by Ha Jin
Having placed a cup of tepid water before him, she sat down and said, “So you went with Beina for some time, didn’t you? In fact, she often mentioned you. Didn’t you go to America in the eighties?”
“Yes, twelve years ago.”
Nan scrutinized her face. Her little nose and thick-lashed eyes didn’t resemble Beina’s at all. A baby boy in blue open-seat pants was playing with a rubber ball in the room. He wagged his fleshy buttocks as he crawled and toddled around, chasing the ball. Beiya lifted him up and sat him on her lap.
“Your sister men-mentioned me?” Nan’s voice caught. He lifted the cup and took a gulp, the water reeking of chlorine.
“Yes. She said you must be a rich man by now.”
“I’m just getting by.”
“So you haven’t met Beina in America?”
“What? You mean she’s in the States too?”
“Yes, in Illinois.”
“She’s there alone?”
“No, with her family.”
“When did she leave?”
“About five years ago.”
“Oh, if only I had known.” Stupefied, he suddenly felt drained. A strange emotion overcame him, as if he had been taken in. He asked for Beina’s address and phone number, which her half sister jotted down for him with a red fountain pen. By her manner and knowing smile he guessed she knew Beina had once turned down his proposal. In her voice there seemed a touch of sadness and sympathy.
“How is she doing in Illinois?” he managed to ask.
“She complains a lot. She’s working hard to support her family.”
“In the beginning it’s always hard. You have to struggle to put down roots in America. Usually it takes ten years to settle down.”
“So you already have a green card?”
“I’m naturalized.”
“That’s awesome. My sister hasn’t got her green card yet.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult for her.” He grimaced.
He wanted to ask more about Beina, but restrained himself. The baby was hungry and wanted to suckle, so Nan seized the moment Beiya turned to give her breast to her son and got up to take his leave.
On his way back he felt dazed, dragging himself eastward absentmindedly. His hand patted the trunks of the poplars lined along the sidewalk as he passed them. Some pedestrians turned to look at him as if he were a lunatic. Approaching home, he forgot to enter the compound through the back alley. Instead, he walked into the front gate and even nodded at the people sitting in the guard office. One man recognized him and pointed him out for the others in the room. A few men gathered at the opened window to observe Nan, who was an overseas Chinese now. They whispered, “Look at his face, so pink. He must’ve drunk cow’s milk every day.”
Nan pretended he hadn’t heard them. However, the moment he rounded the corner of the first building, Uncle Zhao appeared, holding a galvanized kettle. The mousy old man, pock-faced and beetle-browed, froze midstride, then approached Nan, saying, “Big nephew, you don’t remember me? No? You have such a short memory.”
Nan recognized him, but also remembered his father’s admonition to avoid this old codger. He forced a smile, his face blushing blotchily. “Of course I know you, Uncle Zhao. How are you?”
“I’m good. When did you come back? Why didn’t your father breathe a word?” He looked upset, a frown gathering on his bulging forehead.
“I didn’t tell him about my return either. I’m on a business trip and dropped in to see my parents.”
“Have you been home for days?”
“No, I arrived yesterday.” Nan had to lie to exonerate his father. “Uncle Zhao, I’ve got to go. My mother’s waiting for me.”
“I understand.” Despite saying that, the old man looked sour, his face a little crumpled as if Nan had slighted him.
Uncle Zhao phoned early that afternoon to invite Nan and his father over for dinner the next evening. Nan’s father kept thanking him while apologizing for Nan’s inability to come. He said, “He’s leaving tomorrow morning. He didn’t plan to come home. He just took a break from his business engagement in Beijing…. No, this evening is out of the question. We’re going to Peacock Pavilion for a family gathering. Nan hasn’t seen his nephew and niece yet…. You see, he’s really in a hurry…. Ahem, why did you say that? Of coursehe’s grateful. Only because he doesn’t have time to see anybody here. Listen, Old Zhao, he brought back something for you. I won’t tell you what it is now…. Don’t work up your temper like this, all right?…I’ll see you soon.” He hung up.
