The Journal of the Water and the Light

By Thom Sunega

In her journal, foreboding dreams preface Xie Shi Xin’s departure from China with her daughter Xiao Yan to join her husband in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.
Upon arrival, a new friend Song, invites her to join a conversation class in the basement of a church given by a Catholic priest—Fr. David Fenster.
The study of vocabulary and The Little Prince free her from a long-felt stagnancy to move from observing the surface of things to understanding their significances.
These friends and factors prepare her to face the most tragic event in her life.
Five children’s stories in her journal—“The Lonely Cicada,” “The Unmarried Princess,” “The Ugly Dragon,” “The Lost Toy,” and “The Little Girl and the Friendly Chicken” provide further insight into the heart of woman who comes to understand Eagar Allan Poe’s words—“There is a thin line between sadness and beauty.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312299924

Book preview

SUNEGA

Copyright © 2014 Thom Sunega.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1520-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-312-29992-4 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 8/7/2014

CONTENTS

I    In The Beginning

II   In The Middle

III    In The End

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never put it out.

(John 1:5)

If there is light in the soul, there will be beauty in the person.

(Chinese Proverb)

I raised the bucket to his lips. He drank, his eyes closed. It was as sweet as some special festival treat. This water was indeed a different thing from ordinary nourishment. Its sweetness was born of the walk under the stars, the song of the pulley, the effort in my arms. It was good for the heart like a present.

(The Little Prince, Antoine de St. Exupery)

A drop of water shall be returned with a burst of spring.

(Chinese Proverb)

For Qun,

With Love

I

In The Beginning

For a long time, I knew that I must not be an ordinary Chinese woman. There was something dormant in me. I could sense something fleeting like an afterthought. Then it was gone—unremembered and un-reflected upon. With some certainty though, I could feel myself as a river full of vigor but directed by destiny to wind its way to the sea. I flowed freely impeded only by the turns of the banks that for the most part cradled me. In that journey, I followed the path most Chinese children follow. I listened to my parents. I studied hard. I went to university—Fudan University in Shanghai and studied chemistry and more Japanese than English—I graduated at the top of my class—no easy feat. My mother had been a chemistry teacher. She thought it would be good for me. I am not sure that is what I really wanted, but it ensured the prospect of a job and a stable future, and the expected ability of me to contribute to the support of my parents in their retirement. Soon after graduating, I met a man at a pharmaceutical company where I had obtained work. He was a manager and quite handsome and extremely charming. I thought that this was enough; that is, being responsible and caring eclipsed any thoughts of the kind of love I had read about in western novels such as Wuthering Heights or Lady Chatterley’s Lover, and in the sad and beautiful and unselfish poem Bread and Music by Conrad Aiken. Definitely, that was fiction and could not even be entertained as wishful thinking. After a year, we married. I was twenty-six. Societal and personal expectations were complete. Two years after that, Xiao Yan was born. She was our little bird, and I doted on her. Routinely, my mother cared for Xiao Yan while Bai Shi and I continued working at the pharmaceutical company. The years went by and Xiao Yan started school. This was of some relief for my mother because my father had become seriously ill with lung cancer—not so uncommon in China. He was hospitalized but requested that he spend his last days at home. My mother and I took turns in vigil. He had never openly hugged me or extended any affectionate words to me, but on the night his spirit prepared to be with his ancestors, he feebly pulled out a small pouch from underneath his pillow. In this worn leather pouch was a small jade Buddha. Though I had never known him to go to temple, he told me he prayed in his heart to Buddha every day for my safety and happiness and that I must do the same for Xiao Yan. His hand touched mine for the first time since I was a child. For a moment, we looked at each other—our eyes moist with love and understanding. He nodded and with the faint trace of a smile closed his eyes for the last time.

After that, my mother came to live with us in our two bedroom apartment in Tianjin. A new routine began; Xiao Yan loved her grandmother, and we were as happy as any family. Bai Shi, however, started to become restless. He was thinking more about the future and the idea of going to Canada—partly for his own career and partly for Xiao Yan’s future. The company had a branch there. An opportunity arose, and Bai Shi left for Toronto, Ontario, Canada. He was very fortunate that the company, an international company, had insisted on all managers passing the IELTS test as a hiring condition, so he was free to go. That was more than a year ago. We spoke weekly on the Net and explored information and pictures about Toronto and Canada. We were surprised to learn that Toronto was so multi-cultural and even more amazed that Chinese—though mostly Cantonese—was the second most spoken language in the city. Also, Bai Shi (he now had a western name—Jim) had be-friended a co-worker who was also Chinese. He and his wife were from Beijing and had been living in Toronto for more than two years. Bai Shi told me they were very nice.

