A Song Everlasting

by Ha Jin

  They were unsure that Yabin would send him an invitation; all they could do was wait patiently while preparing a backup plan. But early the next morning when Tian flipped on his computer, he saw a message on the stationery of the New York Great China Cultural Association, which stated that he was invited to join a group of artists they had chosen to tour both the East and the West Coasts. The letter sounded very convincing, partly due to the elevated language Yabin used: “a stupendous troupe,” “a groundbreaking endeavor,” “great virtuosity.” In a separate, personal message to Tian, Yabin said he was sorry for the quagmire he had landed in, and hoped he could help: “Whatever you need, I’ll do my utmost to assist you.”

  Tian decided to begin applying for a visa, making good use of the passport still in his hands. Shuna encouraged him to do that, saying, “We’re in the twenty-first century now. Your company’s leaders ought to know they can’t treat you as if they own you.” She also remarked with a chuckle that Yabin sounded like “a fabulous liar.”

  Tian was emboldened by her support, so after breakfast he called Steve Jackson, a friend of his, who headed the Beijing office of the Ford Foundation. Steve was well connected, and after hearing him explain his predicament, agreed to help. He said he’d speak to someone in the U.S. embassy and try to have Tian’s visa application expedited. Steve would need a copy of Yabin’s letter, which Tian forwarded to him right away.

  4

  Wonder of wonders: Within two days Tian was granted an interview for a visa. He went to the U.S. embassy, bringing with him his passport and a copy of the paperwork based on what he had prepared just two months earlier. The officer at the visa office, a young handsome American woman, spoke crisp midwestern English and had a divot in her roundish chin. She checked his papers, then lifted her gray eyes to look him in the face. She asked, “You are the singer Yao Tian?”

  “Yes, I am,” he said.

  She flipped to the back of his passport. “You just came back from the States. Why do you want to go again so soon?”

  “I received a new invitation. This cultural association invited me to take part in a series of events.” He pointed at Yabin’s letter attached to his application form.

  “I see. In that case, come back in two days.”

  “Does this mean you will grant me a visa?”

  “I cannot assure you of that. All I can say is have a wonderful trip.” She winked, then smiled.

  “You too!” he blurted out. Then, “Sorry, sorry. You will still be here working. I’m too thrilled to express my gratitude properly.”

  “I understand. Goodbye now.” She waved at him, then motioned for the next person in line.

  Shuna was pleased to hear about his interview at the U.S. embassy and said he must keep a low profile from now on. When going out, he had best avoid those retirees who gathered in their neighborhood’s miniature park every day, playing chess and doing group dances. Nor should he sit at the tea stand outside their building anymore, which was viewed as a rumor mill. For now even Tingting should remain unaware of their plan. His suspension was already over and he’d have to go to work the next day. But what about surrendering his passport to the security officer?

  The next morning Shuna called Director Meng and told him that Tian was bedridden with a sore throat and chills. She insisted that his superiors had been putting too much pressure on him, and as a result, his health had collapsed. Meng sounded anxious on the phone—there was a major tour through the coastal provinces in early November, and if Tian couldn’t join them, they’d lose their lead tenor even though they had an understudy. Shuna assured him that Tian had been working on the self-criticism. “You know he isn’t a glib writer, Director Meng,” his wife said. “This kind of writing has taken a heavy toll on his health. But he’ll send you what he has written. Right now he can hardly speak. He’s losing his voice.”

  Tian then spoke with Meng briefly, wearing a thick face mask to muffle his voice. The director sounded very concerned—he told Tian to relax and that his disciplinary troubles would soon pass. Now he had to rest well for a speedy recovery because there was important work ahead. Tian thanked him and promised to email him what he’d written for the self-criticism, which he did send along that night.

  Assuming he was to be granted the visa, Shuna and Tian discussed his plans. The next step was to purchase a plane ticket to New York. Normally it would cost around eight hundred dollars, but since he needed to leave as soon as possible, the price was likely triple or quadruple that. They didn’t have that kind of money in their bank account—the only way to get the funds was to break their high-yield CD, which carried 150,000 yuan and was invested for them by Shuna’s younger brother in a financing project at the bank where he was an accountant. Shuna said she’d get hold of the money as soon as possible and put it into their checking account. They did have some cash in U.S. dollars, about five thousand, but Shuna wanted him to take the whole amount with him, believing he would need it once he landed in the States. Her job was secure and paid a decent salary. A traveler needs more money than those at home and must be amply provided for, so Tian should take the funds they could spare with him now. Shuna had full confidence in his ability to succeed in America. They both knew of other Chinese artists who had made their careers there, and Tian, with his English skills, had even more of an advantage than they had. The potential payoffs were boundless. While China was a big lake, North America was an ocean. He agreed with her totally. More important, without his artistic freedom in China his career would be thwarted and wasted eventually. If the political wind shifted, he might have to sing only propaganda songs again. To survive here, he’d have to learn how to adapt. Look at the older generation of singers and composers in China. They had all been stymied after age forty because they’d had to self-censor, avoid controversy, and meet the requirements placed on them from above. Encouraged by his wife, he imagined his international success and thought of Tan Mai, the pi-pa player. If she could thrive in America, he should be able to do that too.

