Katherine

by Anchee Min

  I looked at the earrings, thinking about Katherine. The woman who had no idea what “lotus feet” meant. I couldn’t remember whether Katherine had pierced ears. I didn’t care. I wanted to buy her the ocean-green pair. I came to terms with the fact that I hated her and loved her too. I wanted to see her wearing my earrings. I wanted to give them to her tomorrow to let her know that at this moment I missed her. I asked the clerk to put them out on the counter. A pair of tiny, delicate jade boots. I asked the clerk to wrap them up.

  * * *

  I could see Katherine and Lion Head sitting together under the hundred-year-old tree in the moonlight. Other lovers wandered around like ghosts pouring hot words into each other’s ears. Arms around shoulders. Head-to-head, as if glued together. The fragrance of flowers danced thick and thin in the air.

  Katherine and Lion Head. What are you talking about? I hadn’t realized until that moment that they had both been my lovers. Logic disappeared. My senses blurred. I felt instinct calling. God in heaven, embrace me with your black velvet cloak.

  Katherine and Lion Head were talking. No hand gestures. I could not hear them. It was better that way. The leaves fluttered above their heads. It started to rain. Typical Shanghai rain. Thin and playful.

  I saw them get up and shake hands. Lion Head’s hair was flat. He said something, his body leaned against the tree trunk, he spoke loudly, made a big gesture, arm traveling through the air until finally he punched the trunk with his fist, angrily. He stood with his back to Katherine, then suddenly he walked away.

  Katherine remained seated. She watched him disappear in the mist. Then she turned around, toward my direction. I couldn’t see her eyes. I knew she was looking for me. But I didn’t make myself seen. I went home.

  * * *

  In the dark hallway that led to the library, I presented my gift. I tried to make it a casual gesture. I said, “Oh, Katherine, how are you? By the way, here’s something for you.”

  She didn’t stop walking. She smiled and said, “Oh thanks. What’s in the box?” She shook it and passed me without slowing down.

  I had carefully wrapped the box with dry leaves glued on straw paper. I was no longer important to her. I wanted so much to tell her that there was a pair of beautiful earrings in the box; that Chinese women never wore earrings; that I wanted us to be best friends; that they cost me a month’s salary but of course I wasn’t talking about money, what I was talking about was . . .

  As I watched her back, I felt rejected. There was no reason for her to pay attention to me—as my father would say, to a fool whose brain was made of tofu.

  I heard the sound of Katherine’s heels. I turned and saw her walking toward me. I was about to walk away. I was afraid that she might do something that would embarrass me. Yet I was curious. I slowed down, allowing her to catch up, and felt her hand tap me on the shoulder.

  “You didn’t have to do this.” Her voice was soft.

  “I wanted to,” I said, feeling a little dizzy, as if walking on a cloud.

  “Why?” Her voice was softer still.

  My words stuck in my throat. I made an effort, took a deep breath, and pushed the syllables up. Imagining a pair of chopsticks prying open my jaw, I fired out the words. I heard myself say, “Because we are friends.”

  “That’s nice of you, thank you,” she said in a pleasant tone.

  I shut my eyes.

  She walked away, swaying her buttocks.

  I never saw her wear that pair of earrings.

  My aunts came to visit the family. Aunt Golden Moon and Aunt Silver Moon were talking secretly with my mother, showing her photos. When I came in the room, they looked at me from head to toe, then smiled excitedly at each other. I tried to ignore them. I knew my mother had been worried about my age and my declining price on the marriage market.

  I didn’t want to face the fact that my womanhood was depreciating every day. It would have been dishonest to say that I wanted to live by myself till the end. I didn’t have much time left to pretend. The truth was going to get me. Once I passed thirty, the neighbors would look at me with pity in their eyes. The matchmakers would keep offering men but they would get older and uglier.

  My mother was losing her inner strength. Though she initially refused, she began to look at the photos my aunts presented. She tried to find a son-in-law among them. In the meantime, she watched me nervously.

