Letters in the Jade Dragon Box

by Gale Sears

  Wen-shan interrupted. “But everyone isn’t the same. I’ll never be as smart as Jun-jai, or as good as Li-ying. And how does the government take care of people? The people still have to work to support the government.”

  “True.”

  “And what if those people who take charge aren’t good men?”

  “It usually works out that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Look at Secretary Zhang. Look what he did. And whoever put him in charge had to be just as bad.”

  “Probably.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know why my father would believe any of it.”

  “I cannot answer that.”

  “And now look at what the Communists did to him. He tried to do his best for the party and they sent him away from his family.” There were tears in her voice, and neither of them spoke for some time.

  Finally Wen-shan picked up the letter. “Stupid government.”

  She read.

  As we were chanting, Wu Ming-mei came to my side and took my hand. She told me to have courage. She told me that all things change. She told me to be careful. She said Zhang had it out for our family because he was jealous of my father. She said she wanted to help me because I reminded her of her sister in Peking. I looked at her with her cropped hair and her Mao cap, and I wondered if she was trying to trick me. She was so pretty. I wanted to believe I had an influential friend, but maybe she was just trying to get information for her husband, the demon Zhang. I took my hand away and shoved it into the air so my husband could see.

  Wen-shan rolled the letter.

  “She doesn’t say anything about where your father was sent, or when he left?”

  “No. That was everything.” She put away the letter and stood.

  Her uncle stood with her. “I’ll be home late from work this evening. Mr. Pierpont wants to see me after we close the store.”

  Wen-shan smiled. She had a good idea what Mr. Pierpont was going to talk to her uncle about. “Should I wait dinner?”

  “No, I’ll get some wonton or something on the way home.”

  “Oh, well, your loss. I was going to make goulash again.”

  Her uncle raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

  Wen-shan headed for her bedroom to finish getting ready for school. She wore a secret smile.

  • • •

  Mrs. Tuan was on her porch, sweeping. Wen-shan watched her out of the corner of her eye as she knelt by the ornamental strawberries, pulling weeds. She had the suspicion that Mrs. Tuan wanted to ask her a question or scold her about something, and Wen-shan wondered what was holding her back. Wen-shan really didn’t want to have a conversation with the toad woman. She was enjoying the late afternoon autumn sun. The leaves on the Chinese Pepper Tree had turned a bright red, and that, combined with the smell of moist soil and the warmth on her back, filled her senses.

  “Hello, girl!” Mrs. Tuan called.

  Wen-shan grumbled quietly and looked over. She smiled and waved her trowel, which Mrs. Tuan took immediately as a sign to join her.

  “Hello, Mrs. Tuan. And where are Yan and Ya Ya today?”

  “Oh, those two? They are staying at their auntie’s house this weekend. She picked them up from school.”

  Wen-shan thought she caught the sound of relief in Mrs. Tuan’s voice. “Well, that will be fun for them,” she said diplomatically.

  Mrs. Tuan cleared her throat, and Wen-shan knew she was impatient to get to her questions. “So, you have new paintings?”

  “New paintings?”

  “Yes, in your house.”

  “How did you . . .”

  “I was getting Yan’s kite out of the tree. Your drapes were open. I just happened to look over.”

  “And you saw my grandfather’s paintings?”

  Mrs. Tuan was stunned silent for a moment. “Your grandfather’s paintings?”

  Wen-shan shaded her eyes and looked up at her. “Yes. Some of my grandfather’s paintings were smuggled out of Guilin.” She knew the word smuggled would send Mrs. Tuan into a fit of curiosity.

  “Smuggled? Who smuggled them?”

  “An old pirate that my uncle knows.”

  Mrs. Tuan narrowed her eyes. “It is disrespectful to tell me a lie.”

  Wen-shan stood. “Sorry. I’m sorry, Mrs. Tuan. I was just having a little fun.”

  Mrs. Tuan blew out a puff of air. “Young people these days. No respect.”

