China's Son (24 page)

“There is a drama at nine tonight that I thought you might want to see,” he said.

“Thank you for the invitation. I love drama.”

“I thought you would.” I entered the door; inside was another world. There were flowers in pots, a tea table, and lush sofas scattered around a stand where the TV proudly sat, precious modern magic. It was the first time I had ever seen a television.

The party secretary showed me to a prominent seat as all present stood up to meet me. I bowed to them like a spineless sucker. The party vice secretary, the head of the commune's women's group, the head of the Young Leaguers, and a few good-looking ladies were there. I was embarrassed by the attention. These guys had hung my dad up by his thumbs a few years ago, had locked my sister up for selling our clothing ration coupons, had shortened my grandfather's life and made his last days in this world a living hell. Now they all smiled and shook hands with me, praising me for the high scores. It felt strange, but extraordinarily good.

I sat down. A pretty girl, the eldest daughter of the host,
carried over a cup of steaming tea on an elegant tray and served me with a sweet smile. I took the tea with a humble heart, outwardly trying to be nonchalant. She sat beside me and explained the high technology of the nine-inch black box. I felt uneasy chatting with her. It was a challenge to conduct a civil conversation without spilling my tea.

The TV blinked all night, the reception was spotty, and when thick clouds passed overhead, blurring it even more, the audience had to guess at what was happening on the screen. It was a milestone in my book, nonetheless. The daughter kept pouring me tea, and I kept running to their bathroom. I left with the rest of the crowd when the TV screen turned white with busy little dots. At home, Mom had waited up to question me about how I had been received. She wanted all the details.

I gave her a full and complete report, and she smiled with satisfaction.

I went to the post office every morning and sorted the mail with the clerk. This chubby lady was a one-woman show: she was the phone operator, mail deliverer, telegram person, and counter clerk, who sold stamps and sealed packages. She was also the mother of the two kids who played on the dirt floor and watched the door for her. Whenever the truck arrived, the eldest kid would shout that the mail was in from Putien. His mom would come out, and I would help her carry it in. When she was out on her bike delivering the mail, her mother-in-law took over watching the children and the switchboard. No matter how shabby, the post office was a crucial message center: it held my hopes and dreams.

I sat on the doorstep, played with the kids, and looked for the green post office truck from Putien each morning. Whenever it came, my heart would race and my head would begin to throb with anticipation.

One fine autumn day, the kid yelled as usual, and his mom
and I carried in an unusually large load. She threw me the stack of mail, the sorting of which had become my routine, and I clawed through it carefully and quickly.

A large registered envelope dropped out of the stack. The return address looked familiar.

Beijing First Foreign Language Institute.

It was addressed to Comrade Chen Da.

I jumped up and screamed at the clerk. She handed me a pair of scissors and I slit open the envelope.

In one simple sentence, the letter informed me that I had been admitted into Beijing Language Institute's English department, and that I was expected to report on campus within a month.

I ran home as fast as I could.

Mom, Dad, and the whole family were on hand to congratulate me.

We studied the letter and the information they had sent about the department and the college. The picture of the college was a treasure.

My dream had come true. I would be off to Beijing to study English.

I would be the first one in the history of Yellow Stone High to do so.

Now I had a future, a bright one. In a few years, I would be fluent in English, could go to work for the Foreign Ministry and would converse in that fine language with fine people in an elegant international setting. Other things would follow, and I would be able to take care of my wonderful family and give them all that had been denied them.

Though I had never set foot outside my county and Putien was the largest city I had ever been to, my mind had wings, and it had traveled far away.

I made a list of people to visit before I left. Professor Wei was at the top. She had been away traveling with her sister since I took the test, but now she was back.

I took two ducks and visited her one afternoon. She opened the door and made me tell her what had happened. I said we should talk inside. She said she couldn't wait another second.

Beijing First Foreign Language Institute, I said.

She said she couldn't believe it.

She jumped up and down like a small child and said she was so glad, she wanted to hug me and thank me for being such a good student.

We hugged and she rested her head on my shoulder. I felt her tears on my white shirt. She was having a good time.

I promised to write and report all my progress to her. She looked at me and shook her head slowly, still incredulous. Her hands cupped her delicate face as she stood in her doorway waiting until I disappeared into the woods.

Of course, her mean dog was still angry at me. He seemed to be saying,
I'm the only one in town to see through you. You are nothing but a country boy and will always be a country boy.
I made peace with myself and agreed with the dog for the first time. I would always be a country boy, no more, no less.

Dad gave me another list of people to visit, the older generation, his friends and those relatives with whom we had lost contact during the tough times. I visited them all and was received warmly and with respect.

My four buddies reappeared from nowhere one day and had two bikes on hand. They took me to a fancy restaurant in Putien, one that we used to look at from a distance as we smelled the fine aromas wafting from the ventilation window, trying to guess the price of each smell.

