Invisible orphans, p.1
Invisible Orphans, page 1
This is a Genuine Rare Bird Book
Rare Bird Books
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Copyright © 2022 by Jade Moon Le
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, including but not limited to
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For more information, address:
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This is a work of fiction and a product of the author’s imagination.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are used in a fictitious
manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
or actual events is purely coincidental
Set in Minion
Printed in the United States
first hardcover edition isbn: 9781644283141
epub isbn: 9781644283400
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request
For some of you, to endure means to be alive.
For others, to give up means to be free from torment.
Contents
Prologue
The Encounter
Courtship
China in the Eighties
Arrival in Indiana
Honoring Rachel
Dori
Jerry
Invisible Orphan
Matthew
Turning Point
Abscota
Goodbye
Experiences of Death
Emotional Awakening
Rediscovered Suicide
The Myth of Mental Illness
The Promise
The Farm
Letters, 1985
Separations, 1991–1992
Expectation
Family History
Group Counseling
Mixed Emotions
Guilt
Finding the Way
Roots
Almost Forgotten
Another Journey
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Memory fascinates me. A word, sound, or smell recalls it. I have no control of its coming. My memory plays like a movie making itself as I watch; as if I were walking right onto a set, observing this distinct segment of the story unfold, not worrying about how it fits into the chronological order of the plot.
Memory scares me when I realize I have lost some of it and have no way to bridge what is gone.
Memory is perpetually alive with mental wandering.
Memory lives on its own; all the beauty and experience uniquely mark each of us as individual human beings, a gift and a blessing.
My memories are like a ball of yarn inadvertently cut by scissors with multiple loose strands. For each strand I pull, memory appears like a flashback in a movie: I can see the whole scene before me, filling in the gaps with my mind’s eye. As each string is unknotted, my narrative connects like a puzzle being put together, one piece at a time; a chronicle displays, a tale untangles, and a future awaits.
The Encounter
How do you react when you realize that you have lost memories? For me, tears come first without thinking of them. Then I don’t know what to do. I try to think, searching for when and what I can remember. Sometimes pieces and pieces of memories gradually surface while I am working in the garden, either tying up the tomatoes; building expansions to hold up the sunflowers; harvesting beans, cucumbers, peas, squashes, different greens; or simply weeding.
The garden has been my retreat. Feeling the serenity of being surrounded by beautiful plants, listening to the leaves susurrate and dance with the wind, and watching branches with waves of shadowy sunlight in early evenings has given me a sense of dreaming, a sense of belonging, and a sense of voicing myself. Most importantly, the garden has brought back memories that I lost years ago, but I do not know if they are in sequence.
The memories contain an unspoken promise, to Matthew. I have a story to tell; a love story evolved by serendipity with a twist of fate.
It is a distant time, back in late January 1984, the winter days just before Chinese New Year.
I was a kindergarten teacher and wanted to go somewhere that I could afford during the holiday break. In fact, I already had a place in mind. When I was in second grade, my geography teacher taught us about Hainan Island in southern China. He told us that Hainan was different than the rest of China, being the top coffee-producing area in the country. For me, growing up amid the Portuguese in Macau, the smell of coffee and the sensation of a scoop of ice cream in a glass of iced coffee on a sweltering day with eighty-seven percent humidity brought incomparable joy. My teacher also told us that in Hainan the locals’ first choice of beverage was coffee, second was cocoa, and third was tea, which was a very different preference from that of the Chinese culture I had known. I vowed that someday I would see Hainan for myself.
Hainan had just recently opened for tourism, so I bought my train and plane tickets. Lodging was not in the plan, however. Without any travel agencies servicing the island, I had no information about it. I figured that somehow I would find lodging once I got there.
Tony, my ex-boyfriend, was a calm person. Most of the time, I got my way when we spent time together. But I didn’t feel anything special, except appreciation that if I wanted to see him, he would be there at any time, no complaints. I seldom found myself thinking of him. He was merely a useful tool. He didn’t bring me excitement or make my heart jump into my throat. Clearly, this was not the romantic relationship I had envisioned.
Tony asked me to marry him in the spring of 1983. I told him that if we weren’t married by December, that meant I wouldn’t marry him. I broke up with Tony in October 1983.
❧
Ten days before my trip, Tony called and wanted to know my plans for Chinese New Year. I told him. Two days later, he informed me that he would like to join me. I said okay.
We took the train from Hong Kong across the border into the People’s Republic of China and flew from Guangzhou to Haikou, the capital of Hainan. Before boarding the plane, a businessman sat next to us in the waiting area. He told us that he was going to Hainan on behalf of his wife, who was an illegal immigrant and didn’t have proper identification and travel documents to leave Hong Kong to visit her parents in Hainan. By the time we landed on the island, the businessman suggested that we have dinner together.
