The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane(80)
There’s only one thing left to say. “You’re clearly a much better businesswoman than I am, because if I’d been there I’d probably be thinking too much about flavor, aroma, and provenance instead of higher profits. Thank you.”
“No. Thank you.”
I may have misjudged Ci-teh when she landed in Guangzhou, but now I’m grateful for her cleverness and fortitude.
* * *
When Rosie’s golden retriever somehow manages to get up on the roof of her home, Jin and I meet several other neighbors—all Han majority Chinese. We stand on the sidewalk to laugh and point as Rosie’s husband runs a ladder to the roof to rescue the animal. Tea is poured. Snacks are shared. We gather on the street another time when the limb of a jacaranda snaps and closes the road until Street Maintenance comes and clears it away. At American Easter, Rosie hosts an egg hunt for children in the neighborhood. We’re invited even though we don’t have a baby. When Rosie drops her son’s basket and several of the hard-boiled eggs break open, her relaxed attitude about the mess relieves my shyness about being an outsider. I help her clean up the eggs and sweets called jelly beans and Peeps. She’s grateful—and friendly. By the end of the day, she’s given me a Western-style name: Tina. Jin likes it, and the neighbors pick it up in days. I practice saying my name over and over again in the same way I once memorized English phrases at my trade school: Tina Chang, Tina Chang, Tina Chang.
Every moment of every day seems perfect, except I don’t come to a head. Getting pregnant isn’t so easy when you’re trying. The more weeks that pass, the more I seek answers in Akha beliefs. Although I never once dreamed of water when I was pregnant with Yan-yeh, I go to sleep every night, hoping I’ll dream of rushing water, which will announce that a baby has been released from the baby-making lake. Jin knows me very well already, so whenever he sees me leave the bathroom looking worried, he reminds me that we’ve only been married four months. His words are meant to be reassuring, but they make me even more anxious because they let me know he’s been counting too.
At the beginning of May, Rosie tells me about a Mandarin-speaking doctor—an ob-gyn—but before I can make an appointment two unfathomable things happen. First, an all-time record is set when four hundred grams of maocha—raw Pu’er—sell at auction for 400,000 yuan. Nearly $53,000! I’m thinking I may end up as rich as my husband in my own right—kidding, but still fun to fantasize about—when a Chinese-language channel airs a special called The Bubble of Pu’er Is Broken, which I watch in our living room as Jin naps on the couch next to me.
The show begins in the Fangcun Tea Market with the reporter claiming that Pu’er prices are inflated. At first, I tell myself that this isn’t the worst criticism. In fact, something like this might have even been expected. After all, Tall trees catch much wind and The bird that stands out is easily shot. Then the show takes an even darker turn.
“Not only are the prices inflated but many teas claiming to be Pu’er are fakes,” the reporter says. “These would include ninety percent of tea bought in Yiwu—the so-called home of the queen of Pu’er. It’s been labeled as ‘authentic forest tea’ but is actually just terrace tea from elsewhere.”
Another accusation has to do with Pu’er from the Laobanzhang area. The camera follows the reporter as he walks a few meters and then plants himself directly in front of Midnight Blossom. My stomach tightens. I shake Jin awake. He groggily sits up as the reporter says, “The Fangcun Tea Market alone claims to have five thousand tons of Laobanzhang tea, yet the entire village harvests only fifty tons a year. That means that the vast majority of Laobanzhang Pu’er in the Fangcun Market is fake.”
I clasp a hand around my throat, hoping to steady my voice. “Ci-teh has been selling Pu’er from Laobanzhang. She even had her husband buy more recently. She wouldn’t have sold counterfeit tea, would she?”
“No, she wouldn’t. She’s your friend . . .”
“Other teas from other villages also declared Pu’er are not,” the reporter continues. “Many of the teas being sold as naturally aged have been artificially fermented. Many of the health claims are false as well. Contrary to popular opinion, some scientists have suggested that drinking artificially fermented Pu’er can cause cancer . . .”
With each new revelation, another wave of panic washes over me. Throughout the special, proprietors try to hide their faces from the camera. Some are successful, but others spit out denials in high-pitched angry tones, while shaking their fists at the camera. Nothing, however, can hide the names of shops or stands. Midnight Blossom. The conclusion—and it’s one I’ve come to myself—is that my business must be one of the worst offenders.
I repeatedly call the shop and Ci-teh’s cellphone but never get an answer.
“What am I going to do?” I ask my husband.
Jin tries to sound unfazed. “Maybe the show won’t mean anything. People are watching now, but they’ll forget about it tomorrow.” After a pause, he asks, “Wouldn’t Ci-teh call if there’s a problem?”
I ponder the idea, playing it out in my head. “A better question might be why she hasn’t called already.” I point to the screen. “You can see my whole shop, but where is she?”
Jin’s mouth tightens into a grim line. Without another word, he goes to his computer and begins looking for flights.