We boasted and talked about the old days. Mo Gong took off his old leather shoes and said I would need them in a cold city like Beijing. We went to a photo studio and froze our memory into a black-and-white picture.

Meanwhile, at home we were getting worried about Jin's admission. He was a little older than the usual college student, and we suspected that someone might have been making trouble for him. With his score, he should have received letters from the colleges by now. The whole family was caught between us two. I was in the celebrating mood, while he still waited in agony. There had been cases where applicants with high scores had been left out by clerical error. He began to go to the post office just as I had, waiting every day. He, too, played with the kids and helped the lady clerk with her routine.

Finally, two days before I was about to leave, his letter came.

It was a moment of great happiness for all of us. Mom and Dad, who were hardened by many years of suffering and deprivation, rarely revealed their emotions, but now I saw Dad collapse into a chair, bury his face in his shaking hands, and weep. Mom sat down also and let loose a torrent. Everyone was sniffling.

Thirty years of humiliation had suddenly come to an end. Two sons had been accepted into leading universities within the same year. Mom and Dad had never dreamed of such a day. They had thought we were finished. Kicked around in school, I had almost dropped out many times. Jin had been forced to quit school at the age of twelve to become a farmer with nothing to look forward to but blisters on his tender hands, being spat upon by the older farmers, and doing backbreaking work that had taken away ten prime years of his
life. There had been years of no hope, no dreams, only tears, hunger, shame, and darkness.

I held my brother's shoulders as he sobbed. But it was soon over. He was the first to wipe his eyes and smile broadly at everyone. All the tears were ended.

During the next two days, Jin threw himself into packing for me as I went around bowing and thanking everyone in the neighborhood.

My heart was full of gratitude to even the meanest people on the street who used to slight us. I bade good-bye to them all. They were touched and shook my hand firmly. They said they would try to take care of my parents while Jin and I were gone. I thanked them again.

On the day of my departure, we got up early. Mom prepared all the cows and pigs I had promised the gods and Buddha. She made them with flour and water and painted them red. I kowtowed a thousand times and thanked the gods for making my dream come true.

Mom gave me an embroidered silk bag filled with dust from the incense holder and a pinch of soil from Yellow Stone. She asked me to carry it with me to Beijing and to spread it on the ground there when I arrived. It would ensure protection from the gods and Buddha at home. I hid the bag safely in the middle of my wooden trunk.

After breakfast, I checked my train ticket for the last time. Dad, my sisters, and Jin had borrowed bikes and were coming to Putien to see me off at the bus station. I hugged Mom at the door again and again.

She cried, but a smile shone through her tears. She pulled me once more into her arms, then gently pushed me away and nodded. Only at that moment, as I looked at her, did I realize that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole
world and that I was going to miss her when I was thousands of miles away in Beijing.

As I hopped up onto the backseat of one of the bikes, our neighbors came out to wave good-bye to me. The cigarette man, Liang, was old now. He wobbled to the edge and smiled and bowed to me. The doctor was also there, waving his cane in my direction. Some neighbors stood at my mom's side, comforting her. I took a long last look at the cobbled street of Yellow Stone, the Dong Jing River, and the Ching Mountain, looming tall in the background.

Good-bye, Yellow Stone. I am forever your son.

We rode on our four bikes, chatting and laughing on the way to the bus station. I had never seen Dad so happy and carefree. He joked and told stories about my childhood. We arrived at noon. My bus was already boarding.

Jin was coming with me to Fuzhou to see me off at the train station, because I had never seen a train before. Without his guidance, it would be Da in Wonderland, running after the train as it left. I had never been on a bus before, either. The only motor vehicle I had ridden on was the commune's noisy tractor.

Together Jin and I threw my heavy wooden trunk onto the overloaded luggage rack on top of the shaky, dusty bus. Then we squeezed into a crowded seat that was marked for four people but actually had six occupying it. My sisters came onto the bus and hugged me tearfully; then Dad climbed up the steps. He stumbled, and I sprang out of my seat to meet him. He gave me a bear hug. I was surrounded once more by the same warmth I used to feel as a small kid hiding under his padded cotton overcoat. He took my face in his hands and bit his lower lip until it turned pale.

“I want to get some fruit for you, son. You wait.” He
stumbled down from the bus and ran toward a fruit stand a few yards away. His back was hunched over, and his steps were slower than he wanted them to be. He climbed over the guardrail that separated the passengers from the onlookers and almost fell.

When he came back, the engine had already started. Dad walked in front of the bus to stop it. The driver was yelling at him. He ran to the window where we sat and passed four pears to me. He was out of breath and looked very tired. His eyes were wet, but there was a smile on his wrinkled face. I couldn't help the tears that rolled down my cheeks as we pulled away from the crowded station. Dad stood there waving to me. I craned my neck until I could see him no longer.

I love you, Dad. I am your son forever.