Free to Read: "The Smell of Wine and Raisins"
A scene from Kashgar's old city in 2013. The old city no longer exists.
If there was a story I ever regretted writing, it was "The Smell of Wine and Raisins."
Let me tell you why.
In the summer of 2013, I traveled to Kashgar, China, while touring Silk Road cities with a group of American teachers. Overall, it was a wonderful experience, and those two weeks provided me with a lifetime's worth of cherished memories.
During my group's three days in Kashgar, tour guides attempted to whitewash the government's oppression of the Muslim Uyghur population. The government had shuttered mosques and put armed soldiers at major intersections. However, I naively believed that reconciliation might be possible. "The Smell of Wine and Raisins" is the result of this belief. However, with recent news concerning China's crackdown on dissent, it seems that what this story depicts might as well be fantasy.
So please enjoy this fantasy story.
The Smell of Wine and Raisins
Evening twilight had just fallen over Kashgar, the most western city in the most western province of China. The native residents, Muslim Uyghurs, gathered around food stalls to celebrate the breaking of Ramadan fast. Young adults sped along the sidewalks on electric scooters. Pedestrians, many of whom were veiled women, carried groceries home. The mass of humanity kicked up a cloud of sand and dust that covered half the city.
Rebiya watched the scene unfold from the window of a second-story restaurant. A thousand evenings had been one of those women, bag in one hand and toddler’s wrist in the other. It seemed so surreal now, as if this was the first time she had ever truly seen her home: crumbling adobe homes next to new apartments, the growing number of Han Chinese, soldiers armed with machine guns standing at busy intersections. Where had her mind been for the last five years?
The restaurant was a world apart. It had air conditioning, padded chairs, and foreign music playing from hidden speakers. Then there were the waiters and waitresses, each neatly dressed, all of them Han. Standing nearby, they whispered to one another. Rebiya could understand only every other word.
The woman sitting across from her appeared just as alien. Unlike Rebiya, with her loose dress and headscarf, the woman looked right at home in the restaurant: fitted business suit, midnight black hair tied up in a bun, and makeup. Her skin was a few shades lighter, as well, face free of the fine lines that had begun to appear on Rebiya.
So different, Rebiya thought, so much like a stranger. When she looked the woman in the eyes, though, brown with small hazel stars, it was like staring into a mirror.
#
Late afternoon, the twin girls were finally let outside to play. Grandfather remained indoors. “It is still too hot for me,” he said, his body shaded by the doorway of their one room, clay brick home.
Rebiya and Mei, wearing identical dresses, began to sweat the moment they stepped outside. Mei less so, as Grandfather allowed her to keep her hair shorter. It was one of the few ways he could tell the girls apart. They walked under the long shadow of a nearby tree. Looking back at the house, they yelled in unison.
“Grandfather!”
The old man was still putting on his long coat as he stumbled outside. He found the girls pointing just to his right. On the wall were strokes of fresh orange paint, each part of a symbol the meaning of which the girls did not understand. Grandfather did, and when he read it, started to cry. The tears flowed from his deep-set eyes and through the worn ridges running across his tanned face.
Rebiya lost her balance at the sight. Stumbling to the ground, she, too, wept. Mei, her eyes still dry, kneeled and hugged her sister.
#
“Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere else?” Mei asked. Though she spoke in Uyghur, the language of her childhood, a Shanghai accent imprinted every word. She smiled at her sister as she pushed her chair forward. Her crossed arms came to rest on the table.
The small motion, which she had made seem so natural, was just one of the many ticks that had started the moment Mei’s plane landed earlier that afternoon. The heat, dust, and wind-she feared that prolonged exposure would strip away her soul, everything she had become as an adult. The only relief had come when Rebiya had agreed to talk at a western style restaurant. Now, waiting for Reibya’s answer, she bit her lip.
“It’s fine.” Rebiya shook her head. “I’ve always been curious about these kinds of places. It was nice saving up for something other than groceries or clothes for Mehmet.”
“How old is Mehmet now?”
“Just turned four. He’ll be starting school in another year.”
“That’s good,” Mei replied, forcing a smile. “He’ll learn a lot.”
#
The girls sat next to each other in class. It was spring, near the end of the term, their last year of primary school. They were two of thirty identically dressed children in white shirts, dark pants, and red scarves tied around their necks. They sat quietly as the teacher, a young Han woman, finished the day’s language lesson.
