Calls Across the Pacific (11 page)

In the archives, Nina also found a class photograph of the cadets who had graduated in 1948, and her father was among them. After she had made a couple of photocopies, it was already noon. She returned the journals and went out for lunch.

Nina strode along Jefferson Place and found a small café where she bought a chicken sandwich and a carton of milk, and relaxed in a chair at a table near the window. A young man in a green
T
-shirt sitting at the table next to hers looked familiar, but she could not remember where she had seen him before.

He had also noticed her. “Hi,” he said with a friendly smile on his face. “I saw you in the archive earlier. Are you a student?”

“Yes, but not from here,” she said, returning his smile. “Are you?”

“I'm too old to be a student here,” the man chuckled. “I'm doing some research for a report.”

“Are you a journalist?” Nina asked with interest. “I'm from the University of Southern Maine.”

“That's in Portland, isn't it?” he said.

He seemed to guess her next question and explained, “I go there often to interview subjects,” he said.

“It's a small world,” Nina said.

“Indeed, it is,” the journalist responded. “What were you looking for in the archives?”

“Information related to my father. He was a graduate of the Academy twenty-six years ago.”

“Now that's interesting. Why did he attend the military academy?” The man stood and walked up to her, with his hand stretching out. “I'm Roger Hughes. You are?”

“Nina Huang.” She stood up to shake his hand. It was warm and firm. They sat down, and Nina continued, “As a student at the Huangpu Military Academy in China, my father won a scholarship from the exchange program with the West Point Academy. That's why he spent two years here.”

They chatted amiably. Nina told him about her father, and Roger asked more questions about the Cultural Revolution. When they got up to leave, Roger handed his business card to Nina and said, “Call me anytime if you would like to meet and talk again. I wonder also if you might give me your phone number.”

“No problem,” Nina said, took out a pen, and jotted down her number. He seemed nice, and she would be happy to meet with him again.

Back in the archives, Nina continued to scrutinize other documents. In the end, the archivist asked about her father, so she told him what had happened to her father, and the archivist expressed his sorrow, though he was happy to hear about a graduate from the forbidden country.

Staring absent-mindedly out the window of the Greyhound bus back to Portland, Nina mused over what she had learned from Ajax's presentation, and the research she had done on her father, and the politics of China.
What would my father's view of the American Military Academy at West Point be if he were alive? Would he be proud of it?
As she pondered over these many “what ifs,” she noticed nothing outside the train window as it rolled by vast fields and dense forests.

11.
LONG LIVE…

T
HE CHRISTMAS BREAK
was over and school resumed. Nina was too busy to telephone Roger though she often recalled their encounter and interesting conversation. She kept his business card because it reminded her of his smiling face and captivating voice.

Not long after classes had started again, she was pleasantly surprised to receive a phone message left by Roger asking if she would join him for coffee. He gave the name and address of a café near her university and said he would be there between four and five p.m.

She glanced at her watch and worried about her tight schedule. She had only just received the message, and he wanted to meet her that same afternoon. Her last class would end at four-thirty, and she was supposed to start work at her new job in the cafeteria at five-thirty. How on earth could she manage it?

After class, she rushed back to her room. Quickly, she changed into a winter skirt and threw on an overcoat. Then she walked hurriedly down the snow-blanketed alley. Her warm breath broke the brisk air and left a trail of fog behind her. When she stepped into the Dunkin' Donuts, she eyed the tables eagerly.

Roger spotted her first. He walked over to her, took her by the hand and led her to a table by the window. “You finally showed up,” he said cheerfully.

“I was afraid I wouldn't find you,” Nina said with relief.

They talked as if they were long-time friends, while they drank coffee and ate donuts. When it was time for her to leave, she hesitated.

Roger noticed her uneasiness. “Is anything wrong?”

Nina shook her head. “No, but I've got to start work at five-thirty at the cafeteria,” she said, standing and reaching for her coat. “It's not far from here,” she added.

“I'll walk you there,” Roger said, then helped her with her coat before donning his own.

They headed to the cafeteria building, laughing and talking all the way there. At the entrance of the cafeteria, Roger gently pulled Nina to him. He kissed her on her mouth. A surge of desire rose in her, and she folded her arms around his neck to return his kiss. A cold wind blew outside, but Nina felt warm inside.

“How are you going home?” she asked.

“Oh?” replied Roger. He seemed to awaken from a sweet dream. “I forgot that my car is at the Dunkin' Donuts. It should be faster than my feet,” he said, chuckling.

Nina's heart softened. “I'll call you.”

“Promise?”

She nodded.