  I felt dutiful toward my family. I was afraid of missing the “only opportunities left,” as my aunts cautioned me. “At least make a date with a gentleman—magic might happen,” they said.

  * * *

  On my way to the date, on a bus, I studied the man’s photo in detail. He was in his early thirties. An ordinary face. Round. Seemed nice. He taught mechanics at Shanghai Industrial University. He was from the North and was supposed to be big and tall. My mother must have told my aunts that I couldn’t stand to be with a man shorter than I.

  I put the photo back in my pocket and forgot the man’s face. I took it out again. Studied it. Put it back. I did this several times. I simply couldn’t memorize the man’s face. I said to myself, Let him do the work. If we both failed to recognize each other, that would be that.

  He recognized me, but I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the way he carried himself that shocked me. He moved like a sea lion, as if he had a big heavy tail. He dragged and swayed his bottom half as he walked. He was tall but had short legs. He carried a black plastic document bag on his shoulder which tipped him to the right. “Hello,” he said. “Have you eaten?”

  I said I hadn’t. He said he would take me out to dinner. He took me to the university cafeteria and bought me a box dinner of fried rice with beans. I never liked fried rice with beans. He bought himself a box dinner too. His was rice with chicken. He said no words to me. He just ate and ate like a pig, with a loud shoveling noise. He didn’t look at me. After he finished eating, he wiped his greasy mouth on his sleeve. Then he sat and waited for me to finish my food.

  I had a hard time eating. I was so disappointed. With a stuffed mouth I stood up and went to empty my box in the leftover vat by the cafeteria door. When I came back to the table, he said, “Would you like to meet again?”

  * * *

  I had my family on the floor with the way I described my date. My brother was greatly amused. My father shook his head and turned to look at my mother. My mother looked sad, but she couldn’t help laughing too. Mother asked what exactly was wrong with the man. I said, “Nothing. It’s just that I can’t help laughing when I think of him.”

  “But this is a good sign,” she said. “You can keep each other amused!”

  “Mother,” my brother yelled, “don’t you see? He’s a clown in her eyes!”

  * * *

  A month later I went on another date. He was the son of my aunt’s colleague at the hospital. From a good family. The family had grace, my aunt told my mother; they were educated abroad. The son was one year older than me. He was a dubbing actor and had a good voice. He dubbed for movie actors who didn’t have a good voice or didn’t speak well. He was famous in this circle.

  A toothless lady called my name from the phone booth down the lane. Now every neighbor would know that I had gotten a phone call from a young man named Wu. Heads popped out of each window as I walked out in my slippers to make a return call from the booth. I walked lazily, pretending the call was not a big deal. My mother didn’t say anything when I paid a three-cent service fee to the toothless lady. Mother watched me with deep seriousness in her eyes. I knew she was praying again.

  “Hello?” I heard a voice like a banjo on the other end. He sounded like Mr. Perfect.

  “Saturday?” I said. “Sure . . . A walk after dinner? Sure . . . Seven o’clock? Sure.”

  He showed up at seven o’clock sharp. Neatly dressed. A square face. Leather jacket and nice pants. He offered to shake hands with me. A comrade handshake. He had skinny, pale white hands. “Let’s walk.”

  The banjo played. For ten b
locks. I listened carefully and tried hard to fight my boredom. Although he was an army veteran, his life had been easy. Luck had been with him. So many relatives wanted to fix him up with women. “Too bad that, one way or another, one has to get married,” he said.

  So he was giving it a try. He was looking for a shoe that fit. He was in no hurry. “Men in their thirties are at their best, which happens not to be the case for women,” he said.

  “True,” I responded, as if aging had nothing to do with me. I wondered whether in America this would be such a devastating problem. I wondered if Katherine ever had to face this in her life.

  My feet were begging to take me home. The Wu man offered me a piece of chocolate. It cost him a half day’s salary. Now I had to be polite. I dragged myself another two blocks, then I said, “It’s getting late, my parents are waiting up.”

