“You are the new bark on the tree of our village.
May your life together become strong as wood,
Rings growing one link at a time,
A part of the Akha line.”
That night, San-pa sleeps in his parents’ house, and I retire to the home of one of his uncles. To say this is difficult . . . Waaa! Tradition!
The next day, a woman elder escorts me into San-pa’s family house to bathe me. I feel embarrassed for her to see me naked. Will she be able to tell I once had a child? Meanwhile, villagers hit the eaves with long sticks. “Move in, soul. Move in! Move in!” I wish I could tell them that they don’t have to work so hard at this, because my soul moved in with San-pa’s a long time ago. Once I’m dressed, I return to the main room. Three elders take turns circling an egg around us. It sounds easy, but it’s hard for one elder to pass the egg to the next elder without dropping it. I hold my breath, so nervous. I look over at San-pa for encouragement, but he’s even more anxious than I am. If one of the elders drops the egg and it cracks, then we would not be able to have any (more) children, have a happy life, or live to become elders ourselves.
At the end of the evening, I’m invited to sleep on the women’s side of San-pa’s family home, while he sleeps on the men’s side. How tantalizing it would be to slip out, run into the forest, and do the intercourse, but if we did that our newlywed blessings would decrease. We’ve already had such ill luck that I don’t want to attract bad spirits intent on troublemaking.
On the third morning, San-pa and I go door to door to Beg for Blessings. We carry bowls of chopped pig meat and liver, as well as a bottle of liquor to share. In exchange, people give me gifts of money and silver trinkets. Again and again, we hear, “May you have a long life. May your animals multiply. May your tea pickings and rice crops be plentiful. May you have many children.”
Finally, finally, at the end of a night of feasting and dancing, San-pa takes me to our newlywed hut. I feel nervous yet eager, shy yet bold, as I start to undress.
* * *
The next morning, Shelter Shadow’s ruma kills a chicken and inspects it for bad signs. The tongue is in the normal position, which is fortuitous. If it had been twisted, it would mean that San-pa and I would argue on our journey. I can’t imagine ever arguing with my husband.
“Has a tiger ever killed an animal in or around our village on this day of the cycle?” San-pa asks.
The ruma and nima consult and agree that no such thing has occurred. With no more rituals left to complete, San-pa and I lift our baskets to our backs and depart.
San-pa has told me that it’s 250 kilometers from Nannuo Mountain to the village outside Chiang Rai in Thailand where we’re going. First, though, we head in the opposite direction, to Menghai. After a half day’s journey, we join the path I took when I carried Yan-yeh off the mountain. When night falls, we sleep among the rubber trees. In the morning, San-pa uses his machete to scratch the dirt where we rested. “Wake up! Wake up! Let’s go!” He smiles at me and explains, “All hunters do this to make sure we don’t leave our souls behind.” I’m not a hunter, so I didn’t know this ritual when I came this way with our baby. What if Yan-yeh’s soul got lost? What if mine ran away? What about all the ways both small and large that San-pa and I have skirted fate? By the time we reach the Menghai Social Welfare Institute, I’m both hopeful and frightened.
As we enter, the smell of urine hits my nose with a powerful slap. On the floor in front of us, a scramble of babies and toddlers. There are so many of them! Even as San-pa talks to the woman in charge, I dart from child to child. They’re all girls. This one too old. That one too young. Eyes too squinty. Ears too pronounced. Too much hair. Not enough hair. All this, as though I would recognize Yan-yeh after leaving her months ago in a cardboard box down the street. But, I tell myself, a mother would know.
“Wife!”
When I turn, I expect to see San-pa with our baby in his arms. Instead, he anxiously shifts his weight from foot to foot. Next to him, the woman has puffed her cheeks in anger.
“Did you leave a baby here?” she demands shrilly. “Do you know that is against the law? I’m going to call Public Security!”
“Wife!” San-pa calls again. “We must go! Hurry! Now!”
But I can’t move, because a couple of the toddlers have latched onto my legs. But even if I could move, would I? I came here for Yan-yeh.
San-pa crosses the floor and grabs my hand. The babies and small children startle at his abrupt action. Two begin to wail. Then another two. And more after that. Caretakers in pink smocks come running from other rooms. In a different situation, San-pa and I would look comical the way we tiptoe in and around and over the babies. The woman in charge crosses her arms indignantly as we approach.
“We have a child here,” I confess, my voice coming out as breathless as if I’d raced Ci-teh up a mountain. “We’ve come to get her.” Only the truth will help me, and maybe this woman will have a kind heart. “We’re just married. We’re beginning our lives together at last, but we need our daughter with us. If we take her, you’ll have one less mouth to feed. And”—I pull one of my new silver wedding bracelets off my arm and offer it to her—“we can pay.”
Babies howl. The caretakers scoop up the loudest screamers. San-pa glances apprehensively from the woman’s face to the door, ready to bolt. I hold the woman’s gaze. “I want my baby, please.”
“My name is Director Zhou, and I prefer that bracelet,” she says, pointing to the one A-ma gave me just days ago. It’s my most valuable possession, but I readily give it to her. “So tell me,” she asks, slipping the bracelet onto her wrist, “what day did your baby come to us? Does she have any scars or a birthmark?”
“She was wrapped with a tea cake—”
Director Zhou instantly brightens. “I remember that one!” But as memories of Yan-yeh return, her face falls. “We sent her in a caravan with other infants to Kunming two months ago.”
I reach for San-pa. “We can go there—”
Before San-pa can respond, the director continues. “She’s been adopted. She’s no longer in China. She has new parents in America.”
The world around me goes black, and I feel myself falling to the floor.
* * *