The People’s Republic of Desire

by Annie Wang

  "Liu Hong said she was Ximu's wife. Then she asked me if I was Lulu. I said, 'How do you know my name?' She said, 'My husband often mentions you to me, praises you. Your name has long resounded in my ears.' I said, 'You two are married? Why hasn't Ximu told me? Isn't he still married to his French wife?' She said, 'They divorced two years ago. We've been married for almost a year. We were married in my hometown of Nikko. The mayor of Nikko even came to the wedding; he said our wedding was a symbol of Sino-Japanese friendship. Did Ximu really not tell you? At the moment, he's gone to Hong Kong specifically to buy me a big diamond ring for our first anniversary. Wait until he gets back, I'll be sure to ask him how he could forget his friend Lulu like that!' Then she asked me if I had any message to pass on to Ximu. I didn't say anything, just hung up the phone.

  "I thought she must be lying, to try to get at me. She was angry because Ximu loved me more than her. Because Ximu loved freedom so much he didn't want to remarry. Even if he did get married, it wouldn't be to this common woman, always flaunting that Japanese thing of hers. What's more, why would Ximu be so kitschy as to buy a diamond ring? Ximu never liked to give women gifts. He has never given me any gifts. He said that was all so vulgar.

  "A couple of days later, the elusive Ximu came looking for me. We made love wildly. That night, I had eight orgasms, that feeling like you are floating with the angels, like you're going to die. Later, we listened to Yo-Yo Ma's cello solos, lit candles, drank French wine, had a bubble bath. We were exhausted. Before that we were wild, we totally didn't even have the ch ance to talk. Then, when we were quiet and I was nestled in his arms, I asked him, 'Where did you go? I missed you so much!' He said Hong Kong. As soon as I heard that, I thought, Liu Hong wasn't lying to me about the place.

  "Then I asked Ximu why he went to Hong Kong? He said he had to buy something. When I heard that, my heart jumped. Liu Hong said he had gone to buy a diamond ring – could it be true? 'Are you remarried?' I asked him, my tone very casual. I thought the answer would be no, but his face changed instantly. 'Who told you?' he asked me very seriously.

  "I was dumbfounded. My head swam. Because, it was too simple, his expression and reaction had answered everything. He really was remarried. But why? Wasn't he a free spirit? Didn't he hate those common women? Why did he secretly get divorced and then remarried? Why did he have to deceive me? I raised my head, looked at him through the steam of the bathroom. I couldn't say a word. 'Listen to me,' he said. In the steam and candlelight, his face was still so impossibly vivid. This man who had just joined his spirit and flesh with mine was nothing more than a despicable cheat. I threw my glass of wine in his face, leaped dripping out of the bath, and ran to the bed crying.

  "He chased after me naked, he begged me, knelt down, and made me listen to his explanation. He said even though he was remarried it wouldn't affect our relationship. He had told Liu Hong about his love for me. He said Liu Hong understood him. He also said that the three of us could live together."

  "He wants to have a wife and make you his lover?" I scream. "In his dreams! Who does he think he is? He makes me sick."

  Lulu snorts, "Does he think he's an emperor, that he can keep an imperial harem? Fuck! There are men on this earth who are so full of themselves."

  "He became so outrageous because you spoiled him. After he thought you were his, he started to take you for granted. He didn't take you seriously. So, you have to leave him," I say as I slam my fist on the table.

  "He finally showed me his true face. I can finally be rid of him because I have already begun to despise him. But I just don't understand, even though he always said I was the one he loved, why did he marry Liu Hong? He said that woman was common. He said he loved me. Are men's words so unreliable?"

  Lulu is exhausted from anger. She closes her eyes and rests in my arms, her face tear-stained. I use a tissue to gently wipe her face.

  "Niuniu, tell me, are American girls taken advantage of just as much by guys?" Lulu whispers.

  I sigh. "To be honest, American girls don't spoil men like you did. They wouldn't put up with men messing around. 'If you don't treat me well, then let's get divorced. Half of your property belongs to me!' American women are like that."

  "So much self-respect! I wish I had been born in America."

  "But I think American women would be devastated and have a hard time facing the truth too," I add out of sympathy.