Nan was uneasy about his father’s promise to Uncle Zhao and said, “What are you going to give him?”
“That will be up to you. How much do you want to spend?” His father grinned, a tea leaf on his eyetooth.
“I don’t have time to get anything for him.”
“No problem. You can leave some money with me, and I’ll buy a gift for him and say you brought it back.”
“But he’ll be able to tell it’s a hoax.”
“Don’t worry about that. Give me two hundred dollars.”
“For what?”
“I can buy a small air conditioner for him. It isn’t much, really. You owe him—he gave you four of his best paintings. Any one of them could be worth that amount. This is cheaper than to arrange his visit to America, isn’t it? He always dreams of holding a one-man show there.”
“All right, all right.”
Nan took out his billfold and gave his father four fifties. He felt this was a good arrangement, since he’d have to repay the debt to Uncle Zhao one way or another. If he had gone to the old man’s home for dinner, he was sure that the geezer would have tried every way to make him promise to help arrange a show of his paintings and calligraphy in New York, or D.C., or Atlanta. He was afraid of meeting that monomaniac again.
13
AFTER a series of loud hisses, the train bound for Beijing thumped, threw Nan forward a bit, then began pulling out of the Harbin station. He waved good-bye to his parents and siblings on the platform. His mother and sister broke into tears while his eyes filled too. He felt he might never be back again.
He was seated in a sleeper compartment and rested his cheek against the frame of the window. Outside, the grassland slid by. The convex plain stretched into a mist wavering in the distance. Along the railroad track a low fog was gathering, so thick that the nearby fields seemed covered by a layer of fresh snow. A moment later a swarm of town houses emerged, surrounded by vegetable fields in which women and old men were squatting on their haunches, tending seedlings or spreading manure with bare hands. Nan could tell that the ceramic-tiled houses, before which were parked some cars of Japanese and German makes, were inhabited mostly by rich people. Satellite dishes stuck out of the roofs like huge mushrooms. If he had moved back to this city, he could have afforded to live in such a place, but he’d have felt uncomfortable about the sight of the poor peasants who toiled in the fields in the same way as their ancestors had done centuries before. It seemed that the harder they worked, the poorer these people would get.
Villages and hamlets came up and flitted away. They hadn’t changed, and some showed little life in them except for a few columns of cooking smoke rising from the thatched roofs. In front of a schoolhouse a bunch of children chased a soccer ball, all wearing nothing above the waist. Nan guessed that perhaps most of the able hands in the villages had left to seek work in towns and cities. Indeed, many of the fields looked disused, as if the people had abandoned the land, whose dark soil is so rich that the plain is known as China’s “granary.”
In the same compartment sat two other passengers, a bulky old woman and a trim salesman. They were chatting about bureaucratic corruption while smoking a pack of Red Pagoda Hill cigarettes. The heavy-faced woman, who must once have been a ranking official, kept saying she missed the leadership of Chairman Mao, who had been not only concerned about common people’s livelihood but also cleaner than any of the current national leaders. Her words put
Nan in mind of the memoir by Mao’s personal doctor published in the United States recently, which debunked the myth of the great man’s integrity and honesty. Evidently these people here didn’t have access to a book like that. They had no idea of the huge royalties Mao had reaped from his own books, particularly the little red one, during the time when in the whole country no one else received royalties and all writers had been paid merely small contribution fees. Neither did they know that the great leader had bedded women like changing clothes.
The squint-eyed salesman sighed and said one of his cousins’ families was so impoverished that they hadn’t been able to send their son, whose stomach was perforated by an ulcer, to the hospital and instead had hired a sorcerer to chant and dance around to exorcise the evil spirit said to have possessed the boy. As a consequence, they’d lost their only son. But in their local county many officials had used public funds to build houses for themselves, some even for their mistresses, and one bureaucrat had constructed a mansion for his grandchild, who wasn’t even conceived yet.
