A Song Everlasting

by Ha Jin

  But the girl didn’t seem to know how to appreciate Funi’s generosity—or maybe she was still suspicious of her. With chopsticks she picked up a glistening rasher and asked Funi, “I love this pork. What’s it called?”

  “Bacon,” his roommate said.

  “I mean what it’s called in Chinese.”

  “Bacon,” Funi repeated.

  Tian stepped in, “We don’t have a word for it in Chinese because there’s no pork prepared this way. Maybe you could say ‘smoked side meat.’ ”

  “Then I’ll just call it ‘bacon’ in Chinese,” the girl said. “I remember seeing it written like that in a hotel restaurant.”

  Tingting loved the omelet, filled with dried baby shrimp and diced cayenne pepper. She asked her father whether Funi cooked for him like this every morning.

  “No way,” he told her. “She’s treating you like a special guest.”

  After breakfast he was taking Tingting to her dorm on campus. Funi handed the girl a six-pack of orange soda and a small case of ramen noodles, saying Tingting should poach two eggs in the soup when she cooked the noodles. For a moment the girl looked uncertain whether to accept the items, but Tian told her to take them. Her school’s board plan provided fourteen meals a week, so from time to time she would want to be able to cook something on her own.

  Before they got on the highway, Tingting asked him, “Tell me, Dad, is Funi your girlfriend?”

  “No, she’s just a friend, a roommate. Why did you ask that?”

  “Mom said Funi was very nice to you, and the two of you might grow close like a couple.”

  “That’s absurd. What else did your mother say about Funi?”

  “She just said you might need a woman who could take care of you.”

  “I can care for myself. Did she say anything critical about Funi?”

  “Not really. She just said Funi’s waters ran deep.”

  “You’ve seen what she’s like. She is a simple woman with a good and reliable nature.”

  He wondered whether Shuna had assigned Tingting the task of reporting on Funi. Even if mother and daughter had made such an arrangement, he wasn’t worried—the girl wouldn’t find anything negative to report about his roommate. The most she could say was that Funi was an odd woman who was kind to him.

  41

  In October Tian was naturalized. At the ceremony about two hundred immigrants all swore their allegiance to their adopted homeland and vowed to defend the U.S. Constitution. If called upon, they must be willing to perform noncombatant service in the armed forces. The oath of allegiance bothered him a little. It took him some time to figure out the full meaning of the oath, after he had read the Constitution twice. He was struck by its concrete legal language, specifying the terms and rights that the American people give to the state or reserve for themselves. Tian saw that it was a contract between the citizens and the government. This new understanding threw him into a peculiar kind of excitement, because it indicated that the citizens and the country were equal partners in an agreement. Tian gathered that this equality must be the basis of democracy. Now he could see why the Constitution meant so much to the United States. It was the foundation of the nation. With such a realization he became willing to defend the Constitution, even to bear arms if he was called upon, simply because he believed in noble ideas and was willing to sacrifice for them.

  With his new citizenship in hand he now could travel outside the States, so he began to accept international invitations. By and by more requests came from abroad. Many cultural associations were interested in him, mainly because his singing had changed and improved—he had enriched his repertoire with songs popular in mainland China and in the diaspora. He also could sing English songs, though his tongue still felt a little stiff when enunciating lyrics in English. Compared to Chinese, in which open-vowel words are common, English words often end with consonants—“students,” “health,” “desks.” Such words are hard to pronounce for a foreigner, more so when they are sung. As more and more invitations came his way, he quit the casino so that he could travel more frequently. He felt like a professional singer again.

  Yet he was aware that he was getting older, his voice no longer as youthful and energetic as before. In fact, lately he’d had trouble when performing onstage; sometimes he’d feel a sudden shortness of breath and would have to pause to inhale. So far he had managed to disguise such moments, but afterward he’d feel awful. At times there was even a dull pain in his chest. He became more careful about food and drink, not touching any hot spice or hard liquor. He did his voice exercises schematically every day and took the Pei Pa Koa cough syrup religiously.

  Whenever he went to see Tingting, she would urge him to move out of Funi’s apartment. He’d retort that the place was also now his—they had both signed the lease the summer before.

  “Then find another place for yourself, Dad,” Tingting said.

  “Look, I lived alone in this country for years, and now I want a clean, comfortable place to return to, especially after a long trip.”

  “So the apartment feels like home to you.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “That might be what Funi wants. You’d better stop playing house with her.”

  He laughed. “You shouldn’t worry about that. Nothing will happen between Funi and me. Remember that I love your mother.”

  In spite of his words, he could feel a fracture in their marriage. The distance between Shuna and him had only grown. Tormented as she was, it had become clear that she’d never give up her professorship at Tsinghua University. He had a presentiment that she would do something about their marriage soon. She wasn’t someone who could remain passive for long.

  * * *

  —

  To Tian’s surprise, Yabin called one evening with the news that he had come back from Quebec—he was in New York now. Cheerfully, he told Tian he was a bachelor again.

