The Ambassador's Daughter

The Ambassador’s Daughter

My mother, after 2 weeks of cajoling on our part, has decided to move in and live with my wife and I.  After a celebration dinner with one of her favorite meals – eggplant parmesan – my mother tells me this story:

As you know I came to America with the Ambassador and his family to be their daughter’s nanny.  Annabelle initially loved me, but became more spiteful towards me as my 3 years of obligated service continued.  I was able to leave them after my contract was up and moved out on my own.  I had only intermittent contact with them initially and lost contact with them completely after several years.

Imagine my surprise when Annabelle contacted me and wanted to visit me years later.  You had just left for Philadelphia to attend college and weren’t home.  It must have been in 1970 or 71.  She knocked on the door and I could barely recognize this girl.  She must have been in her mid-twenties then.  Thin, dressed in old jeans and a torn t-shirt, I could smell her lack of bathing.  Her hair was greasy and had forgotten the stroke of a brush.  Her companion was an American boy, also similarly clad and disheveled.

We sat down at the kitchen table.  I tried to make small talk with her but she was loud and often didn’t make much sense to me.  “I don’t care about money – that’s all my father and mother thinks about.  I just want to have fun.”  I learned that she lived with several friends in a small apartment near the Village.  “Are you married?” I inquired.  “No, marriage is for old people.  I’m with my friends”.  I learned that she was sleeping with not only her companion but apparently a number of other boys as well.

The visit last less than 20 minutes when she claimed to she had to leave.  I was happy to have her leave the house but not happy to see her the way she was.  “She’s a hippie!” I muttered to myself.

About 5 years later I ran into the Ambassador and his wife in Manhattan.  They inquired about my life and I told them about you – about attending medical school and becoming a doctor.  I could see the surprise and envy in their eyes.  “Annabelle never even finished high school,” they admitted. 

That night, I told your father about my encounter.  “Life is full of steps,” he mused.  “The rich often tumble down and the poor often pull themselves up.  This is the essence of America.”

Saving Little Sister

Saving Little Sister

My mother is an avid reader.  When she visits I always order some Chinese books for her, and she currently is in the middle of reading “The Memory Keeper’s Daughter”. In the novel, a physician gives away the second of newborn twins - a daughter with Down’s syndrome.  This stirs a memory within my mother and she tells me a story I had never before heard:

I was 15 years old and war and drought were taking a toll on our village.  The ground was so hard  and dry that cracks were showing in the once fertile soil.  Food and money were scarce.  I couldn’t remember the last time that my stomach was full.

My mother was surprised by a pregnancy.  She already had me, her one daughter, and I was surrounded by an older and younger brother.  When her 4^th child was born it was a little girl.   “So many mouths to feed!” exclaimed my mother. 

I overheard her talking to father and grandmother one night shortly after the birth of my new sister.  “We can’t keep her.  We barely scrape by now.”  The discussion ensued with no solutions produced.  “We need to give her away.  There’s an American church in town who will take the child.” 

I had heard that newborns occasionally were left at the church for the Americans.  The babies were cared for and adopted out overseas.  But this was my sister!

“You can’t give her away!”  I burst into the conversation, tearful and full of dread.  “Give her to me!  I can take care of her!”

“You know nothing of caring for babies.”  But I was persistent, crying, wailing, throwing a major tantrum.  This went on for several hours when finally grandmother ordered that we were to keep my sister, just to quiet me.  

I remember my mother was older then, and little sister was always hungry due to the sparseness of my mother’s breast milk.  My mother taught me to cook porridge and to skim the top of the gravy into a bowl.  “This is the most nutritious part of the porridge,” explained my mother, while feeding it to little sister.  This was one of many lessons that I learned about childcare, lessons that would greatly benefit me 6 years later when my first child was born in America.

The Fall

The Fall

In the autumn of 1996, my administrative assistant called into my office while I was seeing a patient.  This was highly unusual - she knew that I only tolerated interruptions in emergent situations.   “I think it’s about your Mother.”  I picked up the phone and it was Mrs. Wu, my mother’s neighbor and one of her oldest friends.  “It’s your mother.  She’s hurt and you need to come.  She’s going to the hospital now.”  I told my patient that my mother was hurt and I had to go.  “What are you waiting for?  Go quickly!” I remember him exclaiming.

