A Song Everlasting

by Ha Jin

  “No, it’s a small city,” he told her. “A satellite city of Boston.”

  “It looks like a village.”

  He laughed. “Yes, you’ll see how big the village is in broad daylight. It isn’t that rural at all.”

  He pulled up in front of his building and they all got out of the car. Shuna said, as if to herself, “The air is clean and cool here. I haven’t breathed such fresh air for ages.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Tingting.

  He told them, “Quincy is on the ocean, so there’s always a breeze that keeps the air circulating.”

  As they were unloading the baggage, a cicada began chirring from the top of a beech tree, the chirps thin and a little sluggish. Mother and daughter stopped to listen. “I haven’t heard a cicada in years,” Tingting said.

  Another creature squawked from a distance, sending an urgent hooting call. “What’s that?” the girl asked, cocking her head.

  “Must be a tree frog,” Tian told her.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Light green in color, about half the size of a regular frog in Beijing.”

  Funi had cleaned up the apartment before leaving for Frank and Sami’s house, which was nearby, on a maple-lined backstreet. Tian had made dinner beforehand—rice porridge, salted duck eggs, kimchee, sautéed bamboo shoots. Now he opened a bag of scallion pancakes and put them in the microwave to heat up. His wife and daughter were surprised by the homey meal, everything genuinely Chinese; they’d thought he ate American food most of the time: bread, ham, sausages, milk, cheese. He told them that he wanted to serve them a light dinner that would soothe their stomachs after the long trip. They both appreciated this, saying they hadn’t had much of an appetite, but at the sight of the food, they had turned eager to dig in. Tingting ate lustily, which pleased Shuna and Tian.

  After dinner, mother and daughter each took a shower and then went to bed, Tingting sleeping in Funi’s room, Shuna in Tian’s. He washed the dishes and sat down on the sofa and began to read a poetry book by Mark Strand, whose work he had become interested in lately. He liked his poems, particularly the zany collection Darker—Tian had very much taken to its surreal touches and light tones, to its playful images and incisive intelligence.

  Then Shuna came out of his room. “I can’t sleep,” she said. “It’s morning in Beijing now.”

  “I thought you were tired,” he said.

  “I am, but I’m wide awake.” She held out her hand and pulled him. “Come, let’s chat in bed.”

  The instant he stepped into his room, she kissed him on the neck, smiling, her roundish cheeks pink. She patted his crotch, then peeled away her shirt and pajamas and underthings. He took off his T-shirt and pants and briefs, then slid into bed after her.

  They didn’t talk much, of course, but touched and fondled each other heatedly. Both of them were driven by a rush of hunger, and couldn’t wait to make love. Soon they got more active; one of her legs held his back as if afraid he might slip away while her other leg was trembling a little. Not having slept with a woman for more than three years, he was out of practice and couldn’t hold himself long and properly, though her familiar scent and her panting spurred him to act forcibly. After three or four minutes he came. He gasped, about to apologize, but checked himself.

  “What happened?” she asked him.

  “I’m rusty—I’m sorry. I haven’t touched a woman for more than three years.”

  “Don’t feel bad, Tian—I appreciate your abstinence. Now, we should go to sleep.”

  They were quiet for a long while. He heard her sigh a few times. She might have remembered what Freda had said about him, about his virility and stamina in bed. Though Shuna turned him on easily, he couldn’t summon the intimate passion and aching love he’d had for her four years before. Now this strange diluted emotion had come over him vaguely at the airport, where he’d been so happy to see his daughter that he’d had to remind himself to address Shuna more often, lest she feel left out. He sensed some kind of invisible barrier between her and him. Now their brief lovemaking made him wonder what had happened between them. Perhaps the old heady passion would come back once they spent enough time together again.

