China's Son (10 page)

“I'm not sure I'm going to high school.”

“What do you mean? Of course you're going. You're so young.”

“I haven't got my notice yet. Others already did.” I hung my head.

“Come on, young fellow. Don't feel bad; you could always come to learn dentistry with me. Kids are learning nothing in school now anyway.” He smiled. “But I want you to come and visit me on weekends and I'll take you to Putien to meet some of the coolest young musicians in the city.”

“I promise.”

Finally I was issued a notice stating that after careful consideration by the commune education board, I would not be given the opportunity to pursue my schooling any further. Neither was I allowed to do so at other schools in another commune.

No reason given. No reason needed.

A patient of Dad's secretly told us that the board's reason was simple. My ancestors and family had had enough education; it was time we made do without more.

I felt sad and isolated again. Everyone in my school went on to high school, even the worst of the students. I couldn't go because my dad had gone to college, as had my grandpa. What kind of reasoning was that? Why did I have to carry the burden of my parents' generation?

Mom prayed day and night, promising three chickens and four piglets to Buddha if any high school accepted me. I promised a thousand kowtows on my own. And then good
news came in an unusual way. Dad's regular guest, the sugarcane farmer, casually mentioned that he had delivered some high-quality fresh canes to the high school last night because the almighty principal's aging father had just had a stroke. The only thing he could eat was juice squeezed from the fresh sugarcane. The principal was upset and restless and didn't know what to do.

That evening at dinner, a young high school teacher came hurriedly to our house and wanted to meet Dad privately. Dad took him into our back room. Five minutes later, Dad emerged and said he was going to the see the principal's father right away because the patient was still in critical condition.

He came back late. The news was good. I would be in the fourth group in grade one of junior high a month later. The delay was due to the specific order from the commune that I was not to be admitted under any condition. They would sneak me in after all the hubbub died down. I thanked Dad and then crawled quietly to the attic, got on my knees, and kowtowed a whopping thousand and five times. Five extra were done to make up for any possible miscalculation in the hasty up-and-down motions.

“You're the guy who plays the violin, I heard.”

“Yeah, what do you want?” I looked up from a stack of new textbooks to see a well-dressed fellow sauntering up to me. His clothes were neatly layered from the inside out. He wore shoes and socks with brightly colored patterns, a rarity among Yellow Stone boys. He was flanked by a couple of shorter fellows with toothy grins.

“Nothing, nothing, just a casual visit.” He stuck out his hand. As the sleeve rode up, a gold watch glistened in the morning sun that filtered through the window of our classroom. “Name is I-Fei. Do you care for a cigarette during the break?”

He became my best friend in class. His pomposity came from his family's background. His father was the mayor of Han Jian, the second largest town in Putien. His mother was the president of the women's federation at a government dry goods manufacturing factory. Both were seasoned Communist
cadres. His parents had become too caught up with their lives and had deposited him at his aunt's, thus making him a big fish in a small pond. He lived on a fabulous monthly stipend and rode a brand-new bicycle to school once in a while, just to show it off to the girls. The teachers tolerated him because his mother controlled the supply of sugar and cooking oil in the county. She was all sugar and oil. Poorly paid, some teachers often could be seen begging I-Fei for oil and sugar coupons, which would allow them to buy those rare commodities, unobtainable on their pathetic rations.

I-Fei searched out interesting fellows in school and made alliances with them. Even the cool guys in senior high greeted him like an old pal. He dragged me around wherever he went and introduced me as his buddy. We were the same height and build; soon we were wearing the same hairstyle. I even asked Mom for socks to wear, a giant step for someone who had only operated in bare feet before.

By midterm, I was on the school Ping-Pong team and also in the school band. Three days a week I practiced Ping-Pong after school, and the rest of the week I played the flute and stumbled along on my violin, preparing for the rehearsal of a grand seven-act play directed by Mr. Ma, the high school drama teacher.

Schoolmates were amazed by my violin. They called it “the shoulder thing.” There were always eager faces pasted at the windowpanes of the rehearsal hall. Now they had one more thing to look at besides the alluring faces of the school's stars.

Soon I was a recognizable face in a school of two thousand students.

“Did you hear that?” I-Fei asked me angrily one day as we walked into the rehearsal room.

“What?” I asked.

“There was a guy out there, bad-mouthing you, calling you a landlord's son, and this and that.” I-Fei's face was burning.

“Who was it?”

“A skinny little rat from group one called Han or something. Aren't you going to do anything about it?” He put his hands on his waist.

“Listen, he was my old enemy from elementary school.”

“And you let him run through you like that?”

“I'll take care of him later.”

“Not later.” He stared at me. “Now.”

“I don't want to make a scene here.”

“I'll make a scene. Let's go.”

“Not now. You don't understand.”

“I do understand. They used to pick on you, but not in here.”

He marched me out of the room and we went toward a small crowd.

“You stay cool, okay,” I-Fei said in a hushed voice, “and do as I say.”

“What are you going to do?” The fear of getting kicked out of school washed over me again.

He didn't answer. I saw him walk straight to Han, who stopped laughing and turned to face I-Fei.

“You've been cursing me behind my back, you son of a whore,” I-Fei shouted, spitting at Han and waving his fists.

“I wasn't talking about you,” Han said. “I was talking about him.”

He pointed at me.

“That's not true, I heard you do it.” I-Fei moved in closer; his eyes were popping. He started to push Han. Han pushed back.

“Come on, Da,” I-Fei yelled. “Now the rat confessed he has been cursing both of us. How dare you!” My blood rushed to my head. The old pain began to come back. I was shaking and trembling.