I was in the attic in the old house.  It was after 2 years after your father and sister passed and I was still not used to living there by myself.  It was raining and I wanted to check that the attic window was closed so that water didn’t leak through.  I was able to see the dust and wooden beams with the aid of the afternoon light.  I stepped toward the front window, as I had done so a hundred times before, my foot steeping near the skylight in the attic floor, when I started to fly downwards, no longer supported by anything solid.  I could feel myself falling and falling.   My legs hit first, striking the staircase leading from the living room to the second floor bedrooms.    I think my head hit the bannister.  But I was still conscious.  My right leg hurt tremendously and I knew I couldn’t walk.  I crawled to the corded telephone, knowing that it was just a few feet away from where I eventually stopped rolling, at the bottom of the stairs.  I saw the cord and pulled the phone towards me and called Mary Wu.  I don’t even remember what I told her, just that I needed help.  I then dialed 911, and after what seemed like only minutes, I could hear the front door being unlocked and opening.  Luckily Mary had a spare house key.  The ambulance workers followed her in and I was taken away to Elmhurst Hospital. 

I remember thinking “I can’t die.  Irving has been through too much already.”  Your sister and father had passed just 2 years ago and I had just finished my chemotherapy for my (ovarian) cancer.  I just had to make it through.

My plane landed at LaGuardia Airport at around 9:00pm and I sped in a taxi to the hospital.  She appeared beat up, a shiner where her face had hit and a leg that was shattered in 2 places.  Metal rods were inserted the next day and after 3 days I had her on a plane with me back to Arkansas where she stayed for 3 months while recovering with rest and physical therapy.

Today, I see my mother at age 84, by the fence line every morning overlooking the Arkansas River, doing Tai Chi followed by a ½ mile walk around the campus parade grounds by my home.  I can’t help appreciating the miracle of her survival from this fall – literally 25 feet through the attic floor to the staircase.  She is the toughest woman I have ever known.

About Money

About Money

I purchased a whistling teakettle for my mother this morning.  She didn’t want to use the Keurig single-coffee maker on the counter, saying the coffee was too strong.  I saw her using a small saucepan to heat up water for her Maxwell House instant coffee that she has drank for the past 50 years.  So I thought the teakettle would be a great buy.  I could tell that she was pleased at my purchase, but she thought it was too expensive ($19.99 + tax!) and asked if I could return it.  I refused to do so, telling her it would please me to no end if she were to use it.  She has, and seems happy in doing so.  But she has always been thrifty, and described to me her history with money:

When your father and I got married I discovered that he only had $29 to his name.  He made very good money for that time but never saved any.  He would play mahjong or would take out friends to eat and play.  I decided that I would have to control the money and your father grudgingly agreed.  Through the years we saved to the point where your father’s friends made fun of me.  “She can really squeeze every drop out of every penny,” they proclaimed. 

When I wrote to Elder Brother that I had married he was furious.  “He could be a thief or a murderer!”  I insisted that your father was a good man.  As we saved money I would want to send some back to my family.  Your father always agreed and would accompany me to have money wired to China.  Fifty dollars could buy 6 months of rice with other necessities.  Every 3 months we would send money and Elder Brother’s opinion of your father turned completely.  I told him we should send money also to his family but he said that that they were fairly comfortable financially and we should just help family in need.

Your father would give me his weekly paycheck and I would give him his allowance.  I would hand over $40 for him for the week.  He would often take it to gamble in his mahjong game.  He was an excellent player (having been encouraged by his grandmother since he was 8 years old) but there would be the unlucky nights.  I would refuse to give him any more money for the week.  Mahjong seemed to be the only source of argument for us.  He would get so involved in his games that at times he wouldn’t return home until 3AM and a huge argument would ensue.  But he always apologized and actually would do better about his return time.  I know his friends felt he was henpecked but I think he realized that his family was more important than these “friends”.

As your father’s professional culinary talents were increasingly recognized his salary quickly grew.  Mr. Wang, a financial advisor, befriended my father and would suggest certain promising investments.  When he learned how much we had saved over a short period of time, he asked how we had been able to manage to do so.  Your father would always credit me.  Mr. Wang complimented him on his choice of a wife and told him he was very lucky.  I think Mr. Wang was a very smart man.  We knew nothing about investing but did take some of Mr. Wang’s advice and actually did well in the stock market.

Years later, after your father became ill, I learned that even after many years spouses could keep secrets from one another.  He had a brief period of mental clarity a week before he passed.  He called me over to his bed and told me not to discard any of his suits and jackets because he thought he “might” have left some money in them.  I checked and in his pockets and jacket linings I discovered $8000.  This was his mahjong money that he had made over the years.   Did I tell you that your father was an excellent player?

When I came home from work today to have lunch with my mother I saw her putting a bread tie and rubber band from our daily delivered newspaper into a plastic Glad bag.  “You might need these one day.”  I nodded, inwardly smiled and thanked God for making my mother exactly the way she is.

