Old Town (36 page)

2.

A
GARAGE CONVERTED
into a cabin was my home in Lompoc. It was also Chaofan’s studio. It was as if he had decided to pitch camp here and bury himself in composing. He believed that a “foreign Bo Le”
⁴³
would surely one day discover “a thousand league horse” in him.

Our landlords were an old retired couple. They’d tell everyone they met that their new tenant was “a great artist” and they were delighted no end to have such wonderful music to keep them company in their lonely twilight years.

Several years before, I had esteemed my husband even more than did this honest and simple old couple, almost to the point of adoration. Every day our Beijing home had plenty of “wonderful music.” Even if he played just some casual little piece, I could easily listen to it a hundred times without feeling bored. But Lompoc’s “garage music” felt like a dish of vegetables that you had to force yourself to swallow, and it was loathsome to me in the extreme.

After slaving away at my job all day long, I would drag my heavy feet to our home, and see the thread of light shining out from behind the doorframe. This late at night he still had his earphones on and was fiddling with the synthesizer. I would then sit down a ways off beside someone’s flower bed and savor the bitterness of these wretched, poverty-stricken days. My inner balance was gone. I’d rather linger on the street than go home and share the joys of his composing. I wished the light in the doorframe would go out and that he would fall into sweet slumber. Then I would grope my way into the room without saying a word, and close my eyes till tomorrow and another day of toil. And I would still be slaving away on all the tomorrows after tomorrow. I saw no hope. I simply didn’t believe that any “foreign Bo Le” would appear. How many times had I thought about unplugging the electricity and bringing him back to reality by saying, “You should get a job. Even if it’s washing dishes or pushing a broom, it’d be worth more than your art!” I knew that were such words to come out, it would be the total collapse of everything. Though I still didn’t want to go down that road, every day I gave myself a reason for leaving Lompoc and this husband who could never again give me a happy life. I could find over a hundred more reasons.

After Xiaoli and her husband, who had stayed behind in China, had divorced, she rushed off to marry a white man, an engineer. To attend her wedding, I pulled all my clothes out from the dresser and trunks and scattered them on the pallet we used for a bed. I tried this one and that, but they were all things I had brought over from China and none were appropriate for the occasion. After almost one year in America, I hadn’t spent one cent on clothes or cosmetics.
What kind of days had these been? How could I have fallen so low?
Flinging away the clothes I was holding, I threw myself down sobbing on the messed-up pallet.

Chaofan stopped what he was doing and turning toward me, said coldly, “There’s no reason for you to be so brokenhearted. You’re still young enough to be someone’s bride again.”

I tightly covered my mouth to keep myself from speaking. A whole chain of words that could maim and kill were right on my tongue. Even if the whole lot poured out they wouldn’t have plumbed the depths of my disappointment. I knew that deep inside him, he felt the same too. He probably missed that violinist. She had been secretly helping him out all along by forever sending him all kinds of musical material and equipment he needed for composing. That synthesizer, worth more than $10,000, was one of the things she had sent.

I bought myself some new clothes and makeup, and, all bright and fresh looking, stood prettily beside the bride. When Xiaoli and her newly appointed husband slipped the rings on each other’s finger, I could no longer hold back the tears. I could feel that pair of feet inside me chafing to run off from my own marriage.

As always I labored and toiled away at my job. And with each passing day I was mentally traveling farther and farther away. At night I often still sat by myself along the road, counting all the reasons I had for leaving.

I don’t possess Chrysanthemum’s candor. I have never dared admit to myself that I also love successful men.
This
man, though, could no longer satisfy even the least of my vanities, so I was going to leave him. Rather hypocritically, I always made myself out to be the innocent one.

We would often run into the same old couple in front of the coffee shop that Chrysanthemum patronized. The old fellow pedaled a little cab in which his old wife sat. In the summertime they would be out riding around just for the fun of it, and in the winter, to take in the sunlight. The two of them chattered on and on with each other. Separated by the glass wall, Chrysanthemum stared at them as in a trance. “How do you suppose they could be inseparable for a whole lifetime?” I thought,
because they didn’t know that a marital relationship can be abandoned. They are just like my grandmother, who never imagined that she could get another husband in place of Grandpa. My grandfather was impoverished half his life, but in Grandma’s eyes he would always be the noblest and best head of the household there could be
.

3.

