What he does try to do is make me practice the Chinese etiquette line two thousand times, like we’re rehearsing for an audition for a television show. I absolutely refuse to practice.
What is it with all Beijing people and constant learning? When do they ever take a vacation? Learning about Frank’s educational history, multiple choice, followed by a Chinese saying, was enough for a week.
I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, and when he isn’t looking, I decide to hail a taxi to the hotel. This time, I carefully negotiate a fee of 67 yuan with the driver before I get inside the car. I even take a photo of the taxi’s license plate in case he tries to scam me.
I’m learning, but very slowly.
20
Secrets
There’s serious scream-arguing when I get back to the penthouse. The kind of extreme soap-opera shouting that reminds me of the fight that I had with Dad in the parking lot. It feels like a lifetime ago, almost in another reality, with a completely different Iris Wang. Has traveling already changed me?
My body tenses up, either from a shitty association or from the fact that I’ve never liked confrontation. I don’t know whether I should creep backward down the hall or make a nonthreatening noise to let them know I’m here.
Are you supposed to politely cough or sneeze? Which one is less obvious and more convincing?
I start to half cough, half sneeze.
It sounds like I’m choking on a Life Savers candy, but it causes the two people to suddenly stop screaming.
At first, I think Auntie Yingfei and Uncle Dai were arguing, but it’s an older, tiny Chinese lady. She’s wrinkled like a Star Wars character and sobbing uncontrollably. She gasps in shock when she sees me. At first, I think she’s horrified by my outfit, but she’s looking at me like she’s seen a real-life ghost.
She’s actually so startled that she knocks over a vase of pink chrysanthemums and yellow night-blooming jasmine. CRASH! Glass shatters everywhere. I rush to help clean it up. This woman seems to be as clumsy as I am.
Uncle Dai turns the color of an unripe banana as soon as he sees me. “Weijun! I did not know you were home. Mr. Chen is driving around looking for you!”
The old woman starts crying even louder as soon as she hears my name. She grasps my arm and pulls me toward her into an awkward, one-armed hug. I am so shocked that I can’t react. I still have the soggy wet flowers in one hand.
Normally, I’d polite-hug her back. It’s not very nice to ignore an attempted embrace, especially from a senior citizen. The poor lady could be confused and mistaking me for someone else.
While the old lady keeps crying and trying to hug me, I stare at Uncle Dai for instructions or a clue. He looks as shocked as me.
Finally, he says, “This is your nǎinai, grandmother.”
I stare at her. I drop the gathered flowers. I am literally being hugged by a ghost or a zombie.
I don’t know how to react.
I’m not sure if I should keep letting someone who might not be real hug me, or if I should pull away. What is the proper Chinese etiquette here? My parents never mentioned what to do if someone who is supposed to be your long-dead grandma puts you in a headlock. I decide not to move until Uncle Dai explains the proper custom to me. I don’t exactly know when I should clap or bow or run away. There are too many viable options to choose from.
“So I DO have living grandparents?” I manage to sputter after she lets me go. “Why did my dad tell me that my grandparents were dead? Why would he lie about it?”
At my words, Uncle turns even whiter. He says nothing. But he doesn’t tell the woman what I said in English. At first, I wonder if Uncle Dai is confused. Is he mixing up Ruby’s grandparents with mine? Wait, do cousins even have the same grandparents? How do family trees work?
The woman who is supposedly my undead grandmother starts sobbing again and speaking urgently to me in Chinese. Finally, she lets go of me. But she seems to be begging me, asking me a question I don’t know. The only Chinese I can understand is my own name. As if she’s pleading directly to me.
“What is she saying?” I say to Uncle Dai.
“It is not important,” he says, slamming his fist into the counter. It makes a loud, horrific bang. He turns to my grandmother, his mother, and begins talking in a serious, urgent voice. My mild-mannered uncle has never seemed so terrifying before. His fist hits the counter in a series of loud, frightening bangs and I flinch.
If he acts like this in a boardroom meeting, I can see why the students vying for a tutoring job were so scared of him!
My grandmother stares at me, almost beseechingly. She turns to my uncle and then back at me. I keep hearing her say my name between bursts of tears and Chinese.
I don’t understand. She keeps pointing at me. Does she want me to do or say something? Am I somehow being rude?
Am I the reason they’re arguing?
Sobbing, she embraces me again and I feel her slip something into my fingers. I freeze. But only for a moment. What she hands me is smaller than a bill and lighter than a gram of weed, but I smoothly slip it into my high-heeled boot. My uncle starts speaking again and her face crumples, like an aluminum can.
Her pupils are wet and she’s still looking at me, as if she’s trying to communicate a message.
I stare at her, but unfortunately, I don’t have ESP.
Are her eyes saying Follow me? Are they saying I’m sorry?
Is she saying that I’m hallucinating? I’m still in shock by this totally unexpected encounter.
My grandmother starts trying to say something important to me, but I honestly don’t understand. Sobbing, she finally flees the apartment. The door slams.
I wish there were subtitles to this dramatic scene.
I wish I knew how to understand Chinese, at least! It would make trying to guess what everyone is saying or doing so much easier. It would make things way more simpler if I knew what my aunt, uncle, or cousin was really trying to say.
Reading facial features and body language isn’t one of my greatest strengths.
Beijing has taught me that I definitely do not have powers of ESP.
Shocked, I pretend to be busy cleaning. But my mind spins like an Olympic figure skater who fails at doing a triple axel and lands facedown. I’m making myself dizzy from my own brain-boggling thoughts. How is that possible? I never overthink or cause myself to stress out. Baffled, I bend down and continue picking up the flowers and broken shards of glass.
Isn’t my grandmother supposed to be dead?
My dad lied about having a brother, but why would he continue to pretend that the rest of his family wasn’t alive? Does he not want me to actually meet my grandparents in Beijing? What is my father so afraid of?
Why should I be surprised by anything my parents say or don’t say? My family members obviously cannot be trusted. Uncle Dai could be lying about my grandparents. I’m surrounded by a family of Dragons, Goats, Monkeys, and liars! Lying is apparently a genetic, transcontinental trait.
“Weijun, just leave glass for maid,” my uncle says, suddenly sounding exhausted. He has stopped beating up the counter. He sighs deeply and surveys the room.
I continue pretending to be cleaning. Normally, I’m never so diligent about tidying my own room.
“Stop cleaning, Weijun.”
I act as if I don’t hear him. I scoop the glass into a large pile and half attempt to haphazardly sort the pieces by size and shape.