I was nervous and tense. My doubts had grown when my friend’s face had failed to appear in newspapers. There were photos of Mao and Nixon shaking hands. And Madame Mao, her big, wide mouth smiling like a white sailboat. But no Pearl. Was I foolish to believe that she would be allowed to come?
“Is Pearl with Nixon or isn’t she?” I kept asking Carpenter Chan.
“I don’t know” was Chan’s reply.
I had been more than living for this moment. To me, it was as if my life depended on it. Now I was afraid. I imagined what Madame Mao might have done to keep Pearl out of China. Dick’s fate reminded me not to underestimate her power.
Yet I couldn’t stop hoping. I rose before dawn to climb the rolling hills. When I reached the top of a favorite hill where Pearl and I used to play, I lay on the grass and closed my eyes. The scent of jasmine drifted from below and brought back memories. I could see my friend’s clear blue eyes. She looked at me without speaking.
My tears welled up at the thought that we would be like two strangers. She might not even recognize me. Maybe she had simply forgotten me. But no, another voice spoke inside my head. “You will always be able to recognize each other.” We would pick up where we had left off. I would satisfy her every curiosity about China.
“Tell me how you followed Dick and what happened,” my friend would say. She knew that Dick had been Mao’s right-hand man.
Or maybe Pearl would not ask. She was not the kind to presume. She would have heard about Mao’s persecutions and would have wondered about Dick’s fate. In comparison to Hsu Chih-mo, Dick was hot in temper and strong in character. Although he had tried to ride the tiger, he was too honest for Mao. He didn’t even know when he had off ended Mao. The people of Chin-kiang thought that Dick deserved his tragic ending because he had followed Mao. Papa and Carpenter Chan had never understood Dick. His rejection of Christianity made him suspect to both men. But Dick was against all religions. Like Mao, Dick claimed himself godless. But he had ended up doing exactly what he hated, worshipping Mao.
Pearl was the only one who understood both Dick and me, the same way she understood China. Perhaps this was why Nixon had picked her to accompany him.
Pearl would not have forgotten Hsu Chih-mo. I was sure of that. But I would tell her that Hsu Chih-mo was a lucky man. By that, I meant that he was better off dead. Hsu Chih-mo would have suffered horribly if he had lived to see the Cultural Revolution. He would have ended up worse than Dick.
We were falling asleep waiting inside when we heard Carpenter Chan’s voice.
“They are gone!” He came through the door, gasping.
“Who’s gone?”
“The Americans.”
“Was Nixon here?” Rouge asked.
Carpenter Chan nodded, trying to recover his breath.
“We saw the foreigners,” Double Luck David said, “but the authorities took them away as fast as they came.”
“Where is Pearl?” I asked.
Carpenter Chan shook his head. “I am afraid that she didn’t come.”
I tried not to let the disappointment get to me. I composed myself and asked again, “Do you mean Pearl didn’t come to China, or do you mean she didn’t come to Chin-kiang?”
“Take a look at this.” Carpenter Chan produced a paper from his pocket. “It has Madame Mao’s signature on it.”
Miss Pearl Buck:
Your application for a visa was duly received. In light of the fact that for a long time you have in your works taken an attitude of distortion, smear, and vilification toward the people of New China and its leaders, I am authorized to inform you that we cannot accept your request for a visit to China.
In the past, families chose different couplets to decorate their door frames for the Chinese New Year. The most popular couplets focused on luck, health, and fortune. But this year, every family in Chin-kiang wanted the lines I tacked to my door.
The right side read: Mountains stay erect forever.
The left side read: No worry for getting firewood.
The horizontal top read: As long as it takes.
It was the town’s silent protest. It expressed our feelings for our friend in exile.
The next morning an unexpected message came: The American guests had requested another tour of Pearl Buck’s hometown. Carpenter Chan was instructed to order the people to tear down all the couplets as soon as possible.
But people were slow to act. By the time the Americans appeared, the families were still on their ladders trying to take down the couplets.
