The People’s Republic of Desire

by Annie Wang

  Fourth, insult the establishment. You're a little potato, but by insulting famous people, you can become famous. For example, sling mud at the hottest movie star, or claim Lu Xun's books and Zhang Yimo's movies are trash.

  Colorful Clouds got her first fifteen minutes of fame by being a sex expert in the online beauty forum, then she got her second fifteen minutes of fame by telling the Chinese media that she married her former husband's grandson. Now she is back in Columbia, Missouri, once again just an average housewife. She feels lonely and misses her fleeting fame in China. I'm on a business trip in St. Louis, covering the talk of China 's best-known wandering poet Sing. The University of Missouri literature department has invited Sing to give a reading at the university. It's his first reading since winning a major book award.

  "I've got to drive to St. Louis for this event! It's a good chance to get noticed!" Colorful Clouds tells me excitedly on the phone.

  As Colorful Clouds expects, the poetry reading attracts a big crowd. She comes, dragging her fair-haired Eurasian kids.

  Sing has lived in exile since 1989, and his political poetry has gained him the reputation of being China 's Aleksandr Solzhen-itsyn. After the poetry reading, Colorful Clouds stands up and, cradling her sleeping child, let fly at the wandering poet.

  "Sing, before I left China, in 1984, I heard you speak at the Guangxi Art Institute. At the time, I was a university student, just arrived in Nanning from the country. I didn't know much of the world, and I adored you. Now more than ten years have passed, and I've been in the United States for over ten years. Why is everything you say still the same old stuff? Are you that fond of the good old days? If not, why hasn't your style evolved at all? And your English isn't even as good as those of us who are just housewives here in America!"

  It's clear that Colorful Clouds is trying to insult Sing at this refined poetry-reading event in order to get attention. Sing is so angry he can't speak. His American translator is also scratching his head and doesn't know how to translate Colorful Clouds' words for the American audience.

  Colorful Clouds decides to go whole hog and translates her own words into English. Turning to face the audience, she relates what she has just accused Sing of. As she speaks in her sloppy English to the shocked crowd, her eyes are wide and her face is flushed with emotion. Her arms wave vigorously and violently from side to side, as if accusing the audience of the same shortcomings merely for attending the event.

  Some members of the audience are unhappy with Colorful Clouds. "How can someone be so rude to our crusader for democracy?" they say. Others just enjoy the show.

  Sing controls his temper and replies with a sort of calm pity in his voice. "Chinese like you who have come to the United States are just like many of the Chinese literati. You jealously attack me, a Chinese poet with international standing." Getting visibly angrier as he goes on, Sing contends, "Of course, you have an ulterior motive. You are in cahoots with the Chinese government! It's obvious you received a Communist Party education from a young age!"

  "True," Colorful Clouds rebuts, as if she is a lawyer who has just found a crack in her opponent's case. "I did receive a Communist Party education from a young age. And what about you? You grew up in America, did you? Graduated from Harvard, did you? Did you receive that kind of education? From what I hear, no university in the States would take you because your English is so poor."

  At this point, Sing loses all composure and yells at Colorful Clouds. "Chinese literati are just like you. When it comes down to it, you are all just jealous of my international reputation!"

  "Your reputation? What reputation? I heard you moved your family to Sweden. How come you haven't won a Nobel Prize yet? I've heard that fifteen years ago, in order to stop Gao Xingjian from winning the prize, you gave him the wrong address of the Swedish Embassy in Beijing and made him miss his appointment. Oh, and by the way, you really do flatter me. Since when have I been one of the literati. I've always just been an ignorant housewife."

  "You have obviously been put up to this by some jealous Chinese who wanted you to come here to make trouble!"

  "No one put me up to this, and I couldn't be bothered being jealous of you. My husband makes enough money. I live in a rich neighborhood. Why would I be jealous of you? I ask a couple of questions you don't like, and suddenly I'm making trouble?"

  Sing whispers something to his translator, and the translator turns to the security guards. They escort Colorful Clouds and her children out of the auditorium. Some people say to one another, "This woman is crazy. Thank God, she is leaving." Some stand up to protest: "A crusader for democracy in a democratic country who can't even tolerate different opinions. There's no point being here." They leave the auditorium.