Now, the time had come after long preparations—having to leave my job and my dear co-workers, moving my mother in with my uncle Guo, her brother in Suzhou, selling our apartment, and finally settling all things with immigration to join Bai Shi in Toronto. There we would begin our new life. Xiao Yan was already seven and would start early enough in school to master English. Mine at this point was basic. This troubled me. Bai Shi’s English, of course, continued to improve from his time in Canada. Nevertheless, I was determined. We were as ready as we could possibly be.

Now my journey to the sea had become even more wonderous. Then unexpectedly, before I reached the sea, I encountered an impasse. A part of me pooled to one side where no water had ever been before. I felt as if I were drowning within myself. I was too exhausted to do more than to glance to where I had begun and to where I had ended up. The sea was in my sight but no longer in my reach. I sighed. I was already thirty-five.

II

In The Middle

THURSDAY, JUNE 25, 2009

That last night in Tianjin, at the end of June, Xiao Yan curled up with me in bed. She fell asleep so quickly and deeply. I had too many things on my mind and in my heart. I looked at her sweet young face. There was barely breath from her lips. I lay flat on my back. I looked to my right. The lace curtain that covered the window swayed gently back and forth in the moonlight and the breeze. I could see the moon was a bright sliver. I was getting sleepy. In my dreaminess, I held out my arm, and my hand touched the lace curtain which brushed against the side of the bed. In my dream state but somehow real, a hand grasped mine. I was pulled away, far away to my grandmother’s farm in the countryside. When I had some clear sense, my grandmother looked up into my eyes and then walked to the water pump in front of her home. Now, you can imagine all the things that one thinks about in trying to separate what is dream and what is reality. I watched my grandmother now dead four years as if she were still alive. The pump groaned in front of the bucket. I could see the ache in my grandmother’s arms though her face showed only peaceful determination. No water came. I could not move. After a while she returned to me with the bucket heavy in her arms as if it were brimming with water. She was in front of me. Her eyes were wet because of something I could not yet understand. She tipped the bucket to empty it at my bare feet—but no water poured out—only a dead bird. I looked at it. I looked at my grandmother’s tearful eyes. She reached out to wipe away those seeping from mine. I became panicky. I thought if she touched me, I would die too. I took a step back and fell into a darkness that deepened the further I fell. The gentle breeze returned. The curtain moved away from me. I was back in my bed. Unable to separate my fears from my dream, I looked over to Xiao Yan. Her sleep was even and deep. I felt that mine would forever more be haunted.

FRIDAY, JUNE 26, 2009

We took the bullet train and in only 30 minutes arrived at Beijing’s South train station from Tianjin. It was like an airport—so new and so large. Then we caught the airport express bus to Capital Airport in Beijing. We got our boarding passes and had our large suitcases taken away. Xiao Yan was hungry, and we had more than two hours to wait. I wanted some Chinese food. I didn’t know when I would have some again, but Xiao Yan saw the Starbucks. She wanted a hot chocolate, and I had a tea, and we shared a blueberry muffin. Xiao Yan looked in wonder at everything. I had both excitement and fear woven into my heart. After going through customs, we stopped at a duty free shop. Bai Shi smoked occasionally, so I bought him some special and very expensive cigarettes—a carton of Panda, for Xiao Yan some chocolates, and for me some cosmetics I liked—Shiseido. She was so happy—so excited. I was unsure but….

It was a direct flight—about 12 and ½ hours. Xiao Yan amused herself watching some children’s movies, sometimes sleeping. From time to time, I lifted the shade and looked over her to see out the window. I could not control a feeling of dread. The sun was shining, but below was a thick blanket of cloud that separated me from uncertainty. I knew that for a short while I was safe. Many thoughts found a way to unease me. What would life be like in a different culture? What would my new home be like? How could I manage to speak to westerners? How could I deal with banks and doctors? How could I get around the city? How could I find a job? All these thoughts invaded my mind and heart like a virus. I was like an ill patient fearing the worst before a doctor could ease my anxiety—but there was no doctor for this—only Bai Shi and Xiao Yan and myself. I would have to be strong—not let Bai Shi and especially Xiao Yan know my fears.

