A Song Everlasting

by Ha Jin

  He expected to join the Divine Grace in December to perform during the holiday season, which now started two weeks before Christmas, but no invitation came. This made him anxious—winter had always been his busy season, a time when he could count on more income. When he called Cindy Wong, she wouldn’t say anything explicitly on the phone. Instead, she wanted to meet for coffee.

  They met at Starbucks on Main Street the next morning after he’d done his voice practice at Queens College. Cindy wore a green tunic and jeans, which set off her slender body. They sat at a corner table, she with her latte and he with his chai tea. She smiled, a dimple emerging on the left side of her chin.

  He reiterated his concern: He hadn’t been invited to join the Divine Grace for this coming season. “Do you know if they need me?” he asked her. “Aren’t they going to start the tour soon?”

  “They’re going to kick off in two weeks. This year they’ll be debuting some new acts in their program. There’ll be more dancers and musicians.”

  “And singers?”

  “Of course—two young singers from Hong Kong, a man and a woman, have just signed up with the Divine Grace.”

  “So I’m already passé?”

  “No, it’s not that.” She sighed. “Some in the troupe were opposed to having you join them again because of the news reports that you had battered your girlfriend. They worried that your appearance could tarnish the troupe’s image.”

  “That woman was not my girlfriend and I didn’t really beat her. I pushed her and she fell.”

  “I believe you, but the public perception is different. This is something the troupe has to consider.”

  “So I’m a liability to them now?”

  “Try to be patient, Tian. When this blows over, I’m sure they will have you back. Some of them even said they would invite you next year.”

  “I don’t need to join them,” he said, trying uselessly to hide his hurt. “I’m tired of singing those preachy songs anyway.”

  “I’m sorry, Tian.” Cindy took a sip of her latte, a pearl ring on her finger. She went on, “Perhaps Freda Liu could make a public statement to correct the story reported in the newspapers.”

  “What kind of statement do you have in mind?”

  “That the incident was an accident and that there was no assault. Once we have that in writing, we can get it printed in a newspaper. Or maybe we can have her interviewed—that way she won’t have to write anything.”

  “I have no ties with her anymore.”

  “Then we can wait for next year. By then the public might have forgotten the whole thing.”

  Her round eyes looked at him sympathetically, and he was impressed by her poise. She seemed to still treat him as a friend. He was disappointed, however, by what she said, and realized that it was going to be hard for him to continue to perform in New York, given the cloud of the scandal hovering over his head now. It looked like he might not have many performing opportunities in the near future. Then how was he going to support himself and make enough for his monthly remittance? The more he brooded about this, the more hopeless and impossible New York seemed to him. He began to imagine some place where few people would recognize him and where life was less expensive and less hectic. These days whenever he went out, he wore sunglasses and a navy baseball cap to avoid being recognized.

  Freda seemed aware of his plight and continued to call him two or three times a week. He thought of blocking her, but he needed to have some sense of what she was up to. If he didn’t answer, she’d leave long voice messages, offering to work for him again, bragging about her new connection with a cultural forum and her ability to “get lots of gigs” for him. Though sometimes tempted by her offers, he never called back.

  He discussed his situation with Shuna, who didn’t seem as troubled by his work difficulties as he felt she should be. Filled with optimism from his immigration success, she urged him to be patient and try to tough it out. She even said, “There’s no river we can’t cross. The darkest hours are those before dawn.” That made him flinch a little—she had no idea what things were like here. She also urged him not to remit money home so often, assuring him that she and Tingting could manage without his help. But he was determined to send the remittance every month, including the sum for his mother.

  He talked with Yabin about his predicament. His friend believed that the Chinese officials had unleashed what amounted to a character assassination against him, though he felt it unlikely that Freda had deliberately played a hand. To him, she was simply a capricious woman without goals of her own—someone who could easily be used by others.

  Then he made a bold suggestion. “Why don’t you leave New York for a while? You’ll still be able to travel and perform in different places even if you’re based in another city.”

  “Where would I go?” He was intrigued by his idea.

  “Why not join me here? I can find some work for you—I’m not well connected with the entertainment world here, but I might be able to get you a job in home repairs. You should be able to make enough to live on until you find something more suitable. Do you think you can work in home renovation? You don’t have to answer now.”

  “I can learn how to do it,” Tian said. “Actually, I once worked at a construction site for two months.”

  “Then consider my suggestion as a possible option.”

  To Tian, Yabin was a survivor, who could manage to get by wherever he landed. His cousin’s real estate project hadn’t panned out, but he’d found a niche in the Boston area’s Chinese community and seemed to be flourishing there. For half a year he had helped his cousin organize a construction team of Chinese workers, most of whom lived in Quincy, just south of Boston. Though his cousin’s project had become defunct, the team of workers had endured, and Yabin had become an advocate for them, often intervening on their behalf when they ran into language barriers with customers. By and by he became a contractor of sorts and began to book jobs for the workers, receiving payment through commissions.

