In fact, I was a little jealous of the time she spent with others, like Little Bird. Little Bird was such a plain girl, not interesting at all. But Katherine seemed to like everybody. She only came to me when she had questions about the adoption process. Recently she was asked to provide two recommendation letters from local Chinese. Lion Head and I spent a whole day writing our letters.
* * *
One week before July 1, the anniversary of the Party’s founding, the school authorities began to plan a celebration rally. Lion Head talked to me about how to make the rally our party instead of Mr. Han’s. I told him that the Workers’ Union, the Student Union, and the school paper had been gathering suggestions from the masses on how best to celebrate the day. Many suggested that Katherine be involved. Without even asking her, the student leaders sent a proposal to Mr. Han and the Party committee suggesting Katherine be included in the program to introduce us to American music. Including Katherine would be our direct response to the Central Bureau’s call to enhance communication between East and West. We would get to know America in order to exceed America. Lion Head and I collected newspaper clips on the new “open-door policy” and sent them to Mr. Han’s office to show that having Katherine participate would be politically meaningful.
After a couple of days Mr. Han was finally convinced and agreed to the idea.
The student leaders came up to Katherine after class. We asked her to prepare a musical performance. Katherine said she couldn’t, she would be too nervous. We begged her. We said we loved the way she danced and we would like to learn more. She would enlighten and educate us through music. She blushed. We pleaded with her until she said, “Maybe.”
Katherine asked us to let her think it over for a few minutes. She shut herself in the classroom and paced the floor. When she came out, she asked if we thought the rally was going to be any fun. We screamed, “Yes!” and she said, “Okay.”
* * *
“I need you.” Katherine pointed at me as my classmates were leaving. “On the day of the rally, come to my hut three hours before it begins, okay?”
I nodded and asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“Paint me.”
“I have good paints,” said Lion Head.
“We don’t need him, do we?” Katherine said, half-smiling.
“As you please.” Lion Head looked like a wounded animal. He walked away without another word.
“He loves you,” I told her.
Katherine put her hands up to her cheeks and opened her eyes wide. “How nice!” she said. “Eating from a bowl and looking at a wok. Actually I don’t wish him any harm.”
“By the way, what is the magazine called Playboy?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?” Katherine said cautiously.
“Lion Head told me to ask you about it. I’m just curious.”
“I can get you one from the western community, if you want.”
“Never mind,” I said.
“Arrrgh!” Katherine made an animal sound and shook her head.
“What?” I looked at her.
“You guys are weird.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that,” I said.
* * *
July 1 was a golden day. The flowers of the fu-yong trees wagged in the wind like pink tongues. I arrived at Katherine’s hut three hours before the event began. She was waiting for me.
I was mute with happiness. She took me to her bedroom. I opened my bag and spread the paints and brushes on her dressing table. She said she was going to wear a black lace bra, and wanted a white peony painted on the front of her chest and a big red peony on her back, and leaves and daisies painted across her shoulders and arms. She would wear a sheer Chinese dress over it all, but the shape of her body and the paint would show through.
She said she was going to “dress to kill.”
* * *
She lay on her stomach on a bamboo mat quietly. There was magic in my pen. I could see the peony taking shape on her body. I traced its shape. One petal, two petals, the stem, the heart. I felt like a bee sucking a flower. I made little strokes, little strokes, patiently. I touched my brushes to her ivory skin. One hour passed, two hours, the room felt outside of time. I could hear nothing but her heartbeat.
The sun was high, the curtains drawn. I got up to open them to let the light shine on her naked body. She didn’t move. Her eyes were closed as if she were sound asleep. I powdered her back to make sure the paint stayed on the skin. I turned her over onto her back. I moved her hips toward me and rearranged her arms. She let me be in charge of her body.
I poured myself chrysanthemum tea and began to draw again. My body was floating. I kept shading the peony petals. My brush moved faster, my hands were sweating, my body tense. Her lips became rosier. I had to touch her. My painting became wild. The blooming peonies were lavish and ripe.
* * *
Katherine walked to the mirror with her eyes still on me.
“Tell me I don’t look stupid,” she said. She looked in the mirror and drew in her breath. “Well, well, well.”
As I began to clean up, she came over to me, her arms outstretched. She pulled me close, ironed me with her body, then pressed her lips on my cheek. “I love it,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
* * *
Lion Head came through the door, camera in hand. Katherine looked first at him, then at me, as if to say, Who invited him?
“I did,” I said. “Please forgive me. I asked him to record this for me.”
“Why?” Katherine went to put on a robe.
I hesitated for a moment, then confessed, “One more day with you means I have one less day with you. I know it sounds silly, but the photos will be a souvenir after you’ve gone back to America. When I think of you, I can . . .”
“Jesus Christ, you Chinese really plan death ahead of time, don’t you?” she said. “Come on. Let’s get it over with.”
