“New Year for China” Feedback and Blowback

When my previous post “New Year for China” was published in the LATC, I hoped to get a letter or two of appreciation for my positive write-up of the the local celebration of the Chinese Lunar New Year and for my regrets about the deterioration of relations between China and the US over the past 20 years.

Here are the letters that came in.

And here was my published response :

Was my original writing really that muddled? Perhaps some readers had earlier bad experiences of Sinophobia, which made them sensitive to possible slights, implications, and innuendoes.

My granddaughter, as a toddler, was knocked over by an unleashed dog, and has been afraid of dogs ever since. Not unreasonable. But, I hope, overcomeable. No one should have to live on the alert for danger.

A Piece of My Mind: New Year for China (Los Altos Town Crier, March 6, 2024

Last weekend I happened by the local community center and saw a queue of parents and children waiting outside, many wearing bright red shirts, ribbons, or hats.  Other families were walking away, many with children waving brightly colored pinwheels or carrying red and gold balloon creations and bright red swag bags.  Of course, it was the community celebration of the Chinese Lunar New Year, the Year of the Dragon.

I was reminded of my trip to Hong Kong at the turn of the 21^st century. Hong Kong celebrated the Year of the Golden Dragon with fireworks, lanterns, and no apparent fear of the impending handover of the colony from British to Chinese jurisdiction.  

In those years I visited China several times for business and for pleasure. Deng Xiao Ping had opened the Bamboo Curtain in 1979, and twenty years later the Chinese tourist industry was booming, with Americans and other foreigners eager to walk on the Great Wall, stand face to face with the Terra Cotta Warriors in Xian, and shop on Shanghai’s Bund.  

Foreign investors  also lined up to enter the untapped market of Chinese consumers.  Jiang Zemin, General Secretary of the Communist Party as well as President of China during these years, promised that “the Chinese people will firmly and unswervingly follow the path of reform and opening up.” Lia Mingkang, a prominent financier of the time, foretold that “as economic freedoms expand, we are inevitably securing more social freedom and the ability to exchange the information and ideas we need to grow.”

Twenty years later, I have to wonder what went wrong. 

Tourism in China was completely shut down during the Covid-19 pandemic. Only in January of 2023, after nearly three years of closed borders, did China cancel all COVID-19 quarantine requirements and reopen the country for international travel. But visitors complain of the high degree of surveillance which prevails not only for tourists, but for ordinary citizens. 

The U.S. Department of State currently warns travelers to “reconsider travel” to mainland China “due to the arbitrary enforcement of local laws, including in relation to exit bans, and the risk of wrongful detentions.” The State Department classifies Hong Kong under a lesser warning, telling Americans to “avoid demonstrations”, “exercise caution in the vicinity of large gatherings or protests”, and “keep a low profile.”

Foreign direct investment into China shrank for the first time in over a decade in 2023, as Western governments discouraged reliance on Chinese-based supply chains. President Xi Jinping’s increasing focus on national security has also left many foreign companies uncertain about where they might step over the line of the law. Chinese entrepreneurs who have become too successful, particularly in social media, have had their businesses shuttered, their property confiscated, and even been jailed on suspicion of subversion. Foreign companies complain that their trade secrets have been copied by Chinese competitors.

Add to this reports of Chinese industrial pollution, oppression of cultural minorities, economic deflation, collapse of the housing market, population implosion, and the on-going threat to Taiwan. and  that golden time at the turn of the century seems like a fantasy.  Then I think of the bright colors and smiling faces at the LACC last weekend and I wonder – when our Chinese-born immigrants brought all this joy to us, did they leave enough behind?

Fox Spirit 86 – Who is the Real Huli Jing?

Sara willed her pulse to slow down. She could have revenge on Trueheart Zhang and Ruth Cheng. She could tell Storm of the connections, the exchange of favors. Maybe he would be angry on her behalf. Maybe he would find some way for her to stay.

            But only for a while. She thought of what her son had said. “I need you here, Mom.” 

            Suddenly Sara realized that, for all his protests, Storm had said nothing to prevent her leaving. He hadn’t asked what she would do, how she would live. Even more, he hadn’t spoken of the terrorist attacks, or asked about her family. He had only talked of his own pain.

            Huge blocks were moving in Sara’s mind, like a Chinese puzzle where the sides and lid musts move in different directions until the box can be opened. Then she saw the way clear.

            “Yes, it’s good news,” she spoke aloud. “And having Liu in the office will help fill my empty space.”

            “Liu in the office?”  Storm asked in surprise. “I hadn’t heard this. What will he do, a tour guide, in our office?”

            Sara cursed inwardly at her slip. She’d heard this from Auntie Chen, who had spoken to Jade. Of course Jerry Wang wouldn’t have shown his intention so clearly to the office staff yet. “Excuse me,” she back-pedaled. “I only meant that he’ll be sure to come around a lot with Jade at the reception desk again.”

            “Yes, that’s so.”  Storm’s expression changed again, as he seemed to be looking into a far distance away from Sara. Then he turned to her, his face sober.

            “I think I’m going to find business in Suzhou for these next weeks. I won’t come to say farewell at the airport. Our story should end like this, just the two of us. I don’t know how I would manage, saying good-by in a crush of people, rushing to be on time. I want to remember you like this, my heart’s core.” His face twisted.

            Sara reached to him, but Storm stayed her hand. “No, I want to speak. I’m thinking about my life – twice parented, twice abandoned, each time thinking I knew love. With you, a third time, a different kind of love. But all the time I knew this would come. Truly you are huli jing. The Fox Spirit always must leave at the end of the story. The Fox Spirit always wins.”

             “This is not about winning or losing,” Sara protested. “It’ about loving… and having to leave..”

            “But only you have the power to leave,” Storm answered. “This is not, what you would say, fair.” His face twisted again as he fought against tears.

            Sara’s disappointment suddenly flared into anger. “I will be leaving, yes, but you – you are letting me go. You have your parents to support you, your future wife and children to anticipate. You have had my company and Richie’s for a space, but now you won’t look back, while I….”  She stopped and turned away from him, unable to think about the future. Her tone was bitter as she finished. “I wonder which of us is the real huli jing.”   She stopped, waited for him to answer her, to put his arms around her once more.

            She heard his footsteps and then the door clicked, then clicked again as Storm closed the door with quiet care behind him.

###

            Sara lay in bed early the next Monday morning and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes itched from sleeplessness. Her eyelashes felt clumped together. Her hair was an oily tangle. She ran a hand over her cheeks. Her skin felt rough. Her mind was running over the same threads in an endless knot. What to do about her job? A place to live? Her vanished lover?  She realized that her jaw was aching. She had been gritting her teeth in her uneasy sleep.

