A Free Life (61 page)

A few days later Moli's bone marrow was injected into Hailee. The child's initial reaction was disheartening. She ran a high fever, and fluid was building up in her lungs, which made her wheeze. An X-ray showed her heart was enlarged considerably. She had to be kept in intensive care. The doctors at Emory Hospital, where Hailee stayed, said these problems were normal after a bone marrow transplant and it was too early to conclude that the treatment had failed. The Mitchells kept their fingers crossed.

Then, a week later, Hailee's fever subsided some and a soft sheen returned to her cheeks. When she smiled, a sparkle appeared in her eyes again. Her lungs began to clear and the size of her heart was shrinking. All the tests indicated that the transplanted bone marrow had been producing new blood cells. Now, positively, her leukemia was in remission.

Hailee's leukemia was cured eventually, and Mei Hong became another of her godmothers, though the Wus still avoided her.

IN EARLY JUNE, Nan had won a prize in a raffle at Grand Panda Supermarket. He was offered the plane fare for a round trip from Atlanta to Beijing. By now he had become a U.S. citizen and would have no difficulty getting a tourist visa from the Chinese consulate in Houston. Should he go back to visit? He asked his wife, who disliked the idea. Then should they let the tickets, worth $650, be wasted?

Nan begged Pingping to allow him to go back for a short visit. It was so hot these days that the restaurant didn't have much business. With the help of Chef Mu, everything would be all right at the Gold Wok. But Pingping wouldn't let him leave. He continued pleading with her for a few weeks, to no avail. Finally he said he wanted to see his parents before they died. Those words made his wife relent.

Nan decided to depart within a week. He wondered if he should visit his parents-in-law in Jinan City as well, but Pingping, after giving thought to that, told him not to-she wanted him to come back as soon as possible. She planned to return and see her parents once she was naturalized. Nan promised he'd make a quiet trip and come back in just a week or so. She also warned him not to speak against the Chinese government publicly. In the past the police had often questioned his siblings about his activities abroad. Not until two years ago had they stopped harrying them, because his father had assured the authorities that Nan had "cleaned up his act" and was no longer a dissident.

What Pingping didn't know was that Nan wanted to return to China for another purpose also-to see Beina. He didn't intend to resume a relationship with her; he just needed that woman's face and voice to rekindle his passion so that he could write poetry. He needed the vision of an ideal female figure for his art, just like a painter who uses a model. Yes, he wanted to use her just as she had once used him.

Nan boarded a Boeing 737 bound for Beijing one morning in late July. As the plane taxied toward the runway, somehow he didn't feel excited. He looked around and saw that almost half the passengers were Chinese, and nobody paid heed to the imminent takeoff. He remembered the intense excitement he and the other passengers had experienced twelve years ago when he flew for the first time in his life, from Beijing to San Francisco. As the plane was taking off, many of them had applauded and some had leaned aside toward the portholes to catch through the ragged clouds a bird's-eye view of the cityscape of the capital, which tilted while the plane banked a little. He also remembered how he and his fellow travelers, most of whom were students, had been nauseated by a certain smell in the plane- so much so that it had made some of them unable to swallow the inflight meal of Parmesan chicken served in a plastic dish. It was a typical American odor that sickened some new arrivals. Everywhere in the United States there was this sweetish smell, like a kind of chemical, especially in the supermarket, where even vegetables and fruits had it. Then one day in the following week Nan suddenly found that his nose could no longer detect it. Another memory of his first flight brought a smile to his face. Like some of the passengers crossing the Pacific Ocean for the first time, after eating the lunch he had wiped the plastic fork and knife clean and noticed people looking at one another and wondering what to do with these things. Some of them put the knives and forks into their pockets or handbags, carrying them all the way to their destinations in America, because they couldn't imagine that all the plastic containers and tools were disposable. They had no idea what kind of plentitude and waste they were going to encounter in this new land.

This trip, however, excited Nan in a different way. He planned to visit his friend Danning in Beijing, then his parents in Harbin, where Beina must be living as well. He hadn't told any of them about his return and meant to give them a surprise.