* * *
The sun shone through the leaves into the room. Lion Head moved around looking for the perfect light and angle. Katherine took off her robe and lay down naked on the bamboo mat as I began to paint again. My thoughts were busy. I knew Katherine could care less about Lion Head being there, but I cared. I invited him over because I knew he wanted to be here. I knew he was obsessed with this foreign body. I encouraged him because I wanted him to have as many memories of her as I did, so I would have someone to talk to when I missed her. In this way Lion Head and I had a true marriage, one which Katherine would never understand. I was no less selfish than he; we used each other, helping one another preserve these moments in our incomprehensible lives.
She lay there like a statue. The shape of her body, the flowers on her skin, the beauty of Katherine stunned me. Lion Head looked composed but he was breathing heavily. We didn’t say anything. We couldn’t. We moved slowly and quietly, like ghosts. Each second carved a deep stroke on the tablet of our memory. We were silent, because we were reading God’s poetry with our hearts.
Lion Head motioned to me to cover Katherine with the lace curtains. He wanted me to expose her breasts but cover the nipples. I went to work decorating Katherine. I tried to wrap the curtain around her, but her nipples kept popping out.
“Use tape,” Lion Head suggested.
I tried to tape the curtains over her nipples but after a few seconds they would pop out again. Katherine began to giggle. My fingers were busy trying to tame the nipples with tape. Katherine laughed harder. I told Lion Head that the nipples would stay put for about three seconds. The best way to do this was to have me hold the curtains against her nipples while he focused the camera, then I would let go right before he took the picture.
* * *
We were late. The rally had already begun. The Party chief was delivering his monumental speech. A crowd of two thousand—students, faculty, and relatives—gathered in the hall, dressed mostly in gray and blue Mao suits. They stood listening to Mr. Han over the loudspeakers. His speech was made up of quotations f
rom the Party’s newspapers and magazines. Never in his life had he spoken in public without using quotations. His mind was so filled with quotations, there was no room for his own thoughts. He didn’t believe in thoughts anyway because they were dangerous. In China there was only one way to think. Mr. Han once referred to himself as the “red tongue of the Party’s propaganda machine.”
Foamy saliva formed in the corners of his mouth as he spoke loudly into the microphone. The audience put up with him because they were waiting for Katherine. But they were growing impatient. It was getting noisy. Mr. Han turned up the volume of his microphone. People were paying no attention to him. Suddenly the hall went quiet. Katherine appeared at the entrance to the hall escorted by Lion Head and me. The chief lost his crowd completely.
Katherine covered her painted body with a black coat; still a part of the painting showed through her collar. She wore her hair short and curly. Her makeup defined her sculptural features. She was in high-heeled black suede boots that made her look taller and thinner than usual. She walked in with her head lowered, trying not to distract the crowd from the chief’s speech, but no one could take their eyes off her. Lion Head and I pushed the crowd away, but they swarmed in like bees.
Mr. Han continued his speech. “Our advance is firm and our achievements remarkable. We are in control of our society’s superstructure and ideology. Our people are determined to devote themselves to the great Communist future. We are opening ourselves to the world and welcoming all positive energy to join us . . .”
Katherine slid into a seat in the section for the foreign lecturers to the right of the stage. Lion Head and I went to sit with our class to the left. Jasmine came to take off Lion Head’s jacket.
Mr. Han paused at the end of his speech. He was waiting for the crowd to clap their hands. But there was no reaction. He had been totally forgotten. The color of his face changed from red to blue. Lion Head noticed and immediately began to clap. The crowd followed, but all eyes were still on Katherine. The clapping grew louder and louder. Mr. Han’s face became a balloon. He was confused. His secretary, a rat-faced man, came and poured him a cup of water as he whispered to the chief.
The men looked at Katherine with animal delight. Jasmine stood next to Lion Head. She watched the way Lion Head looked at Katherine. She bit her lips. She pretended Katherine did not exist. She was on the verge of tears.
“My speech is concluded,” Mr. Han said, and the crowd cheered. The rat-faced secretary came up to the microphone and announced that the entertainment was about to begin but there was a small change in the program. There was not enough time for the American portion.
At first the crowd was stunned, then they screamed. The noise was so loud it seemed like it would break through the ceiling. The crowd demanded the traditional lion dance be cut. The secretary on stage became mute. He went to the back of the stage, conferred with Mr. Han, and returned to the microphone. He lifted his hands above his head in a pose of surrender and said, “All right, the people’s voices have been heard. The American portion will stay on the program.”
The sound of hands clapping and feet stomping was like a summer rainstorm.
Jasmine’s face twisted into a knot.
* * *
It was the strongest beat we had ever heard in our lives. The rhythm woke up our long-sleeping nerves. Our bodies took off.
Katherine came onstage and gave us an introduction to popular music. Rock and roll, rhythm and blues, Motown, funk, and soul.
At first we listened quietly—it was too overwhelming for us even to react. Katherine played the music and translated the lyrics for those who couldn’t understand. With the words and music in sync, we were carried away. The music slowed and a rich voice wailed. Speaking the phrases soulfully in Chinese, Katherine told of a “natural woman” whose life was redeemed by another.
