River Town_ Two Years On The Yangtze Part 25

JUNE WAS A BUSY MONTH, and I tried to start the goodbyes early, so there wouldn't be such a rush at the end.

Qian Manli and w.a.n.g Dongmei were two young women from the local Bank of China who had always been particularly helpful, so Adam and I asked them out for hot pot on a Friday night. It was the first date of any sort I'd had in two years of living in Fuling.

We met them on Gaosuntang. Both of them had dressed carefully-very short skirts, very bright makeup, silk blouses, highlights in their hair. We hadn't expected that; Adam and I were wearing T-shirts and baseball caps.

The best hot pot places were on Xinghua Road, winding down toward the center of town, and the four of us walked past the open-air restaurants that lined the sidewalk. It was a warm night, with hundreds of people eating outside, and all of them stared as we walked past. Qian Manli and w.a.n.g Dongmei were very pretty women in their mid-twenties, and it was clear that they enjoyed the attention of going out with the waiguoren waiguoren-in fact, this appeared to be why they had prepared themselves so elaborately.

We chose a restaurant and took a table on the sidewalk. There was a hush as we arrived. The women ordered for us, and Adam and I started one of our Chinese routines, referring to each other as foreign devils, running dogs, and Capitalist Roaders. w.a.n.g Dongmei and Qian Manli laughed, as everybody always did when we peppered our conversation with Cultural Revolution insults and anti-foreigner remarks. We ordered local beer and it was nice to eat on the sidewalk, chatting and watching the crowd.

The incident with the video camera seemed far away, and I realized that one thing I would never forget about Fuling was its unpredictability-the way things could change so quickly, a bad day followed by a good week. The town wasn't simple, and neither was my role there; it would be wrong to say that I had failed in my efforts to make Fuling a comfortable home, and it would be just as inaccurate to claim that I had been entirely successful. There were good days and there were bad days. To some degree this was what I liked most about Fuling: it was a human place, brightened by decency and scarred by flaws, and a town like that was always engaging. For two years I had never been bored.

Today was one of the good days, and sitting there at the hot pot restaurant I felt completely comfortable with everything, the language and the crowd and the women at our table. It wasn't much different from a Friday night at home, hanging out with friends and joking around. And I liked the fact that Adam and I were also comfortable with each other's Chinese personalities-Ho Wei and Mei Zhiyuan were just as close as our other ident.i.ties. It seemed ages since our first semester, when we had avoided going into town together because it doubled the hara.s.sment.

After an hour I got up to use the bathroom, and I returned to find Adam and w.a.n.g Dongmei talking loudly.

"You're not married!" Adam said.

"Yes, I am," she said, laughing. "I was married two months ago."

"You're joking!"

"No, it's true."

"But you never said anything about getting married!"

"You didn't ask."

"You can't be serious-you're lying to me."

But she seemed sincere. I turned to Qian Manli. "Are you married?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe it!"

"It's true," she said, smiling. She had a nice smile and very pretty black eyes, and I realized that in Fuling a woman like this would never make it past twenty-five without marrying. I had been a fool for ever thinking otherwise.

"Where's your husband?" I asked.

"He's at home."

"What's he doing?"

"I don't know. Probably watching television."

It was the same way with w.a.n.g Dongmei. Both of them were newlyweds who had left their husbands at home on a Friday night to go out with the waiguoren waiguoren.

I glanced over at Adam. At the beginning of the evening we had promised the women that we wouldn't speak any English, but now we didn't need to; each of us knew what the other was thinking. Regardless of how comfortable certain moments were in the city, life still wasn't normal, and never would be. That had always been part of Fuling's charm and there was no reason to be surprised by it now.

We stayed for another two hours. The best aspect of eating hot pot was that it took so long-it was a slow, lazy meal, perfect for a warm night out on the sidewalk. The restaurant had cold beer and we ordered a few. Everybody had a good time. After dinner we walked the women back to their apartment buildings. I was hoping that they would invite us inside, so we could meet their husbands-sort of like meeting a girl's parents when you went out in high school. But they just smiled and waved goodbye, and we caught a cab back to the college.

TEACHER LIAO WAS PREGNANT; she was due in July. In June she invited Adam and me to a farewell dinner. She gave us some calligraphy that had been written by her father-in-law, who was famous for his brushwork, and we gave her some baby clothes. she was due in July. In June she invited Adam and me to a farewell dinner. She gave us some calligraphy that had been written by her father-in-law, who was famous for his brushwork, and we gave her some baby clothes.