“Wonderful, class,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Just think, last year you could only write four hundred characters. This year we learned twice as many!”
The children smiled, more so those who had won the pretty teacher’s praise throughout the year. Sitting up straight in her chair, Mei grinned the widest. Rebiya could only look down at her feet.
The teacher opened the door to the classroom, allowing the school’s principal to enter. Unlike the teacher, he was the same race as the students. He addressed them in their native tongue.
“I hope you like your uniforms,” he began, offering a sympathetic smile. “They’re a bit stiff when they’re new, but you’ll wear them in in a few days. You should be proud. The Young Pioneers will ask you to be honest and have courage as long as you live.
“Now, it is my great honor to lead you through your first recitation of the Young Pioneer pledge.”
From under her desk, the teacher took out a folded banner. She and the principal held an end and stretched it across the room. Red cloth with Chinese symbols printed in white, the words were sounded out in Uyghur script. At the principal's signal, everyone stood and began speaking in unison.
“I am a member of the Young Pioneers. Under the flag of the Young Pioneers I promise that I love the Communist Party, the motherland, and the people; I will study well and keep myself fit, and to prepare for contributing my effort to the cause of communism.”
Rebiya only mouthed the words. Mei squeezed her hand in encouragement. When the gesture had no effect, Mei loosened her grip, and then let go. She did not try to retake her sister’s hand.
#
“Is he healthy?”
“Yes. Just like his father. Mohammed’s at work a lot, though. He drives a city bus during the day. A few nights a week he makes a little extra working with his brother. They help clear away bricks in the old quarter.”
“Are you sure I can’t...”
“How are you, Mei?”
Mei took a deep breath before speaking. “It’s still just me. I’ve had a few boyfriends in the city. None of them were bad men. The relationships always cool when they find out I make more than them.” Mei smiled. “I’ve never been with one long enough to tell him that I’m a Par....”
The waiter’s arrival cut her off from saying anything further. The menu was in Mandarin, English, and then, finally, Uyghur. Rebiya and Mei ordered the same thing, a spaghetti dish and a cup of coffee. The brief pause in conversation gave the sisters a moment to consider what Mei was about to say, why now was the first time in five years they had seen one another.
#
“You joined the Party!”
“You’re pregnant!”
The two women stood in opposite corners of the room, the small apartment that Rebiya had called home in the four years since leaving the orphanage. Her two roommates, thankfully, were at work.
“How could you!” Rebiya screamed. "The party tore down grandfather’s house when we were six! They threw us in that orphanage when he died! They brainwashed you!”
“They gave me a chance! And what did you do with yours? You threw your life away.” The last words came out as poison.
Rebiya slid down to the floor and held her head in her hands. “I’m marrying Mohammed,” she said, voice choking. She balled her fists, and added, “and I’ll have failed as a mother if my child ends up like you.”
“All I ever wanted to do was....” Mei trailed off. Her last word was the front door slamming in her wake.
#
For many minutes the sisters said nothing. The silence continued even after the waiter brought their coffee. Rebiya was the first to speak. She treated each syllable as fragile as the peace between them.
“Why didn’t you talk to me about it when you were in college?”
Looking out over the street, Mei held her chin in her hand. “We rarely had the chance to talk over the phone. And coming back here only twice a year, I didn’t want to ruin my time with you. Besides, the Party’s selective. Why mention it if they were just going to turn me down? I found out right after graduation. I was so excited, Rebiya. I didn’t even think you’d be mad at me.
“After seeing how you reacted, I hated you so much.”
“I hated you too, Mei. When you told me, it felt like they had killed you, and sent someone else in your place. After you left, it was just easier to think of you as dead.”
Mei nodded. Her body suddenly felt like lead, and that she might sink through her chair, the building, and down into the center of the earth. “My friends have no idea that I have a sister. That’s not the only thing. No one has ever guessed that I’m not the same race as them.”
Mei reached for her sister’s hand. Rebiya did not pull away. Skin touching, the difference in color was even more pronounced. “You’d look like this, too, if you kept out of the sun. That and a little hair dye, makeup, and you can convince anyone.”
“Does that include yourself?”
Mei withdrew her hand. “If that was the case, why would I have ever come back?”
“I can’t even imagine.”
The waiter brought two plates of spaghetti. It was good, eating. It deadened the pain of old wounds reopened.
