Letters in the Jade Dragon Box

by Gale Sears

  Chapter 22

  1966

  Mrs. Lin has jumped from Fubo Hill. Her broken body lies like a discarded rag on the rocks beneath. Her daughter Kuan-yin is my only friend. She gave me yellow Ginkgo leaves to hold on my marriage day. Now my husband is gone, and my friend’s mother is with her ancestors. When Kuan-yin and I were girls, we would go to her house and her gentle mother would ask us about school and give us almond cookies. Mrs. Lin always asked about school because she was a great teacher. She taught math and science at the senior school. She received honors for her great teaching. Her students won many awards and went on to the university.

  Then the Red Guards came to the school and yelled at the students.

  “All of your teachers are four olds! You do not need to respect them. You do not need to listen to them. They have given some of you awards. This is not good. Our great leader, Chairman Mao, says this only divides us. We all must be equal! Listen to the wisdom of our great leader. Now you must write da-zi-bao against your misguided teachers. You must write the big posters and hang them like laundry in the school yard for all the world to see!”

  The big poster against Mrs. Lin was written in bold red characters and accused her of being in love with her favorite student.

  The shame of that lie took her to the hill.

  Wen-shan looked over at her uncle. His gaze was fixed on his brother’s painting of the stand of bamboo. “Their world was turned upside down.”

  “I wonder how many people suffered because of lies,” Wen-shan said.

  “I can understand desperation and shame,” her uncle said, standing and moving to the painting. “What I cannot understand is how an entire generation can be so brainwashed in the cult of Mao Tse-tung that they rebel against thousands of years of culture.”

  “They were young.” Wen-shan ran her fingers along the characters. “Mrs. Yang said that the Communists called young people ‘useful idiots.’” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe they thought they were helping.”

  Her uncle looked over at the ink painting of the cypress tree. “My brother has to be suffering. He is such a gentle person. I can imagine how the Communists must hate him.” He turned to Wen-shan. “Is there more to the letter?”

  “Yes.” She read.

  Father says I must stop writing my letters. Chairman Mao is against writers and readers and thinkers. Mao tells us we must not read anything except the little red book. He says the more books you read, the more stupid you become. We hear from Secretary Zhang that many artists and writers have been sent to the detention centers and they never come out. It is a warning that the same thing can happen to us. The demon Zhang encourages the Red Guards to bang bang bang their drums and root out all the evil counterrevolutionaries. They are so fierce that Father is afraid for me. I am very careful, but they are like spiders in the night. Perhaps they can hear the paper crackle or the sound of the brush as it slides across the paper. To them, all art except revolutionary art is garbage. One young man who came from Peking to be rusticated said that over four thousand monuments from the old culture in Peking have been crushed by the fist of our great leader. The young guard bragged that he and some of his gang helped destroy a thousand-year-old Confucian temple.

  Her uncle slumped into his chair. “Madness. Absolute madness.”

  We wonder if Mao Tse-tung wants to make the whole world ugly. I hide another of my father’s paintings. It is of the heavenly mountains and the peaceful river. My father wonders if Chairman Mao will come to Guilin and order the peaks flattened and the river emptied. Will he command away the mist and destroy the rainbows? I have stripped away his mask. Yet there are people who do not see him. We all must wear badges with Mao Tse-tung’s picture. Some wear the badge proudly. Some of the young weep with the honor. My father, Wen-shan, and I wear it only to survive.

  Wen-shan slowly rolled the letter and tied it with its ribbon. “Uncle?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m afraid to read the final letters. Some of the things we’ve read so far have been bad, and I don’t want to read something more horrible.”

  He turned from the painting. “I understand. But can you truly say you don’t want to know their fate?”

  She put the letter into the drawer. “I don’t know if I do.”

  He studied her a moment. “What else is bothering you?”

  Wen-shan touched the unread letters in the drawer. “I think in one of the next letters my mother is going to talk about sending me away.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. This would be the time.” He waited to continue until she looked at him. “But don’t you want to know? You have been wondering why for a long time, Wen-shan. Her words would give you the answer.”

