Reclaiming Lily Read online

  The reverend darted glances in his rearview mirror. Kai gripped the backseat armrest and tried to ignore stain-splotched upholstery, the balled-up fast-food wrappers and torn magazines that cluttered the floorboards of this storage bin on wheels. How could they raise a child in such a mess?

  “So . . . how do you like Boston?” the reverend asked.

  Kai measured her response, eager to set the right tone. “Boston is now my home,” she managed. Did that sound patriotic . . . or elitist? The former, she hoped.

  Andrew wove and maneuvered and zipped down the interstate, Kai clinging to the armrest as if it would protect her. She should have refused the Powells’ offer—the reverend’s offer—and accepted the policeman’s. That would have been awkward as well. But not this awkward.

  “I’m sure Boston’s nice,” the reverend continued. “But it ain’t Texas. There’s nothing like the Lone Star State.”

  Mrs. Powell continued her mannequin-like ways.

  Kai scrambled for a witty American colloquialism, though it was all she could do to keep her nerves from rattling like the nuts and bolts of this old clunker. Christians shouldn’t drive like him, shouldn’t act like her—should they?

  Conversation died. Thank the fates! Kai needed clarity, as she approached this pivotal point in her life. Forget Yantai University, Harvard, Dr. Ward, and Massachusetts Renal. The fates had brought her to Lily. She must do her part.

  Noisy vans, custom-painted SUVs, and enough luxury cars to build a bridge to China zoomed past on eight lanes of concrete and embankments, their sounds mingling with the grumble of thunder. During their ride, steely gray clouds had blackened and drooped and mixed with smog to canopy the bustling freeway. Kai battled a storm rising within. What friction would her presence create in Lily? She had been so sure of her plan to accumulate money, accolades, and U.S. citizenship before arranging this reunion. PKD and that PI’s report had simplified the decision . . . or had she fooled herself? Had she even the right to see Lily? To whom did Lily belong? China, a land ironically boasting ownership by the people? America, founded on the rights of each individual? The Powells? The Changs? Or did fate—nothing more, nothing less—own Lily?

  A horn honked. The rolling storage bin darted in front of a truck. Kai clenched Joy’s file and squeezed shut her eyes. This might be the last car ride of her life. Surely the fates won’t stop me now. Surely—

  “Whew!”

  Kai’s eyes gaped. Whew? More like Thank the fates!

  “Talk about close!” Chuckling, the reverend banged the steering wheel. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  Kai’s heart skittered. Another second and they might have been twisted metal, burning flesh. But fate had intervened. She could trust it. She must trust it.

  Mrs. Powell turned her head. Their eyes met. “Um, you’d started to tell us about the beginning of your nightmare.”

  A tremor raced through Kai. What had brought the mannequin to life? She studied the profile view of a teary eye and a droopy mouth. Most certainly my presence brings pain to Mrs. Powell. Had Lily also inflicted pain on this woman? Kai’s hand throbbed confirmation. Gloria had not had an easy time.

  “I wonder if you’d tell me . . .” Gloria bowed her head, which muffled her voice.

  Kai leaned forward, wanting, needing to hear every word. Instead she heard a sob.

  Kai caressed her right hand. Dared she hope this woman might understand her motives? “Mrs. Powell.” Kai tiptoed every word so as not to misstep. “I do not want to waste your time.”

  A prominent chin lifted. A head turned. Bleary but determined eyes met her gaze. “It’s Gloria. Please. Call me Gloria.”

  “All right. Gloria.” Kai studied the woman as she would an interesting patient. What word, what action, had disseminated the hostile wind and brought calm?

  “I want to hear your story,” whooshed from Gloria. “For Joy.”

  Kai leaned against the faded seat cover. Of course. The reverend had talked sense into her. She was just doing her maternal duty. Still, it was an improvement.

  Gloria’s jaw tightened. “I also want to hear it for me.” Though the change was inexplicable, it could not be denied. The woman in the front seat had masked her earlier weaknesses, her earlier resentment. “Please tell us, Kai. Now.”

  5

  CHINA, 1968

  I have endured the worst day of my life. Kai found First Daughter and entered the flow of noisy comrades streaming through the school gates. The stretch of blue skies and brown earth offered freedom as never before. The tight sash of earlier insults loosened to let her breathe. She arched her neck, threw back her head, and searched for dainty feathered friends. She saw only a greasy black crow.

