“The farm girl is too poor to buy ice sticks!” Jinhua jeered, and the other girls, except for Xiaolan, laughed.
Zhongmei said to herself there and then that she would never again accompany her classmates on a Sunday excursion to Tiananmen, and she never did.
Dear Lao Lao,
I’m really sorry about your accident. I hope you’re not suffering too much. I’m sure you’ll get better quickly. You have to, because I miss you. I’m fine. The Beijing Dance Academy is a wonderful place. I’m learning a lot, and I’m happy. I miss you very much. Please light some incense for me. Get better soon.
Zhongmei
Dear Da-jie,
Ni hao ma—How are you? I don’t feel good. My ballet teacher doesn’t even let me take her class. I have to sit on the floor the whole time. She says I’m a tu bao zi and can’t do ballet. A lot of the girls are mean. But I have one friend, Xiaolan. She always helps get lunch or dinner when I have to use that time in the studio. She always tells me that I look good. I miss you very much. Please tell Ma and Ba that everything is OK. I wrote to Lao Lao.
Zhongmei
17
Slap, Slap, Slap
The days got shorter and colder as fall tumbled toward winter. After a couple of weeks, a letter from Zhongqin arrived for Zhongmei. She tore it open and read.
Dear Little Sister,
Everybody here is sad and angry to hear about the mean teacher. But we’re not like her. We all believe in you—everybody in Baoquanling, the people who know you best, and of course your family. And we know that there’s no fault in you. You are beautiful and graceful. And one of these days soon you will prove to everybody that you can be a star. So don’t let that one person and a few silly girls discourage you. Practice as much as you can and you will do great things.
Zhongqin
The letter cheered Zhongmei up, but it also made her long for her family and her home. She dreamed of the brick house where she lived, simple and narrow but filled with the mischievous clamor of her sisters and brothers and with the smells of the soups and dishes Da-jie cooked in their little kitchen. Zhongmei used to help with the fire, which had to be lit under the stove. She would get it going with twigs, toss in a brick made out of coal, and then watch, her face enveloped in the heat, as it began to glow. The big wok would be placed on the stove, and before long it would be steaming with something fragrant. It was all so different from the fluorescent-lit cafeteria where she ate at school.
She remembered that at this time of year she would wake to a thick frost covering the wheat fields and glittering in the morning sun. She missed the kang that she slept on along with her brothers and sisters. At home, even when it was bitterly cold outside, the fire under the kang made the whole house warm and toasty, until the fire went out and everybody would wake up, covered in their heavy quilts, with the tea left over from the night before frozen in its porcelain cups. Her dormitory room in Beijing was always cold, despite the clanking, water-stained radiator under the window that was supposed to heat it.
Zhongmei missed so many things. She missed singing in front of the microphone at noon. She missed the low-slung cinder-block schoolhouse where she had learned to read and write and where no teacher bore even the slightest resemblance to the hateful Teacher Zhu, where everybody was kind and generous and full of compliments. In Baoquanling, everybody knew her and everybody liked her, and that’s what she missed most of all. At night, when she thought of all those things that she missed, Zhongmei wept, muffling her tears in her pillow so that none of the other girls would hear.
One raw, wet day in the late fall, Zhongmei was not sent to her corner in fundamentals of ballet but stayed at her place at the far end of the line at the barre, happy to be included. The class began. The girls faced the barre and held it with both hands. The accompanist began tinkling out a tune on the upright piano. “As always,” Teacher Zhu said, “chin up, shoulders down, pi-gu over your heels, stomach in, OK, and plié.” Zhongmei followed directions, occasionally checking her position in the mirror on the wall opposite the barre.
“Zhongmei!” she suddenly heard Teacher Zhu calling her name. “Your pi-gu is sticking out so far it looks like you’re looking for a place to sit down. Do you want to sit down?”
