A Free Life

by Ha Jin

  Whenever Pingping complained about Nan, Niyan sympathized with her. One day Niyan said to her, “Why don’t Nan and you go to church on Sundays? You can meet lots of interesting people there and have fun too. You won’t feel isolated or insecure once you belong to a church.”

  “In fact,” Pingping said, “a number of people have shown up on our doorstep to invite us to join their churches, but we’re not Christians, so we don’t go.”

  “Aiya, why have only a one-track mind? You don’t have to be a Christian to attend Sunday services.” Niyan fingered her drop earring while biting her bottom lip. Her eyes, slightly bulging, were fixed on Pingping.

  “We don’t believe in Jesus Christ yet,” Pingping said.

  “Why so serious about that? How many of us are real believers? The church is a place where you can meet people and make friends. It has night schools and dance parties for singles. It can make you feel better with so many Chinese around.”

  “We’re not singles.”

  “All I’m saying is that once you join a church, people will help you and your life will be safer and easier.”

  “Do you really feel that way?”

  “Of course, why should I lie to you?”

  “All right, I’ll talk to Nan about this.”

  “Tell him that Shubo and I have had a great time in our church. You can attend the sermons on Sunday mornings. That will make you feel good, calm inside.”

  Pingping agreed to persuade Nan, mainly because she had something else on her mind. Dick Harrison had just broken up with his girlfriend, and Pingping was afraid he might be a bisexual and start an affair with Nan. She couldn’t understand why Nan was so attached to that flighty man. There must have been some mutual attraction between them. To prevent her husband from turning gay, she even gave him several vitamins every day, since she had read in an outdated book that many cases of homosexuality were due to vitamin deficiency. She dared not express her concerns explicitly to Nan, who just swallowed whatever pills she gave him, never raising any question about them.

  On their way to the Gold Wok the next morning Pingping brought up to Nan the subject of attending church. It was mizzling, and all trees and houses blurred. She and Nan shared a large candy-striped umbrella. She was shivering a little from the damp wind. Nan wrapped an arm around her shoulders to give her some body warmth. He said, “We mustn’t be lighthearted about this matter. If we go to church, we ought to believe in God. A church is a place for worship.”

  “If you don’t ever attend the service, how can you understand Christianity?”

  “At this point of my life, I don’t feel like joining any religious group. I want to be independent. Also, I can take poetry as my religion if I need one. If you want to go to church, feel free to do that.”

  “Why can’t we be more flexible? As a matter of fact, we may get some business from Niyan’s parish.” Lately Pingping had noticed some customers greeting the waitress like a friend. Niyan told her that they belonged to her congregation in Lawrenceville.

  “No, the church is a sacred place, a house of God,” Nan said. “If I’m not a Christian, I won’t feel comfortable there.”

  A few days ago he had said similar words to a craggy-faced black seminarian who had come to their home to read a few passages from the New Testament.

  Pingping said no more, knowing she couldn’t bring him around. Besides, she agreed with him in a way. It was better to be yourself. Here nobody could really help you, and only you could save yourself. In addition, she didn’t want to be a fake, as she had tried to be back in China, where people had to lie to get things done and to keep themselves from danger. When she had come to the States six and a half years before, she hadn’t been able to speak comfortably for months because she didn’t know how to talk without lying. As a result, she would remain taciturn most of the time. It took more than half a year for her to get used to speaking her mind. Now she wanted to live and act honestly, just as Nan insisted.

  20

  PINGPING told Nan that the adoption agent had mailed Janet and Dave the photographs of two girl babies and asked them to choose one. Obviously Ruhua, the agent, had meant to do the Mitchells a favor, but this threw them into a terrible dilemma. How could they keep one child while abandoning the other? Janet called Ruhua and implored her to let them have both children, who would make perfect sisters, but the agent disallowed her appeal, saying all the paperwork had been filed for only one baby and it would be too difficult to restart the whole thing, and besides, there were many people desperate to adopt. The Mitchells were distressed and wanted to discuss the matter with the Wus that very day. Since the restaurant wasn’t a suitable place for such a conversation, Pingping told Janet to come to their house around ten-thirty p.m.

