A Song Everlasting

by Ha Jin

  The moment they entered the doors of the hospital he grabbed a wheelchair. He pushed Funi to the front desk and spoke with a receptionist.

  “Who’s her obstetrician or maternity nurse?” the plump woman asked kindly.

  He turned to Funi and translated the question. She shook her head. He told the woman, “She doesn’t have a maternity doctor or nurse.”

  “She’s not under maternity care?”

  “She says she’s not,” he said.

  The receptionist raised her stenciled brows. “Who are you? Not the father?”

  “Oh, no, I’m her roommate.”

  “It’s very nice of you to keep her company. She needs someone with her to go through this.”

  A young nurse with a round face, named Karen, led them into the interior of the emergency center. After two turns through the twisting halls, Tian pushed Funi into an exam room. The nurse helped her lie down on the bed, which was a large gurney, and put a tiny clasp on Funi’s index finger to measure her oxygen level. She then placed a thermometer under her tongue. Having typed down the results, she wrapped a Velcro cuff around Funi’s arm and pushed a button to get her blood pressure and pulse.

  Done with the vitals, which were all normal, the nurse told Funi, “The doctor will be with you momentarily, sweetie. You’ll be all right.” She turned to Tian and said, “Keep her lying like this.”

  Hurriedly he was doing paperwork for Funi, answering one question after another. She was weaker now and the bleeding continued, but she looked calm and answered his questions clearly. Below her signature, he wrote down his own name as her proxy.

  Dr. Higgins came, a flaxen-haired woman with a doughy face and black-framed glasses. Tian stood up, wondering whether he should step out of the room, but Funi told him to stay. So he stayed and served as the interpreter. After she examined Funi, the doctor said to her, “I’m going to contact an obstetrician now. It looks like you might have a procedure today. You’re still bleeding.”

  Funi nodded when Tian had translated. He asked Dr. Higgins, “You mean she has lost her baby?”

  “Probably. I’m sorry.” She spoke to him as though he were the father, but he made no correction. At that, Funi moaned in English, “I wanta keep baby!”

  The doctor touched Funi’s shoulder and said, “We can’t decide now. An obstetrician will check you over, and then we can decide what to do.”

  Tian translated for Funi, who nodded again and calmed down some.

  A few minutes later a young Chinese woman turned up. She looked like a college student; she had neck-length hair and wore a brown woolen poncho coat. She told them she was a medical interpreter, called in to serve at Funi’s side while she underwent treatment. She stepped over as Tian moved aside so she could translate for the doctor. He was impressed by the quick arrangement. He’d been nervous about what he would do if they sent Funi to the operating room. Now he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to be around when they gave her a D and C, a term he didn’t understand but felt self-conscious asking about. Later he learned that it meant “dilation and curettage.”

  He patted Funi on the head and said, “Be brave. I’ll be outside waiting for you. Whenever you need me, just let them give me a ring.”

  Funi nodded. “Thank you, Tian.”

  Stepping out of the exam room, he caught sight of Karen and told her that he’d be in the waiting room. “Please let me know when Funi’s released,” he said. “I’ll take her home.”

  “Definitely. She’ll need your help,” Karen said. “You must be a good friend of hers.”

  “We’re roommates.”

  He picked a seat and sat down, facing the door through which they wheeled patients in and out. He felt sad for Funi and yet wondered whether the miscarriage might be better for her in the long run. It looked like Dennis had already abandoned her. What a despicable act! What a scoundrel! Tian couldn’t stop sighing.

  Funi used to say her biggest regret in America was not having met a good man willing to marry her. Then she would correct herself, adding, “Actually, even in China it would be difficult for me too. I had no means and my parents had no pull. I didn’t have pretty looks or talent. All I had was my ability to work.” Tian told her that what she had was more precious than anything else. He once told her that he knew a man, a recent immigrant, who had two small children and a sickly wife, who was often bedridden; the man joked that if he could start over, he would have married a woman who could eat twenty hard-boiled eggs at a single meal—a hardy wife who could help him pull the weight of his household and tussle with fortune in this country. Funi laughed and said that if the man were unmarried and decent, she would have given it a try. Tian said she wouldn’t need to eat that many eggs, and she could just tell the man she worked in a warehouse, lifting heavy boxes and parcels every day, and then show him her brawny hands and arms.

  The door opened and a gurney loaded with Funi came out, accompanied by Karen and the interpreter. Tian went over and walked beside them. The nurse told him that the baby was lost and they were heading for the operating room, where the obstetrician was preparing for the surgery. It might take about an hour, but the procedure wasn’t complex, and Funi, young and healthy, would be all right.

  Putting his hand on Funi’s arm, he said, “Don’t be scared. You’re in good hands and everything will be fine.”

