Toward the North Page 12

  “Take her home? Whose home? Do you two live together?”

  “Tomorrow, Kawasaki will go on a business trip to Osaka. So Hanako does not have to stay the night with him tonight. I will take her to my place since we have not been together for quite a few months.”

  “So you don’t mind sneaking in on a woman belonging to someone else for the rest of your life?”

  “Tao San, as far as I can see, you are as lovely and kind as Hanako. I will marry Hanako as soon as we have saved enough money, and, after I marry her, I will get Japanese nationality. Hanako and I will then move to Hawaii to open a restaurant with both Chinese and Japanese cuisine. We will make tons of money, and then … have many babies…. Kawasaki the old fool will go to hell…!”

  He continued to mumble, off and on, until his lips as well as his eyes slowly closed. After his head fell on to the small table, he began snoring. Even three cups of coffee were not enough to keep him awake. The song “Lover” still played in the background. And, a deep sadness and the sharp pain caused by endless longing and waiting hovered in the air.

  The coffee and plum wine made Tao Ran numb. She could not distinguish tipsiness from exhaustion; she only knew that her head was heavy in a nameless way. She dragged herself outside, taking much longer than usual to walk through the well-lighted streets and lanes. By this time, the tall buildings in and around Akasaka looked like huge lifeless black cubes standing behind the grey curtain of the night. Jealously, these buildings peered down at the men and women moving on the streets below, waiting quietly for tomorrow to come.

  Translated by Dongfeng Xu.

  “Hana no Maru” was originally published in The Sojourners: Stories by Chinese-Canadian Writers in 2004.

  1“Husheng” means “born in Shanghai.” So Husheng was originally a Shanghai native.

  2Hanako’s facial features indicate that she was a child of an interracial relationship.

  3The Chinese original is changshe fu, literally “a man with a long tongue,” or a gossipmonger.

  4Original in Japanese, batsu ichi (巴次).

  550,000 yen equals $535 Canadian nowadays.

  6Original in Japanese, Oji San (叔父さん).

  7Toyokawa Etuji (豊川悦司) is the name of a famous Japanese film star.

  Vase

  YAFANG

  THE VASE’S DISCOURSE: MY FIRST EXISTENCE

  BANG! I, a white, fine china vase, fall to the floor and break into pieces. My fall is unexpectedly fast; the three people who witness it—a man, a woman, and their daughter—are all stunned.

  The moment I am out of the man’s hand, his eyes fire up with instant gratification from the outburst of anger, then a forced composure replaces his extreme rage, and eventually an emptiness that is impossible to disguise.

  Emotions in the woman’s eyes are much more complex: disbelief, apprehension, despair, numbness immediately after being ambushed by an emotional tempest, and the resultant yet lasting pain deep in the bottom of her heart.

  In the daughter’s eyes are hurt and fury.

  The speed of my fall is as fast as lightning, while the process of my breakdown seen by the three pairs of eyes is, as if in slow motion in a movie, painfully slow. The numerous small pieces of my body unhurriedly relive every day and every moment of those seventeen years my human companions and I have shared.

  I was born in the famed Chinese city, the capital of Chinese porcelain. An encyclopaedia describes my birthplace as follows: “the fire of the kilns keeps burning for thousands of years. Chinaware produced there is pure as translucent jade, as shiny as a mirror, thin as fine paper, and when struck, resounding as chime stone. The fame of its porcelain, because of its unique characteristics, reaches afar, both within and outside China.” Elegant colour, minimalist design, and fine texture define my style, unpretentious yet refined. After I was wrapped up by a woman’s skilful hands, I left my hometown and arrived in the biggest city in China, where countless events had taken place and numerous legends were germinating. I resided in a display case of gorgeous artworks in a magnificent shopping centre. I was the plainest in the midst of my flamboyant and multicoloured neighbours, but I firmly believed that I possessed a unique beauty that was timeless. I was waiting for a connoisseur who would recognize my true value.

  The day I had waited for eventually came.

  A young couple stood in front of me. To be accurate, it was the young woman whom I attracted. Gently she took the man’s hand and led him to me. She was tall and graceful, her complexion ivory and fine as mine. Her dress was white with light blue patterns, simple and elegant, just like my design.

  “I love this vase. The design has a timeless charm. Let’s put it in our new home,” she said to the man in a soft voice.

  So the apartment of that newlywed couple became my home.

  The woman loved beautiful things. Therefore, I had flowers in my mouth quite often. Lilies of various colours were her favourite, so were pretty and passionate birds of paradise. Flowers were smiling, and so was I, watching the young couple’s blissful life. The woman was an accountant, and her man was a network engineer at a foreign company. Their life as a newlywed couple was sweet and affectionate. She believed that life was as beautiful as the lilies I held.

  However, notes of disharmony intruded into the melody of their life that was charming as the lilies. He fell silent sometimes; out of concern she tried to have him confide in her, but he became impatient, his words and tone rude, sometimes even nasty. She felt hurt but tended to see things from his angle: perhaps he was under pressure from work but wanted to tough it out all by himself in order to spare her the worry.

