“但佢一定要好堅強先可以橫跨美國演講,”* Grace said.
“為中國佢會忍受一切.”*
Grace’s knowledge of her mother’s Cantonese dialect was limited to what was spoken at home. She couldn’t always fully understand when her mother talked about politics, but she knew her mother well enough to hear the cynicism in her tone. She was about to ask her what exactly she meant when Lily interrupted.
“Mama, when will she get here?” Lily asked.
“Soon,” Grace said.
“But you said that a long time ago,” Lily complained.
Grace laughed and squeezed her daughter close, and as Lily squealed half in protest, half in laughter, Grace bent down and said, “Any minute now. Any minute!”
Eddie heard the anticipation in her voice and reached for her, his little fingers spreading wide. She tickled his pink palm with the tip of her finger and smiled as he giggled. Watching her son laughing on her mother’s lap made her realize she didn’t want to squabble with her mother about Madame Chiang. She wanted to enjoy the day.
Her husband had joined the U.S. Army a year ago, and today was the first day she had felt optimistic about the war. She was sure that Madame Chiang’s tour of America could only bring greater American support to China in its struggle against imperial Japan. She felt a distinct pride that her husband was part of the effort. Though he couldn’t tell her much about what he was actually doing, she knew that he had been sent to China, and that he was working to save the lives of men from both of his countries: his homeland and his new, adopted nation.
At last Grace heard the rising roar of the crowd heralding Madame Chiang’s arrival at the gates of Chinatown. Grace’s mother stood, lifting Eddie in her arms so that he too could see the approaching motorcade. Those in the crowd were waving their flags excitedly. Their cheers drowned out the sound of the motorcade’s engines, and everyone leaned forward in unison, yearning to catch a glimpse of the one woman who had come to embody all of China.
It was rumored that Madame Chiang might get out of her limousine and walk along Grant Avenue, and as the car rolled up the street, everyone waited for her to do just that, but she didn’t stop. The dark-suited secret service men walking alongside the motorcade only gazed grimly back at the spectators from beneath the brims of their fedoras. But finally there it was—the limousine bedecked with flags, the polished fenders and windows gleaming in the sunlight. Grace urged her daughter to stand on the wooden crate so she could see China’s first lady.
Grace spotted the flutter of a white handkerchief from the back seat—Madame Chiang was waving at them, but she didn’t get out of the car. Everyone was saying that she must be too exhausted; and besides, she was about to go visit the leaders of Chinatown at the Six Companies headquarters. There was no time to linger here, greeting the ordinary Chinese of America. They should cheer louder, so she would know that the American Chinese supported her. Grace reminded herself, not for the first time, that Madame Chiang was practically half American, having been educated in the United States. She clung to this idea as the motorcade disappeared and was followed by the St. Mary’s drum corps, beating a merry rhythm just as if it were Chinese New Year.
“Mama, I thought the parade was this afternoon,” Lily said.
“There is another one this afternoon. This one is to welcome Madame Chiang to Chinatown.”
“Two parades! In one day?”
“Yes, two parades.”
“This madame must be very important.”
Grace smiled at her daughter. “Yes. She is a very important Chinese woman, indeed.”
* * *
—
The disadvantage of being part of a parade, Grace realized, was that one didn’t get to see the rest of it. But the historic moment must be appreciated, she told herself, as she marched back and forth to keep an eye on the twenty restless children she had been charged with supervising. Her group was but one of dozens, adding up to what she had heard was thousands of children. They were all dressed in traditional Chinese clothes, ranging from colorful caps tasseled in gold to white silk pajamas embroidered with pink flowers. Lily and her friend Shirley wore matching sky-blue silk trousers and mandarin-collared jackets with yellow frog buttons. They were as enraptured with their costumes as they were with the importance of their endeavor: representing the young Chinese in America. The responsibility, imparted to them by Grace and the other mothers, seemed to rest lightly on their slim shoulders. They were simply thrilled to be gathered together with their friends beneath a clear afternoon sky on what should have been a school day.
When it was finally their time to join the parade, Grace lined up her charges and led them toward Civic Center. The crowds that lined Polk Street were thirty, forty people deep; Grace couldn’t see where they ended. As they neared City Hall, the cheering became thunderous, and she could feel the excitement rattling her bones, as if an earthquake were shaking the confetti-covered streets.
They said that Madame Chiang was watching the parade from the balcony above the entrance to City Hall. Grace gazed up between the columns and saw tiny people there, but she couldn’t recognize anyone. She didn’t even see the white flash of Madame Chiang’s handkerchief, which she must surely be waving at the masses gathered below her.
Grace noticed a plane flying overhead, the groan of its engine swallowed by the cheering crowd. It pulled a wide white banner painted with a dark circle. The sight of it caused a sudden drop in her mood. It was a warplane towing a target sleeve out to the ocean, where it would be used for machine gun practice by navy pilots rehearsing their attacks against the Japanese. She wondered if Madame Chiang saw it, too.
* * *