  He said, “Sure, it’s been nice. When would you like to meet again?”

  I thought for a while and told him that I didn’t know.

  “How about the day after tomorrow?” he asked.

  I said I would be too busy.

  “A week from now?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Two weeks?” he said, his face longer.

  “Two months,” I said.

  He said he understood and we parted at the entrance to the lane. The neighbors turned their heads as I walked by.

  I could see my mother leaning out the window, waiting for good news. I felt terrible.

  * * *

  The Party chief, Mr. Han, wanted to have a talk with me, so I hurried to his office. He spit out tea leaves he had been chewing and said: “I am appointing you chairman of the Workers’ Union. You have our Party’s and the people’s trust.” A little lost, I asked what the job required of me. He said: “You will assist the Party. Be my extra pair of eyes. Make sure no one disobeys Party rules. You’ll submit a twenty-page report to me every Monday.”

  Party chiefs controlled everyone’s life in China and their words were unwritten law. Today one could be named “a hero of the people,” and tomorrow, with the chief’s mood swing, the hero could be thrown in jail as an “enemy of the people.” In order to control the masses, many such “eyes of the Party” jobs were invented. There was a long chain of command—from national political security guards down to the “three-foot detectives,” a neighborhood watch retired men and women joined. Since the Communist liberation in 1949, “the network” had become a powerful system of communication and enforcement. Chairman Mao’s latest instructions or news of a rally could be made known to every household that same day, spread by a word-of-mouth daisy chain. Also, any counterrevolutionary activity could be reported by one’s neighbor and the person who violated the law could be executed just as quickly, thanks to the Party’s “eyes” in every family.

  The job of chairman of the Workers’ Union was one of those invented titles. It was not a promotion nor did it change my duties or my “borrowed worker” status at the electronics factory. It was Mr. Han’s way of controlling me by keeping me busy organizing weekly “thought re-brushing” meetings, writing up reports, collecting membership dues (every worker was automatically a member), and getting workers to subscribe to the Party’s Red Flag magazine.

  I was assigned to the job right after Jasmine’s second suicide attempt. Mr. Han had discovered that his daughter was secretly collecting rat-poison pills and writing obsessive love letters to Lion Head. He made sure every possible source of harm was taken away from her.

  I had no say over Mr. Han’s decision. I knew he didn’t count on someone like me to be his eyes. But in taking an interest in me he was implementing a favorite Party boss tactic, ran-yin-jian-shi—use both harsh and conciliatory acts to tame the majority. Mr. Han was letting me know that I was under his wing and under his watch at the same time.

  * * *

  Katherine continued her research on Chinese women. I would see her interviewing people on campus and on the street, I’d see her studying in the library, and I’d see her jogging every morning. Her self-discipline was impressive. She would do cartwheels on the lawn. Her youthfulness and energy, at her age, were surprising to the Chinese.

  Katherine again asked to interview me. She wanted me to talk about my new position, how it felt to be the chairman of the Workers’ Union.

  I told her I had nothing to say about it.

  “Is that right?” she said. “Aren’t you working for your people?”

  I said yes and no. I explained that it was basically a harmless position. She asked me to be more specific. I told her it meant that I wasn’t hurting anybody. She pressed me again, said she just wanted to understand what I had to do. I said not everything had to be understood. It was important not to understand certain things in China.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m an American, what do you expect?”

  I told her a famous Chinese saying went, “Da-zhi-ruo-yu,” meaning “Smart people make themselves look stupid in order to protect themselves.” She said she didn’t mind looking stupid, she just wanted to be sure she was smart. She said she didn’t like to feel confused. I told her another Chinese saying: “The bullet hits the first bird to stick his head out of the nest.”

  Katherine said that she was starting to see what China was all about. China was a big rusty machine with too many bad screws.

  “That’s right,” I said. “And I am one of those screws.”

  She thought that wasn’t a healthy attitude. “China will be ruined if its people stop caring.”

  I corrected her. “China is not alive.”

