An Ocean Apart

by Gillian Chan

  Tsung Sook was smiling when he and Baba came back, but Baba’s face was not. He was pale and tired looking. He had no smiles for me or for Wong Bak. I wanted to hear what had been said, but Baba said it was time for me to go home and that he would walk with me, then return to the restaurant. I wanted to stamp my feet, I was so angry, but that would not be the way of a good daughter. Baba did not come home until very late. He crept in, putting on no light. This morning he was gone early too. I wanted to ask questions before he left, but the look on his face changed my mind.

  I wish I knew what had been said!

  Thursday, April 19

  I am so happy. No, happy is not a big enough word for how I feel. I should have known that my Baba would take care of things! He is sending for Ma. He is watching me write this and smiling. I am sure he knows what it is I am telling you, Diary.

  When I got to the restaurant after my time with Miss MacDonald, I knew that something had happened, but I did not know what. Wong Bak kept giving me funny looks and smiling, smiling like he had a secret. It was nice, but annoying — nice because it is truly the happiest I have seen him since Mr. Chee died, annoying because I wanted to know what it was that had made him happy!

  When Tsung Sook came, it was obvious that he knew too. I almost could not stand it, Diary, the long, long wait until Baba arrived. Even then they did not tell me straight away, but waited until we had few customers left.

  The meeting two nights ago is what did it. Baba said that people were arguing over how to fight the law; they could not agree. This did not make him hopeful. He has decided that we must do something now, not wait. We have enough for the head tax for Ma — Baba stroked my hair and said that my earnings had helped with that — but not for her steamship passage. For a little minute, this worried me, but his voice was happy and there had been so many smiles that I knew there would be a solution. Wong Bak is lending us the sixty dollars more we need. He is such a good friend!

  Baba is not trusting this to a letter. He will send a telegram tomorrow. It will still take time, because Ma will have to be told of it, and then reply, travelling maybe even to the city to do it. But this will be maybe a week or two, not months.

  I cannot wait to tell Miss MacDonald tomorrow. She will be happy for me, I know. Bess too. I will forgive her those thoughtless words.

  Friday, April 20

  I was right about my friends, their happiness was great. I told them as soon as I could. I told Mrs. Lee in the morning too. The news burst out of my mouth like a bird taking flight. I could not stop it.

  Bess did not say much, just grinned, but she knows how much this will mean to me, how much I have missed Ma.

  Miss MacDonald was very silly. She grabbed my hands and danced me around the table in the parlour, until we were both out of breath. Her silliness made me even happier. “This calls for a celebration!” she said. “Let’s forget about work for today, and let me take you out to tea!”

  I would have liked that very much, but I could not go. Wong Bak was expecting me. Miss MacDonald would not be put off. She insisted that we will go tomorrow instead, and have tea like a pair of fine ladies.

  Saturday, April 21

  I feel like I am floating on a cloud and nothing can bother me now, not even the nasty looks the waiter in the Hotel Vancouver gave me when Miss MacDonald took me to tea there. She noticed too, and told me to ignore him, that it was his ignorance showing. I have never been to such a beautiful place before, and it was hard not to stare. My skirt looked shabby and worn against the silk of the chairs, but I do not care about that now. Clothes do not matter, when my Ma is coming.

  Miss MacDonald had many questions about Ma, and I tried to answer, but some I did not know the answer to, like whether she would want Miss MacDonald to help her learn English. One question though, made my happiness go a little, and made me feel very mean and selfish because it was something I had not given one thought to, not once since Baba first told me the good news. Miss MacDonald asked how long did I think it would be until my little brother could come too, and who would travel with him when he did.

  Does my happiness come at the expense of his? I think it must. He is little, and I have never met him, so it is easy to forget. He will just come later, that is certain. Baba has promised. Being left is not that hard; he will still have grandparents to love him.

  Sunday, April 22

  Baba and I went to Stanley Park this afternoon. There was no rain and the air was mild. I like the hollow tree, hiding inside, but today we walked and walked by the sea, making many plans. With Ma here, she can cook alongside Wong Bak, and Baba says that my help will not be needed so much. He looked slyly at me, smiling. “Maybe high school will not be just a dream, Ah-Mei,” he said. My heart was so full that I thought it might burst, and it was hard to listen to the things that Baba added about the difficulties I would still face, the ones that come from people not liking the Chinese to be here. He would like to leave the Baldwins, and maybe seek work on one of the boats, as a steward or cook. The money is better. Tsung Sook has been talking of doing this too, but Baba could not do it unless Ma were here to be with me.

  It is good to have plans and not worries.

  Monday, April 23

  It is so hard to be patient now. I want the telegram from Ma to come so badly. Once it does, Baba will book her passage, and in maybe a month or two she will be here.

  Bess says that I am giddy with happiness. She laughed to see how happy I was, and said that a whole new Mei is appearing — one who giggles and smiles a lot. This is true, but I would not giggle like she does in class, not ever, and especially not now. I must study even harder.

