A Free Life (65 page)

The next afternoon he and his mother were at home alone. His father had gone to a memorial service held for a former colleague of his who had just passed away. Putting a clay pot of chrysanthemum tea on the side table for Nan, his mother sat down and sighed.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I miss Taotao."

This was strange, because Nan remembered that she had never liked her eldest grandson and had once even refused to watch over the boy when he and his wife had to attend a meeting together. For that Pingping still held a grudge against her. Nan told his mother, "Don't worry about him. He's fine. He's a stellar student and will have a good future." "I want to see him."

"All right, I'll talk to Pingping and see if we can bring him back next summer. That way he can learn some Chinese from you and my dad. "

"No, I want to go to America to see him and Pingping." "Why do you have to go yourself? At your age it's not safe to travel that far."

"Why? I'm not that old." True, she had just turned sixty-five. "I'll try to send Taotao back to stay with you next summer, all right?"

" I want to see America myself. "

" Mom, you have a very comfortable life here. If you fall ill there, you could die abroad. Don't you have arteriosclerosis and dizzy spells?"

"I'm well now, and I'd like to see America before I die." "Truth be told, for old people life there is harder than here." "I don't mind. I can work." "Work, at your age?"

"Yes, there's no shame in working. Everybody knows how easy it is to make money in America. After you gave us the cash the day before yesterday, your dad said to me, 'Damn, we've never had so much money in our whole life. See how easy it was for Nan to toss out a thousand dollars. In just twelve years he has become such a rich man.' My son, you know, that amount you gave us is enough for us to live on for a whole year."

"We make more there but have to spend more too."

"Don't you own a restaurant?"

" Yes, I do. "

" I can work for you. I can make dumpling wrappers, wonton wrappers, noodles, all kinds of buns and pies. For five dollars an hour I can earn forty a day. In a year that'll be more than ten thousand, enough for your dad and me to spend in our remaining years. Nan, I'll stay with you just a year and then I'll come back. Please take me to America."

"How about my dad in the meantime?"

"He'll stay home."

"But he can't cook."

"He can always hire a maid."

Nan realized that his father wouldn't go because he had many friends here, because he could play mah-jongg every night, and also because he'd have to be around to collect their pensions and take care of this home. Nan said, "I'll have to talk with Pingping about this. I can't decide by myself."

His mother's face dropped and a few folds appeared on her throat. She said, "Who's the boss in your home? If you insist on your right as her husband, of course Pingping will obey you."

"Mom, I can't do that. She owns half the business too. We two are partners, like a team."

She seemed to intuit that Pingping wouldn't let her come to America because the two of them had never gotten along. She sighed and went on in a flat voice, "You're not your old self anymore. Having your wife, you no longer need your old mother, the same as your brother and sister. Heartless. Every one of you is heartless." She pursed her lips, her nose crinkled.

Nan wanted to say, "Where were you when Pingping suffered and struggled with me all these years? Did you ever weep with me when we lost our baby? Were you ever worried when we couldn't pay our bills? You only know how to take advantage of us and ask for money. Greedy. Both of you are greedy." But he held his tongue, lowered his eyes, and muttered, "Mother, you don't know how hard life has been for Pingping and me. If she were another woman, she'd have walked out on me long ago. She's the mainstay of our family."

" I see, your old mother is useless to you now. " She rose and shuffled away. Her shoulders sagged.

Nan rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. The conversation saddened him. He remembered how the day before, when he mentioned Pingping's miscarriage, his mother had merely said, "If you're more filial to your parents, no misfortune like that will strike again." Those words still rankled him. Now how could he make her understand that she was no longer a member of his immediate family? How could he convince her that Pingping was the only person he could rely on? Greedy and vain, his mother just dreamed of making a fortune and showing off to her neighbors and friends. Ning had told him that their parents often bragged to others about going to America for a vacation and to see their grandson. His mother had even promised some friends of hers that she'd persuade Nan to help their children study in the United States when the kids grew up. As a result, many people had begun to ingratiate themselves with his parents. Nan realized that the old man and woman couldn't possibly commiserate with him and Pingping over the fear and misery they had gone through in America. How lonely he felt in his parents' home, as though he hadn't grown up in this very apartment. Perhaps he shouldn't have come back in the first place.