A couple of evenings earlier, the college authorities had invited all four of the foreign teachers and our tutors to a banquet. Mr. w.a.n.g, the waiban waiban representative, had always enjoyed making fun of Adam's and my Chinese, speaking with patronizing slowness and accusing us of not understanding. He sat at my table during the banquet, mocking me mercilessly, until finally Teacher Liao snapped at him. representative, had always enjoyed making fun of Adam's and my Chinese, speaking with patronizing slowness and accusing us of not understanding. He sat at my table during the banquet, mocking me mercilessly, until finally Teacher Liao snapped at him.

"Ho Wei understands what you're saying!" she said. "We studied that a year ago. You don't need to talk to him like that!"

Mr. w.a.n.g laughed lightly, as he always did; but the point had been made, and I took great pleasure in watching this tiny pregnant woman set the cadre straight. It reminded me of the way she had defended Li Peng during our tutorial a year ago-it was the same fierce pride, and, despite being indirectly linked with Li Peng, I was happy to share in her loyalty.

She knew that I didn't like Mr. w.a.n.g because that spring I had been very open with her about my feelings regarding the waiban waiban and the English department. Teacher Liao's final a.s.signment had been to summarize my experience in Fuling, and I spent our last two cla.s.ses doing that. I was blunt-I told her about the things I didn't like, the administration's pettiness and the mocking catcalls in town, and never once did she try to defend any of it. But I spent most of the time talking about the good things that had happened in Fuling, and I said that by far my best experience had been learning Chinese and meeting people in the city. I told her that in particular I respected the way that she and Teacher Kong had extended their friendship as well as their patience; others wouldn't have done the same. and the English department. Teacher Liao's final a.s.signment had been to summarize my experience in Fuling, and I spent our last two cla.s.ses doing that. I was blunt-I told her about the things I didn't like, the administration's pettiness and the mocking catcalls in town, and never once did she try to defend any of it. But I spent most of the time talking about the good things that had happened in Fuling, and I said that by far my best experience had been learning Chinese and meeting people in the city. I told her that in particular I respected the way that she and Teacher Kong had extended their friendship as well as their patience; others wouldn't have done the same.

Those cla.s.ses ended in May, because of her pregnancy. My office was on the sixth floor of the teaching building, and I strongly recommended that for our final tutorials we meet in her apartment, or someplace else that was more convenient. She was not a physically strong woman, and it tired her to climb all the way up to my office.

But until the end she was very Chinese-it was appropriate for us to meet in my office, and so that was where we had cla.s.s. This had nothing to do with stairs or pregnancy; it was simply how things were done. It was the Chinese way.

In early May we had my last tutorial. She struggled up the steps, gasping for breath, and I gave her a couple of minutes to recover. As was true of so many Chinese women, most of her body remained thin throughout the pregnancy-it was as if somebody had sewn an awkward bundle onto her stomach. Finally she stopped wheezing and we began cla.s.s.

After thirty minutes she suddenly sat bolt upright, puffed out her cheeks, and rushed out the door. I could hear her getting sick in the spittoon outside my office, and then she hurried down the hallway to the bathroom.

I waited for her to return. A year ago, I would have a.s.sumed that she would cancel cla.s.s, but now I knew better-we would finish the two hours today. I knew exactly how she would act when she returned, and what she would say. And I knew that I would always remember this woman's quiet pride and toughness, and the way it had gone from being infuriating to something whose consistency was admirable and even comforting.

Five minutes later she came back. She smiled, blushed, and said, "Duibuqi. Sorry."

"Do you want to stop cla.s.s?" I asked.

"No. It is nothing-often at this time in the morning I am a little sick."

"Certainly we don't have to finish today if you feel poorly."

"It is nothing," she said firmly. "Now-please continue with what you were saying before I left."

And I did.

I HAD MADE SOME MONEY from a story I had written for the from a story I had written for the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times, and I donated the payment to the Fuling Catholic church. I knew that Father Li had been looking for some extra cash so he could have a mural painted on a new wall in the courtyard, and he thanked me when I made the donation.

"Thank you for your kindness to me," I said, shaking the old man's hand. We were sitting in his office, with the poster of Mao and Deng on the wall. Father Li gripped my hand tightly.

"We'll remember you after you're gone," he said. "I'll say a Ma.s.s for you."