The announcement came that the plane would be landing soon. We had followed the sun. It was still daylight. The plane made a sweeping turn. I saw Lake Ontario and the famous CN Tower so similar to the one in Tianjin. Xiao Yan was so thrilled I thought she would explode. She had none of my fears—only childhood excitement and the trust in her parents that everything would be all right.

It was lengthy, but we cleared customs. Throngs of people were waiting. I was taken aback a little by seeing so many Chinese faces. I didn’t understand that I was already becoming a little western. I could not pick out Bai Shi in the waiting crowd. All the Chinese looked a little alike. Then one arm waving a red rose caught my attention. We spotted each other. Xiao Yan ran to her father who picked her up and hugged her. Then Bai Shi turned to me. We never kissed very often—and even only once on our wedding day, but today he kissed me on the lips and hugged me deeply. I was very happy for this and momentarily all my pre-fears vanished. I was very happy to be with him again. At the moment, I wanted to be with him—never to be without him again. I looked into his eyes and felt he was feeling the same as I.

Later, Bai Shi was speaking some basic Cantonese to our driver—a kind of illegal taxi he had arranged—as we left the airport. I had no idea he had picked up this other language skill. I know it wasn’t very good because the driver kept laughing at his pronunciation. I thought too that this is the fattest Chinese man I had ever seen. An image of Buddha came to mind, but I tried not to think of this. Then, I burst out laughing. Bai Shi and Xiao Yan turned to look at me. I covered my mouth and said that I had recalled a humorous story a co-worker had told me. I think the tension that had been building up in me was diminishing in little ways I did not expect. I looked over to Xiao Yan. She was staring out the window at everything. A vegetable/fruit truck appeared alongside of us for a while. How could I know? I read the Chinese characters—another little thing that made me feel better. I was a little like Xiao Yan too. I stared at the sight of homes. In China, the idea is to buy an apartment unit is a dream fulfilled. Though many westerners live in apartments or condos, many others have a dream of property—that is a house with several bedrooms and a backyard and a garden. I had so much to learn. After a long drive, we arrived, Bai Shi told me, at the apartment building where he was living on the east side of the city. It was becoming a little darker now, and both Xiao Yan and I were very over-tired.

I didn’t know what to expect. The apartment building had eight floors—small. As we entered the lobby, strange smells accosted me. Bai Shi told me that some Chinese but many more Indian people lived in the building. The strong odours were spices and curries. Immediately, the small increments that lifted me to happiness dropped me to a place I did not want.

Several people joined us in the elevator—an old Indian couple that smiled at us. A blond boy—maybe eighteen or nineteen with long unwashed blond hair—a ring in his eyebrow. I thought this was a little scary. Xiao Yan pressed against me. She was afraid. As we exited on the eighth floor, Bai Shi told me his new friends, Chang Feng and Song Kaiyue, were waiting for us in the apartment. Song had cooked a welcoming supper for us.

Bai Shi unlocked the door, and his friends introduced themselves with their Chinese names and their English names—Kevin (Chang) and (Song) Jackie—while welcoming us. Bai Shi was right; they were very nice. I immediately had a bond with Song. Song took me into the kitchen where she was stir-frying some shrimp. Bai Shi had told her it was Xiao Yan’s favourite. The kitchen had a stove with an oven. That was something new for me. The rest of the apartment had two bedrooms, a living room, an old piano against one wall that Bai Shi was able to buy second hand for Xiao Yan to continue her lessons, a small work station with a computer that faced out to a window and a small balcony that over-looked a ravine with a small river. This was good luck I thought.

