by Ha Jin
Freda teased Yabin, “You should keep in mind I can shoot. Don’t ever be mean to me.”
Yabin grimaced. He glanced at Tian, obviously uncertain how to respond, his eyes shifting.
The bespectacled Huang Fan drew Tian aside and whispered, “Who’s this woman? Is she from mainland China?”
Tian nodded and said under his breath, “She’s from Beijing and graduated from the University of International Relations.”
“That explains it,” Huang Fen said. “I’m wondering if Yabin really knows enough about her. I’ve never seen anyone who can shoot that well.”
Tian also suspected that Freda might not have been completely honest with them. In a college shooting team, one would learn how to use a rifle or a small-caliber pistol for sports, not a Kimber Micro handgun like the one she had just fired. Who was this woman? A special agent? A former cadet of a military academy? If so, who sent her here? What was her mission? The questions hovered in Tian’s mind for the rest of the day. Yabin must have been grappling with them as well.
On their way back, Yabin drove quietly with Freda in the passenger seat, and they hardly made any conversation. Tian pretended to be asleep in the backseat.
11
Tian’s apartment was in a four-story building. During the day most tenants went to work, so it was a quiet place. Since he lived on the first floor, with no neighbors below him to complain about noise, he began each day with his vocal exercises. These exercises made him feel alive and centered. Some people in the building must have heard him, but few grumbled except for Mrs. Guzzo, his landlady, who was in an adjoining unit. Once in a while she would hit a water pipe with a metallic object, perhaps the bottom of a pan or a hammer, though seldom would she come to complain in person. When he heard the protesting clanks, he’d do breathing exercises quietly instead, inhaling with his diaphragm slowly to keep his sternum elevated and his ribs expanded fully and then releasing the breath. This was to open his lungs smoothly. Whether he performed or not, he practiced diaphragmic breathing every day to keep himself in shape so he could sing with a loosened jaw, like he was cascading his voice. Later he went out to Bowne Park, which was nearby and had a limpid lake in it. Some Canada geese and mallards and small turtles lived on the waterside. Though older people would gather there, some with toddlers or pushing baby carriages, the place was secluded, wooded, and peaceful. After being there several times, Tian gave up singing there because he couldn’t hear his own voice outdoors. Fortunately he wasn’t far away from Queens College, where Ms. Fong, a librarian, loved his songs and allowed him to use a practice studio. But he had to call her beforehand to make sure a room would be available. He was amazed he could use a studio there for free. He would raise his voice gradually to the maximum, singing a self-made arpeggio. This was to ensure that he could sing high notes without straining his larynx. While singing, he’d keep smiling. In this way he could develop the brightness and clarity of his voice. There was a piano in the studio that he could use to find the right notes. He enjoyed getting around the campus incognito. If he’d practiced his voice somewhere in China, many people might have turned up to watch and greet him.
In late fall Shuna emailed him that his sister Anji was in danger—she’d been arrested in Dalian City for her involvement with Falun Gong. The news threw him into confusion and despair. He had suspected that his mother and sister might still be members of a Falun Gong branch in Liaoning province. Yet by his own observation, he could see that those practitioners were peaceful and posed no threat to anyone. Who had authorized the government to suppress them? The Chinese Constitution allowed free religious belief and expression. Tian couldn’t help but view such suppression as another huge blunder by the national leaders, who, it seemed, never hesitated to make enemies. They were human beings who enjoyed making others suffer, and they were truly evil.
Anji’s arrest indicated that she had still been a practitioner, and Tian knew his mother hadn’t quit either—but why had his sister gone to prison alone? He called home and his mother picked up the phone. She sounded lethargic and a little hoarse.
“You must come back, Tian, to help your sister out of jail,” she said.
“Where is she now? Where is she being held?” he asked.
“I don’t have any clue. I go to the police station every day, but they won’t let me see your sister, or tell me where she is. They said her case was beyond their power and they couldn’t interfere with the campaign against Falun Gong started from Beijing.”
