Red Thread Sisters (9781101591857) (3 page)

four

All Wen could see was darkness. She squinted out the window as big cars on the wide, lighted road streamed past them. Then their driver slowed down onto a curving ramp leading to smaller streets with leafy trees outlined against the black sky. Wen could make out rows of houses set behind neat squares of grass. The car stopped at a brick house with wide windows. Emily clambered out of the backseat, took Wen's hand, and led her up the walk.

“
Huan ying
, Wen. Welcome!” Wen's mother said as her father unlocked the front door.

Still holding Wen's hand, Emily brought her into the house. Wen gasped. The hallway was as big as a room! The ceiling hung high above her, as if it were a sky.

Emily led her to a room down the hall. She waved her arm from Wen to the room and back to Wen, making a big sweep through the air. “Wen's!” she exclaimed.

What was she talking about?

Emily pulled Wen into the room. “Wen's!” she repeated, planting both feet on the floor. Without warning, Emily flung herself down on the rug, her face toward the ceiling, her arms and legs spread toward the four walls. “Wen's!” she shouted, from the floor.

This whole room, for me?
Wen thought she should reenter the room on her knees, as if she were visiting the sleeping place of an empress. The walls were painted deep purple and the bed was covered with a lavender quilt. Stuffed animals sat heaped along the pillow. All those stuffed animals—enough for almost every baby and little kid in the whole orphanage! And the books! So many books, lined up neatly in a bookcase, ready to be read. In the corner, Wen saw a small white desk and a chair. How could one room belong just to her?

Emily sat on the fluffy, purple bed. Then, crouching, she pulled out a second bed, nestled under the first. Emily raised two fingers. “Wen's . . .
trun-dle
.”

Wen's mother came into the room and said something to Emily, who nodded and replied. Wen tilted her head, trying to understand. Where had all her English gone? She felt as if some giant lock inside her brain had mysteriously clamped shut over all the English she'd ever known.

Wen had studied English even before she went to school. A month after she'd arrived at the orphanage, five-year-old Wen was helping in the small-children's activity room, where she discovered some English picture books. After dinner, she had pored over the tattered books, connecting the words to the illustrations. Her favorite story was about a lady who went to a dance but lost a glass shoe, which a prince used to find her so they could live happily ever after.

When she was eight, Teacher Jun began real English lessons. From old workbooks, Wen sounded out English words and learned to link them into sentences and repeat the lines out loud with the other students.

Eight months ago, Auntie Lan Lan had heard Wen was going to America. “Your English must be even better,” she told Wen, and started giving her extra lessons every night.

“You must learn to make real sentences,” Auntie Lan Lan had said. “It's not enough to just repeat what the teacher says.”

While they fed the babies, Auntie Lan Lan had quizzed her. “Name?” Auntie Lan Lan drilled. “I am Wen,” Wen would call. “Good. Season?” Auntie Lan Lan asked. “It is summer,” Wen answered, as if they were tossing a ball back and forth.

And now all that English was trapped inside her, somewhere Wen couldn't find.

In the hallway, her father stretched and opened his mouth, making big yawns. When he caught Wen's eye, he began to pretend to snore, interspersed with long whistles. Then he grinned at Wen.

Beside him, her mother shook her head, making clucking noises, like she was laughing at him. She took the ring of cards from his pocket.

“
Shui?
Sleep?” She showed Wen a card and then rested her cheek on her hands, folded sideways like a pillow.

Wen's mother gestured toward the room across from Wen's. She ruffled Emily's hair. “Wen,
shui
with
mei mei
? Little sister?” her mother asked.

“Wennie,
shui
with
mei mei
,” Emily begged.

Wen felt her mouth go dry. She couldn't call Emily
mei mei,
because her throat would shrivel and she would choke. She was the
mei mei,
not this little girl. The only person saying
mei mei
should be Shu Ling, declaring that no matter what, Wen was her little sister and they were family.

Emily grabbed Wen around the waist and tried to pull her across the hall.

Wen stood firm, still thinking of Shu Ling.

“Not
shui
with
mei mei
?” Wen's mother breathed deeply, as if she were holding back a sigh.

