I roll over and cry into my pillow, hoping no one will hear my misery. That thought moves in a new and even sadder direction: perhaps they hear me but don’t care enough to inquire if they can do anything to help. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. I won’t allow them to see me ache. I won’t allow them to see me suffer.
PART III
THE OUTSIDE WORLD
1996–2006
Selected e-mail correspondence over eight years from Constance Davis to her mother
November 24, 1996
Mom,
Haley’s first birthday party was a huge success. A true celebration of life, good health, and thankfulness. I wish you and Dad had been here.
Haley’s doing extremely well. What a difference it makes to read Goodnight Moon in her room instead of in the hospital! And you should see Dan. He’s got her in the backyard all the time, talking to her about trees, as though she understands every word he says. We’re so happy. She’s a miracle that’s come to make our lives joyous. I wish she’d sleep a little, though. What an insomniac! (I can practically hear you laughing. What goes around comes around.)
I don’t know how I would have gotten through the past months without your help and support. I bet Dad’s glad to have you home, but I sure miss you.
Constance
* * *
September 20, 1997
Mom,
We’ve joined a group called Families with Children from China—just in time for us to celebrate the Moon Festival. Everyone in FCC has adopted baby girls from China, now ranging in age from a few months to around ten years old. There are another four families with daughters Haley’s age. Seeing the way the kids’ eyes light up when they see each other makes me realize that Haley—and we—will never be alone. I’m so grateful for this community, because I now know we’ve got a rougher road ahead of us than we imagined.
A policeman came up to me the other day and asked what I was doing with Haley. He thought I was a kidnapper! I was totally shocked. Then he tried to make up for his mistake by asking if I had any children of my own. Haley is my own! I’ve already told you how total strangers ask, “Where did you get her?” like she’s a purse or something. And you should hear what people have said to some of the other moms.
“Are you the babysitter?”
“Does this one belong to you? I thought she might be lost.”
“How much did she cost?”
“Is it hard for you to love her when she doesn’t look like you?”
People can be so cruel and unthinking. But here’s what bothers me the most. Haley doesn’t yet realize what they’re saying, but she will. What will I tell her then? How will I comfort her? She’ll always know she was adopted, because she doesn’t look like us. I don’t want her to be hurt. We went through so much to get her. And all the medical stuff. We almost lost her five times. If I punch out some dope in Trader Joe’s, will you come and bail me out? (Just kidding. Or not. We’ll see.)
I’m really missing you right now.
Constance
* * *
June 3, 1998
Hi, Mom,
Sorry I haven’t answered your e-mails, but I’ve been bogged down with end-of-the-year stuff—grading finals, writing recommendation letters, etc. Dan’s also been busy. It feels like half the women in Pasadena have been calling him to deal with a new invasive mite from Mexico that’s attacking everyone’s citrus trees. Haley tags along with Dan everywhere he goes. She’s inherited his love of trees. There’s magic in that, don’t you think? (I know. I know. I’m a scientist. But still . . .)
Now that Dad’s fully retired, why don’t you move out here? Maine is so far away. Don’t you want to see your granddaughter grow up?
Constance
* * *
October 31, 1999
Dear Mom,
Today Haley’s preschool celebrated Halloween. The other girls did all the usual things—princesses and the like—but Haley wanted to be an astronaut. She said, “Girls can be astronauts too, Mom!” I’m so proud of her! (See attached photo.)
Hugs and kisses to you and Dad,
Constance
* * *
March 15, 2000
Mom,
Haley’s having a recurrence of her C. diff. Dr. Katz has been great. Dr. Siegel too. We’re all working really hard to keep her from having to be admitted to the hospital again. God damn superbug. Oh, Mom, it’s just so scary.
