A Song Everlasting

by Ha Jin

  On the first day, for two and a half hours, he made fifty-six dollars, which pleased him. From then on, he continued to sing at various train stations. Some of the logistics were hard for him to manage. Above all, there was no restroom at most of the Red Line stations, and if he went out through the turnstiles to use a bathroom in a coffee shop or restaurant, he’d have to pay for the $2.50 entry fee again. So as long as he could, he would try to avoid drinking too much liquid once he got into the station and also to hold his pee as long as possible. This also meant he wouldn’t perform longer than one and a half hours at a time. He had already developed a bladder problem from the chemotherapy, and was unable to hold his urine. One day, on his way back from the Quincy Center station to his apartment, he needed to pee so badly that he couldn’t walk anymore, so he sat on a wrought-iron bench on the sidewalk for a few moments to ease his bladder, then continued to trudge home. Still, he couldn’t hold it all the way and wet his pants when he got home. Seeing his wretched state, he couldn’t suppress his sobbing. Luckily, Funi was not in and he could change alone. From that day on, he’d wear a diaper and carry a plastic bottle in his bag when he went out to sing. He’d also drink some liquid at work, having to stay hydrated. If he had to pee, he’d find a secluded spot and pee into the bottle. In spite of the difficulties, he could pick up some cash steadily, though he was anxious, unsure how long he could go on like this.

  Then one late afternoon, as he was singing at Quincy Center station, Funi stepped out of the train, wearing duck boots, and began heading toward the escalator. At the sight of him scatting with abandon, she rushed up and embraced him and burst into tears.

  “You mustn’t do this!” she said and groaned. “I won’t let you! Please don’t debase yourself this way!”

  People turned to look at them. He tried to smile but felt his face tighten. He managed to say to Funi, “It’s all right. A singer must sing to make a dollar. Our profession has been like this since ancient times, and there’s no shame in honest work.”

  “I won’t let you, I won’t let you!”

  She pulled him along to the escalator so they could go home together. She kept wiping her tearstained face all the way.

  That night she spoke with Tingting heatedly on the phone. From time to time he caught a phrase or two that Funi let out. He heard her repeat, “We must never let this happen again!”

  49

  Tingting stayed in Boston during the summer. She and Jawei both found part-time jobs on campus, he as a lab assistant and she as an intern at her school’s gallery. Jawei often came to see Tian, and they would talk a lot about life, politics, sports. The young man enjoyed American football, which Tian somehow could never appreciate, but they both loved basketball and soccer. They also talked about Jawei’s plans for the future. He liked biotech and wanted to do graduate work in it, but he wasn’t sure whether to study in China or in the States. He preferred the American social environment and the political transparency, but, like Tingting, he was still attached to their native land. He hoped he could do something for its development. Tian was pleased to know he had some kind of vision beyond his own career. Young people of their generation, who mostly grew up as only children, tended to be self-centered, preoccupied with personal gain and growth. Jawei seemed to be an exception. To put Tian at ease, he assured him, “I’ll go wherever Tingting goes.”

  Tian was delighted to hear that. Deep down he hoped they would stay in America after college. Tingting and Jawei were young and should be able to put down roots and build a bright future in America. Also, their settling down here would feel like an extension of his own immigrant life and would also demonstrate his good sense to his ex-wife.

  One evening in mid-August, his daughter came and handed him a check for twenty-five thousand dollars. “This is from my mother,” she told him.

  “What for?”

  “She wants you to have it. She said you needed it. It’s your money now.”

  “I’ve never thought she could be generous,” he said with some bitterness.

  “Come on, now, Dad. She doesn’t mean this as a gift. She said this money belonged to you because you owned a part of our old apartment too. She also said she had been spending the money she got from the sale for my tuition. Actually there isn’t much left.”

  That couldn’t be true, because Tingting had become an in-state student the year before, since her father was a U.S. citizen and Massachusetts resident—her tuition was now only a third of an international student’s. But he didn’t say anything about this; her mother had a lot of cash now, he was sure.

  Later he talked to Funi about what to do with the money from Shuna. Funi was adamantly opposed to his singing in the train stations again. She said, “Imagine if someone snaps a photo of you singing at a train station and puts it online. The official media would take advantage of your suffering again, and that would bring about a media feeding frenzy. I won’t be able to bear the humiliation for you.”

  “It wouldn’t bother me that much.”

  “But it’ll hurt me like hell.”

  “Well, then I won’t do it anymore.”

  “You know what I like most about you, Tian?”

  “What?” He was puzzled.

  “Even though you’re famous, you are down-to-earth. You talk straight and walk straight too. You always try to make an honest living.”

  “What flattery!” He laughed, and so did she.

  They decided to start a small singing school. He was sure he could teach well, now that he didn’t travel to perform anymore and would become a full-time teacher. As long as he could make enough to live on, he’d be satisfied.