Nina did not call Roger despite the fact that she had enjoyed spending time with him. She was too busy to date, she told herself. She needed to study. Besides, the break-up with Bob still hurt.

But when reading week was just around the corner, she couldn't shake the image of Roger from her mind or the feeling of his kiss. She remembered her promise to phone him and so, one evening, she worked up the courage to dial his number. A young woman answered the phone. Hesitating only a second, Nina asked for Roger, but the woman said he was not in but she could leave a message if she wanted.

“Please tell him Nina called,” she said, then hung up. The excitement of seeing him dissipated.

Who was that woman?
she wondered, sitting down on the edge of her bed, anxious and curious.

He didn't return her call, and disappointed, she realized how attracted she was to him.

On Sunday evening the telephone finally rang. Nina picked up the receiver and, upon hearing Roger's voice, her heart skipped a beat. He apologized for being unable to respond earlier since he had been away on assignment for a while. “Can you visit me or shall I come to see you? How about next Saturday?”

Nina hesitated. She was still worried about the woman who had answered the phone in his apartment.
“How about if I come over to your place?” She needed to get away from school. In addition, she was longing to see where he lived. Thinking about seeing him excited her, but at the same time, she reminded herself she had no time for a relationship. Finally, she stopped debating with herself and decided to follow her heart.

She read through
The Rise of American Democracy, Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Peace and Power, Red Star Over China
, and
China's Red Army Marche
s, as she worked on a few assignments, waiting for the weekend to come so she could finally see him. Then she started counting down days. Four days. Three days. Two days.
Am I nuts?

Saturday morning, she took a Greyhound bus to Lewiston. At the bus terminal, Roger, in a dark blue corduroy coat, waited for her.
He is so handsome,
Nina thought. He led her to his car, opened the door of the passenger seat, and gestured her in. When he sat behind the wheel, he asked, “What would you like to see in town?”

Nina replied, “What do you usually do on Saturday mornings?”

“In winter I go cross-country skiing. Would you like to do that?”

“Why not? If you don't mind teaching me,” Nina answered.

“Are you sure you want to ski?”

“I grew up in a place without snow. Since I came to Maine, I haven't had a chance to learn.”

“No kidding. Well, I can be your instructor,” said Roger. He pulled the car over in front of an apartment building. “Let's get some ski gear.”

She followed him into his apartment. The living room was tidy and well-organized. A bookshelf stood against the wall, and a newspaper rack sat in front of it. A large desk and chair were placed in front of a grand window that looked out onto the street. Nina imagined sunshine pouring from the window and silhouetting Roger's figure whenever he sat at the desk. The polished hardwood floor shone; several framed pictures hung on the walls; and a brown leather couch faced a TV set.
Warm and clean,
she thought, wanting to ask if he had had help decorating the place, but she did not.

He seemed to know what she was wondering, so he said, “I'd tidied up before my sister came last week.” He left momentarily to retrieve two pairs of skis and poles from the balcony.”

“Where is your sister?” Nina asked when he came back into the room.
His sister! Not just any girl!
she thought.

“Back in New York City where we grew up,” Roger said. “Sometimes, she brings her boyfriend here for a weekend in the peace and quiet of the country. That's why I have extra skis. Can you try on these ski boots?” He pointed at the smaller pair he had taken out of a closet. Then he put the skis up against the wall. With one hand gripping a wax bar, and the other supporting a ski, he gently crayoned the wax on the surface of it. He glanced at Nina. “You must wonder why I don't live in New York. As an unreformed hippie, I prefer a freer, simpler lifestyle. New York is too complicated for me. So I'm here.”

She tapped her feet on the floor. “The boots fit me well,” she said. But the word “hippie” troubled her. She couldn't help but ask, “So, as a hippie, do you smoke pot?”

“Sometimes. But don't stereotype me,” Roger laughed. “I hope you'll get to know me as a person and not as a stereotype.” After the skis had been waxed, he asked, “Can you carry these poles? Let's get going. Otherwise, the sun will set on us.” He took a winter ski jacket out of the closet and handed it to her. “Wear this. Your coat is no good for skiing.” He held all the skis and his jacket in his arms as they walked out of his apartment.

Half an hour later, Roger parked his car at the end of a dirt road. After strapping on their ski boots, they stepped into the woods and onto the ski trail. Nina found it difficult to control her balance. When she aimed to stand, her feet moved in different directions. She wanted to go forward, but she couldn't move. It seemed like her body was being dragged by a horse that she was bound to. She laughed out loud and then looked to Roger for some help. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “It seems my feet have a mind of their own.”