“But they must know her whereabouts, don’t they?”
“They said they had no idea.”
“Why did they arrest her and not both of you? Were you not with her when they seized her?”
“I was sick that day and stayed home instead of going to the square for the group exercise. That was where they rounded up the practitioners.”
He couldn’t promise his mother that he would come back, unsure that his presence would be of any help. He talked about this with Shuna. She urged him to remain in America, saying he should consider returning only once they were clear about the charge against Anji and where she was, and how he could help her. Besides, he might be on the government’s blacklist now. Shuna promised to keep in close touch with his mother and notify him of any new developments. She was going to Dalian City, about six hundred miles away, that weekend to see how his mother was managing.
For weeks he was restless, afraid something terrible would happen to Anji. She had just turned twenty-eight, worked as a technician at a veterinary clinic, and had been taking care of their mother. Now her absence would ruin their family. Tian had heard horrible stories of how Falun Gong practitioners suffered and were maimed in prison and labor camps. Some died of disease and malnourishment; and some lost their minds. When Shuna had visited Dalian, she’d offered to take his mother back to Beijing with her, but the old woman refused to leave home. She worried that she’d feel out of place in the capital, without her neighbors and friends and the beach—her apartment faced the ocean with a tiny patch of water view. Moreover, she had to find out what had happened to Anji, and had persisted with the local police every day. Shuna had no choice but to let her be.
A month later, in mid-November, word about Anji finally came. She was in a prison called Deliverance Detention Center outside Yingkou, a coastal city on Liaodong Peninsula. Her mother registered a request to visit her, but it was denied on the grounds that Anji was refusing to renounce her belief in “the pernicious cult.” Not until Anji denounced Falun Gong publicly would they allow her to communicate with anyone outside, or allow her mother to visit her in jail. There was no way to make Anji change her mind, but her mother continued to go to the police station every day, saying she wanted to speak to her daughter. Tian knew that he wouldn’t be able to bring his sister around either—like most Falun Gong practitioners, she was quite zealous. For many of them this must be their first communal religious experience, so for them apostasy was out of the question. Even his mother, he knew, would refuse to give it up. He had once pressed them to reflect on their devotion and even to question some of Master Li’s teachings, but neither his mother nor Anji had heeded his words.
Still, he had to do something. From now on, he would remit an additional thousand dollars to Shuna every month so that she could exchange them for yuan and then pass the money on to his mother. To deal with the officials and the police, she’d need more cash on hand. Even her daily expenses would increase considerably because she wouldn’t have time to shop or cook and would have to travel a lot to make inquiries and present petitions at higher offices. On the phone, he told her to find a way to visit Anji and buy her some warm winter clothes.
Then, in early December, his mother was informed that Anji was dying of kidney failure. They had shipped her to a hospital nearby, but they wouldn’t say which one—only that she wasn’t responding to treatment. When his mother at long last arrived at the detentio
n center, there was only a small wooden urn containing Anji’s ashes. She demanded an explanation, but the prison authorities said that Anji’s body had begun to decay and couldn’t have been kept any longer. That was the end of the story. As desperately as his mother tried, she couldn’t get more information. Among the Falun Gong practitioners, it was said that Anji had been drugged, her kidneys chosen for important recipients in Beijing, and that the prison had rushed her execution to synchronize with the transplant operations. But no one could prove anything. Anji was dead, and her ashes were later interred together with their father’s in their home village.
According to Yabin, many imprisoned Falun Gong practitioners had indeed been used as organ suppliers in mainland China. Some Party officials even had a hand in this lucrative underground business, which brought foreign customers over to major Chinese cities to receive organ transplants. Tian had seen such news reports, but he couldn’t tell how prevalent this kind of organ harvesting was. Nor was he absolutely positive that his sister had been killed for her kidneys.
