PRC.
“Propaganda,” he says, emphasizing each syllable. “Again, you don’t understand how many Chinese are going back to China every day. Since Liberation, over sixty thousand Overseas Chinese have gone back to Fukien alone. Another ninety thousand have returned to the motherland from Indonesia. You think the government would kill all those people?” he scoffs. “But if you’re so worried, maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“But I need to find my daughter.” (And I don’t care what he says. I’ve read the papers. I’ve seen the news. It’s Red China, for heaven’s sake.)
He looks me up and down, appraising me for the widow I am. Then he says, “As you say, she’s a daughter. Maybe she’s not worth it. If she were a son, that would be different.” Hong Kong may be a British colony, but Chinese ways and traditions are old and deep. I’m so angry I want to hit him. “Forget this stupid girl,” he adds. “You can have other children. You’re still young enough.”
“Yes, yes,” I agree, because what’s the point in arguing about a daughter’s value or putting this man in his place for offending a widow’s vows? “Still, I’m going to China and I need help.”
“Ah! Square one! What kind of help do you need?”
“Just two things. I need to receive letters and money from my sister, and I need to be able to write back to her.”
“Have you done this before—written to China?”
“My father-in-law used this association to send money back to his home village,” I answer.
“Tell me your family name again.”
“My maiden name was Chin. My married name is Louie.”
The man steps away, looks through some files, and comes back with an index card. “Money was sent from your family in Los Angeles to Wah Hong Village until just this month.” His attitude seems to change with this knowledge. “Shall I send money to you in Wah Hong?”
“I’m not going there.”
“That’s all right. We can still get mail to you as long as you’re somewhere in Kwangtung province. Our connections are just over the border, as they’ve been for over a hundred years.”
“But I’m going to Shanghai.” Joy said she wanted to meet her father. That’s where she has to be.
“Shanghai.” He grimaces. “I can’t send anything directly to Shanghai. We don’t have connections there.”
“If you send mail to our relatives in Wah Hong, could they send it on to me?”
He nods, but I need to verify what’s possible.
“How does it work?”
“You have someone send us money—”
“My sister will send letters and money, maybe even packages. We’ll have to consider the cost—”
“And the time. You can send an airmail letter from the United States to Hong Kong quickly and easily, but the cost to send a package by air is prohibitive.”
“I realize that. I’ll tell my sister to send packages by boat.”
“In any case, I’ll put whatever she sends in a new envelope—or package—and address it to your cousin”—he glances at the card in his hand—“Louie Yun. I’ll give it to one of my men, who’ll then take it with him on the train to Canton. From there, he’ll go to Wah Hong and deliver the letter to Louie Yun, who’ll put the letter in a whole new envelope and mail it on to you in Shanghai. Obviously, you’ll need to contact this cousin to tell him what he’ll need to do—”
I want to go straight to Shanghai, but I say, “I’ll take care of it.” After a pause, I ask, “Does it have to be so complicated?”
“If you want to receive just mail, then it’s pretty easy, although it might be read, censored, and maybe even confiscated entirely. If you want to receive money—”
“I don’t want anyone in the village to get in trouble,” I interrupt. “A while ago, we received a letter from one of the cousins in Wah Hong, saying they didn’t need our money any longer. ‘There are no wants in the new China,’ he wrote. He was later killed trying to escape—”
The man
“Propaganda,” he says, emphasizing each syllable. “Again, you don’t understand how many Chinese are going back to China every day. Since Liberation, over sixty thousand Overseas Chinese have gone back to Fukien alone. Another ninety thousand have returned to the motherland from Indonesia. You think the government would kill all those people?” he scoffs. “But if you’re so worried, maybe you shouldn’t go.”
“But I need to find my daughter.” (And I don’t care what he says. I’ve read the papers. I’ve seen the news. It’s Red China, for heaven’s sake.)
He looks me up and down, appraising me for the widow I am. Then he says, “As you say, she’s a daughter. Maybe she’s not worth it. If she were a son, that would be different.” Hong Kong may be a British colony, but Chinese ways and traditions are old and deep. I’m so angry I want to hit him. “Forget this stupid girl,” he adds. “You can have other children. You’re still young enough.”
“Yes, yes,” I agree, because what’s the point in arguing about a daughter’s value or putting this man in his place for offending a widow’s vows? “Still, I’m going to China and I need help.”
“Ah! Square one! What kind of help do you need?”
“Just two things. I need to receive letters and money from my sister, and I need to be able to write back to her.”
“Have you done this before—written to China?”
“My father-in-law used this association to send money back to his home village,” I answer.
“Tell me your family name again.”
“My maiden name was Chin. My married name is Louie.”
The man steps away, looks through some files, and comes back with an index card. “Money was sent from your family in Los Angeles to Wah Hong Village until just this month.” His attitude seems to change with this knowledge. “Shall I send money to you in Wah Hong?”
“I’m not going there.”
“That’s all right. We can still get mail to you as long as you’re somewhere in Kwangtung province. Our connections are just over the border, as they’ve been for over a hundred years.”
“But I’m going to Shanghai.” Joy said she wanted to meet her father. That’s where she has to be.
“Shanghai.” He grimaces. “I can’t send anything directly to Shanghai. We don’t have connections there.”
“If you send mail to our relatives in Wah Hong, could they send it on to me?”
He nods, but I need to verify what’s possible.
“How does it work?”
“You have someone send us money—”
“My sister will send letters and money, maybe even packages. We’ll have to consider the cost—”
“And the time. You can send an airmail letter from the United States to Hong Kong quickly and easily, but the cost to send a package by air is prohibitive.”
“I realize that. I’ll tell my sister to send packages by boat.”
“In any case, I’ll put whatever she sends in a new envelope—or package—and address it to your cousin”—he glances at the card in his hand—“Louie Yun. I’ll give it to one of my men, who’ll then take it with him on the train to Canton. From there, he’ll go to Wah Hong and deliver the letter to Louie Yun, who’ll put the letter in a whole new envelope and mail it on to you in Shanghai. Obviously, you’ll need to contact this cousin to tell him what he’ll need to do—”
I want to go straight to Shanghai, but I say, “I’ll take care of it.” After a pause, I ask, “Does it have to be so complicated?”
“If you want to receive just mail, then it’s pretty easy, although it might be read, censored, and maybe even confiscated entirely. If you want to receive money—”
“I don’t want anyone in the village to get in trouble,” I interrupt. “A while ago, we received a letter from one of the cousins in Wah Hong, saying they didn’t need our money any longer. ‘There are no wants in the new China,’ he wrote. He was later killed trying to escape—”
The man
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