He brought along a poetry anthology, The Voice That Is Great Within Us, which he read from time to time during the flight. But he dozed off frequently since he hadn't slept well the night before. He was glad he was seated in an exit row and had more leg room. On his left lounged a lumpy-faced man, who was on his way back to his job in Shanghai but would stop in Beijing for a day or two on business. The man introduced himself as Yujing Fang and complained he couldn't smoke the whole way. Because he was in a window seat, unable to talk to others, now and then he tried to converse with Nan. He said he had earned an M.B.A. from the University of Chicago and worked for GE in China. But his wife and two children lived in New Jersey, and he could visit them a few times a year, plane fares paid by the company.

"That's hard," Nan said. "I mean, to be separated from your family."

"Yes, in the beginning just the phone bills would cost five hundred dollars a month, but now I use phone cards and we're accustomed to the separation."

"Why don't you find a job in the States?"

"My position in Shanghai is important and lucrative. I manage a branch of our company there."

"Do they pay you an American salary?" "Of course."

"Then you must be a millionaire."

"Truth be told, I don't count pennies when I go shopping." "Tell me, what are the fashionable gifts in China at the moment?" " Color TV sets are still presentable. Air conditioners, digital cameras, computers-ah, yes, vitamins." "Do people take vitamin pills?"

" Sure. Twenty bottles of multiple vitamins can grease a large palm. Wisconsin ginseng is always popular too."

"Life must be better for many people in China now. Few of them could afford those supplements ten years ago."

"Another very expensive present is just coming into fashion in Shanghai."

" Which is?"

"Enemas."

" What did you say?"

"Enemas, having your intestines rinsed once in a while."

"Why?"

"To prevent cancer and other diseases." "But how can they be a gift?"

"That's easy. You buy a book of tickets for enemas at a hospital and give it to another person who can go there for the treatment."

"I see." Nan chuckled, still thinking this was odd. Maybe only people in Shanghai would use such a present.

"It's expensive, though," said Yujing. "Only rich people, like entrepreneurs, athletes, and actors, can afford to have an enema regularly."

"Still, how could I give my dad a gift like that?"

"Oh, I thought you meant to bribe an official or some big shot. Actually, this enema thing might just be a passing fad. Last year electric shavers were all the rage, but they're already passe. By the way, for youngsters, brand-name clothes and shoes are always welcome."

"Like what kind?"

"Like Polo shirts and Nike sneakers."

Nan felt lucky that he hadn't bought any presents for his parents and siblings. If he had, he'd have picked two or three foolproof cameras, a few calculators, a pair of electronic keyboards for his nephew and niece, and a dozen wristwatches. According to his fellow traveler, most of those were no longer appropriate. Nan had $3,000 cash on him, planning to give each member of his family a few banknotes, real American dollars. That was a bad idea, according to Pingping, who feared that her parents-in-law would keep the money quietly and then tell people that Nan hadn't brought back anything for them. At most the old man and woman, both tightfisted, might spend some of the cash on food, for which no one could know they had taken money from Nan. It would have been far better if he had bought them some high-quality clothes so that everyone could see it plainly when his parents donned an American coat or jacket or hat. But Nan had left in too much of a hurry to visit any clothing stores. Besides, he knew nothing about brand names and wanted to travel light.

For the rest of the trip he was reluctant to talk more with Yujing, fearing the fellow might ask him about his profession. He wouldn't mind saying he was a restaurateur, but it would be embarrassing to admit he had only one employee. So whenever Yujing tried to chat again, Nan would appear tired and give a yawn. He kept his eyes shut and nodded off most of the time like the old woman with knotted hands seated on his right, who slept nearly all the way.

