Monica Woo - Arctic Rifts

 

It was September 7th, 1989. A phone call woke me up at 02:00 AM at my New Jersey apartment. My mother was screaming on the other end, “Joe, Jeanne, [foreign language]. “Joe, Jeanne. Kill. Kill.” It was only after a few minutes that I understood that my older brother, Joe and his two-year-old daughter, Jeanne, were shot in their own home in Anchorage, Alaska here. 

 

I had not been back to Anchorage for 15 years. I had no choice, but to go home and help my family. During the long flight to Anchorage, I couldn't stop thinking about my brother and our past together. He loved to eat cuss and tell jokes. He wanted to be a comedian. He adored our younger brother, Victor, who was 20 years his junior. And he loved to gamble. 

 

I was totally different. I was top student, I was serious, I wanted to win the Nobel Prize. My brother could get very cruel and tease me, “Oh, you ugly bookworm, you'll never be able to find a husband.” I wish my brother could show me some love.

 

Our family were Chinese pioneers to move from Hong Kong to Anchorage in 1968 when oil was first discovered at Prudhoe Bay. My father bought a Hole In The Wall restaurant called a Chinese Kitchen on Spenard Road. [audience applause] Almond Chicken, egg Foo Yung. [chuckles] No, I'm just kidding. [audience laughter]

 

Our business ran very well, except when Joe disappeared on his gambling binges and didn't show up for work. My father and Joe fought constantly. One day, I saw Joe going after my father with a kitchen cleaver. I thought he was going to kill my father. One very busy Saturday evening, Joe disappeared again. I noticed this light coming out of my parents’ bedroom. Joe was rummaging through the dresser drawer. On the bed were money and jewelry. I yelled at him, “You stealing again? You disgrace.” He lunged at me, hit me hard straight between the eyes and then he stopped. 

 

His nostrils flared like Chinese Foo Dogs. His eyes were a mixture of hurt and rage. Then, I heard dad shouting from behind me, “Leave, or we'll call the police.” Dad was pointing a gun at Joe. Mom stood beside him, crying. Joe cursed back, “Fuck you all. I'm leaving. You, not my family.” He stormed up. That was the last time I saw my brother alive. That night, I wish I didn't have an older brother.

 

As soon as I could enter university, I left Anchorage and avoided coming home. 15 years later, I was back on Alaskan Airlines and headed to Anchorage airport. The minute I disembarked; I rushed straight to the Providence hospital. When I entered the ICU room full of strangers, someone whispered, “Aunt.” A nurse placed a tiny bundle in my arms. I had never met my niece, Jeanne. Only recognized her from pictures. Around her head was a big, thick bandage. I averted my gaze from the bullet hole on her forehead. I held Jeanne tightly, felt her breathing so faintly, and then Jeanne died in my arms. 

 

I felt so unworthy of my niece, who waited so long to say goodbye to an aunt she had never met. I felt so ashamed of leaving Alaska. My whole family was falling apart. My parents wept day and night. I was not ready for the business of death, and I was overwhelmed by social workers, morticians and journalists chasing the year's most sensational story. I was in touch with the Anchorage police, especially Detective Ken. I tried to hunt down gambling haunts where Joe frequented on Spenard and on Fourth Avenue. 

 

Soon after, the police developed a short list of suspects, but seemed to focus one man. His name was Ming. He was a Taiwanese national. The police showed me his picture and wondered if my family knew him. We did not. The funeral was standing room only. It seemed like all of Anchorage's Chinese community was there. The funeral service was chaotic, free spirited and beautiful, just like my brother. 

 

I was so surprised how many friends Joe had, and was so touched by the stories of his acts of kindness, especially working at the soup kitchen. A middle-aged man came over and told me his story. He was homeless and frequented the soup kitchen where Joe worked. 

 

One day, Joe took his hand, placed it on his big belly and said, “Here, man, rub my Buddha belly. It will bring you good luck. Don't you worry” and gave the man $50. For the first time, I learned to appreciate a side of my brother that I didn't know. I wish I could have showed him more love. My younger brother and I approached the open casket. Jeanne laid on top of her father's chest. She was dressed in pink satin with a white Sash. Joe's lifeless arm held his daughter's tiny body. 

 

I had not seen my brother for 15 years. I wanted to see him alive. I wanted to see his eyes open, not glue shut. I wanted to hear his laughter, even his curses. I wanted to rub his Buddha belly. Victor and I paid our respect, the Chinese way. We knelt in front of a casket, bowed head three times deeply. 

 

I needed some air, so I went to the back. Standing beside me was an Asian man. He was the man in the police picture. He was the prime suspect, Ming. My legs started shaking. I thought immediately of sha jue, the Chinese gang tradition of exterminating the victim's entire family. Then, Detective Ken stepped in between Ming and me. When I was finally able to take a breath, I was so ashamed of my brother's dysfunctional life and blamed him for his daughter's death. 

 

I went back east to my corporate career. I did not follow the developments in Anchorage at all. My family told me that Ming was finally convicted and was sentenced to 198 years in prison for two counts of first-degree murder. The motive was a gambling debt that Joe owed Ming for $1,450. For many years, I did not mention Joe and Jeanne, and was hoping that detachment with doubt, my pain and my shame.

 

Then, one day recently, my younger brother, Victor, called. He wanted to visit Anchorage, but had forgotten where the cemetery was. I remember that years ago, I had shipped a box back from Anchorage. I opened the box up, took out the obituary and the funeral registry. Reading through the registry, I was reminded of how the entire Anchorage community of all races and cultures rallied behind my brother. 

 

I wanted to know more. I got the case file from the Anchorage trial courts. I read through the crime scene descriptions over and over again. I traced my thumbs on the fingerprints of Ming captured in the court records and wondered, “What exactly happened that night?” I'll never know the details, but I do know in my heart that my brother, until his very last breath, did everything he could to save his daughter. 

 

[There's one more item in the box from Alaska. It is a native Alaskan bracelet made with walrus ivory. Each link has the carving of an arctic animal, walrus, whale, eagle. The bracelet was a gift from Joe to me for my 16th birthday. In the Japanese art tradition of Kintsugi, broken pieces of pottery are put back together with lacquer and powdered gold. A beautiful new piece of art is created with its own unique legacy. 

 

All these years, I refused to mend my brother's shattered life with love and compassion. I shoved away the pieces with scorn. Tonight, wearing my brother's bracelet, I reclaim my past and I forgive my shame for leaving Alaska to save myself. Tonight, by embracing my brother's scars and wounds, I ask for his forgiveness and I forgive him. Thank you. [audience cheers and applause]