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.