  Her face was tearstained and she held his hand tight without a word, her eyes fixed on him as though eager to pull him along with her. He accompanied her all the way to the operating room. When its door closed behind them, he turned back to the waiting area. The receptionist said they would call him when Funi was ready to be released. She also showed him the bill for copay, $110 for the emergency visit, which he settled with his credit card. Then he sat down in a corner seat and touched the pocket of his coat and realized he’d left the poetry book in the car. He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

  36

  They didn’t get back home until ten p.m. Funi was groggy from the anesthesia, but after eating the beef noodles that Tian cooked for her, she recovered some. Tian urged her to go to bed, which she did. He was exhausted too, and fell asleep the moment he turned in. But he slept fitfully—he felt Funi might need his help at any minute.

  Toward daybreak, he had a dream in which some creature was scratching at his door. When he opened it, a shih tzu with a thick beige coat trotted in, frolicking around him and licking his ankles affectionately. Tian woke up and brooded about the dream, whose mystery he couldn’t unravel. Traditionally, a dream about congenial dogs signifies friendship or the arrival of friends, but he had few of them here in spite of many acquaintances.

  Funi got up in the morning as usual, though still weak and pale. Tian made breakfast for both of them, scrambled eggs with ham and rice porridge. He told her that he could take a day off if she needed him to stay home with her, but she said she could manage by herself. If she needed help, she would certainly ask him. After breakfast, following the instructions of the obstetrician’s nurse, he went to the pharmacy to pick up some Tylenol. Funi wasn’t required to take it, but she should have it on hand in case of abdominal pain.

  Back from the pharmacy, Tian overheard Funi calling in sick. She promised her supervisor that she would return to work on Monday. Tian gave her the Tylenol and said she should take a tablet only when her pain became severe. Then he set out for President Plaza to catch the bus to Twin Waters.

  It was Saturday. Tian took a seat on the right-hand side of the bus so that he could stay out of the sun. He read the news on his phone and texted a few messages. Then he reviewed in his head two songs he had newly learned and planned to sing that day: “Where Has My Time Gone?” and “Why Am I Crying?” He also went over “Thinking of My Comrades-in-Arms,” a great song written in the early 1960s by a master composer whose daughter, also a composer on her own merit, had been a friend of Tian’s. The
man had studied composition in Japan in the early 1940s and then returned to China and produced songs for a movie studio. He composed for musicals as well; whatever he took on became a classic. Some of the Chinese visitors at the casino, mostly mainlanders, had demanded that Tian sing red oldies, which he would refuse to do categorically, but now he tried to satisfy them by singing a few genuine songs written in the 1950s and ’60s. There were only a handful of such pieces that transcended politics, and “Thinking of My Comrades-in-Arms” was one of them.

  He nodded off now and then on the bus, still tired from the night before.

  He thought about Funi’s situation. Now that her hopes of having a child had been dashed, what would she do about her dream of becoming a mother? Would she try to resume her affair with Dennis? That man seemed unlikely to appear in her life again. The more Tian considered her trouble, the gloomier he felt, and the more uncertain he was about how to maintain an appropriate relationship with her. But he reminded himself just to be her friend, kind and considerate and always ready to help. Beyond that, there wasn’t much he could do.

  * * *

  —

  About a month later he ran into Dennis at Park Plaza in Chinatown, where the man, in uniform and on duty, was walking his beat. Tian went up to him and said hello. Dennis was surprised. As he recognized Tian, he cringed a little, his face pale and his thick lips parted.

  “Do you know that Funi miscarried?” Tian asked.

  “I…I heard about that. Thank you for helping her.” The corner of Dennis’s mouth tilted up as he wrinkled his nose.

  “Did she tell you in person?”

  “Sort of. She called and left a short message. I promised my wife that I would stop seeing Funi, so it’s over between her and me. Mr. Yao, you’re a good man, and I’m sure she’ll be all right with you by her side.”

  Tian’s anger welled up, and he said, “Listen, I’m just her roommate. At least you should pay me the one hundred and ten dollars I put down for her copay. You can’t just wash your hands of her altogether.”

  Dennis looked astonished and was speechless for a moment. He touched his pockets, then pulled out a checkbook from inside his jacket. He wrote a check and said, “Here’s six hundred and ten dollars, made out to your name. If I gave this to Funi, she might just tear it up. Please deduct your one hundred and ten and give her the rest. This will make me feel a little better.”

  Tian hesitated. It was so cheap of Dennis to give her only five hundred dollars. Still, Tian took the check and kept it in his wallet for a long time. Later, when Funi asked him about the copayment for her procedure, he said Dennis had reimbursed him. She was perplexed and wanted him to explain. He was in a hurry to catch a flight to Houston and said he would explain when he got back. Eventually he gave her the money from Dennis, but she wouldn’t take it, saying she wanted nothing to do with that bastard anymore. Tian left the envelope with the five hundred dollars on the kitchen table for her.

  * * *

  —

  At last Shuna and Tingting got their passports, and together Tian and his family started to plan on their college tours. Tingting’s school let out in late June, so she and Shuna would come in early July. Though the visit was still three months away, Tian was excited and talked with Funi about their plans, often after the dinners that they shared from time to time. In the week after her miscarriage, she’d finally found out that Tian could cook like a chef, so now and then she asked him to make a meal for them both, especially seafood.

  One evening as they were chatting, he wondered aloud whether he should find another apartment for his family, even just for a month.

