In the Pond

by Ha Jin

  At the sight of Bin, Secretary Yang stood up and came across the dining hall to meet him. Holding Bin’s hand, he said, “I’m sorry, Comrade Young Shao. I was at a meeting just now and couldn’t go to your home to invite you in person.” He smiled amiably, the mole on his nose quivering like a bee.

  The warmth Yang showed put Bin at ease instantly, though Bin still couldn’t fathom what this meant. The dishes on the green tablecloth looked so appetizing, especially the pair of smoked yellow croakers and the braised pork cheek that had been sliced and arranged into a large lotus.

  “Sit here,” Dong said to Bin, pulling a chair closer to the table.

  As soon as they sat down Yang raised a glass of Jade Spring wine and proposed a toast, “To your glorious future, Young Shao.”

  Following Yang and Dong, Bin took a sip, weighing the word glorious. He couldn’t help wondering whether there was poison in the red wine and regretted having drunk it. But he curbed his fantasy, telling himself that they dared not poison him so soon. He put down the glass carefully as Yang pointed his chopsticks at the dishes, saying, “Please help yourself.”

  Though still baffled, Bin ate a piece of the smoked fish Dong had put on his plate. Then Yang began to apologize for interceding for him so late, but he swore by his Party member’s conscience that he hadn’t been involved in persecuting him, that there was a lot of misunderstanding between them, and that he had reprimanded the plant’s leaders. Bin thought Yang was scared. Damn you, he said in his mind, you also have fearful moments. It’s too late to extricate yourself.

  “Comrade Shao Bin,” Yang said, chewing a pine mushroom, “I know you’re an artist and a learned scholar. To take advantage of your knowledge and talent, I’ve decided to transfer you to the Commune Administration. Your rank will be the twenty-second, and you’ll have your own office and do propaganda work.” Yang smiled, observing Bin’s eyes blinking at him. He went on, “You shouldn’t remain in the fertilizer plant and waste your talent like this. I hope you accept my offer.”

  “Yes, I do, I do.” Bin sounded beside himself, and he lifted the glass and drained it to conceal his excitement.

  Immediately Dong refilled the glass. With his two gold teeth guttering in the fluorescent light, Dong said, “Congratulations, Young Shao. Welcome to our team.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But there’re two small things I’d like you to do,” Yang said. “Number one, you should stop fighting with Liu Shu and Ma Gong. You and they are all revolutionary comrades and will be colleagues; you shouldn’t waste your energy and time this way. We live in the same water and can’t snap at each other all the time. In a word, save your energy to fight our enemy. Number two, if you’re satisfied with the job transfer, please write a short letter to the editors of Law and Democracy and tell them our Commune Administration has corrected the mistake and you are satisfied with the result.”

  Neither of the demands seemed hard to meet. Both Ma and Liu were of the twenty-first rank, but they wouldn’t dare offend Bin anymore, because he was going to work above them at the Commune Administration. Besides, he had friends in the county town now. Without thinking further, Bin said, “I will do both.”

  Yang smiled and proposed another toast.

  Dong Cai began talking to Bin about the advantages of working at the Commune Administration, especially under the leadership of Secretary Yang; but Bin ought to be careful when dealing with Chairman Ding and the people close to Ding, particularly Tian Biao, the director of the General Affairs Section.

  The yellow croakers were fresh and crispy, and within half an hour Dong and Bin had almost finished the pair of big fish; Secretary Yang didn’t eat much and only drank the wine. Bin couldn’t help wondering who the chef was who could cook such a delicious dish, but he didn’t ask. He would find this out by himself.

  Overwhelmed by the promotion, Bin couldn’t help smiling and nodding to Yang and Dong again and again. He kept doing this until Yang said he had another meeting to attend and proposed the last toast. “To our solidarity,” he said. They clinked glasses and drank up.

  To Yang’s amazement, Bin stood up, almost in tears, and said, “Secretary Yang, the ancients said, ‘A virtuous man should die for the lord who appreciates him, just as a good woman should dress up for the man who loves her.’ Trust me, I will work hard and live up to your expectations.”

  Yang was very pleased and impressed by Bin’s sense of loyalty. With the tip of his tongue wiping his oily lips, he said, “Good, Young Shao, I trust you. Our propaganda work will depend on you.”

  Before Bin left, Yang told him to get ready to start as soon as possible, since there was a lot of writing and painting to do at the administration.

  * * *

  After Bin told Meilan of Yang’s offer, her face fell, and a few dark wrinkles appeared on her forehead. “Did you accept it?” she said.

  “Of course,” he answered.

  She didn’t ask further. She got up from the chair and went out to cook dinner for herself and Shanshan. Within seconds the ladle and the wok began clattering peevishly. Realizing she was unhappy about the offer, he went out, held her bony wrist, and dragged her back into the room.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “You only think of yourself and never have us in mind.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You only care about your own promotion. Where are we going to live? Still in this room?” She shook his hand off, picked up a dishrag, and went out again.

  Her words struck him dumb. Obviously his head had been turned by a half victory. Why on earth had he forgotten to ask for housing? He shouldn’t have let them buy him off so easily. Now what should he do?

