The Cooked Seed (32 page)

The judgment arrived. I was given physical custody of Lauryann. I was immensely relieved to gain control of Lauryann’s life. She needed
structure and order. In the past few weeks I had received repeated calls from Lauryann’s nursery school teacher. She notified me that my daughter had been late every day that Qigu had her. Instead of arriving at 8:30, Qigu brought her in at lunchtime. As a result, Lauryann missed morning lessons.

Qigu thought that the teacher was overreacting. I simply saw it as Qigu robbing Lauryann of learning time.

“Why are you so serious?” Qigu protested. “It’s only nursery school.”

“It is about foundation building,” I said. “Good habits help build sound character. Lauryann needs discipline.”

Qigu didn’t go to sleep until after midnight. Lauryann stayed up with him. She was turning into an owl by the power of her father’s example. She was active and spirited at night and couldn’t get out of bed when the sun rose. Her teacher reported that during the day she was sleepy. “Lauryann has trouble concentrating,” she said. All the discipline work I did with Lauryann was reversed the moment she went back to Qigu.

It became clear to me that as long as Qigu remained a presence in Lauryann’s life, I would be wasting my time trying to teach Lauryann anything. Lauryann was already a pleasure seeker, and she was not shy about letting me know that she preferred her father. Lauryann fought with me when I attempted to give her a simple lesson. Instead of learning to count from one to ten, Lauryann sucked her thumb and ignored me. Qigu cheered at her behavior. He found it amusing and entertaining.

I had started to dream of moving with Lauryann to California. The challenge was that the law was not in my favor. The law required that, unless I had written permission from Qigu, we must remain within fifty miles of each other. The law served to protect the child’s right to be close to both parents.

I knew Qigu would never give me his permission to take Lauryann and move to California. I feared that my custody rights would be revoked if I dared to defy the law. Nonetheless, I was desperate to free Lauryann of her father’s influence and began to move forward.

I didn’t realize that in America my action would be described as “kidnapping.”

If I had never consciously tried to use anyone in my life, I did it now. I targeted my former mother-in-law, Lauryann’s grandma. I felt indecent, but not guilty.

I phoned China. I put Lauryann on. She was yet to speak in complete sentences, but she knew who was on the other end. “Nai Nai!”—grandma—“Nai Nai!” she cried joyfully.

I took over the phone and said, “Would you like me to bring Lauryann to see you this summer?”

“I can’t wait!” came Grandma’s delighted response.

“Listen, United Airlines is offering a promotional fare from Chicago to Los Angeles and then to Shanghai,” I said. “I’m thinking about taking advantage of that.” The truth was that I didn’t have to take a flight through Los Angeles; United Airlines had direct flights from Chicago to Shanghai. My intention was to purchase a Chicago–Los Angeles–Shanghai round-trip ticket, so that we could remain in California for good after we returned from China.

“There is an issue, though,” I said to Grandma. “And I must have your advice.”

“What issue? We already know that you and Qigu are divorced.”

“I am not allowed to travel with Lauryann without Qigu’s permission.”

“What does that have to do with your bringing Lauryann to see me?”

“Well, American law requires me to stay within fifty miles of where Qigu lives. He will not let me take Lauryann out of Chicago.”

“Nonsense!” The old woman said. “You tell him that I want to see my granddaughter! I’ll give him big trouble if he refuses to give you permission!”

I went to Qigu with his mother’s request. I showed him the ticket I purchased, a round trip Chicago–Los Angeles–Shanghai ticket. I presented my precomposed permission slip, which stated, “
I, Qigu Jiang, hereby give permission to my ex-wife, Anchee Min, to take our daughter Lauryann Jiang to California and China.
”

I kept my fingers crossed and prayed that Qigu would be his usual sage self, which meant that he wouldn’t pay attention to the missing return date.

He signed.

As I was getting ready to head to California, Margaret told me that she had been thinking about relocating too. “Los Angeles could be my next address,” she said.

I couldn’t have been more pleased with Margaret’s idea. As single mothers we could be great help to each other. We could share the rent and each keep an eye on the other’s child. It would enable us to work full-time. “We have been best friends since college,” I said. “It would be ideal!”