  Had she had an affair with Professor Bai, or other men, since he’d left home? Perhaps she did, but he would never ask. Shuna was attractive in her own way, quick-witted and with a penetrating intelligence. Whenever she stood at a lectern or on a podium, she would glow with a vivacious face and brilliant eyes; his colleagues remarked that she was a born teacher. She’d once told Tian that one of her graduate students, a man just over thirty, had developed a crush on her, so she had to avoid being alone with him. When she met him in her office, she left the door ajar. Now she was a full professor and had three PhD students to supervise. In addition to the textbook coauthored with Bai, she was about to publish a new monograph on the Ming Dynasty’s monetary system. She’d been making progress in her career by leaps and bounds.

  Even as his wife breathed evenly beside him, his heart was as weary as if he hadn’t recovered from a long run yet. With entangled thoughts and memories, he fell asleep.

  * * *

  —

  Funi came over with a yellow Labrador the next morning, saying she was walking him for Sami. The dog was called Larry and had a tearstained face and large flappy ears. He kept sniffing at Tian’s feet, glad to meet him again; his tongue licked his black nostrils from time to time as his tail wagged nonstop. Seeing how fond the dog was of Tian, Tingting sat down on her heels and stroked Larry’s back.

  Shuna warmed to Funi and thanked her for helping Tian, as if he’d been his roommate’s charge. She said to Funi, “I thought you were a rich girl like your name suggests. We’re so beholden to you for helping Tian all these years, and for the use of your car.”

  The name “Funi” means “Blessed Girl” and is also a homophone of “Rich Girl.” It sounds a bit rustic indeed. As Tian was wondering whether Shuna was making fun of his roommate’s name, Funi looked embarrassed and said, “No, no, actually Tian has always been helpful to me. He’s patient with me and I depend on him for many things. He takes out trash and the recycling bin every Thursday morning.”

  Her last sentence discomforted him, but Shuna didn’t seem to pay close attention and made no response. She must have no idea how trash was collected here.

  Tian was glad to see that the two women were on friendly terms, at least in appearance. Perhaps it was Funi’s plain looks that put Shuna at ease. His wife could see clearly that he was unattracted to Funi and that the two of them were just friends. Shuna went into the closet and took out a small scarlet package and gave it to Funi. Funi unwrapped the tissue paper and lifted out a thick jade bracelet, holding it up to the sunshine as though to see whether it was genuine. Then, as if abashed, she told Shuna, “This is so nice, but I have no use for it—I drive a forklift every day. You should keep it for Tingting.”

  “She has hers,” Shuna said. “We want you to have it. You’ve been kind and generous to Tian. We all appreciate that.”

  Later his wife remarked that Funi seemed trustworthy. Shuna was pleased that Tian hadn’t stayed under the same roof with a coquette, or “a Fox Spirit,” in her words. She was especially happy to know that Funi attended a Buddhist temple with Sami and Frank. Tian didn’t say much about his roommate, neither her troubles nor her virtues. When Shuna wondered aloud why Funi was still single, he only joked, saying it took so much energy to put down roots here that many immigrants had become eunuchs and nuns. At this, Shuna smiled pensively, as if pondering his words.

  38

  Both Shuna and Tingting mainly wanted to visit Ivy League schools, but Tian wasn’t sure about that. He knew his daughter’s grades and test scores, and she’d be lucky if she could get into one of the top fifty colleges. Nevertheless, he didn’t object when they showed him the list of schools they planned
to see; he ought to take them sightseeing anyway.

  They went to Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Princeton. At most of the schools, he followed Tingting and Shuna on the guided tours. Mother and daughter were struck by the grand gothic-style buildings at Princeton and Yale, but those structures only looked expensive and imposing to Tian. Harvard was different and easy—they took the Red Line train there and strolled around on their own. Tian snapped photos of his daughter and wife in front of the red-brick buildings and the grand Widener Library. They also went to some schools that were less of a reach for Tingting, like Boston University, Tufts, Brandeis, UMass-Amherst, and Tian’s favorite, Wellesley College. These days he didn’t go to work at the casino, which worried him a bit, though Jesse had granted him a two-week break, but he didn’t mention his concern to Shuna and Tingting. His main job at the moment was to make them happy.

