by Hualing Nieh
Purpose of application: Permanent residency
Date of application: 8 December 1968
Previous residences (from 16 years of age): ...
So many dates, so many addresses. I don’t read it all the way through. I pass the form back to the man in dark glasses. He opens the folder and replaces the form. Inside the folder are many more forms. He presses the folder shut with his two hands and shrugs. ‘Helen, are there any mistakes in the form?’
‘My name is Mulberry. I haven’t used the name Helen for a long time.’
‘Mulberry - foreign names sure sound funny. Now, let’s get back to business.’
He opens the folder, studies the contents, then shuts it again. ‘This is the information we obtained from our investigation of you. If you want to apply for permanent residency, you must go through an investigation. We still don’t know the result of the investigation. We want to continue investigating. Now we want a deposition from you.’ He motions to the secretary. She immediately poises her hands on the typewriter keyboard.
‘Helen, please raise your right hand and repeat the oath after me.’
I raise my right hand.
‘I, Helen Mulberry Shen, on July 17, 1969, do solemnly swear . . .’
‘I, Helen Mulberry Shen, on July 17, 1969, do solemnly swear . . .’
‘That what I am about to say is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth . . .’
‘That what I am about to say is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth . . .’
‘So help me God.’
‘So help me God.’
‘Or else I will fully submit to punishment by American Law.’
‘Or else I will fully submit to punishment by American law.’
Da-da-da. The typewriter types each word.
‘Now, I want to ask you some questions. What is your name?’
‘Mulberry Shen.’
‘I’m sorry. Please use the name Helen Mulberry Shen. What is your nationality?’
‘Chinese.’
‘When were you born?’
‘October 16, 1929.’
‘What is your father’s name?’
‘Sang Wan-fu.’
‘When did he commit suicide?’
‘October 7, 1948.’
‘Why did he commit suicide?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Was he a Communist?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What is your mother’s name?’
‘Sang Chin-chih.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Mainland China.’
‘Is she a Communist?’
‘She wasn’t a Communist when I left the mainland. After that, I don’t know.’
‘What did she do before she married your father?’
‘She was a prostitute.’
‘Are you in contact with her?’
‘In the beginning, we wrote several times. Later, we stopped.’
‘What is your younger brother’s name?’
‘Sang Pao-tz’u.’
‘When did he leave Nanking to go to the Communist areas?’
‘October 6, 1948, the day before my father committed suicide.’
‘Is he a Communist?’
‘When he was in Nanking, I don’t think he was a Communist.’
‘Why did he go to the Communist areas?’
‘He couldn’t survive at home.’
‘Are you in contact with him?’
‘No. He died in the Korean War.’
‘When did you leave Nanking to go to Peking?’
‘December 1948. It was after my father died. I don’t remember the exact date.’
‘At that time did you know Peking was encircled by the Communists?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you a Communist at that time?’
‘No.’
‘Did you go to Peking to work for the Communists?’
‘No.’
‘Why did you flee to an encircled city?’
‘I couldn’t survive in Nanking. My only way out was Peking.’
‘What’s your husband’s name?’
‘Shen Chia-kang.’
‘Was he a Communist?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘What did the Taiwan police want him for?’
‘He embezzled government funds.’
‘Why did you hide in the attic as well?’
‘To be with him.’
‘Were you guilty?’
‘I wasn’t guilty of any crime I know of.’
‘Do you know a person by the name of Chao T’ien-k’ai?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he a Communist?’
‘When he was on the mainland, some people said he was a Nationalist. When he got to Taiwan, the Nationalists said he was a Communist. I really don’t know which he was.’
‘Why was he sent to prison?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you help him?’
‘No.’
‘Someone said you saw him the day before he was arrested.’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did you meet?’
‘In the Little Moonlight Cafe in Taipei.’
‘Why did you see him?’
‘We were classmates from Nanking, and went together for a while. I ran into him on the street in Taipei, and we went to the Little Moonlight Cafe for a cup of coffee.’
‘Did you commit adultery with him?’
‘No.’
‘Whom did you commit adultery with?’
‘. . .’
‘In Taiwan, did you commit adultery with Ts’ai Ch’eng-te?’
‘. . .’
‘Did you commit adultery with Ts’ai Ch’eng-te?’
‘. . .’
‘Did you commit adultery with Ts’ai Ch’eng-te?’
The two black lenses move toward me threateningly.
‘Please answer my question.’
‘I was intimate with Mr. Ts’ai for a time.’
‘I’m sorry. Please answer the question again. You cannot use generalizations like “was intimate.” I am investigating your behavior. “Committing adultery” is behavior. You must use a definite “yes” or
“no” in reply to my questions. Did you commit adultery with Ts’ai Ch’eng-te?’
‘Yes.’
‘Define the words: “commit adultery.”’
‘When a woman and a married man or a man and a married woman sleep together, that’s adultery.’
‘You should change “sleep together” to “have sexual intercourse.” Please say it again.’
‘When a woman and a married man, or a man and a married woman have sexual intercourse, that’s adultery.’
