by Ha Jin
“Come on, have some sympathy,” Nan would object. “He’s a smart man. How can we tell he wasn’t aware of his marital trouble?”
“I hope he can find her.”
The truth was that Danning still didn’t know her whereabouts. She hadn’t written him a word and had never called. Oddly enough, he seemed to enjoy living as a bachelor, in no hurry to look for her. Their daughter was cared for by his parents back in Beijing.
Before dinner, Nan gave his guest a tour of the Masefields’ place. He took Danning to the tennis court, its green surface studded with yellow balls; the frayed net was slack, betraying that nobody had played here recently. Next they went to the swimming pool beyond the tennis fence, the water wrinkling in the breeze and a pair of white plastic geese bobbing in a corner, their necks tethered to a steel pipe by ropes. Then Nan and Danning entered the workshop next to the garage, in which Heidi made pottery. The room had in it a hardwood floor, a ceiling fan, a tall electric heater, and a long workbench on which were stacked some terra-cotta pots. Near the window stood a potter’s wheel and a side chair. A column of sunlight slanted in, specks of dust billowing in it. Danning was so impressed that he said, “This makes me sad, very sad.”
“Why?” Nan was surprised.
“We all work so hard, but how could we ever get as rich as this family?”
“Heidi owns half a bank and an insurance company. Old New England money. We shouldn’t measure ourselves against her.”
Danning sighed. “We’ll never live like this. What’s the good of working myself to a skeleton here?”
“It took several generations for her family to build the wealth. She also inherited lots of money from her husband.”
“I should give up. The American dream is not for me.” Danning’s nostrils flared as his face scrunched.
“I thought I was the only pessimist.” Nan chuckled. He realized that for a long time he hadn’t been interested in making money, perhaps because he had seen so much wealth at this place that he had gradually lost heart, no longer possessed by the hunger that drives new immigrants to wrestle with fortune.
Dinner was simple: eggplant stuffed with minced pork, a salad of assorted vegetables, preserved eggs, braised shrimp, and dumplings filled with beef and napa cabbage. Danning wanted beer despite Nan’s warning that he’d have a long drive back to Belmont. Nan took a six-pack of Budweiser out of the refrigerator and opened a bottle for his friend. They were seated at the dining table in the kitchen, which had a bay window that looked onto the front yard. In the flower bed the yellow mums and marigolds had all withered, and some tattered blossoms drooped, touching the ground. The trees dropped leaves now and again, white pine seeds helicoptering listlessly and husks of oak leaves zigzagging down, sinking through the opalescent light. A couple of tufted titmice were busy pecking at the sunflower seeds contained in a glass feeder hanging from a bough of the bulky linden at the center of the yard. Danning ate with a good appetite and kept saying to Nan that it was great to have one’s family together. He seemed to respect Pingping a lot and frequently patted Taotao on the head. He spooned some mashed garlic onto his plate and asked Nan, “Have you decided what to do yet?”
“No, but I’ve been thinking of doing something that moneyed people can’t do. You see how rich the Masefields are. It doesn’t make sense for me to dream of getting rich.” Nan turned to Pingping, who looked alarmed, a shadow dimming her face.
“What do you plan to do?” Danning put half a dumpling into his mouth, chewing with his lips closed.
“Probably I’ll write. I want to be a writer.”
“Writing articles for newspapers?”
“No, poetry.”
“Wow, you’re such an idealist, a dreamer! I take off my cap.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I’m just saying I might try to write some poems.”
“Still, I admire you for that, for being faithful to your own heart and following your own passion. To be honest, I don’t like physics, but I have to finish the dissertation to get the damn degree.”
“What would you do if you were free to choose?”
“Well, I would write novels, one after another. I know I could be a prolific writer, telling stories about our experiences in America.”
“You would publish them in China?”
“Of course, where else can you have your readers if you write in Chinese?”
“I can’t think about writing novels. I don’t have that kind of long wind.”
“What will you do for money? Poetry won’t fetch a salary.”
“I always can work.”
Nan was reluctant to talk more about his plan since he hadn’t made up his mind yet. His wife put in about him, “He’s always rich in the heart.”
“That makes him remarkable, doesn’t it?” said Danning.
“I hope we just live a life similar to others’ here, making some money and having our own home, so that every day will be the same as the previous one,” she replied thoughtfully.
“Come now,” Nan said to her. “I’ll work hard to bring in money, you know that.”
That quieted her. She got up to take a bowl of fruit out of the refrigerator. As they started to eat the dessert, Danning said, “Nan, have you heard anything from the Chinese consulate yet?”
“No, about what?”
“They’ve been investigating your involvement in the planned kidnap.”
“Really? How do you know?” Pingping broke in.
“Vice Consul Hu asked me last week about Nan’s role in the case. I said I had no idea. It seemed they knew Nan had brought up the suggestion of seizing hostages, and he must be a target of their investigation.”
Nan was so flabbergasted that he couldn’t respond for a moment. Then he asked, “What are they going to do to me, do you know?”
“Don’t be scared. They can’t do anything to you here. But once you’re back in China, that’ll be different. So don’t fall into their hands.”