  Tian knew he wouldn’t mind doing odd jobs in home renovation—he was strong and capable of hard work. New York was indeed becoming too difficult, since people knew that the Divine Grace had dropped him, his career in a cul-de-sac now. But he had to continue and find his way out. If Yabin could thrive elsewhere, so could he. Deep down, he longed to be with his friend, with whose help he might get back on his feet again. He was not afraid to leave New York and grapple with fortune in Massachusetts, so he agreed to join Yabin in Boston. He feared his landlady might not return his deposit if he broke the lease, but considering the opportunities Yabin had promised him in the Boston area, he decided to leave. He had spoken with Shuna about his plan to move; she’d thought it was a good idea, saying their daughter might go to Boston for college eventually. He forced himself to be cheerful while speaking with Tingting. He assured her that he was going to Massachusetts to open new turf for their family. The girl didn’t seem to care and just said, “I have to go, Dad. Please come home soon.”

  21

  Tian was pleased that Mrs. Guzzo, his landlady, agreed to refund his $1,300 deposit, which, according to the lease, was the rent for the final month. She seemed glad to hear he was leaving, perhaps because some tenants had complained about his singing exercises. Tian also suspected she’d be able to raise the rent substantially after he left.

  He asked Yabin to help him find an apartment in Quincy. Tian wanted a quiet and private place, close to public transportation. Yabin called back in two days and with a lead on a condo in Quincy Center, a short walk to the subway. But the rent was a little steep—$1,400 a month. It had just one bedroom, 670 square feet, though heat and water were included in the rent. There was also garage parking, which Tian didn’t need. Yabin said that since heating bills could be high during the winter, Tian should probably take the place. Tian slept on it, then decided not to, realizing that his future earn
ings were uncertain and that he had to be frugal. He asked Yabin to look for a cheaper place, under $1,300 a month, no parking necessary. At the same time he emphasized that he’d like to live alone—as an artist he must have his own space and privacy. Yabin joked, “I admire your integrity, Tian. I’ll see what I can do.”

  He found what Tian was looking for. It was also in Quincy Center and quite convenient, so after reviewing the photos, Tian signed a lease with the landlord and put down two months’ rent. How fortunate he felt to have Yabin as a resourceful friend.

  He left New York just before Christmas, taking an Amtrak express to Boston. He had shipped his keyboard and a few belongings by UPS, but was carrying his guitar with him. The four-hour train ride was comfortable and exhilarating. He loved the vast landscape, the tranquil coves and half-deserted docks along the coast, the misty ocean spreading to the end of the sky, the forests that looked wild but were actually young and largely cultivated. The small towns along the way seemed still wrapped in sleep, despite the sun already rising toward the mid-sky. Boston was chillier than New York, feeling at least five degrees colder. He was delighted to see Yabin again. The man hadn’t changed a bit, still husky and cheerful and sartorially elegant, wearing leather boots and a black duckbill cap and a woolen coat. From the subway station he took Tian directly to his new apartment, just a few blocks away. Tian was pleased to find a bed and a mattress already there. An old chest of drawers stood against the wall next to the bed. Yabin had placed these bedroom items in for Tian the day before. There were also a small table and a pair of chairs in a corner of the living room. Yabin was so thoughtful that he’d even gotten some cookware and tableware for Tian: a pot with a glass lid, a kettle, some bowls and plates. Though they were secondhand and miscellaneous, Tian was touched and gave his friend a big hug. He hadn’t brought along any kitchenware except for a cleaver. He pulled the knife out of his duffel bag and slashed the air right and left with it. That made both of them laugh.

  After Tian had washed up, Yabin drove him to President Plaza, pointing out the Asian stores there, where he could do his shopping. Actually, Yabin said, in addition to the area’s Chinese immigrants, many Koreans and people from South Asia and Latin America also came here for groceries; a handful of fine restaurants were at that marketplace too. Tian was amazed by the new turquoise Range Rover Yabin was driving. “You must have made lots of money here,” Tian said.

  Yabin smiled, shaking his head. “I’m doing all right—not as well as I expected. But my cousin has lost almost half a million dollars.”

  “So he managed to transfer his money to the States?”

  “He got some of it out of China.”

  “He has given up his real estate development here?”

  “He has moved to Las Vegas.”

  “Why there? He’s interested in the gambling industry?”

  “No—still real estate. Home prices have dropped considerably there, so there are more opportunities in Vegas.”

  “Will you go join him there eventually?”

  “I don’t think so—I’m doing fine here. You will love this place too. Life is quieter here than in Queens.”

  At the moment, Yabin said, he was working for a home renovation business owned by Frank Chu, a recent immigrant from Guangdong. He was the company’s coordinator because he spoke English well and knew how to deal with American customers. Tian was impressed again.

  Yabin parked in front of a seafood restaurant called Marine Garden and said that his girlfriend Laura would be waiting for them inside. Entering through the glass door, Tian could see that the place was formal, all tables covered with cloth. There were only a few customers, but Yabin didn’t see Laura. Then he stepped farther into the dining hall and peeked behind a floral screen. “Here you are,” he said loudly. He motioned for Tian to join him.

  “I’m Laura Yang.” She held out her hand the second Tian stepped behind the screen.

