by Ha Jin
That thought made Manna more wretched as she remembered the deaths of her parents. Had they been alive, they could havebeen ranking officials as well. Her aunt had told her that when her father was killed in the traffic accident, he had been an eminent journalist for a large newspaper. For a thirty-one-year-old man, that was remarkable. Her mother had been a college graduate, specializing in French; with that kind of education she could surely have made a lot of progress in her career.
Then another troublesome thought came to Manna’s mind. Pingping Ma was well read in classics and worked as the only librarian in the hospital. It was said that she often told legendary tales to her roommates, who would treat her to haw jelly and sodas to keep stories rolling out from her tongue. This might have been what made her attractive to Lin. To some extent they matched each other; both were bookworms. No doubt they would continue to spend time together chatting about books.
What should Manna do? Let that girl take him away? No, she had to do something.
5
Lin had been considerate to Manna, especially after he came to know she had grown up in an orphanage in Tsingtao City. During her first two annual leaves, she had stayed at the hospital, having no place to go. She had neither siblings nor relatives, except for a distant aunt whom she had never felt close to. Lin often advised her to rejoin the volleyball team or take part in the hospital’s propaganda and performing arts club, but she said she was too old for them. Instead, she would declare to him half jokingly that she wanted to go into a nunnery. If only she had known of a convent that was still open and would recruit nuns. In reality the Red Guards were smashing temples and abbeys throughout the country, and monks and nuns had been either sent back home or banished far away, so that they could make an honest living like the masses.
Recently Lin was aware of Manna’s glances and tried to avoid them. He was unsure whether he was really attracted to her. Since the previous summer when Mai Dong broke the engagement, she had changed a lot. Her face was no longer that youthful. Thin rings appeared around her eyes when she smiled, and her complexion had grown pasty and less firm. He felt bad for her, realizing that a young woman could lose her looks so easily and that however little the loss was, it was always irretrievable. He wanted to be kind to her, but sometimes her smiles and her expressive eyes, which seemed eager to draw him to her, disturbed him.
By the summer of 1967 he had been married for almost four years, and his daughter was ten months old. Whenever he saw a couple walk hand in hand on the street, he couldn’t refrain from looking at them furtively and wishing he were able to do the same. As a married man, why did he have to live like a widower? Why couldn’t he enjoy the warmth of a family? If only he hadn’t agreed to let his parents choose a bride for him. If only his wife were pretty and her feet had not been bound. Or if only she and he had been a generation older, so that people in the city wouldn’t laugh at her small feet.
But he was by no means miserable, and his envy for men with presentable wives was always momentary. He held no grudge against Shuyu, who had attended his mother diligently until the old woman died; now she was caring for his bedridden father and their baby. On the whole Lin was content to work in the hospital. He earned enough, more than most of the doctors did because he held a medical school diploma. His life had been simple and peaceful, until one day Manna changed it.
On his desk in the office she left an envelope. It contained an opera ticket and a note in her round handwriting, which said: “This is for The Navy Battle of 1894 at 8:00 p.m. I hope you will go and enjoy it.” He had seen the movie and knew the entire story, so he wondered whether he should return the ticket to her. On second thought he decided to go, because he had nothing else to do that evening and the opera was performed by a well-known troupe from Changchun City. Besides, the seat was good, close to the front.
The hospital’s theater was at the southeastern corner of the compound. When Lin arrived, he was surprised to find Manna sitting in the fifth row too, right next to his seat. He hesitated for a second, then went up to her. The moment he sat down, people began throwing glances in his direction. Some of the audience were waving fans and a few were cracking sunflower seeds. Children were chasing one another in the front and through the aisles, holding slingshots, wooden pistols and swords, all of them wearing army caps and Chairman Mao buttons on their chests and a few with canvas belts around their waists. Through the loudspeaker a man was urging people to stub out cigarettes, explaining that smoke would blur the captions projected on the white wall on the right of the stage. A few nurses from the Department of Infectious Diseases were searching about for their patients, who were not allowed to mix with others at such a public place.