Constance
* * *
August 21, 2001
Dear Mom,
You’re always so astute. In your last e-mail you asked if I was worried about something. You know me. I can always worry. And I worry best and deepest about Haley. She’s just a couple of weeks away from starting kindergarten. She already recognizes her letters, can read a few words, and knows how to write her name. I feel really good about all that. Her November birthday meant she couldn’t start kindergarten until she was two months away from turning six, so she’ll be on the older side. Dan says it’s for the best. He’s concerned about her size, since she’s so tiny. Dr. Katz doubts she’s small from all the medical setbacks she had starting out. He thinks maybe her parents were small. But we’ll never know for sure, will we?
But here’s what I’m anxious about. Haley doesn’t look like other Chinese kids. We’ve been in FCC for four years now, so we have the other adoptees to compare her to. And the way things are changing in the San Gabriel Valley? We see lots of Chinese children, and Haley doesn’t look like any of them either. She’s darker for one thing, her nose isn’t as flat as theirs, and her eyes are shaped more like leaves than almonds. We went out for dim sum last weekend, and a Chinese woman walked up to Haley and asked, “Where did you come from? Mongolia?” The comment went over Haley’s head, thank God. I know what it’s like to be teased in school, and I’m scared Haley will get picked on for her size and how she looks—not only by whites (although everyone says she’s adorable), but by the Chinese kids in her class who’ll notice she’s different than they are.
Advice please!
Constance
* * *
November 19, 2002
Hi, Mom,
Did you and Dad have a nice Thanksgiving? I wish you could have come out and celebrated with us. Dan took us to the Raymond Restaurant. Haley chitter-chattered the whole time. She’s so talkative!
It’s hard to believe she’s already in first grade. I had thought she was advanced, but she wasn’t nearly as prepared as the other Chinese kids. Haley and I have spent the weekends and vacations working to catch up. I can’t say this to anyone else, but I can brag about your granddaughter to you. Now she’s the best at math in her class! Want to know what her teacher said to me the other day? “She might even outdo you one day, Mrs. Davis, and win a Nobel Prize.” Wouldn’t that be a kick?
I almost forgot to mention how well Haley’s doing with her violin lessons. Thank you so much for suggesting the idea. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that just because Dan and I aren’t musical doesn’t mean Haley wouldn’t be either. Who knows? Instead of a Nobel Prize, maybe she’ll become the next Sarah Chang.
Constance
* * *
October 12, 2003
Oh, Mom,
The saddest thing has happened. I’ll call later, but if I write this out maybe it will help me get a better handle on the situation. Remember when I told you that all the kids in Mrs. Johnson’s second-grade class had to do a cross-disciplinary “roots” project, combining history, art, and geography? Dan and I spoke a lot with Haley about it. We showed her how far back she could go on both sides of her family. I didn’t think a single kid in her class had family here in colonial, Revolutionary, or Civil War times. (I was right.) Dan and I didn’t know which side she was going to choose—his family or ours. It was going to be a big surprise.
Today the class gave their presentation at the school assembly. Parents were snapping photos and shooting video when their kids got up to give their presentati
ons. And really, the children are smart, and their families are interesting too. Anyway, the assembly sped along, because the teacher’s aide held up the object each kid made to represent something the first immigrant in his family brought with him to this country, while the kid read two or three sentences from one side of a large piece of paper. The side facing the audience showed a map with an arrow pointing to the country of origin.
Finally it was Haley’s turn. The aide lifted above her head a drawing of the tea cake that came with Haley. Here’s what she wrote: I am the first person in my family to come here. I came from China. I brought a tea cake with me.
It was such a heartbreaking thing to hear. I love her so much, but will she never see herself as part of our family? We’ve tried to keep her connected to her Chinese background and we’ve always felt really good about that, but what if, instead of building her Chinese identity, it’s only served to make her feel separate from us and not 100 percent our daughter? I had to fight to keep myself from crying in front of everyone. Dan and I knew we had to talk to Haley. All the experts say to keep it simple, but honestly, Mom, I think we really messed up.