A
WHITE MAN
will say to his wife, “I love you,” and send her flowers. Every Valentine’s Day, Xiaoli would receive flowers and a card with tender and affectionate words on it from her husband. But even during their honeymoon, Xiaoli suspected she had married the wrong guy. For many years, there would always be a few days in every month when she thought seriously about getting divorced. Every month, the two of them had to spend a lot of time sitting at their big round dining table doing the accounts. The table would be covered with credit card statements. After separating the billings that he himself had to pay, her husband would always very generously select a billing for some dinner out together or a charge from the supermarket. “Here, this’ll be my treat.” Thoughts of divorce would always flare up in her every time he said this, like an overgrowth of weeds making her mind run wild. Her husband never knew the anger in his Chinese wife’s heart at moments like those. Plucking up the voucher for that “treat,” tender-eyed, he would wait for her exaggerated expression, “Oh my dear, that’s so kind of you. I love you.”

When the U.S. economy slumped one year, Xiaoli’s company went under and she lost her job. So she packed up her personal effects at the office and brought them home. When she walked in the door she threw herself into her husband’s arms and told him about losing her job and said she might not be able to get another one. Her husband’s mild and gentle gaze never changed and he caressed her hair. “Don’t worry. You can borrow from me.” He kept kissing her teary eyes, and then added, “You don’t have to pay your share of the mortgage this month.” The house had been purchased with a loan and every month Xiaoli had to hand over several hundred dollars for the mortgage. Her husband waited for her tears of gratitude, but to his surprise Xiaoli shoved him away from her. “Let’s just divorce, OK?” This white husband thought the shock had unhinged his wife.

Over the next two or so years, I had no news whatsoever from Xiaoli. When I did run into her again, she hadn’t divorced after all. She said this was because “she had found another love.” At a low ebb of her life, she had walked into a church not far from where she lived. That evening the church choir was rehearsing Christmas carols and the unaccompanied choral singing was just so beautiful. She never knew that the human voice could make such wondrous sounds. She felt transcended and purified, and before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face. The choir director noticed this Oriental woman, and walking over, brought her up to the choir loft. And so this was how Xiaoli became enthralled by hymn singing and how she began her “love affair” with God.

I couldn’t see the god that Xiaoli loved so deeply, but I did see that over these years she indeed was like a woman who was perfectly satisfied in this affair. She was sparkling and radiant with joy. She still sat down regularly with her husband to split up the bills. But she no longer got angry.

I brought the divorce agreement signed by Chaofan back with me to Beijing. But because I couldn’t find our marriage certificate, I wasn’t able to register our divorce at the courthouse. I thought I would wait until I remarried before going through all those complex legal procedures. That day has yet to arrive. I’ve tried hard to get married again, and even registered at a matchmaking center. I received computer “matches” and again and again went out on the blind dates, full of curiosity and hope. And again and again I would return home disappointed. I don’t remember which blind date it was, but afterward I went right back to the matchmaking center and told them to delete my personal data from their computer.

Xiaoli said everyone has flaws and that a person’s love is always conditional. If this person’s just too mean-spirited for you, you might end up changing him for someone who’s even more unbearable. Only God is perfect. God’s love is unconditional.

I don’t know “God,” and deep inside I don’t believe “God” exists. But I am obsessed with the idea of being loved unconditionally and I long with the fervor of a religious believer to love a man who has no flaws. I’m looking…I’m waiting…

1.

A
GIRL SOFT
and gentle, restrained and reserved, still not betrothed, and living in her maiden’s chamber…and then, overnight, a communist bride. This was Old Town in the summer of 1949.

Much of Old Town was totally in the dark about what was happening. Now the word spread all around West Gate that the communist army from the north was linking up with the guerrilla band at Old Ridge. They were consolidating their strength and awaiting orders as they prepared to attack Old Town. People supposed that bloody street fighting would bring the war right to their doorsteps. The timid and conservative city folk all showed surprising initiative in readying food and water. Then they shut their doors and gates and quietly awaited the arrival of the new era.

Dr. Lin and Pastor Chen had discussed what they would do. The moment gunfire sounded, the West Gate church would become the first aid station for the areas of combat. The doctor had already placed inside the church all the emergency medicine, supplies, and instruments that they would require.

This evening, Second Sister locked the gate from the inside, picked up her sewing basket and sat in the main parlor. She was standing night watch, listening closely for any movement by Baosheng and Baoqing. She hadn’t invited her husband to be an ally in her “protect the calves” campaign, and so Ninth Brother groggily stepped out of the bedroom to call Second Sister to come to sleep. She told him she was rushing to make some baby clothes in advance of Fourth Sister’s month-long confinement.

As the night wore on, Second Sister was overcome by fatigue and she dozed with the sewing still in her hands. Suddenly the front door creaked and she woke up in a fright to see Baosheng about to go out, taking Baoqing with him. Running after them, she scolded, “Go back! Get back to your own rooms!”