Lin was worried, wondering why Manna was so indiscreet, but she didn’t seem to care about others’ eyes and even stretched out her hand to him, half a dozen candies in her palm. He was nervous but picked one, peeled off the wrapper, and put it into his mouth. It was an orange drop. She smiled, and he felt she looked rather sweet. City girls, they’re so bold, he said to himself.
A female announcer came out from behind the curtain and in a melodious voice gave a brief introduction to the historical background of the story. Then the curtain went up. Two actors in golden official robes and black caps with long trembling ears stepped onto the stage, sidling around in their white-soled platform shoes. They were singing to each other about the Japanese inroads on the Korean Peninsula.
One of them sang in a high falsetto:
News just came from the border:
Five thousand dwarf bandits
Emerged from the ocean.
After waiting two days on the sea,
They landed last week,
Now heading toward Pyongyang . . .
The other man chanted “Oh—ah—” from time to time while listening to the report.
Lin couldn’t make out all the words and had to turn to read the captions on the wall now and again. Yet like others, soon he was immersed in the opera, in which a top Manchu official was inspecting the North Fleet, twirling a long telescope in his hands. After the inspection, a group of gunners, barebacked and wearing pigtails, were preparing for the battle with the Japanese navy. Large brass shells were standing on the fore deck of a battleship, around the main cannon. In the background was a seascape on pea-green cloth, white breakers leaping up and falling away.
But before the opera reached the point where the warships engaged the enemy on the Yellow Sea, a hand landed on Lin’s left wrist. He wiggled a little but didn’t withdraw his hand. He glanced left and right and found everyone enthralled by the send-off party on the stage, drums thundering, horns blaring, gongs clanking, and firecrackers exploding. He looked sideways at Manna, whose eyes narrowed, squinting at him.
Gently her fingertips stroked his palm, as though tracing his heart and head lines. He touched her hand and felt it was warm and smooth, without any callus. How different her palm was from Shuyu’s. She pinched the ball of his thumb a little, and in returnhe held her pinkie, twisting it back and forth for a while. Then she caressed his wrist with her nail. The itch was so tickling that he grabbed her hand and their fingers were entwined. The two hands remained motionless for a moment, then turned over, engaged in a kind of mutual massage for a long time. Lin’s heart was thumping.
He didn’t pay much attention to the naval battle, which brought the audience to applause and shrieks, although the entire Chinese fleet was sunk to the bottom of the sea. Lin’s and Manna’s hands remained together throughout the last act. When the curtain fell, all the lights came on and people continued shouting “Down with Japanese Imperialism!” Lin gazed into Manna’s eyes, which were gleaming intensely, her pupils radiant like a bird’s. Her moist lips curled with a dreamy smile as though she were drunk. Slightly dizzy himself, he stood up and hurried away for fear that others might see his face, which was burning hot.
That night he tossed and turned in his new mosquito net, taking stock of what Manna had done. Despite
not liking what had happened, he believed she was a decent young woman, not a coquette at all, unlike the few shameless ones who would open their pants for their male superiors if the leaders promised them a promotion or a Party membership. Is this the beginning of an affair? he asked himself, and was uncertain of the answer. How come she takes so much interest in me? She knew I was a married man of course, why did she do that in the theater? She was so bold. Is she going to be after me from now on? What should I do?
Questions rose one after another, but he could focus on none of them. His roommate Ming Chen was annoyed by his restless movements and said, “Lin, stop making noise. I can’t sleep. I have a train to catch tomorrow morning.”
“Sorry.” Lin turned on his side and remained still.
Outside, a sentry cried out at someone, “Who’s there? Password?”
“Double Flags,” a male voice barked back.