             In the next room behind the screen she could hear Richie breathing softly. She forced herself to concentrate on the sound of his breathing, on bringing her breath into synchrony with his. His breath was smooth, untroubled. As hers fell into the same rhythm, Sara felt something loosen inside her mind. Her job? It was over. No sense in following that thread. Her apartment? In a week she must be out of it. Finished. That thread was broken. Storm was gone. That was hard to think about. How could she have let him go?  Why hadn’t he tried to help her?  What else had his mother told him? The memory of Zhang’s bitter words drifted into her mind. Maybe the Americans had it coming. How could she un-hear that?  Tears came and Sara let them run down her cheeks, but kept breathing slowly, in synch with the sleeping child. Mark’s voice came into her mind. I need you, Mom.

            Richie stirred and murmured. The sound broke Sara’s trance. In one movement she swung herself from the bed and then padded barefoot into the bathroom. She soaked a washcloth in the tepid water and washed the scum from her eyes, her face, her mouth. She looked at her reflection in the clouded mirror and lifted her chin at a defiant angle. “Not finished.” She spoke aloud. “Next chapter.”  It was barely 6:30 in the morning. It would be Sunday afternoon in California. She thought for a moment, crossed to the telephone and began to dial. Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

            A woman’s voice answered.

            “Hello,” said Sara. “This is Mark Miller’s mother calling.”

###

Storm

            Storm let himself into the locked Rainbow Software office and walked to the cubicle that had been Sara’s. He didn’t know, had not let himself find out, whether she had left for America on Friday on the last working day of September, or whether she might be flying later in the weekend, maybe even staying later. He would not let himself think that she might still be somewhere close. But he paused at the desk that had been hers, bent over and inhaled deeply. He thought he could still smell something of her, some faint trace of the lotion she had used, the shampoo that made her hair glow.

            He turned and crossed the aisle to his own cubicle. His hand brushed the mouse as he set his backpack on the desk and the computer screen sprang to life. There was a different screen saver on the screen, a poem he had not seen before. Of course, Sara had known his password. He bent to read.

            圆月消瘦；黑夜胜 繁星。

             耐心地等待， 太阳之光明。

            The full moon wanes;  stars can’t defeat the night.

            Patiently wait;  the sun will bring its light.

###

Sara

            Sara pushed her hair back and bent to look through the window as the plane made its approach for landing. The  Los Angeles International Airport  runway sliced inland from the ocean outlined with white surf along the cliffs and beaches of the Southern California coast. Beyond, the towers of central Los Angeles gleamed against the backdrop of the Santa Monica mountains. Ynez Cavallo was down there. Her house, with its renters, was down there. Her son was down there, with the unknown Elizabeth, his new lady. She could manage them. She had learned about masks.

            Sara fingered the jade circle on the chain around her neck and looked again as the suburbs scrolled away below and the runway came into view. Richie stirred and whimpered fretfully in the seat next to her as the plane engines roared. She turned and murmured to him “Hush, baby, it’s all right. We’re almost home.”

[The End/ 末尾]

Fox Spirit 85 – The Last Piece

A week later Sara had had two interviews with a private high school looking for native-English-speakers as teacher, and a third with a university-associated elementary school, all through Dr. Bai’s guanxi. Both positions included housing, though not as spacious as her two-room plus bath at Beihai. But she was still waiting to see or hear from Storm again. She had had no message from him; she had spent hours imagining their next meeting. And then, sitting at her computer, she saw Storm’s distorted reflection in her computer screen. He stood behind her, silent. She could hear him breathing. There was no sound from Scarlet’s cubicle next door. Was she still getting coffee? 

            “I’m wondering,” he said quietly, “if you are hating me.”

            “No.” Hatred was not the feeling. But what to name it? Maybe, distrust. Maybe caution. She had never felt those with him before. He stretched out his hand. If he touched her she might flinch. She might melt. Part of her ached for him to touch her. And part not. If she turned around to look at him, he would touch her. She didn’t turn.

            “Sara, I want to talk with you. I’ve had time to think. Could we, maybe, today, find someplace quiet? Maybe have lunch together? Do you have plans?”

            So formal. Two weeks ago he would have known any plan she had.

            “No plans. We could have lunch. Maybe….” Did she want to offer?  Two weeks ago she would have offered in a heartbeat. Her heart was beating. He was waiting for her to finish her sentence.

            “We could get sandwiches from Tully’s and picnic. Or…” She took a breath. All or nothing. “… we could go to my place. It’s quiet there.”

            Storm nodded, straightening. “Yes. That would be perfect. We can talk there. I’ll pick up the sandwiches.”  She could see his smile in the reflection. It was distorted. His eyes were in shadow. She couldn’t read his expression. She heard warmth in his answer, and was it relief, too?  Not triumph. She was afraid it would be triumph, that he would think an invitation meant everything was all right. It wasn’t yet, but she realized how much she wanted it to be. At least, for as long as it could be.

            Storm moved away to his cubicle with all his usual grace. Sara drew a long breath and tried to remember what she had been doing.

            They left the office separately, met at the corner. He was holding the bag from Tully’s.

            “How have you been?”  His voice was carefully level. Was he also feeling more than he could show?  How could she answer him? She focused on her words, on not letting her voice shake.

            “Bu cuo. OK. Still a little bruised.”

            “Bruised?  I am sorry.”

            “Are you?”  She looked at him directly for the first time. His eyes fell.

            “Here comes our bus.” 

            Storm’s hand brushed her shoulder as he stretched out his arm to steady himself on the crowded bus. His touch was electric; the shock went straight to her center. She knew she still wanted him. Still felt him part of her. Something had changed, but the wanting had not.

            Neither of them said a word once they arrived at Sara’s door. The door opened, shut behind them, Storm put down the lunch bag and turned to her, touched her cheek, and they came together like two magnets. They staggered, still embracing, into the bedroom and fell together on the bed.

            Sara pulled back, began to speak, but Storm laid a finger across her mouth and  began to undress her, gently, examining each limb, each part as she was exposed to his gaze. She didn’t resist, allowed him to turn her, lift her, as he wished. She saw his brows furrow as he saw the remnants of bruises on her arms where he had gripped her, on her shoulder where he had pressed her to him, prevented her struggling. He stroked the marks gently, saying nothing.

            Sara couldn’t wait any longer, put her hand under his chin, turned his face to look at her, ran her finger along his jawline, down his neck to his breast bone and then down further. She drew him down to the bed, then pulled away, leaving him lying on his back, while her fingers explored. He trembled under her touch, rose to meet her  as she swung her hips over his, let her guide him into her.

            Storm rose first. He dressed slowly, almost ceremonially. He stood by the bed and took a long look around, then turned to Sara, propped up on one arm among the rumpled sheets.

            “I talked with my mother this morning.”

            Sara waited, not moving.

            “It was time. If I’m not to be a child to you, I must also be a man in my parents’ eyes. I asked for the story she had told you. It was hard for her. I think she told me all, or almost all. She told me enough. I understand her leaving and her returning. I understand my father. I think I even understand you more, what you must do for your son and for Richie. When your family calls you…” 

            Sara found herself smiling. She forgot her resentment of Ruth Cheng for interfering between her and Storm. Storm had done what she asked. Sara had given him his parents.Then the implication of his words struck her. Did he know that she had been fired?  Why didn’t he offer help?

