Shanghai Girls (Shanghai Girls #1)(95)

Sam doesn’t bother to look up. “Just do what your mother says.”

Joy turns the radio off, goes to the table, and plops down next to Hazel. Joy’s an obedient child, and I’m grateful for that, because these last four months have been difficult. I’m a lot more modern than many of the mothers in Chinatown but not nearly as modern as Joy would like me to be. I’ve told her that pretty soon she’ll be getting a visit from the little red sister and what that means in terms of boys, but I can’t find a way to talk to her about this new war.

May sweeps into the kitchen. She kisses Joy, gives Hazel a pat, and sits down across from them.

“How are my favorite girls?” she asks.

“We’re fine, Auntie May,” Joy answers glumly.

“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. Cheer up. It’s Saturday. You’re done with Chinese school and you have the rest of the weekend free. What would you like to do? Can I take the two of you to a movie?”

“Can we go, Mom?” Joy asks eagerly.

Hazel, who anyone can see would love to spend the afternoon at the movies, says, “I can’t go. I have homework for regular school.”

“And so does Joy,” I add.

May defers to me without hesitation. “Then the girls had better finish it.”

Since my baby died, my sister and I have been very close. As Mama might have said, we’re like long vines with entwined roots. When I’m down, May’s up. When I’m up, she’s down. When I gain weight, she loses weight. When I lose weight, she still stays perfect. We don’t necessarily share the same emotions or ways of looking at the world, but I can love her just as she is. My resentments are gone—at least until the next time she hurts my feelings or I do something that irritates or frustrates her so much that she pulls away from me.

“I can help, if you want,” May says to the girls. “If we get it done quickly, then maybe we could go out for ice cream.”

Joy looks at me, her eyes bright and questioning.

“You can go if you finish your homework.”

May puts her elbows on the table. “So what do you have? Math? I’m pretty good at that.”

Joy answers, “We have to present a current event to the class—”

“About the war,” Hazel finishes for her.

Now I really do feel a headache coming on. Why can’t the girls’ teacher be a little more sensitive about this subject?

Joy opens her bag, pulls out a folded Los Angeles Times, and spreads it on the table. She points to one of the stories. “We were thinking of doing this one.”

May looks at the story and starts to read aloud: “Today the United States government issued orders restraining Chinese students who are studying in America from returning to their home country fearing that they’ll take scientific and technological secrets with them.” May pauses, glances at me, and goes back to reading: “The government has also banned all remittances to mainland China and even the British colony of Hong Kong, so that money can no longer be walked across the border. Those caught trying to send funds to relatives in China will be fined up to $10,000 and jailed for up to ten years.”

My hand goes to my pocket, and I finger Betsy’s letter. If things are dangerous for someone like Mr. Howell, then they could get a lot worse for people like Father Louie, who’ve been sending tea money back to their families and villages in China for years.

“In response,” I hear May reading, “the Six Companies, the most powerful Chinese-American organization in the United States, has mounted a virulent anti-Communist campaign in hopes of halting criticism and curtailing attacks in Chinatowns across the country.” May looks up from the paper and asks, “Are you girls scared?” When they nod, she says, “Don’t be. You were born here. You’re Americans. You have every right to be here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

I agree that they have a right to be here, but they should be scared. I try to match the tone I took when I first warned Joy about boys: steady but serious.

“You need to be careful though. Some people are going to look at you and see girls who are yellow in race and red in ideology.” I frown. “Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes,” Joy answers. “We’ve been talking about that in class with our teacher. She says that because of how we look, some people might see us as the enemy, even though we’re citizens.”

Hearing her words, I know I have to try harder to protect my daughter. But how? We’ve never learned how to fight against evil stares or sidewalk ruffians.

“Walk together to and from school like I told you,” I say. “Keep doing your classwork and—”

“That’s so like your mother,” May says. “Worry, worry, worry. Our mama was like that too. But look at us now!” She reaches across the table and takes one of each of the girls’ hands. “Everything’s going to be fine. Don’t ever feel that you have to hide who you are. Nothing good ever comes from keeping secrets like that. Now, let’s finish your assignment so we can get some ice cream.”

The girls smile. As they work on the project, May keeps talking to them, pushing them to look deeper into the issues brought up in the article. Maybe she’s taking the right approach with them. Maybe they’re too young to be so scared. And maybe if they do their current events report, they won’t be as ignorant about what’s happening around them as May and I once were in Shanghai. But do I like it? Not one bit.