Shanghai Girls (Shanghai Girls #1)(108)
“What are they looking for? The Korean War is over—”
“But the government’s fear of Red China hasn’t gone away. It’s worse than ever. In your school haven’t they taught you about the domino theory? One country falls to Communism, then another, and another. These lo fan are scared. When they’re scared, they do bad things to people like us. That’s why we have to support the Generalissimo.”
“You worry too much.”
“I said the same thing to my mother, but she was right and I was wrong. Bad things are already happening. You just don’t know about them because you’ve been gone.” I sigh again. How can I make her understand? “While you were away, the government started something called the Confession Program. It’s all across the country, probably in your Chicago too. They’re asking, no, trying to scare us into confessing who came here as paper sons. They give people citizenship if they report on their friends, their neighbors, their business associates, and even their family members who came here as paper sons. They want to know who earned money bringing in paper sons. The government talks about the domino effect. Well, here in Chinatown, if you give one name, that also creates a domino effect, which touches not just one family member but all the paper partners and papers sons and relatives and neighbors you know. But what they want most are Communists. If you report that someone is a Communist, then you’ll get your citizenship for sure.”
“We’re all citizens. We aren’t guilty of anything.”
For years Sam and I have been torn between the American desire to share, be honest, and tell the truth to Joy and our deeply held Chinese belief that you never reveal anything. Our Chinese way has won, and we’ve kept Sam’s and my status, as well as that of her uncles and her grandfather, a secret from our daughter for two very simple reasons: we haven’t wanted her to worry and we haven’t wanted her to say the wrong thing to the wrong person. She’s much older than she was back in kindergarten, but we learned then that even the smallest mistake can have bad consequences.
I put Sam’s ironed shirt on a hanger and then sit next to my daughter. “I want to tell you how they’re looking for people, so you’ll know in case anyone approaches you. They’re looking for people who sent tea money back to China—”
“Grandpa Louie did that.”
“Exactly. And they’re looking for people who’ve tried—legally—to get their families out of China since it closed. They want to know where people’s loyalties lie—in China or in the United States?” I pause to see if she’s following me. Then I say “Our Chinese way of thinking doesn’t always apply here in America. We believe that being humble, respectful, and truthful will give us a better understanding of every situation, prevent others from being hurt, and result in an all-good end. That way of thinking could hurt us and many other people now.”
I take a deep breath and tell her something I was afraid to write to her. “You remember the Yee family?” Of course she does. She was great friends with the oldest girl, Hazel, and spent plenty of time with the other Yee kids at our union gatherings. “Mr. Yee is a paper son. He brought Mrs. Yee in through Winnipeg.”
“He’s a paper son?” Joy asks, surprised, maybe impressed.
“He decided to confess so he could stay here with his family, since the four children are American citizens. He told the INS he had brought in his wife using his false status. Now he’s an American citizen, but the INS has started deportation proceedings against Mrs. Yee, because she’s a paper wife. They still have two children at home who are not yet ten years old. What will they do without their mama? The INS wants to send her back to Canada. At least she won’t be going to China.”
“Maybe she’d be better off in China.”
When I hear this, I don’t know who’s talking—a silly parrot who must repeat everything this Joe has told her or from somewhere deep inside an eruption of her blood-mother’s deliberate childish stupidity.
“That’s Hazel’s mother you’re talking about! Is that how you would want them to feel if I was sent back to China?” I wait for an answer. When she doesn’t give me one, I get up, fold and put away the ironing board, and go check on Vern.
That night Sam carries Vern out to the couch so we can have dinner and watch Gunsmoke together. The evening’s hot, so dinner is cool and simple—-just big wedges of watermelon made as cold as possible in our Frigidaire. We’re trying to follow what Miss Kitty is telling Matt Dillon when Joy starts up about the People’s Republic of China all over again. For nine months her absence felt like a hole in our family. We missed the sound of her voice and her beautiful face. But during that time we filled that hole with the television, with quiet conversation among the four of us, and with little projects that May and I did together. After Joy’s been home for two weeks, it’s like she takes up too much space with her opinions, her desire for attention, her need to tell us how wrong and backward we are, and the practiced way she has always divided her auntie and me, when all we want to do is find out if the marshal is ever going to kiss that Miss Kitty or not.
Sam, usually accepting of whatever comes out of his daughter’s mouth, finally can’t take any more and asks in Sze Yup in his quietest and calmest manner, “Are you ashamed of being Chinese? Because a proper Chinese daughter would be quiet and let her parents, auntie, and uncle watch their show.”