英语书籍：Lucky Girl（节选五 The End)

英语书籍：Lucky Girl（节选五 The End） 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 5 of 5)
======================================

The conversation was chaotic. I tried to extract as much information
as I could even though we could barely understand each other.
Sisters and brothers-in-law passed the phone to each other, one
after another. I could not keep track of whom I was talking to, even
though I tried to take notes. In the end, the conversation went
something like this:

"So many your sisters want talk to you," a man said. "We got your
pictures. They are very pretty. You are beautiful."

"You all are, too!"

Change of callers. "I am your sister."

"Hello," I said, laughing nervously.

"You look like me," she said. "Do you receive our fax?"

"Yes," I said. "Where are you?"

"Taitung. All of us sister go home to visit Chinese New Year.
Tomorrow we must go to work. Do you work today?"

"Yes, it's not a holiday here," I said.

"Do you want to hear Papa's voice? He cannot speak English."

"Okay..." I started to say, but the phone was already changing
hands.

A man said, "'Ni hao,'" which means "hello."

"'Ni hao,'" I said. At least I could say that much, because my
parents had named my childhood cat Ni Hao (pronounced nee-how).

He said something else, but I did not understand. Shocked and dazed,
I laughed again, not knowing what else to do. 'My father...' another
sister grabbed the phone.

"He want to see your visit," she said. "Do you heard of Taipei?"

"Yes," I said.

"There is also Hsinchu, where I live. I live near airport in Taipei.
I am elder sis-tah. I am thirty-five," said Jin-Feng, my oldest
sister. "Mama want to hear your voice. You want to talk Mama?"

"Okay..."

Mumbling, rustling, laughing in the background.

"'Mei-Ling-ah! Wo shi nida mama.'"

"'Ni hao!'" I said, giggling again. I heard the frantic excitement
in her voice and felt a catch, a longing in my chest. I wanted to
savor the moment--one that I never expected to happen--but it was
pushed aside by the next sister. "She say she is your mother. She
is happy! Mama can't speak English ...Papa want to see a recent
picture. That picture you send was two years ago."

"Okay," I said.

More shrieking laughter in the background.

"You want come Taiwan? We hope you can come Taiwan. You want come
Taiwan? We want to see you now. We plan together in April...To
memory our past grandmother...You do the best to come. We can all be
together."

"Sure," I said, caught up in the moment.

"You fax a letter with your travel plans," she said. "It's very nice
hearing our news and hear your voice. We see you soon. We are
missing you. Bye!"

"Okay, bye." Click.

I hung up and shook my head as if I had just been bonked with a big
dodgeball. I just heard the voices of my birth parents, my sisters,
and who-knows-who-else for the first time. It had happened so
quickly, in such a blur. I was breathless and giddy, unsure of what
I was feeling. What an odd thing to be treated with such
familiarity. We had giggled out of excitement, nervousness, and
frustration over the language barrier.

'Wild. They called me Wang Mei-Ling.' I had just told them I would
try to visit them in Taiwan, didn't I?

What was I getting myself into?


The letters, e-mail, and faxes continued. I could tell the Wangs
wanted desperately to meet me, to be reassured that they had done
the right thing so long ago.

"I have to tell you that we all love you very much. Father send you
to your adopted parents for some reasons. I think you do not blame
him, do you?" wrote Jin-Zhi, another older sister. I didn't, but I
had hoped to take my time getting to know them, to advance slowly
into these uncharted waters.

However, my Chinese family had only one speed: 'kuai.' Fast. "Come
home," they pleaded.

My American parents were nothing but supportive. In fact, they
encouraged me to pursue the relationship. My dad later told me, "We
knew this was not the end of our chapter in your life; it was just
the beginning of a new one."

Yet I had misgivings. Taiwan was not my home. My biological parents
and I were joined by blood and I willingly called them Mother and
Father, and myself their daughter, but we did not know each other. I
did not speak Taiwanese or Mandarin, their native languages. We may
share genes, but we came from different cultures, different worlds.
Sure, a reunion might be joyous, therapeutic, and moving.

But there was always the chance that I would return to the place of
my birth and see my face in their faces, but we would make no
connection. Or even worse, the blissful slumber would have been
broken, the Pandora's box of the House of Wang would fly open and
the ghosts of regret and sorrow would spew forth. As a reporter, I
understood how tragic family secrets could be once unleashed. I knew
that asking questions could open wounds and disrupt the course of
once-peaceful lives. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. Sometimes
there are puzzles better left unsolved, so that life can be allowed
to heal and move on. Yet my own mystery seemed to be unraveling at
breakneck speed--no matter what I had to say about it.

Some people spend their whole lives trying to uncover, understand,
or escape from their pasts. Mine rose up like a dragon, fast and
furious. And I was blissfully ignorant, a sleeping ox about to be
discovered--and devoured.


CHAPTER TWO
'THE BIRTH OF A FAMILY'

'Kinmen Island, August 1958'

Wang Xi stood in the courtyard of his family home in the village of
Xi Yuan (West Garden) making tofu, following the ritual he knew by
heart.

During the hot summer months, the teenager woke up early, well
before sunrise. He soaked fresh soybeans for four to five hours
and then boiled them. He pulverized the swollen bean casings and
separated the curds of soy milk. He strained the goopy mixture
through a piece of cheesecloth, stirred in a thickener called
'shigaofen' and covered it with a lid. An hour or two later, he
poured the beans into a mold where the mixture would harden.

Tofu was the lifeblood of the Wang family; they made their living
selling it to villagers and soldiers. Their customers ate it raw,
dried, or deep-fried. They liked to eat boiled bean curd in the
morning, with bits of scallions and soy sauce, or sprinkle tofu
cubes in fish soup. Some liked to snack on pressed tofu or strips
boiled in special sauces, such as a strong tea or a mixture of
cinnamon, cumin, and cloves. Others liked tofu soaked in the
fermented brine of vegetables or seafood, served with a spicy sauce.
A good bowl smelled not unlike garbage rotting in the sun.

Standing over an old wooden table, the mundane task seemed custom-
made for daydreaming. A teenager like Xi could easily get lost in
his thoughts, in fantasies, like one day starting a business that
would earn lots of money and end his family's need to walk in flimsy
sandals from village to village hawking tofu, cucumbers, onions, and
peanuts. Perhaps he would even build a grand house and own an
automobile. He'd choose a good wife who would take care of him and
his parents during the days and heat his bed during the nights. She
would have many children, and most certainly boys. The first son
would be thick and healthy, with a voice of steel, crying like an
emperor on the day he is born. They would be brilliant parents, and
unlike himself, his children would finish school, maybe even
college, and go on to work in jobs that earned in one month, a
hundred, even a thousand times what he earned in a year. They would
be smart, ambitious, and passionate like him, but above all
obedient. One day the young man hoped he would be a worthy father.


Hardcover: Read ends on page 20.