I forgot rules, warnings, and the possibility of imprisonment as I moved toward the center of the town.
The crowd followed me.
We didn’t see Pearl. We saw a big-nosed foreign man surrounded by guards. He must be Nixon, we figured. Nixon was talking to people, perhaps asking what they were doing. People had stunned looks on their faces. With his big smile, Nixon asked the Chinese translator, a young woman, what the couplets said.
The translator looked frightened. She avoided explaining the meaning behind the couplets.
Nixon was confused and said that he had a lot to learn about Chinese culture.
Followed by the Chinese authorities, the police, and his American Secret Service agents, Nixon moved on.
We followed quietly at a distance. Rouge joined me. The crowd grew larger.
Nixon was led to his car. Before entering, he stopped as if he’d changed his mind. He turned to the translator and asked, “Do you by any chance know Pearl Buck?”
“No, I don’t,” the young woman replied quickly.
“Would you ask the crowd if anyone knew Pearl Buck?”
“I am sorry. I don’t think so.” The translator shook her head.
“Would you ask, for me?” Nixon pressed gently.
The translator grabbed the tail of her braided hair and sank her teeth into it. Her fear was obvious.
Nixon repeated the question.
The translator burst into tears. She stared into her notebook and forced out the words “It is beyond my duty.”
“Pearl Buck is a personal friend of mine,” Nixon said. “She grew up right here in Chin-kiang. She asked me to say hello to her friends. She wanted so much to come back . . .”
I could hear every word even from where I stood, a few yards away. My heart felt like it was bursting inside its chamber.
Receiving no response from the translator, Nixon turned to the crowd and asked, “Do any of you know Pearl Buck?”
A dead silence was the response.
The government’s shadow hung like a thick black cloud over our heads.
“I am sorry,” Nixon said, nodding. He stepped back and turned again toward his car.
“Wait a moment, Mr. President,” Rouge called out. “My mother does.”
“Your mother?” Nixon was delighted.
“Yes, my mother. She knew Pearl Buck, and she is right here.” Rouge pushed me toward Nixon.
Nixon stepped between the Chinese guards and stopped in front of me before anyone could react. The guards looked confused. It was obvious they didn’t know how to respond, how to stop him. Nixon’s Secret Service agents stayed close to their president, so the Chinese agents couldn’t get near him.
“So you know Pearl Buck?” Nixon asked.
“So does everyone here,” I said in English. “Not only did we know Pearl, but we knew her father, Absalom, and her mother, Carie . . . Pearl and I grew up together.” I stopped, trying desperately to press back my tears.
“How wonderful that you speak English!” Nixon’s face lit up. “What is your name?”
“My mother’s name is Willow Yee,” Rouge spoke.
“Richard Nixon.” The American president offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, Willow Yee.”
The moment I touched his hand, my tears poured. The reality that I might never see Pearl again caught up with me.
“What is the meaning of the couplets?” Nixon asked. “And why are they being taken down?”
/> “Mountains stay erect forever means that our hearts continue to pray for Pearl’s return,” I answered. “No worry for getting firewood means that we don’t worry because opportunities will come our way again. As long as it takes means we have faith in God.”
“Good couplets!” Nixon nodded. “Now everything makes sense to me.”
“Mr. President, why isn’t Pearl with you?” voices in the crowd asked. “Why didn’t she come?”
“Well, folks,” Nixon said, smiling, “all I can tell you is that Pearl really wanted to come. Trust me, she did everything she could. Absolutely everything!”
“Please help make her visit happen, President Nixon,” I pleaded. “For Pearl and for all of us.”
“Please try, Mr. American President,” the crowd echoed.
“I will,” Nixon said, and we heard the sincerity in his voice.
Knowing exactly what might await me once Nixon was gone, I spoke my last words. “President Nixon, would you tell Pearl that her friend Willow misses her and the entire town of Chin-kiang misses her?”
“You have my word.” Nixon bit his lower lip and made the promise.
