Red Skies (The Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters) (26 page)

“What did he say about how she disappeared?” her baba asked.

“He feels responsible. Listen to this—he somehow has made every clock and watch in the store stop at three fifteen, the exact time that someone saw Mei snatched from his doorstep almost a year before. She was thrown into a white van and never seen again. He said his life stopped at that moment and couldn’t begin again until Mei was returned.” Mari took a long drink from the tea, letting the warmth fill her up.

“It’s a shame that the local police didn’t do more to find her—especially when she was literally only a few kilometers away,” Baba said. They’d already discussed and discarded the possibility of involving authorities in the handoff, but they’d all agreed that any official involvement would simply muddy the waters. The police had done nothing thus far, so Mari had no reason to believe they’d be any more helpful now that the major work was complete.

“
Dui le
, and from the rumors over the years, usually the children who are taken are immediately routed to a province too far away to be found. Lucky for us, they hadn’t yet sent Mei away,” Mama said.

“Lucky for her family,” Mari agreed.

“Will we go to their home, or are you taking her back to the shop?”

“Back to the shop. The old man says that her journey must come full circle to be settled in her mind and keep away a lifetime of bad memories. So she’ll return to where she last saw her family, but they’ll all be there this time. And my hope is that they’ll take An Ni in as well. I spoke to Mei’s grandfather about it, and he was going to talk to his son and daughter-in-law tonight.”

“How do you think An Ni will feel about that?” her mama asked. “The girl has been through a lot. Much more than I think any of us know. She doesn’t even remember her family, she told me.”

“I don’t think she wants to be separated from Mei, so I hope she’ll be okay with it,” Mari said. “And the family should feel grateful that An Ni has kept Mei safe so long. If they are, they’ll allow her to stay.”

“With that little bossy thing, I’m not sure that it wasn’t the other way around—Mei taking care of An Ni,” her baba said from the other side of the room, his voice getting more drowsy-sounding by the second.

Mari would have to agree. Mei was very protective of An Ni, making sure she got the same amount of food as everyone else, constantly asking her if she was comfortable. It looked to Mari like a role reversal, with Mei taking the big sister attitude while An Ni recovered.

Mari felt her eyelids getting heavy. It had been a long day, physically and emotionally. She was drained.

“Max is coming for us at nine o’clock,” she said. “We’ll talk to the girls when he gets here. I think his presence makes An Ni calmer.”

Her mama stood and came around to her chair, slipping her arm around her shoulders. “You did well,
nuer
. Now go on and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a good day, but also very difficult for all of us. Saying good-bye to the girls is going to take all of our strength.”

Mari knew she was right. She didn’t even want to think of that moment. After only a few weeks, the girls were like family.

She stood and kissed her mama good-night, then crossed the room and did the same to her already dozing baba. In sleep, he looked so much smaller, and she realized how much he’d aged in her time away from Wuxi. Both of her parents were nearing the twilight of their lives, she’d known that. Still, no matter how far they had to travel—if they were needed, they’d be there. Mari wished she’d called on them earlier, before her life had crumbled and Bolin had decided to bail on her.

“Good night, Baba,” she whispered, then headed down the hall to crawl in beside the two warm little girls.

Chapter Twenty-Five

T
he next morning, Mari bustled around the kitchen, helping her mama throw together their last meal as a family. Max had called and said he was only minutes away. He’d also said he’d splurged and rented a van for the day so that they could all ride together and not have to take separate taxis to Feng Ji’s shop.

Mei ran through the hallway and stood beaming at them. “Am I pretty?”

Mari’s mama was first to answer. “Of course you’re pretty, child. You were pretty even before your long shower and without An Ni having braided your hair—but she sure did a good job.”

Mari had told Mei to take extra care—that it was going to be a special day. Mei still had no idea how special, and wouldn’t until they arrived. Mari had tossed and turned most of the night and decided not to tell her. She wanted—no, she needed—to see Mei’s first reaction to the family to be sure she was doing the right thing by leaving her with them.

But her mind was still on An Ni.

They heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall outside the apartment.

“That’s Max,” Mari said. The fact that she could recognize his footsteps didn’t occur to her, but the spark of gladness his arrival brought did.

Mei ran for the door. Max always brought the girls something, and the little one had come to rely on those treats and gifts. She could barely contain her excitement and threw open the door to reveal Max to them, smiling from ear to ear as he held onto two tiny cricket cages made from bamboo, both elaborately designed to look like mini pagodas.

