Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [160]
We stop where we can to buy a bit of food, doling it out to Joy, Tao, and Ta-ming in one or two bites at a time so their stomachs will adapt and accept the sustenance. We give the baby bottles of watered-down soy milk, trying not to overwhelm her weakened system. The boy hasn’t spoken and the baby’s cries are weak. Neither Joy nor Tao has much to say. Talking takes too much effort. At night, I pull the car far from the side of the road. Z.G. helps Joy to the front seat, where she sleeps with her head in my lap. I’m exhausted, but I stay awake, watching my daughter’s chest rise and fall with each breath.
When we near the roadblocks preventing the masses from entering cities like Hangchow and Soochow, Z.G. returns to the backseat and pulls the curtains. Much to my relief, we pass through most of the security posts without difficulty. We were here a couple of days ago, and the young men with their machine guns still remember the limousine with the blue curtains. Additional questions are unnecessary.
It takes us five days to reach the outskirts of Shanghai. A little food, plenty of water, tea, and soy milk have considerably revived our bunch. Looking in the rearview mirror, I see Joy staring out one window while Tao leans on the other side of the seat, staring out the other. Ta-ming sits between them, eyes straight forward, seeing nothing.
Remembering the last big checkpoint with the camp for those who’ve tried to enter the city illegally, I pull off the main road and drive to a secluded area. Z.G. and I do what we can to make Tao and Joy presentable. I brush Joy’s hair and pin it into a bun at the nape of her neck. Z.G. dresses Tao in one of his shirts and buttons it. We have only four travel permits. The sentries outside Shanghai are bound to be more inquisitive than those in the countryside. The baby can easily be hidden under Joy’s blouse, but what can we do about Ta-ming? I take him to the back of the car and open the trunk. He grips my hand tightly.
I kneel down so we’re eye to eye. I hold his shoulders and speak directly to him. “You have to get in here. It’s going to be very dark and very scary. You’ll need to stay silent. But it won’t last long. I promise.”
I tuck him in the trunk, put his violin case in his arms for comfort, close the lid, and drive back to the main road. Coming from this direction, we can see into the camp, where bodies have been dumped in a big pit. I brake at the final roadblock and hand the guard four sets of papers. He leafs through them suspiciously. When he peers over my shoulder to see into the backseat, Z.G. snarls at him. “We’re on important business. Step aside and let us through or I’ll report you!” It sounds tough, and the guard obeys. I’m the only one who hears the fear in Z.G.’s voice. As soon as we pass into the city proper, I drive down an alley and get Ta-ming out of the trunk.
“You’re a good boy. A brave boy.”
He doesn’t acknowledge me. I understand his numbness. I went through it myself twenty-three years ago, when I fled Shanghai.
Two hours later, Z.G. and I sit at his dining room table. Joy and Tao rest on separate couches in the salon, where we can see them. They’re too weak to walk upstairs to the bedrooms. Z.G.’s servants have made a clear soup. I still won’t allow Joy and Tao to feed themselves. Their temptation to gorge would be too great. Fortunately, they don’t have the strength to fight and lie there docilely as two of the servants spoon broth into their mouths. Ta-ming, young yet remarkably resilient, sits at the table with Z.G. and me. The third servant brings a tray with dishes, chopsticks, napkins, a teapot, and teacups. The tray just has room for a small bowl of rice, which fills the room with a homey and safe fragrance. She sets the bowl in front of Ta-ming before returning to the kitchen for the rest of the meal. The boy stares at the rice. Then Z.G. and I watch as he counts out one grain of rice at a time—one to Z.G., one