  Not many of our class will go on to high school when we graduate in two years. It is much work and hard examinations to pass. Ivor probably will. He is a clever boy, and maybe not such a mean one now. He has not teased anyone for so long. Others do not tease or pick on him either, though. They know that he has a temper. There are some Chinese boys too, who will go to high school, some of the merchants’ sons. I think I might be the only girl with such high hopes.

  Thursday, April 26

  I have not written for a while, Diary, but this is not because anything bad has happened. I do not wish to bore you, that is all. How many ways is it possible to say how happy a person is? Or to write I wish the telegram would come?

  Friday, April 27

  Miss MacDonald has much praise for me. She says that I am working very hard, even harder than I used to. I worried that she might think that now I do not need her help any more, because I like the time I spend with her so much that I do not want it to stop. She wants me to meet some of the boys who study English at the church — one in particular, who is already in high school, and who is going to Toronto to study. I do not know about this. I shall ask Baba.

  There is no good news about the law, just much talk that it will pass the House of Commons soon. This scared me some, because I thought that it would stop Ma from coming, but Tsung Sook explained. He reads the Chinese newspaper and speaks with others. It will not become a true law until it is passed in the Senate, which it has to do as well. There will be months or even more time before this happens — time for Ma to come, time for people to still keep fighting against it and stop it.

  Saturday, April 28

  Still no telegram!

  I have nearly filled you now, my beautiful diary. I want to keep pages so that my last entry in you can be made on the day I see my Ma!

  I spent much of the day with Miss MacDonald. It makes the long day pass quicker. I do not think so often of Mr. Chee. I drew some pictures that she will use at Sunday school with the little children. She asked me if I would like to help with this on Sunday mornings; some of the littler ones do not speak much English, and I could translate for them. She smiled and said that I could learn some more about the church too. I think I would like that.

  Sunday, April 29

  I enjoyed helping out with the little children at the Sunday school. It was not ha
rd. Lily and her brothers and sister were there, all except the baby. I drew pictures with them and listened to bible stories. Miss MacDonald gave me a bible of my own to take away and read. Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t.

  Afterward when people stayed and talked, many were fearful that their families would suffer big separations if the law is passed. Miss MacDonald smiled at me. I knew what she was thinking. I was thinking it too — my time of fear is past.

  May 1923

  Thursday, May 3

  I thought I could do this, but I cannot. Ma is not coming. I

  Sunday, May 6

  Oh, Diary, what am I going to do? Every time I try to write about how I feel, the tears come. They are there now, prickling at the backs of my eyes. I have cried for days, ever since Ma’s reply telegram came. It said very little, other than she could not come now, that Baba’s parents could not be left and that the time was not a good one.

  Baba’s eyes were wet too, when he told me, but he did not seem angry, or even surprised. I am the angry one. As I listened to him talk, trying to explain why Ma would make this choice, that this was a delay, not a final thing, I could not bear it. He had many reasons: how she was fulfilling her duty to his parents; how she could not leave little Sing-wah; even how she might have heard stories from those who return which would make her think that coming to Gold Mountain was to come to a scary, unwelcoming place.

  These are just excuses! But what about me, I wanted to shout. I am here. Does that not mean something to her? Has she forgotten me? Are Baba and I less important to her?

  Baba did not sound like himself, but he tried to make his voice strong and smooth as he told me some silly story about the Old Man of Yu who one day decided to move the mountain in front of his house so that he could get to market more easily. People laughed at him and said that he was wasting his time because he was too old to accomplish such a huge undertaking. In turn, he laughed back at them and said that when he died his sons would take over, and then their sons, and when they died, as they must, their sons would complete the task.

  This is nonsense, just a story to placate a child. It means nothing to me — it has nothing to do with Ma and our family being together.

  I feel like a wild girl, wild with the feelings that rage inside me. I shouted at Baba. He was trying to calm me down, telling me again and again that our family would be together some day. “Some day is not good enough!” I shouted. “I want my Ma now.”

  Then my words were unforgivable. Just as Baba used an old story, I used a proverb. Now I wish I had not. My words cut Baba like they were stones I threw at him. “Just remember,” I told him, “for a girl to grow up without a mother, is to grow up no better than a worm!”

  Monday, May 14

  It is worse when people are sad for me — it makes me cry more. School is good, because Mr. Hughes did not keep on when he asked if something was wrong, and I said no.

  Bess — Bess is trying to help. She says things like, “Your dad’s right, Mei-ling, it will all work out one day.” This is not a help to me. How far away is that one day? If that stupid law is passed that one day might be never! At recess I go off by myself and sit in the cloakroom. I thought it would be a place that no one bothered me, but I was wrong.

  My head was on my knees, but I knew someone else was there. When I looked up, it was Ivor. He was just staring at me. I waited for his meanness to come out, but it did not. Finally he reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief. His movement was jerky as he thrust it to me.

  “You should wipe your eyes,” he said. His voice was stuttery, like he was scared. Then, just before he turned and ran away, he whispered. “I’m sorry, May.”

  Tuesday, May 15

  Those words I said to Baba have not been mentioned, but they hang between us. I want to apologize, to tell him that my life here with him is a good one, but my hopes of seeing Ma soon — the hopes that have been broken and flung aside — make my apologies stay inside me. I do not yell any more, nor stamp my feet. I still do not understand Ma’s choice. It is a choice that cuts me deep inside.