             “Then you have heard?  That I’m leaving Rainbow Software.”

            Storm’s face changed, as if he were clenching his teeth. He nodded, then spoke again in an undertone. “I saw Zhang on Friday night at the Wine Shop. He told me you are leaving, though it hasn’t been announced. He said it’s because of the terrorist attacks; you need to take Riqi back to his father.”

            So Trueheart Zhang knew also, along with Silver Wing. The news had been spread. Sara waited for Storm’s next words, almost holding her breath.

            “I understand now why you’ve been so restless. You’ve been ready to leave. It’s always been your plan. You’ve hinted at this before. Each time you’ve spoken of leaving it felt as if a fox were gnawing at my heart. Each time I‘ve steeled myself against the pain. Now that it’s real, it’s like a death – but after pain, sometimes a death can be welcomed. “

            “No, Storm”, Sara said softly. “Not my plan.” But Storm went on as if he hadn’t heard her.

            “At least I’ll have my old friend to console me in my loss. You’ve heard the good news about Jade and Liu?” he asked. Sara nodded. Storm shook his head as if he did not quite believe what he was saying. “Zhang asked him directly while I was gone and my grandfather changed his mind. Just as Zhang said, he lifted his finger and it was done.”

            Sara stared at him, stunned as though a bright light had blinded her. “Just like that,” she murmured. Ruth  Cheng had spoken of “other ways”. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Old Cheng had arranged for Bright Liu‘s release, in return for Jerry Wang’s getting rid of the troublesome foreigner. Ruth Cheng and Trueheart Zhang had triumphed. Sara felt a surge of anger driving the blood through her veins. Her hands clenched.

            Storm had bent down to find his shoes. He couldn’t see her tightened lips, her telltale flush.

Fox Spirit 83 – 9-11 through Other Eyes

“Maybe the Americans had it coming.”

            Sara stared at Trueheart in disbelief. “Those office workers, killed by madmen because they were in the wrong place, an iconic building. How can you say they had it coming?”

            “No, I didn’t mean them particularly,” Trueheart persisted. “They were’nt lucky. But don’t you see? These mad attacks, it’s the only path small countries have against America. Not that the attackers were right, but that I understand their wrong thinking.”

            Sara’s eyes narrowed with anger. “I do not understand you, Trueheart. Innocent people, doing their daily business, killed randomly. It was evil!  It was cowardly!”

            Trueheart shrugged. “Maybe, but it got America’s attention, yes?”

            “What are you saying?”

            “Only that it’s hard to get the American government, maybe the American people, to pay attention to what other countries think and feel. America bombs our Kosovo embassy, China protests, America just waves the protest aside. ‘It was a mistake, so sorry, won’t happen again. You other countries have to trust our good intentions because America is on the side of Right.’  America wants to sell American movies in Arabia, Arabs don’t like so much sex, nudity, and try to block them, and America waves the protest aside. ‘You have to respect Freedom of Speech!  You have to respect Women’s Rights!’  America is always convinced ‘We are right!’  Maybe other people have a different idea, but it’s hard to get America’s attention, you see?

            Sara stared at him, aghast. “Is this how you see America? Do you speak for yourself only” Her fists clenched unconsciously. She felt Storm move closer as her voice rose above the buzz of conversation at the bar. He put a hand on her arm, but she was not calmed.

            Trueheart went on slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “No, I’m not alone in this, Sai Le.  There are many who say that America’s foreign policy has caused this action. If you read the Internet comments from young people, you’d see this feeling. And there are even two Chinese Army officers who claim that the use by Al-Qaida of the airplanes as guided bombs was inspired by their book published two years ago. Some Chinese say these officers are heroes. I’m telling you the truth, though it is not good to hear.”

            Sara turned to Storm and said quietly,  “Let’s go. I want to go now.”  Trueheart rose from his chair as Sara and Storm left, as if about to speak more in farewell, but neither Sara nor Storm looked back.

            They picked up Richie from the Wang’s apartment and returned to Sara’s. Richie had been fed, and was already half asleep as they arranged him in the crib behind the screen.

            “I’m so cold,” Sara complained. It was far too early in the season for the wall heater in Sara’s apartment to be supplied with gas. Storm turned to the small gas burner with its kettle.

            “Shall we have tea?”

            “No, that will not help.”  Sara kicked off her shoes. “I am cold from the inside. Zhang has chilled my heart.” Storm took two quick strides and wrapped her in his arms. It was true – she was shaking. Her eyes were like dark pools in her white face.

            “I thought I was behind the mask,” Sara’s voice was wistful. “I thought I was getting to be part of your life, even part of Zhang’s life – someone he could argue with, tease, who would understand his anger and reply to his irony. But tonight… he talks about ‘America this…’ and ‘America that…’ and I feel I am outside again, behind a glass wall. And there are monsters. I’m so cold.” Her voice dwindled off.

            Storm held her, stroked her hair and shoulders. She quivered at his touch but did not turn her face to meet his.

            “Zhang did not say ‘you Americans’ as he used to,” Storm said softly. “He said ‘America’ and ‘they.’ He understands that you are not America.”

            Sara was still shivering. “Maybe… but there’s so much I don’t understand.”  She twisted in his arms, still not looking up at him. “I listen to Zhang;  I understand each word he says, but still I do not understand the meaning. He’s trying to explain evil, and there is no explanation, no justification possible. How could we be so far apart?”

                        Storm loosened his hold on her, drew back so that he could see at least a part of Sara’s face. “Maybe you are not hearing Zhang well. He is not excusing, not justifying. He agrees that the acts were evil. He only tried to explain why those young men acted so.”

             He let Sara go entirely, walked across the room, looked behind the screen where Richie was now sleeping quietly. Then he turned back to Sara, his face serious, eyes shadowed in the half-lit room. “You must know, Sara – these young Arabs are not so different from Zhang and myself, from the ones who built barricades against the tanks on 6-4 twelve years ago. Some of us thought we would die then; some of us did die. The history written by the government speaks of those who died as traitors, bad elements, counter-revolutionaries. The truth of what we believed will be buried with us. The truth of the young men who crashed those planes is also buried. This is what Zhang is remembering when he tries to explain to you.”

            Sara stared at him, sank onto a chair, and leaned against the table. “But it is not the same! Not the same at all! The students of Tiananmen didn’t kill innocent people! 6-4 has nothing to do with this!,”

            “Hush, huli jing. Richie sleeps.” 

            Sara stopped speaking, but drummed her fingers lightly on the table, gazing at nothing. He took a step toward her, but she raised her head and stopped him with a look. Her eyes were still dark pools, but her voice was shaking with emotion.