Freeing herself from Emily's grasp, Wen stood apart, unsure. Would they think she was ungrateful if she didn't sleep with Emily? With slow, shaky steps, Wen walked into her new room and sat on her own bed. She waited for her mother and Emily to yell at her.

But neither one shouted. In the hallway, Wen saw Emily's lip quiver. Her mother said something to her in soothing tones, and then came into Wen's room. “
Shui zhe li?
Sleep here?” Wen's mother tapped her bed.

Wen nodded, then put her face in her hands.

At the orphanage, when Wen or Shu Ling had been caught by one of the aunties for talking late at night or for not scouring the dinner pots shiny enough, they covered their faces with their hands while an auntie yelled. The other kids did it too. If you covered your face, you hid your shame at doing something very bad.

Wen felt her mother's fingers gently lift her hands from her face.

“
Bu yao jin
. It's nothing to worry about,” her mother said softly.
“Bu yao jin,”
she repeated, as if she knew the words by heart. When Wen uncovered her face, her mother was smiling at her. Then she handed Wen a pair of fluffy blue gathered pants and a matching top. “PJs.”

Wen wondered why her mother was saying single alphabet letters. She put the pants and the top down and then climbed into her bed, still wearing her denim skirt and sweater she'd worn when she'd last seen Shu Ling.

“
Wan an
, Wen,” her mother said. “Good night.”

Wen saw her mother coming nearer, as if to kiss her. Her mother's frizzy blonde hair came so close, Wen could see each separate curl.

The aunties had never kissed her or any of the other kids. The last person to kiss Wen was her first mother. She had pulled Wen toward her and told Wen she was a good girl. Then she'd kissed Wen on the cheek and gone away.

Fear, like the flames from a grease fire in a pan, ripped through Wen's body. As her new mother bent closer, Wen turned her head the other way.

She heard her mother sigh, then pat the pillow near Wen's hair as she got up to leave.

As soon as she was sure her mother wasn't coming back, Wen sank into her soft bed, the sheets as fragrant as the peonies that grew behind the orphanage. When she rolled over, no wires poked her back. No smell of musky hay filled her nostrils. Instinctively, Wen reached for Shu Ling's cot.

At the orphanage, as soon as the aunties left, Wen and Shu Ling would push their cots together so they could talk during the night. Only Shu Ling knew that Wen was afraid of the dark. Sometimes, when Wen heard rats scampering under the beds, she clung to Shu Ling. Worse than the dark were the rats! Whispering in Wen's ear, Shu Ling recited the nursery rhymes she'd learned at the orphanage when she was little. Shu Ling wove together verses about kites and ladybugs and two tigers. And then, with Shu Ling's stories drowning out the scampering rats, Wen wasn't afraid anymore.

When the nights got cold and the aunties shut the furnace off to save coal, Wen and Shu Ling huddled in Wen's cot, warming each other. Shu Ling sang the quieter lullabies, one about a jasmine flower, another about a mewing kitten, and another about a bright moon, quiet wind, and a cradle rocking. Often as she listened to Shu Ling's voice, so sweet and delicate, Wen fell asleep. Sometimes, though, when Shu Ling thought Wen was asleep, Wen heard Shu Ling singing herself an old Chinese lullaby:

 

Only Mama is the best in all the world.
With a mama, you have the most valued treasure.
Jump into Mama's heart and
You will have endless happiness.

 

Wen always hoped Shu Ling would fall asleep during that song, which was way too sad for singing.

Even now, as she lay in her new bed in her new room with her new family, Wen listened for Shu Ling's lullabies and the cries of babies waking in the night. This house was too still, and her room was too big. In the darkness, Wen couldn't see the pretty purple of the walls. The big space around her seemed ready to swallow her.

Wen stretched out her arm, still seeking Shu Ling's cot. Her fingers met only air. She listened for Shu Ling's soft, even breathing. The room was silent. She closed her eyes and tried to see Shu Ling's face. She tried to imagine her wide smile and her braid, tied back with a shoelace. But all Wen saw was darkness.

Wen covered her head with her pillow so her new family wouldn't hear her sobs. When she was too tired to cry anymore, she raised her head from under her pillow, got out of bed, and walked across the dark hall to Emily's room. Quietly, she climbed into the cot beside Emily's bed. She pretended Emily's breathing belonged to Shu Ling, sleeping safely beside her after all.

five

Wen awoke to sunlight streaming across her bed.