We divided the conversation into two parts. First, what we thought would be easy—the tea cake. We’ve never hidden it from her. In fact, we encouraged her to keep it in the bottom drawer of her dresser. Some mornings I find it in her bed, which means she’s gotten up in the middle of the night to pull it out and sleep with it. Well, not sleep. I always joke with Dan that Haley must still be on China time. The point is, she’s up at night looking at it. I’ve even seen her trace the characters and decorations on the wrapper with her finger. You remember what it looks like, don’t you? There are V’s like cartoon birds, those repeating lines like S’s, another stroke that meanders uninterrupted all over the place, and that thing that looks like a fork drawn in the center. More than once, Haley’s said to me, “The squiggly lines have to mean something, but what?” Dan and I tried to find out when we first got her, but no one could tell us. Tonight, it was hard because Haley kept repeating, “My mother is sending me a message.” My mother? I’m her mother. Oh, Mom, it hurt so much, but I ache even more for Haley. I mean, what if I didn’t have you in my life? You made me the woman, wife, and mother I am. Haley has Dan and me, but knowing your mother—your parents—gave you away must be . . . what? A heavy burden? A hole in the heart that can’t be filled? A universe of unknowns? I can’t stop weeping at the sorrow of it, but in the moment I just kept repeating how much I love her.
The second part of our discussion went even worse. No matter how many times we said that we were a family and that she was our daughter, Haley came back with “But I am the first person in my family to come here.” Her logic is correct, and I’m proud of her for that. But her insistence really stung and she must have seen something in my face even though I was trying as hard as I could to be supportive and loving, because she asked, “Are you going to send me back?” It was a crushingly sad thing to hear. We spent the rest of the evening trying to convince her that we’d never send her back. How many times can we say “You’re our daughter. We’re a family” before she believes it? Not enough apparently, because last night she just kept sinking deeper and deeper into her chair. She must feel like she let us down, but how could she ever think we’d send her back? What more can we do to make her understand how much we love her? That she is and always will be a part of our family? That she is what makes us a family?
I’ve gone on too long. Maybe I should have called, after all. Let’s talk when you get home. Hearing your voice . . . I need to be strong for my daughter as you’ve always been strong for me.
Constance
* * *
November 1, 2004
Dear Mom,
We’re still going to FCC events. Right now Haley’s taking a Chinese brush-painting class. The girls have been practicing painting bamboo leaves and flowers. (Don’t be surprised if you see some of her artwork at Christmas.) Master Lee also does calligraphy, so I thought, Let’s show him the tea cake. Haley so loved the idea that I couldn’t help beating myself up a bit for not thinking of it sooner.
We showed the tea cake to Master Lee. He studied all the designs, while Haley stared at him hopefully. Finally, he pronounced in his heavy accent, “They’re meaningless.” Another disappointment. The only useful thing he said is that tea aficionados—did you know there was such a thing?—like to take tea cakes on pilgrimages to their places of origin. Now not five minutes pass without Haley asking when we’re going to China to find the cake’s place of origin. Dan and I have always wanted to take Haley on a roots trip. There’s even a tour company that specializes in vacations for families like ours, but even if we go, how is she going to get any closer to finding where the tea cake came from? The only silver lining out of all this: Haley has taken it out of the drawer and put it on her dresser. It’s a huge step for all of us, although Dan and I have to play it cool.
As long as I’m here . . . You asked if you should bring Haley’s birthday presents to Colorado over Thanksgiving. (Nine years old! Can you believe it?) Wouldn’t it be easier if you mail the big things here to the house and she opens the small things at the ranch? She’s going to love the little chemistry set, microscope, and telescope you bought. She’ll say you’re the best grandparents ever, and you are.
Really looking forward to all of us being together.
Constance
P.S. You and Dad are really going to like this year’s Christmas card. It’s the best of Haley yet.
