Digging To America Part 10

Goodbye now! she said.

She hung up.

The bear shambling through the woods had a matted, rough coat that made her sad, and she pressed the off b.u.t.ton on the remote control.

The Chinese orphan was ready at last. (Like a m.u.f.fin, Dave pictured when he heard.) Brad and Bitsy packed baby clothes in three different sizes, gift toys for the orphanage, money in red gift envelopes, disposable diapers, nursing bottles, powdered formula, strained prunes and peaches, zinc ointment, scabies medication, baby Tylenol, a thermometer, antibiotics for both infants and grownups, granola bars, trail mix, vitamin pills, water purification tablets, melatonin, compression kneesocks, electrical adaptors, a dental emergency kit, and pollution-filtering facial masks. Dave was the one who drove them to the airport, and he had some difficulty fitting everything into his car trunk.

He stayed with Jin-Ho at her house rather than his, because her parents felt three weeks was too long for a not-quite-five-year-old to be uprooted from her home. He slept in the master bedroom an intrusive-feeling arrangement, but Bitsy had insisted. (It was closest to Jin-Ho's room.) Every morning when he awoke, the first thing he saw was a photograph of Brad and Bitsy hugging on a beach somewhere. The second thing was Bitsy's earring tree, hung with big, crude, handcrafted disks of copper and wood and clay.

It was early February, so Jin-Ho had preschool every weekday morning. That was a help. And most evenings they were invited to supper at Mac's or Abe's house, or the Yazdans', or a neighbor's. But the rest of the time it was just the two of them, Dave and Jin-Ho on their own. He told himself that now they could really get to know each other. How many grandfathers were given such a chance? And he did enjoy her company. She was a lively, inquisitive child, full of chatter, fond of board games, crazy about any kind of music. But he never completely lost an underlying sense of nervousness. She wasn't really his, after all. What if something happened? When she went outdoors to play he found himself checking through the window for her every couple of minutes. When they crossed even the narrow, untrafficked street she lived on he made her take his hand in spite of her objections. My mom lets me cross without holding on, she said, as long as she's beside me.

Well, I'm not your mom. I'm a worrywart. Humor me, Jin-Ho.

Sometimes in the evening she would grow the least bit tremulous, once or twice even tearing up. What do you think they're doing now? she would ask. Or, How many more days till they're back? And occasionally she showed some impatience with his unBitsy-like ways. He didn't brush her hair quite right; he didn't cut her toast right. For the most part, though, she adapted very well. She knew her parents would be bringing her a sister something she very much wanted. She talked about how she planned to feed Xiu-Mei her bottle and push Xiu-Mei in her stroller. Xiu-Mei was p.r.o.nounced something like Shao-may, to Dave's imperfect ear. (He'd first heard it as Charmaine.) He found the sound a bit harsh, but Jin-Ho was more accepting. It was me and Xiu-Mei this, me and Xiu-Mei that. Me and Xiu-Mei are going to share the same room as soon as she sleeps through the night, she said.

What if she gets into your toys? Won't that bother you? he asked.

She can play with my toys all she likes! And I'm going to teach her the alphabet.

You'll be the perfect big sister, he said.

Jin-Ho beamed, two little notches of satisfaction bracketing her mouth.

It amazed him that she had no definite bedtime no schedule whatsoever, almost. Modern life was so amorphous. He thought of the leashes people walked their dogs with nowadays: huge spools of some sort that played out to allow the dogs to run as far ahead as they liked. Then he chided himself for being an old stick-in-the-mud. He rubbed his eyes as they sat at an endless game of Candy-land. Aren't you sleepy, Jin-Ho? She didn't even deign to answer; just efficiently skated her gingerbread man four s.p.a.ces ahead.

While she was in preschool each day he'd go home and check on his house, pick up his mail, collect his telephone messages. He missed his normal routine. The trouble with staying at somebody else's place was that you couldn't putter; you couldn't fuss and tinker. Although he did his best. He bled all of Brad and Bitsy's radiators and he planed the edge of a door that was sticking. He brought some neat's-foot oil from home and spent an evening rubbing it into the scarred leather knapsack that Bitsy used for trips to the farmers' market. What's that? Jin-Ho asked him, leaning on his arm, giving off the licorice smell of modeling clay.

