I thought we were saved--Patricia

 

The following piece is written as a diary entry.

Entry One: May 1880
Posters about this land reigned through the fronts of each worn-down convenience store, each holding promises of a land with wonderful opportunities all to bring a fortune. I had a wife and three children by the time I boarded that ship. This very ship cost two generations' worth of savings from my grandfather’s side of the family. Like the many young men who filled that vessel one day, we all dreamt of saving our families from the rising living expenses and our unstable source of income coming from our suddenly barren fields hometown China. This journal is all I have left of my family, at least until I see them after striking fortune.

Entry 2: June 1880
After three long weeks at sea on the advertised “Pacific Ocean Journey”, we step foot onto a world filled of lush redwood trees with long lavish ferns that surround the path South. We move once the sun rises.

Entry 3: January 1882
It has been a while since I last wrote. Looking back, I cannot believe how optimistic I was. As we ventured south that day, we were stopped by some Americans. Their pale skin turned bright red the second they saw our group. Our captain pleaded with them in their native tongue and claimed we were traveling merchants doing our job. They scoffed, almost letting us pass until they saw our Chinese Flag on a man’s handbag. That marked my first of many one-sided fights. To this day, my chest is covered with scars, all with stories related to how unwelcome “my kind” is. Somehow, I landed a job as a merchant in the town surrounded by many other young Chinese men with backstories similar to mine. I’ve managed to find shelter in a worn apartment in the bay of town.

Entry 4: June 1882
Some “land of dreams”. My neighbors have been talking about this new act as they had heard some Americans screaming joy about it. Just the other day, one of the hotels, which held the homes of at least a hundred men, was set on fire by some Americans. This continued periodically throughout the week; the streets reigned with ashes and hanged bodies of men “my kind”. I am less of a human over here than back home.

Entry 6: June 1899
When I was out selling products to the people of this town, I overheard some shop vendors talking. On the ship that transported goods from China to this bay, they personally saw two bodies cast away at sea. Oh, if only I had enough money to send more letters to you my dear! I sure hope you are all well.

Entry 5; April 1900
Today, I celebrate my 45th birthday. Letters cost too much to spend back home now, so, I will dedicate this journal to my wife when I finally return. It has been 20 years since I boarded that ship. From all the Mandarin newspapers, the “Chinese Exclusion Act” is the very reason why all the hotels are cramped with other Chinese people. I share my small space with three other roommates; the rusted pipes often leak sewage water on adjacent corners of the room, rats often run through the tile cracks that line the second-story floor, and our sole wooden mattress was shared in turns with each roommate. No matter what, I must stay clear of those Americans. Those very same group lynched my neighbor just last week. At this rate, I can barely find change to save myself from starvation.

Entry 7: May 1990
As I was heading to my supplier in the heart of this filthy town this evening, I eavesdropped on drunken gamblers talking about a dead body in their building. They vented about the body’s appearance as if it were covered in blackened dots like on the backs of ladybugs. As they shouted over their game of poker, they mentioned something about a coffin shop and a hidden cellar. I’m not too sure. Before they could have said anything else, the boxes of supplies were already in my hands and it was time to go.

Entry 8: March 1901
I don’t know why this is happening. White Americans reign on our beloved town, demanding a “12-block quarantine”. This term was translated by Chinese scholars who learned their language simply to beg for peace. The translator explained that the Whites heard cries of nearby men, with screams that gradually grew louder than the squirming rats; each was found with sudden blackened pustules leeching off their armpits, ears, or thighs. First, there was just one case on the upper floors of the building across the block; this turned into two, which later turned into four. What has this land done to us? Why are other Chinese people getting sick all of a sudden? Sickness drives away customers.

Entry 9: April 1901
There was a meeting today. Downtown. Vendors, shopkeepers, and even grown children joined in to hear the announcements. Normally, we would all run at the sight of them but this time, at the center, the white man screamed in disgust at our living habits. Who was he? He was the reason why we had to live like this... isolated in dirt from “their kind”. They spread papers filled with Mandarin characters. It read that if the Americans in white gowns find so much so any filth, they will not hesitate to burn away the town. Mutters spread like scurrying rats as children returned to their families holding the flyers. I don’t know if I can last here any longer, love. This land was a trap.

Entry 11: June 1902
Last evening, it was my turn on the bed after yet another failed business day. These rats have been living here for free! To think that this, now, may be the least of my problems. In the midst of nightfall, I woke up with a sudden fever; the next hour came uncontrollable vomit. My roommates woke, slowly tending to me. We’ve been trapped in this cubed room for nearly a decade now; they’re my second family. My head continues to pounce. Arrangements to visit the doctor will wait until morning.

Entry 12: June 1902

I’ve never had a fever like this. I’m writing this in the hidden basement of the hotel as the cloaked men savage our homes for filth and sickness. Just the other day next door, they found a child who was burnt to the touch. Yet despite the mother’s desperate cries, these heartless beings strip away her child. The search for the taken child adds to the countless others missing. Why us? All we did was work... and hope. We hoped for salvation. Was that too greedy?

It’s the same day. The Whites are gone but they left a message displayed on the walls surrounding the front desk. My roommate read the printed Mandarin characters. “Come to our hospital if you feel any of the following symptoms: sudden headaches, fevers, vomiting, or formation of sudden black pustules. Location at Jackson and Stone. We can save you”. As if they expect us to trust them! After killing not only the lives of other Chinesemen but also the dreams his family must have wished? After making our families in China believe that we suddenly abandon them after our “supposed” fortune here? Suddenly, they wish to save us instead of burning us away.

It’s evening now. The Chinese herbs have calmed down my fever. I hope that this common sickness passes quickly.

Entry 13: January 1902

Why is this happening to me? What happened to the promises this land preached? In China, when one gets sick, it’s a simple burning sensation in the foreheads; this usually clears after 2 nights of rest. Why, in this land, does sickness imply black dots on my thighs? The Chinese doctor has not heard of this sickness and simply prescribed the natural herbal medicines. My roommates failed to report my sudden black pustules to the Americans in white gowns this evening. They are protecting me.

Entry 14: Next Day
How did this happen? Was it because of the stinky tofu I had for dinner a couple of days ago? What choice did I have other than to starve? My roommates appeared to be normal. In their sleep, they’ve been inching away from my muffled vomits. Honey, if somehow you get this journal, I want to tell you that I would have never abandoned my family. I’m sorry.

Entry 15: Nightfall

I’m trapped, rotting in this cellar. My roommates turned on me, explaining how they would be bound to be infected with the same black, inflamed dots as me. Why can my body fight it? No matter how much I scream, there’s no one here besides the bodies of the sick, fleas, and scrimping rats. This is my last entry. I’m sorry that I’ve failed you.