  “Really, I am sorry. Actually it was one of my uncle’s old teachers from the university. Some people smuggled him out of Guilin, and he brought the paintings with him.”

  “Who smuggled him out?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  She gave Wen-shan a very conspiratorial look. “Ah, very secret, huh?”

  “Yes. Very secret.”

  Mrs. Tuan tapped her finger on her lips. “That is what the message was about. The one brought by the boy on red bicycle.”

  Wen-shan was shocked at her recollection. “That’s right.”

  Mrs. Tuan looked over at the bungalow. “Nice to have a grandfather who sends you such a treasure.”

  “Yes,” Wen-shan said. She looked at Mrs. Tuan’s eager expression and made a decision. “Mrs. Tuan, would you like to see the paintings?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, I’d be glad to show them to you.”

  “Well, I would, but I’m dirty from doing housework all day.”

  “You’re fine.”

  Mrs. Tuan seemed agitated and excited. “Let . . . let me go wash my hands.”

  Wen-shan hid a grin. “Of course. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

  Mrs. Tuan scurried into her house and emerged a few minutes later. She was still wearing her work dress, but she’d added a flowered pillbox hat to the ensemble.

  Wen-shan opened the door for her. “That’s a nice hat, Mrs. Tuan.”

  She touched it a bit self-consciously. “Thank you.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll just let you go in by yourself.”

  “It will be all right?”

  “Of course. I need to finish out here in the garden.”

  “I promise I won’t touch anything.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “You leave the door open so you can be sure. You can watch me.”

  “Okay.” Wen-shan grinned to herself again.

  Mrs. Tuan entered the house slowly, and Wen-shan wondered how this could possibly be the same woman who yelled at her children and snooped on all the neighbors.

  Wen-shan went back to her gardening, glancing up every now and then to the house. Once she saw Mrs. Tuan chuckle, and once she saw her timidly reach out toward one of the paintings. Probably the sparrow painting, Wen-shan thought.

  She had just finished her weeding when Mrs. Tuan came out onto the porch. She gave Wen-shan a little bow and headed immediately for her house. Wen-shan waved at Mrs. Tuan’s back as she and her flowered pillbox hat disappeared through the doorway.

  Wen-shan wasn’t sure, but she thought her neighbor was crying.

  • • •

  Wen-shan was watching Charlie’s Angels when she heard the front door open. She jumped out of bed and went to see what news her uncle had to share. He was hanging up his raincoat when she came out.

  “Good evening, Uncle. How was your day?”

  “Good.” He moved to his chair.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you.” He sat down and picked up his scriptures. “How was your day?”

  “Good.” She sat cross-legged on the couch.

  Her uncle frowned at her. “So American.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m following Buddha’s example.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I see.”

  She wished he’d stop getting her off track. “So, how was your meeting with Mr. Pierpont?”

  “Good.” He opened his book.

  Wen-shan was getting frustrated. “What did he want to talk to you about?”

  “Just som
e business.”

  She tried to remember the Confucius saying about patience. She took a breath. “Oh, just business? I thought he might want to talk to you about something else.”

  Her uncle slowly turned a few pages of his Bible as though searching for a specific passage. “You mean like being his partner at Pierpont and Pierpont Limited?”

  Wen-shan shot up from her seat. “Yes!” She caught herself. “Oh, I mean, really? Really? That’s fantastic!”

  Her uncle chuckled and closed the book. “He also told me that you knew all about it.”

  Wen-shan looked sheepish. “Oh.”

  “I must say you did a very good job keeping it quiet.”

  Wen-shan beamed at him. “I did, didn’t I?” She sat down again. “Oh, Uncle, I’m so glad for you. You are a hard worker and you deserve it.”

  He was quiet for several moments. “I’ve been given many blessings.” He reached over and took her hand. “And you are one of them.”

  Tears sprang from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  “Wen-shan?”

  “Yes?” She hiccupped through her tears.

  “Would you please get me a glass of water?”