Pulling Baoqing along as he moved out the gate, Baosheng said, “Ma. Daybreak is coming! Don’t worry anymore!”

And, with that, her two sons dashed past her and disappeared into the blackness of the night.

Once again Ninth Brother awoke from his dreams, and, groping his way into the parlor, discovered Second Sister’s sewing basket fallen on the floor and the front door wide open. Second Sister’s figure was standing motionless as a statue outside the doorway under the oleander. He approached and took hold of her arm. “Just stop worrying and come to bed now.”

“How can I possibly sleep?”

“What should or shouldn’t happen is beyond us.”

In the darkness tears rolled down Second Sister’s face. She couldn’t pour out to her husband all the worries filling her heart. She knew that Ninth Brother would just reason with her by saying things like “If we allow ourselves to get worried and anxious it means we don’t trust in the God we worship.”

Husband and wife went back into the house. Second Sister put some more oil in the lamp and resumed sewing. Ninth Brother sat silently by her side. When light appeared in the sky and roosters began crowing all around the neighborhood, neither of them had said a single word.

The early morning at West Gate was as peaceful as ever. As Baohua stood on the steps under the sky well lazily brushing her teeth, her alcoholic uncle came in, a liquor bottle in his hand.

“Oh, Baohua! How come you’re still at home? The students are all out on the streets greeting the communists. Didn’t you know?”

Baohua rinsed out her mouth. “Uncle, there’s nothing for you to drink here, not one drop.”

The eldest son of the Guo family pointed the bottle straight at Baohua’s nose. “The communists have arrived! This liquor now tastes again like it used to. Here, have a sniff. Now that’s real liquor!”

Baohua pushed the bottle away. “When the communists get here you’re going to have to swear off drinking!”

“Impossible!”

Then he sat right down in the parlor and as he drank from the bottle he nodded his head in time to a little tune he hummed.

Second Sister came out of the kitchen and was surprised to see her brother there. “There’s going to be fighting, and here you are, still gadding about!”

“Fighting? Who’s fighting?”

“The communists are already at Old Ridge and are about to come down to attack us!”

Her brother exploded with laughter. “Second Sister, all you people out in the sticks here in West Gate, you didn’t get the news. At this very moment, the heavens above already belong to the communists!”

Second Sister peered up through the sky well. The sky was very blue and wisps of clouds were slowly scudding by. It looked no different from yesterday.

“Oh, you! So early in the day and you’re so drunk you have no idea of what’s going on around you. Go right home and tell my sister-in-law to store away a few bottles of liquor. In a couple of days, if they start fighting, the wine shops will be closed, and then what would you do?”

Her brother laughed all the louder and the drink in his mouth went spraying all over. “Second Sister, you don’t drink but you’re the one who’s really all fuddled. The communists have already taken over the government offices at Drum Tower. Go downtown and take a look. There’s a whole sea of people there just waiting to greet the communists!”

Doubtfully, Second Sister looked at her brother and then abruptly turned around and shouted, “Ninth Brother, the communists are already here in our Old Town!”

Ninth Brother walked out of the clinic. At the same moment he heard young people passing by the door saying that Old Town was liberated. In such a flash of time had the new heaven and the new earth arrived.

“Liquor knows best of all. When times turn bad, it turns into stuff that tastes plainer than water. Poor me, drinking water all these years and only now smelling the aroma of liquor. For just this reason alone, I’m going to raise both hands and welcome the communists!”

This oldest son of the Guos hugged the liquor bottle as if it were a dear one who had gone through the separation and the chaos of war. Joy and sorrow mixed together had him all choked up.

Second Sister glanced at Ninth Brother and saw that he too seemed ready to break into tears. She had no idea what the communist heaven would look like and couldn’t comprehend why her husband and children longed so much for the new era, but she clearly heard a voice within her say, “Second Sister, your family will be at peace from now on.” That heart of hers, tightly compressed by cares and worries, little by little unclenched and relaxed. A totally strange kind of fatigue came over her. She limply sank down and slumped over the table, her eyes closed and she fell fast asleep.

Her brother stretched his neck back and drained the last few drops of liquor from the bottle and wandered off muttering and mumbling.

The house was absolutely quiet. Ninth Brother stood beside his wife, staring at a patch of the blue, blue sky above a corner of the sky well. Inside he felt all stirred up and at the same time, a sense of doubt.
Is this true? Has the communist era begun with such peace and quiet?