As Margaret completed the adopting process and was on her way to pick up her daughter in China, I packed. I avoided going back to Bridgeport, because it hurt to look back. Witnessing my stomach pain, Margaret suggested that I see a divorce counselor. I told her that psychoanalysis didn’t work for Chinese. The only thing it did was make me more conscious of my misfortune. I came to America with one suitcase filled with toilet paper. Ten years later, I had three suitcases—two filled with Lauryann’s stuff. What changed was my way of thinking. I was blessed with a tomorrow-is-another-day attitude.

I loved the Southern California sunshine. The blazing red and pink bougainvilleas I saw everywhere lifted my spirit and brought me hope. Being able to play outside improved Lauryann’s health and her cough was finally gone.

We settled in a town called Torrance and shared a modest three-bedroom house with Margaret and her adopted daughter Fooh-Fann. The girls shared a room while Margaret and I each had our own bedroom. I made mine an office as well. I was pleased with the private space and quiet I desperately craved.

After the success of
Red Azalea
, I gained the confidence to try a novel and wrote
Katherine
, the story of a Chinese girl and her American teacher.
Wild Ginger
followed, and then I started to take the first steps
toward my first big historical novel,
Becoming Madame Mao
. All these stories were set during the Cultural Revolution, and writing them forced me back into the period that still lived just under my skin. I wrote for endless hours. Once I got the story going, there was no stopping me. My characters left me with no peace until I got their voices on paper. I was living to catch the spirits.

Outside, the small yard and green lawn was heavenly. I planted roses on the edges along the fence. My hands had missed the touch of the soil. I was tempted to dig a manure pit and make my own compost. I wanted to introduce Lauryann to nature, to the pleasure of working with the earth. I bought poppy and wildflower seeds and planted them with Lauryann. I was bathed in happiness as I sat under a tree watching Lauryann, who dragged the hose trying to water the lawn. The little girl stood under the clear blue sky in bright-pink top and skirt—a picture of beauty and a blessing.

I observed Lauryann to see how she was adjusting to our relocation. I was sure deep down she missed her father, and I felt terrible that I had torn her away. Her young mind must have been stained by memories of our broken family and the horrible and endless fights I had with Qigu. Lauryann’s only knowledge of what it meant to be a family was disharmony and tears. What would it do to her? Would she grow up bitter? Distrustful? In fear of closeness and relationships? How could I possibly explain to Lauryann that she was better off without Qigu? That the pain was a ticket to a brighter future? That her life was finally hers to claim and create without disturbance? That my divorce had made me a wiser woman and a better mother? That I was thrilled that I could now teach her my core values about heaven rewarding the hardworking without being put down and ridiculed as “refusing to learn the joy of life”? That she was the center of her own universe and mine while in the meantime life was not all about her? That she must learn to give back to America and to mankind?

For the next three years, the four of us were a family. Margaret was a devoted mother to Fooh-Fann, a sun-kissed, apple-cheeked little girl with big eyes. She had an intensity about her, a quality Lauryann didn’t have being American-born, and a quality I associated with Chinese who had lived through poverty.

The girls became best friends. I followed Margaret’s choice for Fooh-Fann and enrolled Lauryann in the same private school, a Montessori kindergarten. I changed my mind after six months because the tuition was too expensive. I pulled Lauryann out and enrolled her in a nearby public school. When Lauryann complained, I simply told her that we had no choice but to live below our means.

Margaret and I got along great at first, but in time we began to drive each other crazy. Our cultural differences and personalities clashed. In one instance, I refused to share the cost of her hiring a housekeeper. “I can clean my own toilet and mop my own floor!” I said. “I don’t want Lauryann to miss the opportunity of learning to make her own bed and organize her own closet.”

Margaret ended up paying for a housekeeper to come half the month while I was my own maid for the other half. Also, I told Margaret that I wouldn’t split the utility bill if she didn’t stop running the laundry machine with only six pairs of socks and one pair of underwear. And I had trouble with Margaret telling me to postpone depositing her check for half of the mortgage payment.

“If you’re so short on money, why can’t Fooh-Fann go to the same free public school Lauryann does? You can save the tuition and make your ends meet! Why wouldn’t you? What’s wrong with the public school? The teachers are great and Lauryann is not disrespected in any way. She’s having fun!”