“Crickets?” Mei looked confused first, then a smile lit across her face as she stood aside to let him come in.

Max went straight to the table and set the cages down. “Yes, crickets. I want the girls to feel what it’s like to help something gain its freedom—when the time comes, they can be the ones to let these creatures go. But listen, Mari. I need you to turn on the news.”

“The news?”

“Yes, the news. Your television gets the news, right?”

Now Mari joined Mei in the confusion. Max wasn’t acting like himself. He seemed overly excited. Had he seen an accident on the way over? Or was there some event happening that she didn’t know about?

“What’s going on, Mari?” her baba asked from the couch.

“He wants to turn on the news.”

Her baba rose and went to the television, switching it on. He went back to the couch, and Max joined him, scooting in beside An Ni.

Mari observed them as they watched the news go by—reporters talking of the price of oil, upcoming bans on fireworks for the New Year festivals, and the dispute with the Japanese over tiny islands in the East South China Sea. She marveled that her baba looked so comfortable with a
waiguoren
so near. Finally, Max gestured to her.

“Come over here, Mari. Mei,
guo lai
,” he called to them. “Mari, please translate.”

Mari nodded. Max talked, pausing every few seconds for Mari to translate. “We all know the issue of children living on the streets, whether voluntary or under duress, is huge here. And I know I am only one person,”—he paused—“but I believe that every small gesture can leave ripples that can turn into bigger changes later.”

Mari was still confused, but she finished translating the words and then turned back to Max.

“Remember I told you that I was here in China looking for a story to write?”

She nodded.

“It wasn’t the only reason I was here. There was something bigger—something more important. But I was also here to do a job, so I tried writing several different stories about things I’d seen. I was so frustrated because I kept hitting a wall, what we call writer’s block. But, by meeting An Ni and Mei, I realized that they represent many children—kids who may never go home or even know what it means to have a family.”

Mari translated, watching her baba’s face. He was definitely interested in what Max had to say.

“And someone should have to pay for what they took from these girls.”

Her baba nodded. Finally she was seeing a connection between the men.

Max took a deep breath and continued. “So I decided to write their story, and that decision made me realize something else. I hadn’t been able to write anything worth sending before because I hadn’t found anything that made me feel passionate enough. Until An Ni and Mei.”

He stopped for a moment, and Mari saw him struggle to maintain his composure. He pointed at the girls. When he spoke again, his voice was shaky.

“These two little girls made me feel again. And that’s what my words were missing before—emotion. But with the knowledge of what’s happened with An Ni and Mei, I felt outraged. I sat down and with their faces in my mind, I let the tragedy of their lost innocence pour out of my fingers and onto the page. Then I sent it over to my boss—not thinking there was any way he’d accept it, mind you.”

“He accepted it?” Mari stopped translating to ask. She felt a sense of pride for him. Getting to know him over the last few weeks, she’d sensed he needed something to lift him up and give him a new zest for life. She hoped this was it.

Her baba asked a question. “But why are we watching our news if he sent it to his boss in the States? We don’t get international news channels here.”

Max waited for Mari, then smiled. “That’s just it, Mari. He published my article without even asking for any changes. He said he didn’t want even one word touched. It went viral on our news website, then the media picked it up. My boss called me at four o’clock this morning to tell me that it was being aired on BBC, and he thinks probably from there, it will be picked up by at least a few Chinese stations. He—well, both of us—feel the government will want to address it—and spin it to their benefit—before it tarnishes their reputation.”

She told her parents what he’d said. Her mama looked worried.

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

Her mama beckoned her closer, and Mari leaned in to her, listening to her whispered question. She looked back at Max. “You didn’t submit photos of the girls, did you, Max?”

The girls were quiet, watching and listening.

Max shook his head. “No, of course not.”

“Then what will they show?” She couldn’t imagine what footage would be included. Just the streets?

“Wait, there it is.” Max pointed.

Mari held her hand up for all to be quiet. As they watched, a pretty young newscaster sitting at a desk told of China’s problem with children forced to live on the streets and the gangs that recruited them.

She rattled off statistics like a robot. “The
United Daily News
reports that over one million children in China are homeless and live on the streets, begging or stealing to eat.”