It's neat's-foot oil. It's good for leather.

What's a neat's foot?

You don't know about neats? Ah, he said. Well, now. There's the shy brown neat, and the bold brown neat. This particular oil comes from . . . He picked up the can and squinted at it, holding it at arm's length, . . . comes from the shy brown neat.

It was the kind of tale he used to tell his own children; he was famous for it. They would take on a look of suppressed glee and prod him to go further. But Jin-Ho knitted her brows and said, Did they kill the shy brown neat?

Oh, no. They just squeezed its feet. Neats' feet are very oily, you see.

Does the squeezing hurt?

No, no, no. In fact the neats are grateful, because otherwise they would slip and slide all over the place. That's why they don't make good house pets. Their feet would ruin the rugs.

Her expression remained troubled. She stared at him in silence. He was sorry now that he'd started this, but he didn't know how to get out of it. Maybe she was too young to know when someone was pulling her leg. Maybe she lacked a sense of humor. Or maybe this was it, really they needed an audience. Another grownup, whose snort would give away the joke. In the old days, that had been Connie. Connie would scold him good-naturedly: Honestly, Dave. You're terrible. And she would tell the children, Don't you believe a word of it.

He set down the can of neat's-foot oil. He wished he could fall into bed now.

Maryam telephoned to invite the two of them to supper. I'll ask Sami and Ziba too, she said, so Jin-Ho will have someone to play with. But of course, her real reason was that the presence of other people would make the occasion less intimate. He could read her like a book.

She did not have the slightest romantic interest in him. He had come to accept the fact. It helped a bit to know that she didn't seem to have an interest in anyone. At least he couldn't take it personally.

He had begun to look around lately and wonder who else might be out there. On his latest birthday he had turned sixty-seven. He might have a good twenty years left. Surely he wouldn't be forced to spend all those years on his own, would he?

But other women seemed lackl.u.s.ter when he compared them with Maryam. They didn't have her calm dark gaze or her elegant, expressive hands. They didn't convey her sense of stillness and self-containment, standing alone in a crowd.

This evening she wore a vivid silk scarf tied around her chignon, and it streamed down her back in a fluid way as she turned to lead them into the living room. Sami and Ziba were already there, settled on the couch with the cat curled between them. Susan was upstairs; she clattered halfway down in enormous high-heeled pumps and summoned Jin-Ho to play dress-up with her. Mari -june's piled a whole bunch of clothes in a box for us, she said. Lace things! Satin! Velvet! From her shoulders, a full red skirt billowed out like a cloak.

The girls disappeared upstairs, and Dave took a seat and accepted a gla.s.s of wine. The subject at first was the news from Brad and Bitsy. Brad had sent out a group e-mail from China. They had collected Xiu-Mei, he reported, and she was perfect. They were traveling now with the other parents to a city with a U. S. consulate, and once they had Xiu-Mei's papers in order they would be on their way home. Everyone had seen this e-mail but Maryam, who didn't own a computer. (Her house was so spare that it took Dave's breath away. No cable or VCR or cordless phone or answering machine; no tangle of electrical wires everywhere you looked.) Sami had printed her a copy, and now she placed a pair of tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses on her nose and read it aloud. 'Xiu-Mei is tiny and she doesn't sit yet, but every day we put her on our bed and pull her up by the hands just to give her the idea. She thinks it's a game. You should see her laugh.'

Maryam lowered the letter and looked over her gla.s.ses at the others. Eleven months old and doesn't sit! she said.

They lie on their backs all day in the orphanage, Dave explained.

But isn't it a natural drive to sit? Don't babies always struggle to be vertical?

Sooner or later they do. It's just that it takes them longer if n.o.body pays them attention.

Maryam said, Ah, ah, ah a series of brief sighs and took her gla.s.ses off.

Dinner, to Dave's surprise, was entirely American: roast chicken and herb-roasted potatoes and sautTed spinach. He felt oddly discouraged by the competence of it. Did she have to do everything well? It pleased him to discover that the potatoes were the slightest bit too crusty on the bottom. Or maybe that was deliberate; these Iranians, with their scorched rice and such ...