When we entered the dining hall, the businessman was talking to a Caucasian. We went to his table, and he introduced Matthew to us. Matthew had traveled by boat from nearby Zhanjiang and had been guided by a People’s Liberation Army officer to the guest house, which turned out to be the designated place for all visitors to Hainan Island.
The next morning around seven o’clock, the lobby was crowded with guests. Apparently, most of the guests were just like the businessman—visiting relatives on the island. Only Matthew, Tony, and I were real tourists. By the time I reached the front desk, I heard the businessman saying to Matthew, “Don’t worry, my two friends will travel with you.”
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
Matthew looked at us. “The service manager told me that I can’t travel alone on this island. I can either join a tourist group or have a tour guide with me. Otherwise, I have to leave the island in the next few hours.”
The businessman waved his hand to the service manager and without consulting us said, “Comrade, these are my friends. They will all travel together.” He pointed to the three of us. Apparently, the service manager didn’t speak English. He pointed at Matthew and us and asked in Mandarin, “You know each other?”
I nodded.
He pulled out a form. “Fill in all the information and make sure to report to all local guesthouses with the same information.”
After completing the paperwork, we were sent to a minivan with six other guests, all of whom were visiting relatives on the island. We left the guest house around eight o’clock after a small breakfast. We had no food, no water, or any other beverage to bring with us. Along the semi-paved road, there were no vendors. But there was a beautiful blue sky and palm trees as far as the eye could see. The morning was already warm, and soon we heard the sounds of whispering waves in the distance.
After almost three hours of driving, we were thirsty. The other guests asked the driver if we could get some water somewhere.
The driver replied, “No guest houses or shops from Haikou to Sanya.”
I couldn’t imagine how parched I’d feel by the time we finally reached the other side of the island. Eventually, the driver stopped the van. He took out a machete and some ropes and walked toward a cluster of palm trees. We followed him. The sound of the waves got increasingly louder, and the palm trees seemed to shrink as the road gradually got wider. Before I knew it, we were walking on sand beneath the sun’s golden rays. In front of me was a field of coconut trees not far from shore. White flowery waves danced against the rocks, creating a harmonious contrast with the glittering emerald sea.
The driver asked one of the guests to belay him, and he swiftly climbed up a coconut tree. In no time, coconuts whooshed to the ground. Drinking fresh coconut water under the sparkling sun
We resumed our trip. Gradually, other passengers got off one by one. Now, only three of us, the real tourists, were left. I moved up to the front row and said to the driver, “You were so skillful and at ease climbing the coconut tree. Do you gather coconuts often?”
“Collecting coconuts became very helpful for my family. My mother learned from the natives how to make all sorts of things from the coconuts, which saved our scarce resources for other needs.” He stopped talking and looked up at the rearview mirror. I’d been listening so intently that I hadn’t realized I was leaning forward into the space above the armrest console. “I was the one to collect the free coconuts. I went to all the nearby places with other kids whose families were in the same situation as mine. Sometimes we got free rides. Most of the time we were on foot. Tianya Cape was one of the places that I frequented and the most comfortable place for me to feel free. The bunch of us would linger until dark and would then drag the coconuts home.”
“Is Tian Ya Hai Jiao (The Edge of the Sky and Corner of the Sea) in Tianya Cape?”
“You will see it yourself.”
The van soon stopped again, and we followed the driver as the path gradually expanded to a full view of a sandy beach with different sizes of rocks poking up along the shore near and far. Once I stepped onto the creamy surface, I felt warm and soft as if I were walking groundless but still with a solid feeling of holding myself steady. The horizon got bigger and bigger, and my eyes were filled with blue, white, black, yellow, and glittering sparkles—so gentle with abstract shapes coming and going in white splashes.
“Ah.” I thrust my hands upward and yelled, “Tian Ya Hai Jiao , I am here!”
The driver, Tony, and Matthew were laughing. The driver took out a cigarette, then passed the pack to the other two men, who declined. He lit it and walked toward the ocean, standing in the mid distance between land and sea, looking around and back at us. “Isn’t it heaven?”
I ran to him and shouted, “I envy you having this in your backyard!”
“Yes, only this saved my childhood and let me feel that life is tolerable.”
I looked into his eyes without a word. He stared at me then smiled. “You are too young. Let me take you to the real Tian Ya Hai Jiao.” He threw the cigarette butt down, and I watched as he ground it into the solid, creamy sand.
“Huh? Tian Ya Hai Jiao is this beach, isn’t it?” I was dumbfounded to hear there was a real Tian Ya Hai Jiao. I thought I was already there.
He raised his head, looked at me as if I were a child not knowing what I was asking, and walked away from me while motioning us to follow him. I went after him without acknowledging my two companions.
