The Cooked Seed by Anchee Min Read Free Book Online Page B

waiting to console me after the bad news.
    My father spread his feet apart as if he was ready to receive a blow. My mother held on to his arm. They didn’t have the courage to ask, “Did you get the visa?”
    My tears came as I took out my passport. I showed my parents a slip notifying me that I was to pick up my visa in seven days.
    My mother collapsed and pulled my father down to the floor with her. “I can’t see,” my mother said. “I can’t see!”
    “I shall go to America!” I sang.
    My mother let out a cry of joy.
    My father smiled. A moment later, he was himself again. “You will be caught and deported when you arrive in America! You can’t change the fact that you don’t speak English.”
    “No spoiling the moment, Father, I beg you!”
    Humming a tune, I ran to the Shanghai Postal and Telegram Center. I sent a two-word telegram to my aunt in Singapore: GOT VISA. If those words had not already cost me a month’s salary, I would have added more to express my gratitude. After all, my mother had said, “Your aunt barely knows you.”
    Mother made me promise to repay the debt I owed my aunt as soon as I became capable. The words “became capable” sounded abstract in that moment, but I was determined to honor my mother’s wish.
    I wrote a letter to Joan Chen in Los Angeles. I thanked her for helping me. I told her that I’d be departing for Chicago in a month.
    My health improved magically. Within a week, I stopped coughing blood. My stomach pain went away. I was able to consume tofu and eggs without getting diarrhea. The bitter Chinese herb soup I had been taking helped too. By the time I received Joan’s letter saying, “Congratulations. I’ll see you in America,” I was fully recovered.
    I wrote thirty-three farewell letters to my friends, colleagues, and relatives. I didn’t mail them, because there was still a risk that I would get caught and be deported back to China. I told my sister to hold on to my letters until she received word from me in America saying that I had made it.
    No one on the film set where I worked knew that I would be leaving the country. Things could go wrong at the last minute. The crew boss might get angry with me and report on me and ruin everything. I had lived long enough to know that I was only an ant everyone could step on. I kept my mouth shut and followed orders.
This will soon be behind me
, I thought triumphantly.
    The day I departed for America, my family accompanied me to the Shanghai airport. My father’s worry was written all over his face. Hehad been imagining my deportation and was so tense that he was unable to hug me or say good-bye. My mother quietly embraced me, as did my sisters and brother. I held a one-way ticket. I tried not to think about how long it would be before I could see my family again. I worried about my mother’s health and my father’s recovery from cancer.
    The sound of the airplane taking off would remain a permanent memory. The noise was deafening, but it was great music to my ears. Before entering the departure building, I waved good-bye to my family for the last time.
    I had been waiting almost an hour in the small brown room when the translator again appeared. She wore a solemn expression as she walked briskly toward me. I could now see clearly that she was not Chinese. Her hair was dark, but it was not black. She had deep-set eyes and a large mouth. I could feel my blood freezing in my veins. Whatever the translator conveyed would decide my fate. She carried a stack of documents. Among them must have been my passport and my I-20 papers.
    “Miss Min, follow me, please,” she said in Chinese, as she opened the door.
    I did my best not to collapse. The translator took me back to the officer who had sent me to the questioning room. I watched them exchange words. The translator pulled a page out of the stack of her papers and showed it to the officer. She pointed out something to him on the paper. The officer examined the spot