“What does the name Wham! mean?” a teenager asked referring to the rock group that had recently toured China.
“We love Coca-Cola —”
“and Kentucky Fried Chicken —”
“and Hunter!”
Lili was simultaneously amused and offended at what represented authentic American cultural exports to these Chinese.
Many were simply eager to practice English learned from weekly television broadcasts, awkwardly testing a language that demanded the use of pronouns, active and passive voice, and plurals.
“Wife is happy to meet. He is likes you.”
Lili’s attempt at Mandarin was no less bungled. Since Chinese is a tonal language with four separate pitches, it matters whether one says ma with a flat, upward, swooping, or diving inflection. In one tone it could mean “mother,” in another, “numb,” in a third, “horse,” and yet another, “scold.” The passengers laughed good-naturedly when Lili’s misplaced tones and awkward emphases brought sugar and tobacco at dinner in lieu of soup and salt. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t refused to learn Chinese as a child. Thank goodness Chi-Wen was there to smooth over gaffes.
For three days they sailed slowly east, past sampans, dugouts, and junks, glimpsing the spectacle of life along the banks of China’s largest river. From Wuhan where the 1911 revolution began, ending the last imperial dynasty, to Nanjing where Sun Yat-Sen established the first Republican government, Lili was struck by China’s contrasts: between town and city, imperial past and socialist present, ancient and modern, young and old.
She was also struck by the silences. It happened often, Lili noticed. People had a strange habit of looking up or away or lowering their voices. Then an almost palpable pall would descend, bringing conversations to an abrupt end. Not like Americans who always plunged ahead, however loudly, however awkward. But of course, in America people weren’t imprisoned for writing politically incorrect poetry or sent to the countryside for having the wrong parents.
So far, this country didn’t fit any neat romantic or political stereotype. Neither did its people. Not the T-shirted teenagers hawking on the streets, the would-be feminist in the bookstore, the ambitious young honeymooners, the idealistic university students, and least of all Chi-Wen Zhou.
Lili now understood that his aloofness had not been unfriendliness. It was a wall he needed to erect, to shield himself from the pain of the past. She sensed there were many more secrets hidden away deep within him, in places he let no one see. She wanted to penetrate the mystery of his past, yet she had to respect his reluctance to relive melancholy memories. After all, she had her own.
As they sat on the deck of the steamer drinking warm Tsingtao beer, they talked. Not as she had with Dylan — like comfortable friends — but more tentatively, both still wary of revealing too much. She told him about San Francisco, that she loved American literature and riding motorcycles, that her mother had died of cancer, that she planned to specialize in geriatrics. She didn’t discuss her problems with Trenton. She left Dylan out. Chi-Wen was interested, yet sensitive and didn’t pry.
He told her about growing up in Shanghai, that he also loved literature, especially Shakespeare, that he hoped one day to be a great doctor, that his father’s sister was his only surviving relative. He didn’t reveal the circumstances of her finding an apartment in the city so many years after living in the countryside, and he never mentioned Ni-Fu Cheng. When Lili gently sought more details, he just as gently changed the subject.
So that made them even, each had denied some closeness to the other.
“What’s going on?” Lili asked, pointing to several teens huddled in a corner of the deck.
“Traditional cricket fighting.”
“Can we see?”
Chi-Wen led her to the small crowd gathered to watch the gladiator insects spill out of enamel tea mugs into a sand-filled dish. Prodded by owners wielding long blades of grass, the tiny insects locked forelegs in a miniature wrestling match.
The crowd urged their favorites: “Shan! Come on!”
The owners signaled for silence.
Lili was amazed at the tension produced by the miniature battle.
Finally, one exhausted cricket scampered out of the arena and the owner of the defeated warrior nodded, reluctantly handing a few coins to the champion’s manager.
After the crowd dispersed, Lili remained to talk to the boys, surprised to learn they were among a growing group of unemployed youth.
