A-ba assigned A-ma’s hidden land—with its worthless bride-price of ancient tea trees—to me. I was four at the time. Even if I’d been the age I am now, what could I have done to change the result? Nothing, because I’m only a daughter. I’ll be thirty-four when the Thirty Years No Change policy ends. No one knows what will happen then. But one thing is certain . . .
“Everything always changes,” Teacher Zhang says. “Now we’ve entered a new era. Paramount Leader Deng Xiaoping has given us a slogan to follow. To get rich is glorious . . .”
As he sometimes does when the last minutes before the lunch break near, Teacher Zhang points to the wrinkled posters of Beijing tacked to the bamboo walls. “If you study hard, maybe you could visit our capital one day.” His arm drops limp as he stares at the images: thousands of people riding bicycles, everyone dressed alike. He looks homesick, but I would die if I had to live in a place like that. He sighs, blinks a few times, and then asks in the saddest voice, “Does anyone have any questions?”
In return, he gets only requests.
“Tell us about telephones.”
“Tell us about television again.”
“And movies! Tell us about movies.”
A small smile lifts the corners of Teacher Zhang’s mouth. “I’ll have to use Mandarin characters,” he says, turning to the blackboard. “The most important character to learn is dian. Who can tell me what it means?”
“Lightning!” The students sing out in perfect chorus.
“We can also call that electricity,” he says.
“Electricity,” we repeat as one, echoing his pronunciation as closely as possible.
“If I add the character—”
“Speak,” we practically shout as he writes the character next to dian.
“I get—”
“Telephone!”
“If I add the characters for vision and sowing seeds to dian, I get—”
“Television!”
“And if I write shadow next to dian, I get—”
“Electric shadow! Movie!”
We don’t have electricity, and we don’t have telephones, television, or movies either. Until today I really and truly didn’t believe they might actually exist. They had only been exciting things to hear about and much more fun than doing our math tables or identifying the countries around us that none of us have ever seen, will ever see, or can even imagine. Today, though, I understand just how sneaky Teacher Zhang is. He’s made us beg him to teach us Mandarin. Or maybe he’s tricky, which is why he was sent here in the first place and will never be allowed to return home. I hope so anyway, because I never want him to leave. I need him.
I run outside with the other kids, but I watch for Teacher Zhang to emerge from the classroom with his usual jar filled with hot water. Once he’s settled on his own bamboo platform to eat his lunch, I walk over to him, reach into my pocket, and hand him a pinch of tea processed from last-grade leaves.
“Help me, Teacher Zhang. Help me.”
* * *
Naturally, A-ba and my brothers are against extra schooling for me. “What husband wants a wife who thinks she’s smarter than he is?” A-ba asks Teacher Zhang when he presents the idea, while A-ma looks at him as though he has plague pustules.
“A-ba, I will learn wife and mother responsibilities,” I volunteer. “I’ll continue to be a good daughter and help with tea picking. I won’t miss a single chore or duty. If I do—even if it happens for the length of a swallow’s blink—I promise I’ll put away my books forever.”
“No.”
A half cycle later, Teacher Zhang goes around my father’s back and invites the headman, ruma, and nima to our house to consult.
“The only education the girl needs is from her mother,” the headman says. “A time will come when we will require a new midwife.”
“I will learn those duties,” I pledge. And I will too, because I don’t see a way for my plan to work otherwise. That said, I won’t meet A-ma’s eyes for fear she’ll see the truth in my heart. I can never be a midwife.
The headman, ruma, and nima glance at my a-ba to get his reaction.
“I have already said no,” he says.
The village leaders seem willing to accept a father’s decision about his daughter, but then Teacher Zhang starts rudely picking at the wound of inferiority we all carry.
“I’ve lived many years among you,” he says, “and I can tell you this. Your people have no regard for education. You would rather let your children gather food, hunt, and nap than study. You boast of the Akha having one mind, but that mind is shy, closed, and suspicious. In this way, you ethnic minorities are all alike.”
Embarrassed, the headman decides Teacher Zhang has hit upon a good idea: “She will bring honor to our village and inspire other children.”
But the others remain silent in their opposition.
“To you, this meager girl is just another mouth to feed until she marries out,” Teacher Zhang persists. “But if you let her continue her studies, she may help you one day.” He mulls over the possibilities. “What if the government decides you need a village cadre as you did during the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution? Those were dark days, were they not? Wouldn’t you prefer to have someone from Spring Well speak on your behalf?”
When the nima comes out of his trance, he says, “Let her go to second-level school, and later third-level school, if she qualifies. She’ll become fluent in Mandarin. In later years, she’ll be able to communicate with Han majority people.”
“And, if they decide we need a village cadre to watch over us again, we’ll present her as our candidate,” the ruma adds, also agreeing with Teacher Zhang.
Sun and Moon! So I can take the blame and accept all the heat if the people of Spring Well Village don’t obey the government’s orders? Or did the ruma go along with the plan because I would be easily manipulated and controlled as a girl? Even A-ba saw that those men were looking out more for their own welfare than for mine. “No,” he said, which was remarkable given that the headman, ruma, and nima were united. In the end, though, their interests were more important than rules for girls, and A-ba was only one man with too many powers against him. Teacher Zhang and I had won.
* * *
For the next two years, I work very hard: doing home chores, picking tea, following and learning from A-ma, attending school, and working privately with Teacher Zhang to improve my math skills. I take and pass the test that will allow me to go to second-level school. The headman, ruma, and nima call the village together to announce the news and present A-ba with a pouch of tobacco as praise for being such a farsighted father. Teacher Zhang gives me a copy of one of Lu Xun’s books, “so you’ll know our greatest writer.”
Months later, when the new session opens, I walk alone to the second-level school. I’m very scared. I’m twelve years old and still quite small. Entering the school yard, I hear many different languages—Dai, Yi, Lahu, Hani, Naxi, and Mandarin. I don’t catch a single word of Ahka. Only when I get into my classroom and we’re assigned seats—something I’ve never experienced before—and I’m put in the back corner do I discover another Ahka. I recognize him right away: San-pa, the pancake stealer.
PART II
A BEAUTIFUL FLOWER CALLS
1994–1996
A BLIND KITTEN