  Someone banged her shoulder and trampled her heel. Kai reached for First Daughter’s lily-petal hand.

  “Let go.” First Daughter gave a steaming-teapot hiss. “Mask your feelings.”

  They walked the customary way, past fields cultivated by peasants in baggy trousers and wide-brimmed hats. From his pen, Old Cousin’s speckled pig grunted a greeting. Trailing First Daughter like a stray dog, Kai trotted down alleys, past courtyards full of old men sitting in cane chairs, smoking their pipes and rattling mah-jongg tiles, past women using brooms to pile trash and shoo away hens. Normal village life. Or so it seemed . . .

  Kai hurried into their courtyard and breathed deep of hot oil and jasmine blossoms and the hundred scents of home. Should she speak to Mother of the day’s unfortunate incidents or hide them behind—

  Someone screamed. Mother. Inside their house.

  Kai tripped over an invisible block of fear and nearly crashed into First Daughter.

  “Don’t touch her, I tell you!” shouted Father.

  Glass shattered and split a silence, awful after Father’s words.

  Third Daughter wailed like a monkey gone mad. No normalcy. Madness has followed us home!

  First Daughter, her breath hot on Kai’s hair, yanked Kai around the house. They streaked past the banyan and huddled under the willow’s droopy branches. All the while, crashes and smashes and screeches joined the boom, boom of Kai’s heart and First Daughter’s gasps of breath to create a chaotic song.

  “You must reform your counterrevolutionary thoughts!” shouted a man.

  “We have no such thoughts.” Father spoke slowly, as he did when teaching the sayings of Confucius.

  “Chang Lao speaks the truth,” declared Old Grandfather.

  “Truth? Those with black tongue disease speak no truth!”

  Kai’s back stiffened as she met First Daughter’s gaping stare. Who would dare dishonor Old Grandfather, a Long March survivor?

  Something crashed. A table? A chair? The very house groaned. Whimpered.

  Or was that Mother?

  Kai shivered from head to toe.

  “You destroyed the vase of my ancestors,” Kai heard Mother say. Third Daughter’s wails had been reduced to tired sobs.

  Kai bit her lip to keep from crying. Why would anyone destroy Mother’s beloved relics? Mother was a most favored teacher. Mother was—

  “They are nothing but worthless mementos. Proof of a capitalist bent.”

  “We have no capitalist bent.”

  “Do not be quick to defend poor behavior. Chairman Mao offers leniency to those who admit their crimes.”

  Kai’s icy fingers entwined First Daughter’s in an effort to keep from crying out. How many men were ransacking their house? Why?

  The house fell silent. Kai held her breath and begged her heart to stop its thundering lest they be caught eavesdropping like capitalist spies.

  Boots thudded. A door slammed. Men cursed.

  First Daughter tore from Kai, who begged her numb legs to follow brave Ling.

  “Oh, Mother. Father.” Through the back window came First Daughter’s sobs.

  “Do not cry, Ling.” Despite the dreadful denunciations, Father’s voice was unwavering.

  Kai’s heart slowed as she feasted on air. She wobbled al
ong the path Ling had trod, only Kai wobbled like the broken-legged bird that she had doctored not long ago.

  “Where is little Kai, Ling?” she heard Mother cry. “Where, oh, where is Second Daughter? They did not detain her at school, did they?”

  To relieve Mother, Kai found the strength to span the threshold of their home. With a final surge, she fell into Mother’s warmth and sobbed out the pain that knifed her body. After her cries were spent, she peeked through her fingers. What would happen now?

  Old Grandfather sat in the rocker with Third Daughter. First Daughter rattled at the stove. Making tea? Father swept up porcelain shards and plucked fragments of Old Grandfather’s writings from the dirt. The table was returned to its customary position. As if it were a typical afternoon, Old Grandfather lit his pipe.

  But it was not a typical afternoon. No, it was horrid!

  The peach pit of fear expanded and scraped Kai’s insides. She edged toward Father, who now sat in his chair. As upper school principal and master of their house, Father would understand the sentiments of Kai the student and Kai the child.

  Bloodshot eyes met her gaze. Her father, crying?