  Life went on.

  One day, a year later, she sported a smile as radiant as the flowers I held. She told him they would have a daughter. She leaned against him, eyes glowing with fond anticipation. She stared at the birds of paradise in me, picturing their little girl: a pretty, carefree, little bird.

  Their baby girl was born. She was, in her mother’s eyes, a beautiful bird of paradise. Nursing a baby was blissful but very demanding. The mother’s sleep was being cut into small pieces. Yet her daughter’s cry was a command to her; as soon as she heard the cry, the woman rushed over to tend to the baby.

  The man was busy with the company’s projects. He left home early and came back late. His tightly knit eyebrows and sullen expression hinted at pressure from work. One night he was woken up by the baby’s cry.

  “I have a deadline to make. I cannot rest when the baby cries like this. I’d better move into my parents’ place for a few days,” he informed her the next day.

  “Why do you leave us when we need you the most?” She, always gentle and compliant, looked at him with a forlorn expression while she was breastfeeding the baby.

  “Do you really want me to lose my job?” he snapped back.

  As days dragged on, rude words and even verbal abuse occurred more frequently. Once the easily agitated man raised his hand and it fell on the woman.

  The shadow of that hand darkened the lilies I held, and it also gnawed at her wounded heart. She held the baby to her heart and stared at me, tears falling down her cheeks. What to do? Leave him? Looking at her sleeping daughter’s little face, she told herself, my baby needs a father, not a broken family.

  Flowers placed in me bloomed and wilted, wilted and bloomed. The baby grew into a teenage girl.

  Then a letter from the Canadian embassy in China came. She pointed at a body of blue water on a globe, telling her daughter: “Mom came across the Five Great Lakes at a geography class years ago. I could not even dream then that one day we would go and live in Toronto, by Lake Ontario.”

  Her daughter asked, “Why do we have to go and live in a place where we know no one?”

  She replied, “I want you to grow up in a place where life is less stressful.”

  Their possessions were grouped
into two categories: things that would be left behind on this side of the earth and things that would travel to the other side of the globe. The fate of my neighbours had been decided: some were put in suitcases or boxes that would stay behind, and others went into cases or boxes that would travel across the ocean. However, I stood where I had been, on top of a side table (which had been given to the new owner of the apartment). I had no clue what would happen to me, and I felt sad and perplexed.

  It was on the eve of their departure that she carefully wrapped me up in soft paper and put me in a handbag that she carried with her. Now I knew: she wanted to take me personally when flying over the ocean to Toronto. I realized how important I was in her mind and was deeply moved.

  On the airplane, she attended to me just as if she were guarding her dream.

  When arriving in Toronto, they were taken by a friend to their new residence, which the friend had rented for them. With the help of the friend, they went down a flight of narrow stairs, carrying their belongings to a basement apartment. It was sparsely furnished. The bigger bedroom had only a bed, a desk, and a chair. In the other bedroom was a single bed. The third room was an open-concept space, serving as living room, family room, and kitchen. In it stood a dining table and four chairs. There and then, it struck her that the staircase was a rather cruel metaphor: their trip from the other side of the earth was actually a descent to the bottom of the social ladder.

  She took me out of her handbag, unwrapped me, and put me on the desk in their bedroom.

  That night, they all went to bed for their first night in Canada. She was just about to turn off the light when she caught some rustling noise and then her daughter’s scream. She and her husband went out to investigate and saw a mouse sauntering across the sink.

  She said to him, “You go and sleep. I’d better stay with her for a while.”

  When her daughter fell asleep, she went back to their bedroom. He was sound asleep, overcome by the long and tiring journey.

  There was a small window in the basement. She wanted to have a look at the Canadian moon, but the window was so tiny that she could not even catch a glimpse of it; what she saw was the bright but cold moonlight.

  She walked to the desk and caressed my smooth surface. She picked me up and put her face on me, as if she were hugging a dream.

  How could I foresee that in two years’ time and in this very basement, I would be thrown to the floor and broken into pieces?

  That day he got some bad news: he had failed the examination again, and his hope to obtain an engineer’s license was dashed like a bubble being popped. Upon arriving in Canada, he had set his mind to passing the exam so that he could find an engineer’s job. The process was long and gruelling. He took several courses and sat for the test a few times, but he failed all of them.

  He was exasperated and flew into a red-hot rage. He raised his hand again, as he used to. However, this time, his hand was held there but did not hit the target, because their daughter shouted out, “You are breaking the law if you hit her!”

  He was stunned and enraged. He had lost control of his professional life, and home was the last domain where he thought he still had control. Now his daughter was telling him that he no longer had absolute authority at home, either.

  He had to find an outlet for his anger. His eyes swept the entire room and eventually fell on me. He grasped me and threw me to the floor with great ferocity.

  I felt so much pain, physical pain that came and went in a blink of eye.

  She was also hurt, but her pain was in her heart, and it lasted.

  Two years later…

  E-mail message from the daughter:

  Happy birthday, Mom!

