Free Pearl of China by Anchee Min Page B

rich green plains and mountains.”
    I also imagined Pearl’s relatives, who all had milk-white faces. I imagined them receiving her warmly. They would hug her as if they knew her. They would say, “How are you, my darling? It’s been so long . . .” Pearl would be surrounded with clean sheets and soft pillows. She would be served plenty of food, but not the kind that she liked. No more Chinese food, of course. No more Chinese faces. No more Mandarin, or stories, or Peking operas. No more “Jasmine, Sweet Jasmine.”
    “I suppose I’ll get used to it.” Pearl gave out a long, deep sigh.
    She would be forced to adapt. She had no other option. She would forget China and me.
    “We might not recognize each other if we meet again,” Pearl teased.
    It was not funny, but I played along. “We probably wouldn’t even remember each other’s names.”
    “I might lose my Chinese.”
    “You will.”
    “Perhaps not,” she said. “I’ll try my best not to lose my Chinese.”
    “Maybe you’ll want to. What’s the use of Chinese in America? Who would you speak Chinese to? Grace? She’s too young. You two don’t play together. Maybe you will when you get to America. You won’t have a choice.”
    She turned her head and stared at me, her blue eyes big and clear. Tears began to well up.
    “You’ll be drinking milk and eating cheese.” I tried to cheer her up.
    “And I’ll turn into a big fat farmwife,” she responded. “My belly will be the size of a Chinese winter melon, with breasts like round squashes.”
    We laughed.
    “I could be married, you know,” I said. “NaiNai has already been approached by matchmakers. I could end up marrying an old, greasy rich man and be his concubine. He could be a monster and beat me every night.”
    “Wouldn’t that be awful?” She looked at me seriously.
    “Awful? What would you care? You will be gone by then.”
    Pearl’s hands reached out for me. “I’ll pray for you, Willow.”
    I pushed her away. “You know I have a problem with that. You haven’t been able to prove to me that your God exists!”
    “Then pretend that he does!” Pearl’s tears fell. “I need you to believe in him.”
    We decided to stop talking about the departure. We decided to celebrate our time together instead of wallowing in sadness. We went to see a troupe on wheels called the Great Shadow Art Show. It featured the Drunkard Monkey King and the Female Generals of the Yang Family. We had a wonderful time. Pearl was fascinated by the handmade shadow figures. The figures were created from scraped and sculpted cattle hides. The troupe master was from mid-China. He invited Pearl and me backstage, where he demonstrated how the figures worked. The actors hid under a large curtain, each holding a character with four bamboo sticks. The figures were able to tap their feet, dance to the rhythm, and fight a martial art battle while the owner sang in a high-pitched voice our favorite Wan-Wan tune.
    By early fall a children’s game was becoming popular. It was called Boxers and Foreigners. It was played by the rules of traditional hide-and-seek. The boys wouldn’t let Pearl and me join because we were girls. All day long Pearl and I sat on top of the hill sucking milkweeds. We watched the boys with envy. One morning Pearl came to me wearing an outfit of Western clothes she had borrowed from the British ambassador. It was a camel-colored jacket with copper buttons in the front and an open neck. The sleeves were wide at the elbow and tight on the wrists. The pants were made of brown wool. “It is their daughter’s horse-riding pants,” Pearl explained.
    When I asked why she had dressed up, Pearl replied, “We shall play our own game of Boxers and Foreigners.” She showed me a red-colored scarf. “This is your costume. Tie it around your forehead. You’ll be the Boxer and I’ll be the foreigner.”
    To make herself look more the part, she took off her black knitted hat and let her waist-long hair