  Colorful Clouds doesn't mind being escorted out of the poetry reading. She is an opportunist. "I got the attention I need," she tells me afterward. "Maybe I should call the Peoples Daily and tell them how I defended China 's pride by debating with a traitor! If they write about me, I might get a role in the TV series From Beijing to San Francisco! "

  POPULAR PHRASES

  MAREN: To criticize or insult people.

  ZHENGYI: Fight and discuss; controversy.

  TOUJIZHE: An opportunist. Prior to the opening of the market economy, there was no room or need for opportunists in Chinese society. Today the culture has changed, and opportunists, seeking both money and attention, have sprouted up all over the country.

  18 Me, Me, Me!

  After Colorful Clouds has a verbal fight with the dissident poet Sing, she makes headline news in the Chinese community as she expected. As a result of this temporary fame, she gets the small role she desperately desired on From Beijing to San Francisco.

  She has returned to Beijing to shoot the TV series and to seek more attention.

  She calls me. Once again I am at the Rich Wife on Xinyuan Street having my hair done with Lulu and Beibei when Colorful Clouds comes in.

  She asks the hairdresser to dye her hair green.

  "You want a head of Norwegian Woods?" I tease her.

  "Isn't green the most in color of the year?" Colorful Clouds answers triumphantly, indicating that she is up-to-date about the latest fashion and trends.

  "I'm not sure if that would suit someone your age," suggests the hairdresser.

  When Colorful Clouds hears that, she glares at the girl, "Are you saying I'm old? How dare you? Now listen here, I've just come back from America. In America, the customer is king. If I slip and fall in your store, you have to compensate me a million dollars. You understand? So, whatever I say goes, and don't talk back to me."

  The hairdresser mutters to herself quietly, "Who cares where you are from."

  Colorful Clouds is wearing a white gown and enjoys the head massage from the hairdresser. She starts to spout:

  "I'm nearly forty f 'ing years old. If I don't have fun now, I'll run out of time. In America, I'm f 'ing bored to death as a housewife. Nobody pays attention to me. I had to come to Beijing to hang out." Colorful Clouds is already forty-two, but she always says she is "nearly forty."

  "While you're hanging out here, what about your three kids?" I ask.

  "Those little bastards – in America I was like their nanny. This time, my husband is so thrilled to hear that I've got a role in From Beijing to San Francisco, he says he'll give me all the support I need. We've found a Mexican nanny to look after the kids for a while, and teach them some Spanish!"

  "Where have you been since you came back to China this time?" I ask.

  "I went to Shenzhen and Guangzhou. In Shenzhen I'm an old fart. The people and the buildings there are no more than thirty years old. In Guangzhou, I bumped into some of my old pals, Xiang the singer and Flower doing avant-garde theater. Xiang has opened a bar, loads of gays love going there. When Xiang saw me, she said, 'Girl, I thought you'd become a living fossil.' They're f 'ing crazy down there. Bands from all over the world come and perform. All sorts of bastards hang out there. I was out till two or three in
the morning every day and slept over at the houses of people I didn't even know, or at the homes of friends of friends. I haven't been wild like that for years.

  "One thing made me pretty angry. I hadn't seen Flower in years; I don't know when he gave himself such a stupid girly name. As soon as he saw me, he called me Silly Cunt, saying everybody knew I slept around behind my hubby's back in the States. I slapped him, he slapped me back, others came to stop us. 'You used to be pals. You haven't seen each other for over ten years, and as soon as you see each other you start fighting – what's going on?' Then, guess what Flower said? He said he had never considered me a friend and walked away. I've got a 2,500-square-foot house in Missouri, as well as a holiday home in Key West, Florida, and kids who speak English, French, and Spanish. That bastard rents a 20-square-meter flat in a Guangzhou suburb. He is simply a sore loser!" Colorful Clouds' U.S. wealth is her answer to everyone's criticism of her. Just like so many other Chinese today, being wealthy is a justification for being rude.