BEIJING was now hardly recognizable to Nan. He got out of a taxi at the train station and found out the schedule of the train bound for Harbin. He planned to stay one day in the capital and depart for home the next morning. Outside the station, so many automobiles were running on the streets that he was a bit unnerved and stopped to observe the rushing traffic for a while. In the distance several cranes stood motionless, like dark skeletons, over buildings encaged by scaffolding. Around him people were hustling and bustling. To his surprise, there were yellow cabs here too, like in New York City. The plaza before the temple-like station was more crowded and more chaotic than it had been twelve years before when he had come to apply for a visa for the United States. Here and there gathered knots of young men in gray- or blue-collared T-shirts, some sitting on bedrolls and smoking pensively, and some lying on newspaper spread on the concrete slabs and dozing off. Apparently these country people had come here to seek work. Their leathery faces showed the kind of numbness that reminded Nan of the homeless in Atlanta. He wondered if there were soup kitchens in Beijing. Maybe not.

Nan called Danning Meng from a pay phone. On hearing of his arrival, Danning turned ecstatic and gave him directions to his home, insisting Nan stay with him. Nan agreed. He hailed a taxi and headed for Danning's place in the Hsidan area. There was so much traffic that bicycles seemed to move faster than automobiles. Now and then the cabdriver beeped his horn at the pedestrians who didn't step aside fast enough to make way for the car. At a red light a few vendors stepped over to hawk grapes, ice lollies, peaches, tomatoes.

To Nan 's amazement, Danning lived in a small traditional compound with a scarlet gate, which, topped with black ceramic tiles, was in the middle of a high brick wall. A leaf of the gate was ajar, so Nan went in unannounced. Inside was a small stone-flagged quadrangle, formed by four houses. He hadn't expected Danning to live in such a spacious home, which was old-fashioned, a rare find nowadays. Two crab apple trees stood beside the entrance to the main house, and several wooden pots planted with kumquats and bamboos sat alongside the wing houses. "Anybody home?" shouted Nan.

Danning Meng stepped out of his living room and hugged Nan so tightly that the guest almost let out a moan. "At last we're together again!" the host said with emotion. Though thicker and a bit gray now, he hadn't aged much.

" You live like the nouveau riche, such a nice place," Nan said, beaming.

"I paid thirty thousand dollars for this piece of property, but we may have to move soon." Danning couldn't stop looking at Nan, and his smiling eyes curved a little, their outside corners drooping. He took Nan into the living room furnished with antique carved furniture.

"Why give up this place? It's a luxurious home, better than any apartment," Nan said the moment he sat down on a sofa.

" A company wants to build a hotel in this area, so the entire neighborhood will be gone in a year or two."

"What a shame. This quadrangle is the real old Beijing."

Danning's daughter, Weiwei, stepped in, called Nan "Uncle Wu," and then told her father that she had dragged Nan 's suitcase into the guest room, which was in the east wing house and adjacent to Danning's study and their family room. The girl wore glasses and looked studious and undernourished. Though already fifteen, she was so thin that she seemed well under the age of puberty. Her father told her to prepare a basin of warm water so that Uncle Wu could freshen up.

As the two friends were talking, Nan felt an itch in his throat. Unconsciously he massaged the area below his Adam's apple with his thumb and forefinger. He didn't give more thought to this discomfort and just kept drinking the jasmine tea Danning poured him.

When Weiwei got the water ready, Nan went out to wash. On a stone bench under a crab apple tree sat a brass basin, beside which were a folded towel and a plastic case containing a bar of green soap. Nan soaked the towel in the water and rubbed his face and neck with it.

Quickly he went back into the house, eager to resume conversing with his friend. Although he felt refreshed after the washing, his throat still itched. His breathing went rough, but he tried to ignore it.

Over tea the two of them caught up with each other. Danning now worked at the Beijing Writers' Association and had been writing a script for a TV series. He disliked the show because the story was set in the Ming dynasty, six hundred years ago, but it paid well, much more than fiction. "Why write an ancient story?" Nan asked.

"It's safe to do that. Many, many writers are working on ancient stuff nowadays."

"Isn't it hard to make such work literary?" Nan said in earnest.

Danning slapped the top of his thigh and laughed. "If you lived here, Nan, you'd have to forget about literature. The higher-ups want us to write about dead people and ancient events because this is a way to make us less subversive and more inconsequential. It's their means of containing China 's creative energy and talents. The saddest part is that in this way we can produce only transient work."