  Sorry that being away from home, I can’t light the candles for you and celebrate your birthday by your side.

  But I have couriered a gift to you, and it should arrive today. What is it? It will be a surprise, and I won’t spoil the pleasure right now.

  Mom, I want to tell you on your birthday that you are my hero. I still remember that on the eighth day after our arrival in Toronto, you walked for over an hour to apply for a job at a restaurant that specialized in handmade jiaozi dumplings. To me you were so brave. Your work there was to make dumplings, which had nothing to do with your professional training, but you took that labourer’s work so that dad could focus on taking courses and applying for a licence to work as an engineer, and so that you could feed the entire family. I also remember that on the Chinese New Year eve that year, when we were making jiaozi, I noticed you could not lift your thumb because you had worked so hard at the restaurant making jiaozi. It saddened me, but it also made me admire you and your perseverance.

  Mom, you have made so many sacrifices for us.

  I am now a university student. I’ve got scholarships from different sources, and I’ve also saved money from the part-time jobs I’ve had for the last two years. You do not need to worry about my tuition and living expenses. I sincerely hope that you will take some accounting courses in order to return to the profession you were trained for.

  I enjoy studying social work, the discipline I have chosen. I am especially interested in a course I am taking right now, Gender. Even at high school, I was engaged in setting up a student club, Study Group on Women’s Issues. At its activities, fellow members and I raised and discussed many social problems concerning women and gender. This Gender course gives me the opportunity to continue exploring a topic I am passionate about. Plus, it provides me with new perspectives through which to examine women’s collective experiences and gender relations. I believe this course will lay a solid foundation for my future career as a social worker and for my personal growth.

  Mom, I am looking forward to my trip home so that I can share what I’ve learned with you.

  With love, Daughter

  Mother’s reply:

  My dear daughter,

  Many thanks for your gift! When I opened the box and saw the light blue porcelain vase, I wept tears of happiness and surprise. The colour reminds me of the blue water of Lake Ontario.

  You must have known that two years ago, when the white vase was smashed, so was my heart. But that moment turned out to be a turning point in my life, too.

  I had suffered silently for so many years because I had always wanted to keep our family together. However, when you said, “Mom, I want to protect you,” I woke up. I had been trying to mend a dream, an unrealistic dream. My child, what you said gave me the courage and strength to leave my broken marriage.

  My child, you tell me that I am your hero. Actually, you are my guardian angel, and you have led me out of the dark tunnel.

  In these last two years of your high school life, you worked part-time so that you could save money for college and lessen the financial burden on me. Your decision worried me tremendously. I am afraid it will affect your studies. Yet you made it: you are a good worker and an excellent student. What makes me so proud is your love and compassion: you have been helping children of new immigrants and your fellow students who have difficulties in their studies. You have decided on majoring in social work and are prepared to serve the vulnerable in society, the underprivileged groups. Good for you!

  I have enrolled in an accounting program. You are right, I should prepare to re-enter my own profession.

  A Toronto Chinese community organization plans to run a training program for “women ambassadors.” After training, those ambassadors will work with their own community, informing women about how to prevent family violence and where to turn for help when being abused. I have decided to participate in the program. I suffered from abuse, and I do hope that people will see the impact of domestic violence so that they will fight against it. I also hope women who are being abused and living in pain and fear can break free. To me, this will be a process of healing.

  My child, our immigrant experiences have brought us hardship, but
I take pride in your healthy growth and in my new life.

  With love, Mom.

  THE VASE’S DISCOURSE: MY NEW EXISTENCE

  I, a light blue vase, am the reincarnation of the white, fine china vase, a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former existence.

  Blue is the colour of a clear lake, as deep and pure as the eyes of the woman because they have been purified by her tears. They hold the agony of her previous life and the smile of her new life.

  I am a vase of life, a vase full of life.

  I hold a bouquet of flowers in my mouth. Among them is a bird of paradise, red as a burning fire.

  Translated by H. Laura Wu and Cory Davies.

  “Vase” originally appeared in Migrating Birds: Contemporary Chinese-Canadian Women’s Writings in 2009.

  The Smell

  XIAOWEN ZENG

  AT 98 AUDREY STREET, in an upper-class neighbourhood on the outskirts of Toronto, sits a two-storey house. With three bedrooms, four bathrooms, a front door facing east, and favourable fengshui, it meets all Chinese middle-class standards.

  On Friday night, as was her custom, Minmin cleaned all the rooms in the house. Then she prepared supper for herself and lit two candles in the dining room, one vanilla and the other lily. The mixture of the two smells quieted her. This was just what she needed at this moment, like an injured female wolf needing herbal medicine or a thirsty lamb needing water from a stream. After bathing and changing her clothes, she sat down at the dining room table and began to eat supper: a plate of shrimp and another of Chinese broccoli with two kinds of mushrooms. The table was made of premium mahogany, and it was glossy enough to see one’s reflection in. With six chairs surrounding it on four sides, it looked like it belonged at the centre of a happy family.