  He rented an office suite at the back of a shopping center; it was small, with a low ceiling, but it was quiet and secluded enough for students to sing without disturbing others. At a church sale he bought a used black Steinway and had it shipped to his office. Then he hired a tuner to have the keys and strings adjusted. In total, he spent $1,180. He was excited about the piano, never having dreamed of owning a baby grand. Soon after he put out an ad in two community newspapers, he began to take students. Most of them were children whose parents believed they had an exceptional voice. A few also came to enroll thanks to his former name. They had listened to his albums and watched him on YouTube and were eager to study with him. The work wasn’t hard, and in spite of his frailness he could manage. He only hoped that the Chinese officials would leave him alone and not sabotage his business again.

  Meanwhile his health had been improving. His hair had grown back, darker but thinner than before. Despite the harrowing side effects of the chemo and the radiation, he noticed that his old problems, such as blisters on his fingers and his sore shoulders and neck, were gone. The chemotherapy must incidentally have cured them, though it had also damaged his immune system. These days he’d take a long walk every afternoon. On weekends, Funi would join him, strolling on Wollaston Beach to see the splendid sunset and share a basket of seafood at a clam shack near the seaside. He had to eat as much as possible to maintain his weight—he needed the body mass to resist the cancer.

  One evening in the fall, Funi said to him, “Have you heard that they might cancel the universal healthcare?”

  “Who are ‘they’?” he asked.

  “Some politicians have been talking about it. I heard them on the radio. One of them said that Obamacare was insane, calling it a socialist scam. He said it must be revoked and replaced with something more reasonable and more affordable.”

  He was alarmed. If there were major changes in the universal care, he might be among the first to be dropped because of his preexisting conditions. Perhaps by law they couldn’t do that openly, but as an American musician in New Hampshire had once told him, they could increase his premium and then tell him in their letter: “We encourage you to shop around for a policy that can suit your needs better.” The musician said that for years he’d
been made to hop from one insurance company to another. As a result, he’d begun wondering whether he should move to Northern Europe, to Denmark or Norway, where his girlfriend was from originally.

  Funi and Tian were seated at the dining table, drinking green tea. His medical expenses could easily have bankrupted him if he had not been covered by the Massachusetts universal care. He had seen the horrendous cost of his treatment. One bill, which included the MRI, showed that for a single day in the hospital he had been charged more than twenty-three thousand dollars. Now, if he was no longer covered, who could tell what might happen when he had a relapse? In fact, just his regular checkups, once every three months now, would cost a fortune; a CT scan alone came to twenty-seven hundred dollars. What could he do to protect himself?

  Funi seemed to have detected his worry, her eyes fixed on him. Then she smiled and said, “I have an idea, but don’t get mad at me if you don’t like it, all right?”

  “Of course I won’t. Let me hear it.”

  “Why don’t we get married? As long as I work, I can have decent benefits that will cover you.”

  He was astonished, uncertain how to respond. “I’m a sick man,” he managed to say. “I might die any day. You shouldn’t have to carry around a heavy piece of baggage like me.”

  “If you died, I wouldn’t mind being your widow for the rest of my life. You know how I love you. I’m happy to do whatever I can for you. If you think we should get married to preempt any insurance problems, let’s do that.”

  “You want kids, but I might not be able to give you any. I’m too sick, if not too old.”

  “A big family is my dream, but I’ll be happy to give up that for you. Besides, who knows, maybe you can have a long life and we may even raise a family. Anyways, I will accompany you from now on so we can grow old together.”

  He was touched. He paused for a moment to fight down the hot lump expanding in his throat. Then he said deliberately, in a solemn voice like a priest’s, “Yu Funi, do you take this man, Yao Tian, to be your husband?”

  “Yes, I do!” She tittered, then laughed.

  He laughed too, though his eyes blurred, welling.

  That night they went to bed together for the first time since he’d fallen ill. He found her body remarkably muscular, due to the physical work she did every day. Her firm flesh and smooth skin exuded health. They made love and slept soundly afterward.

  He woke before her, and with her breathing softly beside him, he thought about their imminent marriage; they planned to file an application for the license at City Hall that morning. They wanted to make it as simple as possible and avoid drawing any attention. He was amazed by his eagerness to join Funi in holy matrimony. Emotionally he must have been stunted to some degree, fearful of getting deeply involved with anyone. With his heart closed, he couldn’t trust any woman completely, always afraid of being used or misused. That might explain why he hadn’t really loved anyone for a long time. Indeed, he had once loved Shuna enough to marry her, but their feelings had soon cooled and their individual pursuits took them further apart and eventually separated them altogether. Funi was different from others. He couldn’t say he loved her passionately, but he trusted her unconditionally and cherished her as part of his life, which he could no longer imagine without her.