Somewhere in the roof two crickets were exchanging timid chirps. Moonlight slanted in through the window, casting a pale lozenge on the cement floor. Lin closed his eyes tight, counting numbers in order to fall asleep.
He remained awake until midnight. Then in a half-sleeping state he saw himself and a woman, whose face he didn’t see clearly but whose figure resembled Manna’s, working together in an office, both in doctors’ white robes and caps. They were planning to operate on a patient with heart disease, and a moment later he was chalking words and numerals on a blackboard and briefing a team of doctors and nurses about the plan for the operation. Then, falling deeper into his dream, he saw a spacious home, which had a study full of hardcover books on oak shelves and several framed pictures on the walls. At the back of the house there was a glassed-in veranda facing an oval green lawn. It was a Saturday evening and several friends and colleagues had come over to talk about operas and movies, while the woman was pouring tea and soda for them and passing around spiced pumpkin seeds, tiger-skinned peas, roasted peanuts, and cigarettes. He still didn’t see her face, though obviously she and he were the mistress and master of the house. A few of the guests stayed late, playing cards. In the study there were even two children, whom Lin taught patiently. It seemed that he intended to send them to colleges in Beijing or Shanghai.
The next morning when he woke up, his head ached as if from a hangover, and his tongue and teeth felt fuzzy. He was somewhat bewildered by the scenes in the dream. He had never been interested in having children. Why had he dreamed of having another two and taking their education in hand? Also, cards had been banned and were nowhere to be found nowadays. How could they play them? More bizarre was that he had never desired to be a surgeon. Why were he and the woman planning to operate on a patient in his dream? Many years ago his secret ambition had been to become a three-star general. When he was leaving high school for the army, his language teacher, an old bookish man, had written in the notebook he presented to Lin: “May you some day return as a commander of ten thousand troops!” By bad luck he had later gotten into the medical profession, which most ambitious young men avoided because it did not lead to a top rank.
When he ran into Manna in the department at midday, he felt a little embarrassed, but he managed to greet her as usual. They talked about the condition of a patient dying of gastroesophageal cancer, as though nothing had happened between them the previous evening. He was amazed that he could talk with a woman so naturally, without his usual diffidence. Outside the window, the sunlight was flickering on the cypress hedge, and four white rabbits were nibbling grass behind an enormous propaganda board. A blue jay landed near a baby rabbit, its head bobbing while its wings fluttered.
“Can we take a walk together Sunday afternoon?” she asked, putting her hand on the window ledge and looking at him expectantly. The same sweet smile appeared on her face.
“Yes, where should we meet?” He couldn’t believe his voice.
“How about in front of the grocery store?” Her eyes were shining.
“What time?”
“Two?”
“Sure, I’ll be there.”
“I have to run. Doctor Liu is waiting for these test results.” She waved a sheaf of slips in her hand. “Bye-bye now.”
“Bye.”
As she was walking away, for the first time he noticed she had a slim back and long, strong legs. She turned around and gave him another smile, then quickened her footsteps toward the Medical Ward. He said to himself, If this leads to an affair, so be it.
6
On Sunday afternoon they met in front of the grocery store and then walked about in the compound. At the beginning Lin felt uneasy, especially when they ran into others. He knew that people, after passing them, were turning around and looking at him and Manna. But soon her carefree manners put him at ease.
They talked about the downfall of the capitalist-roaders on the Central Party Committee—Liu Shaoqi, Deng Xiaoping, and several others who were being denounced by the Red Guards in Beijing. Who could imagine that so many “time bombs” had ticked around Chairman Mao? They also talked about the fighting in large cities, of which they had heard from different sources. Manna told him that in Changchun City two factions of revolutionary rebels had recently shelled each other with tanks and rocket guns installed on locomotives. She heard that the train station at Siping City had been leveled by gunfire.