"Thank you," I said, and then I thought of something. "Could you also say a Ma.s.s for my grandfather?"

"Certainly. Write his name here."

He handed me a piece of paper and I wrote my grandfather's name: Frank Anselm Dietz. Anselm was the holy name that he had chosen when he became a Benedictine monk. I wrote it carefully and gave the paper back to the priest.

"When my grandfather was young, he was a monk in Rome," I said. "He wanted to come here to China." I had told Father Li this before, but for some reason it seemed important that I repeat it now.

"Rome is a very beautiful city," said the priest.

"Yes, it is," I said. "I've been there before."

"I've never gone," he said, chuckling to himself.

"My grandfather didn't become a priest. But I think he would like it very much if you said a Ma.s.s for him here in Fuling."

"I'll do that," Father Li said, nodding.

"Thank you very much," I said. "I'll come back sometime and see the new wall."

"You will always be welcome here."

He walked with me into the courtyard, where high walls kept out the noise of the city. Flowers were growing around the Four Modernizations sign. It was a hot afternoon. I was thinking about my grandfather and the old priest, and suddenly I was so sad that I couldn't say anything else. Silently I shook his hand and turned to leave.

"Manman zou," he said. "Go slowly." But I walked quickly out of the courtyard and into the roar of the city. he said. "Go slowly." But I walked quickly out of the courtyard and into the roar of the city.

I GAVE THE LITERATURE STUDENTS their final examination during the last week. Linda's father was very sick now, and she took the test a few hours early so she could catch a noon bus home. I offered to let her take it later, or not at all; she had always been one of the best students and the news about her father had not sounded good. But she insisted on taking the test before leaving Fuling. their final examination during the last week. Linda's father was very sick now, and she took the test a few hours early so she could catch a noon bus home. I offered to let her take it later, or not at all; she had always been one of the best students and the news about her father had not sounded good. But she insisted on taking the test before leaving Fuling.

Later that afternoon I supervised the rest of the students during the scheduled exam. As always, they were nervous and worked seriously, although I noticed that one girl, Susan, seemed distracted. She was very pale and spent most of the second hour with her head on the desk.

I didn't think much of it until later. It was Adam's birthday and after the exam we had a banquet for all the students at a local restaurant. Everybody drank too much and it was a good night, spilling over to the Students' Home, where Feng Xiaoqin served us more beer.

At some point during the evening, Mo Money told me that Linda's father had died while she was taking my examination. The fortune-tellers had been right; and now I wished that I had insisted she take the test some other time.

The following day Susan disappeared from the college. The story came out gradually, in bits and pieces. Four days earlier she had had an abortion, and the night before the examination she had been taken to the emergency room because of complications. Somehow it had been kept secret up to that point; my impression was that she had found some sort of illegal private doctor, although this wasn't clear. All we knew for certain was that her emergency-room trip had alerted the college authorities, and now they knew the truth, which was why she had left. Students were expelled whenever they were caught having s.e.xual relations, not to mention getting pregnant. And a note was attached to their dangan dangan-the dossiers that followed them wherever they went in China. If Susan ever took a danwei danwei job of any sort, her superiors would know what had happened to her. job of any sort, her superiors would know what had happened to her.

Groups of girl students talked quietly in the hallways, their faces drawn. The night after Susan left, I ran into Sarah and Lisa outside my office. They were serious and we spoke in Chinese, standing on the landing overlooking the city. I asked about Susan, and Lisa looked at me carefully.

"Do you know what happened to her?" she said.

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"Other students have told me."

"What do you think about it?"

"I think it's very sad, of course. And I think she should be allowed to graduate."

"That won't happen," Lisa said quickly. She was one of the better students and also one of the more thoughtful. I asked her if Susan had gone home, and Lisa shook her head.

"She can't go home," she said. "Her father is very angry."

"How does he know?"

"The college told him. When the authorities found out, at first they agreed not to tell her family. But for some reason they told. This same thing happened to Susan's older sister a few years ago, and when her father found out he beat her. So now Susan will not go home. Her father is very angry-it's a big loss of face for the family. This is the second time they have lost face in such a way."

"Do you think the department should have told him?" I asked.

"I don't think it's their affair. It's a private matter."

I told her that I agreed, and I asked how Susan's boyfriend was treating her.

