I was looked after by my mother’s bar girlfriends when she was away working. Most of them were not well educated, and some of them had bad habits like exposing too much skins in front of little children, like chewing beetle nuts that stained their teeth pretty badly. But they were responsible and treated me like their little sister or daughter. They and my mother raised me in a world full of women and phantom men.
When I was old enough to go to school, I was sent to Western Gate Elementary School. It was a hugely popular school with kids from all over the city, for it was known to graduate kids to the best middle schools in town. Girls and boys were in separate classes. I had nice memories of the girls I had spent six years with. Because I grew up nearby, I got to show off to my out-of-town classmates my vibrant neighborhood, with its non-stop actions of temple parties, celebrations and processions, gods and spirits, devils and ghosts, snake-oil salesmen, junk shops, monkey tricks and puppy shows. Things I took for granted, but were a big treat for the classmates who lived much quieter lives in the suburbs. They were nice friends with me. I remember one of the girls who was a mainlander, children born to Mandarin Chinese who retreated to Taiwan with Chiang Kai Shek and colonized my Taiwan, who was especially dear to me, followed me around like a little worm tail of mine. (That was the expression we Taiwanese used to describe close friendships, inseparable.) I showed her all the weird fun things and rituals that old people with deep roots with the land did on earth, and she soaked it up and just couldn’t get enough of it. Those girls from my own neighborhood - They weren’t so nice to me; they knew my mother was a bargirl. That was the last little bit of my childhood.
But I didn’t do well in school. I was given poor grades, and had to sit in a separate area for poor students in the classroom many times. I was sad and embarrassed. It was tough for me to find a quiet place to study at home, where all the shouting, crying and loud music in the street sounded very near.
I barely graduated. As soon as I was done with school, I asked my mother if I could start as a working girl like her. I was ready, I said. She looked at me with a little sadness, and she said okay baby. (You see, I was a strong-headed girl, and she was tired of fighting me.)
I slept with men as my mother did. Because of my age, I slept with only one at a time, and I did not steal from them. I gave them love when they were lonely and frightened and wanted something soft to touch. I took money for the loving I was giving, but I did not ask them for jewelry or gifts. I would not take a man to my room and love him if I did not want to. The others could buy me blossom tea in the bar. They talked to me, and played some music, and put their arms around me, but I would not take them to my room. If they wanted to give me money, I would refuse.
Over time, I lost touch with my few close friends from the elementary school. Most of them probably went on to middle schools, high schools, colleges and bigger things like all good girls you know. Life was a blur until I was twenty. My mother had retired from the business. She stayed home to care for my son.
Yes, I have a son. One Chinese man gave me my son when I turned eighteen. My mother said my lifestyle was not the best for my son. I told her that someday I would bring my son to someplace different. But I never could. So my boy still lives with my mother in Taiwan.
It was the Vietnam war, and Taiwan saw a lot of American GI’s passing through. They mostly stayed in Beitou, north of Taipei, a famous destination for hot springs and prostitution, during their vacation from the war in Vietnam. I heard that you could earn a lot more money by working the bars in Beitou than in the Western City Gate. This was 1974. I was twenty years old, and I went to Beitou for work. I had learned many English words to use on American men, like “You buy me a drink, okay?” “You from America?” “You like Taiwan?” “You are in Beitou long?” “You listen to Jazz music?” “What is your work?” Things like that.
Then I met an American man from the embassy who said he would take me away across the ocean and he would marry me. He said he loved me and I said I loved him too. The idea of marriage scared me a little; but what the hell, I loved him. Then, here I am, in America; and the man was different from when he was in Taiwan, and I guess he thought I was different too. I came thinking I would be a housewife with a vacuum cleaner and a toaster oven. Then when he started beating me, and I thought I didn’t love him anymore, and I tried one last time to ask him to tell me about the love he had for me in Taiwan, he thought I was one crazy Taiwanese girl and he said ugly things that could burn through me. So, bam, I was gone from that man. I could not go back to Taiwan, and he gave me all the right papers so I could be an American and he could look like a good man.
I am a Taiwanese girl, and I came to Washington DC to get away as far as I could from my ex American husband. I knew no one in DC, and I did not speak English too well. I found a job as a receptionist at a Chinese restaurant. The Four Seasons restaurant is part of a motel, owned by a Chinese family. They were very kind, but they kept to themselves and their people, not much with me and other waiters. The motel was a large, rambling, rundown building sitting on a busy street. But it was very inexpensive for an expensive city like Washington DC. So it was always busy with tourists on a budget or students on team sports or something. The restaurant was doing great business because of the motel, and because it served cheap and reasonably good Chinese food that other Chinese people in the neighborhood liked. The restaurant must feel like a refuge for homesick Chinese, full of pungent foreign smells, ginger and Chinese spice, and fried wonton. I liked working there. I felt secure in DC. I found a little apartment nearby.
I was sleeping that day when he came in the restaurant. It was Christmas Eve and the business was slow. I am not a Christian. My mother and I are Buddhist. The front tables were for customers waiting for carry-out, so there were large stuffed comfortable chairs. My head was leaning against the back of the high chair, and I was falling asleep to the slow ticking of the Grandfather clock at the corner. My eyes were half-open, and I could see the sky still half blue, half orange, and the air quite warm for December.