Impulsively, the doctor thought of going to the East Street intersection to see for himself just what was happening. He went to his daughter’s room. Baohua was just then revising her assignment in preparation for her application to the teachers’ college.

“Baohua, the communists have come to our Old Town.”

Pencil in her hand, she leaned back to look at her daddy. The radiant smile now on her daddy’s face showed a childlike innocence. He was truly happy today. “Daddy, when did you join the Communist Party?” she teased him. “And how come I never knew about it?”

“Communism is good. Everyone is equal. Everyone has work, and food to eat. This is the spirit of Jesus.”

Baohua thought of Enchun. Had he returned to Old Town? Then immediately she thought of that girl from the teachers’ college who had been together with Enchun. Baohua felt a dull ache within her. She forced herself to smile at her father, and then lowered her head and continued with her reading.

The doctor reached out and took away the book. “Daughter, today is not for reading books. Come on, let’s both go over to East Street. We too should make a brief appearance, wouldn’t you say?”

He took her by the arm out through the gate. The two of them were still on West Street when they heard the sound of drums, gongs, and firecrackers loud enough to split the heavens.

The doctor stopped where he was and like some demented person shouted, “It’s true! It’s true! It’s
true
!”

At Drum Tower the streets were mobbed with people and Baohua and her daddy got separated along the way. Like a little loach, her slight figure wriggled with ease into the middle of the area. Then she saw with her own eyes the tawny uniforms of the communist soldiers. They had come from out of the north like a surging tidal wave. Every face under a military hat was Enchun, for she believed that he was in their midst. Even though she had vowed countless times to forget him, this moment of inner agitation inevitably gave rise to flights of fancy. She fantasized she saw Enchun stride out of the ranks of the communists, and grasping her, say, “Baohua, the world is at peace now. I can go back to school and resume my studies.” In total contrast to her normally shy aloofness, she couldn’t help following the citizens of Old Town along the side of the road, whooping and cheering together with them in the general jubilation.

The tawny uniformed ranks gradually receded into the distance. A lion dance commenced at the street intersection by Drum Tower and the sound of gongs, drums, and firecrackers kept on and on. Baohua’s whole head was drenched in sweat as she squeezed her way out. She wanted to go to the West Gate church to ask for news of Enchun.

At this very moment, Dr. Lin was in the church together with Pastor Chen writing slogans on brightly colored paper: “Love the Lord, Love the Communist Party,” “God Bless and Protect Communism.”

Mrs. Chen was standing on a bench polishing the church windows, helped by a fellow congregant who rinsed the cleaning cloths. This person said to her, “Your young prince has rendered a great service to the Communist Party. He’s going to be a high official in the new government and that’s for sure.”

“Our son loves the Communist Party just as we Christians love Jesus. But he doesn’t seek for his own interests. When communism has succeeded, his ideals will be realized. Maybe he’ll just teach school out by the seaside for the rest of his life.”

Baohua stood behind them and just when she was just about to address her auntie, the helper asked, “Your prince should now be at the right age for marrying. Have you all approached anyone about this?”

Deng, deng, deng
, pounded Baohua’s heart wildly, and the fire in her cheeks spread right to the tips of her ears. She expected Mrs. Chen to say that they thought highly of the Lin family’s “thousand gold pieces.”

The pastor’s wife stood on her tiptoes as she polished the glass. “These are new times. It’s no longer the fashion for the parents to arrange everything in marriage. We haven’t had news from him for a very long time. Everything’s been put into God’s hands.”

“Maybe the day will come when your prince will return home, bringing along your daughter-in-law and their children.”

The mother chuckled happily at that and turned to look out the window, as if little grandchildren just learning to walk were tottering toward her.

Seeing the happy smile on Mrs. Chen’s face, Baohua pictured Enchun and that girl student from the teacher’s college coming in from the other side of the wooden fence carrying their children. They would be unaware of her presence. Just like at this very moment, when everybody was busily coming in and going out and unable to see her. This made her feel extremely sorry for herself. She went over to the well beside the church door, leaned over and stared at her own reflection. The image of the girl floating on the surface of the water was so delicate and pretty. Looking at her you would think she was a sixth-grade student. No one would believe she was already a big girl of seventeen or eighteen. The entire neighborhood around West Gate saw her as the “little one” of the house, and even her two younger brothers humored her as they would a younger sister.

Totally dispirited, Baohua turned from her reflection and, rocking back and forth on her feet as she stood up, she found her gaze directed toward the far-distant mountain peaks. She thought, “I’m going to do something that will amaze everyone!”

Two months later, Baohua really did do something that utterly confounded everyone’s impressions of her.