Father left home, one day he planted a Chinese yam, called shanyao, in the courtyard. It was only a passing whim. Afterwards he forgot about it. Soon he left Beijing. A couple of weeks later, however, the yam sprouted. Nainai put an exquisite fence around it as soon as she saw it.
The Chinese yam was a perennial plant, usually grown by the peasants around their cottages. Nainai kept this yam in her garden among beautiful tree peonies and roses. Gradually, the tender vine of the yam crawled all over a Tai Lake rock.
In those years, Nainai must have been awfully lonely. She missed her children. Because of the war, no news came from any of them. When she became too anxious, she would go and talk to the yam.
Sometimes the plant listened to her in silence as if it understood her feelings but could find no word to comfort her. Sometimes there was a gentle breeze and the numerous heart-shaped green leaves fluttered. Nainai thought that the yam was whispering to her, telling her something about her children in a secret language, which with the love she had inside of her she could almost understand. It soothed Nainai's burning heart. She felt that as long as the yam thrived and she could hear it murmur, things could not go terribly wrong with her beloved children.
Nainai prayed day and night to heaven and to her ancestors, asking them to protect her children and to put an end to the war. In 1945 the Japanese surrendered. Second Uncle and Third Aunt came back to her. But it took Father another ten years to return home.
6
Second Uncle Was a Paper Tiger
When we returned from Switzerland in 1956, Nainai's dream came true. Finally the entire family was together, living in Nainai's big house. After my great-grandfather and grandfather died, Nainai was the head of the family.
Although I do not remember ever seeing Nainai read Lao Tzu, the way she ran our family was very much in keeping with the latter's teaching. According to the ancient philosopher, the best rulers ruled by non-action. That is to say, they let ten thousand things take their own courses; they did not impose their will on any of them. As a result, all were perfectly happy and the world was in harmony. Nainai seemed to have a profound understanding of this world order called Tao.
For example, at the house of Laolao (my maternal grandmother) there were numerous rules. During dinner, the way I held chopsticks was always wrong. I could not rest my elbows on the table. Other bad manners included speaking with food in my mouth and clinking chopsticks. I was to hold up my rice bowl throughout the meal. Water and other drinks were not allowed to go with the food. I had to wait till the end of the meal to drink the soup.
Rules like these made me reluctant to have dinner at Laolao's place. As a child, I could not have cared less if I missed the southern delicacies Laolao made that the adults said were so great. After all, didn't they say that freedom should be cherished above all things—food included, of course?
By contrast, freedom was in abundance at Nainai's place. There I could climb Tai Lake rocks if I wanted to or use a ladder to climb onto the walls to beat down red dates from the tall date trees. On the evening of the National Day (October 1), Little Ox, Little Dragon, and I were permitted to climb onto the tiled roof of Nainai's house, the tallest in the compound, to watch fireworks at Tian'anmen Square.
In the backyard there was an old locust tree. The branches of it spread out like a huge umbrella. On that evening it caught several brightly colored parachutes, each as large as a square scarf, with a whistle attached to it. They were carried here by the southwest wind from Tian'anmen Square. To me, they were like gifts from heaven. I was so thrilled that I refused to come down from the roof long after the fireworks were over, hoping that more parachutes would come this way. Such behavior annoyed my parents, but Nainai just smiled and said that I could stay there a little longer.
In Nainai's house I was truly happy. I had never been so happy before. In the past I was very lonely. Now I could play with Little Ox, Little Dragon, and other kids who were our neighbors. The gates of their houses stayed open during the day, and so did ours. Kids were welcome anytime. We could just drop in. In this environment I felt safe, and the nameless fear I had in Switzerland went away.
Occasionally my parents would be angry at me because I was too wild. When this happened, there was always someone in the big family who was willing to intercede for me. Most of the time I would turn to Nainai, knowing that she would shelter me like a big tree. Soon the menacing thunderstorm would change into gentle breeze and fine rain. Before long, all clouds would dissipate and sunshine would return to my world.
Nainai, although she was an old woman, was not old-fashioned in her way of thinking. For one thing, she was not biased against girls like other grandparents. On the contrary, I somehow had a feeling that she indulged me more than the boys. Looking back, I wonder if Nainai was following the unique Manchu tradition that said girls must be treated well at home, for in the future (I should say in the past) they all had a chance to be chosen into the palace. There if they found favor in the emperor's eyes, they could become imperial consorts. That way they would honor their ancestors and gain power and prestige for their families. Or else maybe Nainai was sympathetic toward me? From her own experience, she knew that a woman's life would not be easy in China. Many dangers, pitfalls, and heartaches were in store for me.
Saying this I do not mean that others were not happy in Nainai's house. All seemed to enjoy life in their own ways. The adults all worked, women as well as men. In the new society, it was a shame not to work if one was young, healthy, and educated. Those who lived on the old money of the family were called parasites. They were despised by everybody in spite of their money. Times had changed.
From Monday to Saturday, every morning Shenshen (which means the wife of an uncle who is the father's younger brother) was the first to get up. She worked in a textile factory in the eastern suburb of Beijing. It took her an hour to get to her factory by bus. So she usually left home at about half past six.
After her footsteps died down, the house was quiet again. Father, Mother, and Second Uncle were not awake yet. They usually went to bed late and for them, the sweetest sleep came in the morning. When the clock struck seven, they reluctantly got out of bed. Next I heard them take brass basins from the washstands and go into the kitchen to wash their faces. Later they brushed their teeth in the yard, puffing the water out onto the ground with a great noise. After this, they would say it was too late, no time for breakfast, and rush out of the house like a gust of wind.
During this time I often lay awake. I could hear everything, because in Nainai's house the walls between rooms were made of wooden boards and the ceiling was just a few layers of rice paper. This was typical of all the old houses in Beijing. The theory must have been that among family members there ought to be no secrets. Brick walls were used only to keep away outsiders.
The old women and the children were the last ones to get up and have breakfast. No need to hurry. We had plenty of time to play and tell one another stories. In those days, no one had heard of the thing called “electric view,” so of course we did not miss it. We were busy enough without television.
In the yards, there were cicadas singing in the trees, and we tried to catch them with melted rubber bands put on the tips of long bamboo poles. At the foot of brick walls were crickets, which we captured by pouring water into the crevices in which they hid. In the second yard there were two big earthen vats in which goldfish swam leisurely among water lilies. Under the eaves, swallows made nests to raise their young. Sometimes we picked flowers from the locust trees and sucked the honey from them. Sometimes we waged miniature tugs-of-war with the leafstalks of poplar trees.
Occasionally we would go treasure hunting in Nainai's old trunks. Among the things we found were a shiny peach seed that was carved into a tree and five babies—Nainai said this was called “five sons excel in the imperial