            “When you and Trueheart joined the students on 6-4, they carried a statue modeled on our Liberty. Now things have changed; Trueheart would quarrel with me just because I am an American face. When NATO bombed the Chinese embassy, you protected me. Now you make excuses for Trueheart as he explains why these evil people killed thousands of my countrymen. Why so changed, Storm?”

            “Why are you so slow to understand?” His impatient tone matched hers. “Perhaps if America had come to the aid of the students during their protests, our thoughts about America wouldn’t have changed. Perhaps if America hadn’t sided so many times against democracy, in Iran, in Chile, in Viet Nam, our thoughts about America wouldn’t have changed. We were naïve as students. After Tiananmen we learned that we have to find a different way for China.”

            “But, Storm, you’re speaking as if this destruction in New York were a game, played at a distance, a political exercise happening on the other side of the world. But can you not feel ? I do feel it. I feel for those people, going about their lives, drinking their morning coffee, hurrying not to be late to work. And then… nothing.”  Sara’s face was pale, her hands stretching out, fingers grasping. But Storm stood in the shadow, not moving toward her. His voice was cold as he answered.

             “At Kosovo, there were only three Chinese killed. At the World Trade Center, three thousand. Yet it is the same, what we felt, what you now feel. Those three Chinese also, going about their lives. Now will we understand each other better, or worse?  Are you listening, Sai Le?”

            Sara’s face twisted. “Those people were in a war zone; they were in the middle of fighting. It isn’t the same!” She turned from him angrily.

            Behind her Storm stood silent. When he spoke his voice sounded tired and far away, as if he were speaking to himself. “What is a life worth?  Those three Chinese. Those three thousand in New York. The others in the plane that crashed. Your husband. On some things, maybe we can never agree. Still you are my heart’s core. I cannot be here with your anger.” By the time Sara turned she could hear his footsteps on the gravel path.

Fox Spirit 82 – The World Changes

骤睹妖氛降，苍生涂炭多。

但将心底海，飞作一天河.

       – 陈立强

A shock – we see the goblin cloud descend;

             A myriad people blotted out in ash.

Together from this darkness we must fly

            To build a galaxy of brilliant stars.

            – Chen Li Qiang (2013)

September 2001

Sara

            Sara woke up groggy after a weekend of frantic planning and a restless night filled with dark dreams. The bright sunshine pouring in her window was an insult to her mood. It should have been smoggy, cloudy, even raining. Instead it was a bright, clear Tuesday, the very best that Beijing in late August had to offer. The hot dusty winds off the desert had eased; a light shower had cleared the air the evening before. The oppression of the dreams had almost faded by the time Sara had washed, dressed and fed herself and Richie, wrestled the child into his shoes and bicycle helmet, and located the proposal which she had written for the Children’s Palace the night before. If she could persuade the Head at the Children’s Palace to expand the English classes, perhaps, just perhaps, the school would supply her with an apartment. She would phone for an appointment this afternoon with the Head. She enjoyed working with the children more than working at Rainbow Software anyway. Maybe everything would just work out.

                        Sara already felt the threat of the sun’s heat to come as she buckled Richie into his bicycle seat and trundled the bicycle out the door.    Richie whimpered a little as Sara fastened the harness. “Now don’t fuss, Richie,” she told him tartly. “You’re four years old. You should be helping me with these buckles.”  

            Sara steered with the confidence of habit through the crowded bike lanes. She no longer flinched as messengers darted past through impossibly narrow openings, no longer hesitated to plunge forward with the mobile mass at each light, shrugged off the comments and inquiring looks as fellow bikers noticed her helmet and hair. But the sourness of the dream had delayed her. She was going to be late dropping off Richie, late to the Tuesday meeting. Just when she needed to show her best face to the world.

            Sara was panting as she pedaled up to the Children’s Palace. She pushed the bicycle through the gateway and began un-harnessing Richie almost before the kickstand had descended. She lifted her head to see Teacher Wang approaching her with an anxious glance. “”I’m sorry, Teacher Wang. I’m running a little bit late today.”

            Teacher Wang nodded and took Richie in her arms as Sara began to wheel the bike around for a quick exit. “I understand, Mrs. Miller. I am really sorry.”

            Sara registered the response as she hurried off. That was odd, it was as if Teacher Wang were apologizing to me, not the other way around. Or had she somehow heard that I was leaving?”

               She was still puzzling when she arrived at the office and wheeled her bicycle into the hallway behind the reception desk. Silver Wing greeted her with a serious face. “I’m so sorry, Sara.”

            Sara stopped short. Twice in one morning was too much to ignore. “What is wrong? Why do you say you are sorry?”

            “Ah, you have not heard?  About the disaster in your country?”

            “What disaster? No, I have heard nothing?  What has happened?”

            Silver Wing began to explain, but Sara could not grasp her words. Two airplanes, maybe three, maybe four, crashing into buildings in New York, or was it Washington, or outside of Washington?  Many people killed. Some kind of evil plan. She shook her head; she must be hearing wrongly. “Man man shuo. I don’t understand.”  It had been months since she had had to ask a speaker to slow down.

            At the sound of Sara’s voice Scarlet Li emerged from the back of the office. “Sai Le, come in and see.”  Scarlet led Sara to the conference room, where several of the programmers were already grouped around the television screen used for presentations and animation testing. A news program was running.

            Sara could not make sense of what she saw: the plane crashing into the black  . tower, the flames, the smoke, the second plane crashing minutes later, more flames, the bodies dropping, the tower collapsing, the people running, the second tower collapsing, the smoke and dust and papers floating through the air. She felt nauseous, dizzy. Then another clip showing the familiar five-sided building, ablaze and dented now like a chipped cup. And the final footage of the farmland scattered with debris, the audiotapes of last words from people who knew they were about to die. She could not take it in.

            “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it.”  She felt, rather than saw Storm come into the room behind her. She forgot their quarrel, his violence, and only wanted to turn, wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and weep, but she could not. She knew a Chinese woman would not allow herself to cry in public, certainly not allow herself to be comforted in public. She felt the sympathetic looks of her colleagues like knives, like an ordeal she had to endure. She wondered if any friends, or friends of friends, had been in the towers. Hadn’t Jasper been scheduled for a trip to Washington recently?  Could he have been at the Pentagon? Suddenly her past life seemed very dear, and very far away.

“Sai le, so much bad news, said Scarlet Li. “Perhaps you would prefer to be at home today.”

            Home? Sara thought of Mark’s chilly response to her suggestion of an early return. Then she realized that Scarlet meant only that Sara might return to her small apartment. She recoiled at the thought of being alone.

            “Many thanks, Manager Li, but I’d rather stay here. If I could work in this room, with the TV on? In my rooms I have no television, no way to hear the news. I don’t promise to get a lot done.” she ended with a shaky attempt at a laugh which turned out to be close to a sob.

            “It isn’t good for you to be alone in this room with bad news pouring from the television,” Scarlet said firmly.  “Manager Cheng, please take Manager Miller to her cubicle. SaiLe,  you can work there, and come to the conference room for updates in an hour. I’ll bring you tea.”  Storm took Sara’s elbow and gently guided her from the room. The feeling of his hand steadied Sara, and by the time she reached her chair she was able to remember where she was.