I was confused when Margaret warned me that I was hindering Lauryann’s future by letting her attend a public school. I felt more and more challenged by issues rising at home each day. Comparing herself to her friend, Lauryann cried about not having what Fooh-Fann had. Lauryann envied Fooh-Fann’s soccer, violin, swimming, jazz, and horseback-riding lessons. Margaret said she was emptying her retirement account to fund these activities.

I couldn’t afford to provide Lauryann with such luxuries. I bought a used Michael Jackson videotape and tried to learn how to moonwalk together with Lauryann, and she ended up becoming good at learning things from videotapes. Many years later, she would learn to play piano from YouTube. When Lauryann was a child, making the best of what we had was a struggle for both of us.

Lauryann broke down and sobbed when I refused to give her the same birthday party Fooh-Fann had. She expected a pretty dress, gifts, games, and to give goody bags to friends, but she got none of that. It bothered me to see my daughter acting as if she was deprived. I was unable to talk her out of her misery. My values were under attack, but there was no enemy in sight that I could see or fight. I felt helpless and unfit as a mother. Fooh-Fann told me one day that Lauryann had secretly revealed to her that she considered herself a Cinderella and that I was her evil stepmother. The next day Lauryann asked me if I was her real mother. When I said yes, she asked if I would give her up for adoption.

I clipped a photo from the
New York Times
and showed it to Lauryann. The photo featured a little Chinese orphan girl tied to a stool with a chamber pot beneath her. The image led Lauryann to ask Fooh-Fann if that was the way she had lived in China.

To an American, the photo was evidence of child abuse. But to Chinese eyes, it was only how things were done in China. When one caretaker had to be responsible for over forty children in poverty-stricken provinces, it was the only way to keep the floor clean, and the children were trained to shout, “I am done pottying!” when done. Then the caretaker would come and release the child.

To Margaret, I had committed a crime by sharing the image with Fooh-Fann. With tears streaming down her face, she cried, “It’s heartless of you to show her the picture! Don’t you think my daughter suffered enough in China? Why do you have to keep reminding her what I try so hard to help her forget?”

I was moved by Margaret’s love for Fooh-Fann, although I refused to admit any wrongdoing on my part.

Margaret also felt left out when I spoke Chinese to Fooh-Fann. I protested, “Margaret, you were the one who asked me to teach Fooh-Fann Chinese in the first place!”

Fooh-Fann was a strong-willed child who thrived on challenges. She was determined to impress me. She didn’t mind that I was tough. She enjoyed earning my praise. She sensed that beneath my iron mask, I adored her, and I did.

Fooh-Fann loved to say, “Watch me, Anchee Min!” Margaret felt that I had crossed the boundary as a friend. She began to accuse me of
stealing Fooh-Fann’s affection. Margaret couldn’t hide her bitterness when Fooh-Fann spoke to me in Chinese. Realizing the injustice I had done to Margaret, I quit speaking Chinese to Fooh-Fann. A week later, Margaret enrolled Fooh-Fann in a local Chinese language school, but Fooh-Fann never learned to speak Chinese.

It was difficult to take Lauryann to my bedroom and shut the door when Fooh-Fann was having her violin lesson in the living room. Every time Fooh-Fann invited her friends over, Lauryann would weep with envy.

“I have no friends, Mommy,” Lauryann cried. “Nobody likes me.”

I stared at my daughter’s little tearful face; her spirit was breaking. She feared being rejected by Fooh-Fann.

The environment had turned toxic. I realized that I was the one responsible. I was punishing Lauryann for wetting her shoes while walking her along the beach.

I decided to teach Lauryann to stand up for herself. “You must learn to earn respect from people,” I said to her.

“But how, Mommy? What do I do?”

“Show your best self.” I told Lauryann that I used to earn respect by winning contests reciting Mao poems and quotations. “You just have to be standing by and snatch it when opportunity knocks on your door.”

Lady Natasha was Fooh-Fann’s violin teacher from Russia. She protested to Margaret, “I was paid to teach one child, not two!” What Lady Natasha meant was that Lauryann had peeked during Fooh-Fann’s violin lessons.