“No,” Zhongmei said, not feeling too bad despite the muffled snickering of the other girls because this was the sort of ribbing that everybody got from Teacher Zhu. Teacher Zhu carried a small stick, a bit like a riding crop, that she used to slap in her open hand as she surveyed the class, so that the girls’ exercises had a kind of accompaniment to them, the slap, slap, slap of the stick in her palm. But she also used it to slap the body parts of any dancer that were out of position, and she now employed it stingingly on Zhongmei’s behind. But Zhongmei still felt happy. At least Teacher Zhu was paying attention to her, treating her the same way she treated the others.
“Well, draw it in, then, keep it over your heels, not sagging behind like a sack of rice, because if you want to sit down you can go to your spot in the corner and sit there.”
The class continued, with Teacher Zhu urging the girls to keep their positions but to do it gracefully, not stiffly. Near the end of the class she went through some stretching exercises. The girls all lifted their right legs, pulled them toward their faces, and held them there, clutching the barre with their left hands.
“Up, up, up,” Teacher Zhu said, and she walked down the row of girls, stinging the bottoms of their upraised feet with her stick and repeating, “Up, up, up. Get those legs higher and keep them there.”
“Now,” Teacher Zhu said, “left leg on pointe!” The girls lifted themselves on their left toes while their right legs remained over their heads, a maneuver that caused about half of them to let go of the raised leg, so that they had to bend over awkwardly to retrieve it.
“You girls who let go, sit down,” cried Teacher Zhu. Zhongmei was among the six who were still standing. She was doing well, standing on pointe, gripping her right ankle in her right hand and pulling it straight up.
“You and you,” Teacher Zhu said, tapping two of the girls on the shoulder with her stick. “You’re leaning way back in order to keep your leg up. Sit down.”
Four girls were left, Zhongmei among them, but the raised leg of one of them was steadily losing altitude, and Teacher Zhu told her to sit down too. Now it was Zhongmei, Jinhua, and Xiaolan, the only ones left standing. “Bu tsuo”—not bad—Teacher Zhu said. “Keep the leg and body straight, stay on pointe, that’s it. Now, let go of the barre with your left hand.”
Let go? Impossible, thought Zhongmei, but Teacher Zhu was shouting, “Let go! Let go! Let go!” as she walked along the barre ready to apply her stick to any left hand still gripping it.
Zhongmei let go. She held her position for a second and then had to grab ahold again to stop from falling, whereupon she felt the snap of Teacher Zhu’s stick on her hand. She let go again, and this time, over she went right onto the floor. At first she felt humiliated, but then she saw that Jinhua and Xiaolan were on the floor too. Not a single girl had managed the whole exercise, but Zhongmei had been in the final group. She had done better than nine of the other girls and just as well as the other two. Surely Teacher Zhu would see that and allow her to take the class the next day, and the day after that.
“OK, back to the barre,” Teacher Zhu said. “Final movement. Face the barre, ding zi bu”—basic position—“and plié.” She watched as the girls followed her instructions. “Some of you are looking as stiff and awkward as elephants trying to dance,” she said. “You’re not holding your heads up gracefully like peacocks but stiffly like roosters crowing in the morning.”
“Zhongmei!” she said suddenly.
“Yes, Teacher Zhu?”
“You’re a farm girl. Make like a rooster.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What a rooster does in the morning—go ahead and do it.”
Zhongmei did nothing.
“You don’t know wha
t a rooster does in the morning? You mean you’re not a farm girl after all?”
“I know,” said Zhongmei. It was a rare morning in Baoquanling when Zhongmei didn’t hear roosters crowing at daybreak.
“Then do it,” said Teacher Zhu. “How does it hold its head?”
“Like this,” Zhongmei said uncertainly, and she stretched her neck and pointed her chin in the air.
“And what sound does it make?”
“Cock-a-doodle-doo,” Zhongmei sang.
“You see, girls, there are some advantages to being a farm girl. Everybody look at Zhongmei. If you want to look like a rooster, you can imitate her. If you want to look like a dancer, do as I tell you.”
Dear Da-jie,
I’m sorry my last letter made you feel sad. But today I’m happy. Teacher Zhu let me take her ballet class this morning, and I think I did pretty well. Only a few girls did the leg stretch without falling down, including me. Well, I did fall down, but so did everybody else, and all but two of the girls fell faster than me. I think maybe now she’ll let me take the class every day.