In the meantime, Bai Shi and Chang had taken Xiao Yan and showed her the separate bedroom that would be hers. Xiao Yan returned excitedly to me. In her arms was a giant stuffed Panda toy almost larger than Xiao Yan herself. It was a gift from Song and Chang. I thanked them both. We had a small kitchen table but ate in the living room area. Bai Shi was not a big drinker, but in honour of the celebrations, we had some wine and a bottle of Moutai (Best Chinese liquor). I brought out Bai Shi’s cigarettes. Chang smoked too. They enjoyed this as they talked and drank. Song had cooked well. The food was delicious and momentarily, I forgot that I was not in China. The conversation continued, and there was a true feeling of warmth. I was happy—really happy. We talked about many things. Song told me that she knew exactly how I felt—the fears about language, dealing with people, and finding a job. Song made me feel better. She told me Chang and she had been acupuncturists. She had left her job in the acupuncture unit of a hospital in Beijing to be with her husband who had left prior to her—just as I had now followed Bai Shi. She was thinking of opening an acupuncture clinic near a large Chinese mall—the Pacific Mall in the northeast section of the city—but was not completely sure. In the meantime, she had found a job, working afternoons packing cosmetics into gift boxes at a small factory. She asked if I would be interested in doing the same. It was all too soon for me. I told her I would let her know, but for the meantime, I wanted to concentrate on settling in and looking after Xiao Yan. The need for money wasn’t urgent yet. While we had been talking, Bai Shi and Chang were having a few too many cheers and were a little drunk. I was feeling the wine too, but I know part of it was jet-lag and another part was this new feeling of contentment.

The evening passed quickly. Xiao Yan had fallen asleep hugging her panda on the sofa beside us. Bai Shi had a called a taxi for Chang and Song. We said our goodbyes. The door closed, and I turned to Bai Shi. I went to him and hugged him. We stood motionless a moment. I was holding the rest of my life. Then I said I would clear up the dishes and put Xiao Yan to bed and join him soon.

An excitement throbbed within me. We had not made love in such a very long time. I knew he would want this. I wanted it too. I could barely undress Xiao Yan and get her into bed. She was so exhausted. After the dishes were done, I went to our bedroom. Bai Shi was in the bathroom. I unpacked a few things as quickly as I could. I found my night shirt and put it on. Bai Shi came out of the bathroom in only a pair of boxer shorts—how handsome he was. I washed and returned to the bedroom. Bai Shi was waiting in bed. I shut the light. I was shivering a little. Bai Shi’s body was warm and comforting. I pressed my head against his strong shoulder—but it was only for a moment. He was too aroused. He lifted up my night shirt and was on top of me. There was no preparation. His urgency denied me the tender touches I wanted—I needed. The beginning became the ending. It hurt a little. He groaned and suddenly it was over. He rolled to one side. There were no words. I trembled and pulled down my shirt. I looked over to him in the darkness hoping there was something more than this, but he was already asleep blissfully unaware of me and my feelings. There was some discomfort and the denial of enjoying even a little of what he had experienced almost recklessly. I turned over facing away from him. All the little things that had escalated my heart and mind to happiness were now gone. There was only the after smell of the Moutai. I could not control my emotions. I began to weep. I could not bear for him to know. The tears rolled down my cheeks onto my pillow. I was so sad. What was I doing here so far away from my China?

SATURDAY, JUNE 27, 2000

The next day was a little brighter in my heart. Bai Shi was still fast asleep as I got out of bed. It was almost 5 AM—5 PM in China. I looked in on Xiao Yan. Only the top of her head showed above the covers. I knew she was all right. I washed in the bathroom thinking about what happened the night before. Maybe my emotions and tiredness had overwhelmed me. Bai Shi was a good man. I decided not to think about it anymore. I went to the kitchen and looked around and found the kettle and tea. I could feel the early morning coolness in the apartment. I took my tea to have a look out on the balcony. There was a light breeze, and I shivered a little in my thin housecoat even though it was June. The view faced south. Dawn was here. The sun though was yet to come. A deep mist blanketed the ravine and the small river that flowed below. I could only make out parts of it where the canopy of trees and bushes opened. As the light increased, I could see farther—the blue edge of Lake Ontario. Then, I felt the warm fingers of the rays of light touch my hair and my eyes and my lips. It was warm and beautiful. I breathed gently against the tea leaves in my cup and took a sip. Everything was better.