A DRINKABLE ANTIQUE
The light changes, and I zip through the intersection on my moped. I’ve just finished my shift at King World Hotel, where I work at the front desk, and I don’t want to embarrass the people who’ve arranged this interview by being late. At a stoplight, I glance at my reflection in the window of the car next to me. A flowered silk scarf protects my hair from the dust and exhaust. My pink blouse is clean and perfectly ironed. My skirt will have wrinkles from sitting, but I can’t do much about them. I don’t care for makeup, but hotel management likes us to wear it for our guests’ enjoyment, and I learned in my course on how to achieve a successful job interview that potential employers like it too. Luckily, my roommates have taught me about mascara, eyeliner, and eye shadow—just enough, not too gaudy. For lipstick, they prefer me in a shade of light coral. They say the color makes me look Han-majority pretty. That’s as high a compliment as I’m ever going to get as a member of an ethnic minority my roommates have never heard of.
I made so many resolutions on my journey here eight years ago, but I didn’t know a thing about anything. I promised A-ma I’d always follow Akha traditions, but these things I could only do in my heart, for I had no ruma, nima, or family to perform rituals or encourage me. (And Kunming didn’t have a spirit gate, village swing, or any building or place I could go to feel connected to or even sense my culture.) I needed to forget the tragedies of my past, but the only way to do that successfully was to build a brick wall around my heart. I arrived at the trade school thin from my deprivations in Thailand, but I lost even more weight because I didn’t have enough money to buy food in the cafeteria. When A-ma promised a monthly allowance of two hundred yuan, it seemed like a fortune. It was a fortune—as much as my family had lived on each month when I was little—but the girls in my dormitory each received eight hundred yuan every four weeks. When I ran out of money, I drew slowly from the bank account that was made up of the silver pieces I’d saved from my wedding headdress. After I sold the last of those, I practically lived on tea alone.
Most of my classmates saw me as a country bumpkin and the most tu person they’d ever met. They teased me when I performed a cleansing ritual to prevent myself from being paralyzed after the shadow of a crane in flight touched me. They made fun of me when I asked what was done to protect the dormitory from spirits. A few girls felt sorry for me and gave me advice. “Don’t worry so much,” one of them said. “We don’t have bad spirits here. And even if one enters Ku
nming, don’t let on to others you believe in them.” Slowly, I began to forget about spirits. It was my only choice.
If I was thankful to A-ma for my monthly stipend, I was even more indebted to her for the loose tea she gave to Teacher Zhang to mail to me in pretty homemade packets each spring. I gave these gifts to my teachers in the same way I once gave our humble homegrown tea to Teacher Zhang: as a sign of respect and gratitude. Those instructors are my friends to this day, and we still get together to drink tea—sometimes in one of their apartments, but mostly in tea shops. It is to them that I must give my thanks for this new opportunity. Yunnan Agricultural University here in Kunming is opening a Pu’er Tea College, and they’ve suggested me as a candidate.
“It is to be the first such program in the world,” Teacher Guo told me last week. “They’re going to offer two tracks: one to learn the art of tea—brewing and etiquette—to become a tea master; the other to become a tea evaluator—so you’ll be able to oversee tea production, as well as advise collectors and connoisseurs on what to buy. We’ve heard that over two thousand people have applied, but they’re accepting only sixty students for each program. When we were asked to recommend a pupil—present or past—we knew exactly who that would be: you, because you’re the only one we’ve taught who comes from the tea mountains.”
I pull through a gate, park in the open courtyard, and enter a nondescript building. I follow signs that read: INTERVIEWS THIS WAY. I’m one of fifty people in the waiting room. A woman with a clipboard calls applicants in one by one. Some of the interviews are as brief as ten minutes. I try not to be nervous. When my name is called, I follow the woman down a hallway painted pea green and into a large room, where a single chair faces a table with five examiners: two women and three men. The man seated in the middle position motions for me to take my place. Once I’m settled—my ankles linked and tucked modestly to the side, my hands resting delicately in my lap—he goes over the basics, confirming my name, ethnic status, and where I was born.