  Both Nan and Pingping were exhausted when they arrived home. Taotao was at his computer, playing the game Mortal Kombat. “Turn it off,” his mother told him. “Time for bed.”

  “Let me finish this round, all right?”

  “Remember to brush your teeth.”

  As soon as Nan had taken a shower, the Mitchells came. They showed the Wus the photos and wanted them to suggest which one of the babies they should keep. Dave lounged on the sofa and looked upset, now and then letting out a feeble sigh. He asked for coffee since he and his wife would have to stay up late to make the decision. Nan put a kettle on the stove.

  “What kinda daughter you have in your mind, Janet?” asked Pingping.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about you, Dave?”

  “Both of them look good to me. God, I’ve never felt it so heart-wrenching to decide on something.” He was obviously in pain, and his deep-set eyes dimmed.

  “It’s my fault,” Pingping said. “I shouldn’t ask Ruhua to do you special favor.”

  “No,” Janet put in. “We appreciate your help, Pingping. But now we’re stuck with this two-baby problem. What should we do? Help us decide.”

  Nan dropped a bit of hazelnut extract into each cup of the instant coffee he made for the Mitchells, and then joined Pingping in observing the photos. The babies looked quite similar, with little cute noses and almond eyes, though one’s face was broader than the other’s. Nan sighed, “Zis is beyond me. I don’t know what to say. How could I tell which of zem will turn out to be a better daughter for you?”

  “That’s not really our concern,” Dave said, putting down his cup on a straw coaster on the coffee table. “Our main problem is that it will be hard for us to handle the guilt. The two girls are in different orphanages. If the one we leave behind is adopted by a good family, that will be okay with me. But what if she ends up in a bad family or remains an orphan?”

  “Yes, that’s the hardest part,” Janet agreed.

  Nan was amazed. Then to the Wus’ astonishment, Dave broke into sobs, wiping his lumpy face with a tissue. “I’m sorry. It’s too painful to choose.”

  Both Nan and Pingping were touched. Nan knew the Mitchells often went to church on Sunday mornings. Probably it was their Christian faith that had instilled in them the sense of guilt and enabled them to commiserate with the babies more than they—the Wus—could. Nan had never thought about the fate of the child the Mitchells would have to give up. He surmised that the Mitchells’ minds must have another dimension that was absent from his.

  Pingping said, “Think this way, Janet. When you saw the photos, which one of them you suddenly feel grab your heart?”

  “This one.” Janet lifted the one with a wider face from the coffee table. “I felt a jolt at the sight of her.”

  “How about you, Dave?” Pingping asked.

  “To me, it was the other one.”

  “Heavens, no way we can help you!” Pingping raised her hand in defeat.

  Nan stepped in, “I feel you two have to do some soul-searching and figure out a solution by yourselves. When will you let zee agent know your decision?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” replied Janet.

  “Sorry,” Nan said. “We
reelly can’t help you, not because we don’t want to share zer guilt. If only there were more information. On zee other hand, even if we had enough information, you would still feel guilty if you adawpt just one of zem, right?”

  “I guess so,” said Dave.

  Despite the impasse, the Mitchells stayed late into the night, talking about their plan to travel to China and bring back their daughter. Not until twelve-thirty did they take their leave.

  21

  TWO DAYS LATER, Janet told the Wus that Dave had gone with her choice of the baby with the wider face, since it was she who had first thought of adoption. They had gotten more information on the child and were going to contact the INS to apply for a green card for her. From now on they must wait patiently for the time they could go to Nanjing and pick up their baby. They were sort of surprised that the process wasn’t as intimidating and tedious as they had thought.