“What about the ‘iron rice bowl’?” she queried, referring to guaranteed lifetime work for everyone.
“We’re ‘waiting’ for a job,” one of them explained with a smirk, “but I’ve been waiting for two years now. They only want university graduates, not someone who didn’t get through senior middle.”
“Unknot and unwind red tape by knowing the right people. That is the secret of life in China today,” his friend sneered. “A good education is not nearly as useful as an influential father. Unfortunately, I don’t have either.”
“The government says get a trading license and sell peanuts or watermelon on the street,” another complained. “But we make more money fighting crickets.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “Even though gambling is illegal.”
These boys represented the younger generation — two-thirds of the nation’s population — who, like Chi-Wen, born after the founding of the People’s Republic, could not compare the new society with the old. But she didn’t share her questions with Chi-Wen, sensing his discomfort with politics and unwilling to disturb their still tenuous relationship.
“Would you do me a favor?” she asked later that evening as they left the steamer at Nanjing and boarded the train for Suzhou.
“Of course.”
“Could you teach me tai chi?”
“It’s not something one learns overnight. It is a philosophy, a way of life. I’m a beginner, yet I’ve practiced for years.”
“I’ll be in China for a while.”
“All right, but I’ll ask a favor in return.”
“Name it.”
“Teach me to ride a motorcycle.”
“A fair cultural exchange,” Lili laughed, her bright eyes dancing. “Tomorrow we’ll find a rental shop in town.”
Beijing, China
Friday
April 21st
In a society where indoor plumbing is a luxury few enjoy, the public bath is still very much an integral part of Chinese life. For old-timers like Foreign Minister Lin and General Tong, the weekly soaking in three steamy tubs, each hotter than the last, was a ritual to be savored.
It was early evening and most of the usual bath-chamber crowd had gone home for supper. Only a few men squatted along the tile poolside, soaping their armpits or scraping at their feet with hunks of black pumice. In the far corner, three masseurs in galoshes scoured men’s chests and buttocks with wooden blocks wrapped in towels. Dark rivulets of dirt ran onto the warm tiles.
Steam swirled around the general as he murmured conspiratorially. “I’m worried the student movement is getting out of control. Today at noon at least one hundred thousand marched in Tiananmen Square. Three or four thousand sat on the steps of the Great Hall of the People protesting the beating of students yesterday at Xinhuamen Gate.”
The foreign minister raised his raspberry pink torso from the hot water and summoned an attendant to bring a metal tray with a large scissors attached. “You worry too much, my friend,” he observed, carefully slicing dead skin from the soles of his feet.
“Han has everything under control.”
Tong submerged deeper into the tub until only his head remained above water. “Are you aware that students are boycotting classes not only here in Beijing, but in many of the larger cities — Shanghai, Nanjing, Wuhan, Guangchou, Xi’an?”
“I am.”
“And you’re not concerned?”
Lin carelessly hawked a mouthful of tobacco-colored phlegm into a nearby tin spittoon. “Look, the students’ focus
is Hu Yaobang. After his funeral tomorrow, everything will calm down.”
“What about the girl?”
“She arrives in Suzhou tonight. When Chi-Wen Zhou calls, I’ll have him remain until Sunday to avoid the student demonstrations. They’ll take the train to Shanghai, and Tuesday they’ll fly to Xi’an.”
Exhausted by the hot water, General Tong joined his friend on
the cool tiles. “What about Deng? What does he know about our
operation?”
“Nothing,” the foreign minister replied. “He spends his time inside the walled compound. Any information he gets is directly from the mayor of Beijing who gets his from Han.” And then, inadvertently making a pun, Lin added: “So, my old friend, It’s strictly our party.”
If the general appreciated the humor, he didn’t acknowledge. He was lying naked on the tile, legs splayed, snoring loudly, sound asleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saturday
April 22
Suzhou, China
The man in the bicycle shop shook his head. “I don’t rent. Only sell. No motorcycles. Only Flying Pigeon, Phoenix, Sea Lion, or Forever,” he told Chi-Wen, referring to various brands of bicycles.
