house?”
“I work hard, you know that. Your father not work a lot, so I not know if we can ever buy house. House good, should have for family, so I borrow money from my sister to buy.”
“How did my father feel about that?”
“He not say, but house good, I tell you that,” she said. “I living with your father in the house little bit. Your father move out the house after we go, so when his brother come to Hong Kong, I let him stay my house.”
The bus pulled to a screeching stop, and our group exited to a crush of pedestrians. I was usually protective about my personal space. Here, with four individuals to every square foot of land, breathing room was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Uncle Chun-Kwok spoke, and Mom translated, “We have to be very careful. He say many people steal in Hong Kong.”
“Why is that?”
“Many people run away from Canton, but no can find job. No choice, have to eat.”
My mother said it as if she understood all too well. I knew little of her past before we came to the US. She was born in China and met my father there. When the Communists came to power, the two fled separately to Hong Kong. They married, but she never said why they divorced.
“How was it for you here?” I asked.
“Life always hard in Hong Kong.”
“Is that why you left?”
She hesitated, then spoke with a harsh edge in her voice. “We do good business, have house. Michael go to school. Renee go to school. You have good education, job. What you think?”
***
We waded through the crowd to a men’s clothing store, and my uncle took us in. Looking fashionable in a sea-green polo, dark blue slacks, and seal-brown oxfords, he inspected some shirts, then went to a rack of warm-up suits. He fingered a gray fleece set with pants and hooded top and spoke to my mom.
“He want to buy for you,” my mother said. “He say good quality, so you try on.”
“Tell him he doesn’t have to do that.”
“I think he want to.”
“Just tell him.”
She paused before relaying it.
He took another suit from the rack.
“He want to buy for you.”
Receiving gifts always made me uncomfortable. When I was a child, my stepfather asked what I wanted for Christmas. I couldn’t answer, so he turned to my mother and said, “Fine. He’s your son. You get him something.” Other kids hosted birthday parties and invited friends, but I never wanted a celebration and even asked my teacher not to have one for me at school. On my birthday, I often skipped class altogether.
Giving was different; it meant more. In the fifth grade I saved my lunch money to buy my mom a present for her birthday. I remember going to the K-Mart jewelry counter with my $8.50 in quarters to ask the sales lady for help. I probably spent an hour looking at the various bracelets, necklaces, and earrings before choosing a pirate’s treasure chest jewelry box because I liked the feel of the royal, red-felt interior.
I watched Uncle Chun-Kwok run his hand along the inner lining of a crimson, nylon warm-up jacket. I said to my mom, “Tell him he’s really kind, but I have lots of clothes.”
My uncle persisted. Despite my protests, he went to a display of designer leather belts inside a glass counter and spoke.
She said, “Wow! Very expensive. He want to buy.”
I walked up to him, put my hands on his shoulders, and peered through his glasses into his eyes. “Please, I really don’t need anything. If you want to buy something, get it for your family.” I motioned at Jing-Wei and Ming, both watching with rapt attention.
Uncle Chun-Kwok looked at me; the disappointment on his face sent a wave of guilt through me. He nodded once, turned, and headed toward the exit. As we followed him, a part of me wanted to express my regret, but I didn’t.
Outside on the crowded street, I watched my uncle and Ming. They walked together, my cousin’s small hand wrapped in his father’s. Earlier, we had taken a ferry to dine at the Jumbo Floating Restaurant, an imperial seafood palace that seemed to literally float on the water. Uncle Chun-Kwok kept putting more food in his son’s bowl, and Ming kept eating. I tapped my mother’s shoulder and asked her to tell my uncle it was amazing that Ming possessed such a healthy appetite.
Uncle Chun-Kwok smiled and talked in a manner that conveyed a profound regard for his children.
“He say Ming eat good, will grow big and strong. Jing-Wei more picky, but she going to be very smart. He say lucky for them to have boy and girl, good balance.” She paused and added, “I remember they marry and want to have kids, but no have luck first few years. They so happy when they have Jing-Wei.”
Aunt Poi Yee, who had gone ahead with her daughter, called to us, and my uncle strode faster to catch up.
My mom said, “If Uncle Chun-Kwok stay in China, can only have one kid, so good for him come here.”
“I can’t imagine China being more crowded than this.”
“But here nobody tell you how many kids can have.”
After a silence, I said, “Is that why a lot of Chinese people escape into Hong Kong?”
She nodded.
“How are they able to do that?”
“Sometimes, they come visit, not go back.”
“They don’t check documents here?”
“’Course. Police ask for I.D. card. You not have, they take you back.”
“So what did my uncle do?” I asked, knowing the answer would divulge much about how she fled China.
“He hide. Need place to live, so good he know me.”
I glanced ahead to keep track of our group. “So Uncle Chun-Kwok used your house.”
“Yes. He find work and get Hong Kong I.D.”
“People will hire you?”
“You work hard, they give job.”
Not so different from San Diego, where a major political issue involved undocumented Mexicans crossing the border. The bigwigs poured funds into beefing up the Border Patrol and building fences, but as long as employers were willing to hire, there would be no shortage of undocumented labor. The issue proved delicate, however, when it came to light that some of the most vocal proponents of anti-immigration legislation had employed cheap, undocumented workers themselves.
Both my parents and my uncle had escaped from China. It made me want to see what they were running from.
“We’re
