Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square

by Lisa Zhang Wharton

  The Square is still heavily guarded, especially near the Forbidden City. Armed soldiers wearing green uniforms stand in front of the maroon walls of the Forbidden City as though they were rows of evergreen trees. Since tourists are few, the square is still scrubbed clean. Burned buses and shattered military vehicles were towed away soon after the Massacre. The flags along the reviewing balcony of the Forbidden City are flapping in the wind, generating hollow, alien sounds like hundreds of suffering souls murmuring in the distance.

  Baiyun follows Dagong. She is not a traditional Chinese whose women walk several steps behind the men. It is Martial Law that prevents them from strolling shoulder to shoulder. Dagong complains for the third time:

  “I have to turn my head around every five seconds, literally every five seconds to see if you are all right. Just in case you might be kidnapped or seduced by one of those good looking soldiers!” But soon he resumes his pace and does not stop, as that could be taken as evidence of assembly.

  “Soldiers, air-headed scare-crows. Who needs them?” Baiyun snaps back. Then she looks toward the Forbidden City and the Golden Water Bridge in front of Chairman Mao’s portrait. Her steps are getting shorter. She stops and stares at the bridge. It is the first time she has returned to the square since the morning of June 4, 1989.

  “Who knows? You always go for the handsome ones.” Expecting a playful blow to his back from Baiyun, Dagong walks faster. But he is wrong. Baiyun does not react at all.

  She stares at the Forbidden City and the Golden Water Bridge and her mind is full of images. Oh, where was that head? During the night or the morning of the Massacre, she saw a smashed head on top of the middle pillar of the bridge’s right railing. Poor head, many bullets had pierced it. It sat on the top of the pillar as though it wanted to proclaim its dignity. There was nothing left in the skull; it was just a black hole. She imagines hundreds of skulls approaching from the far side of the arched bridge. They are crying. Tears pour out of their eye sockets. Blood sweeps them forward.

  She squeezes her eyes shut and turns around, then stares back at the immense empty square. That was where her mother’s body lay fallen. The thought makes her recoil. During the night of the Massacre, with the square full of people, they all locked arms to form a human barricade. They thought they could deflect the bullets and stop the tanks. Then came the bullets and tanks and the blood and skulls. They had to retreat and narrowly escaped the final ‘Death Ring’ inside which hundreds even thousands people had lost their lives. As Baiyun ran away from Tiananmen Square, from the place she had made home in the last month, she felt a sense of loss. It was not just the loss of her mother, the failure of the movement. It was just a loss of focus, a loss of a sense of purpose in life. After this, where would her life begin?

  After Meiling’s memorial service, Lao Zheng came to talk to Baiyun. “It’s so sad that your mother died. I’m very sorry, Baiyun.” Lao Zheng had said, wrapping his arm around Baiyun and squeezing her. “Since your mother has died, who else can take care of you?” Lao Zheng held Baiyun against him. She was too weak to resist, although his manner, his cigarette and the alcohol smell of his leather jacket annoyed her. “Are you going to marry me?” He asked and touched his lips to her forehead. “No, no!” Baiyun broke away. He grinned. “There’s no hurry. It just takes a little time.”

  “Ohhh…” Baiyun screams. She covers her face with her hands and runs toward the Golden Water Bridge. She stretches her arms as though she wants to hug her mother and all of those who lost their lives during the Massacre.

  “Hey, Baiyun, come here. What are you staring at? It’s not worth giving me up for a soldier or your mother’s formal boyfriend Lao Zheng.” Baiyun’s bizarre behavior puzzles Dagong. She is too far away before he realizes she is heading in a different direction.

  He hurries toward Baiyun and sees her resting her head against the marble pillar of the bridge railing. “Baiyun, let’s go.” Then he catches a glimpse of a soldier striding toward them. “Hey, what’s going on? Are you really waiting for that soldier?” He says and becomes alert.

  “Stay away from the bridge! It’s closed during Martial Law.” The soldier shouts. Dagong runs toward Baiyun and tries to pull her away.