  To avoid a freefall into terror, Kai lunged at Father and seized his hand. Father had not wept since Grandmother’s death. “Father,” she cried, “why did I lose face at school? Why did those men destroy Mother’s things? Why, oh, why has madness visited our house?”

  Father managed a droll expression. “Our dragon breathes questions, not fire.”

  Kai pinched her fingers to stop their twitching. She must wait. Father would explain things in his way, in his time.

  “One red ant bite sting can easily be salved,” Father finally said. “But an army of red ants can destroy a house. A village.”

  Why would Father now quote Confucius? Though his sayings had endured like the Great Wall, one whose bones were dust had no antidote for fate’s cruel shattering of their lives. Why did the fates suddenly hate them?

  “We can endure intermittent stings, my little dragon, by loyalty to Chairman Mao and our comrades. If fate intervenes, we will muster strength to withstand an army of ants.”

  “An army?” Old Grandfather rattled to his feet. “Monkeys dressed in uniforms are no army.” Old Grandfather grabbed a torn China Daily and banged his pipe. Damp tobacco clumped on the headlines. “A strong west wind will annihilate them all!” Old Grandfather cleared his throat and spat.

  Kai felt her eyes widen. From the lane came the pounding of boots, the rumble of voices. Hair bristled on Kai’s neck. Those men had gone, had they not, like a once-in-a-century storm? Surely only workers approached, with their sickles and hoes . . .

  “I feared it.” Father spoke as if discussing the weather. “They come with an indictment.”

  “So soon?” whispered Mother.

  “They are paper tigers, trying to roar.” Father gave Mother a sad smile. “We must endure until real tigers arrive.”

  Old Grandfather harrumphed, but his limbs trembled like willow leaves. First Daughter grabbed Third Daughter, whose chest heaved, whose limbs clawed.

  A snake coiled about Kai’s throat and strangled a scream that rose from within. Her legs gave way. She fell in a heap, unable to endure more.

  “Mother, go into the bedroom with our daughters,” Father hissed. “Now.”

  As if she had not heard, Mother stood statue-like, her hand against their mud wall.

  “You, too, Old Man. Go with them.”

  His eyes sunk into his face, Old Grandfather slumped back into his chair, perhaps revisiting steppes he had climbed during the war. Kai longed to go with him!

  “Now, Old Man!”

  “Am I not a Long March survivor?” Old Grandfather spewed bitterness. “Yet I face squawking chickens!”

  Father laid a hand on Old Grandfather’s arm. “You are a man in a time when white hair has no more value than a rotten egg.”

  “If it is my fate to be heaped onto garbage, I will accept it.”

  “Stay then, Old Man.” Father yanked Mother’s arm. “Take the baby. Go in there. Now!”

  Mother did not blink, did not even seem to breathe.

  Father reached out to caress Mother’s cheek. “May the fates protect you.”

  The whisper, and Father’s touch, revived Mother. She took the baby from First Daughter and disappeared.

  “Ling, get Kai. Join Mother and the baby.”

  First Daughter yanked Kai from the floor and half-dragged, half-carried her to the kang, where Mother lay, clutching the baby. Shadows danced from the teak wardrobe, flashed in the mirror over the washstand, swirled about the little stool, where she had so carefully laid her nightgown this morning, expecting this to be the best day of her life.

  The front door thudded open. Voices swallowed the protests of Father and Old Grandfather. They were dreadful, powerful voices that gobbled up Mother’s coos and Third Daughter’s sniffles.

  “Here you sit, you stinking ninths, lazing the day away. You should labor in the fields! Purify your thoughts!”

  A slapping sound ended the words.

  Old Grandfather groaned. Wood splintered. Moans and clatters shook the house.

  “By directive of the Regimental Political Section, you are indicted for . . .”

  Whimpers dribbled from Kai and drowned out the shouts. It was one thing to have their house ripped to shreds, but to have Old Grandfather and Father arrested?

  “What will happen to them?” Kai whispered.

  Number One Daughter pushed Kai into the softness of the kang. “Hush, I tell you, or I will slap your face!”

  Kai covered her eyes, but not before glancing at her sister, who blew fire like a dragon. How dreadful! Dogs had become dragons. Boars pretended to be tigers. Monkeys reigned like men. The room spun about like her mind. The world had gone mad!