I let my tears run freely, let the song soothe my wounded soul. Many in the crowd stretched their arms out to Katherine. She smiled. She came offstage to join us on the floor. Lion Head took her arm and pulled off her jacket. Her painted body showed through the sheer top. The crowd formed a circle around Katherine and she began to dance to a song with a faster beat. The woman’s singing made us want to scream.
I sang along loudly. I couldn’t follow the words but I didn’t care. The crowd was chanting in ecstasy, even Jasmine. The woman’s voice, Katherine’s electrifying movements—these sounds and images entered the rusty ancient Chinese minds and gave birth to new brain cells.
Katherine switched tapes and called out, “Listen! This is Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones.” The peony body moved in a slow motion. My eyes burned with what I saw. I felt my heart sweat and let the rhythm carry me. Others around me began to do the same, letting their bodies go, nervously, yet with delight.
Lion Head had his eyes on the foreign body like flies on a butcher’s flypaper. He began to scream. Jasmine elbowed him, trying to get him to look away, but his brain was gone. His eyes were half-closed, as if deeply drugged. Jasmine pulled at his sleeve.
Big Lee, Little Lee, and Little Bird were clapping their hands and slapping their thighs. They tried to imitate Katherine, but danced like stiff puppets.
Jim was out of his mind. He threw himself down on the floor, flailing his limbs. He was gone. His newlywed wife, a heavy woman, was embarrassed and came to pick him up, but was dragged down by him. Jim rolled on top of her as they wrestled on the floor.
The crowd was vibrating. Up and down, our minds jumped along with our bodies. Inside of me a fever rose. I felt like I was being thrown around on a ship. The tide was coming in, the water was rising higher and higher, anxious to tear me from my native land. The sails were raised. Katherine, your storming spirit has awakened me. You caressed me with your auburn hair and lost me in your endless flow of night and day. I am breaking away!
We were being transformed, moment by moment. Our hopes were vertical. Our future lay coiled in hearts that were climbing toward the sky. To the past we raised our arms in farewell. A new era was beginning to dawn with a horse-shaped cloud under its feet.
Outside the hall the rhythmic beating of tong-gu, the giant Chinese drums, had begun. We surged through the doors. A string of flowers opened in the purple velvet sky. In joy our hearts shouted: Offer me more fire to drink, burn me to ashes, and hear my everlasting cry: Love and freedom!
Surprisingly Mr. Han had no official reaction to the fever aroused at the celebration rally. Maybe it was because Jasmine was there too, or maybe he didn’t realize the extent of what Katherine’s performance had done to our minds. But perhaps he was thinking of the old saying, Yu-qing-gu-zong—In order to tighten the leash, the hunter first lets it loose.
The days brought us closer to graduation. Everyone’s future was at the mercy of the Party committee. The first choice was to be assigned to work in Shanghai, anywhere in Shanghai, to become a permanent resident. The worst possibility would be for a “borrowed worker” simply to be returned.
I didn’t know what to do. The electronics factory had phased me out after I had signed the paper that put me on the “flexible list” because I wanted to continue my schooling. I was living off my last savings. My parents did not hold powerful city positions and could bring no benefit to the chief or his family in exchange for a favor. I didn’t have enough money to buy him gifts like ginseng, wine, or pearl powders. It felt as if someone had taken away the floor and I was falling, waiting to hit bottom.
Like most of the graduates, I moved into the school dormitory. It was a treat for graduating students. It enabled them to study long hours in the library for final exams. Katherine also moved in to help the students with their nightly studies. The dormitory was built like a military barracks, with security guards on duty. The rooftop was my favorite spot. Our school was located on the edge of the city, in a very primeval-looking landscape surrounded by bushes and rice paddies. I often came up to the roof just to think.
Katherine once said to me, “Every time I want to ju
st drop out of life, I do this . . .” She was standing in front of a brick wall covered with ivy. She was in a grass-colored sweater. Holding her right hand to her chest, her eyes shut tightly, she said, “Please, please let it go.” She opened her eyes, turned toward the open field, took a deep breath, and wailed wildly.
The sound was terrifying. It pierced my ears. I could see white beams shooting out in front of me. I had never heard such a sound in my life, like a wolf howling at the moon. It brought to mind prehistoric times, primitive animals, a thunderclap.
Katherine said in America some people used this method to release anxiety. She asked me to try it. I felt too funny to do it. I could not bring myself to wail. I could not picture myself acting like an animal.
I told Katherine that I didn’t need it. “Chinese are good at handling their emotions,” I said.
She did not insist. She smiled and said, “As long as you’re in control, you are your own master.”
I thought of the songs we sang at the rally. My growing sensitivity softened my character as it weakened my will. I felt like a burned-out candle with wax tears coating my heart’s altar.
* * *
We were a few weeks away from graduation. I had gone to check at the electronics factory to see if there was any chance of being reinstated, but I found that my name had already been terminated. I was a lamb under a butcher’s knife. At night I dreamt of Mr. Han’s hideous eyes and his mouth pronouncing my name and woke up in a cold sweat.
The villagers had begun drying their goods, shipping them to food markets in exchange for city products such as plastic containers, fabric, and cheap watches. From the roof I could see the narrow muddy path toward the city jammed with humans, donkeys, and cows.