The moment Nixon and his guards moved on, the government agents arrested me.
“Madame Mao has authorized me to take charge of this case,” Vanguard said. “Your days are numbered!”
I was charged with four crimes. First, for insulting Madame Mao. Second, for exposing national secrets to Nixon. Third, for degrading China with couplets. Fourth, and the worst, for being a “planted agent” of Pearl Buck’s.
I did not feel defeated. Instead, I luxuriated in the memory of my encounter with Nixon. I imagined him returning home and meeting with Pearl. I imagined him describing his experience. Pearl would be pleased. She would say, “Willow. Of course I know her. She was my best friend.”
The prison was called Donkey’s Crotch by the inmates. The area was desolate and rocky and covered with snow year-round. The inmates were forced to do hard labor before their execution. Because of my age, I was given a job making straw mats for the other prisoners. The mats were used to wrap the dead. Since they didn’t have to make coffins, it saved wood. The mats were in short supply, so I was ordered to work long hours. I had to make ten a day or starve. It was impossible to complete the task, so I starved. The prison also limited the inmates’ water usage. Each inmate was allowed a half cup a day for drinking. There was no water for washing.
I had no idea how Nixon found out about my imprisonment. Pearl must have insisted that he check on me. She knew how cruel Madame Mao could be and must have sensed that I might be in trouble. Pearl must have convinced Nixon not to trust any information provided by the Chinese government regarding my safety. Nixon’s aides must have inquired about me. They must have eventually learned about my imprisonment from Rouge. Premier Chou En-lai must have gone to Mao with Nixon’s request regarding my release. He must have received Mao’s permission to let me go. If Madame Mao might have ignored Premier Chou En-lai’s request, she wouldn’t disobey Mao. What counted was that Mao needed Nixon to be on his side in order to keep Russia from starting a war with China.
After nine months in prison, I was free to go home.
CHAPTER 34
Cameras followed her as she moved like a famous actress. In her sixties, Madame Mao shined like a superstar. She was in a crisply pressed green army uniform with two mini red flags on both of her lapels. The matching green cap held in all her hair. Standing between her husband and Nixon, she smiled broadly. Her head turned left and right as she laughed and nodded. Viewers of this documentary film would get the impression that it was not Mao but Madame Mao who had invited Nixon to China. The climax of the film came when Madame Mao led the Americans to the grand national theater. There, she presented her propaganda ballet The Women of the Red Detachment. The crowd roared her name.
For the next four years, the people of Chin-kiang were forced to watch this film as part of the punishment called “mind reform.” Chin-kiang was cut off from the outside world. I had no idea that history was about to change.
In January 1976, Premier Chou En-lai died. Rumor said that the man had spent his last days pleading for Mao to end the Cultural Revolution. He tried to convince Mao that to save the economy was to save the public’s respect for the Communist Party. Chou En-lai suggested that his replacement be the former vice premier Deng Xiaoping, who had been in exile for years. Mao didn’t listen. He insisted on carrying on the revolution. Nobody was aware that Mao himself was reaching the end of his life. Madame Mao, on the other hand, figured that her time had finally come, and she positioned herself to take power after her husband.
Like everyone else, I was forced to attend the self-criticism meetings. I was eighty-six years old. I followed the crowd and shouted slogans. Inside my mind, I continued to cherish my dreams. I did not desire longevity. It was just a way of life for me to indulge in my past. I had no idea that Pearl had quietly passed away in 1973, less than a year after her request for a visa to China had been rejected.
One morning in October, Bumpkin Emperor went about the town striking his gong and shouting, “Down with Madame Mao and her gang!”
We all thought that he had gone mad.
What was unusual was that Vanguard didn’t come out to arrest Bumpkin Emperor.
“Madame Mao has been overthrown!” Bumpkin Emperor continued. “Deng Xiaoping has taken power!” Bumpkin Emperor tried to convince the people that he was not crazy, but nobody believed him.