  He went out into the corridor again, trying to comfort Meilan by saying he would think out a plan to ensure that they would have an apartment. But in his heart he had no idea what to do.

  The next morning he went to the post office and called Environment. Yen answered the phone. He told Bin that there had also been a breakthrough in Gold County: The newspaper would restart the next week and the bureau’s leaders agreed to increase its annual budget by twenty percent. After hearing of the new development in Dismount Fort, Yen invited Bin to a banquet at his home. He explained, “It’s not my own idea. Jiang and Song want to celebrate too. Please join us at five Friday afternoon.”

  “What should I bring?” asked Bin.

  “Nothing but your stomach.”

  Bin promised he would come; then he mentioned the housing problem and asked Yen how he should resolve it. Yen said, “Bin, don’t rush. If they’ve bought a horse, of course they have a saddle for it. Once you become a cadre, you’ll automatically have housing. It’s only a matter of time. If I were you, I wouldn’t make a request now.”

  The more Bin thought about Yen’s words, the more sense they made. An immediate request might give Secretary Yang the impression that he was too materialistic, haggling before doing any work.

  For a whole day Bin kept reminding himself: You must rise with temperance. And he felt grateful to Yen, who was so knowledgeable about official life and always ready to help him.

  But Meilan wasn’t easy to persuade. In the evening, when Bin explained Yen’s advice to her, she said loudly, “We’ve lived in this pigpen too long! I can’t stand it anymore.”

  “Come on, just wait a year or two, all right? Every cadre at the Commune Administration has a good place to live. Sooner or later they’ll assign us an apartment.”

  “How soon? Another two years? I guess we’ll be old when—”

  “Okay, a few months.”

  “The truth is you are obsessed with the official position.”

  “No, I’m not doing this for myself. If I hold an important job, life will be easier for our family. Don’t be silly. I don’t want to give Yang Chen a bad impression when I start. You know the first impression is always indelible.”

  She lay down on the bed and covered her head with a blanket.

  Ignori
ng her, he went about composing the letter he had promised Yang to send out. On a piece of official stationery, which he had saved for special letters, he wrote these words:

  The Most Respected Editor in Chief Wang:

  Although I left the capital several weeks ago, your instructive words still linger in my ears. Thank you for publishing the article, which helped the leaders of our commune realize and rectify the mistake immediately. Secretary Yang Chen had a heartwarming talk with me, and decided to transfer me to a position more suitable to my talent. This could not have happened without your timely intervention.

  I am informed that the Administration of Gold County has already reinstated the newspaper Environment, and that its editorial staff are all satisfied with the final settlement.

  Thank you again, sincerely. Please give my warmest regards to your colleagues.

  Loyally yours,

  Shao Bin

  P.S. Please print this letter in your journal.

  He was certain that it would be printed, because there couldn’t be a better way for the journal to display its clout and righteous spirit. The brushwork in the letter was offhand, so that the characters appeared rather graceful and cloudy.

  Since Meilan didn’t want to speak to him, Bin left without a word for the post office, with the letter in his pocket. He knew her temper well and was sure that in a day or two she would be herself again.

  At seven-thirty the next morning, Bin set out for his new position. He carried a shiny attaché case that Liu and Ma had presented to him as a souvenir from the plant; in the case were a bunch of brushes, the ink slab, and a book of aphorisms by famous authors and scientists. His first task was to paint a mural at the thoroughfare in town, supporting the national campaign against bourgeois liberalization. The paints and ladders were all ready in his office; he was given two helpers, hefty young men, for the work.

  On his way to the Commune Administration, he couldn’t resist smiling and whistling. In the sky a flock of geese were drifting south and gradually merging into the cotton clouds. Joyously Bin stretched up his right arm, as if he too had wings.

  ALSO BY HA JIN

  OCEAN OF WORDS: STORIES

  Winner of the PEN/Hemingway Award

  The place is the chilly border between Russia and China. The time is the early 1970s when the two giants were poised on the brink of war. And the characters in this thrilling collection of stories are Chinese soldiers who must constantly scrutinize the enemy even as they themselves are watched for signs of the fatal disease of bourgeois liberalism.

  In Ocean of Words, Ha Jin explores the predicament of these simple, barely literate men with breathtaking concision and humanity. From amorous telegraphers to a pugnacious militia-man, from an inscrutable Russian prisoner to an effeminate but enthusiastic recruit, Ha Jin’s characters possess a depth and liveliness that suggest Isaac Babel’s Cossacks and Tim O’Brien’s GIs. Ocean of Words is a triumphant volume, poignant, hilarious, and harrowing.

  “A compelling collection of stories, powerful in their unity of theme and rich in their diversity of styles.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  Fiction/Short Stories/0-375-70206-7

  AVAILABLE FROM PANTHEON BOOKS AND FORTHCOMING FROM VINTAGE IN 2000

  WAITING

  Winner of the 1999 National Book Award for Fiction

  0-375-40653-0 (cloth)

  0-375-70641-0 (paper)

  Vintage International

  Available at your local bookstore, or call toll-free to order:

  1-800-793-2665 (credit cards only).