  Two days later he went to the U.S. embassy again and got the visa. Now he had to proceed cautiously. Any misstep might trigger a disaster—the police could intervene and revoke his passport and put him on the list of people under special control. That night Shuna and he lay in bed for hours, talking about what he should do in America, his hand resting between her legs. She had been to the States once and liked the West Coast, especially the Bay Area, where winter was mild and summer wasn’t hot, though he preferred New England for its distinct seasons and had been there several times for performing tours. She wasn’t sure she’d leave for America in the near future, because she didn’t know enough English yet and because she had an excellent job already. But she was confident that she could learn enough English to find work in the States if they ended up as immigrants there. They could see that was a possibility. Since they both believed Tingting should go to college in America, they thought they were very likely to live there with her eventually—she might not be willing to come back after she finished college. Nowadays, it was common among friends to greet each other by “Have you started emigration yet?” instead of “Have you eaten?” Nearly all those who had made enough money had left or begun the process of emigration. This country, it was whispered, was like a sinking ship—the sooner you got off, the better. When Shuna and Tian used to talk about their family’s future plan they had agreed that they mustn’t just follow the trend, but this time they had been thrust into a new situation, so he might become a trailblazer for their family in America. In Shuna’s words, “the Vanguard.”

  The next day he began to shop for a plane ticket. The flights to New York had all sold out for late October and early November. After searching multiple sites, he found a Delta ticket to Seattle, but it was business class and cost five times more than economy. There was also an economy-class seat on a Hainan Airlines flight to Chicago, but it departed from Shanghai.

 
When Shuna came back in the late afternoon, he told her the prices. Without a second thought she said, “You must get the Delta ticket and fly from Beijing directly.” She waved aside the appalling price, saying it was a miracle that they still could get a ticket at all. That was what he liked most about her—she rarely gave a damn about the cost of things they really needed. Her family had never been rich—her parents had taught middle school before they retired—but Shuna had an air of coming from a wealthy and cultured background. She took pride in herself indeed, teaching at a top university in the capital.

  The next morning he set out for the airport with a single suitcase. Neither Shuna nor Tingting went to see him off. He wanted to give their neighbors the impression that this was just a regular trip he was taking. Certainly by now his daughter knew he was leaving for America, and she even asked him to come back soon. He said he didn’t plan to live abroad for long. Although aware of the possibility of their family’s immigration down the road, both Shuna and he also felt that his stay in New York might turn out to be temporary. It would be foolish to assume that everything would definitely work out as planned. Nowadays nobody could afford to do anything wholeheartedly. Deep down, neither Shuna nor Tian wanted to burn their boats. So in a way this trip felt like a stunt he was pulling, to show the People’s Ensemble that he had his choices. When he came back, he might have another job elsewhere. If his company resolved to keep him, they ought to grant him more freedom. Above all, he wanted the freedom of international travel so that he could often perform abroad. The Chinese diaspora had been becoming a fertile ground for arts in recent years, bustling with activities in cinema, theater, book publishing, the fine arts. Any sensible, ambitious artist should explore the opportunities there.

  Everything went smoothly at the airport, thanks partly to his business-class ticket. The young woman at the counter looked at his passport and observed his face for a moment. She seemed to have recognized him but said nothing. She must be eager to facilitate his check-in quickly since there was a waiting line. He passed the security checkpoint without a glitch and entered the waiting area. Most seats were vacant at the gate. A group of older passengers were sitting together near a wall of windows that looked onto the runway. Surrounded by their parcels and bags, they looked a little agitated; this might be their first trip to America. Perhaps some of them hadn’t even flown before.

  There was still an hour before boarding, and it was hard for Tian to keep composed. He knew he had cleared the security checkpoint and the police were unlikely to come and seize him, but still he put on the pair of powerless glasses that he sometimes wore to keep from being recognized by fans and the media. He forced himself not to look around and tried to read a magazine in his lap, but he couldn’t register the meaning of the words at all. About half an hour later, the desk at the gate was still unmanned and he felt something might be amiss. He rose and asked a young clerk passing by, but the man told him, “Just wait patiently. If there’s any change, it will be announced.”

  A frequent traveler, Tian knew that international flights usually began boarding at least half an hour before the departing time. Meanwhile those older passengers were still seated there, a couple of them nodding off. Finally Tian caught sight of a row of monitors down the hall and went over to take a look. To his astonishment, the gate had been changed. He hurried back to the older passengers and told them, “This is not the gate for our flight. We have to go elsewhere for boarding.”

  His words galvanized them. They picked up their bags and parcels and followed him to the new gate. When they arrived, a large crowd was already standing in line for boarding. By leading the group of older passengers, Tian was able to act as if he were one of them, or their guide, so the clerk at the gate just glanced at his passport, scanned his pass, and let him through.