Perhaps he'd been wrong in thinking that he didn't take her lack of interest personally.

Jin-Ho attended dinner in a lady's black silk blouse and a pair of needle-heeled ankle boots. Susan wore a T-shirt as big as a dress with FOREIGNER printed across it. Foreigner? Dave said. He a.s.sumed the shirt had been Sami's. You used to be a Foreigner fan? he asked him.

Oh, no, that was Mom's.

You were a Foreigner fan? he said to Maryam.

She laughed. It's not the singing group, she told him. It's just the word. Sami had that shirt printed for me as a joke when I got my citizenship. I was so sad to become American, you see.

Sad!

It was hard for me to give up being a citizen of Iran. In fact I kept postponing it. I didn't get my final papers till some time after the Revolution.

Why, I'd have thought you'd be happy, Dave told her.

Oh, well, certainly! I was very happy. But still ... you know. I was sad as well. I went back and forth about it the usual Immigration Tango.

I'm sorry, Dave said. He felt like an oaf. He hadn't even known it was usual. He said, Of course, that must have been difficult. I apologize for sounding like a chauvinist.

Not at all, Maryam told him, and then she turned to Ziba and offered her more spinach.

He always did this with Maryam said something clumsy or dropped something, spilled something. In her presence his hands felt too big and his feet seemed to clomp too noisily.

The topic of citizenship led Sami to his cousin Mahmad. He's a citizen of Canada, he told Dave. This is the son of Mom's brother, Parviz. He lives in Vancouver now with his twin sister. And last month he was invited to speak at a medical meeting in Chicago. Seems he's some kind of expert on liver regeneration. But just before he boarded the plane, he was stopped by the officials. September eleventh, of course. Ever since September eleventh, every Middle Easternulooking person is a suspect. They took him away; they searched him; they asked him a million questions ... Well, end of story: he missed his flight. 'Sorry, sir,' they said. 'You can catch the next flight, if we've finished by then.' All of a sudden, Mahmad starts laughing. 'What?' they ask. He goes on laughing. 'What is it?' they ask. 'I just realized,' he tells them. 'I don't have to go to the States! They're the ones who invited me. I don't have to go, and I don't want to go. I'm heading back home. Goodbye.'

Maryam said, Ah, ah, ah, again, although she must have heard this story before.

That's a d.a.m.ned shame, Dave said. Absurdly, he felt the urge to offer another apology.

And when Brad and Bitsy land in Baltimore, Sami said, have you thought about where their friends will meet them? Speaking of September eleventh. When the girls arrived, we were all at the gate, but this time we'll be, I don't know, milling around outside, being shouted at by the police.

Jin-Ho said, Police! Police are going to shout at us?

No, no, of course not, Ziba told her. Hush, Sami. Talk about something else.

And Maryam jumped in to ask if people were ready for dessert.

They all left immediately after supper, because of Susan's bedtime. (So not every modern-day family had dispensed with regular schedules.) Dave didn't offer to stay behind and help with the cleanup. He knew Maryam would say no, and besides, he didn't even want to stay. The evening had left him feeling off balance. He was dying to get home.

When he thanked Maryam at the door, she said, If there's anything you and Jin-Ho need, please feel free to call me.

Oh, I will, he said.

But he knew he wouldn't. Under the glare of the porch light, Maryam seemed stark and severe. Her arms were folded across her chest in a way that struck him as ungenerous, although he knew she was only bracing herself against the cold night air. He recalled the faint look of amus.e.m.e.nt she often took on around Bitsy, and the time she'd complained that Americans read only American literature, and the time she'd announced that this country didn't understand yogurt. It was just as well he saw no more of her than he did.

As he was settling Jin-Ho in his car, he happened to overhear Sami and Ziba from the car parked just ahead. Where's Susan's bear? Ziba was asking. Did you get her bear? and Sami said, It should be in the back. I don't think she brought it inside. The easy companionability of it the buddy system that was a long-established marriage made Dave go hollow with longing.