  Wen-shan nodded and shut the drawer. “Maybe.” She stood. “I’m tired. I don’t want to think about it anymore tonight.”

  “Of course. Go get some rest.”

  She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, Uncle.”

  “Good night.” He reached for his scriptures.

  “Oh! Did you remember that tomorrow after school I’m going to Jun-jai’s table tennis game?”

  “Yes, I remember. Wish him good luck from me.”

  “I will, Uncle.”

  “Perhaps the two of you would like to meet me afterwards at Xiao Nan Guo for dinner?”

  “Yes. That would be very nice. Except there will be three of us. Song Li-ying will be at the match too.”

  “She is invited as well, of course.”

  “Thank you, Uncle. We can celebrate Jun-jai’s win.”

  “So, you know the future, do you?”

  “No. I just know my friend.”

  • • •

  “I told my uncle that Jun-jai would win.” Wen-shan switched her schoolbag to her other shoulder and looked at the traffic flowing past on the street.

  “He is a very good player, isn’t he?” Li-ying said.

  “He is.”

  “And he’s joining us for dinner?”

  Wen-shan held Li-ying back from stepping out into the street. “Yes, but he wanted to shower in the locker room first. He also said there was a surprise he wanted to show us.” The traffic stopped, and the girls crossed the street.

  “This is nice of your uncle to invite us all to dinner,” Li-ying said, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “I love the food at Xiao Nan Guo.”

  “Me too.”

  The restaurant came into sight, and Wen-shan waved at her uncle, who was standing in front.

  “Hello, girls,” he said as they approached. “Where is Wei Jun-jai?”

  “He’ll be here soon. He’s cleaning up after the match.”

  “Did he win?”

  “Of course. He’s a very good player.”

  Her uncle bowed to Li-ying. “I’m so glad you could come to dinner.”

  Li-ying bowed. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  Her uncle opened the door of the restaurant and the cheering sound of voices and the clatter of dishes assaulted their ears. “I think we should find a table.”

  Wen-shan raised her voice to be heard. “Good idea.”

  The three had just gotten settled and were figuring out what they wanted to order when Wen-shan looked out the restaurant window and saw Jun-jai pull up on a black motor scooter.

  “Oh, my!” She stood. “It’s Jun-jai! Excuse me, Uncle.” She maneuvered her way quickly to the front of the restaurant and out the door.

  “Jun-jai, what is that?”

  “An elephant. Don’t you know an elephant when you see one?”

  “Don’t tease me. Is it yours?”

  “It belongs to my family. My brother and I share it.”

  “It’s wonderful!”

  “Thank you. I thought you might like it.”

  “Did you have it at the activity center tonight?”

  “I did, but I hid it away so I could surprise you.”

  Wen-shan touched the handlebars. “Well, you certainly did
that.”

  The door to the restaurant opened and Li-ying came out. “Jun-jai?”

  “Look, Li Li! Jun-jai has a motor scooter!”

  “Is it really yours?”

  “My brother and I share it. And I guess anyone else in the family who’s old enough can ride it.”

  Wen-shan laughed. “I bet your mother would ride it. She’s pretty hip.”

  Jun-jai laughed with her. “Everybody would have to get out of her way. My mother tried to ride a bicycle once and drove it into a tree.”

  Li-ying put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear!”

  Wen-shan just laughed harder. “Well, we’d better go back inside or my uncle will think we’ve gone somewhere else to eat.”

  Jun-jai secured the scooter, and the three friends walked into the restaurant. Wen-shan’s uncle stood as the three approached. He gave Jun-jai a stern look, and Wen-shan’s happiness vanished. What was wrong? Had they been too noisy? Was Jun-jai dressed too hip?

  Jun-jai gave her uncle a deep bow, but her uncle spoke before he could say anything.

  “I do not think you can ride a scooter on the Way, Wei Jun-jai.”

  Jun-jai hesitated, and then his face broke into a huge smile. He bowed again. “Or perhaps it might get you along the Way faster.”