  "Why do people like Flower gossip about me? Isn't it just because they're jealous? We all had the same starting point, the same small-town start and no advantages. Now I have it all and they don't. How could they possibly be comfortable around me? Of course they're jealous. They think I am trashy, so what? I don't care. I am welcomed by American men."

  Colorful Clouds speaks haughtily, unable to restrain her superiority complex as an American Chinese. She always dreamed of living in America, even if she is a bored housewife who spends her time dreaming of returning to China and showing off to those she left behind. Beibei deliberately coughs. She despises Colorful Clouds' vanity.

  "Did you get the chance to meet younger people?" I ask Colorful Clouds, just to be polite.

  "F_, aren't Beijing and Shanghai chicks all playing the games I was playing ten years ago? Sleeping with Westerners, hanging out at embassies, going out to bars, all thinking they're so 'alternative.' But it seems to me they come pretty cheap. Häagen-Dazs ice cream and T.G.I. Friday's are expensive in their eyes. Foreign men can get laid just by paying for one meal at the Hard Rock Cafe or offering ten minutes of English tutoring! In those days, I had my birthday party at the Norwegian Embassy. Imported beer was shipped in by the truckloads. The rock star Jian Jian wanted to come to my party, but even he had to queue up outside in the cold.

  "I really have contempt for these local chick writers. They write about oral sex or Western boyfriends and think they're so cutting-edge, so brave, so feminist, so superior, so revolutionary, and so scandalous. From old Chinese books, we know that Chinese have been doing oral sex since ancient times. The girls think they are westernized, but they are just hillbillies. It really is a case of when there are no tigers on the mountain, the monkey is king. We, the tigers of China, have all either left the country or gone into business. They talk of women's liberation? I'm the original liberated Chinese woman! I'm the one young women should be worshipping! My next move will be raising money for making a film about my experiences. The movie will be called A Chinese Woman ' s Sexual Adventure in North America. We'd need white, black, brown, and Eurasian male actors!"

  The hairdresser is coloring Colorful Clouds' hair, and the chemical smell makes us all a little dizzy. Lulu and Beibei, their heads hidden under the hair dryers, listlessly inspecting their fingernails, refusing to give Colorful Clouds the attention that she desperately wants. I'm also silent because I've heard these same words too many times.

  Finally, the hairdresser mutters with contempt, "It sounds like the UN General Assembly. Will those actors be shipped in by the truckload or will a freight train be necessary?"

  19 Acting Your Age

  As I'm getting impatient with Colorful Clouds and her bragging, my boss Sean suggests that I tie her story into a feature about the moral decline and opportunism in China resulting from the rapid growth of the economy and the slow progress of democracy.

  So I have to hang out with Colorful Clouds again.

  "Rich and nice-looking, I can have a good time in China." Colorful Clouds starts our day by telling me this as I pick her up from her hotel. Knowing that she's my subject, she demands that I show her around and pay for everything. This time, she says, "Take me to the Red Moon. I've heard this place is famous for its good-looking waiters and male patrons."

  This kind of place sounds not too bad to me. So I agree to drive her there and spend a few minutes sitting with her.

  As soon as we sit down at the Red Moon, a tall, athletic young man gets Colorful Clouds' attention. She winks at the man. The man smiles back. She feels flattered. So she becomes bolder. She wiggles her finger to invite the man to come over to join us. As the man walks in our direction, she whispers, "Niuniu, I am who I am. Although I'm a mother of three children, this man cannot resist the temptation to meet me. Don't I look young!"

  I have noticed that Colorful Clouds never wears her wedding ring in China.

  "You'd better be careful." I warn her about the existence of xiao yazi, male prostitutes, before she takes off.

  On the way home, I receive a phone call from Colorful Clouds, proudly saying that the man is not a little duck, but a college student who is intrigued by her elegance. She is going to take him out for dinner.

  Half an hour later, I join my usual friends Lulu and Beibei at a teahouse. My phone rings again.

  "Guess what? I can't believe Beijing people are still as rude as they were when I left here many years ago." It is Colorful Clouds on the line.

  "What happened?"

  "The waiter came and asked, 'Are you and your son ready to order?' How dare he?" She' s angry. "I do not look that old. I use Estée Lauder every day."