  Tingting was going to bed late every night, staying up to use Google, which was banned in China. Everyone there had no choice but to use Baidu, an awful search engine that automatically weeds out censored information. Her emails to her boyfriend, Jawei, were often blocked by the Chinese Internet system due to some sensitive words she had used, so she phoned him in the mornings instead—Shuna had set up an account for international calls, and Tingting could use it unlimitedly.

  Tian chatted with his daughter about colleges. She didn’t want to go to a women’s college, claiming it would be boring without boys in the school. He wondered whether she had misgivings about Jawei and whether they would stay together. The girl shook her chin-length bob and said, “I just love to have boys around. That makes life more exciting.”

  He was bemused but didn’t press her for more. Deep down, he was glad she was candid about being fond of boys. He could see that she’d set her heart on opposing Shuna and him, especially with respect to her personal matters. She often condemned the Great Firewall, China’s Internet control apparatus, which had been rising higher by the year. On their way to Walden Pond, Tingting said from the backseat, “If I was strong in science, I would apply to MIT to learn how to knock down the Great Firewall.”

  “Good thing you’re not that strong,” her mother shot back.

  Walden Pond was rather deserted that afternoon, the lakeside dense with trees and foliage, small trails snaking along here and there. The sun was throwing warm rays on the water, flat and motionless, ringed by the pebbly white beach. The Yaos walked on the trail along the shore, bumping into an angler now and then. They lingered for a while at the naked site of Thoreau’s cabin, a pile of boulders and nine short stone pillars chained together around a hearth. They read the inscriptions on the sign and imagined what Thoreau’s life might have been like at such a secluded place one and a half centuries before. From this spot they could catch the vista of the entire lake, but the scene must have been more tranquil, or more lonesome, in Thoreau’s time.

  Tingting asked Tian, “Didn’t he have a family?”

  “No, he was a bachelor,” he answered.

  Her mother chimed in, “He wasn’t interested in women for sure.”

  “I admire him,” Tian said. “His ability to become so detached and so focused on his inner life.”

  They continued along the waterside. Shuna was amazed there were no mosquitos following them. As they were about to turn east, a commuter train passed, clanking rhythmically. The train thrilled Tingting, who had never seen such an old-fashioned model, slow and short, with only six cars. She jumped and waved at the passengers. In no time the train disappeared and the track turned quiet again, hardly visible in the forest. They continued east. A flock of geese emerged, flying across the lake to the north, and one of them honked, its wings flapping lazily. Then the others followed suit and let out guttural cries. The whole flock swung abruptly as one, as if hit by a sudden fear, then headed to the opposite hill, thick with foliage and glossy in the setting sun. This was real countryside, mother and daughter agreed, but if given the choice, they couldn’t say whether they would enjoy a life in such a place. It was so isolated, and it must feel forlorn at night.

  At the replica of Thoreau’s cabin across Walden Street, Tian shot a few photos of Tingting and Shuna, both standing before the statue of the hermit and holding his bronze hand. The girl then turned to the cabin and pushed its door. It wasn’t locked. She stepped in and lay down on the straw mattress on the narrow wood-framed bed so that Tian could snap a picture of her. A pungent scent of incense remained in the poky room, as if the occupant had just left and would return at any minute. Tian lifted his eyes to the ceiling, which had tree trunks as beams, each about four inches thick and still covered with scaly bark. Shuna sat down on the small lacquered rocking chair and closed her eyes.

  Tian caught sight of a cracked chamber pot under Thoreau’s bed. He asked his daughter, “Can we leave you here?”

  “All right, I will live and die here alone,” Tingting said with a straight face.

  “Bye-bye, now.” Shuna stood and waved at her and turned to the door. The girl got up and followed them out.

