Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square (37 page)

"No, you mother's eyes are round like peanuts while yours are long like almonds." Uncle squinted as though he was measuring the size of my eyes.

From then on, I would look at myself in the mirror every day, trying to comprehend Uncle's comments: you have a pair of very beautiful eyes. Although I always thought my nose was too flat, my mouth too big and my face too wide, Uncle's comments were certainly encouraging. After all, my eyes were beautiful, even more beautiful than mother's. After Uncle had left, I became so unhappy that I messed up my eyesight and put on a pair of ugly glasses.

With the sad memory still floating in my mind, the scenes faded. Our trip finally came to an end. I jumped out of the train and walked forward quietly.

"I hope you didn't feel too cold in the train," said Wuhua.

"No. It's the darkness that bothers me." I answered.

She nodded. I was not sure that she understood what I was talking about. No one could imagine life with a mother who had both a husband and a boyfriend. It was a slow torture of the heart. It was like the subway system, an existence without sunlight.

It was noon. The sun struck my face. I had difficulty opening my eyes. They kept blinking for a while.

In his house, Uncle tied an apron around his waist and became the cook. Back in the past, one of the biggest joys of Uncle's visits was his cooking. I still remembered vividly how much I had liked his deep fried pork, chicken and meatballs, varieties of stir-fried dishes, and steamed fish. He sat in front of our coal stove, waiting hours for the oil to get hot. Fortunately, the gas stove he had now was much faster. As I hoped, everything arrived on the little table in the courtyard in about an hour. We sat around it on little stools. Uncle served everyone a bowl of rice. In five minutes, three pairs of chopsticks swam in the dishes of sweet and sour pork, stir-fried green beans, hot and spicy bean curd, and chicken turnip soup.

Wuhua fed Qinmei. Busy with eating, Qinmei was unusually quiet, except when she asked for what she wanted.

"No, I don't want pork, I want bean curd." She pointed her fat little finger toward the table, while trying to spit out the pork in her mouth. She had a hard time doing so because the meat had stuck between her teeth.

The neighbors were cooking and doing laundry in the yard. The stir-fry smoke and the melodies of the Peking Opera on the radio lingered in the air, like an invisible roof over the courtyard.

Uncle sat quietly through dinnertime. Unlike the others, he did not have any rice. Instead, he drank white wine. Under the shade of trees around the house, his face was like a bronze statue, solemn and motionless. Along with eating roasted peanuts, he drank slowly.

"You are at Beijing University. It must be an exciting place." Wuhua started a conversation.

"Not really. It's a very boring place." I answered.

"Boring? Why? I thought Beijing University was the number-one university in the whole country."

"Yes. But it's also very boring. Nothing happens. We spend our days in the library, studying, studying and studying."

"Is that right?" She looked lost.

"But recently it has been fun. Local free elections had turned the campus up-side-down." I thought I should tell her about another aspect of my school. "Big-letter posters about reforming our country had covered the campus like a snow storm. Candidates gave public speeches on the street corners and in the cafeterias, from morning till night. I had been to public debates every night. Sometimes the meeting hall was so crowded that we had to stand outside to listen. We discussed everything from the pros and cons of Communism and Capitalism to the Feminist movement. For the first time in three years, I discovered friendly, interesting students at my university. Finally, the citizens of Beijing West District elected one of our brightest graduate students to represent them."

Uncle and Wuhua listened quietly. Maybe it was hard for those who had wasted their youth in political movements to share my enthusiasm for the demonstrations, and to comment on the college life they had never experienced.

In a while, Uncle stood up, the shade of nearby trees scattered on his face. His eyelids glistened under the spots of sunlight. He put his hand on my shoulder, looked into my eyes and said to me, "I am going to lie down for a while. I'm tired. You and Wuhua can talk. Ok?"

He left quickly. Wuhua was about to help him into the bedroom. He pushed her back and said, "I can take care of myself."

Wuhua came back and sighed, "I am sorry. He is like that once in a while."

Seeing Uncle in such a bad mood, I began to ask myself again what I was doing here.

"Do you have to clean dishes?" Wuhua asked me, trying to put aside her worries.

"Only during weekends at home." I said, beginning to admire her.

"How lucky you are! But you'd better be prepared for it. After you get married and have children, you have to do it every day."

"I'm not sure I want to get married." I said uncertainly. In my mind the idea of "marriage" still seemed far, far away. Love was yet to come, let alone marriage.

"Why? It's nice to be married and have children." She was really surprised.

As I washed dishes at the sink, the old man I met earlier came up to me and asked, "Are you Wuhua's......"

"No, Weiming's niece."

"Oh, his brother's daughter?"

Nodding my head, I lied. During the years I grew up while mother enjoyed her modern life style, I had learned how terrible gossip could be. Gossips could chop you into pieces. Wuhua handed me more dishes and turned around, facing down the old man.

"Hey, what are you doing here? Does she bother you? Let me tell you it's none of your business who she is! You'd better piss on the ground, and admire yourself in it!" Then she grabbed the dishpan from my hands, and walked back into her home.

Wuhua hung some winter jackets and blankets outside to make use of the bright summer sunshine.

Walking through the house alone, I noticed two books lying on top of the dresser. One was high school algebra; the other was a book about international trade. I opened the second one, started reading. The clock struck 3. I wondered about my being here. It had been an hour and half since Uncle had gone to sleep.

I tiptoed into the bedroom. Uncle snored heavily. With his eyes half open, his rough, freckled face was red and twisted. His chest bulged. His hands were clenched into fists. It seemed he was ready to fight someone in his dream. The longer I stayed, the louder his snoring became. It resonated in my head like the humming of a primitive song, like a desperate cry, like the rumbling of thunder. Then it stopped. Uncle was awake.

He stared at me with red, sleepy eyes. I rushed toward him. He grabbed my arms and murmured, "Meihua, Meihua, is that you?" His dry cracked lips trembled.

"Yes, Uncle." I moved closer to him. He opened his mouth again, and struggled to say something. But he sighed and dropped his head instead. "Meihua, would you leave here, please?" My heart, which had risen up in my throat, now plunged down like an anchor deep into the sea. I quietly stood up and walked toward the door.

"Meihua, wait a minute." Uncle got up quickly, opened the bottom draw of the dresser and pulled out a beautiful pair of stone washed blue jeans. "Please give these to Mingming." Then he turned around and never looked back.

The sun glared in the sky like an iron sphere, the air hot and still. Summer had arrived. Young women, wearing bright colored skirts and broad brim hats, rode their bikes slowly and beautifully. Young men, dressed in tight blue jeans and fashionable sunglasses, comfortably wrapped their arms around the young ladies' bare smooth shoulders.

I adjusted my sight, and everything became much clearer. I walked faster, trying to catch up with everyone.