            Storm held Sara’s hand for a moment before he stepped back from her cubicle. “Wait here, Sara,” he said quietly. “Manager Li is right. There’s no use in your staying by the TV, seeing the same films over and over. Today there’ll be only rumor and guessing. By this evening we’ll know some truth about what has happened.,”

            Sara stared blankly without speaking as Storm continued, “I’ll ask Boss Wang and Silver Wing to fetch Riqi from the Children’s Palace and keep him for the evening – we can go to meet Trueheart at the San Francisco Bar and hear the news there, all right?”

            Sara nodded her thanks, and turned to the papers on her desk, her mind ten thousand miles away.

           

Fox Spirit 80 – Things Fall Apart

           

Sara realized she had made another slip – she shouldn’t have kept her meeting with Mrs. Cheng a secret. She tried to keep her voice even. “Storm, truth has many faces. You know your own hurt and it’s real. Your mother has her own pain, her own scars. Your father too. You must ask them; you must let them tell you their story before you judge them.”

            He pulled away from her entirely, gripping her arms and holding her at arm’s length . He searched her face. “And if I ask, if I hear this truth, will it change things?  Won’t you and Riqi not still be my true family, you who own my heart?”

            Sara could not meet his gaze. She tried to touch him, but his grip on her arms didn’t loosen. “Storm, my heart’s core, …” her voice stumbled. “I don’t know. Someday Riqi must return to his father. And you must speak with your mother.”

            Storm dropped his grip on Sara’s arms and stepped back. His face was twisted with anger and disappointment. Sara turned away in dismay, reaching for the counter next to her chair.

            Storm’s voice was coldly furious. “I had hoped to be like a father to Riqi. Instead you say you must take him from me. You treat me like a child. You talk with my mother behind my back. You tell me I must ask her, as if I needed her permission to love you. But I’m not a child. I am a man and you are a woman and must bend to me.”

                        He took a quick step forward, grasped  her shoulders from behind and firmly turned her, one arm circling her, the other pressing her into his grip. She struggled, was unable to break loose, was forced to look up at him.

            The hand pressing her backward released its pressure;  she pitched forward, was held upright by Storm’s other arm encircling her, while the hand roughly groped at her skirt, pulling it up over her hips.

            “No! What are you doing?  I won’t…”

            “Yes, you will. You have had your way before. Now my way.” There was no hint of softness in his face or in his voice – she might have been looking at a carved stone, listening to a voice of stone. He half pushed, half lifted her into the kitchen alcove. Enraged, she tried to push him away but her arms were both pinned by his one. She found no purchase for her feet as he half lifted her to the edge of the small sink. His mouth covered hers, not to kiss but to keep her from crying out as his other hand fumbled at his trouser fly.  

               Sara writhed under his grip, the edge of the sink digging into her hip. She found a moment of leverage against the cupboard, and drove one knee upward. He groaned, his grip failed as he bent forward, and she was sliding downward, her spine scraping against the sink edge, unable to catch herself until one foot found the floor.  The hand still pinioned by his arm found a hold on the edge of the sink, and with the other hand she pushed against one shoulder tipping him off balance so that he reeled away from her. He caught himself against the table and they stood staring at each other, both panting. Sara found her voice first.

               “Not a child, you say!, but what is this, but a spoiled child having a tantrum because things are not to your liking. A man would use his words and his wits to find out the truth, not pick a fight or sulk like a moody teenager.” She pulled her skirt down.

               Still staring at her, Storm fastened his trousers deliberately and silently put on his jacket. At the door he turned an expressionless face toward Sara. “I will be traveling again for the next two weeks. I had hoped to have more to look forward to on my return than a conversation with my mother. Farewell, huli jing.”  And he was gone, not slamming, but closing the door softly after him.

After a few moments Sara moved to look behind the screen. Through it all, Richie had slept, snoring softly from behind his screen. He had heard nothing, seen nothing, as she and Storm had struggled and fought.

            Sara moved to hang up her discarded jacket and scarf and straightened a pillow of the couch. She found herself staring at the closed door. How had things gone so wrong?  Storm had been so angry. Afterward his voice had been so cold. When he left, he had closed the door so quietly behind him. She had been a fool to mention his mother. What if he went to her?  She had been foolish with Mrs. Cheng also. She hadn’t hidden her dismay; she hadn’t used a mask to hide her aims. She should have pretended agreement. She should have told Storm about the meeting. He had a right to be angry.  He had no right to force himself on her.  She had never seen violence in him before.  And he had left with no word of reconciliation, just gone.  What if Storm turned against her for good?  She had an impulse to pound her head against the wall, just to quiet her thoughts.

            She heard a whimper from Richie and moved to look behind the screen. Richie lay in his crib, spread-eagled with no blanket, as if welcoming any movement of air in the humid dark. His breath was even, strong. Maybe in some dream he had heard their quarrel. But his even breath spoke of no nightmare. Sara turned to her bed. In her bed, she forced herself to lie quietly, staring at the ceiling, until sleep came.

###

                        The next week passed in a blur. The heat of early September was at its height; the red dust of the Gobi coated every vehicle, every leaf, every surface. The whir of the office air conditioning seemed extra loud, constantly intruding on Sara’s thoughts as she tried to concentrate on sales figures and marketing proposals. Sara didn’t expect Storm to call, couldn’t think what she would say if he called, but still resented her telephone’s silence.

            Just before closing time on Friday, Jerry Wang called her into his office,  the only space in Rainbow Software besides the conference room which boasted a door. Sara expected nothing more than a word or two of praise for the success of the online game in Korea and perhaps a new project directed at the growing market for internet games in Hong Kong. Maybe Storm had reported something of interest from his current road trip; she was hungry for any word of him.

            Jerry Wang motioned Sara to a chair, closed the door behind her, and then sat behind his desk, rather than in the adjacent chair which he used for informal sessions. Sara felt a twinge of unease as she noticed the formality. Jerry’s first words did not dispel her doubt.

            “Manager Miller, there are some things I wish to say to you privately. First, let me say how much I have appreciated your hard work in assisting us to launch Rainbow Software successfully.” He paused and rustled the papers on his desk, then looked up at Sara.

            “It’s been four years now since you came to work here at Rainbow Software. You’ve have done much to help us in our beginning years to become a stable, mature business. We’ll always be grateful to you for your efforts.”  Jerry Wang glanced down again at the papers on his desk. “I’m sure you will understand how difficult this is….”

            Sara’s stomach knotted. His use of her title instead of “Sara” had been a warning. She braced herself for the next blow.

             “…Our needs have changed since you were first hired. We no longer need the American Face which you have provided so well. Chinese investors particularly want to be investing in Chinese businesses…”

            Sara moved impatiently in her chair but Wang held up his hand to restrain any words from her.