As they strolled along the path between the turnip and eggplant fields behind the mess hall, they began talking about recent events in the hospital. After the Cultural Revolution had broken out the year before, the medical staff here had divided into two factions. They would argue and quarrel, blaming each other for deviating from the Party’s line and for revising genuine Mao Tse-tung Thought. Unlike most people, Lin and Manna had not yet joined either of the organizations, although she was interested in the one called the Red Union.
“Don’t join,” he told her.
She was taken aback and asked, “Why?”
“None of them really understands Mao Tse-tung Thought. They just waste their time arguing and fighting. So many people want to be a commander of some sort. We shouldn’t join up.”
“But don’t you want to take part in the Cultural Revolution?”
“You don’t have to fight with others to be an active revolutionary, do you?”
She seemed impressed by his candid words and agreed not to become involved with the Red Union. In fact Lin was also surprised by what he had said. Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t dare give such advice that might get himself into trouble, but with Manna, the words had just flowed out of his mouth.
On their way back, she said to him as if embarrassed, “Can I ask you something I can’t figure out by myself?”
“Sure, anything you think I know.”
“What’s an angel?”
He was amazed by the question. “Well, I’m not sure. An angel is someone who carries out God’s missions, I guess. It’s a Christian idea, superstitious stuff.”
“Do you know what an angel looks like?”
“I saw a picture once. It’s like a chubby baby with three pairs of wings, like a sweet child.”
“I see.”
“Why did you ask?”
She raised her eyes and gazed at him for a moment, then answered, “An old man once said I looked like an angel.”
“Really? Why did he say that?”
“I’ve no idea. It happened when I was eight. A group of girls in our school performed a dance at an arts center for some heroes of the Korea War. We were all dressed like ducks, wearing white hats and feathers around our waists. When the dance was over, I left the stage for the ladies’ room and ran into an old couple at the side entrance to the hall. They both looked shaky with age. The small old man stopped me at the gate and made the sign of a cross over me, saying, ‘You look like an angel, child.’ For some reason my heart started kicking, although I knew he meant no harm. Some policemen rushed over and dragged the old couple away, while they were shouting, ‘Believe in Jesus! Believe in the Lord!’ I ran off to change my clo
thes without going to the bathroom because I was afraid of running into the police. Later I tried to find out what an angel was. I checked the word in some dictionaries, but none of them carried it. I dared not ask anybody. You are the only person that I’ve ever asked. Now I kind of see what the old man meant, but I was never a chubby child. Why did he call me that?” She said the last sentence as if to herself.
“You must have looked very happy and innocent.”
“No, I was never happy in my childhood. I envied those kids who had parents, and even hated some of them. By the way, Lin, don’t tell anybody about this angel thing, all right?”
“Sure, I won’t.”
He peered at her face. The innocent look in her eyes convinced him that her angel story was true.
The next Sunday they met and walked together again; and again the following weekend. In a month they began to meet more often, twice or three times a week before nightfall. By and by Lin grew attached to Manna. Once she couldn’t see him as they had planned because she was assigned to accompany a patient to another army hospital; he was so restless that he paced back and forth in his office for two hours that evening. It was the first time that he suffered such a longing to be with a woman.
After August he and Manna didn’t need to arrange to meet anymore. They ate at the same table in the mess hall; they went to the hot-water room together, each holding a thermos; they sat next to each other at meetings and political studies; they played table tennis and badminton together; they strolled about within the compound in the evening whenever the weather allowed, chatting and sometimes arguing. At times Lin wondered whether they had become too close, like an engaged couple, although they had never become intimate, not even touching hands again. He kept reminding himself that he was a married man.
Neither he nor Manna would join a revolutionary organization, but they dutifully participated in political activities. Lin even lectured on three of Chairman Mao’s essays, “Serve the People,” “In Memory of Dr. Norman Bethune,” and “The Old Man Moved the Mountain.” His talks were so well received that some people borrowed his notes to read. Because both Lin and Manna were Party members and had a clean family background, the revolutionaries in the hospital didn’t accuse them of harboring a reactionary motive.