‘Was Ts’ai Ch’eng-te married?’
‘His wife was dead.’
‘Were you married?’
‘Yes.’
‘When did you and Ts’ai Ch’eng-te first have sexual intercourse?’
‘I don’t remember the exact date. I only recall it was after we left the funeral parlor.’
‘What you’re saying is, after you saw his wife put in the coffin?’
‘Yes.’
‘So that’s how it was. How many times did you have sexual intercourse with Ts’ai Ch’eng-te?
‘I don’t remember. That was ten years ago.’
‘How often did you have sexual intercourse?’
‘There wasn’t a definite schedule.’
‘How long did intercourse last each time?’
‘I don’t know. I’d fall asleep after intercourse. I wouldn’t look at my watch.’
‘Have you ever participated in any anti-American activity?’
‘No.’
‘Are you now a Communist?’
‘No.’
‘Are you a leftist?’
‘No.’
‘Are you loyal to the American government?’
‘I’m Chinese.’
‘But you’re applying for permanen
t residency in America. Are you loyal to the American government?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there anything else you would like to explain?’
‘No.’
The man in the dark glasses signals with his hands. The electric typewriter stops.
‘OK. The Immigration Service must continue its investigation. You’ll have to await the final decision.’
‘When will that be?’
‘I don’t know. The investigative process must go through related Chinese and American channels. We still have to interview many different kinds of people, and gather information on you from various sources. Only then can we reach a decision: permanent residency or deportation.’
‘Whom are you interviewing?’
‘Some are your friends. Some are people you don’t know.’
‘Even if they are friends, they don’t necessarily know me.’
‘That doesn’t make any difference. What we want to investigate isn’t your state of mind, your emotions, or your motivations. I’ll say it again: what we want to investigate is your behaviour. And that can be observed by anybody. Now please make a fingerprint on the deposition.’
I make a fingerprint with my thumb on the deposition.
‘Excuse me. I’ll have to have you sign this as well.’
I sign ‘Helen Mulberry Shen’ on the deposition.
‘Good luck, Helen.’ The man in dark glasses stands up and thrusts his hand across the grey steel desk to shake hands.
I am running on top of the stone wall in Nanking. The sun is about to set over the lake. Rocks are strewn at the base of the city wall. On each rock perches a white cat with black tail. The city wall is crumbling about to fall, about to fall - about to fall down on top of all those white cats with black tails. I turn and run toward the Temple of the Crowing Cock. Where is the Temple? And where is the old monk who rings the bell? A man in dark glasses chases me on the stone city wall. First one, then two, then three, then four, then five . . . close behind me, a file of men in dark glasses - all bald, with pointed chins and wearing dark suits. I turn around again and run toward the lake. The stone wall is about to fall down on the cats’ backs. The cats glare at me. The men in dark glasses point at me shouting, ‘(Alien) 89-785-462. if you want to run, you’d better step on the cats’ backs!’ The stone wall collapses, the cats with the white bodies and black tails disappear. Corpses lie in heaps under the stone. My father, my brother, Chia-kang, my mother. Did mother die, too? Uncle Ts‘ai? Did he die, too? He just married a young girl in Taiwan. He can’t die! I step on the naked corpses as I run, leaving an imprint of my foot on each soft and pliant body and I babble, ‘I treated you badly when you were alive and now you’re dead and I still step on you. But I can’t help it - I have to get away!’ As I step on Chia-kang’s body, he suddenly sits up. He doesn’t speak but just looks at me laughing silently. Sang-wa stands far off to the side and points at my naked body yelling, ‘Prostitute. The prostitute is going to give birth to a bastard!’ ‘I’m your mother. Come over here! We’ll start a new life together.‘ I am screaming but no sound comes out. I look up to see Chiang I-po in a little boat on the lake. I call out, ‘I-po! I-po! Come over here and take me back!’ I still can’t make any sound. I must already be dead. Only the dead can’t make any sound. I’m already dead - dead - dead . . .
Last night I took too many sleeping pills, and had a nightmare. Now, I’m still dazed; I grope my way into the bathtub. As I sink down into the water, I become a new woman—my headache, all my pains vanish. All feelings of suspicion, fear, and guilt disappear. The water warms my whole body. I am translucent as the water.
It is wonderful to be alive. The elm, the rays of the sun and the squirrels outside the window are also alive. The water laps against my breasts. I suddenly discover they have grown a little: ripe and full, firm and supple, breasts men have fondled. I lightly rub my nipple with my finger. My nipple quivers, then stiffens.
After getting out of the tub I open all the windows, doors, turn on the lights, the stereo and the TV. The whole world comes to me.
‘The commander of the space capsule for the moon landing requests that everyone, no matter who you are or where in the world you are, remain silent for one moment, to meditate on the events of the last few hours and in your own way express the gratitude in your heart . . . those words were just spoken by astronaut Aldrin on the surface of the moon. Now the astronauts are preparing for the moonwalk ...’‘... the birds singing wildly
the flowers dizzily bloom
You, what a happy, happy feeling . . .’