  For days, Nan, moved by Dave’s sobbing of the other night, had been pondering the Mitchells’ sense of guilt, which made him change his mind about going to church. He began to think that any religion might improve humanity, at least be able to make people more compassionate and more humble. So he decided to visit the Chinese Christian Church in Duluth, a nearby town to the north, just to see if he liked it. Pingping planned to go with him, but on Sunday morning she felt under the weather, having sore shoulders, and stayed home. Before Nan set out, he gave her a back massage, which eased her pain considerably.

  The church was in a modern stuccoed building sitting atop a gentle rise planted with cypress saplings. It was a hot day, and the heat was rising from the newly paved parking lot, flickering like purple smoke. As Nan entered the church, some people were standing around exchanging pleasantries in the foyer, which resembled the lobby of a hotel or theater. He saw a few familiar faces, but didn’t know anyone except the woman who had once come to the Gold Wok to solicit donations for flood victims. He remembered her name, Mei Hong, and was sure she recognized him; yet for some reason she turned away after giving him a once-over. Nan went into the nave, sat down in a back pew, and picked up a hymnal. Hundreds of people were already sitting in there, and on the wide chancel platform were seated two men wearing dark blue suits and crimson neckties, both bespectacled. A potbellied vase holding a large mixed bouquet stood on the floor, in front of the lectern.

  The service started, and the younger clergyman on the chancel went to the microphone and called for the people to rise. Together they started singing a hymn, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” accompanied by a huge piano played by a mousy woman in a corner. Next, they bowed and meditated for a moment. The hall turned quiet while Nan glanced right and left and noticed an old woman in front of him thumbing through a Bible rested atop the back of the pew before her. A baby let out a cry but was stopped immediately by its parent. Then a choir, eight women and six men in scarlet-collared gowns, went onto the chancel steps and sang “Sweet Hours of Prayer.” Their singing was passionate but serene, swelling and ebbing as if they were leading the piano. After that, the pastor wearing tinted glasses, surnamed Bian, took the lectern and began preaching the sermon, entitled “New Hope.” His voice was soft most of the time, but now and then it grew strong, fervent and exultant. He spoke about Paul, the apostle, as a model follower of the Lord and an ideal man. He quoted from the New Testament to illustrate that Paul was originally a sinner and a persecutor of Christians, but then changed into a man with a big heart. Paul never lost hope and always remained modest, not taking pride in his own accomplishments and praising only the Lord. He loved his siblings despite their tricks against him, despite their transgressions and sins, because he could forget the past and look ahead only. “Think about the sprinters at the Olympic Games,” the preacher announced in Mandarin softened by his Fujian accent. “How can they run that fast? Do they look back when they’re dashing toward the finish line? Of course not. Brothers and sisters, we have to lay aside our old disputes and animosity and look forward and think about the future, where our hopes are. Otherwise, how could we see any light?…”

  Nan’s eyes were glued to the pastor’s long, heavy-chinned face. He believed he had seen him before. But where? He couldn’t remember. He was positive this man had come from mainland China.

  Pastor Bian now was speaking about how to get rid of one’s sins. He said, “If you have a glass of water mixed with soy sauce, how can you get the water clean again? Very simple. You keep pouring pure water into the glass until the soy sauce is washed away. Brothers and sisters, our Lord is the most abundant fountain of pure water. Tap into that divine source and you will be cleansed, clean like a newborn baby and bountiful with love.”

  Then he went on to talk about the necessity of accumulating one’s rewards in heaven by doing good deeds on earth. He even claimed that he couldn’t wait to meet God and collect the rewards he had deposited in God’s bank up there.

  Nan was fascinated by the analogies the pastor hurled, though he wasn’t fully convinced by his eloquence. He remembered that his friend Danning Meng had told him that he couldn’t stop weeping once at a Sunday service. In Massachusetts, Danning had gone to a Catholic church in Watertown at least once a month. In contrast, Nan now felt calm and detached. When the sermon was over, the choir again went to the front and belted out “Take My Life and Let It Be.” After the singing, the pastor announced the birth of a baby to a couple in the congregation; it weighed seven pounds and five ounces, and mother and child were both safe and well. He also spoke about the amount of donations the church had received lately and urged people to give more so that they could reach the annual goal of collecting $50,000. After the announcements, the younger clergyman called everybody to rise again, and together they sang the final hymn, “I Praise My Lord Only,” following the lines projected on the wall beside the chancel.