His mother still could speak coherently, even though ravaged by grief. She told him not to even think about returning to China. “This country devours its people,” she said. “Stay away from it, the farther the better. Settle down in America and then take your wife and child out of China.” She spoke with total conviction.
He too was grieving for Anji. She had died so young, and to his knowledge, her boyfriend had broken up with her two years earlier because of her religious zeal. Her life seemed to have been misspent and misused. The loss of such a young life made Tian ponder the nature and meaning of the individual’s existence in China. Anji seemed to have lived without a clear purpose of her own. Her religious devotion must have come out of hopelessness, and Falun Gong must have offered her a kind of solace. In spite of his calm appearance, Tian was seething with rage, angry at a society that couldn’t provide adequate room for a young life to exist and grow. He felt something constantly clawing at him from within, trying to get out. Often he was on the verge of lashing out at someone, as if he could have grabbed hold of a person responsible for his loss.
12
Tian had to make more money, as he was now responsible for supporting his mother. Fortunately there was enough work in the winter, and he accepted any offer that came his way. From time to time he was contacted by associations in Asian countries—Singapore, Indonesia, the Philippines—with robust Chinese communities that often held cultural events. He had also received invitations from Australia. In spite of the good pay they offered, he couldn’t go to any of those places on a Chinese passport—the visas were too hard for Chinese nationals to come by. Even if he got the visas needed for entry to other countries, he might not be able to come back to the States smoothly. In fact, what people in his situation feared most was that they couldn’t return to America once they left, so most of them just avoided traveling abroad. Tian spoke about his predicament with Yabin. Yabin suggested he try to acquire a green card, with which he could travel outside the States and return without incident. His friend even recommended an American immigration attorney, saying Tian must avoid Chinese lawyers, especially those originally from China.
According to Yabin, there were two ways for him to get a green card: one was to seek political asylum and the other was to apply as a special professional for an H-1B visa, which would serve as a transitional step toward permanent residency. (After holding such a visa, he would qualify to apply for a green card.) Although he could be classified as a dissident of some sort, Tian would not seek political asylum. To his mind, that was a line that, once crossed, would make him an enemy of the Chinese government and endanger his family back in China. Yabin offered to look for a sponsor for his H-1B. Given that Tian was a reputable singer, there must be some cultural association that needed his service.
Attorney Marge Johnson, a tall middle-aged woman with thick glasses, accepted Tian’s case and told him the process might take several months. Even though he still had to use a Chinese passport when traveling abroad, at least with long-term legal status in America, he could have the States as his base to return to, so ultimately he should get a green card. Besides a full folder of his paperwork, he left two albums with her so that she could review them and assess his case fully.
Three days later she called and asked him to meet with her on Monday. She didn’t tell him why, and he felt anxious. For the whole weekend he wondered if there might be a problem with his application. When he went to Johnson’s office on Monday morning, she was in good spirits and told him, “I listened to your albums and was very impressed. Maybe you should apply for immigration directly instead of an H1-B visa—you certainly qualify as a distinguished talent.”
“You mean I should apply for a green card as an artist?” he asked.
“Correct. Obviously you are highly accomplished, a tremendous tenor. Now, I want you to come up with some names of artists who know your work and are already naturalized, or who were born Americans. Ideally they can vouch for your reputation and achievement. We should contact them and request letters of endorsement. Their support will be vital for your application and can expedite the process with USCIS.”
“I will think up some names,” he said.
They talked briefly about the cost, which would be similar to an H-1B visa, around three thousand dollars if everything went smoothly. He was pleased to hear that.