The woman sighed and told the man, “I’ve seen so many poor people these days that I often wonder why we Communists started the revolution in the first place. My maid’s brother in the countryside named his little daughter ‘Color TV,’ because he and his wife always dream of having a television set.”
Reluctant to join them in their conversation, Nan climbed to the top berth and lay down to doze off despite the clip-clop-clip-clop drumming of the wheels. To some extent, he regretted having come back to see his parents and siblings, who seemed more distant from him than ever before. He wondered why so many overseas Chinese would retire to this mad country where you had to bribe and feast others to get anything done. Clearly a person like him wouldn’t be able to survive here. Now he wanted all the more to live and die in America. How he missed his home in Georgia.
14
DANNING told Nan that Shaoya, Mrs. Liu, whose husband had passed away five weeks before, wanted to see him. Nan had liked Mr. Liu, though he didn’t share his nationalistic zeal. He had always felt that the old man was partly blinded by his patriotism. Danning called a cab and together the two of them set out for the Lius’. Although the distance was less than three miles, it took them almost forty minutes to get there. The streets were jammed with traffic—automobiles, bicycles, tricycles, and even a few horse carts. Nan wondered why so many people wanted to buy cars in Beijing. He had seen a row of Cadillacs and BMWs parked before a multistory apartment building. Beyond doubt, some of the families had put more money into their vehicles than into their housing.
Shaoya received Nan and Danning warmly and brewed a pot of Puer tea for them. Wearing a puce tunic, she looked slightly older than she had eight years ago, but her face was sunny, as if she enjoyed living alone. She had a favor to ask Nan. Her husband’s dying wish was to have his ashes taken to Canada, where their daughter was studying chemistry at the University of Alberta. Shaoya wanted Nan to help realize Mr. Liu’s wish—once he took the ashes to the United States, he could mail them to their daughter from there.
The request surprised Nan and evoked mixed feelings in him. Mr. Liu had been a fervent patriot, but why would he want to have his cremains shipped out of their native land? Had he changed his mind about China? Didn’t he love this country anymore? He must have been bitterly disillusioned. Nan’s mind was spinning with questions, yet he said to Shaoya, “I can take his ashes with me, but I can’t guarantee you that they’ll reach your daughter.”
“China’s customs may confiscate them,” added Danning.
She said, “I’ve thought about the risk too, but I can’t mail them from here. Our mail is monitored.”
“How about letting me take half his ashes?” Nan suggested. “Just in case the customs seize them.”
“That’s what my husband desired—he wanted a part of him to remain in China. I packed only half the cremains.”
She got up and went into an inner room. Nan sighed and sipped the hot tea, which tasted a little grassy. Danning whispered to him, “Mr. Liu used to say he wanted to be buried in a clean place.”
“Do you think he missed North America?”
“Probably. He once said he wanted to ‘uncage’ his soul.”
Shaoya returned with a package the size of a brick, tightly wrapped with blue plastic cloth, a small envelope taped to its top containing a letter for her daughter, and she placed the parcel on the tea table. Nan lifted it with both hands. It was light, less than a pound. Carefully he put it into his shoulder bag.
They went on talking about some common acquaintances living in New York City. Shaoya said she wished she could have lived in America three more years so that she could have earned enough points to qualify for U.S. Social Security, but she’d had to return with her dying husband the year before. Now she depended on the remittances her daughter sent from Canada, because her salary was just enough for food and rent. She planned to leave China, but it looked as though she might not be able to do that in the near future. The police had kept her passport and wouldn’t return it to her.
Coming out of the Lius’, Danning took Nan to a nearby street, saying they should see another person before heading home. Nan followed his friend into a brick building that housed the headquarters of an American fast food company named Cheers. They went up in an elevator to the third floor and found the accounting department. In a stentorian voice Danning greeted the secretary, a young woman wearing eyeliner so thick that it appeared as if her lids had grown into multiple folds. He told her, “I want to see your boss.”