  She sighed and said, “I hope down deep this is not what you believe.”

  “You bet I do.”

  She looked at me and went silent. Finally she said: “Well, one thing’s for sure. I don’t see China the way you do. I see it as a part of the larger world. We’re all here on the same planet, we’re all in this together. You, me, everyone.”

  She was sitting on the front steps of the building. Her head was tilted to the side and she was squinting because the sun was on her. She wore no makeup. Her skin was terribly pale. She looked peaceful. I envied her that look. Some students passed us by. They walked quickly with their heads lowered. They had a bitter appearance, faces made crooked by eternal anxiety. I was sure I looked even worse.

  The sky began to turn purple. The clouds were in a fishskin pattern. “Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day,” she said, her voice full of hope.

  I looked at Katherine; my mind stopped thinking.

  A male student was playing a cassette under a nearby tree. He hummed with the song:

  I am asking the passing cloud,

  Where are you going?

  I’d like to ride the wind, chasing after you,

  Go wherever you are going.

  My new boss at the electronics factory handed me a letter to sign. He told me I could either quit school or be put on the factory’s “flexible list,” meaning I could lose my job at any moment. The factory was in the process of “reorganizing” its workers, to conform to the “one carrot, one slot” effect; no one was permitted to have a do-nothing, Mao-era job anymore.

  I signed the letter and put my name on the “flexible list.” I saw no other choice. To quit school meant giving up any possibility of change, and giving up Katherine. I had to stay in school. Besides, it didn’t make much difference; I was still a “borrowed worker” without a hu-ko in any case.

  * * *

  Lion Head and I no longer slept together but we had become better friends. I was able to accept him for who he was now that he was not my lover, which made things much easier between us. I went on photography trips with him and learned a lot about the camera. His selfishness was inseparable from his intelligence. I spent time with him behind Jasmine’s back. He went to Jasmine for sex. “Jasmine has to be mated five times a week,” Lion Head told me. He liked talking to me about the way he had sex with Jasmine. I liked listening because he was so incredibly egotistical,
conceited, and spoiled. Sometimes I thanked God for getting me out of the affair. He said that Jasmine was a super bed partner and that was all he needed from her. He asked whether I knew of a western magazine called Playboy. When I said no, he suggested I ask Katherine about it.

  I ran into Jasmine in and out of class. She seemed happy and suspicious at the same time. Her taste in clothes was improving, thanks to Lion Head. She no longer tried to dress like a doll. She wore more sophisticated clothes and tried to match the colors Lion Head wore. Although Lion Head didn’t treat her with respect, he no longer pushed her arm away when they walked together. She could hardly believe Lion Head was being faithful and was even more obsessed with him each passing day. She spoke with joy of Lion Head’s wild and endless desire.

  “He loves to have me beg him to take me,” she would tell all her girlfriends. “So I beg him. Then he makes me hit myself with the sole of my shoe . . .”

  Lion Head needed Jasmine’s body. He didn’t want to commit, but he was too selfish to leave. He thought if he left things the way they were maybe at some point in the future he would be able to break away. But Mr. Han was no fool. He wanted to nail him down as a son-in-law or no more free meals for Lion Head. Mr. Han was pressuring Lion Head to make up his mind. Lion Head knew he didn’t have much time before he had to sell himself or be slaughtered. He hated Mr. Han for forcing him to be Jasmine’s male concubine, but he could take no revenge. Lion Head was a cockroach on a kitchen counter Mr. Han could crush any time he got too naughty.

  Katherine had become even more popular on campus. She had made some good friends among the students and peasants. Her notebook was getting thicker. The school paper praised her as the “best-loved foreign lecturer.” I would visit her from time to time, when I got off work or had finished my union chores. I had a hard time getting her to accept my negative views of my people and country. She would wave me away if I asked her not to trust her new “good friends.” She thought I was jealous because she wasn’t spending enough time with me. I gave up warning her about China. In a way, maybe she was right; what was the point of worrying about whether the sky might or might not fall on her head?