  Wen-shan’s uncle laughed. He actually laughed.

  Notes

  Da-zi-bao: During the Cultural Revolution, these large, handwritten posters were used for propaganda and to criticize, denounce, and humiliate people. Often the accusations were false.

  Red writing: Something written in red is considered bad luck.

  Rusticated: Many young people, especially during the Cultural Revolution, were sent from the cities to the rural areas to learn the life of the peasant.

  Table tennis: Also known as Ping-Pong, table tennis is a very popular sport in Asian countries.

  Chapter 23

  The days went by and Wen-shan concentrated on school and her friends. Her uncle concentrated on work at the furniture store and tending the garden. Wen-shan felt more peaceful than she had at any time in her life. When her thoughts turned to Guilin or the letters from her mother, she would go to the library with Li-ying or to Victoria Peak with Jun-jai; she busied herself with helping Mr. Pierpont at the furniture store, and Mrs. Yang with school projects. Once in a while, she would catch a glimpse of her grandfather’s calligraphy and feel a catch in her heart, but it was never enough to make her open the drawer and take out one of the letters. What is truth? Wen-shan thought of rolling the calligraphy work and putting it back in the cupboard, but she figured she’d only think about it more if she did that. What is truth? Truth was a dragon with claws that disturbed her sleep. For the past week her nightmares had retreated. It felt good to wake up feeling rested.

  Wen-shan sat at the kitchen table eating a spring onion pancake.

  Her uncle came in. “I have been smelling this delicious smell all morning.”

  She swallowed quickly. “I can fix you a plate, Uncle.”

  “Thank you, Wen-shan. I can do it. You have already done the most important job.” He sat down at the table. “What made you cook this morning?”

  “I was dreaming about pancakes and fried sticky rice all night.”

  Her uncle looked back to the stove. “Did I miss the sticky rice?”

  Wen-shan giggled. “No. I couldn’t make both so I decided on the pancakes.”

  Her uncle bit into the palm-sized cake and nodded. “I am satisfied with this. It is very good.”

  “Thank you, Uncle.”

  “Pancakes are not a bad thing to dream about.”

  “Except you wake up very hungry.”

  Her uncle smiled and continued eating.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Uncle, I need to get ready for school.”

  “Of course, Wen-shan.”

  She stood and took her plate to the sink.

  “Wen-shan?”

  “Yes, Uncle?”

  “Tonight, I want to read another letter.”

  She held her breath.

  “If you don’t want to read anymore, I understand. I just need to finish the letters. I will read them by myself.”

  “No, no. I want to read them, but I have to study for a chemistry test.”

  “This will be after I get home from work, Wen-shan, and after dinner.”

  “But, I . . .”

  “Like I said, you do not have to read them with me. I understand.”

  The spring onion pancakes sat like rocks in her stomach. She left the kitchen without saying anything else to her uncle. As she showered, she tried to tell herself it would be all right. That maybe she’d be brave enough to finish her mother’s story, that maybe the ending was hopeful. She shuddered as the warm water poured over her body. She found it impossible to convince herself.

  • • •

  “Wen-shan, do you have enough money for a cheongsam dress?”

  “I do, Li Li. I’ve been saving for a long time. Besides, not too many weeks and it will be my birthday.”

  Li-ying brightened. “It is a perfect gift for a sixteenth birthday!”

  “Even if I have to buy it for myself?”

  “Your uncle would buy it for you, wouldn’t he?”

  “I suppose, but then he might want to have a say in which one I choose.”

  “That’s true. I wouldn’t want my father helping me pick my dress. He’d probably pick one three sizes too big.”

  Wen-shan glanced at her friend, envying her slender figure. “You would look so good in one of these dresses, Li-ying. They are straight and slender, just like you.”

  Li-ying smiled, showing her crooked teeth. She held up a white dress. “This one is pretty.”

  Wen-shan shook her head. “Too white. I’m not going to a funeral.”

