Calls Across the Pacific (6 page)

6.
PING-PONG DIPLOMACY

O
N A MONDAY
in February of 1972, Nina arrived at West Brunswick Adult High School. She had been in America for almost two years and her command of the English language had improved significantly. Nina was excited by the possibilities and promises of a brighter future. That day, at the beginning of her Social Studies class, the teacher posed a question: “Has anybody heard any important news?” He looked at Nina, who shook her head.

“President Nixon is starting an eight-day visit to China today,” answered another student sitting at the back of the class.

“Thank you,” the teacher nodded. “His visit could help dispel a quarter-century of mutual antagonism between these two countries,” he added, snapping his fingers emphatically. “The mysterious door of China is being opened!” he announced, looking directly at Nina, who squirmed in her seat, agitated and excited by this news.

Nina envisioned a red double door, with rows of decorative brass bosses girded on, slowly pushed ajar; she could even hear the squeaky noise of the hinges as the door swung open. She peeked past the red painted door with the row-by-row brass bosses and saw a sea of human figures in grey and dark green gradually moving forward beneath a cloudy sky.
Is my mother with them?
When she blinked, the red Chinese door vanished, and she saw only her teacher standing in front of the blackboard.

That day, the instructor asked the class to write a two-page essay on what they thought about President Nixon's visit as homework.

After school, Nina went straight home and as soon as she arrived, she hurried into the living room and turned on the television. She listened to the news about Nixon's arrival in Beijing and watched him shaking hands with Mao Zedong, but she was confused.
Why is Nixon visiting the dictator? Does Mao no longer hate Americans?
All the memories of her mother and the friends she left behind came flooding back.
One thought was uppermost in her mind:
I'll soon have a chance to see my mother again. And I can finally find out what's happened to Dahai and Rei.

Day after day she watched the news on television to follow Nixon's visit even though some of the scenes were repeated daily.
How could the Americans befriend a dictator?
Could communism admire the path of capitalism?
These questions bothered her even when she was at work. During her break, she ate the fish chowder Bob had prepared for all of the staff, but she did not taste it as her mind remained fixed on Nixon's historic visit to China.

“The chowder is absolutely delicious,” Bogdan said to Bob after he licked up every drop in his bowl. “You're the best of the best.”

“Sure I am.” Bob threw his fork up and caught it in the air. “My training has paid off. I'll open my own restaurant someday,” he said, grinning at Kent.

Nina longed only to change the subject. “Anybody hear the news lately?

There was a moment of silence. Kent placed his empty plate on the counter. “Nixon has shaken hands with Mao,” he said slowly. “Does that concern you? You're Mongolian, aren't you?”

Before Nina answered, Bogdan chuckled. “She's a fake Russian.”

“What are you talking about?” Kent looked puzzled.

“I'm not Mongolian. I came from China.” Nina went on to say, “I was given a Russian name because China and the Soviet Union were once brotherly countries.”

Bogdan smirked. “I am a
real
Russian. Perhaps my kid should have a Chinese name.”

Nina frowned and then grinned. “This is a free country. You can name your kid anything you wish.”

“Don't be upset,” Kent said as he lifted a metal basket of fries from the fryer to drain it over the rack. “I'm thinking about visiting the Great Wall.”

“You should think about opening a restaurant there.” Bob scooped shredded onions from a container and placed them into a frying pan on the stove.

“Sure, only if Mao's Red Guards don't arrest me for being a capitalist,” said Kent, placing a cup of coleslaw on a plate and passing it through the opening to a waitress.

Every night at home, Nina would write something she had thought about Nixon's visit and its possible impact on China, and how it might affect her own life. By Sunday evening, Nina had finished her school assignment. In the last paragraph, she wrote, “Nixon's visit has brought me some anticipation. Someday, I will no longer be treated as a communist traitor and I will have a chance to see my mother again, the only family member I have left in this world.”

Nina also wrote another letter to her mother. When she dropped the envelope into a mailbox, she imagined a pigeon flying first over land and then over ocean.
Will it reach my mother this time?

There was no school during the March Break. Nina spent the week at the Curtis Memorial Library browsing through the shelves of books and periodicals. One afternoon, a note on a bulletin board caught her eye. It was about a group discussion on China being held in the library at that very moment. Nina strode to the room right away. A speaker, who looked to be in his forties, was seated at a large table and was recalling his recent visit to China in front of many listeners.

“Six years ago was the beginning of the Cultural Revolution. The ocean-going freighter I worked on arrived at Nanjing. We stayed at Xiaguan Wharf.”

The storyteller's memoir brought Nina and the audience back to that scorching hot day in July of 1966. Guided by several dock workers, a group of Chinese students had boarded the American freighter, the red arm bands on their short sleeves like flames in the sun. The Red Guards asked the crew to go up to the deck and then gave each member a copy of Mao's
Little Red Book
in English.

One of the Red Guards had led a shout of “Long Live Chairman Mao!” The air was hot and humid; sweat poured out of the marine mechanic's every pore. When he scoured the serious faces of the Red Guards and observed the obedience of the other sailors, he had had to stifle his laughter. A Red Guard had then ordered everyone to open the red books to read Mao's quotations, from the “core of leadership for our cause is the Chinese Communist Party” to “First, do not fear hardship; and secondly, do not fear death.”