Today was Saturday. We were to meet with Chang and Song and take a little tour of the city. There were not many food things except for the tea and some biscuits, so grocery shopping was also on our agenda. First though, even though it was late by Canadian time, a little breakfast in downtown Chinatown. We took a streetcar—so different than Tianjin or Beijing. There were so many seats and so few people and so many places to hold on and to sit. I was surprised too that no one stared at us. Xiao Yan and I did the staring. There were so many different people. I wondered how long it would take before I didn’t think about this. At the restaurant, Chang and Song already had seats. The place was bustling with Chinese talking so fast and loud in Cantonese. I could not understand what they were talking about. The menu was in Chinese and the waitress could understand us. We agreed on congee and some doughnut sticks that Xiao Yan liked so much. The food was good but by standards in China so expensive. A few blocks away, we went to a small market. This made me think of the farmers’ markets in China, but once again this was tempered with the incongruity of finding cultural smatterings of my previous existence in another world. What was this new world, and how did I belong? How would Xiao Yan adapt and be adopted by this new country? As we shopped and wandered about the stores and streets, my mind was still in a daze thinking about where I was only a day ago and where I was now.

Chang and Song had brought their car this time, and we brought the groceries to it and then had a long walk to a shopping place called the Eaton Centre. Surprisingly, on the way, on a street called Dundas, there was a Bank of China—amazing. The Eaton Centre was special but in some respects no different or more spectacular to the large malls in Beijing or Tianjin. It was nearing lunch, and Xiao Yan was exhausted. Chang and Song decided it was time for a western food experience—Tim Horton’s—a franchise of wonderful doughnuts and coffee and lunch things so different from food in China. Chang had chili, a dish with beans in some kind of sauce; I had chicken noodle soup; Song had the same as did Xiao Yan, and Bai Shi opted for vegetable soup and a chocolate Danish and coffee—so strange all this was. Though similar to some things available in Starbucks, we just never frequented such places. I surprised myself by finding that I really enjoyed these new foods. I could tell Xiao Yan was enjoying them too.

After that, I think we were all a little tired. We decided to take a streetcar back to where Chang and Song had parked their car. We were so happy to be driven home. We invited Chang and Song in for tea but were glad they declined. Jetlag and adventure had exhausted Xiao Yan and me. I told Xiao Yan that she should wash up and have a nap. I would put the groceries away while she rested, but she asked if I could cuddle up with her. I was so dreamy that I was glad for the invitation. I looked over at Bai Shi, but he was already on the computer reading the Chinese newspaper. I told him what I was going to do. He nodded his headed slightly but did not turn his head to acknowledge me.

MONDAY, JULY 20, 2009

The new patterns of my life were beginning to form and fall into place. Within three weeks, I had become familiar with my neighbourhood and could venture out to go shopping in Chinatown and the local western grocery stores. I didn’t need that much English—yet, and I cocooned myself in my new routines and comfortable accomplishments. That, however, was soon be disrupted by the things of life. The first came when I had to register Xiao Yan in her elementary school. Neither Bai Shi nor Song could accompany me. The school was a few blocks away, so Xiao and I walked in to meet the principal. Bai Shi had arranged this. Usually, these things take place later in August, but Bai Shi wanted this matter settled.

Ms. Chen was the principal and Chinese, that is, from Hong Kong, but she spoke fluent Mandarin and wove her way between that and English as she explained the school and routine and expectations. I felt relief. Relief because I had succeeded in accomplishing a task without assistance in my new country; relief because Xiao Yan’s initial placement would be at a similar level to that in China, and finally relief because she would be with a few students like herself in a multi-cultural class.

Feeling cheery, I decided to take Xiao Yan to a nearby Tim Horton’s for a treat. Hot chocolate and a chocolate doughnut for her—and a coffee and chocolate Danish for me. We sat and enjoyed and talked. I wanted to be sure Xiao Yan was all right, but she could not understand why I had any worries at all. In English, she answered me—that she was comfortable—even with her English and that she would be fine. She said she was excited about everything. When I asked her if she missed her friends in China (really trying to find out if she were homesick), she shrugged her shoulders a little and replied—Not really. She seemed more intent on trying to make the last bit of her doughnut last longer. My hand reached out to her cheek and told her to eat it all—I would buy her another.

"Xie xie, Ma, Thank you! We both laughed.

When we got home, I called Bai Shi on my cell and told him everything went well. Good, he said perfunctorily. He was busy at work and said he would be home around five. What was for supper? he inquired. I told him rice, Chinese lettuce, and chicken wings. "Hao (Good)," he said again and ended the call. Xiao Yan wanted to watch some western television and hopped through the channels until she found some sitcom with children that made her laugh. I puttered about. There was some laundry to do. The machines were in the basement. I could