  “Yes, Uncle.” Wen-shan stood quickly and went to the kitchen, letting the tears flow as she filled the glass ten times. Finally she took a deep breath, splashed some water on her face, and dried it on the tea towel. She took the glass of water to her uncle. She drew in a deep breath. “I’m very proud of you.”

  “Thank you, Wen-shan.”

  “I think I’ll go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  Her uncle nodded, and she turned to go. “Wen-shan?”

  “Yes?”

  “I may be going to church on Sunday. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Yes. I would.”

  “There’s only one thing I ask.”

  “Yes?”

  “When we get there, no kicking or screaming.”

  The tears started again. “Yes, Uncle.” She moved quickly to the solitude of her bedroom.

  Note

  Mao Cap: Men and women wore a standardized uniform of loose trousers and a jacket designed to obscure the differences in rank or sex. As part of that uniform, men and women could choose to wear a blue or green cap. The cap had a soft pillbox that covered the head and a stiff brim. Often a red star was worn on the front of the cap.

  Chapter 17

  What did Confucius teach about peace in the world?”

  Wen-shan pointed to her ears and shook her head. “I can’t hear you, Jun-jai. The tram car is too noisy.”

  Li-ying hid her smile behind her hand as the corner of Jun-jai’s mouth curved up. “It’s not too noisy,” he said. “You just don’t know the answer.”

  Wen-shan pointed to her ears again and turned to look out the window. The glossy leaves on the banana and camphor trees spoke of the night’s rain, but the morning had arrived with blue sky and a gentle breeze, and Wen-shan was glad that she and her friends didn’t have to postpone their picnic outing on Victoria Peak. She glanced sideways and found Jun-jai looking out the opposite window.

  “‘If there be rightness in the heart, there will be beauty in the character,’” she began.

  Jun-jai turned to her and nodded like a teacher prompting his student. “And?”

  “‘If there is beauty in the character there will be balance—’”

  “Harmony.”

  “‘There will be harmony in the home. If there is harmony in the home, there will be order in the nation.’”

  “Yes? And?”

  “‘If there is order in the nation, there will be peace in the world.’”

  Jun-jai nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “So? I told you I knew it.”

  He stayed silent.

  Wen-shan batted him on the arm. “Jun-jai, how about some praise?”

  He pointed to his ears. “What? Sorry, I can’t hear you. The tram car is too noisy.”

  Their bantering stopped as the tramcar arrived at the top of Victoria Peak and people rose to disembark. Jun-jai picked up the satchel with the food, Wen-shan gathered the blanket, and Li-ying brought the thermos. They hiked the trail to their favorite spot, and as they went, Li-ying surprisingly did most of the talking. She was upset with her mother, who had almost not let her come on the outing.

  “She’d forgotten that I’d asked her weeks ago about it, and she scheduled an appointment with the dentist on the same day. She just expects that I’m always going to be around to watch the children. I do have a life other than being the big sister.”

  They arrived at the grassy overlook, and Li-ying abruptly stopped talking. She looked embarrassed. “Oh, sorry, Jun-jai. I’m not showing much rightness of heart, am I?”

  Wen-shan laughed as she spread out the blanket. “You’re just being normal for once.”

  “But it’s very disrespectful to talk in anger about your parents. What does Confucius have to say about my disrespectful behavior, Jun-jai?”

  Jun-jai grinned at her. “‘When you have faults, do not fear to abandon them.’”

  A mortified look appeared on Li-ying’s face.

  Wen-shan growled at him. “Ah, Jun-jai! That is a terrible thing to say. Li Li, don’t listen to him.”

  “I was just teasing, Li-ying. Really. I can’t see that you have any faults, and you are the most respectful girl I know.”

  Wen-shan gave him a look. “Compared to me, who is known for her faults and bad manners.”

  “Actually, Wen-shan, you’ve been doing much better lately.”

  Li-ying giggled, and Wen-shan glared at Jun-jai. “And what does Confucius say about boys who are mean?”

  “Confucius says that mean boys should eat a good lunch and talk about the weather.”

  The girls laughed as they sat down on the blanket.