  23 The Fortune-Teller

  Lulu's five-year love affair with the self-professed free spirit Ximu finally ends. But what can be done to bring the neurotic Lulu back down to earth?

  I tell Lulu about myself. After I was dumped by Len, my shrink told me to regain my self-confidence by developing my potential and focusing on my career. Probably this is also what Lulu needs the most.

  Beibei and I have formulated a Saving-Our-Comrade-in-Arms-Lulu plan. First, we buy Lulu a new computer. We hope she will start writing. Everyone who knows Lulu agrees that she is a talented writer. She is sexy, works in the fashion world, knows how to pose for the camera, and relates heartbreaking love stories: she has all the makings of a meinu zuojia, a pretty woman author. All she lacks is the most important part, a published book. Beibei invites Lulu to write song lyrics for her singers. Five thousand yuan per song. Not bad pay in the primary stages of socialism. I contact RedSkirt.com, which agrees to let Lulu be the part-time editor of their fashion channel over the weekend. Lulu will be so busy she won't have time to dwell on Ximu.

  After everything is arranged, Beibei and I invite Lulu to dinner at Shun Feng on East Third Ring Road. I wanted to bring along a shrink, Dr. B, but Beibei believes that a fortune-teller and a feng shui master might be more appropriate. She brings along Master Bright Moon.

  Bright Moon is from the ancient capital Xi'an and specializes in Taoist metaphysics and mysticism. He left his family at a young age to become a Taoist priest. It is said that he tells the fortunes of government leaders and celebrities. The most famous story is about an Olympic gold medalist named Wendy.

  Before Wendy left for the 2000 Olympic Games in Sydney, she was depressed because she suffered from back pains But Bright Moon told her that she would definitely win if she slept on her left side instead of her right side after arriving in Sydney. Wendy followed Bright Moon's advice and her back pain disappeared. She won the gold.

  Just as off-beat spiritual movements such as kabbalah are popular among the Hollywood crowd, it's fashionable these days for Chinese pop stars to have fortune-tellers and monks around them. Rumor has it that the reason certain Cantonese pop singers can stay at the top of the charts for many years continually is because they always have Taoist masters following them.

  Celebrities respect Bright Moon. He charges one thousand yuan per hour, more than a psychologist, yet demand still exceeds supply. One has to wait at least one month to get an appointment with him. Plus, he accepts clients only through referral. One of Beibei's pop stars, Lan Huahua, gives up her own appointment with Bright Moon to Beibei, in order to suck up to Beibei.

  First, Bright Moon asks for Lulu and Ximu's bazi. He counts them on his fingers, and then points out that Ximu, fifteen years older than Lulu, was born under the fire element, and Lulu the metal element. Metal is burned by fire; it is inevitable. Also they don't live in the same dimensional space, so their separation is preordained.

  Next, Bright Moon asks Lulu to sketch her home's position and layout for him.

  Lulu draws the outline of her apartment on a napkin. Bright Moon consults the drawing through small glasses, then shakes his head. He says Lulu's bed is in the wrong position. First, her bed is oriented east-west, while the magnetic field is oriented north-south. Every day when she sleeps, she is being cut in two by the magnetic field. This is extremely unlucky. Also, her bed is in the southeast corner of the room, next to the window. First, this is not private enough; the bed should be some distance from the window. Second, Lulu's elemental space suggests that the ideal position is the southwest. The southeast is star-cross
ed for her. Bright Moon also suggests that Lulu, being of the metal element, should put a goldfish bowl, a water wheel, or something of that nature in her room, to give the room a little more water.

  "Water resists fire. You need the help of water," Bright Moon says calmly.

  Then he points to a mole on Lulu's cheek. "You need to have the black mole beneath your eye removed. That is a crying mole, it will bring you many tears. In addition, you like wearing black, but black is unlucky for you. Your yin is already very strong to begin with. In the future, you should wear more colorful clothes. And you had best use a red pillowcase."

  After Lulu hears this, she is all smiles.

  When they are leaving, Bright Moon finally exhorts Lulu, "You should be grateful in your heart and have some reverence for the gods. If you don't have faith, things will be even worse. I would encourage you to go to Xiang He in Hebei to pay your respects to the ascetic Taoist holy woman there who attained the true light. Eight years after she died, her body still hasn't rotted. When you see her, you will understand everything in the darkness is long ago preordained."