  “No assembly allowed! Martial law.” The soldier puts his hand on his rifle.

  “Let’s go.” Dagong grabs Baiyun’s arm. “Come on. This has gone too far. For god’s sake, don’t you give a damn about your life?”

  Baiyun locks her arms around the pillar. Looking down to the moat, she sees her face reflected in it, a blurred, distorted image in the rippling water. Her eyes are swollen, her hair tousled. She has not slept much lately and has not been successful in keeping Lao Zheng away from her. Something in him makes her like him. This frightens her. Then her mother’s face appears, excruciatingly twisted. “Baiyun, how can you do this to me? He’s mine! He’s mine!” She is struggling in boiling water and hot steam swallows her. Lao Zheng’s leering face emerges. He grins, winks and waves at her. Then there is the face of Dagong, his old pale frozen face, eyes emitting cold light. This was the face of Dagong when she first met him, the face which had been bitten, punched and had become hard as stone. Baiyun had melted his face with love. Now it is hardened again. The moat has been filled with blood. People fell into the moat during the Massacre. The officials fished the bodies out, but they cannot remove the blood from the water. The moat is the witness.

  “Comrade, you have two choices. You either leave here or die. It’s Martial Law. Anyone who disobeys will be executed.”

  Dagong leaps forward and pulls Baiyun to his chest. “Let’s go, please.”

  “Did you hear me?” The soldier shouts.

  “Yes, please. We will go in a second.”

  “No, let her leave by herself.”

  “Comrade, please. She’s crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy.” Baiyun says firmly. What is the meaning of living in a cold grave, a dead volcano? She wants to go to a place where birds sing, angels dance and she can breathe freely. After giving the Forbidden City a farewell gaze, she makes up her mind.

  “Ok, you have five seconds to get off of this bridge. One, two, three, four, five…” The soldier opens fire as Dagong and Baiyun struggle. They fall on the marble bridge and hold each other tightly. Blood soaks into the marble and creates a stain, which resembles an angel.

  Except from “Chinese Lolita”

  It was a Sunday morning. Mother said she was leaving for work. Father hollered: “You god damn woman, get out of here. Go, stay with your fucking boyfriend. You all get out of here, get out of my house!”

  Father had just awakened. His eyes were still fogged. He sat on the bed, meditated for a while, and then stood up. He stumbled a few steps toward the door and poked his head out of his room.

  “Meihua, come back. Who said you could go?” He caught me before I slipped out the door. “Go to the kitchen, and see if the garbage needs to be emptied. Goddamn shit! Why do you always have to be reminded?” Waving a filthy athletic shoe in his hand, he stared at me with his half-open, beady eyes. It seemed he might throw the shoe at my head if I did not obey him. I went to the kitchen and did as I was told.

  “Where are you going?” Father saw me put on my tight nylon sweater which showed my two small breasts, and a few dabs of blush on my round face.

  “I’m going to work!” I said and slammed the door behind me.

  It was a cold winter day. The sun moved slowly from behind the white clouds like a shy girl. Water from melting ice was dripping from the roof. “Dita, dita.” It sounded so crisp. With slightly softening soil under my feet, I opened the metal buttons on my grey down-coat and untied the blue wool scarf from my face. I breathed deeply and let the clean air enter my nostrils and flow into my lungs. What a beautiful day! I wanted to cry out. Everything was going exactly as I had planned. Father was right about mother meeting her boyfriend. But he did not know my secret. I was going to see one of mother’s boyfriends too, of course a differ
ent one. I used to call him “Uncle”.

  It was eight years since I had last seen Uncle Weiming. I had lost track of him completely, but I was quite sure that he was still working at the same place. People in China do not move until they scuff a hole deep enough to bury themselves. Therefore, what should I do if I wanted to visit him? Just go to the factory? Like the old saying says: if you want to go north, just follow the North Star. In this case I followed my instinct.