Suddenly, Mari saw a photo flash up of the two young boys who she’d talked to briefly when she’d tried to find An Ni. In the photo, they were tossing a rock back and forth as they squatted in an alleyway. Their clothes were filthy, their hair disheveled, and their faces gaunt. But even with the obvious bad shape their bodies were in, the boys wore defiant expressions. Mari knew those looks—the kids were hardened by their circumstances.

“There’s Li Xi and Guo Ji!” Mei shouted, pointing at the television. An Ni sat up straighter on the couch and leaned forward, a look of surprise on her face to see someone she knew on television.

“Max, how—” Mari felt her words trail off to silence in her confusion.

“I did some research,” Max answered. More photos were shown, of children holding out tin cups on the corners, others squatting against walls. Mei and An Ni shrieked each time someone they knew flashed by.

The newscaster continued. “In 2012, a zero-tolerance policy towards child trafficking was implemented by the Ministry of Civil Affairs. Working with the Ministry of Public Security, they have successfully arrested hundreds of suspects and sent thousands of children home.”

Mari’s father cleared his throat and interrupted. “More misrepresentation by our friendly national censors—they probably sent home only a fraction of that number with their measly efforts.”

“Listen, m’love,” her mama gently scolded, laying her hand on her husband’s arm.

The newscaster’s face never changed; it remained frozen in a grimace of professionalism. “China does not forbid begging by minors, but the law can be applied when someone is caught organizing disabled people or minors under the age of fourteen, with threat of violence or coercion—”

Mari watched, forgetting to translate for Max as the screen to the right of the newscaster turned from still shot photos to a video. In it, three policemen walked a man to the squad car, his arms behind him, hands tied together with a plastic tie.

“…..and are working every day to abolish organized trafficking rings.”

The camera cut to a close-up of the man, an expression of rage across his face.

“That’s Tianbing,” Mei said, and Mari turned, seeing both girls shrink back against the couch. Even safe in her living room, they were terrified of him, as if he’d come through the screen and take them back.

An Ni looked frozen in fear.

Max leaned over and put his arm around An Ni. Mari’s mama held her hands out toward Mei, and the girl stood and went to her, cuddling into the warm safe space between Mari’s parents, a feeling Mari had known since the day her baba had taken her in under his roof.

“Girls, they’ve taken Tianbing to jail. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Mari said—to ease their minds, but she also felt as though the words spoken out loud benefited everyone.

“He’ll never give up who he works for,” her baba said. “He’s just a small fish in a big ocean of corruption.”

Max nodded. He’d understood.

“I agree, Lao Zheng, but it starts with the small fish. That’s one less piece of trash combing the streets, snatching China’s children. And maybe we can’t put them all away, but we can start with one,” Max said.

Her baba mumbled in agreement. “I’m glad they got the cowardly piece of pig manure.”

Mari got up, crossed the room, and turned off the television.

Max stood, too, and went to the table. He picked up the bamboo cages and gave them to Mei and An Ni. “A sign of your freedom,” he said. He put them in the girls’ laps, then bent down and hugged them.

Mari felt her heart swell with gratitude. It was perfect. He’d known the girls needed something symbolic to hold on to, to celebrate the fact that the man who’d made their life hell wouldn’t be able to touch them any longer. It was a momentous victory.

And Mei’s day was only going to get better. Mari hoped the same for An Ni, though she had to admit she felt torn—and hesitant that she was doing the right thing. Mari’s stomach shifted nervously. Butterflies—that was what it was, but was that a good omen or bad?

She needed to put the thought aside because for now, it was time to eat breakfast and then be on their way. There was no doubting one fact: it would be a day to remember—especially for a little girl who thought she’d never go home again.

Scrambled eggs with tomatoes, sticky rice breakfast balls, and even fragrant jasmine tea to fill the senses with the aroma of comfort and family. It was as close to perfect as Mari’d allow it to be, considering she was still mourning her husband. But even the flittering image of him hanging in the closet that never quite retreated from her thoughts couldn’t ruin the anticipation the day brought.

Mei was going home. And that was a place that many of the lost children of China never found again. Mari could barely contain her nervous excitement—her thoughts were everywhere at once, never finding a solid idea to cling to. She was thankful that Max was there to anchor her. With the girls and her parents gathered around the table, eating and occupied with banter back and forth, she beckoned for him to follow her outside. They crossed the room and quietly slipped into the hallway.