.

  Your father

  Little Jade didn’t know how long she sat there. The sun was setting over the lake. Where is the dragon king? She would like to meet him. She could hear the wind whipping the forest around her. “Why?” Little Jade asked aloud in the windy darkness.

  “Why, father?” She asked again, this time as loud as she could, clenching her fists. Heaven was silent, the moon gazed down. Little Jade imagined her father emerging from the lake, his black trench coat dripping, his hair slicked back in a wet sheen, his forehead white and forlorn. “Say something!” She shouted at the apparition of her father, “Say something! How come you never say anything to me?”

  Standing up, she found that the cobblestone beach was flooded with water from the lake. She stood ankle deep in water beneath the moonlit sky. Heaven was silent, but she would not let up.

  “What do I have to do, father?” Little Jade asked, quietly this time, as if asking herself, and then she knew the answer right away. It was so clear, as if he had told her himself. Jade Lake! Jade Lake was where she belonged. She started walking into the lake, her legs cutting through the cold, throbbing water.

  “I’m coming father,” Little Jade whispered, trying to steady herself as she stepped blindly over the slippery cobblestones.

  “Little Jade!” She thought she heard someone calling her name, but she was not sure. “Little Jade!” She turned around and saw Bai Feng emerging from the bamboo forest. Bai Feng grabbed her wrists and pulled her toward the bamboo forest. Bai Feng’s thick arm held onto her shoulders as Little Jade leaned against the soft shoulder of her only friend.

  Bai Feng brought Little Jade to the edge of the forest where it met the school. She gestured toward the dormitory and nudged her forward a few steps. Bai Feng whispered, “Goodbye, Little Jade.” and headed into the forest, disappearing into the encompassing darkness.

  Little Jade was alone again. She stood there shivering and confused. Soon she heard someone calling “Su Bright Jade! Su Bright Jade!” Dots of a flashlight moved in a distance. It was a search party. She fell into the arms of a man and was carried back to the dormitory. The dormitory mistress settled Little Jade into her bed. Bai Feng never returned.

  The next day Little Jade was called to the headmistress’s office. Two uniformed men sat in the office. Mother Superior told her that they were from the sheriff’s office and asked her to tell them what happened to her. They listened to her patiently. They asked her if she was a close friend of Bai Feng. Little Jade said that they had hardly spoken to each other recently. They interrupted and asked her whether she knew if Bai Feng had a boyfriend. Did Bai Feng ever talk about any man? Was she ever seen with any man—the gardener, the errand boy, anyone?

  Little Jade wanted to mention Lily and her brother Kai from the hospital, but she swallowed her thought and said: “No, Bai Feng never mentioned any man to me, no one.” Her voice was shaky. Mother Superior told her to go to Bai Feng’s room with the uniformed men. They wanted to go through her belongings. Little Jad
e might be able to help them discover whether any of Bai Feng’s clothes were missing. Perhaps she simply ran away.

  Little Jade followed the two men out of the office. It was another bright, clear morning, and the sun was warm. The schoolyard was quiet because classes were in session. The two men were tall and took long strides. They talked casually to each other in low voices as they walked toward the dormitory. The wind was blowing toward Little Jade as she trailed behind them. Along with a whiff of their dizzily strong body scent, she caught snatches of their conversation. “Another student missing…every year there’s always one or two…young girls blossoming too early…some men...in the forest...”

  Even though she couldn’t tell whether any of Bai Feng’s clothes were missing, they decided that Bai Feng had run away. After the men left, Little Jade sat on Bai Feng’s bed and wondered what happened to her friend. Did she run away with Kai to join the Communists? If she did, was she meeting other idealistic young men and women in secret places and safe houses? What would her fate be? Would she become pregnant – a young woman barely out of childhood carrying her own child? Would she one day be captured by the Nationalists and sing patriotic songs while facing a firing squad? Little Jade never knew the answers. She never saw Bai Feng again.

  ***

  Little Jade returned to the thick bamboo forest several days later. She walked down the muddy path to the cobblestone beach. She looked at the lake beyond the cobblestones and felt a rush of chill wind from its center sweeping over her blowing her hair away from her face. The sun was setting and half the sky was molten gold. The cobblestones were the color of brown eggs with gentle shadows on one side. The lake was shimmering as if dusted with gold. As the light faded and the wind grew stronger she listened to the sound of the bamboo forest washing over her again and again. She lay on the cobblestone beach feeling the hard, uneven surface of the stones beneath her. She looked up at the rising half moon and the sky full of fierce, beating stars. She folded her hands over her chest and felt the intimate warmth and the pounding of her heart.