“How did they come to know about the plan?”
“I don’t have the foggiest idea. Somebody must have given you away.”
“Yuming Wang or Manyou Zhou?”
“It can be any one of those involved, but there’s no way to identify the informer. Anybody could turn you in to save his own ass.”
“You mean I’ve been singled out as a scapegoat?”
“Right.”
Nan turned to Pingping, who looked panic-stricken, her eyes flickering. She placed her hand on Taotao’s head, stroking his hair unconsciously.
“What should I do?” Nan asked his friend.
“Relax. Don’t say anything against the government in front of others, not even in your letters or on the phone when you call home. If those top leaders’ children confront you, just say you made a rash remark and never thought others would take it seriously. It won’t hurt if you apologize to them.”
“No, never.”
“I know you won’t.”
When Danning was about to leave, Pingping thanked him for letting them know of the official investigation. Danning said, “I planned to call and tell you about it even if I couldn’t come today.” He grinned, his face a little lopsided. He had drunk three bottles of beer but wouldn’t stay longer to let the alcohol dissolve some. He told Pingping he hadn’t had a homemade dinner for two months. He was sorry about the troublesome information, but they shouldn’t be scared. Nan should just be careful and avoid getting hotheaded again. Danning stepped into his rusty hatchback and drove away.
That night Pingping didn’t go to bed until eleven-thirty, when Nan had to set off for the factory. They talked about their situation. Now it looked like Nan definitely couldn’t return to China, and even in this country he’d have to keep a low profile. They’d be lucky if both of their families, especially their siblings, didn’t suffer on Nan’s account.
Recently Nan had mailed his passport to the Chinese consulate in New York for renewal, so he was now afraid that the officials might create difficulti
es for him and put his papers on hold. He felt powerless whenever dealing with them. It was as if invisible hands still manipulated his life even though he lived far away from China.
At work that night, Nan wrote to his parents, telling them to take good care and that everything was fine with his family here. He mentioned: “I have enclosed a hair of mine. If you don’t find it in the envelope, that means someone has tampered with the letter. Let me know if you see it.” He wanted to ascertain whether his mail was monitored. If it was, there’d be no doubt that he’d been blacklisted. How he regretted having blurted out the crazy kidnap idea in the presence of more than a dozen people. Now it had boomeranged on him. The more he thought about his situation, the more convinced he was that any one of those who had heard him could have informed against him. No wonder so many of his friends and acquaintances had grown estranged from him lately. They were probably all desperate to clear themselves.
10
“WELL, I’m sorry to tell you we’re moving,” Don said to Nan. They were in his tiny office in the middle of the main workshop, with a glass wall on every side. A few workers had just punched in, drinking coffee and making noises with tools, but all the machines were still quiet.
“Zer whole factory?” Nan asked Don.
“Yep.”
“Where are you going?”
“We bought a place outside Fitchburg. If you want, you can come work for us there.”
“Zat is hard. My son goes to school here.” Nan turned silent and recalled Fitchburg, a town he had been to once. A year earlier he and Danning had gone to Keene, New Hampshire, to pick up two cheap computers assembled by a four-man company housed in a barn. On their way back they had stopped for lunch at Fitchburg, which had some lovely Victorian and colonial houses surrounded by woods. It was a long drive from Woodland, at least an hour.
“Anyway, think about it. We’ll close this place by mid-January.” Don screwed up his yellow eye.
“I will.”
“Don’t forget your bird.”
“Sure, I won’t.” Nan had just finished his shift. Having hung the clock behind the door of the office for Don to check, he went over to a giant refrigerator, on the side of which was taped a large poster of a black sprinter drifting along with a star-spangled banner above her head. She looked as if she had just won a dash, her expression euphoric and beaming. But below her glistening legs stretched a line of words scribbled in blue ink by one of the workers: “If you can catch me, you can fuck me!” Nan opened the door of the fridge and picked out a turkey, a gift the factory offered to every employee.
It was snowing a little, the low clouds tumbling in the wind. Snowflakes swirled down and melted the moment they hit the blacktop, which curved away toward the blurred townscape of Waltham in the west. Nan drove numbly ahead, still rattled by the news that the factory was moving.
Twenty minutes later he reached the Masefields’. He handed the package with the turkey to Pingping, who was making pancakes in the kitchen. Then he went upstairs to sleep without having had any breakfast.
At the sight of the large turkey, everybody got excited. Taotao, who had been chatting with Livia about a limping doe that had wandered into the front yard that morning, turned to ask his mother how to cook this huge bird. He had eaten deli turkey in school but wanted to know if this real turkey tasted the same. By now he had risen to the middle reading group in his class and could speak quite a bit of English, though he used only short sentences. Even when he talked with his parents, he’d mix English into Chinese.
Pingping drove all three children to school after they’d had breakfast. Before she set out with them, she had suggested to Heidi that they share the turkey for dinner that evening, though Thanksgiving was still two days away. “It’s too big for us,” she said. Indeed, it weighed more than twenty pounds. Heidi agreed happily. She’d be taking her children to her in-laws’ for Thanksgiving dinner and wouldn’t be buying a turkey this year.
