The People’s Republic of Desire

by Annie Wang

  In this year's special gala variety program made by CCTV for the Spring Festival, people, from kindergarten kids to old grandpas, parade in front of the camera shouting "ABC," Crazy English – style, as if they were shouting old revolutionary slogans. My friend, a French journalist at AFP, is amazed at this scene: he can't figure out why an entire country is so obsessed with a foreign language – particularly if it is English!

  People from different cities in China like to compete with one another over their English skills. Shanghai people think their English is better than Hong Kongers, claiming "Our education system is better than theirs!" Although I don't buy Shanghainese arrogance, my experience in Hong Kong was worse.

  When I was visiting Hong Kong on business, I was in a store and I wanted to ask for help, so I decided I had better use English. When I spoke, the young shop assistant waved her hands and said, "No English!" So I said in Chinese, "Do you speak Mandarin?" The girl replied in Cantonese, "Siu-siu – a little…" It was hopeless; I had to give up and walk out of the store. So I tend to believe that people in Shanghai can speak better English than people from Hong Kong.

  Beijingers believe their English is the best: "If southerners can't tell the difference between n and l, s and sh, even in Chinese, how can they speak better English than us?" they say. "We are especially good at American English because of our er-hua, We even speak Chinese with an American accent!"

  Little Fang speaks perfect putonghua. She tutors CC's boyfriend, Nick. She offers Nick free Chinese lessons. When Nick doesn't understand Little Fang's Chinese, he asks her, in his perfect Oxford English, to explain. "It's my way to pick up the Queen's English," Little Fang says. This sort of huxiang xuexi, or language exchange, is common between Chinese and foreign students in China. Often more than just language is exchanged: many romances have blossomed through language exchange relationships.

  But because Little Fang only teaches Nick Chinese and never goes swimming with him like his other female Chinese "tutors," CC trusts her and the two become friends. After CC's introduction, Little Fang is considered a member of our gang. We often play sports or go dancing together.

  One day, at a bar called People, Little Fang introduces a girlfriend named Yu to CC and me, and begs us to speak some English to her. When Yu goes to the bathroom, Little Fang tells us Yu's story.

  Yu's only dream is to speak beautiful English. At first, she tried to memorize words from her English-Chinese dictionary and tore each page out as she memorized it. Her dictionary had almost nothing left except the cover, but she still got an F in each English examination. So she started to eat the pa ges she had torn out. It was traditional Chinese logic: Men believe they can be more virile by eating the penises of bulls and tigers. Yu thought that she could remember all the English words by eating a dictionary.

  After everything failed, Yu got desperate. She went to hotel lobbies to meet native English speakers in order to improve her oral English. Last week, she was punished by her school because she was caught by the police with a Canadian man in his hotel room alone around midnight. The man was not wearing a shirt when the two were busted. Apparently they thought she was a prostitute. There are a lot of rumors in Beijing about university students prostituting themselves to earn a little money – but doing it in order to learn English? Surely, this would be going too far!

  Little Fang brings Yu to us, hoping to help Yu out.

  Yu admits that her biggest dream is to speak English twenty-four hours a day. So we chat to her in English.

  But she simply doesn't have a natural talent for languages. She cannot tell the difference between the sound s and the sound th.

  CC and I feel awkward because we can't understand what Yu is saying when she speaks English. We don't know whether we should say, "I beg your pardon?" or "What was that?" We are afraid of hurting Yu's feelings, so we just smile and nod, and say, "Uh-h uh" and, "Oh."

  Little Fang notices, and says in Chinese to Yu, "Tell us about your boyfriend, Ching."

  "I just dumped him!" Yu screams.

  "Why?" Little Fang is surprised.

  "I can't stand Ching's clumsy spoken English. When he speaks English, he sounds like an idiot!"

  "How come?"

  "To him, s and th sound the same!" As she says this, both sounds come out as an s and we try not to laugh.

  "But he is a nice guy. How can you dump him just because his English isn't so good?" CC asks. "You only speak to him in Chinese!"