"I CANNOT imagine marrying a man younger than myself." That sentence, spoken by Beina sixteen years before, had been reverberating in Nan 's mind ever since he'd been home. In fact, she was just four months older than he. His memory of the proposal still stung him. Fat snowflakes had fluttered around as he proposed to her, saying he'd do everything to make her happy, including most of the household chores. He also promised her that they'd eventually live in a city south of the Yangtze River because she disliked the cold climate here. And with trepidation he waited for her answer. A few sleepy birds croaked in the treetops, whose branches had all caked into masses of snow. Her voice was flippant, which unsettled him, though he had steeled himself for the worst. When the final answer came, he felt crushed and wounded, leaning against the bole of a young birch crusted with ice. "I've got to go now. Good night," she said, and walked away, fading into the darkness. Tears, hot and unstoppable, coursed down his face.

If only he had cut his ties with her right then and there. But instead, he had returned to her later on and gotten enmeshed deeper and deeper in her maze.

For several days now he had been thinking about her. Has she been happy? What does she look like now? Like a middle-aged woman? That's unlikely. She always knew how to take care of herself. Does she still remember me? Does her husband, that fellow with a rabbit face, really love her? Would she like to see me? Will my reappearance disturb her? What does she do? Still working as a translator in the information office of the sewing machine factory?

He hadn't asked his siblings about Beina, and nobody had mentioned her either. But he was determined to see her before returning to America. He wouldn't expect to rekindle her feelings for him. All he wanted was to see her once more so that he could preserve her in his memory as a lovely woman beyond his reach, as someone who still possessed his soul, so that the flames of inspiration would blaze in him again.

On Sunday morning he set out for Daoli District, for Beina's home. He walked the entire two miles, first along Thriving Peace Street and then along Worker and Peasant Boulevard. The poplars on the sidewalks were twice as large as when he had last seen them, but most buildings alongside the streets were grimier as if coated with coal dust. Since coming back, he had taken some herbal boluses that helped relieve his allergy, so he could breathe normally now. He turned onto a small lane after he passed the sewing machine factory, which, according to one of the signs on the gate pillars, now manufactured motorcycles as well. He found Beina's bungalow easily, which was tucked away behind two rows of tenements and which he had thought might have been torn down. This Japanese-style house had appeared in his mind from time and time, usually surrounded by cherry blossoms and tulips, but now, standing before it, he saw only a few aspens that seemed to have withered. The grape arbor and espalier that used to shade the east side of the house were gone, replaced by a small garden grown with eggplants, bell peppers, tomatoes, fava beans. The large willow under which he had often watched Beina's window on the second floor looked ragged, as if it had been struck by lightning, its stringy branches floating in the breeze. He stood under the tree for a while to collect himself. Then with a throbbing heart he climbed up the brick steps and knocked on the door. He backed up a little, his stomach aflutter.

A noise came from inside, and a svelte young woman in a pastel sundress came out. She looked familiar, but Nan wasn't sure if he had ever met her. "Who are you looking for?" she asked in a voice full of sleep, her eyes fixed on him.

"Beina Su. This is still her home, isn't it?"

" Sure. Do I know you?"

"I'm Nan Wu."

The woman's eyes widened with a dreamy light. "Oh, I heard of you. Come in. I'm Beiya, Beina's half sister."

She showed him into the spic-and-span living room. Once he had sat down on a chintz sofa, she asked what he'd like to drink, tea or beer. The latter was a household beverage in Harbin, enjoyed by both men and women, even by children. "Just boiled water will be fine," Nan told her.

Having placed a cup of tepid water before him, she sat down and said, "So you went with Beina for some time, didn't you? In fact, she often mentioned you. Didn't you go to America in the eighties?"

"Yes, twelve years ago."