  The final line was crossed. Now he could say he was leaving China behind.

  PART TWO

  5

  Yabin helped Tian find a furnished one-bedroom apartment on 34th Avenue in Flushing, which was near a bus stop and within walking distance of the 7 train. He leased it for Tian in his own name, on a monthly basis, because Tian feared being tracked down by someone employed by the Chinese government. Yabin often called him to check whether he needed anything. Tian could navigate the city on his own and had enough money for three or four months, so he told him he was fine and enjoyed the peace and quiet.

  He revealed his predicament to Yabin partially, saying that some of his colleagues in Beijing had become jealous and that the Ministry of Culture wanted him to surrender his passport, so he had come to New York and planned to stay here for a few months. He meant to show his superiors that he was not someone they could kick around at will and that he had his own dignity and principles. Ideally, he hoped he could work out an agreement with his leaders in the end and get more freedom for himself, specifically the freedom to travel and perform abroad.

  Yabin shook his head sympathetically but didn’t speak. They were lounging on armchairs in Tian’s living room, which had a wide south-facing window that let in a flood of sunlight in the mornings. Yabin’s reticence annoyed Tian, so he asked, “You think I’ve overreacted?”

  “To be frank, Tian, you’re being kind of nearsighted. If you love freedom so much, you shouldn’t think about going back. How could you get more freedom for yourself while all your colleagues are lackeys or servants of the state? If you go back, you won’t be different from them. Either you’ll be a slave or an accomplice.”

  “Don’t get too political,” Tian said. “I have little interest in politics. I just want to be a free artist.”

  “Would that be possible while nobody around you is free? Freedom is not just a personal choice—it’s also social conditions.”

  Tian turned tongue-tied. Yabin was a smart man and must be quite active in politics. Tian had heard that he was a member of a democratic association formed by a group of Chinese expats, and that he helped them organize events and apply for grants. Their headquarters were in a suite inside a grungy midrise building, which sat in an alleyway in downtown Flushing. Their conversation ended there, as Yabin had to leave and meet a client for an injury claim.

  But what he said made Tian thoughtful. To date, he hadn’t communicated with his ensemble directly and meant to keep silent as long as he could. Yet if his superiors caved to him, his colleagues would be emboldened and start putting forward their own demands too. This realization made him more nervous, anxious to hear from his leaders. Nevertheless, in his emails to Shuna, he told her to remain composed and not to hurry to respond to any questions from his ensemble. She should feign ignorance and just say she thought he was on a long tour with his friends in North America. He knew that would make his superiors furious, but he meant to upset them some. He was sick of always being at their beck and call.

  Soon both Secretary Niu and Director Meng wrote to him separately, saying he had to return without further delay. Niu was stern and declared that if he didn’t come back within a month, he’d lose his job, and no place would hire him with such “a huge stain” in his file. He wasn’t troubled by her words. She was a fossil, still thinking in terms of confidential dossiers and permanent jobs in state-owned companies. Even though their ensemble was a public organization that offered secure employment, he might end up working for a private theater or another company, which wouldn’t need his file. (Your name is your résumé, he often reminded himself.) Meng was less harsh, but what he revealed sounded more ominous. He wrote: “Your case was already reported to the Ministry of Culture and the Ministry of State Security, and they might treat it as a defection if you don’t come back soon. Think about it—can you afford to have such a criminal name on your head? It would affect your family, especially your daughter. Tian, please don’t be so obstinate. Listen to me just this once. Otherwise you will ruin your future and your family’s well-being.”

  Meng’s note unsettled him, but he didn’t
write back at once. Instead, he replied to Secretary Niu first and asked her to let him keep his passport if he returned. She answered immediately: “I cannot promise you that, Comrade Yao Tian. Even if I allowed you to keep your passport, the police can revoke it at any time. This is beyond my power.”

  What she was saying was true, Tian realized—she was merely a tiny cog in the large ruling machine. Very likely, his departure was already known to the Beijing municipality and its police department, with which Tian and Shuna had never thought to deal. He had assumed that this whole thing was between him and his work unit. Now he couldn’t help but question the wisdom of leaving China in a hurry. Even if he went back at once, his return would be viewed by others as his failure to continue in the States, and he could become a joke to many people and would be placed under strict control by the police. Very likely he would lose his freedom of movement. Unsure how to respond to his bosses, he phoned his wife one night and discussed the impasse with her. It was around seven a.m. in Beijing, and she sounded sleepy and for a few moments seemed unable to focus her mind.

  Tian repeated his concern, saying, “Look, they might treat me as a defector. If that happens, I would become a semi-criminal and my crime could compromise you and damage Tingting’s future.”

  A long silence followed. Then Shuna said, “Don’t be intimidated by them. You’re well known all over the country. If they can’t get you back, they’ll be held responsible and even their careers might be jeopardized. They must be more anxious than we are. Sit tight and just wait and see.”

  “What if the police cancel my Beijing residential status?” He had been unnerved by this possibility, which might reduce him to an illegal urban resident like a migrant worker if he returned.