“Bend your knees and move your feet just like you're walking,” said Roger, demonstrating by moving one step ahead. “It just takes a bit of practice.”

Like a horse stuck in the mud, Nina still had trouble stepping forward in the right direction. Despite all her exertion, she had only managed to slide forward about five metres. Puffing, she slumped onto her poles and looked toward Roger beseechingly. “Hey, wait for me!” she called out.

Roger laughed and skied quickly back to her. He patiently showed her a few simple movements and had her repeat them until she was comfortable. Finally, after falling onto the snow several times, and dissolving into laughter as she awkwardly pushed herself up and brushed the snow off her face and clothes, she managed at last to keep her balance on the skis. More practising made it possible for her to follow Roger's tracks.

Roger moved ahead and then returned to join her. “You've made progress. You're doing great!”

His encouragement and praise made her feel as if she could fly over the snow like a spring swallow. Nina raised her head and saw the trail turn around the hill and link to a faraway plateau. The trail looked as if it could reach the ends of earth. A remote and funny memory awoke in her mind. She said, “I have a story to tell you.”

“What's it about?”

“About a country fellow from a poor peasant's family,” she said, images of people in patched and worn-out clothes working in the fields of rural China flitted across her mind. “People from this kind of family are trusted and can get a decent job.”

He slowed down to wait for her. “What's this good ol' boy's job?”

“He's a driver of a horse-drawn cart. It was considered a great job, especially when the bus was out of service because most people were involved in the revolution and had stopped working, and many services disappeared,” she said. Then she told him about the “three loyalties,” which reached its peak in the year 1969.

“‘Three loyalties?' What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means to be loyal to Chairmen Mao, the Chinese Communist Party, and Mao's revolution. It's kind of a formal routine people carry out every day. I remember that as a child, I'd learned to shout ‘Long Live Chairman Mao' from my first day in kindergarten. Every morning, our work day started with that slogan: ‘Long Live Chairman Mao!' In all the newspaper stories, the heroes always call out that catchphrase, in order to show their loyalty, as if it is the last thing they will ever utter in the world.” Nina paused to see if Roger was able to follow her.

Roger nodded. “Sounds like the Japanese soldier's way of being loyal to Emperor Hirohito.”

“Something like that,” Nina said, panting as she climbed a hill. “One day, fully loaded with fertilizer sacks, this man's horse-drawn cart slipped on the wet mountain road. A rain shower had made the road slippery. All of a sudden, an oncoming truck appeared around a bend on the left. The driver pressed the horn to warn the handler of his crazily running horse-drawn cart. Startled by the horn, the animal bounded back. In a blink, the cart rolled over and dropped into the ditch,” Nina said, stretching her hand out to grasp a tree branch. “You can guess the rest.”

“Did the young man survive?” Roger asked.

“He burst out shouting, ‘Long live Chairman Mao!' Thirty seconds later, he opened his eyes. The horse was standing by him, and its sniffing nose made him sneeze loudly.”

Roger breathed a sigh of relief. “He must've been hurt, but still managed to remember the slogan. Then what did he do?”

“Then he climbed up and out of the ditch, and went back to his cart,” Nina paused, and taking a breath, she let go of the branch she was leaning on and stepped forward.

“Be careful. There's a bridge in front of you!” Roger called out behind her, but it was too late. Nina had slipped. Unable to keep her balance, she tumbled off of the bridge.

Roger came down to her quickly. “Are you all right?” he asked as he bent over and stretched his hand out.

“Long live Chairman Mao!” she yelled, eyeing his face.

Roger hesitated for a second and then replied, “Long live the Red Guard!” He held her hand and pulled her up.

Nina leaned on him as she balanced herself on the skis once again. She laughed until she had tears running down her face, the echo of her laughter resounding in the valley.

“Maybe I understand the Cultural Revolution a little bit more now,” Roger said under his breath while a cluster of birds hopped among the branches.

They returned to his apartment in the afternoon. Nina's limbs were sore and stiff after skiing. Instead of exploring the town, they elected to stay home. Nina slumped on the couch and listened to Roger play his favourite songs on his guitar: “Nature Boy” by Eden Ahbez and “All You Need Is Love” by John Lennon and the Beatles.

The melodies, like a creek, flowed down through a zigzag path, woven with episodes of Roger's life in the past: as a Colombia University freshman, he had recited some parts of Jack Kerouac's novel,
On the Road
and Allen Ginsberg's poem, “Howl;” he had marched among the students' anti-Vietnam War protest; the stoned Roger had made love with his ex-girlfriends and had danced with his friends; and as a passionate journalist, he had interviewed fishermen in different villages and written reports about their lives.