             ”…and  I’m sure that as your grandson is nearly ready for school you’ll be  wanting to return to your homeland soon.. So this is a good time for both of us to make a transition. It’s now September 10. Your last day will be September 30th. This is our standard three weeks’ notice and brings you right to the end of the month.”

Fox Spirit 78 –

July 2001

Sara

           

Sara pushed back her chair from the keyboard and ran her fingers through her hair. Storm was out of town and the end of quarter numbers had absorbed all her attention. Then she heard a step behind her and Scarlet Li’s voice. “It’s Friday – you shouldn’t be working late tonight.”

            Sara turned to face Scarlet with a smile and a shake of her head. “I’ve got no plans for the evening, so I wanted to finish this letter to the investors. And it’s cooler in the office. But you’re right – I mustn’t be too late picking up Riqi.”

            “No plans?  Then you must come eat with us. Snow Plum would be delighted to have Riqi as guest; Hu can talk politics with you. We can stop at the market, buy fish, pick up Snow Plum and Riqi together.

            “Buhaoyisi. So embarrassing.” The ritual disclaimer at any invitation came naturally to Sara now.

            “Bu keqi. Don’t stand on politeness. Put away your papers and come.”

            There was no excuse to be had, nor did Sara really want one. Richie would be grumpy on this hot July evening and Sara hadn’t really looked forward to fighting the dusty wind, picking up Richie alone, and contriving a dinner for the two of them.

            Scarlet wheeled her bicycle out of the back hallway ahead of Sara, opened the door and then stopped in amazement. The normally quiet street bordering the Bei Hai campus was thronged with students, shouting, cheering, and waving banners. Cars inched their way through the throngs, more students hanging from the windows, riding on the bumpers, cheering, and singing.

            “What is it? Some special holiday?” Sara asked quickly. No, tomorrow was Bastille Day, but surely that wouldn’t trigger such a celebration in Beijing? 

            “I don’t know. Wait a minute.” Scarlet Li set her bicycle against the wall and walked briskly out to the road. She took a young man by the arm, Sara could see her lips asking a question, see the young man grin as he answered. Scarlet Li came back to Sara, smiling broadly. “We may have trouble buying at the market. Everyone will be celebrating!  China has been awarded the Olympics!” She gave a little skip and crow of delight.

            “For what year?”

            “2008 – We’ll have a lot to do in seven years!  We’ll give the world such a show!”

            Sara was amazed at the outpouring of national pride and celebration. Banners were suddenly everywhere, waved by grandmothers from upper windows and by young men perched on lampposts. Sara and Scarlet Li struggled through the happy, singing crowd to the Children’s Palace to retrieve Snow Plum and Riqi, then walked their bicycles with the children perched astride – there was no hope of riding with so many people in the street. The children rode each with wide eyes and fingers in mouth, staring at the people, the flags, and the flashing lights.

            “Maybe we won’t stop for fish,” Scarlet Li said. “I have other food at home and by the time we get there at this slow rate the children will be ready to eat anything. I’m glad we’re together – it would be harder still for just one person to make a way. I think my husband will be slow to get home also. He’ll be coming against the tide, from Tiananmen Square. All Beijing will be going the other way!”

            “Long live the motherland!” The shouts echoed from the buildings. “China 2008!” ”Beijing! Beijing!” Sara kept her bicycle at Scarlet Li’s side, but could not help smiling.   “Beijing!” she cried out.“Beijing!”

            Her voice merged with the general shouting. Then a stranger was pushed against her, stepped on her foot, turned to apologize and stopped in mid “Dui bu qi…” as he registered her foreign face. He quickly moved back to make way for her, muttering a nervous “Par-mee, ma’am”.

            Suddenly Sara was down to earth again. No matter how she felt, she would never be anything but a foreigner. She felt tears, fought them back. Scarlet looked over at Sara and her joyous expression changed to concern.

             “Mei guanxi. It is nothing –just the moment…” Sara said quickly, forcing her face into a smile. Scarlet nodded and turned back to the task of finding a path for the bicycles through the crowd. Sara took a deep breath and followed her. At least she had learned about masks.

            Ruth Cheng called a week later, just before lunchtime on Monday. It was the first time Sara had heard from her since their meeting after Richie’s arrival almost eighteen months earlier, except for a red and gold greeting card at the New Year. Her voice was cool and formal. “I am at Bei Hai, Meile Taitai. I’m hoping that we could again meet for coffee. Could you possibly make time this afternoon?”

             “This afternoon would be difficult, Mrs. Cheng,” was Sara’s first reaction, looking at her cluttered desk. But then she wondered – What is this about? Ruth Cheng wants something. Might as well get it over, whatever it is.Sara quickly rephrased her knee-jerk refusal “I was just getting ready to go to lunch. Can we meet at the Tully’s coffee shop again at 12:30?  Would that be possible?”

            “Yes, you’re very kind to agree to my last-minute request. 12:30 will be fine.”

            Twenty minutes into lunch and Sara knew no more than she had before about why she was there. Ruth Cheng had greeted her warmly, shaken her hand, insisted on paying for Sara’s sandwich and coffee, led the way to a table in an isolated corner. They chatted about the hot July weather, the excitement of the Beijing Olympics choice, and the excellent air conditioning in the Tully’s Coffee Shop compared to Sara’s office or the Chengs’ apartment. Mrs. Cheng mentioned how little they saw of Storm with his increased business travel; Sara agreed and took pains to mention how Storm’s hard work had helped Rainbow Software’s success.

             “But it’s not just his travel that takes so much of his time,” Mrs. Cheng said softly. “When he is in Beijing he is with you and with the small child. He returns home only to sleep. We see him for breakfast only. The rest of his life is with you.”

            Mrs. Cheng paused, as if waiting for a comment from Sara. Sara recognized that the real subject of the meeting was approaching and waited.

            “I haven’t seen your grandson, but Storm has shown me a picture. He is a beautiful child.”

            Sara still said nothing. The proper Chinese response would be to deny the compliment, but she could not make herself say disparaging things about Richie to Storm’s mother.

            Mrs. Cheng took a sip of coffee, set the cup down carefully, and folded her hands in her lap. “Storm is very fond of this child, I think. And of you. He has spoken of you both as jia ren, his family.”

            With relief Sara found she could speak. “Storm is very good with Riqi. Very patient. They’ve become very good friends.”

             Yes,” agreed Ruth Cheng quickly. “I think this is good preparation for when Storm becomes a father. He will understand children better if he has some experience.”

            The abrupt image of Storm being a father to another woman’s child made Sara’s stomach twist. She heard the murmur of conversation around them, the clink of pottery, the sputtering of the espresso machine, as if from a great distance. She knew with the sudden sourness in her belly why Ruth Cheng had asked for this meeting.

Fox Spirit 77 – Safety Net?

