A Girl Named Faithful Plum (22 page)

“You’re a farm girl. Make like a rooster.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What a rooster does in the morning—go ahead and do it.”

Zhongmei did nothing.

“You don’t know what a rooster does in the morning? You mean you’re not a farm girl after all?”

“I know,” said Zhongmei. It was a rare morning in Baoquanling when Zhongmei didn’t hear roosters crowing at daybreak.

“Then do it,” said Teacher Zhu. “How does it hold its head?”

“Like this,” Zhongmei said uncertainly, and she stretched her neck and pointed her chin in the air.

“And what sound does it make?”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo,” Zhongmei sang.

“You see, girls, there are some advantages to being a farm girl. Everybody look at Zhongmei. If you want to look like a rooster, you can imitate her. If you want to look like a dancer, do as I tell you.”

B
ut it wasn’t to be. “You sit on the floor and watch today,” Teacher Zhu told Zhongmei as class began the next morning.

“Please,” Zhongmei said, “I thought I’d be able to take the class today.”

“I decide that,” Teacher Zhu said curtly. “Sit down.”

This time, instead of feeling sad and bewildered, Zhongmei felt angry. She had proved the day before that she was just as good as the others, better than most. It was time for Teacher Zhu to treat her fairly. As soon as the class was dismissed and the other girls had filed out, she caught up with Teacher Zhu at the door.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “I’m as good as the others, most of the others. I want to take the class every day.”

“You’re as good as the others?”

“I think so. Most of them anyway.”

“You think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?” Teacher Zhu said.

Zhongmei didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to say to that.

“A little bit of modesty would be very becoming,” Teacher Zhu continued.

Again, Zhongmei was too dumbfounded to reply.

“I’ll tell you what,” Teacher Zhu said after a pause. “Let’s do a little test. Think of it as an additional audition. If you pass, you can take my class every day. But if you fail, you’ll let me decide when you can take the class and when you can’t, and you won’t bother me about this anymore. Agreed?”

Zhongmei hesitated. She knew that if she agreed, she would be falling into a trap, because Teacher Zhu would be the sole judge of this test, and, clearly, Teacher Zhu was already determined that Zhongmei would fail. But if she didn’t agree, she would be admitting that she wasn’t as good as the others. In any case, even if she failed, she’d just have to do what she was doing already, which was sitting in her corner.

“All right,” Zhongmei said. “I’ll do it.”

“We have a few minutes right now,” Teacher Zhu said, looking at her watch. “Go take a place at the barre.”

Zhongmei took a spot.

“Listen carefully,” Teacher Zhu said, standing in her usual place in the middle of studio two. “Now,
ding zi bu
, and curtsy.”

Zhongmei took up first position, the nail in the ground, and curtsied in Teacher Zhu’s direction.

“Not bad,” Teacher Zhu said encouragingly. “Now,
er zi bu
”—second position—“and plié.”

Again, Zhongmei followed instructions.

“No, no,” Teacher Zhu shouted as if to a disobedient child,
rather than one who was doing everything right. “I said
er zi bu
, your feet like this,” and she demonstrated, her feet slightly apart, her two heels pointing toward each other, toes pointing away.

Zhongmei looked down. She had done exactly that. Her feet were pointing opposite each other, her heels almost touching. It was precisely what Teacher Zhu had demonstrated.

“Don’t look at your feet!” Teacher Zhu shouted at her. She was so vehement that Zhongmei’s heart skipped a beat.

“But I was just … you said—”

“You must keep your head high,” Teacher Zhu said. “No real dancer looks at her feet to see if they’re in the right place.”

“Sorry, it was because I thought I was doing it the same as—”

“When you’re doing it correctly,” said Teacher Zhu, “I will be the one to let you know. Try again. Face the side.
Ding zi bu
. Curtsy. That’s fine. Now, grand plié …”

Zhongmei, facing away from Teacher Zhu now, took up first position, curtsied, and then did her grand plié. She held her body like the trunk of a tree, lifted her two arms like curved branches, held her hands out like two delicate leaves, and then, her back absolutely straight, her head held high, she bent her knees to the side and began to sweep her left arm in a downward arc in front of her. As she did so, she heard Teacher Zhu’s footsteps approaching and then—whack! She felt the sting of the stick on her behind. It was harder than before. Much harder.

“That’s your plié?” Teacher Zhu shouted. “With your behind stuck out like that, you look like a duck about to topple over.”

Zhongmei felt tears begin to pour out of her eyes and roll
down her cheeks. She wanted to run away, but she stayed there at the barre, determined to do better.

“Let me try again,” she said.

“Er zi bu,”
Teacher Zhu said. “That’s a little better. OK, attitude,” she said, and she lifted her left leg and turned it behind her, the other foot on pointe, one arm curved over her head, the other extended to the side.

Zhongmei did the same thing, on pointe with her right foot, her left curved behind her, her knee slightly higher than the foot, her thin arm arched over her head like a peacock feather, her other arm stretched outward and to the side as though she was grazing her fingers on something just out of reach. She held the position and waited for Teacher Zhu’s next instruction.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Teacher Zhu said, each “no” a bit louder and more drawn out than the one before until the no’s seemed like hammers pounding into Zhongmei’s ears. “You’re not a duck anymore; you’re a penguin, clumsy and comical. I’m afraid the result is what I thought it would be,” she went on, sighing with feigned resignation. “I’ll give you just one more try.” She paused. “Take the barre, that’s right, now,
wu zi bu
”—fifth position—“and battement tendu,” and she lifted her right leg up, but not all the way, just to give Zhongmei the idea.