  The moment they finished singing, the young clergyman said, “Please receive Brother Shiming Bian’s benediction.” People sat down and bowed their heads while the pastor raised both hands to deliver his final words: “Precious God, we thank you for making this church flourish and prosper. We ask for your blessing on every member of our community. Please make us strong and humble, brave and meek, righteous and compassionate. Please grant us the eyes that can see far and deep. Please grant us the ears that can hear your voice and the unpronounced truth. May your light and love guide our everyday existence so that we can forever remain yours—”

  “Amen!” the hall cried.

  Nan hadn’t lowered his head during the benediction, because at the mention of the pastor’s name, he had realized that the man was an exiled dissident who had once been a preeminent journalist in China, famous for his reportage that exposed official corruption and power abuse. Each year photographs of this man would appear a few times in Chinese-language newspapers and magazines, and there was a famous saying attributed to him: “We have gained the freedom of the sky but lost the gravity of the earth,” which described the existential condition of the Chinese exiles living in North America. No wonder his face looked so familiar. After the benediction, instead of filing out with others, Nan went up to the pastor and introduced himself as a local businessman. He told Mr. Bian that he admired his articles and was happy to meet him in person. He handed him his card and said, “Please stop by at my restaurant whenever you like. Your friends are welcome too.”

  Mr. Bian glanced at the card. “Nan Wu, I know of you,” he said in surprise. “I liked the poems you published in New Lines, especially the one called ‘This Is Just Another Day.’ Are you still editing the magazine?”

  “No, I’m a chef now.”

  “That’s good. I too have put my feet on the ground finally, working to earn my keep. By the way, you know Mr. Manping Liu, don’t you?”

  “Of course, I visited him in New York.”

  “He’s going to speak here next Tuesday evening.”

  “Really? On what?”

  “On the relationship between Taiwan and mainland China. I hope you can join us. He’ll
be delighted to see you.”

  Then Mr. Bian went on to tell Nan that the talk would be given at the public library in Alpharetta, an affluent town full of brick mansions, about ten miles northwest of Lilburn. Nan promised to attend the meeting.

  22

  NAN was excited, not having seen Mr. Liu for almost three years. At work that day he even called him in New York and invited him to stay at his home. The old man was pleased, but said his friends in Atlanta had already made arrangements for his lodging and board. He sounded glad to hear from Nan, saying he looked forward to seeing him on Tuesday evening. Nan promised to attend his talk, though he hadn’t mentioned it to Pingping yet.

  When he brought it up, Pingping was reluctant to let him go, but later Nan persuaded her. On Tuesday evening, after eight-thirty, when the busiest time had passed at the Gold Wok, he arrived at the library, where the talk was already under way. He took a seat in the back corner. Mr. Liu had aged considerably, his mouth more sunken, but his voice was still metallic and ardent. He was speaking about the necessity for Taiwan to be reunified with mainland China, because if it went independent, China would lose its gateway to the Pacific Ocean, and Japan, in addition to the United States, would control the China Sea entirely. Nan was amazed that Mr. Liu’s view dovetailed with the Chinese government’s. It was as if all the years’ exile hadn’t changed the old man’s mind-set one bit.

  After the talk, the audience raised questions for the speaker, and some of them also stood up to add their opinions to Mr. Liu’s answers. A young man who must have come from Taiwan asked, “Mr. Liu, you’re one of the foremost figures in the Chinese democracy movement and may hold an important office in the Chinese government someday. If you become China’s president, what will you do if Taiwan declares independence?”

  Mr. Liu remained silent for a moment, then replied, “First of all, I can never become a national leader. But if I were the president, I might have to order the People’s Liberation Army to attack Taiwan. There isn’t another way out of this. China must protect its territorial integrity. Whoever loses Taiwan will be recorded by history as a criminal of the Chinese nation.”