“What about that one?” Lili pointed to a rusted, bright orange Yamaha leaning against the back of the shop.
Chi-Wen asked about the cycle while Lili wandered over to get a better look.
“He says it was left by his wife’s younger brother when it stopped working and that was two years ago.”
“But it only needs the chain adjusted,” Lili announced. “It’s even got a full tank of gas.” She had already removed the cotter pin and was trying to loosen the axle nut. “Ask him for a crescent wrench.”
“You think you can fix it?”
“Piece of cake.”
“Piece of what?”
Lili laughed. “Sorry, American expression. It means it will be very easy.”
A moment later, Chi-Wen returned with an ordinary wrench.
“That’s it?”
“That’s all he’s got.”
Lili thought a minute. “All right, let me try.”
On the strength of her assurance, Chi-Wen negotiated use of the wrench along with a day’s rental for three yuan, the equivalent of less than one U.S. dollar. No helmets, but the man threw in two pair of sunglasses, the latest from Hong Kong.
Chi-Wen watched as she bent over the bike: feathery brows arched, full lips pursed, lovely fingers busy with the chain, thin cotton shorts accentuating slender hips and long, shapely legs. The early morning light fell softly on her raven hair, caressing her shoulders. He could see the curve of her breasts tight against her T-shirt, round as steamed buns. How he ached to touch her.
Lin’s voice intruded on his musing. She is Dr. Cheng’s granddaughter. She is now the key to his secret. We hope you will make her want to stay in China. Everything will continue — your aunt’s apartment, your job, your future as a doctor — as long as you cooperate.
Lili looked up at him, smiling. “All set! The chain hadn’t been oiled.”
Chi-Wen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and felt the sun’s warmth on his face. Such a beautiful spring day. An omen, he thought. Truly a good day to be alive. Yes! On such a day, anything was possible.
“Chi-Wen?”
He opened his eyes and stared at Lili. She had awakened something in him that had slumbered far too long. Beyond passion, he was beginning to feel hope again. “I’ll tell the shop manager about the chain,” he replied, pushing Lin’s words away. He wanted to enjoy these moments with Lili Quan for now. In a few days they would be in Xi’an. Time enough to face the real world.
“Ready for a dry run?” Lili asked, moving the bike out onto the dirt road just in front of the shop.
“I guess so.”
“Don’t worry. It’s easier than driving a car.”
Chi-Wen fixed a bemused look. There were more than a quarter billion bicycles in China, but less than one million cars. “I don’t know how to drive a car.”
“Then you won’t have to forget any bad habits,” she said, awkwardly glossing over the faux pas. “Okay. Lesson one, climb into the saddle.”
Lili taught Chi-Wen to straddle the bike, balancing his feet while she familiarized his hands with the throttle, spark control, front brake hand lever, and clutch control lever.
“Lesson two, start the engine.”
Standing beside him, she took him step by step. “Make sure the gearshift is in neutral and open the cutoff.” She pointed to the valve between the tank and carburetor.
“That’s it. Turn the throttle. Not so much. Good.”
Chi-Wen followed her directions carefully.
“Now, kick down on the starter pedal and move the choke lever up.”
He rotated the left-hand grip, setting the spark control.
“Keep the throttle steady, turn the ignition key, and kick down on the starter pedal.”
Nothing happened.
“Again.”
After several tries the engine idled smoothly.
“Lesson three. Your first ride.”
“I’m not ready,” Chi-Wen protested.
“Trust me,” Lili replied. “Listen carefully.” Patiently, she explained the procedure.
“Release the clutch and shift into low.”
Chi-Wen depressed the gearshift pedal.
“Turn the throttle toward you. Slowly, slowly. You’re revving too high!”
Chi-Wen squeezed the clutch lever, slammed the gearshift down into low, and popped the clutch.
“Oh, shit!” she blurted.