Perhaps I was dreaming. I dreamed of my first Christmas Eve in America in a distant place, in Ohio. I awoke to new snow, the first snow I had ever seen. It somehow frightened me so deeply I could not explain. I awoke from my snow dream to see Mr. Bao. I came to myself with a little jolt, and sitting up to face him – he was sitting in one of the stuffed chairs, his eyes jumped when he saw me sitting up. “Sorry, do you have a take-out order?” I tried hard to turn off my misty dreams. He hesitated, his eyes fixing on my face, and he said, “Yes, for Mr. Bao.” He had very dark eyes, and the dark skin of a Southeast Asian, of Malaysian, or Indonesian, or someone who had been in the sun too long. His voice was very deep, slow and steady like a grandfather, with a foreign accent like mine. I went into the kitchen and the order was not ready. I didn’t know how long Mr. Bao had been waiting, but it wasn’t right to keep the customer waiting long while there were no other customers, and the cook was just hanging around. But I didn’t want to make trouble, so I went back to Mr Bao. He saw that I didn’t have his take-out order. “It’s not ready yet, sorry.” I said. “That’s okay.” He smiled at me. “They shouldn’t let you wait a long time on a Christmas Eve.” I said. “It’s okay. I am not a Christian. I don’t celebrate Christmas. I am from Cambodia.”
He said no more, but he kept looking at me and I had nothing to say but glancing down at my hands. I let him be quiet, and I was quiet too. Finally he said, “Miss, it was nice to see you sleep. You were very beautiful when you slept.” This was 1986, I was thirty-two years old and I was glad to hear a man say it that way. But I could not help but worry that he might report to the owner that I was a lazy receptionist sleeping on my job. “I’ll check on your order again,” I turned and walked away to the kitchen and waited there until the order was done. Carrying the paper bag to the front desk, I rang up the bill and took his money. When I gave him back his change, he asked, “Are you Chinese?” I said, “No. I am Taiwanese.” He sounded excited and sad, “I’ve been to Taiwan once. I was very happy there.” Then he went away. I didn’t know what to make of him. He sounded sad when he talked about Taiwan because he was happy there…
Two days later, Mr. Bao came in again. This time, I was awake and would not let him think I was a lazy girl.
He said, “I am early today.”
“I am not a lazy girl.” Words just jumped out of my mouth like that.
“I know you are not,” he said as he sat down in the stuffed chair. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater, handsome and relaxed.
“I am always sitting here,” I said.
“And the last time you were sitting here, you were sleeping,” he smiled, “This is a slow time of day. I have trouble staying awake myself.”
“Then you won’t tell the owner that I was sleeping.”
He laughed. He leaned toward me and said, “You had a bad dream the last time.”
“I dreamed of my first Christmas Eve in America. I went to sleep when it was a little rainy. I woke up, and there was snow on the ground. It was the first snow I had ever seen. I had no idea things could change so quickly here, everything was covered and I was frightened.” I felt myself sounding like a crazy person. Now I was lazy and crazy both to Mr. Bao. I stopped talking and stared down at my hands.
“Your country Taiwan was very different,” he said, “Warm climate. Gracious people. I was there two weeks in 1972 representing Cambodia in an international ping pong tournament. I loved your country very much.” I asked him why but he could not explain. Instead, he turned his head and I thought it was because he did not want me to see that he was crying. Maybe he had met someone or did something in Taiwan that made it unforgettable. Maybe he was thinking of his own country that he left behind, a home that was ravaged and turned into a killing field.
“I should check on your order,” I said.
“Miss, may I ask your name?”
“Miss Spring Ho,” I said.
I saw all types of men, though I didn’t understand them deep down. But I could tell that Mr. Bao was a sweet man, with a few words, a foreigner like me. I felt very happy because he laid his hand on mine and asked if he could call me. I said yes. It turned out that Christmas could be celebrated as Taiwanese New Year. Mr. Bao and I would go to some restaurant that was not Chinese, and all I had to do was to sit there and listen to his grandfatherly voice.
We went to my apartment after dinner. It was a small place. I closed the shade and turned to him. He was sitting on my bed. I went and sat next to him.
“Tell me one thing you like about Taiwan,” I said.
“Everything,” he said.
“Everything means nothing. One thing. Just think of one thing about Taiwan that you like.”
“Okay, okay,” he wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes, and stayed like that for a long time.
“So?” I asked.
“It was hot. Hot springs in Beitou made a warm night hotter. I was walking through your night markets in the open air and I was sweating. There were a lot of people rushing around me, all of them pretty. I walked on to an embassy party, my sweat smelled like the sweet fruit in your night markets. I sat down among my Cambodian teammates, and met some of the most amazing Taiwanese folks.”
I looked at Mr. Bao and his eyes were on me and he seemed serious. I did not understand a word he was saying, but I knew he meant what he said. I started to tell him about the good fruits and vegetables and snacks I liked very much at the markets – watermelon, star fruit, mangoes, guava, papaya, fried oyster cake, prawn soup, crushed ice.
Once upon a time, there was a simple white pig with a plump white face and wobbly steps living among the ducks with dark feathers, long necks and long beaks. Because she was different, she had few duck friends and she was sad. When she lied down to sleep, you would think that she was dead, but she was just sad and still. Then one day, she wandered off to the other part of the land, and she found a strange animal with a nice coat of furs. She lied down beside him, even though he was different. She seemed to be all burned up and dead. But the animal didn’t think so, and he licked her and made her feel better. Then he took her to live in the forest where he built her a nice little house, and he hunted and she planted a garden. Every once in a while, they would go fishing in the high mountains. She felt she had found the place where she belonged.