Zhongmei
18
“You Look Like a Duck”
But it wasn’t to be. “You sit on the floor and watch today,” Teacher Zhu told Zhongmei as class began the next morning.
“Please,” Zhongmei said, “I thought I’d be able to take the class today.”
“I decide that,” Teacher Zhu said curtly. “Sit down.”
This time, instead of feeling sad and bewildered, Zhongmei felt angry. She had proved the day before that she was just as good as the others, better than most. It was time for Teacher Zhu to treat her fairly. As soon as the class was dismissed and the other girls had filed out, she caught up with Teacher Zhu at the door.
“It’s not fair,” she said. “I’m as good as the others, most of the others. I want to take the class every day.”
“You’re as good as the others?”
“I think so. Most of them anyway.”
“You think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?” Teacher Zhu said.
Zhongmei didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to say to that.
“A little bit of modesty would be very becoming,” Teacher Zhu continued.
Again, Zhongmei was too dumbfounded to reply.
“I’ll tell you what,” Teacher Zhu said after a pause. “Let’s do a little test. Think of it as an additional audition. If you pass, you can take my class every day. But if you fail, you’ll let me decide when you can take the class and when you can’t, and you won’t bother me about this anymore. Agreed?”
Zhongmei hesitated. She knew that if she agreed, she would be falling into a trap, because Teacher Zhu would be the sole judge of this test, and, clearly, Teacher Zhu was already determined that Zhongmei would fail. But if she didn’t agree, she would be admitting that she wasn’t as good as the others. In any case, even if she failed, she’d just have to do what she was doing already, which was sitting in her corner.
“All right,” Zhongmei said. “I’ll do it.”
“We have a few minutes right now,” Teacher Zhu said, looking at her watch. “Go take a place at the barre.”
Zhongmei took a spot.
“Listen carefully,” Teacher Zhu said, standing in her usual place in the middle of studio two. “Now, ding zi bu, and curtsy.”
Zhongmei took up first position, the nail in the ground, and curtsied in Teacher Zhu’s direction.
“Not bad,” Teacher Zhu said encouragingly. “Now, er zi bu”—second position—“and plié.”
Again, Zhongmei followed instructions.
“No, no,” Teacher Zhu shouted as if to a disobedient child, rather than one who was doing everything right. “I said er zi bu, your feet like this,” and she demonstrated, her feet slightly apart, her two heels pointing toward each other, toes pointing away.
Zhongmei looked down. She had done exactly that. Her feet were pointing opposite each other, her heels almost touching. It was precisely what Teacher Zhu had demonstrated.
“Don’t look at your feet!” Teacher Zhu shouted at her. She was so vehement that Zhongmei’s heart skipped a beat.
“But I was just … you said—”
“You must keep your head high,” Teacher Zhu said. “No real dancer looks at her feet to see if they’re in the right place.”
“Sorry, it was because I thought I was doing it the same as—”
“When you’re doing it correctly,” said Teacher Zhu, “I will be the one to let you know. Try again. Face the side. Ding zi bu. Curtsy. That’s fine. Now, grand plié …”
Zhongmei, facing away from Teacher Zhu now, took up first position, curtsied, and then did her grand plié. She held her body like the trunk of a tree, lifted her two arms like curved branches, held her hands out like two delicate leaves, and then, her back absolutely straight, her head held high, she bent her knees to the side and began to sweep her left arm in a downward arc in front of her. As she did so, she heard Teacher Zhu’s footsteps approaching and then—whack! She felt the sting of the stick on her behind. It was harder than before. Much harder.
“That’s your plié?” Teacher Zhu shouted. “With your behind stuck out like that, you look like a duck about to topple over.”
Zhongmei felt tears begin to pour out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. She wanted to run away, but she stayed there at the barre, determined to do better.
“Let me try again,” she said.
“Er zi bu,” Teacher Zhu said. “That’s a little better. OK, attitude,” she said, and she lifted her left leg and turned it behind her, the other foot on pointe, one arm curved over her head, the other extended to the side.