Oh, no! She'd forgotten to feed the babies! How had she slept through the big metal gong the aunties rang every morning?
“Quai dian! Quai dian!”
Hurry, Auntie Min and Auntie Lu Chu—the baby aunties—always scolded. Every morning, Wen scurried to the stove, where she stirred the corn porridge, sugar, and water for the babies' bottles. In the next room, the babies wailed. Wen propped up the babies, tilted the bottles against their chests, and slipped the nipples in their tiny mouths so they could drink while she sped to the next aisle. She saw babies raise their limp arms toward her, wanting to be held.
No time
, she would whisper.
Later.

Now Wen sat upright, listening for the babies. Then she remembered. She was in America.

She heard her father's deep laughter and smelled new, unfamiliar food. Wen rose from her cot in Emily's room, folded her blanket neatly, and arranged it at the foot of the bed. Then she tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen.

“
Ni zao
, Wen,” said her mother. “Good morning.”

Emily chattered in jumbled English that Wen did not understand. At the stove, her father was frying some brown strips.

“
Ni zao
,” he called over the sizzling of the griddle.

Once Wen sat down, her mother set in front of her a plate heaped with something puffy and yellow, topped with her father's crispy brown strips, still hot.

“Hey, Wen:
bay-con
.”

Wen eyed the crinkled strips, like ribbon, piled on the mountain of yellow fluff. She picked up a slab, took a tiny bite, and then devoured the whole thing.

“Baaaaay-con,” Wen repeated. She ate all the yellow fluff and two servings of the crispy bacon, washed down with several glasses of cold milk, so much creamier than the orphanage milk. Then she had two bowls of oatmeal.

“
Ni ha shi e le.
You were hungry.” As he read from the card ring, her father patted his rounded belly and smiled at her.

E.
Just a tiny word.
Hungry.

“E?”
Shu Ling would ask, once she and Wen left the babies and lined up with the other kids down the long hall to the kitchen. Wen nodded, so hungry her stomach rumbled. Usually Cook served the children bowls of dry cornmeal, which they moistened with water from the sink faucet. Sometimes Wen got a hard-boiled egg with some pickled cabbage or a steamed bun. On summer mornings, when there was more food, Wen and the others had noodles or little cat-ear dumplings splashed with vinegar.

Wen and Shu Ling would sit on the cement floor of the common room to eat. Beside them, some of the kids watched American cartoons or Disney movies on the old black-and-white TV that flashed on and off unless you shook it.

Shu Ling always tried to shovel some of her noodles onto Wen's plate because Wen was so tiny, but Wen wanted to give her noodles to Shu Ling, who needed extra strength for walking. They both knew it would be the last food until supper.

Now Wen's mother stood over Wen and showed her a pan of more yellow fluff. With a spoon, she pretended to fill Wen's plate again. Wen shook her head no, but when she thought nobody was looking, she took a banana and a muffin to hide under her shirt, in case she got hungry again.

“Oooooooh!” Emily spotted Wen and aimed her finger at Wen's shirt. Then, in an accusatory tone, she asked her father a question.

Her cheeks burning, Wen tried to bunch her shirt even better over the banana and muffin.

Would they think she was stealing?

Her father glanced at her lumpy shirt, then flipped through some cards on his ring. In faltering Chinese, he read,
“Wo men you hen duo fan.
We have much to eat.” Then he pretended to nibble on a muffin. “
Hao ba
, OK, Wen!”

Her hands shaking, Wen put the banana and muffin back.

Of course they thought she was stealing
.

After breakfast, Wen went into the bathroom and found a brush, pail, and bleach under the sink. She filled a bucket with water and added bleach and, on her hands and knees, began to scrub the tiles.

“Wen!” said her mother when she saw Wen crouched on the floor. She pulled Wen to her feet. From her bathrobe pocket, her mother fumbled for her card ring. “
Bu biyao.
Not necessary.”

She flipped to another card. “
Dao jia le.
Home now.”

But this was what Auntie Lan Lan had told her to do.
Remember all the chores. You are a lucky girl. Help them greatly. Otherwise they might send you back.

Wen's mother led her to her room and opened three bureau drawers, all filled with clothes. From the top drawer, she took out a peach-colored T-shirt and held it against Wen.