A week later an official announcement came from Beijing. What Bumpkin Emperor had told us was true. Madame Mao and her gang had indeed been arrested and were in prison. All her victims, including the people of Chin-kiang, were liberated.
Vanguard was tossed aside as if he were Madame Mao’s trash. My daughter, Rouge, was appointed by the new regime to replace him. Rouge was offered an instant membership in the Communist Party. The decision came from the top. It was the Communist Party’s way to compensate our family for the loss of Dick. Rouge’s only condition was that she be allowed to keep her Christian faith. Papa would have been proud of his granddaughter.
The excitement produced an unexpected tragedy. Carpenter Chan had a stroke after getting drunk during the celebration. He was laughing when it happened. The smile froze on his face. His grandchildren thought he was playing dead with them. They kept pinching his nose. By the time the doctor arrived, it was too late.
The first thing Rouge did as the town’s new boss was hold Carpenter Chan’s funeral. The ceremony took place in the same church he had built for Absalom half a century ago. In his will, Carpenter Chan named Bumpkin Emperor as the next pastor for the Chin-kiang Christian Church.
I sat behind the rows of benches and watched the wide-eyed children. Although their parents had been members of Papa’s guerrilla church for years, this was the first time they had been able to worship openly as a Christian family. Also, it was the first time the church had officially opened its doors in decades. Curious people poured in just to look.
Over the years, we had lost Carie’s piano. But Carie’s songs had survived and been passed on through generations. The children were fascinated by the modern tape player. It played Christmas melodies Lilac had bought from a Hong Kong tourist. “Amazing Grace” remained the all-time favorite.
I closed my eyes as I followed along with the lyrics. I could feel the spirits of Carie, Absalom, and Pearl. I smiled when I remembered how the wood beams had sprouted and how Pearl and I had watched the butterflies coming in and out of the windows while Absalom preached.
Bumpkin Emperor was not a natural when it came to preaching. He tried hard to imitate Papa. “I can’t find words to describe my happiness in serving the Lord,” he said. “That I read from the Bible translated by the founding father of this church, Mr. Absalom Sydenstricker, is a great honor.”
The new regime sought to open the doors to the outside world.
Overnight, Chin-kiang became the focus of the media because of its connectio
n to Pearl Buck.
In 1981, the government granted funds to restore the Pearl Buck Residence in Chin-kiang, although Pearl’s family had lived in it for only a short time. The original bungalow, at the lower end of the town, where Pearl had grown up, was long gone. During the seventies, concrete Russian-style buildings had filled the landscape where it once stood. Though many opposed her, Rouge fought to honor Absalom and Carie as the original founders of the Chin-kiang middle school and the Chin-kiang hospital.
My life changed dramatically. I was protected by the government as “living history.” I was respected and preserved as a “national treasure” and was given many privileges as if I were a baby panda. I moved to a senior home reserved for high-ranking party officials. Doctors were available for me around the clock. To further please me, the government ordered Pearl Buck’s books directly from America. I was given a pair of new glasses plus a magnifier to help me with reading. I sobbed through The Good Earth, The Exile, and Fighting Angel. I felt Pearl’s affection for China on every page. I imagined her frustration and loneliness when she cried, “My Chinese roots must die!” She had more money than she could spend, but she couldn’t buy one ounce of Madame Mao’s mercy.
“Mother,” Rouge said, “my position in the party allows me to see that you get one last wish before your life ends. Name it, and I will see that it is done.”
I already knew the answer. “I would like to visit Pearl Buck’s grave in America.”
Rouge smiled. “I thought you would say that.”
Rouge had inherited her grandfather’s sense of practicality. Although she was not moved by power, she was aware of what power could do. Rouge outlined a proposal regarding my wish to visit America. She made it sound like my visit would benefit the Communist Party.
I worried about rejection when I applied for the passport. Like everyone in China, I understood that when the government spoke about an open-door policy, it didn’t mean that common people were allowed to travel abroad freely, especially to America. The shadow of persecution for having any contact with foreigners still weighed heavily on my mind.