Kitten moved in and around the women, meowing for a morsel of food. The cat was older now, having come with them from the ship they’d taken to America, but still hadn’t lost her need for constant attention and affection. She made a good mascot to the atmosphere of ever-changing residents, always curling up in the laps of the most needy to share comfort and warmth.
Jingwei scanned the room for the newest addition to their small group, then saw a mound under a pile of blankets in the corner. Most likely exhausted from what Sun Ling had called one of her closest calls yet, Jingwei wasn’t surprised that the girl hadn’t roused. There would be time to comfort her later, when she decided to join the others. For now, if she was awake, perhaps she listened. Jingwei made a mental note to speak louder than usual.
She sat at an empty stool, a place of honor always waiting for her. Kitten crept over and hopped into her lap, settling herself into a circle of fur.
“We cannot change what we don’t acknowledge,” Jingwei began, then took a deep breath. “In us, we all have a story, and it took a long time before I gave voice to mine. Now, I hope in this circle of sisterhood, we can all expunge the poison that is our past. Spit it out, examine it, and then learn from it before we move on to a healthier path.”
Some nodded. Nobody spoke.
“While a few of you have heard it before, I’ll share my story first. Then you can think about if you’d like to share yours today. Once we are through with today’s healing, we will work on writing our letters and speaking basic English words.”
That got a few grimaces, but Jingwei would not let them procrastinate the lessons. They were in America, and if they planned to build better lives for themselves, they’d need to be smarter and shrewder than the average Chinese immigrant.
“So,” she began again, “I come from a village in Canton, China. As I remember from so long ago, it was situated on the banks of the Si-Kiang River. My home was a one-story brick house with a stone wall surrounding it, and at all times we had dogs, cats, and chickens running free. I felt the most happy when I was with the animals, and I, along with my brother and two sisters, chased them at all hours of the day. But my favorite memory is of the mornings with my mother, when she took me with her to the flower garden and taught me the names of every bloom.”
She almost smiled thinking of the ease in which she used to run around her childhood home, or squat in the garden among the blossoms, her feet strong and steady and free of pain.
Jingwei could no longer remember their faces, and speaking of her siblings after so many years of keeping her secrets was difficult, but she reminded herself that the women before her likely had stories very similar, and over time, she’d learned that keeping it all to herself only resulted in a burden too heavy to bear. She didn’t want that for them, and she didn’t want it for herself any longer.
The truth shall set you free. Wasn’t that what was always said?
If true, she should have been soaring above the clouds because people were finally learning who she was and where she came from. “During my youngest years, my mother was allowed to keep me at home, but soon my days of chasing animals and playing in the flowers were cut short. I was made to stay in a big house with my sisters and the other girls from the village.”
“It was the same in my small town,” said a young woman named Yung. “The boys were gathered under one roof, the girls under another. I slept in a room with more than thirty others. I was jealous of my brothers because, while we were made to stay indoors, at their communal house they played outside all day. What was it? Some sort of game with a ball—I think they called it yin.”
Jingwei smiled. It wasn’t all bad being separated from her parents. Some memories of the house of girls were fond ones. But that wasn’t what she was here to discuss. “We had a farm, but it was located a good walking distance from the village, and my father went out there every day to work, then returned home in the evenings. When we fell into hard times and could no longer hire laborers, my father took us back and set all of us to work. Many days we carried tureens from the canal to the gardens from sun up to sun down, watering the many lines of sweet potatoes, beans, peas, and others crops.”
“Were you the oldest daughter?” one of the girls asked.
Jingwei shook her head. “At the age of eleven, I was in the middle. And when the drought came and the crops shriveled to nothing, my birth placement was the reason given for my father selecting me as the daughter who would save the family from starvation.”
At this part, her voice got quiet, and she saw the bundle of blankets in the corner raise up and lean forward.
Jingwei cleared her throat and continued, “I was told that, if I didn’t agree to be sold, we would all die. I believed it, too. At that point, we no longer owned any animals. They’d all been eaten long before. When I looked around and, for the first time in a long time, saw how skinny and malnourished my siblings were—my dear mother was—I knew what my answer would be.”
“You had a choice?” another girl asked.
Jingwei shrugged. “I’m not sure. If I had said no, my father could’ve sent me anyway. But I could not refuse. My baby sister had dark circles under eyes and cried in her sleep from the pains in her empty stomach. My mother was a bare slip of herself, as she gave everything she had to her children. It pained me to see her so thin and weak. When my father said the price for me would feed the family for a year, I stepped forward.”
“There’s another drought been going on in China for two years now, and even more children being sold,” one of the girls said.
“Were you a jì nǚ?” another asked.
“No, I wasn’t sold as a prostitute. I was bonded as a mui tsai and sent to work for a wealthy family in Hong Kong.” Jingwei still remembered that day, and though faces were now a blur, she could feel the anguish her mother held as Jingwei was pulled from her grasp, then handed over to the woman who would be her travel partner until Hong Kong.
“A bag of silver was placed in my hand, then in turn I gave it to my father.” It didn’t need to be said that this was the ritual long held in selling off a person. That the girls took the money willingly, then gave it to their fathers was an unspoken contract of agreement from all parties involved, even when in reality the one sold wasn’t always in agreement. Some not even old enough to comprehend what was happening until they were ripped from their mother’s arms.
“Rich family in Hong Kong?” called Xiao Xong, a woman who still held much anger. “Sounds to me like you led a very easy life.”
Jingwei shook her head. “No, it was never easy, though I’m sure many of you had it much harder than I. Tomorrow I’ll talk about when the mistress had my feet bound, but today, who would like to share part of their journey with us?”
A young woman who’d been with them a few months lifted her hand, then her face. It wasn’t her fault, but the newer girls flinched. Bei Ming’s skin was shocking, the scars puckered and faded, but still a vivid reminder of the acid she’d been assaulted with when the man who thought he owned her body had a moment of anger at her expense.
It had taken a long time, but she was one of the first Sun Ling had wanted to rescue—someone she’d known of during her short time in the city jail and had not forgotten. Out of all the girls who came through their doors, only Bei Ming knew that their boyishly brave rescuer was Sun Ling. Unfortunately, with Bei Ming’s scarred face, she stood out, and thus far they weren’t able to find a place that she could blend in enough to hide from her captors. So she stayed. And as they sought somewhere safe for her, Bei Ming’s story was always a good way to get others to open up about their own.