For her? Just for her? Wen had never owned a set of clothes.

At the orphanage, Wen had lined up with the other older children to get her clothes on the first day of every week, which they named Day of the Clean Clothes. Auntie Mu Hong, the strictest auntie, decided who got which clothes. As she rummaged through the common wardrobe, she sized up Wen's small body. Wen always closed her eyes and wished for the sparkly Tinker Bell dress or the Hello Kitty shirt. But no, Wen got the boyish clothes, like the Thomas the Tank Engine top or the Batman jersey or the too-big jeans. Auntie Mu Hong bunched up the jeans and pinned them at Wen's waist with a rusty clip. If all the clothes were gone, Wen got one of the faded ruffled nightgowns that hung down to her knees like a sack until seven days passed and another Day of Clean Clothes arrived.

Now, cautiously, Wen took the new T-shirt her mother was offering her. She stroked the soft rosy-peach fabric, the color of a sunset. She had never seen such a beautiful shirt.

Wen gave her mother a small, quick smile. 

When Wen's mother smiled back, her eyes sparkled especially blue. All at once, Wen realized that her mother was trying very hard to make her happy.

Wen waited for her mother to go away. Then she pulled a purple tank top over her head and zipped up a pair of jeans. Stretching as tall as she could in front of the mirror on her door, Wen posed in different angles to see how the shirt fell against her body and how her jeans fit, nice and snug along her legs, then flared toward her ankles.

Wen took off the tank top, folded it, and put it back. She changed out of her jeans, too, trying on leggings and a tunic with hearts sewn around the neckline. Wen looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't recognize this girl wearing brand-new clothes that belonged only to her.

Wen slid her hands up and down the flowing fabric and traced the hearts around her neck. Suddenly, in front of the mirror, she pictured Shu Ling beside her, in the torn nightgown.

Not this one again!
she could hear Shu Ling moan.
What did you get,
mei mei
?

Slowly, Wen took off her new outfit. She folded the tunic and leggings, returned them to the drawer, and put on her old denim skirt and sweater again.

When her mother returned, she eyed Wen's wrinkled skirt and stained sweater, then asked her a question. She rattled the bureau and opened the closet, as if she were hunting for the T-shirts and jeans and leggings. Wen opened the top drawer where she'd arranged all the new clothes in neat piles.

“
Buhao?
Bad?”
Little lines formed along Wen's mother's forehead.

Wen gazed longingly at the clothes but said nothing. All she could see was Shu Ling in the ragged nightgown.

Her mother tried another card. “
Ni shen ti hao ma?
What's the matter, Wen?”

Wen saw her mother's eyes pleading for an answer.

How could she explain that she liked the clothes so much, her very own clothes? How could she explain that Shu Ling should have them too, and if Shu Ling couldn't have them, neither could she? Wen sat on her bed, making little pleats in her skirt.

“Wen,
hao ba
? OK?” Wen's mother brushed the thick bangs from Wen's eyes.

Wen nodded. She buried her chin in her sweater and pulled away.

Later, in the afternoon, Wen's mother led her to the bathtub and turned on the faucet. In amazement, Wen saw steaming water gush into the tub.

“
Xi zao.
Bath.” Beside her, her mother picked up a bar of soap and pretended to rub herself. Wen shrank back. She had never taken a bath. The gleaming white basin in front of her was too long and too shiny, and the water was too deep.

Her mother squirted some blue liquid from a bottle and bubbles burst on the water's surface. Kicking off her shoe, her mother put her foot in the tub. The water stopped below her knee.

“
Hao ba
. It's OK.” Her mother pulled her foot out of the water. “
Hao ba
for Wen.”

Her mother gave Wen the bar of soap, then flipped through her cards. “
Yi hui jian,”
she read. “See you in a little while.” She closed the door behind her.

Wen dipped her bare foot in the hot water. As she pulled out her foot, now dripping, she hesitated. Was that enough to count as a bath?

Cautiously, she took off her clothes, stepped into the foam, and sat. Perfumed bubbles burst around her. Wen stretched her legs along the tub's smooth bottom and let herself slip deeper, until fragrant foam reached her chin.