“What about you?” Mei asked after a few small bites. “You can’t tell me that you haven’t had the same thoughts.”
“I have,” Rebiya admitted, setting down her fork. “After you went away to college, when Mohammed and I were married, when Mehmet was born, when you called me last month.
“What I want...mean to say is, I wouldn’t give up my son for anything. That’s part of the reason I agreed to see you. By the time Mehmet is 18, the Party will have had a decade to...” She was unable to find the right words.
“Turn him into me?”
Rebiya nodded. Her next words came from a different place within her. She used a tone that Mei had not heard since they were girls. “I have nightmares, Mei. I see Mehmet as a man. When I try to talk to him, he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t recognize me, either.
“Today I didn’t recognize you when you called out my name on the street.”
A long pause followed. A few times Mei opened her mouth to speak but said nothing. After a while, she simply stated, “excuse me, I’m going to the restroom.” As she walked away, she let her hand rest briefly on Rebiya’s shoulder.
Rebiya finished her coffee and pushed the spaghetti around her plate. Usually fasting made her so hungry, but now...
“Rebiya,” Mei said, standing behind her sister. Rebiya turned, and this time there was no mistake that the woman in front of her was her twin.
As she sat down, the remaining twilight illuminated Mei’s unadorned face. Her cheekbones and eyes no longer looked like that of the young men and women working in the restaurant. Long hair, though still too dark, hung freely over her shoulders. It was slightly curly, same as when she was a girl. Rebiya was speechless.
“That’s cute, isn’t it?” Mei said, breaking the silence. She gestured to the wine bottles on display near the elevator. Supported by a wire frame, they formed the shape of a spiral staircase.
Rebiya looked over at it. “Very beautiful.”
“My coworkers are really into wine,” Mei continued. “Especially the reds. I know you don’t drink, but every time I have it, no matter where I am, I think of us sleeping on grandfather’s roof in the summertime. His vineyard...the raisins...”
Mei sipped her coffee. Her next words were a whisper; her eyes fixed on the liquid in her cup. “You know; I think it was just easier for me to run away from it all when grandfather died. There wasn’t anyone else in our lives. Rebiya, I can tell you love your son very much. Even after you’re gone, he’ll always be your son, not the Party’s.”
“But when he grows up, what if he still wants to be like you?”
Mei raised her eyes. “Then I guess you’ll have to let him.”
Rebiya nodded to herself.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Do you still do that with your family, sleep on the roof?”
“No.” Rebiya smiled. “We live in a modern house, a ten-minute walk from here. Mohammed does keep a little vineyard, though. We sell the grapes to our neighbor. She dries them and feeds them to foreign tourists who eat at her home. It’s funny. Mehmet’s been sneaking over there since he could walk, trying to talk to them. He can say hello in a dozen languages.”
They laughed together. They had not felt this good in a very long time.
#
It was night, the true night that existed years before thousands of wind turbines brought uninterrupted electricity across the province. Lying on the roof, their bodies supported by a thick mat, the girls looked up at the Milky Way. Besides grandfather’s soft snoring a few feet away, the universe was silent.
Mei took Rebiya’s hand. “Are you scared?” She didn’t have to say anything else. After grandfather had stopped crying that afternoon, he explained that they would have to find somewhere else to live.
“Yes,” Rebiya replied in a weak voice. She turned on her side to face Mei. The wind blew. The air became dense and sweet from the stacked palates of raisins in the corner. It was a small comfort.
“I’m not,” Mei said, a child’s lie. “I’ll take care of us both. Then you won’t have to be scared anymore.”
“Okay.”
The two girls fell asleep.
#
The check came, and though Mei tried to convince her otherwise, Rebiya insisted on paying.
The sisters went down the elevator and onto the street, where with the dust the smell lavender, cardamom, and exhaust hung in the air. They faced one other.
“When do you fly back?”
“Late tonight.”
They embraced and passed a few parting words. As Mei leaned back, Rebiya refused to loosen her grip.
“Don’t go. Stay with your family. We’re going to the mosque in a little while. When we get back, we can cook dinner together.”
Mei nodded. “But when Mehmet gets a little older, when he starts school, let me bring you to Shanghai for a few days. Seeing what life is like there, you won’t have any more nightmares.”
“I will.”
The sisters walked side by side. Taking a side street, the chatter of voices and hum of mopeds trailed off. In the distance, an ancient wall crashed to the ground.
###