  Sitting on the bus, I gazed at the trees that passed by so fast that I wished the bus would slow down. Questions kept going through my mind. What was I doing here? Visiting mother’s old lover who had disappeared eight years ago? Begging a married 35 years old man to be my father while I was old enough to be his lover? Asking him to be my sister Mingming’s father again when Mingming did not even know he existed? It was like I was trying to pick up an old rotten melon. My only accomplishment could be to soil my hands.

  But in the last couple of weeks, a memory kept haunting me.

  It was in 1976, a few weeks after Chairman Mao had died. At an early afternoon, Uncle wandered into our one-story red brick apartment without knocking and sat down on a chair by the dining table. Father, who had used to mother’s varieties of friends, nodded stiffly and walked out of the door.

  “Uncle!” Having not seen him in two weeks, I was excited. Uncle looked at me and did not respond. “I’ll get Mom for you!” I went in front of Mom’s bedroom where door was shut closed. “Mom, Uncle is here.” I knocked.

  “Yes, just a minute.” In a while mother strolled out with a cigarette in her mouth. She closed the bedroom door (where she had a visitor) and sat next to Uncle. They both kept silent for a while.

  “Got someone new?” Uncle directed his chin toward mother’s closed bedroom.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “You pick up fast. Let me say this, if I may. I know who he is. He is a notorious asshole.”

  “OK!” Mother stood up, ran into her bedroom and rushed back with a paper box in her hand. She opened the box and smacked the whole box of photos of hers and Uncle’s onto Uncle’s face. “Get out of here, I don’t need you anymore! You’d better go back to your pretty young girlfriend!”

  Uncle rose up and strode out of the door.

  “Uncle, don’t go! Uncle, come back!” I chased him and burst into tears.

  From then on, laughter and happiness had disappeared in my life. My heart along with those memories had become frozen until now. There had been enough chaos at home. My quiet, hard-working nature had pleased mother and father. I had become such a useful child for them. Gradually I had taken over the household. I cooked, I shopped and I even managed the money. When mother had a problem, she would complain to me; when father was hungry, he would ask me to make something for him to eat. I had been used to the life and felt proud for the responsibilities until I went to college. My vision for life suddenly changed. I realized people did laugh and joke in life; life did not just consist of constant working. I felt incompetent. I needed help. But who could help me? Uncle, the long disappearing Uncle suddenly came back into my memory. “Go to see him. Go to see him.” A voice was telling me.

  The sun hid behind a cloud for a moment after I got off the bus. Bicyclists, wearing tight blue jeans and red or green down-coats, mingled with the slow moving trolleybuses on the street. The riders shrugged their shoulders. They tried to shrink into their jackets as much as possible to be sheltered from the cold wind. Bags of groceries on both sides of the bicycle handle bars bounced against the wheels. A gust of wind blew into my clothes. I shivered. I snapped closed all the buttons on my down coat, pulled up the zipper as well, and wrapped my scarf around my face.

  While walking toward the factory, I felt my heart beating faster. What was I going to say? Uncle’s involvement with my mother had not brought him good luck. Seven years ago he had been sentenced to two years community service, while mother served two years in prison for reading Western books and having an extramarital affair. Maybe he was sweeping the floor, or cleaning bathrooms now. The Deng Xiaoping government could not immediately resolve millions of cases like that. Besides, it was not even a political case. My visit could cause him more trouble.

  The dull-colored factory building gradually appeared in front of me. Although it was just a one-story, flat-roofed warehouse, it seemed as big as a mountain. A white board painted with the words “Beijing Automobile Parts Factory” was hung on the one of the pillars of the gate, glowing under the sun. I took out a piece of toilet paper in my pocket and wrote down the address. Yes, I had arrived, I said to myself, as cold sweat icily ran down my back.

  “Hey, girl, do you need any help?” Like a ghost, a little old man suddenly materialized in front of me.

  “I want to … want to see Wang Meiling.” I stuttered. In the panic, I told him my mother’s name.

  “Who?” After returning to his little station next to the factory gate, the guard glanced at me over the top of his glasses and blinked his raisin eyes.

  I did not answer him instead I stared.