We walked along the shore toward some of the rocks near the water. The driver turned around and walked backward. “Come over here.”
I hastened to where he stood. A huge boulder was on his right. I walked toward the water and when I turned to face the boulder, I saw blood red writing in Chinese with two characters on the top, Tian Ya (The Edge of the Sky), and four on the bottom, Hai Kuo Tian Kong (Boundless Sea Wide Sky).
“Why here?”
“I don’t know. Old people said this is the southernmost point of China.”
“Was the writing there when you were growing up?”
“Yes, these are pretty much the first characters I learned. From time to time, my father would mention that we were exiled to the end of the world. Fortunately, we were all together.”
I looked at this gigantic boulder. The water hitting it was clear and there were a bunch of much smaller rocks scattered nearby. I took off my shoes for the first time, rolled up my pants, walked toward the boulder, and asked, “Could I touch it?”
The driver laughed and waved his hand. “Go for it. We’ve climbed on it a thousand times and no one ever goes after us.”
The boulder, Tian Ya, was hot. I had put a sweater on when I got out of bed, but now the sun was above my head. I was sweating but I didn’t want to take off the sweater among strangers. The driver was wearing a long-sleeve blue jacket with what looked like a wool hat. I thought, if he can tolerate the heat, so can I.
Matthew followed my steps in big strides, the water swirling with his movements. We both leaned against Tian Ya and gazed into the emerald sea.
I wanted to freeze time. I was thirsty and hungry, but I didn’t want to go anywhere. I enjoyed the euphonies among the rocks, the sea, and the coconut trees. With the panorama, I understood what the driver had meant by “heaven.” There were no structures in sight, not a single building.
Tony waved his hand to get our attention. “Let me take a picture of you two.”
Matthew and I looked at each other, deciding how we should position ourselves.
“I want to see all six characters,” I said.
“It’s hard to get all of them with you. The rock is just too big.” Tony adjusted the camera. “How about only the bottom four?”
“Is that the best you can do?”
“If you want to be in the picture.”
Matthew said to me, “He’s right. Let’s squat to get those four characters.” He signaled “okay.”
Matthew was at least seven inches taller than me. While he squatted, I only half bent my knees to match his height.
Before dark we were dropped off at a guest house, the entrance of which looked like a jungle with different kinds of green trees, vines, and shrubs intertwined with each other. The guest house had a few single-story structures on the premises. We were led to a long building with only two doors along the open corridor. Our room was huge. There were six beds with mosquito nets hung over them. All three of us were in the same room. I tried to persuade the service desk to let me have a room for myself.
“These rooms were built to host six people. Now, you have double the space for only three of you,” the person in charge said.
I guessed “gender-specific needs” was not in this manager’s vocabulary.
We were ready to devour whatever we could get from the guest house. We were the only guests in the entire dining room. Then I realized that people who visited relatives, like the businessman we met at the airport, would not stay at a guest house.
The server came in quickly with a steaming bowl in her hands. She put it down. It was fish soup. She turned and was about to walk away.
“Excuse me,” I said.
She looked at me, and before I could say anything, she said, “The rice and other two dishes will come soon. We serve whatever ingredients we have.”
I nodded and said thank you.
Matthew asked, “What did you want to say?”
“I want to see the menu.”
Matthew smiled. “My experiences in China have taught me that at some places there is no menu and no choice. This looks like one of those places. But,” he took up the ladle, “those no-choice places often serve good and tasty food.” He scooped a big spoonful of soup into my bowl.
Small pieces of fish with bones, a few diced scallions, and some kind of greenish-looking sliced gourds with white ground pepper swirled within my bowl. The broth tasted fresh and clean. The gourds were tender and the bones came out in one piece.
The next day we explored the nearest surroundings on foot. To our surprise, we walked into a plantation that was run by a co-op next to the guest house. The entrance of the co-op was crowded with jackfruit trees, and some of the jackfruits were hanging within my reach. As we walked on, I learned that Matthew studied botany. The plantation opened up to him as if it were a botanical garden. Matthew was so excited. He took out a small notepad and began identifying the plants. He held up some peppercorns whose vines were interwoven with some other spreading tropical plants, and pointed to coffee plants with little red fruits and to other vegetation all over the place. He picked up a leaf, looked carefully at one side then turned to the other. He traced the veins and said, “You see, when it’s difficult to identify a plant, the veins can tell the subtle differences between species.”
In the afternoon, we were up at a high spot with the South China Sea displayed below. There was a massive field of tall pampas grass with dirty white inflorescences swinging in the melody of the ocean breeze. I instantly fell in love with the pampas grass and wanted to pick a few stalks. It was hard to pick them. Fortunately, Matthew had a Swiss Army knife. I was so excited to select the stockiest one to cut. All of a sudden, a soldier emerged from the tall pampas grass and closed in on us.