For Nathan and Livia, it was extraordinary that Nan had brought back a turkey for free. They thought he was a security guard at the factory, somewhat like a policeman. “Wow, amazing!” Nathan said in the van, licking his chafed lips. He was a husky boy with russet hair and silken skin, but he wasn’t bright. He had never once gotten an A for his homework and always remained below the average in his class. Good-humored and handsome, he’d flash a broad smile whenever Pingping said he looked like the young Ronald Reagan when the president had been an actor in Hollywood.
Back from the school, Pingping cleaned the turkey, sprinkled salt and pepper on it, and put it into the refrigerator. She then went upstairs to prepare some arithmetic problems for Taotao. Nan was snoring loudly in the other room. He must have been utterly exhausted. Pingping wouldn’t even use the bathroom upstairs for fear of disturbing him. Toward midmorning she went to Star Market and bought yams, potatoes, green beans, a pumpkin pie, and some vegetables. As soon as she came back, she began roasting the turkey, which she had never done before. Heidi helped, showing her how to baste the bird. This was easy for Pingping, who was so good at cooking that she dared to cook anything after she’d tasted it. She also mixed some flour with butter and raisins to make biscuits.
Soon the house was filled with a meaty aroma. Heidi was so happy that she walked around with a glass of Chablis, her hazel eyes shining and her cheeks pink as if rouged. Usually she uncorked a bottle of wine a day, though she never got drunk. In the cellar of her house there were hundreds of bottles of wine in crates or on racks, some of them more than twenty years old. The Wus didn’t drink, so Heidi had never locked the cellar.
In the afternoon Nan told Pingping about the factory’s move. Small wonder Don had hired him on the spot three months before. If Nan had been an American, Don would have been obligated to let him know the temporary nature of the job when he applied. Now what should Nan do? He wouldn’t mind working as a night watchman for some years, but he’d need a more reliable car than his old Ford if he had to commute to Fitchburg every day. Without much consideration, Pingping and Nan agreed that he shouldn’t go with them, because Taotao could have better schooling here. What’s more, Nan’s job paid less than two hundred dollars a week, and after taxes and gas there wouldn’t be much left. For the time being they had best stay with the Masefields. In this way they could save at least what Pingping made.
Heidi had cleared the mail and bills from the table in the dining room, which was seldom used and where the wide floorboards creaked a little when stepped on. On the southern wall, between the windows, hung an oval mirror, below which was a pier table. In one corner was a mahogany shelf displaying antique English porcelain. Near the door stood a bronze elephant, two feet tall, brought back from India by the late Dr. Masefield and now serving as a doorstop. From the very beginning, this low-ceilinged dining room had reminded Nan of the one in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s house in Salem, which he had once visited with a friend.
Pingping spread a salmon-colored cloth on the table, then began placing the food on it. Dinner started at half past four, earlier than usual. The two families sat down, Heidi at the head of the table, her half-filled glass standing beside the hand-painted plate she had made herself. The others all drank milk or orange juice. Nathan and Livia enjoyed the turkey, the biscuits, and the baked yams as if the meal were better than the food offered by any of the restaurants their mother had taken them to on weekends. Taotao liked the gravy and wanted more of it on his meat and mashed potatoes. Pingping helped him. The boy wouldn’t touch the stewed eggplant, which was Heidi’s favorite. Heidi had on her plate the first cut of turkey breast with the crispy skin, which she loved.
The three children soon finished dinner and left. Livia and Taotao went into the living room, where they drew pictures with crayons, their laughter ringing from there continually. That put Pingping at ease; that morning she had come across a tattered copy of Playboy in Nathan’s bedroom, and she didn’t want Taotao to join the older boy upstairs. She and Nan often wondered why Heidi hadn�
�t dumped all the back issues of Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, and other pornographic magazines left by her husband. Wouldn’t they warp Nathan’s mind, making him think of nothing but naked women and girls? How could he concentrate on his schoolwork if he filled his brain with smut every day? Pingping couldn’t figure out why Heidi was so careless. Nan guessed that maybe Heidi wanted her son to know more about women. His wife disagreed. What sort of sex education was this? More like a perversion.
As the adults conversed at the dining table, Heidi asked Pingping, “What’s the biggest difference between life in China and life here?”
Nan and Pingping exchanged smiles. He knew that despite her desperate search for a clean toilet in her dreams, she missed many things back home, especially the mountain outside the small town where she had grown up.
“Come, tell me what’s so funny?” Heidi persisted, rolling her eyes. Two dimples deepened on her cheeks, and the skin above her cleavage had turned reddish. With her fork she lifted a length of sautéed broccoli onto her plate.
“You can take shower here every day, real convenience,” Pingping said.
“How did you do that in China?”
“We go to public bathhouse. I carry Taotao on my back and a big basin in fronta me, got on bus to downtown. After we wash, I carry him and everything back. He’s so tired he slept all way, but I almost can’t stand on my leg anymore. The bus too crowded and I can’t find seat.”