  “Oh, I know who you are talking about. She’s not here anymore. She…she…was arrested years ago.” Then he leaned closer to me across the windowsill, widening his lids. “Hey, girl, do you know what kind of crime she has committed? If it were a political crime, the new government by now probably would have pardoned her. But she committed both political and sexual crimes.” Suddenly he extended his neck out of the window and spit onto the ground. “To tell the truth, I hate to dirty my mouth. I doubt if she’s ever going to be pardoned. Stay away from her!”

  I could feel my face burning down over my neck. I wanted to dig a hole on the ground to duck into. When I was just about to escape, I caught a glimpse of some uniformed workers passing the gate. One of them might have been Uncle.

  “Uncle!” I ran toward them.

  “Stop! Where is your visitor’s pass?” The guard jumped out of the station, arms akimbo. His eyes searched through my body. “Oh, I know who you are. You’re that dirty woman’s kid. I can tell from your face. Get out of here, shit!”

  I turned around, and ran away as fast as I could. When I got home, my heart was still pounding like a drum. The next day I wrote a letter to Uncle at the factory.

  Dear Uncle,

  It has been so many years since you last saw me. I do not know whether you still remember me or not; or if you do, whether you would still recognize me on the street. I am a college student now. I passed the college entrance exam and entered Beijing University. I was the number one student in my high school class and I think you would be proud of me.

  Things have hardly changed since you left. Do you still remember my sister Mingming? She is a very intelligent girl. If given a little push, she could become an outstanding student. But that has not happened. My parents are unwilling to give her any attention.

  Recently, mother has revealed to me that you are actually Mingming’s father. I am not surprised, but I wish you were kind enough to take her away.

  I am approaching adulthood. There are things I do not understand when I look back on my life. Maybe you could help me.

  Meihua

  While enjoying the excitement of this bold adventure, I could not guess if I would receive an answer to my letter. Somehow, deep in my sixth sense, I felt confident. I was quietly, secretly, waiting for a reply.

  The following Monday, there was a letter on my bed at home.

  Dear Meihua,

  I was so glad to receive your letter. I have not forgotten you. I still remember your big beautiful eyes staring at me, trying to get me to tell you stories. I can also recall vividly our long evenings together, talking about China’s future. You are one of the most beautiful memories of those turbulent years.

  Concerning Mingming, the issue is much more complicated than you can imagine. Societal pressures are too great. She could suddenly become the center of attention at school, be trashed as an evil, illegitimate child.

  I think maybe we
should meet sometime and talk. How about next Thursday, five O’clock at the Lidou Subway Station? You can write me to say whether that suits you or not.

  Fondly, Weiming

  I picked him out easily from the crowd around the subway station. His face had not changed much, high cheekbones, long straight nose and sharp eyes. His unusual curly hair made him stand out among Chinese. Age had turned him from a pale young man into a stout man with a slightly bulging belly and weathered skin. I ran toward him. When I had nearly reached him, I stopped, and said, “Uncle?” He was smiling at me, his swarthy face glowing in the dusk. I did not want to shake hands, the gesture seemed awkward to me. A hug was even more out of the question.

  Finally I uttered, “It’s nice…nice to see you.” I cast down my eyes shyly.

  “It’s nice to see you! Just like your mother, what a big girl!” He came forward and shook hands with me. “Oh!” I nearly cried out. His big hands almost crushed my fingers. Then he threw his arm around my shoulders. We walked into the subway.

  “How are you?” Turned, he looked into my eyes, and sounded so sweet.

  “I’m Ok.”

  “How is your mother?”

  “As usual.”

  “What’s new with your father, your brother and sister?”

  “As usual.”

  “How is the family situation in general?”

  “As usual.”

  “What is it about all these ‘as usual’s?”

  “Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember anything about them? Don’t you remember how horrible it is? You walked away scot-free. You walked away!” I snapped at him. Before he could react, I bolted toward the train. He followed me. We sat next to each other on a bench as the train rattled down the track. He was quietly looking at the window on the opposite side. In the reflection I could see his solemn face. No longer able to hold them back, my tears streamed down.