  He wondered if what Tingting said—“I will live and die here alone”—was something that had crossed Thoreau’s mind. The recluse must have brooded about how long he’d stay at this place and whether his life might eventually end here. On their way back, Tingting wondered aloud why Thoreau had lived on the pond by himself. Shuna said, “He wanted to stand apart from society. He must have loved life among nature.”

  “But why did he live away from others?” the girl persisted.

  “His idea of freedom was pure and absolute,” Tian said. “In fact, solitude is a path to freedom, for which you must accept everything that happens to you, including hunger, disease, and even death. You’re supposed to be responsible for your own existence, body and soul.”

  “My, I’m impressed,” Shuna said, then turned to Tingting. “See, your dad is a philosopher now.”

  “What else can you say about me?” he fired back. “You think I’ve lived in America for so long without figuring out a thing or two?”

  They all laughed.

  * * *

  —

  Shuna and Tian discussed how to pay for their daughter’s college if she came to the States. Most of the schools they had visited didn’t offer scholarships to international students. They might have to pay every penny of Tingting’s tuition and living costs. Tian was nervous about this topic—he couldn’t possibly make enough to fund her education here.

  “We can sell an apartment,” Shuna said matter-of-factly, taking a sip of coffee. She seemed to have already thought this out.

  “Would that bring us enough cash?” Tian asked. They had two apartments, both rather shabby and small, and he wasn’t sure what price either of them could bring.

  “The one near the hospital would go for about two million yuan,” she said. “Now is a good time to sell—the real estate market in Beijing is climbing again.” Indeed, the apartment was so far from Shuna’s university that they had hardly ever used it. It made sense to sell it before the housing market fell.

  Yet Tian was amazed, never having thought the small apartment could be worth that much. Originally they’d paid only a tenth of the price Shuna had mentioned. Such an amount, the asking price, would be around three hundred thousand dollars, enough to cover Tingting’s college education here. Although still unsure whether their old apartment could really fetch such a price, a sense of relief washed over him. He suggested putting it up for sale as soon as Shuna went back. She agreed to hire a good broker.

  Shuna also talked about her impressions of America. She loved the universities they’d visited, particularly their research libraries, full of resources that were carefully archived and accessible for readers. In Yenching Library at Harvard she had seen many rare books, some of them hundreds of years old, available for any student and faculty member to use. Nonetheless, she couldn’t see herself teaching at one of those schoo
ls—she’d have to be able to give lectures and write in English, and she felt too old to learn the language, which was simply beyond her ability. Moreover, she was already a full professor at Tsinghua University and a vice-president of China’s Historical Studies of the Ming Dynasty. Such a brilliant career was more than most Chinese historians could dream of. But—granted there were no restrictions on scholarly research here; granted professors could speak their minds in class and at conferences with impunity; granted they were paid more and could live in the suburbs with their own houses and gardens; granted she was very fond of small college towns—Shuna believed she was too deeply rooted in China, and if she moved here, her career would be disrupted and even lost. For every reason she should continue her work at Tsinghua University.

  Tian was disappointed to hear that. Since she was here, he had vaguely sensed her reservations about their immigration and wondered how many years it might take her to learn enough English to start a teaching career here. Still, her words alarmed him. He had thought that she would come join him sooner or later, and together they would rebuild their life and home. His being here had been meant to pave the way for his wife and daughter.

  She suggested that he try to live in both cities, Boston and Beijing, so that he could resume his singing career inside and outside China. To him, the idea was insane—he wasn’t even sure he could get a Chinese passport anymore. In fact, he would be applying for U.S. citizenship soon so that he could travel internationally.

  “Then, after you become a U.S. citizen, you can commute between China and America like a world citizen,” she said.

  He told her the truth. “I’m not sure how it can be done.” To his knowledge, once you were put on the Chinese government’s blacklist, you were permanently barred from entry unless there was a regime change in China. The idea of “a world citizen” was nothing but a self-deceiving illusion. Yet Tian was reluctant to say more on the subject and only told Shuna, “We should be able to figure out a way. Let’s not worry ahead of time.”