  Lulu nods her head constantly.

  "Do you also believe in Buddhism?" I ask Bright Moon.

  "I do not distinguish between Buddhism and Taoism. Faiths are all interlinked." As Bright Moon is leaving, he gives me a copy of the I Ching. "Go home and study this. I can see you are someone who understands."

  Lulu does everything according to Bright Moon's recommendations and installs the computer Beibei and I have bought for her. Lulu decides to leave behind the hurt caused by Ximu. She writes me an e-mail: "I want to be just like the phoenix, to fly out of the ashes of my own body and be reborn."

  POPULAR PHRASES

  CHUJI JIEDUAN: The primary stage of socialism, the Chinese Communist Party's description of the current political system in China.

  MEINU ZUOJIA: Literally, a pretty female author; in actuality, one of a group of average-looking female authors who like to include flattering photos of themselves on the covers of their books. Just as so-called political analysts such as Bill O'Reilly and Ann Coulter appear on the covers of their sensationalized books in the United States.

  BAZI: "Eight characters," the Taoist reference to the year, month, day, and hour of one's birth.

  24 The Last Aristocrat

  Thirty-five-year-old Weiwei is my family's friend. He often claims to be the last aristocrat in China. When the government and the media promote the "noble spirit," he says to everybody, "Do you know what China lacks the most? Noble people. Too many peasants and too many nouveaux riches who drape themselves in Rolexes and gold chains. Nobility is in your blood. Money can't buy it. I'm the only Chinese aristocrat left." Although I am not sure about Weiwei's claims of aristocracy, I must agree with his critique of modern Chinese society.

  Like my mother, Weiwei has Manchurian blood. Weiwei's grandfather was one of China 's most famous linguistics scholars. Many of the classical Chinese university textbooks were edited by his grandfather. Weiwei's father is a famous poet and translator. When the American poet Allen Ginsberg visited China in 1984, Weiwei's father was his host.

  The long-haired Weiwei is a failed artist and musician. In the past, he used to sit alone in his room all day listening to classical music and conducting along with a baton, or talking to Van Gogh through his paintings. But lately he is filling in as a part-time DJ at a bar called the Loft, playing techno music. The Loft was designed by a couple of Chinese brothers, both of them performance artists. It reminds me of those bars in Manhattan that have a similar metallic, warehouse feel.

  "Niuniu, you've come back to China and you haven't called me. I've heard you've been partying like crazy. Hanging out at night in bars and discos! Is that right?" Weiwei greets me at my mother's house.

  "It's all rumors. I'm working hard to serve the people," I say as I put my hand over my heart.

  Weiwei laughs. "You still remember the old Chinese slogans! Anyway, when it comes to partying, I, Weiwei, am indeed your elder. These days everyone has money, everyone can party. I started hanging out in bars back in the 1980s. In those days, hanging out in bars was a privilege of the rich. While I partied, you kids were still walking around in diapers!"

  "It seems to me the one thing Beijing does not lack is braggarts like you who'll boast about anything!" I tease Weiwei.

  "Niuniu, you were still young back then, you don't remember. Once, in the mid-1980s, I sold my first painting, to a Japanese. Three thousand yuan in foreign-exchange certificates. In those days, three thousand yuan was like one million today. I made the deal at the Shangri-La Hotel. Then the Japanese took me home in a Toyota Crown, the classiest taxi at the time. First, I bought myself a pair of Nikes. Then, wearing my new Nikes, I took all my mates to the disco at the Peace Hotel, which was all the rage then. The cover charge was 150 yuan. I remember very clearly. Later we all started going to the Kunlun Hotel disco. And then we were always hanging out at Nightman Disco!"

  "Nightman? Who goes there anymore?" The banter continues.

  "Don't look down on Nightman just because it's not as trendy as Rolling Stone or Hard Rock or those other discos opened by Americans. In the 1980s, Nightman was fantastic. The people going in and out of Nightman with the diplomats were all high-class people. If you don't believe me, ask your mother Mei. Of course, I must admit that now Nightman is like a former social butterfly who's reached menopause – past its prime."

  "Real heroes don't brag about their past bravery. Tell me where you've been hanging out lately," I say to the loquacious Weiwei.