  “No need for that,” Funi said. Her round eyes narrowed as she smiled.

  “But I can’t cram them both into my room,” he said.

  “How long are they going to stay here?”

  “One month at the most. During the time we’ll be traveling to the various campuses.”

  “In that case Tingting can camp out on that sofa.” Funi giggled as if she had just cracked a joke. Seeing him bewildered and knowing he was nervous about the girl, Funi added, “Seriously, don’t bother to look for another place. The three of you can use this apartment and I can stay with Sami.”

  “Are you sure Sami will take you in?” he asked.

  “Frank and Sami respect you and would take your family into their own home if you asked them. Besides, my nephew and nieces will be thrilled to have me over.”

  He accepted her offer and was amazed, knowing she hadn’t made up with Sami yet. By now Tian knew Funi well enough to intuit that she thought there’d be enough time for her to patch things up with her cousin. He patted her hand gratefully.

  In many ways Funi and Tian depended on each other now, economically and emotionally. When she came back from work in the evenings, she expected to find him in their apartment. If he happened to cook something for both of them, she’d get excited like a young girl. She exclaimed that Shuna was lucky to be married to such an excellent chef. When Tian worked late at the casino and returned home toward midnight, he knew that Funi would have left a light on for him. Once in a while she would save something in a pot or bowl for him, a boiled sweet potato or a steamed crab or fried shrimp. There would be a note on the dining table saying he should eat the snack before it got cold. Yet, for all their new intimacy, he was not attracted to her and regarded her only as a steady friend. He guessed she must feel the same about him. Perhaps in her eyes he was just a washed-up celebrity.

  37

  Tian’s email contact with Tingting was erratic. She didn’t always bother to respond to his messages, but he wrote back as soon as he heard from her. Unexpectedly, through his daughter, he heard about Freda. In passing Tingting mentioned to him her college application adviser, Freda Liu, saying she was very fond of the woman. Amazed, he searched for Freda on social media and found that she was now at an education agency in Beijing that helped students apply for colleges abroad, assisting with tests and application forms and other paperwork. With her experience in the States, Freda had become an expert at the education agency. He was baffled by the coincidence and asked Tingting to send him a photo of her counselor, saying that he might know her.

  Two days later Tingting wrote back with a photo attached, which showed the very Freda he knew. His daughter explained: “There is no need to be so clandestine, Dad. Freda knows I am your daughter and says she will do her best to help me get into a good college. She admires you.”

  Stunned, he asked Tingting, “Has your mother met Freda?”

  “Of course. We both like her,” his daughter returned.

  He grew more mystified but took the conversation no further. He feared the young woman had wormed into his life again. Yet he suppressed his misgivings, as he remembered that it was Freda who had helped him put up the gravestone for his family. For that he was still grateful.

  Shuna herself never mentioned Freda to him. Perhaps she still bore a grudge, or felt that the topic was too awkward and embarrassing to both of them. Tian remained quiet about it too. As long as Freda could help Tingting through the applications smoothly, he shouldn’t interfere. In fact, because of their “friendship,” she might go the extra mile for his daughter. He should take heart and think more positive thoughts.

  * * *

  —

  In early July, Tian’s wife and daughter arrived in Boston, and he drove to Logan Airport to pick them up. Funi had offered him the use of her car when his family was here, so he vacuumed and washed the Toyota Corolla, thinking that his ability to drive might impress his wife and daughter. He met them at Terminal E. Shuna and Tingting looked spirited in spite of the eighteen-hour flight, both dressed in long-sleeve T-shirts and yoga pants and leather sandals. Mother and daughter each also wore a Tignanello purse, Tingting’s smaller in size. As the three of them hugged, their heads touching each other for a good minute, his eyes filled. The gir
l was tall now, even taller than her mother, but much thinner than before. Shuna looked a little aged; two wrinkles like big brackets appeared around her nose when she smiled, and the bangs over her forehead had traces of gray.

  They turned to the baggage carousel to pick up their things, two aquamarine suitcases and a canary-yellow backpack. These pieces, all wheeled and in bright colors, looked suitable for a vacation at a seaside resort. He joked that the two of them seemed to be heading for Venice.

  They pulled the baggage out the automatic door and crossed the street to the garage. At the sight of the silver sedan, Tingting asked her father, “Is this our car?”

  “No, it’s my roommate’s. She let me use it for your visit.”

  “She’s so nice.”

  They all got in, Tingting in the back.

  “What’s the smell here?” Shuna asked as she buckled up.

  “Funi smokes,” he said.

  Neither Shuna nor Tingting asked anything more about the car, which apparently didn’t impress them. It was getting dark and the city grew more congested, streets flowing with traffic, buildings looming against the indigo sky. Still, there were clear stars and a blade of the crescent moon cleaving roofs and treetops as they headed south. Mother and daughter were both amazed by Tian’s ability to navigate the jungles of roads. Once they got on I-95, the southbound traffic, though still heavy, flowed smoothly.

  When they entered Quincy twenty minutes later, Tingting asked, “Is this a county town?”