Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [143]
But people are leaving, just not by choice. The city isn’t as crowded as when I first arrived. The police have done a good job keeping country bumpkins outside city limits. Those who managed to enter two years ago, when new factories were opening, have been sent home, relinquishing that work to the locals. Troublemakers have been sent to labor camps. At the same time, the People’s Government, which has been anxious to expand trade with Hong Kong, has granted some exit permits for family reunification for those who have relatives there. People lucky enough to receive those permits are allowed the equivalent of five dollars to take on their trip, ensuring they have only enough money to visit their families and then come home. If Joy were with me, I’d be going to the police station every day to ask Superintendent Wu for permits. May would be waiting for us in Hong Kong with the money to take us all the way to Los Angeles. What’s that American saying? Hope springs eternal?
At five, Cook calls everyone in for dinner. To show camaraderie with the masses in communes—but what is really a way to make sure no one gets more food than he or she deserves—we eat together in the dining room. We’ve all lost weight. We all look pale. We simply don’t have enough to eat.
Ten minutes later, after dinner is over, the others go to their rooms, too weak to do much else. I go upstairs to change into clothes more appropriate for visiting Auntie Hu. I meet Dun downstairs; we put on our jackets, boots, hats, and gloves, and then step out into the freezing air. We take the bus across town to the Hu residence. Usually lights brighten the front windows, but tonight all we can see is a single light flickering from a back room. Dun holds up his bouquet. I ring the bell and wait. I peer through a window, but I don’t see anyone. I ring the bell again and knock a few times. Finally, I see someone coming down the hall through the shadows. It’s not Auntie Hu. I would recognize her lily gait. It’s not one of her servants either.
A tall, surly man opens the door. “What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Madame Hu,” I say.
“No one here by that name. Go away.”
I glance at Dun. Could we have the wrong house? Then I peer down the hall. I see Auntie Hu’s favorite etched glass vase with flowers past their prime in it, her furniture, and the pictures on the walls. No, this is the right place. I look back at Dun and watch as cold steeliness comes over his features.
“Madame Hu lives here,” Dun says in a hard voice. He pushes past the man and into the house. I follow. Dun and I call out for her. People emerge from darkened rooms, some carrying oil lamps, some carrying candles. Nails—squatters—have somehow gotten in the house. I catch a glimpse of one of Auntie Hu’s servants peeking out from around the edge of a doorjamb.
“You! Come here!” I haven’t used that tone since I had servants of my own. The girl steps from her hiding place. She has enough shame to keep her eyes lowered. “Where is she?” It’s less a question than an order.
The girl sucks her lips between her teeth as though that will somehow keep me from getting an answer. She doesn’t know how many people I’ve lost. I raise my hand, ready to hit her.
“Where is she?”
“She left five days ago,” the girl whimpers. “She has not come back.”
“Did she get an exit permit?” Dun inquires. “Is she visiting her sister?”
The girl shakes her head. “Madame Hu didn’t tell me anything. But the next day, the gas and electricity were turned off.”
The surly man who opened the door jabs a finger in my shoulder. “You have no rights here. Get out!”
Dun takes a step, but I put a hand on his arm.
“Let’s go. There’s nothing here for us.”
We go back into the frigid night. We walk almost to the end of the block before I let Dun take me in his arms. I bury my face in his padded jacket, fighting tears.
“Auntie Hu wouldn’t have left without telling me,” I say.
“She would have if she didn’t plan on coming back or if she didn’t have an exit permit. She