Clattering Sparrows (4 page)

At dinner that evening, I learned that Su Ling had rheumatic fever. As my father related the story to us, we learned that he had given her penicillin, a new drug which had only become available months before but was credited with saving many lives in that short period of time. It was being hailed as the new “wonder drug.” A bright orange colored quarantine sign was placed on their door and would remain there for three weeks until she was no longer considered contagious. After dinner, I went next door to tell Judy.

Su Ling’s recovery was a slow process requiring bed rest for at least six weeks and my father recommended additional doses of penicillin over the next five years to prevent recurrence. He said it was the penicillin that had done the trick. There was no cure for rheumatic fever, but severe damage to the heart, joints, and nervous system could be prevented by prompt and thorough treatment. Bed rest was crucial for Su Ling to make a full recovery.

As she began to recover and once she could no longer spread the infection, the quarantine sign was removed. At my father’s suggestion, our teacher Mrs. Jenkins asked Judy and me to take several books and test papers to Su Ling so that she could keep up with the class when she returned. And so began our afternoon practice two days a week. We would spend an hour working with her on her lessons, and then her grandmother, An Lei, would serve us tea and almond cookies and tell us Chinese folk stories.

My father would often say that Judy and I contributed greatly to her recovery, and he was quite proud of us. Mrs. Jenkins was as well, and when Su Ling finally returned to class she had no trouble picking up where she left off.

Judy and I looked forward to our afternoons at Su Ling’s and we especially loved An Lei’s fascinating Chinese folk tales and superstitions. Our very favorite was:

The Magic Paintbrush

Once upon a time in a small village in China, there was a young man called Ma Lee. He was very poor but very kind, and he helped a rich man tend cattle. He liked to draw and drew pictures everywhere whenever he could. One night he dreamt that as he was drawing on the bank of the river, an old man appeared and gave him a magic paintbrush. The old man asked him to use it to help the poor people in their village. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone. When Ma Lee awoke the next morning, there on his desk was the paintbrush.

From that day on, he used the paintbrush whenever people needed help. When he saw that people had no water to use in the fields, he drew a river and the river came to life. People could bring water from the river to their fields. When it was difficult to till their land, he drew a cow, and the cow came to life. People used the cow to till their land. So each day when he saw peoples’ troubles, he would use his magic paintbrush to help.

The popularity of the paintbrush spread. One day, the rich man whose cattle Ma Lee tended confined him to a room demanding he draw a mountain of gold. At first Ma Lee was very sad. He knew he was a bad man and he did not want to help him. Then an idea came to him. At first he drew a sea. The bad man was very angry. Then Ma Lee drew a golden mountain which was on the far side of the sea. The man saw the gold mountain and felt very happy. He said, “Draw a big ship quickly. I want to go there and gather gold.”

Ma Lee smiled quietly and drew a big ship. The bad man jumped into the ship followed by his greedy family and friends. When the ship sailed to the middle of the sea, the young man drew a large wave and it destroyed the ship. The bad man, his greedy family, and friends drowned.

At last, Ma Lee lived happily every after with his family and continued to help the poor. Soon the Magic Paintbrush was known far and wide by everyone.

Su Ling loved to draw and she would always say, “Come see what I drew with my magic paintbrush!”

One afternoon after Su Ling had finished her lessons, An Lei placed a small red leather case on the table. When she opened it, we could see the beautiful tiles which we soon learned were ivory and bamboo hand-carved with colorful Chinese symbols, pictures, and writing.

“This is the ancient game of Mahjong, and I am going to teach you girls to play.” An Lei said.

She proceeded to remove the tiles from the case turning them face down on the table and began teaching us the rules of play. “Each player’s place is designated by East, South, West, and North determined by selecting one of each Wind tile placed face down on the table.”

She then showed each of us how to build a wall, two tiles high and eighteen tiles long in front of each player. The four walls were then pushed together to form a square symbolizing the Great Wall of China.

As we sat listening to her every word, she said, “It is important to ensure that the walls have no gaps and that they touch at the corners so that any lurking dragons or evil spirits are prevented from entering. The player sitting in the East position at the table throws the dice to determine which player breaks the wall. After the break and continuing in a clockwise direction around the wall, four Mahjong tiles are dealt to each player in turn starting with East and working anti-clockwise until each player has twelve tiles. Next, the first and third tiles on the top row are dealt to East, the first on the bottom row to South, the first tile on the top row to West, and the next lower tile to North. That completes the deal. East finishes with fourteen tiles while the other players have thirteen tiles each.”