  Tian was mystified and asked, “Did Laura come back with you?”

  “No, she’s still in Canada.”

  “So the two of you are separated?”

  “Divorced.”

  “When did you get married?”

  “Last winter. But I’m finally free.”

  “What happened? Was Laura willing to give you up?”

  Yabin sniggered and said, “It cost her quite a penny to let me go.”

  “Now you are rich?”

  “You could say that. I’m thinking of doing something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Travel around the world.”

  “So you won’t be coming back to Boston?”

  “No, I love New York—there are more opportunities here.”

  “Of course, if you’re rich, New York can be a better place. But don’t you want to settle down and raise kids? How old are you, forty-three?”

  “Almost.”

  “If you don’t start a family soon, it will be too late.”

  “Believe me, it’s even harder for me to find a right woman now. By the way”—Yabin paused, then continued—“do you happen to have Freda Liu’s contact information?”

  Tian was surprised. “You want to reconnect with her?”

  “Somehow I think of her often these days,” he confessed.

  “But she might not be available. You should find someone who’s steadier, shouldn’t you?”

  “I might give her another try, but I’m interested in her mainly for business reasons. I’ve heard she’s become quite successful in Beijing, and I’ve been looking for a representative there. The Chinese economy is booming, so I want to branch out to the mainland. Freda is experienced in the import-export business, and I might need her help, since I’m not allowed to go back to China.”

  “You still can’t go back?”

  “I was told I was an inveterate dis
sident. There’s no way to convince the damned officials that I’m done with politics. Once an enemy, always an enemy. Of course, if they need you, they might treat you like a friend in appearance.”

  Tian joked, “As for Freda, are you not scared of her, the markswoman? She might blow you to smithereens if you make her upset.”

  He chuckled. “She isn’t really violent. She was just on a college shooting team, you know that. Freda is a little wild, but I like wild women—they make life more exciting. I can handle her, believe me.”

  Tian said, “I’ll text you her phone number. She’s working at an education agency in Beijing.”

  He also gave Yabin the name of her company so that he could find her on social media. Tian wasn’t in direct contact with Freda these days, but she and Tingting seemed to have become friends and often exchanged messages. He remembered his daughter had once told him that Freda had a Russian boyfriend, who was in northern China, learning to cook like a chef. He had become a noted figure in the northeast—he carried a wok on his back when he walked the streets, as an advertisement, and his pork fried rice was quite popular.

  * * *

  —

  When Tian told Funi about Yabin’s return to the States, she shook her head and smiled knowingly, a shallow dimple on her right cheek. Two weeks back she’d been promoted to shift supervisor, leading a team of seven people at the warehouse. She got along with her fellow workers and was enjoying the job.

  She and Tian were seated at their square dining table, which was cleared of the dishes after dinner. “That man was a gold digger, we all knew that,” Funi said.

  “That’s too much,” Tian objected. “He’s a friend of mine and I know he’s a ladies’ man, but he’s capable and makes decent money on his own.”

  Funi tittered, placing her palm on her glossy hair. “You’re so naïve, Tian. Everybody knew Yabin couldn’t get customers here. He was too glib to inspire trust.”

  “Really? I thought he was quite successful.”

  “He only appeared to be doing well. He could work with repairmen, but when it came to buying a home, not many people would use him as their agent. He often asked Frank and Sami to help him find a girlfriend.”

  “I don’t believe you. He always had a woman with him. In his own way he’s a lady killer.”

  “But he wanted more than female company. He told Sami he wanted a girlfriend who was rich and pretty.”

  “So Laura was rich but not pretty enough for him?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “No wonder they’re divorced.”

  “He must’ve got millions from her.”

  Tian couldn’t summon much pity for Laura—she was an apologist for the Tiananmen suppression, and above all else her money was filthy to begin with. If Yabin shared some of it, that wasn’t a great misfortune to her. Still, Tian asked Funi, “Do you think Yabin was planning this all along?” He was amazed by his own question. He couldn’t believe that Yabin was that crafty.

  “No doubt about it, but Laura must still have more than she’ll ever need.” Funi placed her hand on Tian’s wrist, her palm warm and rough with calluses. “You’re totally different from him.”

  “I’m not smooth like him. I don’t have his kind of luck with women.” He laughed, then added, “I also want a woman who’s rich and pretty.”

  “You don’t need that. I know you, Tian. You’re a good man, a genuine artist at heart. You could have other women but you’re loyal to Shuna. She’s a lucky woman.”

  He wanted to move his hand away, but her words touched him and she kept caressing his wrist. He said, “You really know me.”

  “Tell me, what kind of women do you like?” She looked him in the face, her eyes bold, shining.

  “Someone I can trust,” he blurted out, then tried to laugh, but without success.

  “You can trust me, you know,” she whispered, and squeezed his wrist.

  “I’m sure I can.”

  She moved closer and patted his upper arm, then leaned over and nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, as if this were something she’d often done. “Tian, you don’t know how attached I am to you. I think of you even when I’m at work.”

