In another dream, they looked horrible and wore sad faces. My sister wouldn’t even look at me. She stood with her back to me, holding Grandmother’s hand, and I called her again and again, but she wouldn’t turn around. Finally, my grandmother took her up in her arms and they left together. My midnight shrieking made me a problem child; I woke up the other orphans.
The director asked me to give her the pictures I had brought. I was reluctant to hand all of them over, but she said it was possible to find my grandparents with them, though it might take some time. I was certain that within a few days I would leave that place and be rescued by my grandparents.
I slept with 25 other kids—all my age—boys and girls mixed in one big dormitory that was little more than a cold floor. When I entered the room the first time, a boy made fun of me, saying, “Didn’t you run away from home? Your step-mom picked on you every day, right? Didn’t they feed you? Poor you. How easily you were caught by those scary soldiers! Your parents will come here and beat you soon.”
I didn’t care about him. I was sure I wouldn’t be there for long anyway. Unlike the boys, the girls were nice; they asked me how old I was and invited me to play jump rope and jacks, games I had played with my sister every day. I was good at jump rope, while my sister was much better at jacks. We tied one side of the rope around a skinny tree, and one of us held the other side at the same height. Then we’d skip over the rope from ankle height, then knee height, hip, waist, shoulder, neck, and up to the crown of the holder’s head. I loved that game. We sang as we skipped. When we felt bored with the same songs we composed our own. We even made up arm gestures to make the game more complicated. We took our jump-rope games so seriously that we frequently got into big arguments.
One day, when it had been raining since early morning, some of the kids were playing jacks inside, while others took a nap. I was strolling around, sulking, when the director came into the room, and had me stand still. She took the cleanest clothes out of my backpack and dressed me up. Patting my cheek lightly, she said my grandparents were coming soon. Before the other kids, I left the room exultant, in a flutter of excitement. I tried not to forget the names of the places I wanted to go.
I watched through the window of the director’s office as a shiny black car made its smooth approach to the building. An old couple slipped out of the car: the old man was tall and wore a dark-green military uniform, holding his round military hat at his side; the lady was tiny, and had a round face. Next to him, she was like a cicada on an oak tree. I couldn’t see their faces very well. Once I saw them head to the gate, I returned to my chair and waited for them, sitting properly and organizing my tangled hair. Soon the director opened the door, and they stepped into the office awkwardly, walking slowly toward me.
They were the people in the pictures. Though they looked much older, I recognized their faces easily. How many times had I seen those pictures! As they approached, I gave a big smile. I was certain they were my mom’s parents, I could feel her in them. They had much better skin and clothes than my grandparents on the mountain. I wanted to tell my sister what was happening in front of me right at that moment. She had never seen them; it was the first time I experienced something before she did.
They sat down on two chairs placed in front of me and looked at me silently for some time. My new grandfather asked the director to excuse us for a minute. She nodded and quietly left the office. Closing the door, she waved a hand over her flushed face, and I answered her by showing my teeth in delight.
Alone, they examined me again. My new grandfather’s air was so brusque, so different from my other grandfather. He looked too clean. He might not have any special smell, and I wondered whether it would be possible to fall asleep next to him, breathing in his smell and tugging on the drooped flesh around his Adam’s apple, as I did with my grandfather on the mountain. I didn’t dare to watch his face. Moving my fingers, I counted the different-colored medals on his chest. After counting 20, I became worried for him; it must be heavy to carry all of them on his body every day.
With tearful eyes, Grandmother stretched her hand toward me to touch my head. When Grandfather cleared his throat, she pulled her hand back to her knee. Finally, he broke the silence.
“How did you get here from so far away?”
“Some soldiers helped me.”
Why did he look so uncomfortable? It seemed he wasn’t happy to see me at all.
“Bookchang is too far away for a kid like you to get here alone,” he murmured.
“How’s your mom?” Grandmother asked, hesitantly.
“I’ve never seen her. She died when she gave birth.” I was surprised at the question. Could they not know about their daughter’s death?
Grandmother gasped and turned her head to her husband’s side. His face stiffened. He demanded, “How did you get those pictures? Did your grandparents let you come here? Did they send you?”
With my mouth half open, I looked at each of them in turn. Grandmother avoided my eyes; I knew he was blaming my grandparents on the mountain and me as well. His face was turning red, and I didn’t want to hear his reproach; these two people had never cared for me and now they couldn’t even spare me a warm look. My cheeks were starting to burn.
“They gave me those pictures to find you because they didn’t know where you were. They were right. Without them, I may not have met you at all.” I tried to smile at them.
Grandfather said, “What do they want? To get out of the compound? They want us to save them even though they killed my daughter? Isn’t it enough to wreck our family? They still don’t understand. Do they think they can have their way with us? No! They are much better off than other dissidents, and it’s because of me. We tried to be generous because of our daughter—maybe that’s not necessary anymore.” He gave me a fierce scowl, his face turning purple. He was different from my grandfather on the mountain, like a stranger, and I pulled back in fright.
My grandmother grabbed his arm. He breathed heavily and stopped scolding me. Still, he kept a hard face. He stood up from the chair and said, “We promised the government we would have no contact with you. We swore that we didn’t have a daughter in our lives. You and your grandparents don’t realize that your behavior could risk all of our lives.”
He lowered his voice and continued, “We don’t have a daughter. We don’t have any granddaughter either.” He turned back and left the room.
My grandmother held my hands and said, “You look like your mom when she was your age.” Then she stood up as well and quietly left the room.
I didn’t move from my seat. I heard the sound of the car leaving and stared blankly at the door; their coldness had stunned me. In my dreams they had drawn me into their arms and taken me to their cozy house. Why were they so angry with me? Did they think I killed my mom? Did they also see me as a little troublemaker?
Our first meeting had lasted less than one hour. They didn’t come again.
And so the orphanage turned out to be my second home. I later learned that my grandparents had denied any connection to me and had taken away my photos, even my sister’s favorite. They claimed that their daughter and granddaughter had passed away ten years before. I decided to forget the day I saw my mother’s parents. I decided I had just one grandfather and grandmother in my life. My pillow was often soaked with tears; I longed to see my sister and play our old games. The mountains gave us no food and bitter cold, but I longed for them just the same.