Later he spoke to Yabin about Johnson’s suggestion. His friend believed that the lawyer was right and that he should apply directly for a green card, but Tian didn’t know many artists in America. Yabin mentioned Tan Mai, the pi-pa player, and Hao Jiang, based at the Metropolitan Opera. Tian knew of Hao Jiang, who was a wonderful bass, originally from Beijing. In the States, Hao Jiang had overcome tremendous odds—professional competitions, English, poverty, prejudice, a divorce—and gained worldwide recognition during his tenure at the Met. But Tian didn’t know him in person. Yabin urged him to write to Hao Jiang nonetheless, saying any decent person should give Tian a hand in a situation like this. Yabin had the contact information for both Tan Mai and Hao Jiang. The opera singer went to work at Lincoln Center, so Tian could send a letter to him care of the Met’s office there, but he should print his name in the Chinese characters on the envelope so that Hao Jiang could recognize him as the sender. Following Yabin’s advice, Tian wrote to both of them with his request.
To his amazement, they both agreed to write on his behalf and send their letters directly to Attorney Johnson. In total he needed four letters. With the support secured from the accomplished artists, the other two letters were easy to come by. Yabin would write one for him in the name of the community’s cultural association, and Tian asked a professor of film studies at NYU, a first-rate poet who had once invited him to sing for an event. He was grateful for the help they gave him readily. He’d heard that such letters could cost a lot of money. In fact, there were people who charged hundreds of dollars for immigration letters, especially for applicants who didn’t know English.
* * *
—
His sister’s death was always on his mind. It cast dark shadows over his heart even when he was surrounded by cheer. What upset him most was the unclear cause of her death. Who would believe that a healthy young woman suddenly died of kidney failure?
Having nowhere else to turn, he approached Falun Gong’s community center in Flushing to see if they might help him discover the truth. Cindy Wong received him in her office. She was all smiles, her heart-shaped face smooth and pale. She said she was elated to meet him in person finally.
“It sounds like your sister was used for organ transplants,” Cindy said after he had explained Anji’s imprisonment and death. Her curved eyebrows joined and her face fell a little. “I’m terribly sorry to hear this, Mr. Yao. This kind of sudden death happened to many of our fellow practitioners jailed in China. All the violent suppressions have been directed by 610 Office, which
was set up in every city and every county there for religious persecution. For years organ harvesting has been some officials’ way of generating their personal income. A cornea can sell for fifteen thousand dollars there. Those monsters would do anything to make money.” Her bright eyes dimmed, blinking as she spoke.
“If that’s what happened to my sister,” he said, “I won’t let the Chinese government get away with such an atrocity. It was murder!”
“I’m going to speak to my colleagues and we’ll look into your sister’s case.”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.”
They also conversed a bit about themselves. In spite of her slight accent, she had never lived in China. He was amazed that she had grown up in Europe and could speak French, Italian, and Spanish. Her husband was a Serbian immigrant and currently a chemistry professor at Queens College. Tian hadn’t expected to meet such an articulate, well-educated woman among the Falun Gong practitioners, most of whom had always seemed to him to be simplehearted hotheads. Cindy had an outgoing personality and even told him that she had worked on Wall Street, hired by a finance firm mainly thanks to her ability to read business transitions in several languages, but she had quit making money that way after she joined Falun Gong. She sincerely believed in the teachings of Master Li and felt she’d found her life’s purpose in the religion. This was something Tian couldn’t understand—he thought that some of Li’s principles verged on bigotry, especially those regarding magic cures and homosexuality, though he admired Falun Gong’s fundamental trinary belief: Truthfulness, Compassion, and Tolerance.
Falun Gong’s network in China had largely been destroyed, so their investigation of Anji’s case couldn’t get any conclusive evidence. Still, Cindy contacted Tian from time to time. When the Spring Festival was at hand again, she called and invited him to join the Divine Grace troupe on an East Coast holiday tour. He accepted, partly as a way to mourn his sister’s death, which—except for telling Cindy and Yabin—he’d kept to himself. Cindy said the troupe was thrilled that he would be joining them. Soon he saw their posters bearing his name and photo in community newspapers and grocery stores. He was glad that this time Shuna did not object to his new association with Falun Gong, even though it was likely to incite the Chinese government. She even said, “Sometimes you have to dismantle your bridges if you want to move ahead.”