Too late, he was on the ground while his mechanical mount lurched down the street.
“You all right?” Lili asked, after retrieving the bike.
Chi-Wen dusted himself off. Except for losing face, he was fine.
“In China we say failure is the mother of success.”
Lili held out her hand to him.
“In America, we say, the only thing to do when you fall off a horse is to get back on again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
A few more attempts and Chi-Wen could ride in a straight line. He had never enjoyed himself so much.
“You’re a good student,” Lili said, smiling.
“And you’re a good teacher.” He pushed the bike toward Lili. “But I think I’m ready for you to take over.”
Lili invited Chi-Wen to sit behind her. “You’ll need to hold me around the waist,” she prompted.
Tentatively his hands encircled her.
“I won’t break,” she laughed. “I don’t want you falling off again.”
Chastened, he tightened his grip.
“Great. Here’s what you can do after a little more practice.” Without warning, Lili gunned the throttle, performed a quick wheelie, and accelerated down a shoulderless dirt street paralleling the Shantung River.
The takeoff was so sudden Chi-Wen gasped and clutched her more tightly.
Lili expertly slalomed through the human obstacle course: a woman on a bicycle loaded with live ducks stuffed into a wooden crate, a couple of beat-up buses packed with passengers, a man on a donkey.
“We’re going to die,” Chi-Wen yelled, as they left everyone in their dust.
Lili pointed to a seagull dipping down from the sky, nearly close enough to touch. It beat its wings with a slow soaring motion, flying in synchrony and, in so doing, seemed to stand still.
Laughing with childlike delight, Chi-Wen’s panic turned to exhilaration.
For a few more miles they chased the river traffic, easily outdistancing the slower junks and barges. As the wind whistled past his face, Chi-Wen experienced the thrill of total abandon — a sensation uncomfortable and, at the same time, delicious.
At the intersection of Shantang Street and Yan’an Road, Lili brought the bike to a gentle stop. “Fun?”
Still breathless: “That was wonderful!”
Lili smiled
at his pleasure. “Now where shall we go?” she asked.
“To heaven on earth,” Chi-Wen replied.
Newport Beach, California
Perched ten stories above them, the photographer focused on two men facing each other in profile near the pool of the Four Seasons Hotel. Even with his 300-mm telephoto lens it was difficult to make out their faces. Of course he already knew DeForest. But he’d have to blow up the images to identify the second man.
Suzhou, China
According to an ancient Chinese proverb, “In heaven there is paradise; on earth, Suzhou.”
Near the edge of a lake, hedged with hills, it was a city less feverish than Guangchou or even Wuhan, its tempo set by the slowly drifting junks, barges, and long rafts of unmilled logs. Chi-Wen felt it was one of the country’s most beautiful cities with narrow cobblestoned streets and arched bridges over a web of canals and waterways. Seeing this “Venice of the East” with Lili, his arms tight around her slim waist, her lovely scent so achingly close, it truly seemed like paradise. A magical day, almost perfect from beginning to end.
“Suzhou was the chief city of the prosperous and peaceful kingdom of Wu five centuries before Christ,” Chi-Wen explained as they explored the river scene. “Because of the river and the mild climate, crops could be produced all year around.”
“Why the canals?”
“They were carved from the swamp so peasants could sell their surpluses to faraway cities.”
Seeing the men, women and children in shoulder harnesses leaning forward on their boats, hauling the long ropes, Lili felt like an intruder in history. Her initial reaction was exasperation at the inefficiency, irked that people still measured their lives step-by-step along the towpaths of China’s seventy thousand miles of inland waterways. Yet as she watched, she found herself swayed by the ancient rhythms that like the tide would come and go, all day, every day, as they had forever. “Yes, it is beautiful,” she mused aloud.
“The gardens are even more impressive.” Chi-Wen told her how Suzhou’s wealthy merchants once had beautiful parks and landscaped gardens for their private enjoyment. “Today they are yiyuan, open to the public.”
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