Nan scrutinized her face. Her little nose and thick-lashed eyes didn't resemble Beina's at all. A baby boy in blue open-seat pants was playing with a rubber ball in the room. He wagged his fleshy buttocks as he crawled and toddled around, chasing the ball. Beiya lifted him up and sat him on her lap.

"Your sister men-mentioned me?" Nan 's voice caught. He lifted the cup and took a gulp, the water reeking of chlorine.

"Yes. She said you must be a rich man by now."

"I'm just getting by."

"So you haven't met Beina in America?"

"What? You mean she's in the States too?"

"Yes, in Illinois."

"She's there alone?"

"No, with her family."

"When did she leave?"

"About five years ago."

"Oh, if only I had known." Stupefied, he suddenly felt drained. A strange emotion overcame him, as if he had been taken in. He asked for Beina's address and phone number, which her half sister jotted down for him with a red fountain pen. By her manner and knowing smile he guessed she knew Beina had once turned down his proposal. In her voice there seemed a touch of sadness and sympathy.

"How is she doing in Illinois?" he managed to ask.

"She complains a lot. She's working hard to support her family."

"In the beginning it's always hard. You have to struggle to put down roots in America. Usually it takes ten years to settle down."

" So you already have a green card?" "I'm naturalized."

"That's awesome. My sister hasn't got her green card yet."

"That shouldn't be difficult for her." He grimaced.

He wanted to ask more about Beina, but restrained himself. The baby was hungry and wanted to suckle, so Nan seized the moment Beiya turned to give her breast to her son and got up to take his leave.

On his way back he felt dazed, dragging himself eastward absent-mindedly. His hand patted the trunks of the poplars lined along the sidewalk as he passed them. Some pedestrians turned to look at him as if he were a lunatic. Approaching home, he forgot to enter the compound through the back alley. Instead, he walked into the front gate and even nodded at the people sitting in the guard office. One man recognized him and pointed him out for the others in the room. A few men gathered at the opened window to observe Nan, who was an overseas Chinese now. They whispered, "Look at his face, so pink. He must've drunk cow's milk every day."

Nan pretended he hadn't heard them. However, the moment he rounded the corner of the first building, Uncle Zhao appeared, holding a galvanized kettle. The mousy old man, pock-faced and beetle-browed, froze midstride, then approached Nan, saying, "Big nephew, you don't remember me? No? You have such a short memory."

Nan recognized him, but also remembered his father's admonition to avoid this old codger. He forced a smile, his face blushing blotchily. "Of course I know you, Uncle Zhao. How are you?"

"I'm good. When did you come back? Why didn't your father breathe a word?" He looked upset, a frown gathering on his bulging forehead.

"I didn't tell him about my return either. I'm on a business trip and dropped in to see my parents." " Have you been home for days?"

"No, I arrived yesterday." Nan had to lie to exonerate his father. "Uncle Zhao, I've got to go. My mother's waiting for me."

"I understand." Despite saying that, the old man looked sour, his face a little crumpled as if Nan had slighted him.

Uncle Zhao phoned early that afternoon to invite Nan and his father over for dinner the next evening. Nan's father kept thanking him while apologizing for Nan 's inability to come. He said, "He's leaving tomorrow morning. He didn't plan to come home. He just took a break from his business engagement in Beijing…No, this evening is out of the question. We're going to Peacock Pavilion for a family gathering. Nan hasn't seen his nephew and niece yet.…You see, he's really in a hurry… Ahem, why did you say that? Of course he's grateful. Only because he doesn't have time to see anybody here. Listen, Old Zhao, he brought back something for you. I won't tell you what it is now…Don't work up your temper like this, all right?… I'll see you soon." He hung up.

Nan was uneasy about his father's promise to Uncle Zhao and said, "What are you going to give him?"

" That will be up to you. How much do you want to spend?" His father grinned, a tea leaf on his eyetooth.

"I don't have time to get anything for him."

"No problem. You can leave some money with me, and I'll buy a gift for him and say you brought it back."

"But he'll be able to tell it's a hoax."

"Don't worry about that. Give me two hundred dollars."