The voices in both Chinese and English had drifted down the Yangtze River. The mechanic had stared at the red book in his hand, sweat trickling down his cheeks. The sentence, “Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun,” had made him feel as if a string of bullets were shooting through his heart. At that moment, dark clouds had cast their shadows over the river, thunderbolts roared, and a drenching rain poured down over the freighter….

The speaker brought his audience back to the present. “That was the revolutionary education I got from China. I think everybody understands what that threatening power means.” Nina nodded. She understood well the relationship between the dictator's power and the barrel of a gun. The speaker then suggested added, “Obey the Red Guards if you visit China.”

“I have a question,” a woman asked. “Do you think Nixon's visit will help slow down the Cultural Revolution?”

Nina was all ears. She had been seeking an answer to a similar question.

“Maybe. Mao's willingness to meet with Nixon could be a signal,” answered the speaker. “Any ideas?”

“It seems ping-pong diplomacy plays well. Nixon's China game is working, but I'm wondering how the Red Guards will react to his visit,” said another person.

Nina drew in a breath. “I think, at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, Mao sanctioned the Red Guards. Later on, he sent them down to the countryside for re-education when he didn't need them anymore. Maybe many of the Red Guards have already re-examined their radical behaviours and regretted them.”

More questions came up. The subsequent discussion gave Nina another perspective on American society, where people enjoyed the freedom of expressing their ideas. Before leaving the library, she checked out several books, including
Mao and China: From Revolution to Revolution
by Stanley Karnow, and
Mao's Revolution and the Chinese Political Culture
by Richard H. Solomon. She hoped she might learn to understand why China was experiencing all these political movements that had severe consequences on the lives of about a billion people.

Nina went to the library almost every day. One day, as she sat at a table in the reading room, going through a pile of books and periodicals, she raised her head and noticed a familiar face at a table across from her. It was Bob. Several magazines in his hand, he walked over to her and perched himself on a chair beside her. “What're you reading?”

“About the Chinese revolution and American history.”

“Tough read. Mine is a no-brainer.” Bob showed her the covers of his choices:
Hot Rod
,
Baseball Digest,
and
Gourmet.

“I wish I had time for such reading.”

“You can read these if you want any old time.” Bob said, standing up. “I'll leave you to your research.”

Nina tried to resume reading, but she could not focus. She went to another shelf and chose a few copies of
Vogue, Photo,
and
Country Music Magazine
. She flipped slowly through the pages of the magazines, absorbed in the stories and photographs that she held in her hands. The eye-catching designs and vivacious colours of so much fashion, as well as the photographs of breathtaking scenery, lightened her spirit. All of the enthusiastic singers and guitar players in the
Country Music Magazine
seemed to come to life. Nina felt as if she could hear the songs playing.
Life is enjoyable,
she thought.
There is time for this kind of reading, too.

That evening at work, the hours seemed too long. She felt as if she were on an isolated island even though she was surrounded by other people.
What's wrong with me?
A sigh came from her lips.

The last customer left and the kitchen finally quieted. Nina rinsed the containers and food processors, and wiped the cutting board.

“Can you do me a favour?” Bob's voice startled her.

“What favour?” She figured he had yet another task for her before she could leave.

“Are you free in the morning? Maybe we can swap lessons. I thought maybe you could teach me Chinese, and I could help you with your English,” Bob said without pausing, as if he didn't have enough time to finish his words.

“I go to school every morning. Today is the last day of my March Break,” Nina said as she pulled off a paper towel to dry her hands. “Why are you interested in Chinese, this language that is not easy?”

“Someday, I'm going to open a restaurant in China and I want to learn to speak Chinese. So, I hope I can practise with you.” Bob grinned, and his teeth shone.

A nice smile
, she thought and felt her heart skip a beat. “What about on the weekends?”

“When can we start?” asked Bob, his voice delighted.

“How about Saturday morning?”

“That's tomorrow. I'll book a room in the library for ten o'clock in the morning. Is that okay with you?”

Nina nodded and took off her apron, hanging it on the hook behind the door. “See you tomorrow,” she said softly but cheerfully.

The following morning, Nina put on a light green blouse — her best one. Since her arrival, she had not bought any clothes; her only new clothes had come from church donations and some hand-me-downs from Eileen. She looked through her closet and pulled out a navy skirt that she knew flattered her figure. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought she was more than presentable, but maybe, she should keep up with the times a little bit more. She shrugged her shoulders, slipped into her pumps and left the house with a smile on her face.

As she entered the library, she spotted Bob waiting at a desk. He led her to the room he had reserved. They sat down and Bob placed a page on the table full of handwritten sentences. Then, he took a pen out of his front pocket.

When Nina read the first sentence, “Where is the restaurant?” she asked. “Which restaurant?”

“I'm not asking you the question.” Bob shook his head. “I'd like to learn how to ask this question in Chinese. Can you say it slowly?”

Nina said the sentence in Chinese, and Bob pronounced the words slowly, one by one. Then he asked her to say them again. Carefully attentive to her pronunciation, Bob took notes to help him remember the sounds and continued with the other sentences.

Nina read the questions and smiled. She was amazed at how practical Bob was.

“Where is the washroom?” Bob asked, in his hesitant Chinese. “Where is the train station?” “How much does this cost?” and “Do you speak English?” Since he could not always find similar English phonetic sounds, his mispronunciations made Nina giggle.

“What's funny?”