Thirty minutes later, we left the healer with a couple of gallons of Laoshan mountain spring water, a dozen mountain-hen eggs and some smelly, black-looking Chinese herbs. We were ushered into the bus and started the rough journey back to the village. Li began to tell me more about what the healer had said and his confidence that Sophie could be healed. He had given us his ancient and secret family recipes to treat her. But we had to do it back at home in Houston.
I was sceptical, to say the least. ‘How are you going to take all this through customs back to America?’ I asked.
‘Don’t worry, Mary.’ Li smiled.
I tried so hard not to roll my eyes! However, I knew that he would never be able to accept our daughter’s reality until he’d tried absolutely everything.
I was so relieved to return to the Li commune, out of the scorching heat and out of that deathtrap of a bus. Some of Sophie’s cousins were there: Yan Yan, Rong Rong, Li’s fourth brother’s daughter, Feng Feng, and his second brother’s adopted daughter, Jie Jie. Sophie squealed with delight. ‘Go and play, Sophie!’ I said loudly in English and gestured. All the children ran to play in the courtyard.
Li and his brothers were sharing the day’s adventure with Dia and Niang. I just wanted to lie down with a cup of Chinese tea. The trip to the mountains had exhausted me.
Soon it was time to go home to America, along with the healer’s ingredients and Li’s hopes in them packed in our suitcases. I was emotional as we waved goodbye to dear Niang and Dia – we all were, except for Sophie, who gave her happy smile and blow-kisses. She didn’t know, of course, that her grandparents wouldn’t be there in the granny flat back in Euclid Street.
9
When we got home, the place felt empty and silent. Li and I had no words. We could hardly bear to go into the granny flat. It was bare and silent now without Niang and Dia, who had been such a huge part of our household for so long. Sophie pointed to their place and wanted to visit. I was heartbroken for her.
For Li, to lose his Niang and Dia, the Chinese language and culture from our home was an additional deep sadness. His dream of Sophie speaking Chinese and being a conduit to his family was no longer to be. How would he ever be able to bear this, after everything he had gone through in his life?
To my relief, Li somehow managed to smuggle in the Chinese herbs, mountain water and hen eggs. He followed the instructions to make the special brew with the eggs. Soon our entire house stank. I had never smelt anything so foul in my entire life. Sophie just pinched her nose and ran as far away as she could. How would Li ever get her to eat those eggs? I felt like telling him to chuck them out, but I held back. After all, he and his family had made such an effort for this cure and all their hopes were riding on it.
Finally, after several hours of cooking, the eggs were ready. Li called Sophie and peeled the blackened shell off one egg. ‘Sophie, this is delicious! It is from your nana! Let’s eat it,’ Li lied cheerfully, opening his mouth in the hope Sophie would mimic him and open hers too. Instead, she took one look at the black and smelly egg, made a disgusted face, moved her face away and shook her little head.
‘Come on, Sophie. It taste good!’ Li chided as he broke a small piece and ate it himself, in front of her. I could detect a fleeting shudder from him and then he was all smiles. Sophie then reluctantly took a small piece and put it in her mouth. Immediately, she spat it out and made another disgusted face.
Poor Li! All that effort had come to this, I thought.
It was late summer in Houston and there was nothing for it but to get on with our new life as best we could. Our days were now very full. Li was back in the studio and Sophie and I continued with our twice-weekly speech sessions, which we then repeated at home. Patience is not one of my virtues, and I had to be doing something. The discipline I’d brought to dancing was essential in keeping up the intensity and consistency needed to teach Sophie to listen and then, hopefully, to speak. Every night I lay in bed thinking, Have I done enough today? The answer was always no. I have to do more tomorrow, I told myself.
I wanted the speech therapy to move faster. Sophie was two years old and falling further behind. I felt the constant pressure of time running away from us. I yearned for the day when Sophie would utter just one word to me, but I didn’t know if she would ever speak or gain language. The red light of her receiver blinked as I spoke to her. I so hoped she could hear me, but I knew she was profoundly deaf. Of course she couldn’t hear me! This realisation always made me feel sad and lonely. I deeply missed Li and being at the studio, but I would push this to the back of my mind as it was not to be.
Over time, I learned that I had to say a word over a thousand times for it to sit in Sophie’s auditory memory. I would focus on the high-frequency sounds while we were playing with dolls. ‘The baby’s crying, shhhhh!’ I put my finger to my lips as I shushed. ‘The baby’s sleeping, shhhhh!’
One day I called out her name: ‘Sophie! Sophie!’ She turned. Like the day when I mimicked Niang’s clicking noise, it happened again! Delighted, I rushed over and scooped Sophie up and danced around the room. ‘Sophie, you heard me! You clever girl!’ She laughed. For me this was huge. It was the next breakthrough I’d been working towards.
Slowly, everything we did at home became a language lesson. ‘Have a drink,’ I’d say loudly, keeping to very short sentences. There are many words around this situation: ‘glass’, ‘water’, ‘drink’, ‘sip’, ‘pour’. Drama seemed to work with Sophie. I had to be quite animated or she would lose interest. If I spilt milk, I would lift my hands and say, ‘Uh-oh!’ Then one day, she said it! ‘Uh-ooo,’ and raised her little arms, head to the side – soooo cute! I was beyond excited. After that, I’d deliberately make things happen, even falling over myself sometimes to hear her little voice say, ‘Uh-oh!’ Clearly, some of the things we worked on were clicking for her. I just didn’t know how much. The irony was not lost on me – I was performing all day long, for Sophie!
‘Weet-Bix!’ I’d say. ‘Let’s eat Weet-Bix.’ Then I’d pour the milk. ‘Pour the milk! It’s cold,’ I’d say, and hold her little hands around the bottle. ‘Pour the milk. Where is the spoon? Eat the Weet-Bix! Yum!’
I did this all day, every day. And every day I waited for her to say the words back. This was how the rest of that year passed. I hardly had time to be aware of what was going on for Li with Houston Ballet. I was just so focused, bordering on obsessed. Every situation was a learning opportunity for Sophie, and I was not going to let a minute go to waste.
Some nights, unable to sleep, my little girl breathing quietly beside me, I would imagine myself on stage again, free as a bird. Then I began to berate myself. As if dancing should matter when Sophie had no hearing and could not be part of our world. I should have realised something was wrong.
‘How did I not see it, Li?’ I asked him one morning. ‘It’s all my fault! We could have found out about Sophie’s deafness much earlier. I blamed the doctor, but really, I am her mother. How could I have missed it!’
‘Mary,’ he replied, taking my hands in his. ‘We accepted doctor’s advice, like any parent would. For God’s sake, don’t blame yourself! Blame me instead! And Mary, remember I read The Good Earth by Pearl Buck?