At the orphanage, Wen and Shu Ling had taken weekly showers along with the other girls in the tiny shower stall. Sometimes girls gawked at Shu Ling's foot and snickered. One day, two new girls had taunted,
Cripple,
cripple
. Wen strode through the pelting water and told them to shut up.

The next shower day, while the others slept, Wen led Shu Ling to the kitchen, filled a basin, and brought out a bar of yellow laundry soap. Standing, Shu Ling scrubbed herself until she couldn't reach beyond the top of her bad leg. As Wen stooped to wash the shrunken and twisted part of Shu Ling's leg, they heard footsteps coming down the hall.

“Quick.” Wen helped Shu Ling to the floor and they hid behind the sink. From behind the pipes, Wen saw strict Auntie Mu Hong in the doorway. Shaking her head, Auntie Mu Hong clucked disapprovingly, then disappeared.

Oh, no!
Auntie Mu Hong would tell Director Feng, and he'd mark down in their files that they'd been caught disobeying. Everyone knew that when Director Feng sent names of kids to be adopted in America, he never chose the ones who broke rules. Wen and Shu Ling clung together behind the sink, their eyes joined in fear.

Then Auntie Mu Hong came back, her finger to her lips, and slipped a bottle into Wen's hands. “The lotion will make Shu Ling's leg feel good,” Auntie Mu Hong whispered. Then she turned away and closed the kitchen door, so nobody would see.

That evening at dinner, Auntie Mu Hong announced that for medical reasons, Shu Ling would bathe separately from then on.

Wen sat upright in the scented bubbles. Who would wash Shu Ling now? Instantly, the bubbles smelled too strong and the foam made her eyes sting.

Wen stepped out of the water and wrapped herself in a big towel. Back in her bedroom, as she dried herself and put on her old clothes, Wen banged her heel on the trundle bed under her own bed.

Bed number two,
she thought.
I have an extra bed.

That was it. She'd ask her own family to adopt Shu Ling! Shu Ling could sleep on the extra bed.

Wen envisioned waking up every morning and rousing Shu Ling.
“Ni zao,”
she'd say. “Good morning.”

And every single day, Shu Ling would open her eyes, yawn, and say,
“Ni zao, mei mei.”

Wen started to work out her plan. She would be very good, the best daughter ever. She would do extra chores. She wouldn't eat so much food. She'd be very nice to Emily. Her parents would think about what a wonderful daughter they'd picked. And when she was sure that they wouldn't send her back, she'd ask them to adopt Shu Ling, too.

Wen knew she wouldn't even need much English, when the time came. She'd point everything out, to be sure her mother and father understood. She'd bring them to the extra bed and hold up two fingers. Enough beds. Next she'd pull out a drawer of new clothes and show them. Enough clothes. Then she'd lead her parents to the kitchen and open the refrigerator. Enough food.

Her mother and father would see that they had plenty of room and plenty of clothes and plenty of food—plenty of everything. They would say yes.

Then Wen recalled the story of An Fei.

When An Fei was seven, a family from America had come for her. An Fei's mother and father gave her a teddy bear and hung a silver locket with a photo of their family around her neck. They clasped her tight and said, “We are your forever family.” Then An Fei drove away with her new parents.

A week later, a jeep stopped in front of the orphanage and An Fei stepped out. Director Feng called for Auntie Lan Lan to show An Fei back to her old bed. That afternoon, An Fei banged her head against the cement wall until two aunties had to hold her down. Then she lay on her cot and sobbed so loud that every kid in the orphanage heard.

Wen asked Auntie Lan Lan what had happened. Wasn't An Fei adopted anymore?

And Auntie Lan Lan had replied, “No. Disrupted adoption.” An Fei's parents had given her back.

“How could those people just give her back?” Wen had asked Auntie Lan Lan.

Auntie Lan Lan replied that An Fei had been a bad girl, not grateful enough. She didn't obey and sometimes she got so mad, she stamped her feet and yelled. And once, when she didn't get what she wanted, she locked herself in her hotel bedroom and wouldn't come out. She never even made it to America.

Then Auntie Lan Lan took Wen's hands and said that there was one thing to know: gratitude. If she ever got picked for adoption, she would be a very lucky girl. She always must be very grateful to the family who chose her. Otherwise, the family might give her back.