Katherine (18 page)

He said, “Sure, it’s been nice. When would you like to meet again?”

I thought for a while and told him that I didn’t know.

“How about the day after tomorrow?” he asked.

I said I would be too busy.

“A week from now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Two weeks?” he said, his face longer.

“Two months,” I said.

He said he understood and we parted at the entrance to the lane. The neighbors turned their heads as I walked by.

I could see my mother leaning out the window, waiting for good news. I felt terrible.

*   *   *

T
he Party chief, Mr. Han, wanted to have a talk with me, so I hurried to his office. He spit out tea leaves he had been chewing and said: “I am appointing you chairman of the Workers’ Union. You have our Party’s and the people’s trust.” A little lost, I asked what the job required of me. He said: “You will assist the Party. Be my extra pair of eyes. Make sure no one disobeys Party rules. You’ll submit a twenty-page report to me every Monday.”

Party chiefs controlled everyone’s life in China and their words were unwritten law. Today one could be named “a hero of the people,” and tomorrow, with the chief’s mood swing, the hero could be thrown in jail as an “enemy of the people.” In order to control the masses, many such “eyes of the Party” jobs were invented. There was a long chain of command—from national political security guards down to the “three-foot detectives,” a neighborhood watch retired men and women joined. Since the Communist liberation in 1949, “the network” had become a powerful system of communication and enforcement. Chairman Mao’s latest instructions or news of a rally could be made known to every household that same day, spread by a word-of-mouth daisy chain. Also, any counterrevolutionary activity could be reported by one’s neighbor and the person who violated the law could be executed just as quickly, thanks to the Party’s “eyes” in every family.

The job of chairman of the Workers’ Union was one of those invented titles. It was not a promotion nor did it change my duties or my “borrowed worker” status at the electronics factory. It was
Mr. Han’s way of controlling me by keeping me busy organizing weekly “thought re-brushing” meetings, writing up reports, collecting membership dues (every worker was automatically a member), and getting workers to subscribe to the Party’s
Red Flag
magazine.

I was assigned to the job right after Jasmine’s second suicide attempt. Mr. Han had discovered that his daughter was secretly collecting rat-poison pills and writing obsessive love letters to Lion Head. He made sure every possible source of harm was taken away from her.

I had no say over Mr. Han’s decision. I knew he didn’t count on someone like me to be his eyes. But in taking an interest in me he was implementing a favorite Party boss tactic,
ran-yin-jian-shi
—use both harsh and conciliatory acts to tame the majority. Mr. Han was letting me know that I was under his wing and under his watch at the same time.

*   *   *

K
atherine continued her research on Chinese women. I would see her interviewing people on campus and on the street, I’d see her studying in the library, and I’d see her jogging every morning. Her self-discipline was impressive. She would do cartwheels on the lawn. Her youthfulness and energy, at her age, were surprising to the Chinese.

Katherine again asked to interview me. She wanted me to talk about my new position, how it felt to be the chairman of the Workers’ Union.

I told her I had nothing to say about it.

“Is that right?” she said. “Aren’t you working for your people?”

I said yes and no. I explained that it was basically a harmless position. She asked me to be more specific. I told her it meant that I wasn’t hurting anybody. She pressed me again, said she just
wanted to understand what I had to do. I said not everything had to be understood. It was important not to understand certain things in China.

“Well,” she said, “I’m an American, what do you expect?”

I told her a famous Chinese saying went,
“Da-zhi-ruo-yu,”
meaning “Smart people make themselves look stupid in order to protect themselves.” She said she didn’t mind looking stupid, she just wanted to be sure she was smart. She said she didn’t like to feel confused. I told her another Chinese saying: “The bullet hits the first bird to stick his head out of the nest.”

Katherine said that she was starting to see what China was all about. China was a big rusty machine with too many bad screws.

“That’s right,” I said. “And I am one of those screws.”

She thought that wasn’t a healthy attitude. “China will be ruined if its people stop caring.”

I corrected her. “China is not alive.”