Zhongmei did the same thing, on pointe with her right foot, her left curved behind her, her knee slightly higher than the foot, her thin arm arched over her head like a peacock feather, her other arm stretched outward and to the side as though she was grazing her fingers on something just out of reach. She held the position and waited for Teacher Zhu’s next instruction.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Teacher Zhu said, each “no” a bit louder and more drawn out than the one before until the no’s seemed like hammers pounding into Zhongmei’s ears. “You’re not a duck anymore; you’re a penguin, clumsy and comical. I’m afraid the result is what I thought it would be,” she went on, sighing with feigned resignation. “I’ll give you just one more try.” She paused. “Take the barre, that’s right, now, wu zi bu”—fifth position—“and battement tendu,” and she lifted her right leg up, but not all the way, just to give Zhongmei the idea.
Zhongmei knew the idea. She had seen the other girls practicing battements tendus many times. She had done it herself with her dance teacher in Baoquanling. She ignored the tears trickling down her face. She gripped the barre firmly with her left hand, made a brief gesture with the right, elbow and fingers curved, and lifted her leg straight in front of her and well above the level of her head, then lowered it back into fifth position. To any fair-minded person who had been watching, she would have looked like perfection itself. She was like a loose-limbed reed, her legs as supple as an antelope’s, her movements as naturally graceful as a cat’s. But not to Teacher Zhu.
“You look like somebody kicking a ball,” she said, and she made an exaggerated motion with her leg, keeping her knee bent (when Zhongmei’s had been straight) and kicking it upward, then hopping goofily backward on the other foot, her arms waving frantically to keep her balance. Zhongmei, her face glistening with tears, watched this cruel parody in silent horror.
“I didn’t do anything like that,” she managed finally.
“You didn’t?” Teacher Zhu replied. “You think you didn’t, but I was watching you, and I am not the most important ballet teacher in China for no reason!”
Zhongmei stared at the floor.
“It’s no use,” Teacher Zhu said. “You country girls are just not right for ballet. You just can’t do it. I don’t know why. Probably because you start too late. In fact
, you’re really not right for the Beijing Dance Academy. This isn’t a place that trains pretty good dancers. This place is only for those who can be great dancers, and you’re just not in that category. I don’t see how you managed to get in here in the first place.” Teacher Zhu seemed so upset at Zhongmei’s presence at the school that she had to gasp for breath. “We were very kind to give you a second chance at the improvisation part of the audition,” she said. “I was especially in favor of that. In fact, I was the one who persuaded Vice Director Jia to make an exception for you, but I can see now that I was wrong to have done that. I should have listened to him, but I was too kind. I wanted to give you a chance.”
Zhongmei was dumbfounded. She remembered clearly the sour look on Teacher Zhu’s face that day when Vice Director Jia told her she could try again.
“In fact, if I have anything to say about it, you won’t be returning for the second year,” Teacher Zhu resumed. “You’ll go back to wherever it is you came from, and, believe me, my dear girl, you’ll be much better off there. Much better off. Someday you’ll thank me for telling you this. Oh, I know it’s a little hard to hear now. Of course, you came with high hopes. I don’t blame you. But I’m doing you a great kindness. I am sparing you a lifetime of futility and giving you the chance to change to something you’d be good at. Maybe you can get a part in some local song and dance troupe. Yes, you’re probably good enough for that. But you’ll never be good enough to dance on a national stage, and that’s what we do at this school: prepare the most talented young people in China for the national stage. Someday you’ll thank me for the favor I’m doing you in speaking frankly, even if I’m the only one honest enough around here to do it.”
And with that, Teacher Zhu strode out the door and into the corridor, leaving Zhongmei alone in the studio to weep bitter tears. She stayed there for a little while, glad only that nobody else had been there to witness her humiliation. Or was there? Something caught Zhongmei’s eye. In the narrow slit of the studio’s slightly open door, she saw a single eye peering at her. The eye blinked and then quickly moved away, but Zhongmei could hear a barely muffled giggle, and she was sure she recognized the voice of her classmate Jinhua.
A Girl Named Faithful Plum Page 15