  Scuffles and thuds continued their assault. Again the door thudded. Then silence seized the house. Had Father and Old Grandfather been taken away?

  Kai felt her mouth form a circle. Her body spasmed as if it belonged to another. Then she thought of her poor elders and staggered toward the door. If she caught up with Father and Grandfather before they rounded the courtyard gate, she could rescue them!

  Three men burst into the room and knocked Kai down. Red kerchiefs knotted their scraggly hair. Red armbands bound their right arms. Kai remembered red, pouring from the slit throat of their festival chicken. Red, seeping from open wounds after her fall, oh, so long ago. So much red, the proud color of China; the horrifying color of death . . .

  “Come with us, Chang Jiang, enemy of the proletariat!” One man crooked his finger and jabbed Mother’s side.

  “Possessor of bourgeois frivolities!” A second man hurled one of Mother’s books onto the dirt floor. It lay exposed, its pale pages trembling.

  The three men lunged for Mother.

  A cyclone of anger spun Kai to her feet. They had soiled two of her beloved things: Mother and her writings. She doubled up her fists and growled. “How dare you criticize Mother’s books? She has devoted her life to the poets of our land. She has—”

  Mother yanked Kai back to the kang and clamped her palm over Kai’s mouth.

  A swollen-faced man stomped near. “You stinking ninth! What is worse, the child or the parent?” The man flattened his palm and slapped Kai.

  Mother screamed.

  Third Daughter’s cries pierced Kai’s ears, yet hot winds surged into her limbs. She broke free from Mother. “You are wrong!” Kai shouted. “My mother writes of beauty, valor, of love for country.”

  “She must be reeducated . . . or be whacked into pieces!”

  Again Kai suffered the clap of Mother’s hand and was restrained by Mother’s sweaty arms, First Daughter’s writhing legs. She struggled with both Mother and First Daughter, her mind spiraling like an escaped kite.

  When the swollen-faced man squatted down, a stinking garlic smell pummeled Kai in the face. “Aha!” he snorted. “Another bad root, sending her s
hoots into the fertile soil of China.” Greasy fingers grabbed her arm. “Another bad root, to hack and destroy.”

  A thin man stepped from the line of three men. Though scars pitted his face, his eyes had a cloudy, sad cast. “Do not punish a Young Pioneer for the misdeeds of her family. With help, this one can be reeducated.” The thin man was joined by another, who stepped in front of him and Stinking Garlic. “As can Comrade Chang.”

  Stinking Garlic beat his fists against Thin Man’s back but was paid no mind. “Come, Comrade Chang,” continued Thin Man. “If you do not resist, we will leave your daughters alone.”

  “If you do not obey,” growled Stinking Garlic, “we will throw you all in prison.”

  “I will come with you.” The kang shook as Mother rose, her teacher’s voice in command. “Leave my daughters alone.”

  Kai’s limbs melted under the pressure of another change. Mother planned to obey these men and leave them here? Alone?

  Nonchalantly, as though tending to household chores, Mother handed the baby to First Daughter. Her eyes clear, her chin firm, Mother kissed their foreheads and then fixed her gaze on her eldest. “First Daughter, you are in charge. Remember what you have been taught.” Her voice was whispery, yet she enunciated each word. “Fate will reunite us. Until then, you must be strong.”

  “Now!” commanded Stinking Garlic. His two comrades silenced him with shoves.

  “Second Daughter,” Mother continued, “subdue your fiery ways. Vent your energy into suitable pursuits.” Her brow gathered, as if to warn of a storm. “Obey First Daughter. Survival depends on it.”

  Suddenly Mother’s face softened, and she looked like a young girl. “Take care of the baby,” she whispered. “Both of you.”

  Who was this woman, with eyes of thunder, demanding obedience . . . yet leaving them? Tears clouded Kai’s vision. Oh, Mother, she longed to say. Yet fear and sadness swelled her throat.

  “Fanhui.”

  Mother stepped forward, folded her arms behind her. Stinking Garlic clamped cuffs on her wrists. The three men shoved Mother toward the door. “Manbuzhai hu!” Stinking Garlic kicked Mother’s wardrobe, swore, rubbed his foot, and kicked again. “Daughters of swine!” He grabbed one of Kai’s shoes, wielded it like a scythe, and pummeled the washbasin and mirror.