  Yu has her theory: "It do not matter whether someone Chinese good or bad. But if he speak no good English, he have no future. Good English good job, and lots of money, but good Chinese no use!"

  POPULAR PHRASES

  YINGYU: English.

  MEIGUO MENG: American dream.

  WAIQI: Foreign enterprise; a Sino-foreign joint venture company in China.

  ER-HUA: The distinctive er suffix added to words pronounced in the Beijing accent.

  PUTONGHUA: Standard Mandarin Chinese.

  HUXIANG XUEXI: Learning from each other; mutual-exchange language lessons. Many romances between foreigners and locals seem to sprout up through these relationships.

  39 Beijing Pygmalion

  From ancient times to the present day, purity, chunjie, has been the most desirable quality a Chinese man wants from his woman. One can always find those ideal "pure" girls in the romance novels written by the Taiwanese author Qiongyao: long, floating, straight black hair; long white skirt; virginal, quiet, untouchable, and selfless. In the last forty years, whether in books or TV series, Qiongyao's love stories about the stereotypical innocent Chinese girls have never failed to sell in Greater China. Men and women, young and old, all have shed tears for their sad stories.

  I have never liked Qiongyao's soap operas. I think they are contrived and their heroines are prudes. My Oxford-educated friend CC feels the same way. "Why do the Chinese men love those airheads who only know how to cry and beg? Why can't they appreciate Meryl Streep and Sophia Loren?"

  In order to find the answer for CC, I invite my painter friend Jia to meet us for a drink at the Red Moon bar in the new Grand Hyatt in downtown Beijing.

  Jia, a fan of Qiongyao, loved the innocent type of woman so much that he always wanted to marry a minority nationality girl from the countryside.

  Three years ago, Jia trekked to primitive villages in search of his ideal wife. In impoverished Guizhou Province, he walked through a forest for three days and finally arrived at a Dong tribe settlement where there was neither electricity nor automobiles. The villagers there lived as if they were still in the Stone Age. They were very hospitable and treated him, a total stranger, like a family member. Soon he met a beautiful eighteen-year-old virgin with the sweetest smile. Her name was Miya. Miya was a good dancer. When she moved, the silver anklets she wore tinkled. Jia was totally enchanted by her.

  After living in the Dong tribe for a month, Jia persuaded Miya to marry him and took her to live with him back in Beijing.

  His ambitious project was to train Miya to be his ideal wife. The task started with teaching Miya to speak Chinese. Previously, she spoke only the language of her tribe.

  Within two years, Miya had turned into someone who had just stepped out of the pages of one of Qiongyao's novels: long straight hair, white skirt, sweet, and an avid admirer of her man. I met Miya several times. She was quiet most of the time, but when she spoke, it was always about Jia.

  I asked Miya what books she loved to read; Miya said any books Jia has read. I asked Miya what food she loved to eat; Miya said any food Jia ate. I was put off. "Miya isn't one of us." My girlfriends all said that as well. But Jia enjoyed showing Miya off to his friends. His male friends all envied him so much that they wanted to follow in his matrimonial footsteps.

  Inspired by his new love, Jia held a successful painting exhibition of his rose period works in the French embassy of Beijing.

  Jia felt on top of the world until two months after the exhibition. One day he came home and found that Miya had
disappeared. So had his paintings and the money in his bank account. Rumor had it that Miya had met a retired French diplomat at Jia's exhibition and had run away with him to Paris, along with Jia's paintings and money.

  Of course, this should not have come as a surprise to Jia. After all, Miya wasn't the first wife to betray him. He had two other tribal wives before Miya, and the beginning and the ending were always the same: he found an innocent girl from a remote village and brought her to the city till one day she left him for another man, taking all his possessions with her.

  "So why are you so fixated on these tribal girls?" I inquire.

  "Their sexual and emotional innocence. I believe true love can only happen once in one's life. City women have too many chances to meet men. They aren't pure anymore. My three wives were all corrupted by the city," Jia states.

  "He is certainly not into the brainy type, like Meryl Streep, or the sexy type, like Sophia Loren," CC murmurs to me.

