Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [78]
Amnesty. I keep repeating the word, and every time I punish myself a little more. If I was wrong, then Sam must have been wrong too. If we’d confessed, Sam would still be alive and the family would still be together. Oh, May, you should have seen Joy’s face when she talked about Sam. It was a knife in my heart. There’ve been so many mistakes that have resulted in so many tragedies over the years, and now here we are. Sam is dead, and Joy is so torn by guilt that she refuses to come home—either to Los Angeles or even to our old house here in Shanghai. Tell me what to do.
Pearl
I didn’t write about Z.G., because I don’t want all that old business festering between us. I didn’t mention the Green Dragon Collective, Joy’s political views, or Tao, who I presume is a young man she met in her travels. When I think about this Tao, my mind fills with the examples of bad judgment my daughter has already shown. In this regard, she’s too much like her birth mother. But what will be accomplished if I write those things? I fold the letter, put it in an envelope, and write our address in Los Angeles. Then I put that envelope inside a larger envelope addressed to the Louie cousin in Wah Hong Village, along with a note to the man at the family association in Hong Kong to send my letter by airmail.
A letter arrives from May the next day. It was written twelve days ago. I’ve been receiving regular packages with hidden money from my sister since her first package arrived last October. This is the first time I’ve received a simple letter. It has been opened, which is dismaying. Fortunately, not a single word has been crossed out.
February 4, 1958
Dear Pearl,
Sadness upon sadness. Vern died last week. He was never the same after Sam’s death, and after you and Joy left. I think he gave up, but Dr. Nevel says I shouldn’t think that way. “Tuberculosis of the bone never has a happy ending.” That’s what he told me. “And then there were his mental problems.” Yes, Vern was always a little boy in his mind, but he never hurt anyone. He was kind. He bore his ailments and his pain quietly. And we both know how generous he could be.
These past few days, I’ve looked at my life very differently. I was never a good wife to Vern. I was out all the time. I counted on you to take care of him, and you did, as you’ve taken care of so many things for me. I’ve never believed in guilt or remorse. I’ve always resented the way you held on to misfortune. But they’ve come to me now. When I watched the undertaker and his helpers take Vern out of the house …
Now all that’s left of my husband are the lingering odors of his sickness and a few of his model airplanes and boats that weren’t broken on the terrible night Joy ran away. When I think of how I belittled him for those models … When I think of how I always left you and Sam to deal with Vern’s diapers, sores, and smells … Since you and Joy left, he had only me and the occasional visit from the uncles and their families. Oh, Pearl, now I understand how you felt after Sam died, and he was so much more of a man and husband than my Vern ever was.
I arranged for Vern’s funeral to be held at your church. The reverend welcomed me and didn’t once reproach me for not coming to services. The women—Violet and the others—treated me as one of their congregation and not as someone who used to laugh at them for their bad clothes and old-fashioned hairstyles. I’m grateful to everyone, because who else would have seen Vern to the afterlife? His funeral banquet was small—only two tables. I came home and lit incense on the altar. Whether he is in Chinese Heaven or your Heaven, I hope he is with Father Louie, Yen-yen, and Sam. Once again, he