She sighed and said, “I hope down deep this is not what you believe.”

“You bet I do.”

She looked at me and went silent. Finally she said: “Well, one thing’s for sure. I don’t see China the way you do. I see it as a part of the larger world. We’re all here on the same planet, we’re all in this together. You, me, everyone.”

She was sitting on the front steps of the building. Her head was tilted to the side and she was squinting because the sun was on her. She wore no makeup. Her skin was terribly pale. She looked peaceful. I envied her that look. Some students passed us by. They walked quickly with their heads lowered. They had a bitter appearance, faces made crooked by eternal anxiety. I was sure I looked even worse.

The sky began to turn purple. The clouds were in a fishskin
pattern. “Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day,” she said, her voice full of hope.

I looked at Katherine; my mind stopped thinking.

A male student was playing a cassette under a nearby tree. He hummed with the song:

My new boss at the electronics factory handed me a letter to sign. He told me I could either quit school or be put on the factory’s “flexible list,” meaning I could lose my job at any moment. The factory was in the process of “reorganizing” its workers, to conform to the “one carrot, one slot” effect; no one was permitted to have a do-nothing, Mao-era job anymore.

I signed the letter and put my name on the “flexible list.” I saw no other choice. To quit school meant giving up any possibility of change, and giving up Katherine. I had to stay in school. Besides, it didn’t make much difference; I was still a “borrowed worker” without a
hu-ko
in any case.

*   *   *

L
ion Head and I no longer slept together but we had become better friends. I was able to accept him for who he was now that he was not my lover, which made things much easier between us. I went on photography trips with him and learned a lot about the camera. His selfishness was inseparable from his intelligence. I spent time with him behind Jasmine’s back. He went to Jasmine for sex. “Jasmine has to be mated five times a week,” Lion Head told me.
He liked talking to me about the way he had sex with Jasmine. I liked listening because he was so incredibly egotistical, conceited, and spoiled. Sometimes I thanked God for getting me out of the affair. He said that Jasmine was a super bed partner and that was all he needed from her. He asked whether I knew of a western magazine called
Playboy.
When I said no, he suggested I ask Katherine about it.

I ran into Jasmine in and out of class. She seemed happy and suspicious at the same time. Her taste in clothes was improving, thanks to Lion Head. She no longer tried to dress like a doll. She wore more sophisticated clothes and tried to match the colors Lion Head wore. Although Lion Head didn’t treat her with respect, he no longer pushed her arm away when they walked together. She could hardly believe Lion Head was being faithful and was even more obsessed with him each passing day. She spoke with joy of Lion Head’s wild and endless desire.

“He loves to have me beg him to take me,” she would tell all her girlfriends. “So I beg him. Then he makes me hit myself with the sole of my shoe . . .”

Lion Head needed Jasmine’s body. He didn’t want to commit, but he was too selfish to leave. He thought if he left things the way they were maybe at some point in the future he would be able to break away. But Mr. Han was no fool. He wanted to nail him down as a son-in-law or no more free meals for Lion Head. Mr. Han was pressuring Lion Head to make up his mind. Lion Head knew he didn’t have much time before he had to sell himself or be slaughtered. He hated Mr. Han for forcing him to be Jasmine’s male concubine, but he could take no revenge. Lion Head was a cockroach on a kitchen counter Mr. Han could crush any time he got too naughty.

Katherine had become even more popular on campus. She had
made some good friends among the students and peasants. Her notebook was getting thicker. The school paper praised her as the “best-loved foreign lecturer.” I would visit her from time to time, when I got off work or had finished my union chores. I had a hard time getting her to accept my negative views of my people and country. She would wave me away if I asked her not to trust her new “good friends.” She thought I was jealous because she wasn’t spending enough time with me. I gave up warning her about China. In a way, maybe she was right; what was the point of worrying about whether the sky might or might not fall on her head?

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.

*   *   *

O
ne 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.

*   *   *

J
uly 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.”

*   *   *

S
he 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.