June 2001

Sara

          Sara felt a chill each time she remembered Storm’s talk of her leaving. What had prompted that thought? Of course, Richie would have to go back to Mark for kindergarten, that had always been understood. But Sara  would return. And then – she would think about that later. She remembered Mark’s ironic tone when they had talked at Christmas. “Okay, okay, you have it all figured out. But he’s MY son.”  If only she did have it all figured out.

            She tried to dive into work at the office when Storm was away on his sales trips, but there, too, she felt a chill. The rift between Storm and Trueheart had seemed to heal. When they met at the San Francisco Wine Shop heir banter and bickering was as lively and sharp-edged as it had ever been. But somehow the rift seemed to have moved to divide Trueheart and Sara. He had always been formal in their office dealings, as if they had no outside contact. But now when Trueheart called her “Manager Miller” his voice was edged in irony, as though everything she had done to add value to her position with Rainbow Software had never happened and she was still only the American Face.

            Sara hadn’t expected Jade’s departure to make such a difference. She and Jade and Scarlet had formed a team in the office, each helping the other out if needed, united against the Chinese tradition of overlooking women’s contributions. But with Silver Wing at the reception desk, the team was broken up. Despite her timidity and deference to the older women, Silver Wing was still the boss’s wife. The three women still lunched together, but the supportive joking and gossip was constrained. And with his wife in the office, Jerry Wang’s demeanor toward Sara was also less casually Californian, more formal, more Chinese.

             The changes in the office, plus Storm’s absence for the weekend, were in the back of Sara’s mind during her Sunday video call with Mark. They had exchanged trivialities:  Mark was seeing a young woman, Elizabeth, that he liked a lot; Richie used the spy-ball camera to show his father his new bicycle with training wheels; Carol was planning a 50^th birthday party for Jasper. Mark was almost ready to sign off when Sara interrupted him.

            “Mark, have you given any more thought about when Richie will be coming back?

            On the computer screen Mark’s face froze. There was silence. Had the connection been broken?

            “Mark, are you there?  Did you hear me?”

            “Yes, I’m here. But where did this come from? You usually dodge that discussion like a scared rabbit. Is there something …” His voice drifted off. She could hear Mark take a deep breath, as if he were about to dive into cold water. “I thought, after we talked at Christmas, about how you have such a good situation there. I thought next year, like you said, when he can start kindergarten, it would be easier for him.”

            Was this how Ruth Cheng had felt, putting off reclaiming Storm for year after year?  Thinking each year that next year would be easier? Sara hesitated before going on. “Mark, I’m thinking now… he might need more time to get used to American ways. Maybe he should be in preschool there. Just in case….”        

            Mark interrupted quickly. “Mom, has something happened?  If you’re going to be coming back… there’s some things I have to take care of. You can’t just spring this on me.”

            Sara felt as though her stomach had dropped to her pubic bone. Mark didn’t want her and Richie to come back so soon?  What had changed for him? Then she understood. “Elizabeth?  This girl you’ve been seeing? ”

            “Yes. I’m… I think it’s serious. I mean, it is serious.”

            “How serious?”

                        “Well, actually…we’re talking about her moving in here. I’ve told her about Rennie and about you taking care of Richie for me. But I can’t, you know. I can’t dump my mother and my kid into the spare bedroom without some warning.” 

            “Moving in?  This is the girl you just said you were “seeing”?  That you “like a lot”? What is going on with you?”  Sara was having difficulty controlling her dismay.

            “Take it easy, Mom. I was trying to ease it in, you know. Didn’t want to make too much of it and then it was too late. She’s … she is special. I know you’ll like her, Mom.”

            “Can you drag her into camera range?” Sara braced for an awkward meeting, but Mark wasn’t meeting her eyes.

            “She’s not here. She has choir practice on Sunday evening, so…”

            “So you call me when you can be sure she’s not going to be wandering into view, is that it?  Does she know you have a mother at all?”

            “Yes, but… “

            Suddenly Sara remembered the picture of Mark and Richie which she had routinely stuffed in a drawer when Storm first began to visit. Was her picture hidden in a drawer?  She sighed.

            “Relax, Sweet. I’m not going to show up with Richie on your doorstep tomorrow. But if things change  here, something happens at his daycare, or at my office…. This is China, after all. We have to be prepared, if he might be coming back sooner.”

            She thought she heard a muffled “Jesus Christ!” at the other end of the line. Mark’s eyes narrowed.

            “I thought you had China all figured out, Mom. You had “such a good situation” – your words, remember? What’s up?”

            “Nothing, nothing particular. Just some vibes in the office, that’s all. But you can take this as a little nudge to get your act together. Surely you can have a conversation with Elizabeth before the end of the month, ok?” 

            Sara wondered how the woman sharing Mark’s life would feel at the revelation that he might have to function as a single parent – but that was his problem. If she was angry, well, it was Mark’s fault for keeping secrets. Why hadn’t he told the girl Richie would be coming back?  Why hadn’t he told Sara about the girl?  Why hadn’t she ever asked him about his life?  It had been so convenient to lay him aside. She too must get her act together.

            “By the end of the month,” Mark responded. “Yes, ok, I’ll have it worked out by then.” She saw him set his jaw. Sara hadn’t realized how much he had grown to look like his father.    

            “Really, Mom, I do want Richie and, really, I want you both back here. It’s just …. You caught me off guard.  I’ll get it worked out. Just … give me notice when you’re serious about coming, right?  I just need some time.”

            Sara recognized a stall when she saw it. Better take what she could get. “We’ll talk, Mark. But don’t keep us a secret – Richie’s getting too big to hide.”

            “Yeah, I hear you. I guess you don’t have any secrets at all from me, do you Mom?”

            Sara flinched at the irony in his voice. Maybe he had heard Richie’s remark about “Uncle Cheng” after all. Better to pretend he hadn’t. Better for both of them to pretend, at least for a little while longer.

Fox Spirit 76 – Fraying Family Ties

Sara

December 2000

At the thought of giving up Richie Sara’s throat tightened. “I was thinking he would come back when he’s old enough to start kindergarten. I could come for a couple of weeks then, to smooth the transition.”

            “Kindergarten! That’s two more years,” Mark protested.

            “Well, maybe the summer before kindergarten, then. And we’ll come back before then for visits of course.”  She rushed on before Mark could interrupt. “He’s getting such a good experience in his Chinese school. He has lots of friends, he loves going, the teachers love him, and the cost is almost nothing since I help as an English resource.“

            “Ok, so he’s got a good life with you. But I’m serious, Mom, about planning. What am I going to say on New Year’s Day when Richie and I get together with the Cavallos again and they ask when will be the next time?  You’ve talked about building a bridge, but when I say he’s gone to China with you that’ll be like dropping a bomb on it. You got me to open the door, you can’t leave me with no answers. And he’s MY son. You remember that. He needs to know he has a father who hasn’t abandoned him.”

            Abandoned.The word stopped Sara in mid-thought. For a moment she remembered Storm’s face as he talked about how his parents had left him locked in the root cellar, Ruth Cheng’s face as she explained why it had happened. She thought of her life with Storm and Richie, the apartment which had become a home. How would Storm feel when Richie left?  How would he feel if she left him?