“Come on, Da!” Suddenly I turned fearless and hit Han right in the temple with my fist. Han stumbled back a few steps. I-Fei ducked down and swung his right foot against Han's unsteady legs. Han fell onto the dirt ground. A cheer went up among the crowd.

My legs flew and I started kicking him in his chest and groin. He screamed. I-Fei pinned his head down. Then I jumped on him and hit him till my arms were exhausted. We let go of him.

Han crawled to his feet like a dog hit by a truck and limped away, mud, sweat, and tears covering his face. I was in tears too.

“Why are you crying?” I-Fei asked, puzzled.

“Happy.” I wiped my face. “Thanks.”

“He would never dare look you in the face from now on.”

That evening, Mr. Ma took us into his office and severely criticized us. I said it was my fault, I-Fei said it was his. Mr. Ma said if it were not for the upcoming dress rehearsal of the revolutionary drama, we would all be fired from the production. We tried to suppress our laughter as we left the office.

Our show was ready by the New Year. For that period, we had already gotten fifteen bookings, mainly from the small villages that made up the Yellow Stone commune. Our
play was about how a female high school student, at first a bookworm, was helped by the Red Guards to join the revolutionary camp. She became a Red Guard and denounced her past affiliation with a counterrevolutionary, who was trying to corrupt her young mind with intellectual studies. The total cast was about fifty people, including teachers. It was not much of a play, but to a village where there might be a movie once a year, any form of entertainment was reason to celebrate, especially when it coincided with the New Year.

A few days before the New Year, we were invited to perform in the village of Ding Zhuan, where my distant cousin Wen Qui lived, and where I had hidden myself earlier. Now it was time for a happy reunion.

In the morning, the village sent tractors to pick us up. We sang all the way there, crowded into the back. When we arrived, small children chased us with interest. “The music men are here!” they shouted.

The band's job when we got to each destination was to hang all the curtains, layers of them, and set up all the props. Ding Zhuan had an outdoor dirt platform facing a large square. A few bamboo poles were erected at the four corners. I-Fei and I climbed up the poles and tied the curtains to them while others carried the heavy props to the back of the stage and passed the curtains to us. Teachers shouted at us as we rocked on the tip of the poles for fun. Then we helped the electricians set up the spotlights.

Out in the dirt yard, villagers had long since claimed their spots with their own chairs, camping out since the day before. These kids hadn't had such fun for a long time. At the village headquarters, where all of us would be staying for the night, a large kitchen was preparing a banquet for us.

“Three big fat pigs and lots of other food,” the chief of the
village said proudly. “You will have plenty to eat.” He passed out cigarettes on a tray to everyone, including the students. Mr. Ma stared at us like a disapproving parent and snatched them all back.

That afternoon, I visited my cousin Wen Qui, bringing along my violin.

“Welcome, welcome. I didn't expect to see you.” Wen looked a few years older and now had an unruly mustache. “All I knew was that you were in high school.” He was beaming with joy. His wife patted my shoulders lovingly.

“I am in high school and I'm playing the violin now.”

“Just like your dad. That's very good. Here, play something for us.”

I played a simple melody and they listened quietly.

“I can see you are surviving well, on the school propaganda team and all. It makes me think of the old days, when you were hiding here,” my cousin said sentimentally.

His wife's eyes were misty, but she smiled and held my hands in hers.

“How is school?”

“Well, no one is serious about school nowadays. That's why I'm doing this.” I plucked a few notes and put the violin away.

“But it's difficult to make a living doing that, unless you're very talented.”

I was quiet.

“It's fun, singing and dancing and lots of good food—and probably lots of smoking. I've done all that before.” Wen Qui looked at his wife, who smiled back. “But you should try to study as much as possible in school.”

“What's the use?”

“What's the use? Knowledge. Nobody can take that away from you. Times will change, then you'll be sorry,” he said.

I stayed quiet. I had gone there expecting to talk about my exciting winter schedule with my favorite couple, discussing my music and friends.

He had just dumped a bucket of cold water on my head.

“He mentions this because we care for you,” his wife added gently. “You're a really smart kid. Don't waste your talent.”

“It's wonderful to have a hobby, but go back and study hard. You will thank me when you grow up,” Wen added.

In the audience that evening, I didn't see Wen or his wife. As he had said, he had done it all and seen it all in his youth. I believed him, and I loved them both.

That night after the banquet, I-Fei and I took a walk along a dark dirt road.

“What are you going to do when you grow up?” I asked.

“Not sure yet,” I-Fei said. “I could work for my mom and be an oil and sugar man. But Dad wants me to be a driver.”

“Why?”

“You make the most money, only second to being a butcher.”

Under-the-table money.

“How about going to college?”

“I don't want to be a stinking intellectual. I'm from a revolutionary family. What do you want to be?”

“A violin soloist, performing before thousands of fans in a great concert hall. I want to travel by plane, wear good suits and ties, and have female fans fainting at my feet.”

I-Fei couldn't stop laughing. I hit his back with my fist and he stopped. But I agreed with him, it was a ridiculous dream.

“That I couldn't help you with,” he said earnestly. “If you want to be a teacher or something, my dad might be able to help get you a job.”

“I don't need your help. I'll study hard and make it on my own.”

“Study? Are you crazy?”

I nodded.

He offered me a cigarette. For the first time, I refused.

“What's the matter with you?”

“Nothing. Just don't feel like one.”

He lit one for himself. I took it out of his mouth and threw it away.

He tried to hit me but I was already a few steps beyond him. We ran back to the headquarters. All the way, I felt the eyes of Wen and his wife staring at me, smiling and hoping.