  But it is not fair to blame Baba. I do little things. I make sure that tea is ready for him in the morning. I sponge his jacket clean. I make him eat before he starts work in the restaurant. I think he knows how I feel. His eyes are sad when they look on me, but he pats my hand.

  Friday, May 18

  I used to complain that Baba did not talk much to me of plans and important things. Now it is as if he talks too much. Each night he and Wong Bak sit me down and say soft things to me, telling me that things will work out eventually. That we will continue to work hard and in two, three, maybe even ten years we will have money saved, enough money to bring everyone. That if the law, the one they are calling the Exclusion Act, is passed now, there will come a day when it will be changed again. “Hah!” is what I say in my head to their words. I do not say that aloud. I cannot forget the look on Baba’s face when my other cruel words wounded him.

  Miss MacDonald is the one whose words comfort me most. Her words are not apologies or ones that soothe. Instead she says I must make plans, must work hard, do well, and perhaps this will enable me to find a way to see my family again. She will not say exactly what she means, but there is a sureness in her words that lifts my heart a little.

  I have only three pages left now, Diary. I will save them, and the last one will be for the day I see my Ma again.

  June–July 1923

  Thursday, June 7

  A letter came from Ma, addressed just to me. Baba offered to read it to me, but I did not want that. I keep it tucked inside my blouse.

  Sunday, July 1, 1923

  I am using one of my precious pages to write on Dominion Day. Or should I say Humiliation Day. That is what it is being called in Chinatown. All the talking and protests came to nothing. That horrible law is passed.

  No more ordinary Chinese will be allowed to come to Canada, and that would include Ma and Sing-wah. I can write that calmly now, Diary, because I am no longer the wild, sad girl who wept on your pages. Some days I still am, but those days become fewer and fewer. I can’t give a name to how I feel always.

  I finally opened Ma’s letter. Miss MacDonald gave it to one of the Chinese-born missionaries and he translated it for me. How could I have doubted that Ma loved me? Even in the formal flowery language of the scribe who wrote it for her, her love shone through. She wrote about things we had done together, how she still keeps my baby shoes and clothes, holding them tightly to her when she thinks about me. She told me how she cried for days when Baba’s telegram came, because she knew that she could not come, that Grandmother was too frail to look after Sing-wah. My tears matched hers as I read her plea that I persuade Baba to bring me back to her, her belief that we could be together back in China, that we would manage somehow.

  My heart leaped at the idea, but I knew that it could not be, even without talking to Baba. His life is here now, whatever hardship it brings. He has lived here so long that our tiny village would be strange to him. His dream is of a life here in Canada for us all, and I know that he will never give that up.

  I understand his story now — the story of the Old Man of Yu. I will not give up either, because I am part of that story. It is Miss MacDonald who will help me do my part. It will be much work, but I will never falter, and our family will be together again no matter how long it takes.

  March 1935

  Friday, March 29, 1935

  Kwangtung, China

  I am very good at keeping promises. Today I saw Ma and my little brother, although perhaps I should not call him that. Sing-wah is fifteen, and taller now than I. Your pages are getting tear stained again, Diary, but these are special tears — tears of happiness.

  Ma and Sing-wah came from the village to the mission headquarters to see me before I set off to the clinic, a journey that will take several days. We talked long into the night.

  Ma was beautiful in my eyes, frail but beautiful. How hard these years of sep
aration must have been on her! At first she was shy, and did not say much, just stroked my hair, and ran her hands around my face. Sing-wah was not shy. He had so many questions for me, most of them about Baba and Canada. I gave him the photographs I had brought with me and he stared so hard at them, I thought the paper would catch alight.

  When it was time for them to leave, I made them many promises: that while I am here we will see each other as often as we can; that we will make up for the lost years. The most important promise I made many times — that I will work and work to bring us all together one day!

  Epilogue

  Mei-ling was good at keeping promises.

  Life in Chinatown after 1923 was not easy, but Mei-ling and her father chose to stay and continue to work hard in the hope that some day their dream of reuniting their family would be fulfilled. Mei-ling did indeed go to high school, as did Ivor. They never became friends, but Ivor never again teased and persecuted Mei. Bess left school as soon as she could, and she and Mei drifted apart.

  The relationship Mei-ling had established with Miss MacDonald became more important to her, with Miss MacDonald becoming in some ways the mother she missed so much. It was with Miss MacDonald’s encouragement and the help of her church, which Mei-ling attended regularly, that Mei-ling was able to take up a scholarship to study medicine at the University of Toronto — something that was not possible at that time in her home province of British Columbia. Upon qualifying as a doctor in 1935, Mei-ling went as a medical missionary to China. For one brief period, she and Miss MacDonald worked alongside each other until ill health forced Miss MacDonald to give up her dream of working in China.

  Mei-ling and her father always kept in touch with her mother and Sing-wah, either through friends such as Wong Bak, who returned to China for good in 1928, or through letters. It was this that allowed Mei-ling to arrange for them to visit her on her arrival in Kwangtung in 1935.