Anchee Min: Pearl of China

When Lilac put out the fire, we knew that the winter was over. In just a few days the air warmed. Spring came with dampness, and we had to battle excessive moisture.

The three of us took the eggs out of the giant ceramic pots to air them. We put the eggs on Lilac’s brick bed with cotton pads underneath. Lilac sent Pearl and me to notify the farmers that the time to pick up their baby chicks had come.

We were thrilled when we saw the little beaks appearing. The young chickens chipped away at the shells and worked their way out. Pearl called it a grand birthday party when all the chicks finally broke through.

“What beauties!” Pearl cried to the chicks hopping on and off her hands.

Lilac was too tired to celebrate. She snored, leaning against the wall, while Pearl and I counted the chicks. We put the chicks into baskets to be picked up. Lilac laughed and cried in her sleep. Her face glowed with pleasure. “What should be done in summer, you don’t do in spring!” she yelled. “Am I not right?”

“You are perfectly right, Lilac!” Pearl and I answered. We helped her to the bed, where she would sleep for days.

It was early September. Hot, sweet air filled my lungs. Pearl and I ran down the hills. We passed little children playing with dirt and earthworms. We passed the town’s oldest man napping in the shade of a tree. I was thrilled because Pearl had finally invited me to her home.

“My mother doesn’t know that I am bringing you,” Pearl said excitedly.

“Will she… mind?” I felt nervous. “After all, I did lie.”

“Oh, she has long forgotten that.”

“Has she?”

“Mother said that sometimes people can’t be held responsible for what they do, because they don’t know God.”

I stopped. “What if she remembers? What if she tells me, ‘I don’t want a liar as my guest’?”

“Oh, she knows you, and she’s always liked you.”

“How do you know?”

“ Willow, my mother was bound to adore you.”

“Why?”

“Because you can sing.”

I looked at her.

“ Willow, my mother has been trying to organize a children’s choir, but she can’t find any children who can sing or are willing.”

“She knows that I’m willing,” I said. “But I don’t know if she thinks I can sing well enough.”

“Yes you can.”

“My voice can’t hold the highest notes. It cracks.”

“Mother will teach you how to carry the high notes. Besides, the church songs are no Chinese operas. They are much easier to sing.”

“Will you sing too, Pearl?”

“Yes, I love singing, although I don’t really have much of a voice. But it doesn’t matter. I can sing ‘Jasmine, Sweet Jasmine’ forever.”

She began the tune and I joined. When we finished, Pearl began again in the Yangchow accent, and I followed. We sang in both Soochow and Nanking accents, too.

“Do you have a favorite Chinese opera?” I asked after we exhausted all our accents.

“The Butterfly Lovers!”

“That is my favorite too!”

“The Ming dynasty version or the Ching dynasty version?” Pearl asked. I was surprised at her knowledge. “The Ching version, of course.”

She nodded and then we began.

I live by the Yangtze River near its source,

While you reside farthest down its course.

You and I drink water out of the same stream,

I haven’t seen you though daily of you I dream.

When will this river water cease to run?

When shall I not love you, the way I do?

I only wish our two hearts would beat as one,

And you wouldn’t disappoint me in my love for you.

Hand in hand we walked along the riverbank. I asked if she was allowed to sing Chinese opera at home.

“Are you kidding?” she mocked. “Absalom allows no other sound than God’s.”

I asked if she got along with her parents.

“My parents use a fork and knife; I use chopsticks.”

Both Absalom and Carie were out when we arrived, so Pearl gave me a full tour of her home. The house was a three-room bungalow made of brick and wooden boards. The middle room served as a living and dining area. On each side were bedrooms. Pearl shared hers with her baby sister, Grace. Her parents’ bedroom had a big wooden bed. The sheets were washed white and made of coarse cloth. The stains on the wall showed a leaky roof. The place was extremely clean. Even the worn-out furniture glowed. Pearl pointed out the pink curtains. “Mother made them herself with fabric from America.” On the side of the house there were two large ceramic jars containing water from the river. I was surprised that the family lived just like us.

“Mother leaves our door open all year long,” Pearl said.

“She will receive anyone who knocks?”

“My parents love any opportunity to introduce Jesus Christ.”

“But Carie cares about people, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, my mother does, a great deal, unlike my father, who cares only about God.”

“I don’t know about leaving the door open all the time,” I said. “Beggars might get in and it would be hard to get them out.”

“People who show up are ‘too poor to afford a string to hang themselves with,’ in my mother’s words. ‘Foreign Mistress, Carie TaiTai,’ they call her, and beg for food.”

“Your mother has to put up with a lot.”

“This is nothing compared to what she has been putting up with from her husband.” Pearl told me that Carie had tried to convince Absalom to leave China in order to save her dying children.

“Does your mother still want to leave China?” I asked.

“No, she gave up.” Pearl paused and then went on. “The visitors Mother truly enjoys are sailors from America. She bakes cookies for them and they love her for it. After food and wine, Mother and the sailors sing ‘Afar from Home’ together. They all laugh and cry at the same time.”

As Pearl predicted, Carie was pleased the moment she found out that I was willing to join her children’s choir. She took me to the piano and I sang “Amazing Grace.”

Carie showed me how to steal breaths when hitting the high notes. I learned not to strain my voice. To instruct me, Carie began to sing other songs. I loved Carie’s voice although I had no idea what she was singing. I promised to come again for lessons. Carie believed that my voice would change for the better with practice. After a couple of months, I did improve. I was able to carry the high notes effortlessly. I could imitate Carie’s voice, and I also had the ability to memorize a song once Carie had sung it. Soon, Carie invited me to sing at Absalom’s Sunday service. I sang the song clearly withemotion as if I understood the lyrics.

Pearl was proud. Her face glowed when Carie said, “I thank God for Willow!”

Absalom was also impressed. “Keep up the good work for the Lord,” he encouraged.

I knew in his heart Papa didn’t care much about God although he pretended that he did. I figured that I could do the same. What I loved was to sit by Carie as she played the piano. Carie never quizzed me regarding my knowledge of God. I was grateful that she didn’t mind that I sat quietly. She said that a child ought not to miss the joy of music. She would sing a tune that came to her mind. I would hear seasons in Carie’s voice. The sound of spring was like the Yangtze River filling up the creeks. Her sound of summer was like the sun’s touch. Autumn was colors that vibrated and heightened my senses. Her voice of winter was deep, a story of snow.

While sitting by Carie I felt happiness. But once in a while the words would fill my heart with sadness. It would happen in the middle of my practice. I would choke and break down. Carie would put her arm around me.