Long-Life Noodles                By MaLi Guo

     “Mom, what are you looking for?” Tiffany, my seven-year old daughter asks me.          

     “Oh, long-life noodles,” I say, while searching the shelves in the Chinese supermarket. I just can’t find the brand name my dad uses to use in Taiwan.

     Well, I’ll settle with whatever I can find here. This is not Taiwan. This is Los Angles, 6500 miles across the Pacific Ocean.

     “What are long-life noodles?” she asks.

     I look at her innocent face, always full of curiosity.

     “It’s the traditional food that Chinese people eat on their birthdays. If you eat long-life noodles and a chunk of pig’s foot on your birthday, you will be blessed with a long life.” I answer.

     “Yuck!” she says, making a face, “I think I like birthday cake better. But mom, it’s not anyone’s birthday!”

     “Oh, yes! Tomorrow is Yeye’s, your grandfather’s, birthday.” I answer, holding her close and kissing her on her pink cheeks.

     Oh, my beautiful American daughter! How far away you are from where I grew up! How much you don’t know about the sad stories of Chinese people? How much can you understand if I tell you about what I saw in a bowl of long-life noodles?

     My mind takes me back to 1969, I was nine years old.

     I had run home from school and rushed into the kitchen to get something to drink. The kitchen was quite dark even in the daytime. There was only a small window and the sunlight was blocked by the house next to ours. I was surprised to find that Baba was sitting alone in the dark. His back was facing me, and his head buried in his folded arms. I couldn’t see his face. I didn’t know if he heard me or not, but he looked like a statue to me. Then I saw a bowl of long-life noodles with a piece of pig’s foot on the table in front of him.

     How strange! My birthday had just past; and both my sister’s and brother’s birthdays are yet to come.

     “Ba, what are those noodles for?” I asked.

     “Oh, Mimi, you are back.” Baba seemed surprised to hear my voice. He struggled to sit straight. “Did you have lunch?”

     “Uh-huh,” I nodded. “But why is there a bowl of long-life noodles?”

     “Oh, it is for your Nainai’s birthday,” Baba mumbled as if talking in a dream.

     Nainai? Baba’s mom? “Oh! Is today her birthday?” I asked. I had never heard Baba mention Nainai’s birthday. Actually, he had hardly ever talked about Nainai and Yeye, or anyone else in his family. I only knew they were in China.

     “I am not really sure. I don’t remember the exact date of your Nainai’s birthday.” Baba shook his head. “We used the Chinese lunar calendar instead of the Western calendar back then.”

“Back when?”

     “When I left your grandparents in China to come to Taiwan.”

     “How come they didn’t come with you?”

     “Oh, I did not know that Mainland China was going to be occupied by the Communists so quickly. I thought I was just coming here to study. But less than half a year after I arrived, China was gone. We have been separated ever since.”

     I knew the history by heart. We took tests every day. If you missed a question, you got a whipping. The Communist bandits took over China in 1949. Chiang Kai-Shek, the savior of our country, led millions of Nationalists to Taiwan. One day, we, under Chiang’s great leadership, would reclaim our motherland. But when would we take back China? My teacher didn’t say, and that was not in the test. It seemed very hard to believe that tiny Taiwan could battle huge China. Baba used to say: “If even half of the people in China just spit on Taiwan, Taiwan would sink instantly.”

     I bent my fingers to count how many years Baba had been in Taiwan. This was 1969. Wa! Baba had not seen his dad and mom for 20 years.

     I started to feel sorry for Baba. “How old were you when you came here?”

     “About 18. Some people came to our village to tell us we could have free education and room and board if we came over here to study as teachers. We were really poor then. All we had to eat was sweet potatoes and dry turnips. A few of my classmates and I thought it sounded like a good idea. I packed only a few things in the cloth bag your Nainai sewed for me, but I did not know that I would never be able to return.”

     “Were you scared then?” I asked. I would be! Eighteen years old sounds pretty old. But I still wouldn’t leave Baba and Mama to go to a far away place.

     “Oh, no! I thought I would be back soon. I still remember that day so clearly. It feels just like yesterday. Nainai and Yeye stood on the shore. I stood on the boat that was going to take us here. I hung the cloth bag, which Nainai made for me on my shoulder, and then I waved to them. They waved to me, and I heard Nainai yell from the shore, “Nai-sheng! Remember to come back for Chinese New Year.” I yelled back, “I will. --- I will. ---” And I waved and waved. But I never could go back again.” Baba fell into silence. Baba looked like he was watching a very old movie. His eyes seemed to be staring at some screen in the air, which I couldn’t see. He was telling me how sad the story was.

     I lowered my head to look at the bowl of long-life noodles. I felt that I could hear Baba’s voice echo in the air. “I will, ---I will. ---”

     I was afraid to break the silence, but there was something I had to know.

     I asked Baba, almost in a whisper, “Are they still alive?”

      Baba was staring somewhere faraway. He seemed not able to come back from the old movie he was watching.  He didn’t say a word for a long time.

     “---I don’t know. So many people died in the Communist’s Big Leap movement.” Baba’s voice cracked. I seemed to see a glint of light in the corners of his eyes. Was he crying? No, Baba doesn’t cry. But I knew I really shouldn’t ask any more questions now. The kitchen was getting dark with the sun getting lower.

     After a while, Baba said. “Mimi, turn on the light. You can have this bowl of noodles.”

     I switched on the light. The long-life noodles were cold. The chunk of pig’s foot seemed old and hard to bite. Baba handed me a pair of chopsticks.

     “Mom, can I buy a bag of potato chips?” Tiffany shakes my arms and pulls me back from my memory.

     “All right,” I say. No, she won’t understand it. A bag of potato chips is very different from long-life noodles. Tomorrow, I’ll cook a bowl of long-life noodles and call Baba on the phone. We are an ocean apart, but at least I know he is well; I can always call him to say happy birthday.