“She’s on the phone.”
“Tell her an old friend is here to see her.”
“All right.” She turned away as if eager to interrupt her boss. Suddenly the silver cell phone on her belt chimed and she switched it off.
“Heavens, that sounded like a fire alarm and scared a sweat out of me,” said Danning.
Tittering, she nodded at him, then went into the office.
To Nan’s astonishment, Yafang Gao came out, smiling and waving at Danning. “Welcome,” she said pleasantly in English. She wore wire-rimmed glasses, a beige Peter Pan–collared pantsuit, and open-toe stilettos. Though trimmer than before, she looked aged and had laugh lines. At first she didn’t recognize Nan, but then her face lit up and she held out her hand. “Nan Wu! When did you come back?”
“A few days ago.”
“Are you going to work in Beijing?”
“No, I’m leaving for the States tomorrow morning.” As he spoke, he saw a shadow cross her face. She kept fluttering her eyelashes.
She took them into her office. Walking behind her, Nan noticed that one of her high heels was shorter than the other one. The moment they sat down on the sectional leatherette sofas, the secretary came in with a tray holding three cups of coffee. Yafang was the director of the accounting department here, and her company had a number of fast food chains in China. As she lifted her cup with her left hand, Nan saw a diamond ring on her finger and remembered she was a lefty. Obviously she was engaged or married, but he wasn’t sure if he should ask her about that. They talked about life in Beijing and about those who had returned from abroad. Many of them had made a fortune, owning houses, cars, and even companies, but the pressure was tremendous as a result of cutthroat competition in the business world. Nan didn’t say much about his life in Georgia and just told her that he still ran his tiny restaurant and still tried to write poetry, but in English now. He expected she’d comment on his persistency in writing, but she didn’t respond to that. He felt a little mortified and believed that to her he must be a poor man and probably a failure.
Although she invited them to lunch at a nearby Korean restaurant, Nan declined, saying he had to go shopping for his family in the afternoon. She didn’t insist and rose to see them leave. In the hallway, Danning went into the men’s room, leaving Nan alone with Yafang. She stepped closer and whispered to him, “I was a silly girl when I went to America seven years ago. I’ll appreciate it if yo
u don’t talk to others about what happened to me.”
“I’m not a chatterbox. My lips are sealed.” Indeed, Nan had never mentioned Heng Chen’s assaulting her to anyone except for Pingping.
“I’ve tried so hard to forget that nightmare, but I can’t. It still hurts.”
“Think of it this way: Heng Chen has got what he deserves and is totally ruined. You’re doing so well now—that’s the best revenge.”
She smiled, this time gratefully. “I know you’re a gentleman, Nan. Sometimes I miss New York, but this is home.”
“I wish I could say that.” His throat contracted, his voice a bit shaky.
She looked him in the face, her eyes radiating a tender light. She said, “You must have a happy family. Few men who come back from America are as calm as you.”
“I’m lucky that my wife prefers a solitary life.”
Danning appeared down the hall, coming up to them. Yafang hugged Nan and said, “Take care. Good luck with your writing.”
“My, that’s really close,” Danning said to her. “You always just shake my hand.”
Before she could respond, the elevator jingled and opened, and they both stepped into it. On their way out, Danning told Nan that Yafang’s husband was a senior official in the Trade Ministry, a man about town who had earned a Ph.D. from the London School of Economics. The husband and wife were popular and influential figures in the business circle in Beijing, also notable for their private foundation that funded several elementary schools in the countryside. Danning had known them for just about a year. In fact Yafang had said a lot of good things about Nan.
15
NAN returned to Atlanta bone tired and with a stomachache. Pingping massaged his back to help him get the gas out, but she couldn’t stop his fits of hiccups. As she was working on him, she asked, “What did you eat that gave you so much gas?”
“Nothing indigestible. I was just disappointed.”
