英语书籍：Lucky Girl（节选三）

英语书籍：Lucky Girl（节选三）ZT

=====Lucky Girl=====================

LUCKY GIRL
by Mei-Ling Hopgood (nonfiction)
Published by Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill
ISBN: 9781565126008
Copyright (c) 2009 by Mei-Ling Hopgood
LUCKY (Part 3 of 5)
======================================

Perhaps one day I might like to know more about these figures from
my past and the reasons they made the decisions that they did. One
day. But not today.

I thanked Maureen for the suggestion but told her I'd have to think
about it.

"Maybe if you want to write to the hospital in Taitung," I
suggested, "just to see if the nurses know where my family is? But
not to contact them...Just to see..." I said.

Because my response was less than enthusiastic, Maureen decided to
wait. Not long afterward, I left Detroit, chased away by a labor
strike at my newspaper. I moved to St. Louis and started another
reporting job. I had a great group of fun friends. We were young and
ambitious, spending our days dissecting other people's stories, but
I still had little interest in digging into my own.

In late 1996 I was jotting down a holiday note to Maureen when I
remembered our conversation from the year before. I wondered if she
had ever written to St. Mary's to confirm the whereabouts of my
family. I casually asked, "Did you ever write to the hospital?"

Maureen interpreted my question as a request: 'Write to the
hospital.' And she did.


Barely a month later, on January 26, 1997, I was folding phyllo
dough into triangles, getting ready for a cocktail party at my
apartment in the Central West End neighborhood of St. Louis. I had
fussed over a simple menu: bagel chips with hummus, veggies,
spanikopita, quiches, dips and chips, the usual party fare. The
house reeked of slightly burnt cooking oil, and my kitchen was a
mess. Pans, knives, opened packages, strips of phyllo dough, and cut
vegetables were piled on my counter. My dog waited expectantly at my
feet, hoping to profit from the disorder and my general sympathy for
her forlorn face. I planned to play jazzy tunes, serve martinis, and
wear a short purple velvet dress bought at a secondhand store. We
would talk some shop--lamenting missed deadlines and dreadful
assignments--but mostly we would laugh and tell stories about crazy
politicians, bad dates, about our families and our quirky midwestern
hometowns.

I was far behind schedule, frantic, and covered in flour, when the
phone rang. I wiped my sticky fingers on a towel and grabbed the
receiver.

"Hello?"

It was Maureen.

"Mei-Ling," she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. "I have a
letter from the hospital."

A nun at St. Mary's had sent her information about my birth family.

"Both mother and father are from Kinmen. The father is fifty-nine
years old, while the mother is fifty-four," Maureen read. "The
occupation of the father is a farmer. Mother, a housewife."

The letter recited a laundry list of dry statistics with no names
from a family on the other side of the world: "First female,
married, a government-employed researcher..." In all, there were
seven siblings in Taiwan, six sisters and one brother whom they had
adopted. One more daughter, the youngest, had been given up for
adoption to a couple in Switzerland.

I froze, leaning hard on my kitchen counter.

'My mother and father? My sisters and brother?'

Maureen read on: "The father is excited to see Mei-Ling. He is
inviting her if she could come on Chinese New Year, which will be on
February 7, 1997. He said the children do come at this time." He had
included a business card and a self-addressed envelope.

"Can you believe it?" she asked

I couldn't--I was shocked. I think I said something like "Wow!
That's amazing."

Still, I didn't want this strange news to crowd my busy life. There
were too many unknowns, and deep down I was a little afraid of being
too curious. I preferred 'not' caring about my biological past. What
if I was disappointed or hurt by what I discovered? Maureen told me
she'd forward me the letter, and we could decide what to do next.

Dazed and unbelieving, I called my parents. They were excited and
eager to know more. I recounted the story again to friends who came
over that night. We oohed and ahhed, and speculated about what it
all might mean. An Asian American colleague pointed out that my
family had appeared at the turn of the Chinese Year of the Ox, in
which we both were born.

"They waited until our year to find you," she marveled. We raised
our glasses and toasted this revelation. I felt elated and strange,
with only a vague sense that much of what I knew about who I was and
what I believed about my past and future was about to change.


I arrived home from a business trip in Kansas City a few days later.
My Chinese Shar-Pei, Delilah, greeted me with her customary dance of
twists and turns and tail wags. I stretched one hand down to pat her
wrinkles, still wearing my coat. I shuffled absent-mindedly through
the mail and then reached over and pushed the button on the
answering machine sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter.

'Beep.'

It was Maureen, breathless with news again. She had another letter,
this time from one of my sisters. She read it to my machine:

'Dear Mei-Ling,'

'How are you for these years? We are missing you. When we know your
news we are very glad. And especially Father and Mother. I'm your
elder sister. Father and Mother want to see you in a hurry. They
hope you can come back Taiwan in New Year 97. Father say he want to
buy the ticket for you if you want to come Taiwan so if you receive
my letter please reply as soon as to me. We expect your good news.'

'Your elder sister, Joanna'


This was all happening so fast. These people were threatening to
jump off of the page and into my life.

Maureen sent me the original letter from Joanna, my second-oldest
sister, whose actual name is Jin-Qiong. My sister had written on
rice paper that crinkled to touch, delicate and exotic. The envelope
was written in Chinese, except for the words 'Taitung, Taiwan.'

About a week later, I received another letter from another sister.
In that envelope were tucked a few photographs. I pulled them out
and examined them closely, holding the photos not far from my nose
to get a good look at each person. I scrutinized eyes, faces, lips,
and bodies. Who was taller? Who was prettier? Who looked the most
like me, my mother or father? Which sister? Some of the pictures
were old, dating back to my last days in Taiwan, variations of those
I had seen at the home of Sister Maureen almost two years earlier.
Those baby photos did not surprise or move me this time, but the
more recent photos did--especially a family portrait taken at the
wedding of one my sisters.