Initially, we struggled to learn the game, identify the different tiles, and what represented a Chow, a Pung, and a Kong to ultimately complete a hand. But it was great fun and after a while we began playing the game effortlessly, although the hardest part for Judy and me was learning to identify the tiles.

Smiling, An Lei said, “I know it all seems quite complicated, but I assure you that you will learn quickly as I did, and I was a little younger than you are when I learned. The game is similar to gin rummy in that the object of Mahjong is to build sets, as well as get the highest point value to eventually complete a hand. In order to do this, each player selects and discards tiles until an entire set of combinations has been made.

“The basic Mahjong set has 144 pieces, which contains 36 distinct kinds of bamboos, characters, and dots; four of each kind in these three suits run from one to nine. In addition, there are four pieces each of four directional tiles known as Winds and labeled East, South, West, and North. There are also four each of three Cardinal tiles which are Dragons or Honor Pieces, labeled Red Dragon, Green Dragon, and White Dragon. Lastly, there are eight optional Flowers and Seasonal tiles consisting of two sets of four tiles each.”

And that is how we learned to play Mahjong. The days passed quickly, and Su Ling returned to school, but our games continued. Each Wednesday afternoon, Judy and I would go to her house after school, and for two hours we played, sipped tea, and ate An Lei’s delicious cookies. Except during summer vacations and school breaks for holidays, we rarely missed our weekly get together. We had an amazing time. Although we were serious about playing the game, we mostly had lots of fun. We laughed a lot and talked about school and our families and anything else that made us happy.

In truth, Judy and I were fascinated by An Lei more so than Mahjong. She would bow to us whenever we entered their home, and we soon learned that her vast knowledge was endless. But mostly we accepted her as our peer, not as an adult, mainly because of the way she treated us. She never disciplined or scolded us when we became unruly; rather she calmly reasoned with us in her gentle manner. I would come to realize many years later that the wisdom she passed on to us during those innocent days of our childhood was priceless.

3

SU LING LIVED WITH her grandmother, An Lei, in a small house on Bladensburg Road, four houses down from her father’s Chinese hand laundry. Her mother died giving birth to her, and after his young wife’s death, her father, Hu Chen, who was much older and disappointed in not having a son, was uncertain of what to do with her. Hardly equipped to care for a newborn, he readily agreed when An Lei offered to raise her. Hu Chen lived on the second floor above his laundry, and although he employed several workers, seemed to be busy all the time. He had little if any interest in the child, infrequently sharing a meal with her usually on her Birthday.

When Su Ling was four years old, Hu Chen returned from a trip to Shanghai with a new wife, an older woman closer to his own age. His new wife was quite ambitious and saw little potential in her new husband’s hand laundry. She convinced him to purchase the much larger Columbia Laundry which was housed in a big corner building, a block further up the road. He closed his small business, and restored his house to living quarters. They equipped the newly purchased laundry with the latest commercial washers and ironers available at that time, and soon had employees working round the clock. Having secured several large hotel accounts, the laundry thrived.

Su Ling’s grandmother was the only constant in her life and had been since the day she was born. With An Lei’s love and devotion to guide her, she blossomed. She was blessed with a flawless complexion and beautiful features that were chiseled to perfection. She was a happy child and quite bright. She loved to draw birds and butterflies in particular, and played the Chinese harp. She was a joy to An Lei, especially after losing her young daughter.

An Lei was a fine seamstress and managed to support herself and Su Ling quite well. Born in San Francisco to parents that had emigrated from China in the late 1800s, she had moved to Washington, D.C., shortly after she was married. Sometimes on Sundays when the weather was nice, An Lei and Su Ling would ride the streetcar to Chinatown and have dinner with relatives and friends.

Each year in early February, they looked forward to the Chinese New Year Celebration in downtown Washington, D.C., when the friendship archway which marks Chinatown’s entrance at 7
^th
and H Streets, N.W., is topped with hundreds of painted dragons. The colorful dragons herald the beginning of the Chinese New Year, and are illuminated every night of the celebration, as the festivities continue for ten or more days, with traditional firecrackers, dragon dancers, colorful street parades, and special menus offered by area restaurants. Su Ling would always bring home sweets and souvenirs for her two best friends, Judy and me.

Their home was small but lovely, and furnished with many beautiful pieces of Asian furniture and artifacts. In the small yard in back of the house, An Lei had planted a beautiful garden that included many herbs. During the winter months, she would carefully move the plants indoors placing them on the window sill to be nourished by direct sunlight, thus allowing her the use of fresh herbs year round.

An Lei’s mother had taught her the theory of herbal medicine when she was relatively young, and she became quite proficient in the three major categories: Superior herbs—those which nourish life; Middle herbs—those which correct constitution; and Inferior herbs—those which expel disease. She used these herbs both for medicinal purposes as well as for cooking. Many of the herbs she used for cooking actually prevented the onset of various minor common illnesses.