  Li-ying quickly put it back. “Sorry. You’re right. It did have little blue butterflies all over it, though. I thought you might like that.”

  Wen-shan continued to move down the racks, looking at all the beautiful, shiny dresses. She had chosen several favorites: a black one that looked very sophisticated, a yellow one with small pearls around the stand-up collar, a turquoise one with white embroidered lotus blossoms, and a red one with dragons. She had the saleswoman secure those four in her size and went to the fitting room to try them on. The turquoise one was a little too snug and there wasn’t another in a larger size, the side slit on the yellow dress went too high on her leg, and the black dress made her look like a little girl playing dress up. She was feeling a bit discouraged until she put on the red dress with the glorious dragons. It fit her perfectly, and Wen-shan thought it even made her look taller. When she went out to show Li-ying, her friend’s eyes flew open in surprise.

  “Oh, Wen-shan, it’s perfect!”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! It’s beautiful!”

  “And it’s a good price. I can afford it.” She turned to look at herself in the mirror and words floated into her head: This one looks like her mother. She stared at her face in the mirror as Master Quan’s words repeated. This one looks like her mother.

  “Are you all right, Wen-shan?”

  Wen-shan nodded. “I’m fine. I was just a little dizzy for a minute.”

  “Well, it’s stuffy in that dressing room.”

  “I’m sure that’s it.” She looked again at the dress and her head cleared. “I’m going to buy this one.”

  Li-ying clapped, and Wen-shan gave a little curtsy. The dress was so formfitting, a little curtsy was all she could manage.

  After leaving the dress shop, Wen-shan walked Li-ying to her house so she could show Li-ying’s mother her purchase. Mrs. Song was very impressed with Wen-shan’s choice.

  “Oh, this is very lucky dress. Red is celebration color. And dragon is powerful. You will always feel very confident in this dress.”

  In her heart, Wen-shan felt that was true.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner?” Mrs. Song asked. “We are having Poon Choi.
”

  Wen-shan hesitated. She had only had Poon Choi once and it had been the most amazing meal she’d ever had. It was a few years after she’d come from Guilin. Mr. Pierpont had given one of his employees a wedding dinner, and the feast was served big-bowl style, with meat, fish, lobster, vegetables, and noodles overflowing in a huge pot. The guests simply came up with their individual bowls and helped themselves. She remembered being shy and unable to tell her uncle what she wanted. He carefully put a little of every kind of food in her bowl, and she crawled under the draped table and ate until she fell asleep. It was a good memory.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Song. I would love to stay, but I have to go home and cook dinner for my uncle.”

  “Oh, you are a good girl. Maybe next time, then.”

  “I would love to. Thank you for inviting me.”

  It was dark as Wen-shan walked home with only a thin silver crescent moon peeking now and again through the trees. She walked slowly, listening to the distant sound of traffic and the closer sound of a mother’s voice calling children home to dinner. She looked down at her feet and tried to think of her baby feet kicking dust in the courtyard, of rice served by slender fingers, of mist and green bamboo, of padded jackets, and a thick braid of hair falling down her back. She tried to remember a world of floating mountains and silver rivers, a land where her feet walked but her memory could not penetrate.

  Wen-shan reached the gate and shifted the store package so she could unhook the latch. She knew she could not show her dress to her uncle right away because she was supposed to have been home studying for a chemistry test. On the other hand, if he was going to insist on reading a letter, wearing the dress might give her dragon strength.

  • • •

  1966

  Secretary Zhang gathered our neighborhood group to the government building courtyard. It was muggy and rain clouds clung to the tops of the peaks. Sweat poured from our faces as we listened to the demon Zhang tell us that Chairman Mao had determined that at least ten percent of all the people are counterrevolutionaries and must be dealt with.

  Zhang walked about the yard with a stack of papers in his hand. We knew these were the names of people he had determined would fill his quota. We trembled as he riffled through the pages. There were police standing by with guns. A truck waited to take people away to the detention center. Most of the people who went into the detention center came out with broken souls, or did not come out at all.