  * * *

  —

  After they got the marriage license from City Hall, they gave a small wedding dinner at Marine Garden, mainly for Funi’s relatives: Frank, Sami, and their children. Tingting and Jawei also came. Funi’s boss, Hank, and his wife, Connie, were invited too. Hank, the owner of two supermarkets and well respected in the Chinese community, was happy to join them, and Connie kept remarking that she’d finally met Tian in person. She’d seen him on TV, but hadn’t thought he was such a normal man. He guessed she meant he was unassuming, yet he was pleased by her candid words. At the end of the dinner, Funi’s boss signed their marriage license.

  They didn’t invite any of his friends to their wedding dinner—Tian didn’t have many in the Boston area. But he notified them of his marriage and received congratulations from Tan Mai and Cindy Wong. As he had expected, Yabin said he would come to join them for a day or two.

  On the weekend after Thanksgiving, he drove all the way from New York in a midnight-blue BMW. Tian and Funi were delighted to see him. To their surprise, he looked aged despite his bright and lively outfit; he was more middle-aged than the man Tian had last seen two years before. He even had incipient eye bags. In the back of Tian’s mind echoed the common saying “a man is a flower in his forties,” which means that most men reach their prime when they turn forty. Yabin was only forty-four, but already like a withered flower. “I didn’t expect him to have aged so much,” he said to Funi while Yabin was out to hang the parking permit in his car.

  She giggled and said, “Even a playboy can get old quickly. He must’ve lived a fast life these past two years.”

  “Or maybe Laura squeezed a lot out of him.”

  “That was his own doing. He had to pay something for the money he got from her, I guess.”

  Since Yabin was fond of Tian’s cooking, he made a seafood dinner. There were pan-seared scallops and a braised flounder and sautéed soft-shelled crabs. They also opened a bottle of chardonnay, which Yabin loved, but neither Funi nor Tian could drink much. He was the first guest they had invited to their place as a married couple. He was pleased to hear that.

  Over oolong tea, he talked about his life in New York. Funi and Tian were surprised to hear that he was single now. “How about Freda?” Tian asked.

  “Freda is a bitch,” Yabin said. “She hates my guts, but she’s my rep in China.”

  “She’s very capable and can help you a lot in your business,” Tian told him.

  “Yes, she’s capable all right, a hard-nosed businesswoman now.”

  “She won’t come back to you?” Funi asked.

  “She gives me a toothache.”

  Funi and Tian laughed uneasily. But what happened to his ladies’ man’s charm? they asked him teasingly.

  “I’m tired of ladies,” he said with a feeble sigh.

  “You don’t like women anymore?” Funi asked, perplexed.

  He shook his head of wavy hair streaked with gray and said, “Here’s the enigma of life. I used to believe that if I had enough money, I’d have a life full of leisure and without worries. Now I have enough money, but there’re more worries than before.”

  “What are you worried about?” Funi asked.

  “About losing money.” He smirked with self-mockery. “A good number of women have been eager to move in with me and some want to marry me, but I can trust none of them. I’m never sure if they have an eye on my money.”

  Funi and Tian both laughed. He said to Yabin, “Can’t you just date some new woman and see where things go with her?”

  “I’m no longer a young man. I want to settle down and raise a family. But the young women I like don’t have marriage in mind. I’m stuck in a way.”

  “It’s a happy dilemma.” Tian tried to console him.

  “You can say that—you already have a grown daughter. In five or six years I’ll be fifty. I really mustn’t play the field any longer.”

  Funi said, “I’m sure you can find the right woman willing to start a family with you. Just keep your eyes open and be patient.”

  He nodded appreciatively. He was in an import-and-export business now, mostly wines and liquors. He had his own storehouse and a staff of eleven. Professionally speaking, he was a successful businessman, but he confessed that everything he’d done was just a job. He didn’t have his own passion, not knowing what he really liked, though he knew it was no longer female charm and fancy cars. He drove a BMW only because most of his associates also owned luxury cars. He was just tired of everything.

  He wanted to smoke, so Tian accompanied him out.
Together they took a stroll toward the cemetery. Tian was wearing a green down jacket Funi had bought for him, and Yabin was in a light parka coat with a Canada Goose label on the upper arm. A faint odor was in the air, left by a skunk. Clumps of leaves were gathered against the curbs of the sidewalk here and there, and Yabin’s Italian brogues crunched on them softly. It was overcast, the breeze a little chilly. He took a drag on his Camel cigarette and said, “Tian, you’re lucky, do you know that?”

  “Lucky for what?”

  “To marry a young wife you can completely trust. Lately I’ve come to understand why people say they prefer pets to humans. In this world what’s the most difficult to come by is a human being you can absolutely trust. Do cherish Funi, even though she isn’t beautiful like your ex-wife.”

  “I will of course,” Tian said. “I can take her as part of myself.”

  “That’s what I admire most in a genuine marriage, the mutual understanding and support. And of course the love.”

  Tian wasn’t sure his friend really understood their marriage, but Yabin obviously spoke from his heart, which was rare for a man like him. Tian picked up the topic Yabin had dropped at dinner, and asked, “So you’re having trouble with Freda now? Doesn’t she already have a Russian boyfriend, a rookie chef who traveled around?”