Chinese herbal medicines are used both internally and externally. She prepared internal formulas as powders, teas, and extracts by baking, boiling, frying, or grinding the herbs which were then taken as drafts by stirring them into water. External types are prepared as liniments, powders, extracts, salves, and plasters. She used these external formulas for bruises, sprains, open wounds, swellings, burns, and any other dermatological conditions.

Su Ling never had any of the normal childhood diseases that the rest of us had. Whenever signs of a cold or other discomfort surfaced, An Lei would snip a piece of this herb and that herb until she was satisfied with the right combination to treat the symptoms.

When Su Ling had fallen ill with a high fever, An Lei had exhausted her use of herbs, and every other old country remedy she could think of, yet the fever did not break; her fatigue did not subside; and she continued to complain of soreness in her joints. When Judy and I came to the door, she was quite relieved to see us. She had forgotten that my father was a pediatrician. He had given Su Ling the shots that were required for her to attend school, but other than that one time, An Lei had only taken Su Ling to one doctor—her cousin in Chinatown. Her knowledge and use of herbs had proven suitable for the few minor ailments Su Ling had endured since she was born.

While Su Ling was recuperating, we became regular visitors to their home, and An Lei welcomed us with open arms. She was pleased that Su Ling had such good friends, and we became good medicine for both of them. An Lei, who had relatively few acquaintances in the neighborhood, preferred to quietly read or write letters to relatives in China and San Francisco, when she wasn’t busy sewing or running errands.

Su Ling’s recovery was slow but with spring just around the corner, each day brought noticeable improvement, and we could see that she felt more and more like her old self once she had returned to school.

***

The newspapers reported that the War was turning in our favor and everyone prayed that our soldiers would soon be returning safely home.

After school on Thursday, April 12, 1945, Judy, Jenny, Billy, and I were playing Monoply on Billy McAvoy’s front porch. It was almost 6:00 p.m., and as we were putting the game away about to go home for dinner, the music on the radio abruptly stopped with an announcement from The White House.

“President Roosevelt died of a cerebral hemorrhage at 3:35 p.m. this afternoon in Warm Springs, Georgia, where he had been vacationing on his physician’s advice.”

I would come to remember that day as the turning point that was soon followed by the end of the War in Europe less than a month later, and ultimately with Japan officially surrendering to the Allies aboard the USS Missouri in August. The War was finally over.

For some, the War would be perceived as an end without an end. Tony Russo’s brother, Billy McAvoy’s father, and my uncle Walter would not be coming home. The last time I had seen my Uncle Walter was at my grandmother’s on Thanksgiving Day in 1941, just days before the attack on Pearl Harbor.

The conclusion of World War II brought thousands of young servicemen back home to pick up their lives and start new families in new homes and new jobs. The GI Bill allocated loans for education and mortgages, and with energy never before experienced, American industry expanded to meet peacetime needs. Americans began buying goods not available during the war and this in turn created corporate expansion and jobs. Growth was everywhere, and before long the baby boom was underway. Many young couples moved to the suburbs where a multitude of track housing seemed to go up overnight. The homes were mostly detached and offered large yards where children and pets could play. With gasoline readily available, everyone seemed to be buying cars as fast as they rolled off the assembly lines. For the first time since the Great Depression, America’s growth was bursting at the seams.

Most of our neighbors that moved were those living in the many apartments in our area, but most of those who lived in houses remained. While many moved to the Maryland and Virginia suburbs, there were a few who moved to other states across the country. Our friends, the Nelson sisters, moved to New Mexico, one of the newest states to achieve statehood. Their father had been stationed there during the war.

Although Billy McAvoy’s father had been killed in the hard-fought Battle of the Bulge, his mother, who had gone to work for the Navy Department during the War, decided to remain in their house in northeast DC. Her job was secure, and she felt it was important for Billy to continue in a stable environment with the friends and school he was happy with. Her nearest relatives lived in Pennsylvania and she didn’t consider moving there an option. Grateful for the support she had received from her neighbors in her husband’s absence, she measured them more like family than her own.

The Russo family also contemplated moving and returning to New York when their eldest son Vinny was killed, but personal circumstances required them to remain in Washington as well. It was rumored that Joe Russo had ties to the New York Russo crime family and handled the family’s “business” in Washington. Unable to abandon his job at the time, and reluctant to let his family move back to New York without him, they too remained. The Russo’s eldest child, Tony’s sister, was married and lived on Long Island in New York.

For the time being, our row of five houses on Oates remained in tact.