Coming to America

Coming to America

I was 17 years old and always hungry.  Two years of drought were followed by months of monsoon-like deluges that flooded my family’s farm and home.  We had used all of our meager savings to survive, rationing food as only my mother could.  I made the decision to leave home and travel to Shanghai to find work.  After all, I had a fifth grade education and thought I could do anything.  My family was able to help me find lodging with some old village neighbors who had since moved to Shanghai.  This only lasted for several days, as Mr. Lu’s wife would constantly begrudge me any kind of food or extra helpings at the dinner table.  Mr. Lu told me that his wife was half-crazy but I couldn’t stand her staring eyes constantly tracking me, waiting for me to steal a morsel of food from them. 

I knew I needed to get out of this situation, and fortunately I was told that a wealthy ambassador was in need of childcare for his 4-year-old daughter named Annabelle.  This would be only a temporary assignment, as they would be departing for America in 2 months.  I loved the 4-year-old Annabelle and was a combination playmate/supervisor for her.  Annabelle loved me as well, and cried incessantly when it was time for them to leave the country.  She insisted that I accompany them and finally her father relented and invited me.  I wrote to my brother and asked him his opinion.  He told my mother who became enraged at the thought that I would leave and insisted I return home right away.  Elder brother however knew that this was the opportunity of a lifetime and felt I absolutely needed to go.  He knew that the political situation in China was escalating at that time and I would be safer in America.  He told me that I would have to return back to China within 3 years and I set that as my goal as well.  So off to America I went.

I wound up in New York City with the ambassador’s family.  Annabelle became more and more a willful and spoiled child.  As the months and years passed it became an almost unbearable situation living with them.  I was again accused of taking food that didn’t belong to me (a banana of all things!) by Annabelle who would smirk in the background as her parents would scold me. 

One day I was in Riverside Park with Annabelle to let her play on the swing sets.  I met Elder Auntie and unloaded my frustrations at the ambassador’s home onto her.  She thought I needed to marry to get out of that situation but I thought this was a ludicrous idea.  I then told the ambassador that I wanted to go home as my 3-year commitment to him had been fulfilled.  He agreed to release me to return to China but wanted me to wait several months as he had a friend who was going back to China then and could accompany me.  I agreed but this was 1949 and the Communists were making a concerted effort to take over the country.  China was riddled in war.  I could not return.

I kept in touch with Elder Aunt who wanted to introduce me to her godson.  She indicated that he was 8 years my elder and worked in a kitchen at an American restaurant – Dubrow’s Cafeteria.  When he first met me he insisted to Elder Aunt that this could not possibly work.  What was she thinking introducing me to a 12-year-old girl?  Elder Aunt laughed and informed him that I was 21.  I discovered he was a kind man, generous at heart.  He was a hard-worker and Elder Aunt thought that I would always be provided for.  After 3 months, we did marry, and I had sealed my fate.  I was going to stay in America permanently.

The Fortuneteller

6/10/13

I can see time weighing heavily upon my mother.  At 84, she is physically slowed so that the neighborhood strolls have become laborious for her.  She forgets things much more easily, especially stuff that I just said or that just happened.  She will be staying with me for the next month and it pains me at times to see her in her current state.  Each day with her is a gift and if her recent memory is at times flickering, her memories of her distant past remain rock solid.  She has been telling me stories and I want to hold onto them.  And so I write, telling stories from her perspective.

The Fortune Teller

I was only seven years old when my mother invited the fortuneteller to enter and read the future of Elder Brother and myself.  The fortuneteller announced his presence by rhythmically banging on his gong as he strolled down the streets of our village in Anhui.  My mother believed in the power of reading the future, as did many of her village peers.  I heard my mother identify him as Old Professor and he first examined the hand of Elder Brother, who was 13 at the time.  My mother learned that her eldest son would not have to work the land on the farm and would instead become highly educated.  He would teach.

As the years progressed, my Elder brother revealed a love of literature and books.  He did receive a higher level of education than any of the other siblings or family members and went on to teach literature and art.

As for myself, I was informed that I would not want for money in my adult years.  I would be separated from my mother by vast distances and would marry in a foreign land.  My mother could not believe this, ridiculing the fortuneteller and telling him that I would always be with her.

When I was 17 I left Anhui and journeyed to Shanghai in search of work.  A family friend was able to connect me with a family in need of childcare, a live-in nanny.  This would be only a temporary position as the child’s father was an ambassador who would be travelling to America in 2 months.  I took the job and did well enough that I was invited to join them and relocate to America.  I would, at the age of 18, wind up in NYC and 3 years later married a kind, quiet man who’s only flaws were his love for tobacco and mahjong.  I had always expected that I would return to China after 3 years but the Communists warred on the Nationalists, preventing me from ever returning and seeing my mother again.  All of that however, is another story.