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Authors: Jennifer Juo
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long, dark hair lit up by the late afternoon sun. She was beautiful, but Winston saw her beauty as a liability. Her looks intimidated him, repelled him in some shy, awkward way and left him fumbling with his words in her presence.
“Patience told me about the…” Winston began. “I should’ve been there.”
“We managed,” she said, but she felt very far away to him. He sensed the first stones being laid out between them. He suddenly felt a small sadness growing inside of him, but he kept it contained, isolated before it had a chance to thrive.
“No, I should’ve been here,” he said stiffly, staring off into space. He didn’t have the words in English or even in his native Chinese to repair the damage that had been somehow done by his absence. He wasn’t the kind of man who understood how to pry open a women’s emotions, so he just stood there, his arms hanging limply by his sides.
She turned and walked quickly to the kitchen, clutching the basket of dark Chinese greens. Something about the way she abruptly turned her back on him made him reluctant to follow. He didn’t know what had happened while the baby was in the clinic, but he sensed something in her had changed.
***
The next week, he left for the bush again. He told himself he preferred to be away. It was easier that way. He didn’t have to deal with the messy emotions of marriage. Winston also had to be on the road more than ever now, peddling the miracle seeds. The ADA headquarters in New York and its international donors had set a timetable. If the seeds had not been adopted by a decent percentage of farmers in two years, the project’s funding would be up for review. He didn’t want to go back to Taiwan and face his father as a failure, not with everything that had happened between them. He had to redouble his efforts to evangelize the seeds. A part of him wanted his praises sung loudly and widely so that his estranged, disapproving father could hear.
He thought of his childhood, bitterly cold Northern winters in Shandong, when his maid would put coals under his kang brick bed to keep him warm at night. He wanted to curl up in his mother’s bed like he usually did on cold nights. But that night, his father was home, visiting from Beijing where he was studying at Beijing University. Even though he was only six years old, he felt that he and his father were somehow rivals for his mother’s love. His mother adored him and his father knew this, detested it even. “Don’t coddle him,” his father would say sternly. As a boy, Winston was glad that his Baba was never around, spending most of the months in Beijing, studying classical Chinese poetry.
His mother let Winston do as he pleased in their huge courtyard mansion with multiple gardens and a small pond. He liked climbing his favorite gingko tree. He loved this tree with its fan-shaped yellow leaves because his favorite Uncle Han-ru claimed that the tree was over a thousand years old. Gingko trees were resilient and naturally disease-resistant, and because of this, some lived for two thousand years. Uncle Han-ru told him about the gingko trees in Hiroshima that were still standing. They had been only slightly charred by the American nuclear bomb and later had regained healthy leaves. Winston admired this characteristic, the resiliency, the ability to survive war and the worst calamities, and still rejuvenate. Secretly, when everything in his life fell apart later on, he tried to mimic the characteristics of his favorite tree.
His Uncle Han-ru had also been in Beijing with his father, studying at the university, but Winston wished Uncle Han-ru was his father instead. Uncle Han-ru was full of fun, laughter, always tickling him and telling stories. In contrast, his father rarely interacted with him, acting as if Winston had a contagious disease.
But after his mother’s death and their escape to Taiwan, he and his father had been left alone in a tiny Japanese paper house bordering the
“Patience told me about the…” Winston began. “I should’ve been there.”
“We managed,” she said, but she felt very far away to him. He sensed the first stones being laid out between them. He suddenly felt a small sadness growing inside of him, but he kept it contained, isolated before it had a chance to thrive.
“No, I should’ve been here,” he said stiffly, staring off into space. He didn’t have the words in English or even in his native Chinese to repair the damage that had been somehow done by his absence. He wasn’t the kind of man who understood how to pry open a women’s emotions, so he just stood there, his arms hanging limply by his sides.
She turned and walked quickly to the kitchen, clutching the basket of dark Chinese greens. Something about the way she abruptly turned her back on him made him reluctant to follow. He didn’t know what had happened while the baby was in the clinic, but he sensed something in her had changed.
***
The next week, he left for the bush again. He told himself he preferred to be away. It was easier that way. He didn’t have to deal with the messy emotions of marriage. Winston also had to be on the road more than ever now, peddling the miracle seeds. The ADA headquarters in New York and its international donors had set a timetable. If the seeds had not been adopted by a decent percentage of farmers in two years, the project’s funding would be up for review. He didn’t want to go back to Taiwan and face his father as a failure, not with everything that had happened between them. He had to redouble his efforts to evangelize the seeds. A part of him wanted his praises sung loudly and widely so that his estranged, disapproving father could hear.
He thought of his childhood, bitterly cold Northern winters in Shandong, when his maid would put coals under his kang brick bed to keep him warm at night. He wanted to curl up in his mother’s bed like he usually did on cold nights. But that night, his father was home, visiting from Beijing where he was studying at Beijing University. Even though he was only six years old, he felt that he and his father were somehow rivals for his mother’s love. His mother adored him and his father knew this, detested it even. “Don’t coddle him,” his father would say sternly. As a boy, Winston was glad that his Baba was never around, spending most of the months in Beijing, studying classical Chinese poetry.
His mother let Winston do as he pleased in their huge courtyard mansion with multiple gardens and a small pond. He liked climbing his favorite gingko tree. He loved this tree with its fan-shaped yellow leaves because his favorite Uncle Han-ru claimed that the tree was over a thousand years old. Gingko trees were resilient and naturally disease-resistant, and because of this, some lived for two thousand years. Uncle Han-ru told him about the gingko trees in Hiroshima that were still standing. They had been only slightly charred by the American nuclear bomb and later had regained healthy leaves. Winston admired this characteristic, the resiliency, the ability to survive war and the worst calamities, and still rejuvenate. Secretly, when everything in his life fell apart later on, he tried to mimic the characteristics of his favorite tree.
His Uncle Han-ru had also been in Beijing with his father, studying at the university, but Winston wished Uncle Han-ru was his father instead. Uncle Han-ru was full of fun, laughter, always tickling him and telling stories. In contrast, his father rarely interacted with him, acting as if Winston had a contagious disease.
But after his mother’s death and their escape to Taiwan, he and his father had been left alone in a tiny Japanese paper house bordering the
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