            She wondered suddenly what life Mark had been building for himself since Rennie died – he hadn’t offered to introduce her to any friends; there was no hint of any new outside interest. Had he felt abandoned?  Was he as angry as Storm had been?  She pushed the thought away. Mark had wanted Richie in a safe place, he had said so. And she would bring Richie back. She would have to. But Storm – she would deal with that later. She would prepare him somehow.

            “Mom, are you still with me?” Mark’s voice brought Sara back.

            “No – I mean, yes, Mark. I’m with you.”  She looked at Mark as if for the first time. He wasn’t her boy grown large. He was Richie’s father. He was her partner in ensuring Richie’s welfare. He was her rival for Richie’s love – but no, she pushed that thought away. He was still her child.

             “I’m always with you, Mark. And of course you never would abandon Richie. You gave him to me for safe-keeping.”  To her relief, Mark nodded. He trusted her. She resolved to make more space for him somehow in her Beijing life to keep that trust alive.

Storm

            As Storm waited in the new terminal of the Beijing International Airport, he tried to reconstruct Sara’s face, her voice, in his mind, and the picture refused to come into focus. Almost a month, emails full only of the travel, the child, her son… would she have changed inside, where it counted?  He scanned the travelers pushing or pulling their laden carts through the customs exit – a tailored businessman dragging his small carry-on behind, an anxious-looking older woman bundled in a thick scarf and hat, balancing a peevish child on top of a pile of baggage, a trim young woman equally bundled, click-clicking across the vinyl floor in her high heels…the flood slowed to a trickle, then stopped. But where were Sara and Riqi?

            Had he missed them in the new terminal?  Had they missed the flight? He turned to survey the airport lobby, festively decorated for the New Year, its broad space open to the chill outside. Most of the travelers had been met, or had hurried off to arrange their own transport back to the city center. The woman with the child had not been met; he watched as she set the child into the small seat on the cart and shrugged fatigue from her shoulders.  Then she pulled the hood of her coat back from her head, with a gesture whose familiarity stabbed through him like a knife. She took off her woolen cap, the copper hair blazed in the light, the scales fell from his eyes and he recognized his love.

Spring 2001

Sara

            Sara watched with mingled relief and concern how easily Richie returned to being Riqi. He seemed to have put aside the memories of looking for his mother through all the rambling rooms of Daddy’s house, and of the furry-faced man in the furry red suit, and of the big park with funny skinny trees with pompoms on the top. And so Sara put aside the memories of Ynez Cavallo and Mark’s questions about Richie’s return.

            When Storm was traveling, Jerry Wang and Silver Wing would often invite Sara and Richie over to watch their television and VCR. Silver Wing would go out of the way to find a children’s movie that Richie could watch, or a Western movie with Chinese subtitles that they could all understand. In March she found a copy of “The Wizard of Oz” in   a market stall. But after seeing it Richie woke up in the night crying. “Nai Nai! Nai Nai! The monkeys are coming!

            Sara rushed to cuddle and reassure him. “It was only a movie on TV, Richie. The flying monkeys are only pretend.”

            “But I saw them on TV. And I heard them coming to get me!” He clung to her.

            “Richie, what is on the TV is not real, it’s just pretend, a made-up story”

             Richie seemed to quiet, then his face crumpled again and he began to cry with even greater abandon.

            “Now what’s the matter?”

            “I want a real daddy,” he wailed,” not just made up on TV!”

            “No, Richie,” Sara protested. How had this twist happened?   “You know Daddy is real. We talk to him every week. He asks you about things and he answers your questions. He’s real. Don’t you remember?”

            “But he’s only on TV. I want a real daddy!”

           

Sara didn’t know what to say. “Richie, the computer is not TV. The computer is like a phone. There is a real person on the other side. You can say things to Daddy and he will say something back. You can’t do that with a television. Remember when you showed Daddy a picture you drew and he told you how much he liked it – you can’t do that with a television.”

            Richie still clung to her, his sobs gradually quieting. At last he slept again. The next morning he said nothing about the night’s disruption, and Sara thought it was forgotten as part of his dream until she called Richie to come for the weekly call.

            “No. I don’t want a daddy on TV. I want a real daddy. Uncle Cheng can be my daddy.” He refused to come within camera range. Mark made no comment on Richie’s absence. Sara hoped he hadn’t heard.

###

Sara and Storm were relaxing in the cool of a late spring evening, together under a sheet, talking and stroking each other after love-making. Richie was visiting Auntie Silver Wing; they could be gloriously idle.

            “I wonder,” Storm said, “after you are gone, how I will be able to love a Chinese woman. I think love for me will always be fiery-glowing hair, pale skin, soft curves. I do not think I will be able to love black hair, golden skin, bones and angles. I will have to become a monk.”

            “A monk? Your parents won’t like that. Your mother would never forgive me.” Sara struggled to catch her breath, to keep a light tone. The words ‘after you are gone’ had chilled her. How could he speak so carelessly of her leaving, of loving another woman? When she had talked of it before he had rebelled at the thought. Had something changed?

            Her answer had darkened, not lightened Storm’s mood. “I have no mother,” he said roughly, his eyebrows coming together under the shock of dark hair. “I was abandoned by my blood parents and my true mother, Hope Du, is long dead. I owe nothing to the woman I call Ma.”

            Sara thought of Ruth Cheng’s face twisted with regret as she had told Sara how she had to protect Storm by pretending he wasn’t hers, of her fear of discovery, of her sorrow at having to leave him behind when the opportunity to go to Beijing was given her. But she had promised Ruth not to tell Storm they had met.

            “Storm, I think maybe you wrong your mother. You haven’t heard her side of what happened. Maybe there were reasons.”

            “She left me!” he interrupted, his voice harsh. “She and my father left me like unneeded baggage, to be picked up later when convenient! I can’t forgive them. How can you excuse this?

            “All this talk of leaving,” Sara forced a smile, trying to move the conversation away from Storm’s parents.  “I at least have no plan to leave you any time soon, no matter how many golden-skinned, dark-haired girls are eyeing you.” Her own words stabbed at her as she went on.            “One day, perhaps, you will find a slim, small, graceful girl like a willow tree and lose yourself in her.” Sara hated that small, graceful girl, even as she forced a smile into her voice.

            “But first I would have to find the self I have lost in you, my heart’s core. When you leave, will you promise to leave my soul behind?” He buried his face in her neck and held her. She could feel her heart beating against his, tried to match its beats with her breath. Leaving him was too difficult to speak of. Life without him was too hard to imagine. What had put it into his mind? What had made her give him such an answer? She pulled him closer, stroking the back of his neck.

            “Still you talk of my leaving,” she murmured. “There’s nowhere else I want to be, no one else I want to be with. ‘After I am gone’ is a long time away, I promise you.”  He muttered something she didn’t catch and turned to close her lips with a kiss.