On the evening of Xiu-Mei's arrival, Dave drove Bitsy's car to the airport. It was outfitted now with a second child seat Jin-Ho's outgrown one, the baby kind. Jin-Ho sat in her booster next to it, wearing a b.u.t.ton that said BIG SISTER and holding a giant rectangular box wrapped in pink polka-dot paper. Inside the box was a green plush frog almost as big as she was. Dave had voted for something smaller, but Jin-Ho was adamant. Xiu-Mei has to notice it, she said. So he'd given in.

Bitsy's car was strewn with balled-up tissues and cracker crumbs and parts of plastic toys. It also pulled to the left a bit; he should remember to mention that. He drove more slowly than usual, yielding any time another car edged in front of his. The evening was drippy and misty, not all that cold but dank. He had to keep the defogger on.

Jin-Ho wanted to know if Xiu-Mei would feel homesick. What if she gets here and decides it's not as nice as China? she asked.

Oh, she won't do that. She'll take a look around and say, 'This is great! I like it here!'

She doesn't talk yet, Grandpa.

Right you are. How silly of me.

Jin-Ho was quiet a moment, rhythmically kicking the pa.s.senger seat in a way that would have been irritating if anyone had been sitting there. Then she said, Remember when me and Susan tried to dig a hole to China?

I remember it very well, Dave said. Your dad sprained his ankle stepping into it after dark.

So the kids in China, Jin-Ho said. Are they ? Well, I never thought about it, but I guess they might be. Sure; why not?

Wouldn't that be cool?

Very cool.

They'd pop up out of the ground one day when me and my friends were playing. They'd say, 'Hey! Where are we?' I'd say, 'Baltimore, Maryland.'

Very cool indeed, he said.

He supposed he should point out a few problems with the logistics, but why bother? Besides, he took some pleasure in this uncomplicated, coloring-book version of the world, where children in Mao jackets and children in Levi's understood each other so seamlessly.

In the airport parking garage, he drove past Abe's Volvo as it was pulling into a s.p.a.ce. And then on the pedestrian bridge, Jin-Ho called out, There's Susan! I see Susan! Susan was walking ahead with her parents, swinging a shopping bag at her side. The three of them turned and waited for Jin-Ho and Dave to catch up. I'm bringing Xiu-Mei a frog! Jin-Ho said. She had to crane around her big box to see in front of her, but she'd refused to let Dave carry it for her.

Well, I'm bringing her a bath towel with a hood for her head and a washcloth and a yellow duck and a bottle of special shampoo, Susan said.

It was good of you to come, Dave told the Yazdans.

Oh, we wouldn't miss it, Ziba said. Jin-Ho, let me read your b.u.t.ton. So you're a big sister now!

There was no sign of Maryam. Dave wasn't sure she'd even been told the arrival time.

Once they were inside the terminal, Dave said goodbye to the Yazdans and led Jin-Ho toward Pier D. The plan was that the two of them would wait immediately outside Security so that they could be the first official greeters. Then they would go down to baggage claim, where the others would be gathered.

Jin-Ho looked very grave and important. She stood beside Dave, hugging her gift, gazing steadily toward the approaching pa.s.sengers even though the L. A. flight hadn't landed yet. At first Dave tried to entertain her by pointing out the sights (Can you believe how many people travel with their own bed pillows?), but Jin-Ho's polite, abstracted responses shut him up, finally. He rocked back on his heels and studied the different faces all ages and all shades, each one wearing the same dazed expression.

Then at long last, here they came Brad in front, forging the way, laden with totes and hand luggage, and Bitsy close behind, a bundle of pink quilt on her left shoulder. Bitsy looked exhausted, but when she saw Dave and Jin-Ho she brightened and veered toward them. Brad followed; he had been about to go off in the wrong direction.

Jin-Ho! Bitsy said. We missed you so much! She knelt and hugged Jin-Ho. Still kneeling, she turned the pink quilt bundle to face outward.

Xiu-Mei had spiky black bangs and sharply tilted eyes that gave her a whimsical air. It was impossible to see her mouth because she was sucking a pacifier.

Xiu-Mei, this is your big sister, Bitsy told her. Say, 'h.e.l.lo, Jin-Ho!'

