I pushed forward, hard. I broke through the human barricade and looked through Katherine’s window. In the strange light I could see Katherine standing before two men in police uniforms. They were speaking to her, but she made no response. She must not have known what to say.
One of the men in uniform took out a badge. Waving it in front of Katherine’s eyes, he announced himself a police inspector.
The other officer searched her body.
The inspector took out a piece of paper and began to read a list of charges loudly. The officer took out a pair of handcuffs. Katherine struggled but the two men grabbed her arms and locked them up. She was escorted out of her hut. The crowd engulfed them.
“What have I done?” Katherine shouted.
“You have violated Chinese law,” replied the inspector.
I tried to move in closer. Katherine turned her head away the moment she saw me. “Make a report to the U.S. consulate!” she cried.
I understood. I watched as she was put into the black police car parked down the path.
I saw Jim hiding among the crowd. He pretended not to see me.
When the police car drove away, the local police began to search the hut. The crowd grew feverish. They were curious about what the police would find inside.
Fifteen minutes later the police sealed the hut and took off. The gossip began. The foreign devil must have done something awful to have deserved such treatment. Few faces showed sympathy.
I wanted to go straight to the U.S. consulate but knew the minute I touched the gate I would be arrested as a traitor. I would be accused of trying to sell China’s secret information. This was not uncommon.
I went to my parents’ home and shut myself in the bathroom. I spent two hours writing a letter with my left hand. I described Katherine’s arrest and asked that whoever received this letter pass it on to the U.S. consulate.
I went to the Garden Hotel and looked for foreign travelers who spoke with an American accent. Finally I picked out a middle-aged woman who looked kindhearted and followed her. She left the hotel and waved for a taxi. I went up to her and said only, “Please help an American friend.” I handed her the letter. She got in a taxi and I followed her on my bike. She got off at the U.S. consulate.
* * *
Everyone was talking about the arrest of the foreign devil at school. The news was cooked in a pot of sticky rice—what was true and what was false was indistinguishable and no longer mattered. Arresting Katherine was the government’s way of taping our mouths shut. Yet they had to realize that beating heads was the last way to tame minds. Benevolence was always the first choice of rule for our ancient emperors. The goal was to make people obey with their hearts instead of with their mouths.
Twenty-four hours later a mass rally was called. An announcement went out over the public address system. As I walked toward the rally, my schoolmates converged from separate directions. Feelings of distrust and fear separated us. We walked through the trees like pieces on a chessboard, each in his own square, each thinking of protecting himself while staying alert to potential enemies.
A large table with microphones sat in the center of the hall with rows of benches around it. A huge banner in red and black ink hung from the ceiling. It said SWEEP BOURGEOIS TRASH.
Mr. Han sat at the center of the table. To my surprise, Lion Head was sitting next to him. I wondered what he was doing there. He didn’t look like himself. He looked like he had stayed up all night. He was biting his nails. His shoulders were stiff when he bent his head to drink tea. Jasmine was sitting off to the right, making scratches in her notebook with a ballpoint pen. She looked confident and charged with energy. She kept looking at the door, watching the people pour in. Jim came in and sat down far off in a corner. He was wearing a green army cap pulled down over his eyes.
The rally began at ten o’clock. All seats were filled.
Katherine entered the hall with two uniformed guards. One guard politely guided her to an empty seat next to Mr. Han. Katherine sat down with grace. She was wearing her dark blue sweater and jeans. Her hair looked like it had just been washed and dried. Although she wore no makeup, her lips appeared red in contrast to her pale skin. I looked at her and felt my deep worship of her beauty and character. She still looked trusting.
I was nervous. I sat way in the back, far from Katherine but in her line of sight. Next to me were Big Lee, Little Lee, and Little Bird. I wanted nobody to be able to detect my emotions. I covered myself with an old green army jacket. I had the chills. I watched Jasmine. I could detect her hidden grin. I could tell she took pleasure in this event. She had become the operator of her father’s torture chamber.
Katherine did not look nervous. She looked as if she were ready for a show to begin. Her clear eyes mirrored her guiltless heart.
But she was making a big mistake. She forgot she was in China. She was a newborn ox who did not know the tiger was an enemy. She did not know the tiger’s bite would be fatal.
Mr. Han stood up and opened the meeting by saying that the Party committee had something to reveal and sought the masses’ opinion. He moved the microphone closer to Lion Head.
Lion Head took out a blue cotton bag and laid it on the table. He took some sheets of paper out of the bag. His hands were trembling. His face turned red, blue, then gray. Sweat gathered on the tip of his nose. Finally he took out a magazine. On the cover was a nearly naked western woman. Across the top was the word Playboy.
I could feel my blood gush up to my forehead. I recognized the name of the magazine. One could be arrested and jailed for reading such a magazine.
Katherine must have felt like eating worms when she saw Lion Head take out the Playboy magazine from his bag. She must have thought Lion Head was joking with her at the wrong time. She stared at him and her face swelled.
The second shock came before the first faded away: In the same slow motion, Lion Head took out a handful of photos. They were the nude pictures he had taken after I had painted Katherine’s body. My anger rose. I wanted to eat Lion Head up, drink his blood and chew his intestines. I hated myself for having provided him with the opportunity to harm Katherine.