  I tease Colorful Clouds. "Perhaps the waiter is jealous of your friend?"

  "Perhaps!" says Colorful Clouds cheerfully.

  After I hang up, my friends Beibei and Lulu ask me, "Who was that?"

  "Colorful Clouds," I admit.

  "The woman who thinks she's a double for Gong Li, but is really only double her size?" asks Beibei.

  "The peasant woman who thinks she can become a member of the aristocracy by marrying her American grandson?" asks Lulu.

  They both dislike Colorful Clouds.

  I don't know what to say. I don't see Colorful Clouds as a friend, but she always contacts me. I don't want to offend her, a run-around full-time gossiper, because of possible reprisals.

  Around midnight, I'm awakened by Colorful Clouds' phone call.

  "Niuniu, help me! I've been robbed!"

  "Where are you?" I can't help but feel a little sorry for her.

  "I'm in a hotel room. I took the young man here after dinner. We were going to do it, so I said I'd take a shower first. But when I walked out of the shower, he was gone! My purse and money were all gone! Please come and get me!"

  I sigh, thinking to myself, "This is what I get for always saying yes to people like Colorful Clouds."

  "Bring some clothes on your way. He even stole my clothes!" says Colorful Clouds.

  "He probably thinks they'd fit his mother well!" I say to myself as I head out the door, cursing Colorful Clouds' massive reluctance to harness her pumped-up ego and act her age.

  20 Let's Rock

  A typical Saturday late morning. I'm hanging out at Lulu's apartment. We have just finished working out to Cindy Crawford's aerobics video and had taken a sauna in the new clubhouse. Lulu is teaching me how to baotang, make soup, Cantonese-style. Soup is the gem of Cantonese cuisine. Cantonese people believe that soup functions as a tonic and can do amazing things for the human body.

  "My father is from Canton," says Lulu. "He told me that to be a good wife in Canton, a woman has to learn to baotang. Cantonese put everything into their soup. They believe snake soup can reduce one's fever and turtle soup acts as an aphrodisiac for men."

  Baotang takes time, often over three hours. The woman who makes it has to be patient. Lulu is very patient as she makes soup. Her dream is to be a good wife for a man she loves, but such a simple dream i
s hard to fulfill. She keeps bumping into married men and liars.

  As we are making soup, Beibei arrives, bringing a big stack of music videos and live-concert DVDs. "Girls, I need you to cehua how to position our company's newest band, the Young Revolutionaries."

  Cehua is one of those fashionable new Chinese words that can be used as a noun or a verb. When used as a verb, it means to plan, to promote, to publicize, to create a certain image. When used as a noun, it means people who work in such fields. A cehua can be an advertising campaign director, a movie producer, a publicist, or a marketing director. Cehua and entertainers' agents are two of the new white-collar jobs created by the market economy.

  Beibei uses Lulu and me as her clients' cehua from time to time.

  "Let's follow our usual custom. Makeover first, and then cehua," Lulu says as she goes to the bathroom to get the materials.

  All three of us make a face pack. I choose a seaweed pack. Beibei selects black mud. Lulu uses milk and almond. Our faces are each a different color, like three witches sitting together. We eat fresh peaches and lounge on the sofa watching music videos, both classic and contemporary groups.

  The Beatles' classic Yellow Submarine, with "I Want to Hold Your Hand."

  Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon.

  Nirvana's Nevermind.

  Westlife's Flying Without Wings.

  Backstreet Boys' Tell Me the Meaning of Being Lonely.

  'N Sync's Bye Bye Bye.

  Watching Sting's solitary pride in Desert Rose, I again think of Len. In the music video, he is sitting alone regally in the backseat of a Jaguar S – type, chauffeured over the desert sands at full speed, the wind riffling through his hair. I always wondered where he was going and who he was going to meet. The mystery and sexiness that Sting gave off in that video gave me the same feeling I always got when I was with Len. Once we were riding along the highway in Len's Jaguar, when he suddenly stopped the car by the road and started to kiss me. At that moment I felt like the woman who was missing from the video, the one who should have been there from the beginning. "This is how that video was supposed to go," I thought to myself.