Zhongmei knew the idea. She had seen the other girls practicing battements tendus many times. She had done it herself with her dance teacher in Baoquanling. She ignored the tears trickling down her face. She gripped the barre firmly with her left hand, made a brief gesture with the right, elbow and fingers
curved, and lifted her leg straight in front of her and well above the level of her head, then lowered it back into fifth position. To any fair-minded person who had been watching, she would have looked like perfection itself. She was like a loose-limbed reed, her legs as supple as an antelope’s, her movements as naturally graceful as a cat’s. But not to Teacher Zhu.

“You look like somebody kicking a ball,” she said, and she made an exaggerated motion with her leg, keeping her knee bent (when Zhongmei’s had been straight) and kicking it upward, then hopping goofily backward on the other foot, her arms waving frantically to keep her balance. Zhongmei, her face glistening with tears, watched this cruel parody in silent horror.

“I didn’t do anything like that,” she managed finally.

“You didn’t?” Teacher Zhu replied. “You think you didn’t, but I was watching you, and I am not the most important ballet teacher in China for no reason!”

Zhongmei stared at the floor.

“It’s no use,” Teacher Zhu said. “You country girls are just not right for ballet. You just can’t do it. I don’t know why. Probably because you start too late. In fact, you’re really not right for the Beijing Dance Academy. This isn’t a place that trains pretty good dancers. This place is only for those who can be great dancers, and you’re just not in that category. I don’t see how you managed to get in here in the first place.” Teacher Zhu seemed so upset at Zhongmei’s presence at the school that she had to gasp for breath. “We were very kind to give you a second chance at the improvisation part of the audition,” she
said. “I was especially in favor of that. In fact, I was the one who persuaded Vice Director Jia to make an exception for you, but I can see now that I was wrong to have done that. I should have listened to him, but I was too kind. I wanted to give you a chance.”

Zhongmei was dumbfounded. She remembered clearly the sour look on Teacher Zhu’s face that day when Vice Director Jia told her she could try again.

“In fact, if I have anything to say about it, you won’t be returning for the second year,” Teacher Zhu resumed. “You’ll go back to wherever it is you came from, and, believe me, my dear girl, you’ll be much better off there. Much better off. Someday you’ll thank me for telling you this. Oh, I know it’s a little hard to hear now. Of course, you came with high hopes. I don’t blame you. But I’m doing you a great kindness. I am sparing you a lifetime of futility and giving you the chance to change to something you’d be good at. Maybe you can get a part in some local song and dance troupe. Yes, you’re probably good enough for that. But you’ll never be good enough to dance on a national stage, and that’s what we do at this school: prepare the most talented young people in China for the national stage. Someday you’ll thank me for the favor I’m doing you in speaking frankly, even if I’m the only one honest enough around here to do it.”

And with that, Teacher Zhu strode out the door and into the corridor, leaving Zhongmei alone in the studio to weep bitter tears. She stayed there for a little while, glad only that nobody else had been there to witness her humiliation. Or was
there? Something caught Zhongmei’s eye. In the narrow slit of the studio’s slightly open door, she saw a single eye peering at her. The eye blinked and then quickly moved away, but Zhongmei could hear a barely muffled giggle, and she was sure she recognized the voice of her classmate Jinhua.

Zhongmei left the studio and went to the dormitory, where all the girls had to change for their sessions of regular schoolwork. She sat heavily on her bed, unlaced her pointe shoes, and threw them at the wall.

“Angry?” It was Jinhua and several of the other girls. “The farm girl is furious!” she mocked. “Let me show you all her best movement,” she said to the other girls, and she kicked her leg up in a clumsy motion imitating Teacher Zhu’s parody of Zhongmei in the studio. “Look what a beautiful dancer I am,” Jinhua cried. She began scratching the ground like a chicken and going cock-a-doodle-doo, flapping her arms in imitation of a bird and then falling backward and sprawling on the floor, stretching her arms and legs out, howling with laughter.

Zhongmei watched, stunned. She had never hated anybody before, but now she seethed with a dark passion, wanting to destroy the cunning, sneaky little brat who was mocking her. She took a step in Jinhua’s direction. Yes, she would smash the little snake into the ground under her foot. She took another step. She saw Jinhua’s eyes widen. A third step. Jinhua began to back away. Zhongmei felt a firm hand on her shoulder and then an arm around her neck, warm and friendly and restraining at the same time.

“Come with me, Zhongmei,” Xiaolan said. “Don’t pay
attention to her. She’s only doing that because she knows in her heart that you’re better than she is, and she’s afraid.”

Xiaolan spoke softly but not so softly that the other girls couldn’t hear. She put her other arm around Zhongmei and held her tight. Jinhua disappeared behind her bunk.

“Don’t cry,” Xiaolan whispered. “Don’t let her see you cry.”

“I won’t,” Zhongmei said.

“If you hit her, you’ll surely be expelled, which is exactly what she wants,” Xiaolan whispered.

“I’m OK now. Thank you, Xiaolan.”