"He is fine. She has good guanxi guanxi with his parents and I think they will help her. Perhaps that is where she has gone. But you know, she paid several thousand yuan to get a teaching job in his hometown, but now she won't graduate and she'll lose the job. She'll lose the money, too." with his parents and I think they will help her. Perhaps that is where she has gone. But you know, she paid several thousand yuan to get a teaching job in his hometown, but now she won't graduate and she'll lose the job. She'll lose the money, too."

That didn't seem to be the biggest concern-to be honest, I was far more worried about Susan jumping off a bridge. But I said nothing about that.

"This sort of thing happens everywhere," I said. "In America it's very common as well."

"What do people do about the problem there?"

"It's very difficult, just as it is here, but usually it can be kept private. Probably that is the biggest difference."

"That's the way it should be. But here everybody knows-the whole college has heard about it."

"What do most people think?"

"A few people think it's funny; others think she's a bad woman. But most of the students in our cla.s.s are very sorry for Susan, although we can't help." She shook her head and gazed out on the rivers. "Mei banfa," "Mei banfa," she said. "There is nothing that can be done." she said. "There is nothing that can be done."

THE NEXT DAY I turned twenty-nine years old. Always in the past my birthdays had felt like somebody else's-it seemed impossible that I had really gained another year. But this time I knew that I was twenty-nine; in some ways I felt much older. It had been a long two years and during that time I hadn't left western China. I turned twenty-nine years old. Always in the past my birthdays had felt like somebody else's-it seemed impossible that I had really gained another year. But this time I knew that I was twenty-nine; in some ways I felt much older. It had been a long two years and during that time I hadn't left western China.

In the morning I went with Adam and Mo Money to the bus station, because Linda had asked us to meet her when she returned. She wore a black armband and her eyes were red. After getting off the bus she tried to smile, one of those brave Chinese smiles that held the emotion at bay, compressed and controlled and pushed to the peripheries-a corner of the mouth, a line across the forehead. But today the sadness was too much; her mouth trembled, and she looked away.

That evening I graded my literature examinations. I thought about how pleasant everything had seemed when I monitored the exam, walking through the rows of students with their heads down, working hard. I liked being surrounded by their silence and concentration, and I liked the way that all of the black-haired heads were bent seriously. There was a simplicity to the scene, and there was a similar simplicity to the examination, which had nothing to do with the complications of life in Fuling, or the political problems in China, or the nationwide struggle of Reform and Opening. It was simply a literature test.

For the final section I asked them to a.n.a.lyze Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Can Stay": Nature's first green is gold,Her hardest hue to hold.Her early leaf's a flower;But only so an hour.Then leaf subsides to leaf.So Eden sank to grief,So dawn goes down to day.Nothing gold can stay.

We had studied the poem back in May. I had lectured in detail about its rhythm-I always did that, because the students liked a.n.a.lyzing the sound of the language and you could take a poem apart without boring them. Most of them had understood what I said about Frost, and it was one of those cla.s.ses that made me feel good about teaching literature. During the exam I felt the same way, walking through the rows and watching them work.

But now I realized that the simplicity had been a mirage. Linda's father had been dying as she took her final exam, and Susan had been struggling with the fear that had now driven her from the college. That was the way so many things in Fuling turned out-even teaching, which seemed to be a straightforward job, was complex and uncertain. There was an unemotional veneer that the people presented to the outside world, especially to waiguoren waiguoren, and this made it harder when you lived there long enough to catch a glimpse of the way things actually worked. Of course, to some degree it was just the difficulties of life anywhere in the world-during my time in Fuling, two students had died; another student had an abortion and was expelled; a father died; a child died; people's marriages crumbled. Those things happened everywhere. But in Fuling it had taken me longer to see that side of life, because at first as a waiguoren waiguoren I was held at a distance, and in a way that distance was hardest to deal with once it was gone. It was like looking at a blank meaningless smile and suddenly recognizing a lifetime of sadness concentrated in the corner. I was held at a distance, and in a way that distance was hardest to deal with once it was gone. It was like looking at a blank meaningless smile and suddenly recognizing a lifetime of sadness concentrated in the corner.

I had never had any idealistic illusions about my Peace Corps "service" in China; I wasn't there to save anybody or leave an indelible mark on the town. If anything, I was glad that during my two years in Fuling I hadn't built anything, or organized anything, or made any great changes to the place. I had been a teacher, and in my spare time I had tried to learn as much as possible about the city and its people. That was the extent of my work, and I was comfortable with those roles and I recognized their limitations.