Xiu-Mei took a deeper suck on her pacifier, causing it to wiggle. Jin-Ho stared at her in silence. Too late, Dave realized that he should have brought a camera. Downstairs there would be several, but this was the scene they would want to have on record. Not that there was much to show, really. Like most life-altering moments, it was disappointingly lacking in drama.

h.e.l.l of a flight, Brad was telling Dave. We had turbulence from the Mississippi on, and the takeoff and the landing bothered Xiu-Mei's ears. Everybody swore the pacifier would help, but man, she was screaming her head off.

It was true that a single tear rested on Xiu-Mei's cheek. I got her a present, Jin-Ho said.

Oh, wasn't that nice of you! Bitsy told her. What a good sister! She sent Dave a grateful look and stood up, setting Xiu-Mei against her shoulder again. Shall we go down and see the others?

First she has to open her present, Jin-Ho said.

Not now, honey. Maybe later.

Dave expected Jin-Ho to insist, but she meekly fell in beside Bitsy. He relieved her of her gift so that she could keep pace. From Brad he took a couple of tote bags, and he followed them toward the down escalator. Jin-Ho looked so big, all at once, that he felt a pang for her. He remembered feeling the same about Bitsy when they brought her new baby brother home. Her hands had looked like giant paws and her knees had seemed so k.n.o.bby.

Downstairs, a cheer arose. Their welcoming committee was standing at the foot of the escalator friends and relatives smothered in their winter wraps, bearing gifts and balloons and placards. As soon as Brad reached the ground level, he dropped his bags and grabbed the baby, quilt and all, and held her over his head. Here she is, folks! he said. Ms. Xiu-Mei d.i.c.kinson-Donaldson. Cameras flashed, and video cameras followed Xiu-Mei's progress into Brad's mother's arms. Isn't she precious! Brad's mother said, hugging her close. Isn't she a sweetie pie! I'm your Grandma Pat, sweetie pie.

Xiu-Mei stared at her, and the pacifier bobbed.

Now Bitsy could turn to Jin-Ho, thank heaven, and take hold of her hand. Everyone headed for the baggage carousel, where suitcases and knapsacks were just starting to arrive. You should have seen what they gave us for breakfast every day, Bitsy was telling Jin-Ho. So many foods we'd never eaten before! You would have loved it. Jin-Ho looked doubtful. Laura's camera flashed in her face. Polly fifteen years old now and bored to death with family events adjusted the earphones on her CD player and eyed a boy in a football jersey. People here were wearing a wild a.s.sortment of clothing. Some, evidently fresh from the tropics, had on Hawaiian shirts and flip-flops, and some wore puffy ski boots and multiple bobbles of down. A young couple walked by carrying canvas cases the size and shape of ironing boards, mountain pa.s.ses dangling from their jacket zips, the woman flinging back her streaky dark hair and the man describing a wipeout in an Irish accent that made it sound like wape-oot; and right behind them came ... why, Maryam, strolling up at an unhurried pace with her hands thrust into her coat pockets. She approached Jin-Ho, who was standing to one side now while Bitsy scanned the baggage carousel. Is your sister here? Maryam asked her, and Jin-Ho said, Grandma Pat's got her.

Maryam looked over toward Brad's mother, who was surrounded by various women cooing at Xiu-Mei. Very cute, she said, without attempting to move closer.

We're a.s.suming she's cute, Dave said, but we can't be sure till she takes that pacifier out of her mouth.

Does it bring it all back? she asked him. The day Jin-Ho arrived?

Oh, yes. My goodness, yes.

But he said this just for Jin-Ho's sake, to make her feel a part of things. In fact, tonight seemed nothing like that evening four and a half years ago. Oh, everyone was making an effort. Lou was walking about with a microphone, recording congratulations. Bridget and Deirdre were harmonizing on She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain, and one of Bitsy's book-club friends carried a WELCOME, XIU-MEI sign. But the atmosphere was different now that people hadn't been allowed to gather at the gate. The crowd had a mismatched, ragtag feel, and the enthusiasm seemed forced.

Maryam was telling Jin-Ho about Jin-Ho's own arrival. Your plane was late, she said, and we had to stand around for ages. We had shown up early, of course, because we were so eager to meet you. It seemed you were never coming! And not a word of explanation for what was causing the delay.