The astronauts are ready to descend. The singer on the record croons along merrily. Carrying a small overnight bag, Chiang I-po tiptoes through the open door of my apartment. There’s a movie screen tucked under his arm. He closes the door gently. Braced in the doorway he stares at me without speaking. After a moment he says: ‘What’s happened to you? You’re not acting like yourself!’
‘Professor, what’s happened to you?’ I am standing naked in the middle of the room, right under the light, facing a painting on the wall: a large lion embracing a naked woman in its paws - the woman, her legs slightly bent, lies on her back looking up at the sky; the lion rubs her breast with his ear.
‘I’m fine. This morning, I went to church. In the afternoon I played tennis for a while and beat a young guy!’
‘I think there’s something really wrong with you, Professor.’
‘What’s that? I have a physical every July 7th on my birthday. My blood pressure and heart are both normal. Not only that, but this year when more mentally ill Chinese than ever are jumping off buildings committing suicide, here I am totally sane!’
‘What? There’s a woman in front of you and you’re sitting there talking about mental health? Isn’t that a little bit weird?’
I-po laughs. ‘What’s the hurry. Anyway, you won’t escape from Monkey’s grasp tonight!’ He switches to English, ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’ He points to the screen on the floor.
‘. . . Sea of Tranquility basecamp, Sea of Tranquility basecamp, this is Houston Control Center. Aldrin, please tell us, at this moment what is your exact position on the surface? . . .’‘... I don’t want this mad, mad world,
this mad, mad, mad, mad world . . .’
A police siren begins to shriek.
I-po switches off the TV and turns up the volume of the stereo. ‘We’re Chinese. What do Americans on the moon have to do with us? Let’s listen to Golden Voice sing. When I left the mainland she was really popular . . .’Here the morning is free
Here the morning is good
Rice vendors far away
Fruit hawkers far away . . .
He sings along in falsetto with Golden Voice as he sets up the screen. He takes the projector out of the bag and fishes around for the movie reel. He lowers his voice. ‘The only people who live in this apartment house are either widows or old maids. Every time I come to see you, I feel as if they are all watching me. As I was carrying this stuff up the back stairs I ran into your landlady. She looked at the stairs and then at what I was carrying. I felt foolish going on, but I couldn’t turn around, so I just kept on walking toward your apartment with my back to her. When I turned around finally, I saw her standing in her doorway, glaring at me. Her TV was on and behind her on the screen I saw a close up of a black woman’s face, her mouth wide open as if she were pleading for help, but there was no sound, the volume had been turned off. The landlady stood at her end of the corridor and I stood at the other end. She stared at me and I stared at the black woman who couldn’t make a sound. Boy, that was weird. I suddenly started laughing and she waved and said, “Have a good time, Professor,” I took off my hat and replied, “Thank you, madam!” and strutted in here with these porn flicks.’
I pour him some gin and fix myself a Bloody Mary. Still naked, I sit next to him on the sofa. His eyes are riveted on the porn flick, and he doesn’t notice that I am drinking. I have never drunk before. It is as
if he doesn’t know there is a naked woman by his side. The movie shows various positions for intercourse: two girls making love; two men making love; a man and a woman; and a group of men and women. I-po’s body begins to stir and twitch. The Golden Voice is singing about a pair of phoenixes flying up to heaven.
The red light atop the police car flickers onto the window like blood splattering.
I-po’s hands and mouth race over my body. I spill my Bloody Mary on myself. He licks my body with his tongue. “Hey, bloody woman, why are you drinking today?”
I struggle out of his embrace and throw the empty glass to the floor. I run into the bathroom and turn on the faucet in the tub. The night breeze blows in the window. I stretch out in the tub. I-po walks in naked. I wash him, touch him, kiss him, lick him. He bends over me; he is breathing hard. The cool water covers our bodies. He suddenly crawls out and runs into the next room. When he returns, he is wearing a rubber. I repeat my performance: touching him, kissing him, licking him . . .
He slips inside me.
‘I’m pregnant.’
He suddenly stops. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘The doctor’s already verified it.’
‘That’s impossible. I always wear a rubber.’
‘Don’t you remember? When we were in the tub, the rubber slipped. I pulled it out of my vagina but it was empty.’
‘You’ll have to get an abortion immediately!’
‘That’s illegal.’
‘You’ll have to get an abortion immediately!’
‘The Immigration Service is investigating you.’
‘What for? I’ve been an American citizen for a long time!’ He goes soft inside me.
‘They’re investigating you because we committed adultery.’ I tell him about the Immigration Service’s questioning me.
‘It’s better that we don’t see each other.’ He pulls himself out of my body.
‘You’re lying on top of me right now, Professor!’
He laughs. ‘You are my weakness: I can’t do without you!’
‘Then move in with me!’
‘I can’t do that. Betty and I are Catholics. We can’t get a divorce; I have to protect my teaching position. Anyway, I’m too used to my freedom. I must retain some dignity in front of my friends. You know I wouldn’t do anything rash.’