The masses were disturbed. The older people looked at Katherine with disgust in their eyes. The young people watched with interest and secretly gloated over the foreign devil’s misfortune. The men stretched their necks long, sucking up the images with their eyes. The women kept their eyes fixed on the pictures, missing no detail. They held their breath and looked hard at those apple breasts and horselike hips. Western glory provoked oriental shame. Sympathy disappeared in the women’s eyes. Envy became anger. The masses’ minds were bleached with alkali.
Mr. Han and Jasmine sat quietly, taking in the reaction of the masses. They made no comment, not a sound. They let the moment ferment. I remembered how Jasmine once proudly told me about the art of her father’s leadership. “It’s like holding thunderbolts in your hand,” she said. “The trick is to release them one by one.”
Mr. Han nodded at Lion Head and asked him to be brief and not graphic. Lion Head bit his lips for a while and made an effort to spit out a few words. Waving the magazine and photos above his head, he said, “I was seduced by her.” He pointed his finger at Katherine. “We had an illegal relationship. She performed on me various sexual acts . . .” He stopped. He said no more. He didn’t have to.
Mr. Han looked satisfied. He said that was enough. There was no need to be more graphic about the incident. China needed no more “spiritual pollution.”
Mr. Han announced that unless Katherine could give the name of an individual who had influenced her to act in this way, her criminal record would be hereby established and she could expect no favor from the Chinese legal system because of her nationality.
They were trying to get Katherine to denounce me.
I looked at Katherine. She looked up at me. We both understood what they wanted. I felt panic; my mind seized up. I didn’t know what else Lion Head had told them. I didn?
??t know what I could expect of Katherine. She could be held for interrogation, humiliated. They would use Mao’s zah technique of painting a larger-than-life picture of horror to scare her into saying what they wanted. She was an American. Could she endure this? How could I know she wouldn’t do to me what Lion Head had done to her?
The hall was so quiet I could hear the heavy breath of the crowd. A dry cough from the corner vibrated in the air.
Katherine smiled, to herself first, then at me, then at the room. The strength of her smile lifted my spirit. I believed that her will was unbreakable.
Mr. Han cleared his throat. “You do not have to go through this, you know. You are our guest, Miss Katherine. We can suppose you loaned the magazine with no evil intention, you posed for pictures in innocence, not knowing you were being used. But you must tell us who was behind this. We believe there was another influence, somebody who pretended to be your friend. Give us the name.”
“There is no such name, I’m sorry,” said Katherine.
“Would you like to complete your project on Chinese women?” asked Mr. Han.
“I don’t see how this has anything to do with my research,” said Katherine.
“It will have a big effect on your research,” said Mr. Han. “To the Chinese, morality is everything. We will accept no one who causes our moral values to deteriorate. We will allow no bad influence to poison the minds of our young people.”
“This is a setup,” said Katherine.
“I’m sorry that you have given me no choice.” Mr. Han stood up, addressed the masses, and released his final thunderbolts. His voice was loud and clear. “As the representative of the Party committee, I hereby announce that this woman is no longer an employee of our school. She has stained our good name by spreading western pornography and posing for nude photographs which insult our moral tradition. Her research material will be confiscated to prevent her from doing harm to our country in the future. And the orphan . . .”
As if hearing an explosion, Katherine jumped up from her seat.
“Have you changed your mind?” Mr. Han asked.
Slowly shaking her head, Katherine replied, “No.” Tears began to gather in her eyes as she sat back down.
Mr. Han announced that the certificate of adoption would be nullified.
Mr. Han ordered Katherine to leave the country within ten days. She was not permitted to enter China again.
* * *
Raindrops tapped the leaves. The crowd came out of the hall holding newspapers over their heads. To my people, this event was just one of hundreds they had attended in their lives. At this moment nothing bothered them more than the raindrops. My people had their own lives to worry about. If one could not immediately benefit from Katherine, why should one care?—a common post–Cultural Revolution attitude. It was foolish of her to have come to China in the first place. Anyway, this would not be the end of her life, they told themselves. Once she was back in America she would wake up from the nightmare and be glad she was still alive. So what harm did the chief’s announcement actually do her? The child? The child she could live without. An orphan was not meant to live a good life anyway.
I held a newspaper over my head, like everyone else, and felt barely alive.
* * *
It was too late when the statement came from the U.S. consulate asserting Katherine’s rights as an American. She was released right after the meeting. “No future harm will befall her,” the school promised the consulate.
* * *
Katherine was being taken away from me. How would I bear missing her?
I was unable to take another look at Katherine. Even as she rose from the bench, I had run out of the hall. I would not be able to say goodbye to her. My will shut down from fear. Ten days.
I remembered a long letter my great-uncle wrote our family at the age of seventy-three when he was finally accepted as a member of the Communist Party. He was extremely happy. He said he could now die in peace tomorrow. He said his biggest fault in life was that he did not make himself a relative of the Communist Party in time. It was the root of all his misery. He had suffered enough for his fault; now he made peace with himself.