  He shook her small hand, which was soft and plump. She looked quite young, in her early twenties, her face round and fleshy. She was vivacious and pleasant like a teenager. Yabin was already thirty-eight—why would he date such a young thing? Compared to his former girlfriends, Laura was plain and chubby, even homely in spite of her shoulder-length hair and her sweet voice. In every way she was not the type of woman who was attractive to Yabin. Then why was he with her?

  As Tian lifted a cup of jasmine tea, Laura smiled and said to him, “I’m so happy to meet you in person, Mr. Yao. I’m a big fan, and so is my mom. She’ll be jealous when I tell her about this dinner.”

  “Oh, please thank your mother for me. Where is she?” he asked.

  “In Hainan.”

  “Aren’t they in Beijing now?” Yabin joined in.

  “Ah, yes.” She nodded. “They usually live on Hainan Island in the winter, but their home is in Beijing.”

  Yabin opened a purple menu the size of a large magazine. “What would you like, Tian?” he asked. “They have some special dishes here.”

  Tian was unprepared for such a question. The two of them had eaten many meals together, and he knew that Yabin rarely ordered food without comparing prices first. This restaurant was clearly upscale, but now he didn’t bother to examine the menu. “Anything is fine for me,” Tian told him honestly.

  Yabin went ahead and ordered stewed abalone, lobster, sautéed bean sprouts, and jumbo clams, plus a soup made of chicken and tofu and fresh enoki mushrooms. Tian wondered how they cooked the clams, which he hadn’t seen on the menu. Yabin assured him that this was something they had just begun to offer, that the clams had no fishy taste at all, and that he would surely enjoy it.

  As they were waiting for their orders, Yabin remarked that the Spring Festival was approaching, and offered to contact people to see if they might engage Tian for their holiday celebrations. The Chinese immigrant population here was quite large, he said, more than one hundred thousand, though you didn’t see many Chinese faces in the city—most of the new arrivals were professionals and lived in the suburbs. Tian thanked his friend and hoped there could be opportunities for him to perform here. Now that he’d been dropped from the Divine Grace and had no idea how to continue in this place, he needed Yabin’s help badly.

  Dinner was excellent and they ate well. The jumbo clams were cooked in an unusual manner: Each plate held a single opened shell, filled with chopped vegetables and bacon and the minced clam’s flesh. The sauce for the dish was Americanized in a rich way, with plenty of cream in it. The lobster and the abalone were excellently made too. Though he had grown up in a coastal city, Tian didn’t have a discriminating taste for seafood. He enjoyed the company more than he did the dishes.

  Laura told him she’d been here for more than three years, and currently was studying for an MBA at Bentley University. She planned to return to Sanya City, where her parents were at the moment, and work for her brother, who owned a boat rental business there. Alternatively, she might join her cousin, who ran an organic food farm outside Beijing—he might need her to manage their supply lines. But those plans were some ways off—after graduation, she wanted to work here for a year or two before she went back.

  Tian was impressed by her plans, so he turned to Yabin and asked, “How about you? Will you go back to China with Laura?”

  Yabin smiled without speaking. Tian realized he’d made a gaffe—their relationship was not that serious yet. By the time Laura headed home, he might have already moved on to a new girlfriend. Tian was somewhat confounded by his friend’s dating habits, considering he also wanted to settle down and raise a family.

  A waitress, a twig of a woman, came over and placed the bill sleeve on the table, near Yabin. Tian reached out for it, but Laura snatched it and said, “Let me take care of this.”

  Tian protested that he was grateful to Yabin for all the help he’d given him, so he should pick up the tab. But his friend smiled and told him
, “Let Laura do it. She’s very generous.”

  Tian didn’t know what to make of that. The thought came to him that Yabin might be kept by Laura, who seemed sweet and tenderhearted and also, apparently, well-heeled.

  Tian’s apartment was on the first floor and had a low ceiling. Behind the building was a large parking lot, which was always half full. There was nobody living below Tian, and in the basement were a laundry room and a common lounge. Still, he couldn’t do vocal exercises with abandon in the building in the mornings, because some of the tenants worked in labs at MIT and Harvard and Mass General Hospital and would sleep during the day. He scouted around the neighborhood and found several spots where he could sing at will. In the southwest there was a deserted quarry that opened like the wilderness and with no pedestrians in view. About half a mile to the northeast spread a vast sports ground, where he could practice his voice too. He also strolled farther north. There was Merrymount Cemetery, where he couldn’t disturb a soul if he shouted at the top of his lungs. Beyond the slopes of graves, just a quarter of a mile farther north, stretched the beach and the ocean. In addition, Merrymount Park was also within walking distance in the northwest. Nevertheless, professionally speaking, he ought to do vocal exercises indoors and rent a studio for it, but he couldn’t afford it anymore.

  He called Shuna and told her about his apartment and the surroundings. She was pleased to hear his report and said he must be careful when he mixed with others, especially women. He knew she still had Freda on her mind, believing that the scandal had messed up his career badly. He also spoke briefly with his daughter. Tingting sounded more mature now, but also more distant. He tried to be cheerful and said, “I’m living close to Harvard and MIT now. You should study hard so you can join me here for college.”