  No wonder he is into tribal girls; no sophisticated urban woman would buy his nonsense. I can't help but tease him: "I guess you played a major role in the process of corrupting them."

  "But I didn't get a bad deal myself. I traded my paintings and money for years of being worshipped and served like a king! It at least pumped up my ego, which helps me paint. After all, how many people can live like a king in a people's republic?" Jia defends himself.

  Here we go, I think, Jia's problem again is lack of confidence, like that of so many Chinese men.

  CC, although fond of Jia's paintings, is dismayed by his male chauvinist comments. "Ha! You think you were some king," she snaps. "But this is the third time that your innocent queen ran off with your royal treasury for other men. I know what type of king you are: The King of Cuckolds."

  POPULAR PHRASES

  CHUNJIE: Pure and clean, meaning innocent or innocence; used both as an adjective and as a noun.

  40 Eating Ants

  I am on a business trip to Guangzhou. One day, I receive a phone call from a state-owned beer company called Blue Boys. "Our President Gao would like to see you." On the other line, it is the voice of a female secretary. Who is President Gao? I am confused. I don't know many people in Guangzhou.

  I soon find out that President Gao is the boy once known as High Mountain. We have been out of touch for almost ten years.

  High Mountain was my secret admirer in middle school. At our school, the majority of the students came from high-ranking Communist Party cadre families. High Mountain 's snobbish schoolmates often teased him for his humble upbringing: his father was the secretary of the secretary of Beibei's grandfather, and a low-ranking bureaucrat. He liked me because he said I was the only girl in school that was nice to him. Before I left for the United States, he wrote me a farewell letter.

  "I hope you will remain a patriotic Chinese girl and won't forget the duty of serving the Chinese people when you are in America. I hope you will not fall in love with a foreign devil, because it is not at all patriotic. An insider is an insider and an outsider should always be an outsider. I wanted to tell you how much I liked you, but I was so afraid that others will laugh at me for being a toad who wants the meat of a swan. I will demonstrate my love for you by putting my whole heart into building our country. High Mountain."

  Today's High Mountain is no longer the little boy who suffered from low self-Estéem. He is President Gao. He drives a Cadillac to meet me.

  After I get in his car, I start to look for the seat belt.

  "Americans are so gutless. I'm not afraid of death. I never wear a seat belt," brags President Gao. I didn't expect my former admirer to greet me by abusing the States, but I soon realize that making fun of overseas returnees is a new fashion among locals. I don't mind President Gao having some sour feelings. After all, he was rejected back then, not only by me but by the American universities he applied to. I smile back politely, "A Cadillac can protect you well enough, I guess."

  "So what car did you drive in the States?" President Gao asks me as he swerves in and out of traffic.

  "A Honda," I reply while nervously holding on to my seat.

  "I guessed as much. Japanese cars are more economical. I love the luxury of American cars. Who cares about gasoline? Everything I spend from gas to parking tickets is reimbursed by my company anyway." Says President Gao.

  "So you are taking advantage of both the socialist and capitalist systems," I tease.

  "Of course!" President Gao says triumphantly.

  He drives through a red light and brags, "I bet you had to follow all those dumb traffic laws in the States. I never have to bother here. The sheriff at the police department is my buddy."

  I notice that an old pedestrian at the crosswalk stops in fear as President Gao's big Cadillac surges into the traffic. It reminds me of something my New York Times friend Richard Bernstein wrote in his book The Ultimate Journey: Retracing the Path of an Ancient Buddhist Monk Who Crossed Asia in Search of Enlightenment: "The world is divided into two kinds of countries. There are countries where the cars stop for people and countries where the people stop for cars."

  "Where do you feel like eating?" President Gao asks me.

  "I don't have any particular preference."

  "I'm so sick of shark fins and lobsters, I want to take you to a trendy new place, very up market, where all the CEOs go. That place has a delicacy that you won't find anywhere else. Don't worry about the money – it's on me. I've heard that overseas Chinese always go dutch. We locals don't do that."