I did not know how to accept my great-uncle’s letter. His letter made me feel very sad. He was like garlic cooked bitter by fear. He no longer tasted like garlic; his individuality was lost. He was transformed by the Party machine. And the saddest thing was that he was happy with the result. Who was he now? Was this the same great-uncle who used to write poems praising the magnificent strength of snow lilies in Tibet? In my eyes he had become a clown who danced to please his master during the holiday season.
It was a sad story, but people who lived sad stories often did not feel the sadness.
Katherine made me feel the sadness I was living through. I would never become my great-uncle. Because I would never let her go.
* * *
In the evening I helped Mother make blankets for winter at Elephant Fields. We sat opposite each other on the bed, sewing for hours. Mother immersed herself in the work. Her hands moved slowly but steadily. I tried to concentrate on making the stitches in a straight line, but my fingers betrayed me. I felt a deep anger rise inside me, slashing me to pieces. My heart felt as if it could burst at any time.
I drew in a deep breath. Mother raised her head, looked at me over her thick glasses. She stared at me motionlessly. I exhaled my breath quietly, eyes fixed on the stitches. Mother went back to her needle.
I watched the crooked stitches grow under my hands like the trace of a snail, thinking how much the broken line looked like my life.
Lion Head finally made Jasmine a happy woman. He belonged to her. He stopped talking about Zen. He underwent a sudden and revolutionary change. He had come to a real relationship with the self, a mutuality in which he, the knower, no longer felt himself independent of the known; he no longer stood apart from experience. And experience had become absurd. He said that everything had become vividly clear. In concrete fact he had no self other than the totality of things of which he was aware. He said he had ordered his feelings to retire completely.
Three days after Katherine’s fate was determined, Lion Head’s name was posted on the campus bulletin board as the comrade selected to go to America to study on the United Nations scholarship. Flowers made of red wrinkled paper encircled his name. His smiling picture stared out at viewers. Underneath the picture a line read: CONGRATULATIONS, COMRADE HEAVENLY LION, THE PRIDE OF OUR GRADUATES! Lion Head and Jasmine appeared hand in hand on campus. They were engaged. Jasmine could hardly keep herself composed. She attached herself to Lion Head like a leech. She wore a tight red-and-white-checkerboard nylon shirt and an above-the-knee green skirt. A pair of modern-looking brown plastic shoes. It was a sunny day and she had her black cotton umbrella up. The couple showed themselves off around campus. Jasmine would occasionally lower the umbrella so she could glue her head to his.
I didn’t know what was on Lion Head’s mind. I didn’t care to know. I was certain Jasmine was living an illusion of love. Lion Head had accomplished his goal. I did not feel sorry for Jasmine. She and Lion Head deserved each other.
* * *
I went with my father to visit a ninety-year-old great-aunt. He said it could be our last chance before she passed away.
My great-aunt lived on the top floor of a four-story house. The staircase was narrow and as dark as a cave. We kept tripping over our own steps. My great-aunt had a small room off a sunny porch. She was such a feverish flower lover, she had made the porch into a garden. I used to come here to see the flowers bloom, but now I saw no flowers. The clay pots were either broken or laid sadly empty on the concrete. The bamboo trellises slanted off the brick wall. A couple of dry leaves of ivy dangled in the wind.
Aunt Golden Moon and Aunt Silver Moon, my great-aunt’s daughters, greeted us at the door. “Be sure to speak loudly,” my father said to me as he bowed to his cousins.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Aunt Silver
Moon said. “Mother can hardly hear or see.”
I didn’t see my great-aunt in the room. I asked where she was. Aunt Golden Moon pointed at a pile of blankets. I turned my head and was shocked to see my great-aunt had shrunk to the size of a small child.
I asked how Great-Aunt spent her days, whether she knew that death was approaching. Was she afraid? Had she had enough of the world? Did she talk about life after death? My father told me to stop asking such “bu-ji-li” questions that would bring bad luck, but I couldn’t help myself.
Aunt Silver Moon smiled and said that it seemed like Great-Aunt was having fun. She stayed in bed all the time. “Just like an infant,” she said. “She plays in bed, mumbling words and singing songs from her childhood. She pees and shits in diapers and hates to be washed.”
“Come and see what she’s playing now,” Aunt Golden Moon said, and she pulled over a chair. She sat me by the bed.
“Great-Aunt!” I called. No response. Aunt Golden Moon pulled the curtains aside. The light seemed to wake the little creature. She curled like a worm. The two daughters went to cuddle their mother, and she giggled with her eyes closed and her clawlike little hands waving in the air. My father propped Great-Aunt up with several pillows. Aunt Silver Moon passed her mother a box of candies.
Great-Aunt picked up a piece of candy and gave it to me. Before I could open the wrapper, Aunt Golden Moon came and took the candy away. She whispered to me that Great-Aunt had already opened and licked each candy. “It’s her toy,” she said. “She opens one, tastes it, and wraps it back up. Over and over again. She loves to explore things, just like a child. She doesn’t let anyone touch the box. It’s the only thing she remembers to ask for when she wakes up.”