  Jun-jai sat down with them and handed Wen-shan the satchel. “It was nice of you to make lunch, Wen-shan.”

  “I fixed everything American-style!”

  Li-ying pushed up her glasses. “What does that mean?”

  Wen-shan reached into the bag and began dragging out food. “Bologna and cheese sandwiches, potato chips, apples, and biscuits! The biscuits are from Mr. Pierpont.”

  “So those aren’t really American,” Jun-jai teased. “If they were American, we’d be eating cookies.”

  “Well, I like biscuits better.”

  Li-ying looked skeptical. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten bologna.”

  “You’ll like it, I think,” Wen-shan said as she handed each of them a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper. She watched as they both took a bite.

  Jun-jai looked pleased. “I’ve had something like this before—Italian lunch meat. It’s pretty good.”

  Li-ying looked like she was having trouble swallowing.

  “How is it?” Wen-shan asked.

  “Not bad.” Li-ying answered, trying to smile as she chewed.

  Wen-shan giggled. “You don’t have to eat it, Li Li.” She reached in the satchel again. “I brought some cold shoyu chicken, just in case.”

  Li-ying brightened as Wen-shan pulled out the container filled with tender chunks of meat coated in the savory sauce.

  “Is there enough for all of us?” Jun-jai asked hopefully.

  Wen-shan threw her own partially eaten sandwich into the heap and gave them both a half grin. “I guess I should have known better.”

  They divided the chicken, chips, and apples, and spent the afternoon sharing stories and experiences. Her friends were delighted when Wen-shan told them about her uncle’s promotion to partner at the furniture store. When lunch was over, Wen-shan threw away the trash, reached into the satchel, and brought out Mr. Pierpont’s tin of biscuits. She also brought out one of the parchments.

  Jun-jai sat straighter.

  “I thought you might like to hear another of my mother’s letters.”

  “I would,” Jun-jai answered quickly.

  “Oh, yes,” Li-ying added. “As
long as it’s not too sad.”

  “You’ll have to decide for yourself,” Wen-shan said as she unrolled the scroll. “My uncle and I read it last night, and I want to know what you think about it.”

  Li-ying sat with her back against a tree, and Jun-jai sat with his arms folded around his bent legs.

  Wen-shan took a drink of water and began reading.

  1965

  I stand with a clump of grass in my hand. I throw it into the smoldering fire pit, and then use my wooden hoe to dig up another patch. Next I will destroy the peony bush and the yew tree. My daughter sits in her little Mao jacket pulling up starflowers. She is a good revolutionary. Our great leader Chairman Mao says that grass and flowers are habits of the Western rich and must be purged from our lives. So we are turning our courtyard into a wasteland. I ache as I cut branches from the peony bush. The delicate pink petals fall to the ground. For a moment they will bring splendor to the dark earth. I must hate myself for feeling miserable. I must work against any feeling that goes against the instructions of Chairman Mao.

  “Wen-shan?”

  Wen-shan stopped reading and looked at Li-ying. The expression on her friend’s face was one of bewilderment.

  “They were told to dig up flowers?”

  Wen-shan nodded.

  “That’s impossible,” Li-ying said.

  “That’s insanity,” Jun-jai said flatly.

  “But why destroy flowers? There’s no reason for it.”

  Jun-jai shook his head. “It’s not about reason, Li-ying. It’s about power. If you can get an entire nation of people to do something as insane as pulling up their flower gardens, then you know you have control over their minds. You’ve created people who have no thoughts of their own.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “You heard Wen-shan’s mother,” Jun-jai pressed. “She said she had to hate herself for feeling miserable.”

  “But didn’t Mao Tse-tung care about his people, Jun-jai?”

  “No.”

  Tears came into Li-ying’s eyes, and she took off her glasses to wipe them away. “Do you remember pulling up flowers, Wen-shan?”

  Wen-shan shook her head. “No.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was only four and a half.” She didn’t want to remember pulling up flowers, but she would have liked to have remembered the peony petals scattered on the dark earth.