  I know the money President Gao is going to spend is not really his anyway. It is all gongkuan, public money.

  "I guess you can afford anything in China," I say, thinking, "I will not give him the chance to buy me anything."

  We arrive at an unnamed restaurant in Foshan, the city adjacent to Guangzhou. The owner, a beautiful young lady, greets President Gao in a seductive voice. "Gao Zong, the usual?"

  "Yes, please," President Gao says, apparently enjoying being called Gao Zong. As they walk inside, President Gao says to me, "By the way, that bitch wants to be my third wife." In the next twenty minutes, he tries to impress me by eagerly telling me how many women admire him and his money.

  When the dishes arrive, I almost faint. Scrambled eggs with ants, fried cockroaches, bat soup… I can't understand why these things are expensive in Guangzhou. In the United States, I saw young people eat this stuff on TV after they were paid $50 each. Apparently, it is not an exaggeration that people in Guangdong will eat anything that has legs except tables and anything that flies except airplanes.

  "I can't eat this." I say.

  "If you don't like Chinese food, why didn't you stay in America? I know – I bet it's because the white people treat us Asians as a second-class race! I bet you couldn't bear it anymore." President Gao sounds hurt.

  I realize the most embarrassing moment for a woman is to meet a vengeful man whom she has rejected – even if she was the only one who had not teased him at school for his family background. But now I smile at President Gao. "It's not that bad, actually. Being yellow in America is at least better off than being a son of a low-ranking civil servant in Jingshan School."

  POPULAR PHRASES

  GONGKUAN: Public money, often refers to things that can be reimbursed or paid for by the government or work units. The Chinese are true artists when it comes to writing off expenses to the government or their companies.

  41 Nick's Choice

  After five years of courtship in England and two years of living together in China, Nick and CC broke up: Nick dumped her after their trip to Shanghai. Everybody in his circle of friends thought that Nick would stay in Shanghai and continue to pursue the Portman Hotel waitress with whom he was infatuated.

  Instead, he is back in Beijing and has begun seeing Little Fang. CC is very upset after hearing this – especially since we have all been friends with Little Fang. CC comes to complain.

  "But doesn't Xiao Fang already have someone?" I ask her as I remember Little Fang's
boyfriend, an earnest young man who always seemed to have a GRE English vocabulary book in his hand.

  "She's always had the hots for Nick, I guess. Otherwise, why would she have offered him free Chinese lessons?" CC says.

  "I suppose you're right," I say, "But Little Fang seemed so nice. I'm sure she didn't initiate this relationship. Perhaps it was Nick."

  "Whatever. If the bitch was really my friend, she wouldn't have agreed to go out with him," cries CC.

  "Did Nick tell you why he wanted to break up with you?" I ask.

  "He said he had decided that he liked local girls better than girls like me who grew up overseas. He said local girls aren't so snooty and stuck-up. Niuniu, do you think I'm a stuck-up, snooty princess?"

  "No, CC, of course not!"

  "But why did Nick dump me for Xiao Fang? Niuniu, tell me, is it because I'm not as pretty or as sexy as the local girls?" CC asks.

  "You're beautiful."

  "Then, I guess I'm not Chinese enough. He said I don't have the elegance of a real Chinese woman." CC sighs.

  "Sounds like he has yellow fever," I say. "He really does have an Asian fetish. Time to move on, dear. Nick is just a single blade of grass on the lawn, and even as we speak, there are new seedlings blowing in the wind. And in Beijing, the grass grows quickly!"

  CC looks pensive and sad, saying, "But maybe he's right, maybe I'm not Chinese enough. Whenever Westerners see me, they all think I'm Chinese, and expect me to speak perfect Chinese, to be a submissive Asian woman and drool over them just because they're foreigners. But I'm not Chinese – I'm a Westerner. I grew up in England; English is my native language. I only speak Chinese when I'm with my parents. I know far more about European culture than I do about Chinese culture. And I'm not about to throw myself at some Western guy just because he has blue eyes and blond hair.