  "Too many women are chasing me. Girls from the art institute, the music institute, the drama institute, the film academy, the medical university and big-nosed foreign students from the Beijing Language and Culture University. They're chasing me all day, telling me they want to live with me, want to marry me. Why do girls today stick to people like plaster? I tell them I'm disrespectful, will go to any lengths for sex, am irresponsible, inconsistent, change my mind the minute I see something new, and accomplish nothing, but still they don't let me go. They say they like my honesty. It seems that there are very few men with aristocratic qualities in China, so everyone wants me."

  I know that Weiwei loves boasting about women chasing him. But I can never work out whether it is true or all in Wei-wei's imagination. Some women like wisecracking men like Weiwei; some women like the silent type. I think of Len. He is exactly the opposite of Weiwei: quiet, unsure, extremely polite to the point of humility. But perhaps his humbleness and politeness are a better way of showing off?

  "I was told that you're a computer expert now. Are you still into it?" I ask Weiwei.

  "Nope. Lately I'm hooked on cars!" says Weiwei. "Audi, Shanghai Buick, and Guangzhou Honda are following the German, American, and Japanese routes, respectively. German cars have a European prestige and quality. American cars are big, because there are many fatsos in the States. Japanese cars are economical and reliable and suit someone who wants to save money. My favorite is the BMW Z8."

  "That little two-seater sports car that James Bond drives?"

  "That car is exciting, sexy, and passionate, a totally new concept. Pure BMW thoroughbred, not some joint-venture hybrid. The wheels are wide, the trunk is small, the driver's seat is big. The first time I saw it, I wanted to jump right in. The body is made of aluminum alloy; the rear bumper is made of impact-resistant polyurethane. The Z8 can go from zero to one hundred in under five seconds. From one hundred kilometers per hour, it can stop in less than 2.5 seconds. Damn, our Chinese cars don't even come close." Weiwei sounds like a well-versed car salesman trying to close a deal.

  "When did you strike it rich, that you can drive a BMW Z8?" I ask Weiwei.

  "At the moment I am still driving my old open-top, human-powered, two-wheeled vehicle."

  "A bike?" I smile.

  "Yes. A bike." Weiwei laughs.

  "Then how do you know so much about the Z8 that you talk about it as if you were talking about your girlfriend?"r />
  "I saw it at the International Motor Show." Weiwei is just like his other Beijing friends. If they want to play with cars, they go to the motor show. If they want to play with computers, they go to the computer exhibition. They are familiar with the newest and most expensive models of cars, computers, even airplanes, but when they get home, they don't own anything. Wei-wei, this self-proclaimed nobleman, doesn't even have a proper job.

  "If the CEO of BMW knew there was someone killing themselves to give them free advertising, he'd be pleased!"

  "I'm just telling it like it is. Anyway, normal people can't appreciate that sort of class. Only people with aristocratic qualities like me can understand the Z8 concept. It is often said that when you are driving, your car is an extension of your body. So I wouldn't look twice at Chinese or Japanese cars. In the future, I want either a Jaguar or a BMW series 7 or better. I wouldn't lower myself to drive any other car."

  "What about Mercedes?" I ask.

  "Mercedes are for big bosses. They're too orthodox for me. Furthermore, these days all those nouveaux riches in China have driven them to death. Unless it was a Mercedes sports model, I wouldn't even consider it." The only thing missing from Weiwei's aristocratic lifestyle is money.

  Sometimes it is hard to tell if Weiwei is taking himself seriously or merely being facetious. Either way, he is a constant source of entertainment and a great friend.

  25 American Passport

  My stepmother Jean Fang and I are friends. In the eyes of many, this is strange. In order to get my father, Dr. Chen, Jean, the Dalian girl who is only eight years older than I am, converted to Christianity.

  As my father's wife, Jean has become domineering and condescending toward my father's subordinates. She loves to hold her status over the heads of the workers and secretaries and threaten them with harsh punishment for not working hard enough. It's not that Jean is really serious about it – she's just addicted to her newfound power and loves to exercise it. Many people feel uncomfortable around her, so they come to me, asking to fix her. But somehow Jean's aggressiveness doesn't bother me much because I've seen too many Chinese people just like her. It's called xiaorendezhi, small people finally grab their chance.