  He knew he should make some attempt at levity, but instead put his arm around her and pulled her closer. He breathed in her hair, which was musky. He noticed that her neck was flushed. She said, “I’m so fond of you, but I know I’m ugly and unworthy. You can do anything with me and I won’t become a burden to you.”

  A fierce feeling, close to pain, seized his heart. He said, “I like you too. I know you are trustworthy, a good woman.” As he was wondering what had gotten into her tonight, she kissed his cheek, then his mouth. Her kissing was hard and her tongue insistent.

  Her persistence aroused his passion, suppressed for so long. He kissed her back. The more they touched each other, the more lustful he got. As he was stroking her chest, she kept moaning, panting a little. She murmured, “I’ve been thinking about this all the time. I’m yours, altogether. Just take from me whatever you want.”

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said.

  “I know that. I’m so happy you want me.”

  They moved to her room, and they made love and slept in the same bed for the first time.

  42

  Like Yabin, Tian too became a bachelor. One day in the spring Shuna asked him for a divorce. On some level he had expected this, and so he wasn’t upset or outraged. In a long email to him, she listed the reasons she wished to end their marriage: the absence of passion in their conjugal life, the distance that had widened the gap between them—and, above all, she’d met someone else. He wondered if her lover was Professor Bai, but he didn’t press her for the truth. He couldn’t blame her for the affair—he’d been absent for six years. During such a long time anything could happen. Had he met a woman he was really attracted to, he might have fallen for her too.

  Now, after reading Shuna’s email again, he grew quiet. She was offering to pay for their daughter’s college, both tuition and living expenses, but she’d like to keep their Beijing apartment because she didn’t have another place to live. He was reluctant to insist on dividing their possessions, so without much thinking, he agreed to sign the divorce papers.

  He told her to get them prepared and sent to him and he would sign as soon as he received them. After writing her back, he took a long walk in the cemetery, strolling along the shaded trails. Two young Mexican workers were trimming the flowers and evergreen hedges. Beyond them, foxtails were rippling and dipping in the breeze. The warm sun brightened the grass on the slope that stretched all the way to the seaside. Oddly enough, the divorce didn’t trouble him too much. He felt calm, even at peace. He could hardly remember the last time he’d felt tenderness toward Shuna, much less hurt for her. Their love had dwindled and mostly disappeared; the marriage had remained largely due to their daughter, whose existence had defined the boundaries of their happiness and distress for so many years.

  When he broached the subject of their divorce with Tingting in her dorm, her thin eyes glinted and she twisted her lips. She blazed out, “I knew it wouldn’t take long. My mother is a fast bitch and can’t live without a man in her bed.”

  Swelling with sudden anger, he wanted to tell her to shut up, but he refrained. He knew that wasn’t true of Shuna. He said to Tingting, “Don’t ever talk like that about your mother! Even now she’s paying for your college. She has been generous to both of us.”

  “I don’t need her help.”

  “Don’t act like a brat.”

  “You’re no good either. You’ve been living under the same roof with that fool Funi. Maybe you’re sleeping with her too.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  Without waiting for her response and unwilling to continue in an argument that would only fluster him further, he stood and strode out
of her room. He wanted her to cool off on her own. He went to the Red Line station, JFK/UMass, for the outbound train.

  * * *

  —

  For all her anger, Tingting still came to see Tian on weekends, sometimes together with Jawei. Tian liked the young man more now and could see that, despite his bookish appearance, he was worldly in his own way. Jawei knew a lot about what was going on in the world and about how global events affected local economies and political activities. What pleased Tian most was his attitude toward the Western social system: He loved freedom and cherished the ideas of equality and justice. With disgust, Jawei would remark on some top Chinese leaders, “At best they’re qualified to be a village head.” For his irreverence Tian liked him more. He hoped Jawei loved Tingting devotedly.

  When the two of them came to visit, Tian would cook a hearty meal. Naturally Funi would join them too. Jawei loved his cooking, saying it was better than most restaurants’. Tingting once asked Funi if Tian often cooked this way for her too. His roommate shook her head, saying, “What makes you think I’m so lucky? I often cook for him, but he only makes dinner for both of us once in a while, mainly when I buy seafood that I don’t know how to cook properly.”

  At that, Tian noticed a shadow crossing his daughter’s face. There was no need for her to be so nosy.

  One Saturday afternoon in late April, Tingting came alone. It was unseasonably warm, in the mid-seventies, so she was wearing a floral halter. Before they sat down to a meal of braised rainbow trout and boiled jasmine rice, she went into Tian’s room to get an orange soda from under his bed, where he kept it because the refrigerator was too full. She returned with a bottle for herself—her father and Funi didn’t need one. As Tingting was twisting the cap of the bottle, Tian saw that her face was hardened, as if she was angry. She wouldn’t raise her sullen eyes from her rice bowl or say a word to Funi. He didn’t ask why. They went on eating cheerlessly, though the fish was well cooked.